Every year, when the dry season ends and the rains begin to whisper over the hills, our village holds the market of bulls. It is a day of color and noise. From all corners of the valley, men bring their bulls to the open ground near the big fig tree. The animals stand proudly, tails flicking, horns shining in the morning sun. Dust fills the air, and the sound of bells, shouts, and laughter mixes like music.
To the eyes, it looks like a celebration. But to the wise, it is a day of decisions. Because the bull you choose at the market will shape your next harvest. It will determine the strength of your herd, the quality of your calves, and the peace of your nights.
Some bulls stand tall and calm. Others are restless, kicking, showing off. The owners boast loudly, each one swearing that his bull is the best. “Look at its muscles!” one shouts. “See how it stands! Feel how heavy it is!” They praise their bulls the same way politicians praise themselves before elections. And just like at the market, many people are fooled by the show.
There is always that one bull that steals the crowd. It bellows loudly, charges at the fence, and the people cheer. “That is the one!” they shout. “Look at its strength!” But the wise farmers do not clap. They watch quietly. They know that a noisy bull is not always a strong one. Sometimes the loudest bull is hiding the biggest weakness.
In the same way, during election time, the market of bulls comes alive in our towns and villages. Posters cover the walls, music fills the air, and promises flow like rain. Everyone claims to be the strongest, the most faithful, the most experienced. They wave from cars, shake hands, and dance in our markets. And the people, like buyers at the cattle fair, gather around—some out of curiosity, some out of hope, others out of habit. But here is the truth: the market of bulls is not the time to clap; it is the time to think.
In our real cattle market, a wise farmer carries a small stick and a sharp eye. He walks slowly around the bulls, tapping here, checking there, asking questions. He does not let noise distract him. He inspects the legs for scars, the eyes for honesty, the tail for cleanliness. He even checks the teeth to see how old the bull really is. Because in the market, sellers can talk, but the body does not lie.
That is how we must treat our political markets too. Every election season is a market of bulls. Leaders will come dressed in new suits, covered in words, polished by advisors. They will speak about milk and honey, about change and unity. But the wise voter must look beneath the coat. He must check the record, the character, the history.
Ask yourself: “Where was this man when we were suffering?” “What has he done with the opportunities he had before?” “Does he speak with honesty, or does he twist his words like a snake in the grass?” “Does he serve himself, or does he serve the cow—the people?” Because some bulls come to the market not to work but to be worshiped. They want the praise, not the responsibility. They want to enjoy the cow without feeding it. Such bulls are dangerous. Once you take them home, they will destroy your fence, fight your cows, and waste your feed.
In our village market, there are always a few farmers who fall for tricks. A bull seller might sprinkle water on his animal to make its coat shine. He might tie a bell to its neck to distract buyers. He might even push it forward to make it look strong. And when someone buys it, he walks home proudly, only to discover later that the bull limps or refuses to work. The same thing happens in politics. Some leaders borrow shine. They speak big words, borrow fancy titles, and appear powerful for a season. But once you elect them, they forget every promise. By then, the damage is done. The bull is already in the kraal.
That is why wise farmers do not buy alone. They go in groups. One checks the legs, another checks the eyes, another asks about the bull’s past. Together they decide. In the same way, we must not vote blindly or alone. We must talk to each other, share wisdom, compare notes. Because the bull that one man chooses will mount everyone’s cow. The result affects all of us.
Sometimes, in the market, a new farmer comes with excitement. He buys the first bull he sees, thinking, “I have found the best!” But the old men just smile. They know that the market is full of surprises. A bull that looks fine in the morning can show its true nature by evening. That is why patience is a farmer’s best friend. A man who listens more than he talks always goes home with a better bull. The same should be true of the voter. Do not be the first to cheer. Do not rush to wear colors and shout slogans. Watch, listen, think. A wise voter is like a wise farmer—slow to decide, but sure in his choice.
