[Slokais]

In the north of Kolda, the dry plans eventually turn into an expanding desert known as Moudjerria. From colonial times, the central government had tried to tame the desert, to turn its resources into profit. Yet there always was resistance, when Missionaries attempted to convert Moudjerrians to Christianity from the religion they had practiced for hundreds of years, the Moudjerrians burned their settlements, as the colonizers burned the Moudjerrians. When the Kolda War began, bands of revolutionaries pushed south to reclaim what remained of the ancient city of Kolda, a city they had been banished from for hundreds of years. And now, as the central government allowed private business to extract and destroy the landscape for profit, the Moudjerrians did not remain silent. Usama had taken up the call to fight in 2021 after the thugs of Pirot Mining destroyed an ancient shrine in his home village.

The Indigenous Moudjerrians were divided into around a dozen smaller tribal groups, each generally centered around an oasis, each with its own forms of art, music, and culture. Although all were united by a common belief in God, the same as much of Kolda, however, the Moudjerrians were often viewed as lesser than others for their nomadic and sheep-herding lifestyle. Usama was different as he had been educated at the Al-Kunah University, living in the city of Port D’agent for several years. There, Usama learned of the many injustices his people had faced at the hands of outsiders for generations, he learned of greed and corruption and of the ills of a modern Koldan lifestyle. When Usama returned to his tribe, he discovered that Pirot Mining had begun to construct a mining depot in the small natural bay, polluting and drying up the small creek, his people had used for water.

Usama soon joined a court case launched by an environmental organization against Pirot, hoping his testimonial would help bring the Brissican mining conglomerate to justice. However, justice did not come as the Ministry of Development and Mines allowed Pirot to continue construction. Soon, his tribe had to migrate further north into the harsher desert lands, devoid of any water. In addition, other Moudjerrians had launched attacks against the companies and the government, leading to the military cracking down on civil liberties. Now, in an election year, Usama wanted to help make a difference.

Usama’s tribe, the Armzana had long been prevented from voting. The government had long declared that since the Armzana didn’t own their own properties, they could not be confirmed as residing anywhere. This was even though many Armzana had actual government IDs and some even paid tax, yet were always rejected when they attempted to register to vote.

Usama’s jeep bumped over the dry plains on the way toward a small village. The government called the area Al-Ransira Planning District for their own purposes, yet to the Moudjerrians it was just called Ta’zarghiqa or “The good place” in Moudjerrian. Usama parked his open-top jeep in the center of the community, just outside the community mosque. Usama then walked to the nearby well, its waters almost dried up as summer began. Once he had washed his shoes, Usama entered the mosque where a small group of people was waiting for him.
“Is everyone here?” he asked
An older man walked, over his robes adorned with a gold necklace, obviously a person of great respect within the community.
“We asked as many as we could, many are afraid they will be arrested if they try to register,” he said
The others around him signaled their agreement.
“Tell them, they have nothing to fear. By not voting they will let the fears control our land and our people, now is a time to kick out those who have oppressed our people”
“You are well-spoken, however, your message falls upon ears who understand, go out and speak to them,” the old man said pointing to the door.

As Usama stepped outside, dust whipped up against him. Usama pulled his robes over his head, so it only left the eyes uncovered, and ventured towards a group of wood houses. The Moujeerians traditionally lived a nomadic lifestyle, although in recent decades had settled into seasonal living, this allowed for the cultivation of plants during the wet months, and sheep and cow herding during the dry months. Usama opened the wooden gate separating the cultivated land inside from the bare land outside. Already, a group of people was gathered around a central courtyard visible to the outside, during periods of dust like this, the buildings prevented dust from blowing in while still creating a place to gather.
Usama introduced himself to the group, made up of several families, and asked how many were of voting age, several raised their hands.
“Did you hear that voters and being driven to the registration office today?” he asked
“Of course, not much else happens out here except those miners that come by,” an older man said
“Why are you not coming?”
“Have you not heard? They arrest some of those who try to vote, give them impossible requirements and when you fail they arrest you” the older man’s son said
“No one is getting arrested today, the court has declared language tests for voting unlawful,” Usama said sitting down in the courtyard on a wooden stool.
“Are you not afraid of the gun? Afraid of a troubled man with power. The Ancestors teach us to preserve ourselves” an older woman said, clutching her necklace.
“The power of justice is as strong as the evil of man, If anything goes wrong, I’m with you,” Usama said