Every farmer knows the power of the bull. The bull may not give milk, but it decides what kind of calves fill your kraal. It carries the seed of tomorrow. That is why, in our village, people treat the bull with respect — but also with caution. A bull that behaves well can grow the herd. A bull that behaves badly can destroy it.
The bull is strong, proud, and loud. It walks with heavy steps, its shoulders broad, its neck full of power. When it bellows, even the trees seem to listen. But strength without discipline is danger. The same horns that protect can also kill. So a wise farmer keeps an eye on his bull. He ties it when it grows wild. He sells it when it becomes dangerous. Because he knows — the bull is meant to serve, not to rule. That is the part many people forget.
In the same way, leaders are the bulls of our village, our county, our nation. We choose them to serve a purpose — to bring life, to protect, to lead. We do not elect them to become masters over us. We do not choose them to own the cow. We choose them to mount the cow for a season — to give life to our future through good decisions, fair judgment, and honest service. But once a bull mounts the cow, something changes in the air. Suddenly, it feels powerful. It walks differently. It looks around as if it owns the field. It forgets that the cow belongs to the farmer. It starts kicking dust, chasing other cows, and breaking fences. And the farmer, instead of stopping it, stands there smiling, clapping, saying, “Look at my strong bull.” By the time he wakes up, the bull has destroyed the field. That is what happens when the people forget their power. They start praising the bull instead of watching it. They sing songs, carry banners, and dance for it. They forget that its strength comes from their choice — that without the people, the bull is just another animal.
When a bull is chosen, the farmer must watch what it does. Is it caring for the cow? Is it giving strong calves? Is it feeding or destroying? If it misbehaves, the farmer must act quickly. But if the farmer just watches and hopes it will change, he will lose everything.
The bull that mounts the cow represents power — political power, leadership power, decision-making power. Power, by its nature, is like fire. If used well, it cooks your food. If used carelessly, it burns your house. So when we give someone power, we must stay awake. We must not sleep and dream that the bull will discipline itself. No bull does that. Only the farmer can keep it in check.
A good bull respects the cow. It does not harm it. It does not bite or kick. It knows its role and performs it with dignity. A good leader is the same. He serves the people with humility. He does not use his position to exploit, to steal, or to destroy. He understands that leadership is not about enjoyment but about responsibility. But a bad bull is another story.
A bad bull mounts roughly. It bruises the cow. It thinks the field is its kingdom. It chases the calves and breaks the troughs. It eats the feed meant for the herd. That is how bad leaders behave. They take everything — the wealth, the opportunities, even the hope — and leave the people dry and tired. And still, we keep them. Still, we praise them. Still, we say, “At least it is our bull.” But what is the use of a bull that brings no life? What is the use of a leader who brings no progress?
A wise farmer does not care if the bull comes from his clan or from the next village. He cares only for results. He asks, “Did this bull give me a strong calf last season?” If the answer is no, then it must go. The same rule must apply to leadership. We must judge by results, not by noise, tribe, or friendship. If the roads are still broken, the schools still empty, the hospitals still crying — then the bull has failed. No amount of praise will change that.
One evening, as the sun was setting, I watched a bull mount a cow in our field. The bull was strong but careless. It slipped, stumbled, and almost fell. The cow mooed in pain. The old man beside me shook his head. “That bull has power but no wisdom,” he said. “It will give you a calf, yes, but not the one you hoped for.” And that is the story of many of our leaders — power without wisdom, noise without results, movement without direction. They have energy, but it is wasted. They shout, but they do not listen. They promise, but they do not deliver. And we, the people, stand and clap, saying, “At least it is trying.” But trying is not enough. A bull is chosen to produce. A leader is chosen to perform.
Let me tell you something else: when a bull mounts too often without rest, it grows weak. Its strength fades, and it begins to stumble. The wise farmer gives it a break, or replaces it with a younger, stronger one. But in our world, some bulls refuse to rest. They mount the same cow again and again, year after year, decade after decade. They grow tired, but they still hold on. They no longer give life, but they refuse to step aside. And the cow — our nation — suffers in silence. That is why change is important.
