In my village, we are farmers. We wake up when the cock crows and walk to the fields before the sun burns our backs. We till, we plant, we pray, and we wait. In this village, everyone understands farming more than they understand politics. But even in our simple way of life, there is deep wisdom — the kind that speaks louder than any classroom can teach.
One truth that every villager knows is this: the bull that mates with your cow will determine the calf you will get. We have seen it with our own eyes. A strong bull gives a strong calf. A lazy bull gives a weak calf. A sick bull gives a sickly calf. So, when a farmer wants good calves, he looks carefully at the bull. He does not choose by color or by noise — he looks at the strength, the health, and the history of that bull. Because we all know, the bull determines the future of the herd.
And every farmer also knows something else: if the bull that mated your cow last time did not give you what you wanted, you change it. In our language, we call it kûgarûríra ndume — changing the bull. It means you are wise enough not to repeat the same mistake. You want better results, so you change what caused the poor ones. It is a lesson of life, not just of farming. It is simple, yet powerful.
But sadly, this same wisdom that fills our farms disappears when it comes to our village leadership. The same people who know how to change a bull that gives a weak calf, forget to change the leaders who give them poverty, broken roads, empty schools, and suffering. The same people who cannot tolerate a weak bull will tolerate a weak leader. The same farmers who know how to choose bulls wisely will still vote for the same “bulls” who have already failed them. And that is the tragedy of our time.
We cry about the poor calf — the bad schools, the lack of jobs, the high prices, and the sickness that fills our clinics — but we forget to ask ourselves which bull mounted our cow. We forget that the bull represents our choice. The calf is the result of our decision. The cow is our land, our village, our country. It gives milk, it feeds us, but it also depends on us to choose the right bull for its future.
You see, our cow — the land we love — cannot choose the bull for itself. It is the owner who makes that decision. And we, the people, are the owners. Every election season, we take our cow to the market of bulls. The bulls come dressed in suits and smiles. They shout their promises, they sing songs, they dance with us, they buy drinks, and we laugh. But we forget to ask: “What kind of calf will this bull give us?”
We forget to check if the bull has ever produced a healthy calf before. We forget to check if it can even stand on its own legs. Some of them are tired bulls, too old and too lazy to serve. Others are greedy bulls who only mount the cow for their own pleasure, not to bring life to the herd. Yet we line up and vote for them again — then cry later when the calf comes out weak.
In the village, a foolish farmer is the one who complains every season that his calves are weak, but keeps using the same bull. People laugh at him. They say, “He is the cause of his own problems.” But in politics, we do the same thing and call it democracy. We forget that democracy without wisdom is like farming without knowledge — it gives poor harvests.
Our problem is not that we lack good land. Our problem is not that we lack cows. Our problem is not that the bulls are few. Our problem is that we refuse to change the bull. We keep believing the lies, the songs, and the gifts. We keep saying, “Maybe this time the same bull will do better.” But that is not how life works. A weak bull remains a weak bull. A dishonest bull remains a dishonest bull. Until we learn to change the bull we will continue to complain about the calves we get.
This book is born from that simple truth. It is written for every farmer, every mother, every youth, and every old man who has ever asked, “Why do things never change?” It is written in the language of the people — the language of the soil, the farm, and the heart. It is not a book about politics; it is a book about life, about wisdom, and about waking up from sleep.
Because leadership is not far from farming. The same way you prepare your land, plant good seeds, and choose a strong bull for your cow — that is the same way you must prepare your mind, choose your leaders, and plant your vote. If you plant foolishness, you will harvest tears. If you plant wisdom, you will harvest peace and prosperity.
When you think of your village, your county, your state, and your country, remember this: they are your cow. And the leaders you choose are the bulls. The results — the roads, the hospitals, the schools, the economy — are the calves. The choice is yours. So, my dear reader, before you complain about your government, ask yourself, “Who mounted my cow?” Before you cry about corruption, ask yourself, “Which bull did I choose?” Before you give up hope, remember that the power to change the bull is in your hands. Because the truth is simple — until we change the bull, we will never change the calf.