In the market, there are also bulls that are ignored. They stand quietly in the corner, chewing grass, not attracting much attention. The sellers of noisy bulls mock them. “Look at that one—so dull, so quiet!” they say. But when the wise farmer comes, he sees strength in the calmness. He sees wisdom in the silence. He chooses the quiet one. And later, that bull gives the best calves. In the same way, good leaders may not always be loud. They may not have money for posters or music. But they work silently, faithfully, doing good where no one is watching. It takes a sharp eye and a brave heart to see them. They may not buy you a drink, but they will build you a road. They may not dance in the market, but they will deliver when the rains come. The market of bulls teaches us this: what glitters is not always gold, and what is quiet is not always weak. That lesson, if we remember it, can save our country.
After the market ends, the dust settles. Some farmers walk home with strong bulls. Others walk home with regret. You can always tell the difference by their faces. The ones who chose with wisdom walk tall. The ones who chose with emotion walk in silence, hoping their mistake will somehow turn into a miracle. But it never does.
In the same way, when the elections are over, some people smile, others cry. Some celebrate their new calf; others complain that the milk is sour. But by then, the choice is done. The bull is already home, the cow already mounted. Regret cannot change results. That is why the time to think is before, not after. The time to choose is now, not when it’s too late. The time to be wise is in the market, not in the kraal.
Every election is our market of bulls. Every vote is a decision for the future. And every promise is like a shout in that dusty field—loud, but fading with the wind. Only results remain. Only calves tell the truth.
So, when the next market comes, my brothers and sisters, walk there as a wise farmer walks to the cattle fair. Do not let noise guide your choice. Do not let hunger for quick gifts blind your eyes. Do not let tribe or friendship cloud your mind. Go there with clear eyes and steady heart.
Look at the bulls. Listen to their owners. Ask questions. Think long. Because the bull you take home will decide what kind of calves your children will inherit. And remember—once the cow is mounted, there is no turning back until the season ends.
So choose wisely in the market of bulls. Choose with wisdom, not excitement. Choose with vision, not emotion. Choose with courage, not fear. Because the future of your herd, your field, your children, and your nation depends on that single decision. The market will always be there. Bulls will always come and go. But the herd is yours forever. Guard it with sense, and feed it with wisdom.
To the eyes, it looks like a celebration. But to the wise, it is a day of decisions. Because the bull you choose at the market will shape your next harvest. It will determine the strength of your herd, the quality of your calves, and the peace of your nights.
Some bulls stand tall and calm. Others are restless, kicking, showing off. The owners boast loudly, each one swearing that his bull is the best. “Look at its muscles!” one shouts. “See how it stands! Feel how heavy it is!” They praise their bulls the same way politicians praise themselves before elections. And just like at the market, many people are fooled by the show.
There is always that one bull that steals the crowd. It bellows loudly, charges at the fence, and the people cheer. “That is the one!” they shout. “Look at its strength!” But the wise farmers do not clap. They watch quietly. They know that a noisy bull is not always a strong one. Sometimes the loudest bull is hiding the biggest weakness.
In the same way, during election time, the market of bulls comes alive in our towns and villages. Posters cover the walls, music fills the air, and promises flow like rain. Everyone claims to be the strongest, the most faithful, the most experienced. They wave from cars, shake hands, and dance in our markets. And the people, like buyers at the cattle fair, gather around—some out of curiosity, some out of hope, others out of habit. But here is the truth: the market of bulls is not the time to clap; it is the time to think.
In our real cattle market, a wise farmer carries a small stick and a sharp eye. He walks slowly around the bulls, tapping here, checking there, asking questions. He does not let noise distract him. He inspects the legs for scars, the eyes for honesty, the tail for cleanliness. He even checks the teeth to see how old the bull really is. Because in the market, sellers can talk, but the body does not lie.
That is how we must treat our political markets too. Every election season is a market of bulls. Leaders will come dressed in new suits, covered in words, polished by advisors. They will speak about milk and honey, about change and unity. But the wise voter must look beneath the coat. He must check the record, the character, the history.