No matter how great a bull once was, its time will pass. The field needs renewal. The herd needs fresh blood. That is how life works. The old bull must step aside for the new one. That is not disrespect; it is nature. Even the sun knows when to set. Even the river knows when to rest. But some leaders cling to power like a greedy bull that refuses to leave the cow. They think the farm will collapse without them. They do not realize that the strength of the herd lies in diversity — in new ideas, new energy, and new hope.
We, the farmers, must be brave enough to separate the cow when the bull overstays. We must say, “Enough.” Not out of hate, but out of love for the cow.
Sometimes people fear to speak against the bull because of its horns. They say, “It is dangerous. It can harm us.” But even the strongest bull fears the rope in the farmer’s hand. The rope is the people’s power — the vote, the voice, the unity. When people stand together, no bull can overpower them. That is the rope we must learn to use again.
A good bull leaves behind a legacy of strong calves. People remember it with honor. They say, “That bull gave us strength.” A bad bull leaves behind a trail of weakness. People whisper its name with regret. They say, “That bull destroyed the herd.” In the same way, good leaders leave behind schools, hospitals, justice, and peace. Bad leaders leave behind debt, division, and sorrow. We must learn to tell the difference.
Every bull makes noise, but not every bull gives results. Every politician speaks, but not every politician delivers. Some bulls show strength only in the market — where people are watching — but become lazy once in the field. Others look small and humble, but when given a chance, they prove themselves with real work. That is why we must not choose by appearance. We must look at the record, not the color.
A farmer who chooses a bull by its color is a fool. The same is true for a voter who chooses a leader by tribe, name, or song. What matters is the fruit — the calf. The bull that mounts the cow is not just an animal; it is a lesson. It reminds us that every act of leadership leaves a result. Every decision made from the top touches the life of the people. If the bull is lazy, the calf will be weak. If the leader is corrupt, the country will be poor. If the bull is strong, disciplined, and caring, the herd will flourish.
The bull is strong, proud, and loud. It walks with heavy steps, its shoulders broad, its neck full of power. When it bellows, even the trees seem to listen. But strength without discipline is danger. The same horns that protect can also kill. So a wise farmer keeps an eye on his bull. He ties it when it grows wild. He sells it when it becomes dangerous. Because he knows — the bull is meant to serve, not to rule. That is the part many people forget.
In the same way, leaders are the bulls of our village, our county, our nation. We choose them to serve a purpose — to bring life, to protect, to lead. We do not elect them to become masters over us. We do not choose them to own the cow. We choose them to mount the cow for a season — to give life to our future through good decisions, fair judgment, and honest service. But once a bull mounts the cow, something changes in the air. Suddenly, it feels powerful. It walks differently. It looks around as if it owns the field. It forgets that the cow belongs to the farmer. It starts kicking dust, chasing other cows, and breaking fences. And the farmer, instead of stopping it, stands there smiling, clapping, saying, “Look at my strong bull.” By the time he wakes up, the bull has destroyed the field. That is what happens when the people forget their power. They start praising the bull instead of watching it. They sing songs, carry banners, and dance for it. They forget that its strength comes from their choice — that without the people, the bull is just another animal.
When a bull is chosen, the farmer must watch what it does. Is it caring for the cow? Is it giving strong calves? Is it feeding or destroying? If it misbehaves, the farmer must act quickly. But if the farmer just watches and hopes it will change, he will lose everything.
The bull that mounts the cow represents power — political power, leadership power, decision-making power. Power, by its nature, is like fire. If used well, it cooks your food. If used carelessly, it burns your house. So when we give someone power, we must stay awake. We must not sleep and dream that the bull will discipline itself. No bull does that. Only the farmer can keep it in check.
A good bull respects the cow. It does not harm it. It does not bite or kick. It knows its role and performs it with dignity. A good leader is the same. He serves the people with humility. He does not use his position to exploit, to steal, or to destroy. He understands that leadership is not about enjoyment but about responsibility. But a bad bull is another story.