One truth that every villager knows is this: the bull that mates with your cow will determine the calf you will get. We have seen it with our own eyes. A strong bull gives a strong calf. A lazy bull gives a weak calf. A sick bull gives a sickly calf. So, when a farmer wants good calves, he looks carefully at the bull. He does not choose by color or by noise — he looks at the strength, the health, and the history of that bull. Because we all know, the bull determines the future of the herd.
And every farmer also knows something else: if the bull that mated your cow last time did not give you what you wanted, you change it. In our language, we call it kûgarûríra ndume — changing the bull. It means you are wise enough not to repeat the same mistake. You want better results, so you change what caused the poor ones. It is a lesson of life, not just of farming. It is simple, yet powerful.
But sadly, this same wisdom that fills our farms disappears when it comes to our village leadership. The same people who know how to change a bull that gives a weak calf, forget to change the leaders who give them poverty, broken roads, empty schools, and suffering. The same people who cannot tolerate a weak bull will tolerate a weak leader. The same farmers who know how to choose bulls wisely will still vote for the same “bulls” who have already failed them. And that is the tragedy of our time.
We cry about the poor calf — the bad schools, the lack of jobs, the high prices, and the sickness that fills our clinics — but we forget to ask ourselves which bull mounted our cow. We forget that the bull represents our choice. The calf is the result of our decision. The cow is our land, our village, our country. It gives milk, it feeds us, but it also depends on us to choose the right bull for its future.
You see, our cow — the land we love — cannot choose the bull for itself. It is the owner who makes that decision. And we, the people, are the owners. Every election season, we take our cow to the market of bulls. The bulls come dressed in suits and smiles. They shout their promises, they sing songs, they dance with us, they buy drinks, and we laugh. But we forget to ask: “What kind of calf will this bull give us?”
We forget to check if the bull has ever produced a healthy calf before. We forget to check if it can even stand on its own legs. Some of them are tired bulls, too old and too lazy to serve. Others are greedy bulls who only mount the cow for their own pleasure, not to bring life to the herd. Yet we line up and vote for them again — then cry later when the calf comes out weak.
In the village, a foolish farmer is the one who complains every season that his calves are weak, but keeps using the same bull. People laugh at him. They say, “He is the cause of his own problems.” But in politics, we do the same thing and call it democracy. We forget that democracy without wisdom is like farming without knowledge — it gives poor harvests.
Our problem is not that we lack good land. Our problem is not that we lack cows. Our problem is not that the bulls are few. Our problem is that we refuse to change the bull. We keep believing the lies, the songs, and the gifts. We keep saying, “Maybe this time the same bull will do better.” But that is not how life works. A weak bull remains a weak bull. A dishonest bull remains a dishonest bull. Until we learn to change the bull we will continue to complain about the calves we get.
This book is born from that simple truth. It is written for every farmer, every mother, every youth, and every old man who has ever asked, “Why do things never change?” It is written in the language of the people — the language of the soil, the farm, and the heart. It is not a book about politics; it is a book about life, about wisdom, and about waking up from sleep.
Because leadership is not far from farming. The same way you prepare your land, plant good seeds, and choose a strong bull for your cow — that is the same way you must prepare your mind, choose your leaders, and plant your vote. If you plant foolishness, you will harvest tears. If you plant wisdom, you will harvest peace and prosperity.
When you think of your village, your county, your state, and your country, remember this: they are your cow. And the leaders you choose are the bulls. The results — the roads, the hospitals, the schools, the economy — are the calves. The choice is yours. So, my dear reader, before you complain about your government, ask yourself, “Who mounted my cow?” Before you cry about corruption, ask yourself, “Which bull did I choose?” Before you give up hope, remember that the power to change the bull is in your hands. Because the truth is simple — until we change the bull, we will never change the calf.
