Ou ikhiye Khalai. Ali namyaka itanu nayivali yakusemuka. Lijina lyenyi lyalumbunuka “wamwaza” mulilimi lyenyi, Lubukusu.
This is Khalai. She is seven years old. Her name means ‘the good one’ in her language, Lubukusu.
Khalai mwahinduka nakuhanjika kumutondo wamamalalanja. “Ove mutondo wamalalanja, kola mangana utuhane malalanja akuhya amavulu.”
Khalai wakes up and talks to the orange tree. “Please orange tree, grow big and give us lots of ripe oranges.”
Khalai mwaya kushikola. Mujila mwahanjika namwila. “Ove mwila, twalililaho kukola kaha kanda naumako.”
Khalai walks to school. On the way she talks to the grass. “Please grass, grow greener and don’t dry up.”
Khalai mwahita kujithemo jamuchipapa. “Enu jithemo, twalilenuho kusoloka kanawa mangana ngumihake mujikhambu jami.”
Khalai passes wild flowers. “Please flowers, keep blooming so I can put you in my hair.”
Hashikola, Khalai mwahanjika namutondo wahakachi kasenge. “Ove mutondo, soka mithango yayinene mangana tutangilenga mumuvule wove.”
At school, Khalai talks to the tree in the middle of the compound. “Please tree, put out big branches so we can read under your shade.”
Khalai mwahanjika nangiza yahashikola. “Ove ngiza likolezeze mangana uhonese vathu vavapi kwingila mukachi.”
Khalai talks to the hedge around her school. “Please grow strong and stop bad people from coming in.”
Khalai omu mwahiluka kwimbo kufuma kushikola, mwatambukila mutondo wamalalanja. Khalai mwahulisa, “Malalanja ove anahi lyehi tahi?”
When Khalai returns home from school, she visits the orange tree. “Are your oranges ripe yet?” asks Khalai.
“Malalanja achili amavisu,” Khalai mwahizumuka. “Nangukumona hamene ove mutondo wamalalanja,” Khalai mwahanjika. “Phamo kuheta haze naupwa nalilalanja lyakuhya lyakunguhana!”
“The oranges are still green,” sighs Khalai. “I will see you tomorrow orange tree,” says Khalai. “Perhaps then you will have a ripe orange for me!”
