Nkisu, the Rainbow Serpent of Zambia

The Shifting Winds of Change

For many seasons, Nkisu’s presence was felt in every raindrop and every blade of grass that swayed in the wind. The people lived by the wisdom of the elders, teaching their children to respect the rivers, the forests, and the creatures of the land. They understood the balance—that to take from the earth, one must also give back.

Then came a season unlike any other. The rains, once so faithful, did not return. The sun, usually gentle in its warmth, became a ruthless tyrant in the sky. The rivers receded, their beds cracked and parched. Crops withered, animals collapsed from thirst, and the people—once strong and proud—grew desperate.

The elders gathered beneath the ancient baobab tree, seeking answers. Had they angered Nkisu? Had they strayed too far from the old ways? They called upon the gods, but the heavens remained silent.

Among them stood Tembo, a young warrior whose spirit burned as fiercely as the midday sun. He was strong, with eyes that reflected the glimmer of untamed rivers, and a heart that beat to the rhythm of the drums that once echoed in celebration. But now, there was no music—only the cries of hungry children and the wails of thirsty elders.

"We cannot wait any longer," Tembo declared. "We must seek out Nkisu and demand the rains return."

Gasps of horror rippled through the gathering. The elders shook their heads, their voices quivering with fear. "You do not demand anything from Nkisu, child. The great serpent is older than time itself. We must show patience. The rain will come when the time is right."

But patience was a luxury that hunger and thirst did not allow.

And so, against the warnings of the village, Tembo set off alone, determined to find Nkisu and restore the balance that had been lost.

The Journey to the Serpent’s Lair

Tembo followed the dried riverbeds, his feet aching as the cracked earth bit into his skin. The land, once vibrant and full of life, was now a silent graveyard. The trees stood like skeletons against the sky, their branches twisted and broken. Even the wind, which once carried the songs of birds and the laughter of children, had abandoned the world.

For days, he walked, guided only by the stories told in hushed voices by the elders. Nkisu’s lair was said to be hidden deep within the Valley of the Ancestors, a place few had ever seen and even fewer had returned from.

The valley was a land of shadows and echoes, where time seemed to stand still. Towering cliffs loomed overhead, their surfaces marked with carvings of ancient stories—tales of Nkisu’s great power, of the rivers it had shaped, of the balance it had maintained for centuries.

At last, he found the entrance to the cave. It was a great maw in the side of the mountain, its edges lined with shimmering minerals that glowed like the embers of a dying fire. A thick mist clung to the ground, swirling like spirits around his ankles.

Tembo took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The Awakening of Nkisu

The cave was vast, its ceiling disappearing into darkness. The walls pulsed with life, glowing faintly with hues of green and gold. And at its heart, coiled around a great stone throne, lay Nkisu.

The serpent was larger than any living thing Tembo had ever seen. Its body shimmered like molten metal, its scales reflecting every color imaginable. Even in its slumber, Nkisu radiated power—an energy so immense that it made the air hum.

Tembo knelt, his voice steady despite the fear creeping into his bones. "Great Nkisu, I have come on behalf of my people. Our rivers have dried, the rains have not come. Have we wronged you? Have we fallen from your favor?"

A great rumbling filled the cave as Nkisu stirred. Its eyes, deep as the ocean, opened, gazing upon the mortal before it. When it spoke, its voice was not a sound, but a force—a whisper that echoed in the very fabric of the world.

"It is not I who have abandoned you, but you who have abandoned the land."

The words struck like thunder. Tembo felt shame coil around his heart.

"You have taken without giving. You have cut the trees without replanting. You have hunted without honoring the spirits of the beasts. The balance has been broken—not by me, but by you."

Tears stung Tembo’s eyes. He had not thought of these things. In their desperation, his people had become blind to the consequences of their actions.

"Then tell me, Great Guardian—how can we make amends?"

Nkisu uncoiled, its massive form shifting like the tides. "Restore what was lost. Plant the trees. Cleanse the waters. Honor the earth, and the earth will honor you in return."

And with those words, the great serpent vanished into the shadows once more.

The Restoration

Tembo returned to his village with a heart full of purpose. He gathered the people, sharing the wisdom of Nkisu. They listened, their eyes filled with sorrow and understanding.

And so, they began the great task of restoration.

They planted trees where the forests had been cut. They cleansed the rivers of the filth that had tainted them. They gave thanks before every hunt, and they took only what was needed, leaving the rest for the land to heal.

For moons, they worked.

And then, on a day when hope had nearly faded, a great rainbow stretched across the sky.

The people wept with joy. The rains had returned.

The Legacy of Nkisu

The legend of Nkisu and Tembo was passed down through the generations. Children were taught to respect the balance of the world, to honor the land as their ancestors once did.

To this day, when a rainbow graces the sky after a heavy rain, the elders say it is Nkisu watching over them, a reminder of the sacred promise between the serpent and the people.

And deep within the heart of the mountains, beneath the roots of the world, Nkisu sleeps, waiting, watching, ensuring that the cycle of life remains unbroken.

But should mankind ever forget again, the Rainbow Serpent may not be so forgiving.

Epilogue

The land gives, and the land must be honored in return.

This is the lesson of Nkisu.