Ask yourself: “Where was this man when we were suffering?” “What has he done with the opportunities he had before?” “Does he speak with honesty, or does he twist his words like a snake in the grass?” “Does he serve himself, or does he serve the cow—the people?” Because some bulls come to the market not to work but to be worshiped. They want the praise, not the responsibility. They want to enjoy the cow without feeding it. Such bulls are dangerous. Once you take them home, they will destroy your fence, fight your cows, and waste your feed.
In our village market, there are always a few farmers who fall for tricks. A bull seller might sprinkle water on his animal to make its coat shine. He might tie a bell to its neck to distract buyers. He might even push it forward to make it look strong. And when someone buys it, he walks home proudly, only to discover later that the bull limps or refuses to work. The same thing happens in politics. Some leaders borrow shine. They speak big words, borrow fancy titles, and appear powerful for a season. But once you elect them, they forget every promise. By then, the damage is done. The bull is already in the kraal.
That is why wise farmers do not buy alone. They go in groups. One checks the legs, another checks the eyes, another asks about the bull’s past. Together they decide. In the same way, we must not vote blindly or alone. We must talk to each other, share wisdom, compare notes. Because the bull that one man chooses will mount everyone’s cow. The result affects all of us.
Sometimes, in the market, a new farmer comes with excitement. He buys the first bull he sees, thinking, “I have found the best!” But the old men just smile. They know that the market is full of surprises. A bull that looks fine in the morning can show its true nature by evening. That is why patience is a farmer’s best friend. A man who listens more than he talks always goes home with a better bull. The same should be true of the voter. Do not be the first to cheer. Do not rush to wear colors and shout slogans. Watch, listen, think. A wise voter is like a wise farmer—slow to decide, but sure in his choice.
In the market, there are also bulls that are ignored. They stand quietly in the corner, chewing grass, not attracting much attention. The sellers of noisy bulls mock them. “Look at that one—so dull, so quiet!” they say. But when the wise farmer comes, he sees strength in the calmness. He sees wisdom in the silence. He chooses the quiet one. And later, that bull gives the best calves. In the same way, good leaders may not always be loud. They may not have money for posters or music. But they work silently, faithfully, doing good where no one is watching. It takes a sharp eye and a brave heart to see them. They may not buy you a drink, but they will build you a road. They may not dance in the market, but they will deliver when the rains come. The market of bulls teaches us this: what glitters is not always gold, and what is quiet is not always weak. That lesson, if we remember it, can save our country.
After the market ends, the dust settles. Some farmers walk home with strong bulls. Others walk home with regret. You can always tell the difference by their faces. The ones who chose with wisdom walk tall. The ones who chose with emotion walk in silence, hoping their mistake will somehow turn into a miracle. But it never does.
In the same way, when the elections are over, some people smile, others cry. Some celebrate their new calf; others complain that the milk is sour. But by then, the choice is done. The bull is already home, the cow already mounted. Regret cannot change results. That is why the time to think is before, not after. The time to choose is now, not when it’s too late. The time to be wise is in the market, not in the kraal.
Every election is our market of bulls. Every vote is a decision for the future. And every promise is like a shout in that dusty field—loud, but fading with the wind. Only results remain. Only calves tell the truth.
So, when the next market comes, my brothers and sisters, walk there as a wise farmer walks to the cattle fair. Do not let noise guide your choice. Do not let hunger for quick gifts blind your eyes. Do not let tribe or friendship cloud your mind. Go there with clear eyes and steady heart.
Look at the bulls. Listen to their owners. Ask questions. Think long. Because the bull you take home will decide what kind of calves your children will inherit. And remember—once the cow is mounted, there is no turning back until the season ends.
So choose wisely in the market of bulls. Choose with wisdom, not excitement. Choose with vision, not emotion. Choose with courage, not fear. Because the future of your herd, your field, your children, and your nation depends on that single decision. The market will always be there. Bulls will always come and go. But the herd is yours forever. Guard it with sense, and feed it with wisdom.
