Somewhere in the depths of the faraway land called Africa, vast plains of greens and browns stretch as far as the eye could see. Gnarled trees occasionally spring up on the horizon, their branches cloaked in leaves and jutting out sporadically yet artistically, blocking the view of the Serengeti to the birds and the insects. The African savannah is peaceful and calm, and the silence is only broken by birds.

Until the pounding of the drums and the footsteps come nearer. They shake the ground, disturb the dirt, and rouse the Serengeti nearly to madness as animals struggle to take cover. Voices are heard next—loud, rough, harsh, not nearly like the melodic, rhythmatic sounds of the native people.

If you are brave, very, very brave, and you are a meercat or another small creature peeking out of a hole, you would see the White Men coming with their sticks that shoot fire and their enchanting sharpened objects that flash starlight and break into living flesh ruthlessly.

If you are brave, very, very brave, you hear their cruel laughter, and smell on the air their excitement of the hunt. They would look and wave their sticks of fire and sticks of starlight in the air, and one would put a long hollow tube up to his eye, pointing and yammering in his rough, crude tongue excitedly.

If you are brave, very, very brave, you wait with your ears perked up and your eyes wide as you feel the ground tremble around you. As you feel the earth shake in fear. As you feel the leaves rain down before their time. As you see on the horizon line the approach of the most magnificent beasts of all.

If you are very brave, or strong, or frozen to the spot in fear, you would see what happens next. If you are brave or strong you see the shining ebony sticks shoot blasts of fire into the air and into the beast’s skin. If you are brave or strong you see them shoot the fire again and slash at the kingly legs with their sticks of starlight, blood as red as the sunset on the Serengeti in summer streaming out as the glorious animal struggles to keep its balance. You would see it groan and fall like a mighty tree who withstood many rains but collapsed at the thunder. If you are brave or strong you would be rooted to the spot in horror when you see the sticks of starlight, beautiful starlight, hack away at the creature’s face and cut out the great tusks that are the elephants birthright and carry them away, with all the arrogance of their species, as their own.

If you are brave or strong, you never see the stars the same way again.

There is no bravery or strength after that. There is only weeping, and fear, and sympathy and a feeling of great loss as you hear other footsteps, harder, heavier, step on the dry grounds. As you see the second lumbering great animal step into sight behind the sunset, as you see the broken dark eyes as they gaze upon the beast’s fallen mate. As you see the live elephant prod the other one in desperation with its tusks, trying to wake it up, trying to will his birthright back to him, trying to will the White Man out of its lands and its life. As you hear the sound, the heart-stopping terrible low call that echoes over the Serengeti, that can be heard halfway across Africa, that makes even the White Men stop in their tracks for just a bare moment as they hear the heartrending calling and feel the pangs of guilt.

The sound, the primal call of the ultimate sorrow echoes across the savannah reaching towards the sea, where the whales in their reefs with their calves hear it, and tell the tale of the great land-whales who are killed for their teeth in their ancient calls that can be heard halfway around the world. Their calls fluctuate through the vast waters of the earth, and to the whales who swim and toss up waves along the Bering Strait remember the great land-whales with dark coarse hair like the bear who once roamed the shores of their own land, who were killed for their food and hides and for greed. Their wails of misery at the universal tragedy echoes around the world, tossing the waves into indignant anger.

And then the men who travel the seas in search of high adventure wail in terror when the water becomes angry, same men who are now bringing trinkets of ivory back to their women, and they curse the waters and curse the gods who stir the water into such anger. The curses are heard by the earth and she obeys their commands, cursing them with the irony of their destruction, turning friends into enemies as they war over riches, starving their women and children as the earth dries and the crops shrivel up.

So the men then say that it is time to search for riches again, and sail their ships and ride their horses to somewhere in the depths of the faraway land called Africa, where vast plains of greens and browns stretch as far as the eye can see…