A bad bull mounts roughly. It bruises the cow. It thinks the field is its kingdom. It chases the calves and breaks the troughs. It eats the feed meant for the herd. That is how bad leaders behave. They take everything — the wealth, the opportunities, even the hope — and leave the people dry and tired. And still, we keep them. Still, we praise them. Still, we say, “At least it is our bull.” But what is the use of a bull that brings no life? What is the use of a leader who brings no progress?
A wise farmer does not care if the bull comes from his clan or from the next village. He cares only for results. He asks, “Did this bull give me a strong calf last season?” If the answer is no, then it must go. The same rule must apply to leadership. We must judge by results, not by noise, tribe, or friendship. If the roads are still broken, the schools still empty, the hospitals still crying — then the bull has failed. No amount of praise will change that.
One evening, as the sun was setting, I watched a bull mount a cow in our field. The bull was strong but careless. It slipped, stumbled, and almost fell. The cow mooed in pain. The old man beside me shook his head. “That bull has power but no wisdom,” he said. “It will give you a calf, yes, but not the one you hoped for.” And that is the story of many of our leaders — power without wisdom, noise without results, movement without direction. They have energy, but it is wasted. They shout, but they do not listen. They promise, but they do not deliver. And we, the people, stand and clap, saying, “At least it is trying.” But trying is not enough. A bull is chosen to produce. A leader is chosen to perform.
Let me tell you something else: when a bull mounts too often without rest, it grows weak. Its strength fades, and it begins to stumble. The wise farmer gives it a break, or replaces it with a younger, stronger one. But in our world, some bulls refuse to rest. They mount the same cow again and again, year after year, decade after decade. They grow tired, but they still hold on. They no longer give life, but they refuse to step aside. And the cow — our nation — suffers in silence. That is why change is important.
No matter how great a bull once was, its time will pass. The field needs renewal. The herd needs fresh blood. That is how life works. The old bull must step aside for the new one. That is not disrespect; it is nature. Even the sun knows when to set. Even the river knows when to rest. But some leaders cling to power like a greedy bull that refuses to leave the cow. They think the farm will collapse without them. They do not realize that the strength of the herd lies in diversity — in new ideas, new energy, and new hope.
We, the farmers, must be brave enough to separate the cow when the bull overstays. We must say, “Enough.” Not out of hate, but out of love for the cow.
Sometimes people fear to speak against the bull because of its horns. They say, “It is dangerous. It can harm us.” But even the strongest bull fears the rope in the farmer’s hand. The rope is the people’s power — the vote, the voice, the unity. When people stand together, no bull can overpower them. That is the rope we must learn to use again.
A good bull leaves behind a legacy of strong calves. People remember it with honor. They say, “That bull gave us strength.” A bad bull leaves behind a trail of weakness. People whisper its name with regret. They say, “That bull destroyed the herd.” In the same way, good leaders leave behind schools, hospitals, justice, and peace. Bad leaders leave behind debt, division, and sorrow. We must learn to tell the difference.
Every bull makes noise, but not every bull gives results. Every politician speaks, but not every politician delivers. Some bulls show strength only in the market — where people are watching — but become lazy once in the field. Others look small and humble, but when given a chance, they prove themselves with real work. That is why we must not choose by appearance. We must look at the record, not the color.
A farmer who chooses a bull by its color is a fool. The same is true for a voter who chooses a leader by tribe, name, or song. What matters is the fruit — the calf. The bull that mounts the cow is not just an animal; it is a lesson. It reminds us that every act of leadership leaves a result. Every decision made from the top touches the life of the people. If the bull is lazy, the calf will be weak. If the leader is corrupt, the country will be poor. If the bull is strong, disciplined, and caring, the herd will flourish.
So, my friends, when you hear people shouting about politics, do not get lost in their noise. Ask only one question: “Which bull is mounting the cow?” Because that single question tells the whole story. If the wrong bull is on top, the right calf will never be born. And remember — the bull does not mount forever. Every season ends. Another begins. The farmer decides who stays and who goes. That is the wisdom that keeps the herd alive. If the bull serves well, keep it. If it fails, replace it. That is not cruelty; it is sense. Because in the end, it is not the bull that suffers — it is those who depend on the cow. And the cow, my friend, is our village, county and nation.
