In every village, the farmer owns the cow. The cow gives milk, bears calves, and keeps the family alive. The bull only serves for a season. It comes, it mounts, and it leaves its seed. It does not own the cow. It does not own the field. It does not own the milk. The farmer owns everything—the cow, the shed, the land, and the decision.
That is why, when the bull fails, the farmer changes it. No one can stop him. Because the power is his. Yet somehow, in our world today, we have forgotten that truth.
We act as if the bull owns us—as if we were the cows.
We bow, we beg, we wait for permission, and we forget that the farmer has the final word.
My brothers and sisters, hear me clearly: the power to change the bull belongs to the people. No one can take it from you unless you give it away. Not the bull, not the song, not the bribe, not the threat. You were born with that power, and your fathers fought for it. But power is like a tool—it only works when you use it.
In the village, a wise farmer never leaves his cows alone for too long. He checks them every morning, walks around the pen, listens to their sounds. He knows their moods. He can tell when one is sick, when one is ready to mate, or when one is unhappy. He does not sleep through the season and wake up only when the calves die. He stays alert.
That is how citizens must behave. We must be watchful owners of our cow—our country. We must not close our eyes and complain later. We must not sell our vote and cry afterward. We must not trade our power for gifts and expect respect in return. Because when you sell your power, you also sell your voice. And when you lose your voice, even your cow stops listening to you.
The power to change the bull is not just about voting; it is about awakening. It is about understanding that leaders serve, not rule. It is about realizing that silence feeds corruption, and unity defeats it. It is about remembering that when the people stand together, even the strongest bull bows.
In my village, when a bull misbehaves—when it kicks the cows or destroys fences—the farmers do not fight it alone. They call a njama—a gathering of elders. Each man brings his voice, each woman brings her truth. They speak, they decide, and they act together. And the bull, no matter how fierce, is removed. It may roar, it may resist, but once the farmers agree, it must go. That is how power works—it grows when shared. When people stand together, they cannot be ignored. But when the farmers are divided, the bull grows proud. It learns to play one against the other. It says to one, “You are my friend.” To another, “You are my enemy.” And as they argue, it mounts the cow again.
By the time they realize it, another weak calf has been born.
So, my brothers and sisters, unity is the rope that tames the bull. No single farmer can pull it alone. But together, we can lead it anywhere. The power to change the bull begins in the mind. You must first believe that you deserve better. A man who thinks he deserves nothing will accept anything. A woman who believes her voice does not matter will remain silent even when the cow cries. Change begins the day you realize that silence is not peace—it is surrender.
When I was young, my grandmother told me a story. He said that long ago, there was a stubborn bull in the village. It was strong but cruel. It kicked the cows, broke the troughs, and scared the children. Everyone feared it. No one dared to go near. The owner, too, was afraid. He said, “This bull is too strong for me.” One day, an old woman came from the neighboring ridge. She watched quietly, then said, “The bull is only strong because you feed it.”That night, the farmer stopped feeding it. Within a few days, the bull grew weak, calm, and finally bowed its head. The lesson was simple: what you feed grows; what you starve dies.
Leaders grow powerful because we feed them—feed them with our fear, our silence, our praise, our ignorance. We allow them to believe they own the cow. But when we stop feeding them—when we stop clapping, stop fearing, stop excusing—their power fades. They become what they truly are: servants on our land.
Changing the bull does not always mean rebellion; it means responsibility. It means knowing when to say, “Enough.” It means using the tools of wisdom—your vote, your unity, your courage—to make a better choice. It means refusing to be bought by sugar, blankets, or songs. Because your cow is worth more than that. Your future is worth more than that.
When election season comes, that is the season of power. It is like harvest time. Every farmer knows that harvest is sacred—you must not waste it. If you are careless, you will go hungry until the next season. The same is true with your vote. Use it wisely, or you will regret it for years.
Some people say, “What difference can my one vote make?” I say, “Ask the farmer whose one cow survived the drought.” One cow can rebuild a herd. One seed can start a forest. One vote can change a nation. Never underestimate your power. The problem is not that people lack power; it is that they forget they have it.
The power to change the bull also means the power to hold it accountable. After you choose it, do not go to sleep. Keep watch. Ask questions. Demand results. When a bull knows the farmer is watching, it behaves. When it thinks the farmer is asleep, it grows careless. The leaders we choose must feel our eyes on them—firm, fair, and constant.
In our village, when a bull misbehaves, its owner does not beat the cows. He faces the bull. He says, “This is my herd, not yours.” That is the spirit we need. Stop fighting each other; face the real problem. Our problem is not the tribe of the bull; it is its character. Our problem is not where it came from; it is what it does when it reaches the kraal.
The cow belongs to all of us. It feeds all of us.
So the decision to change the bull must come from all of us. I know change is not easy. It takes courage to challenge habit, to break fear, to speak truth. But nothing grows in comfort. The same way a farmer sweats in the sun to harvest grain, we must sweat a little to harvest justice. We must plant courage, weed out corruption, and water the field with unity. When the farmers of the village agree, even the sky listens. When the people of a nation agree, no power can silence them. Because the true power does not rest in the bull; it rests in the hands that choose it.
My brothers and sisters, the day you realize that your vote is your rope, you will stop bowing. The day you realize that your unity is your fence, you will stop fearing. The day you realize that your wisdom is your seed, you will stop begging. That is the day your cow will stand tall again. That is the day your calves will grow strong. That is the day the land will sing.
The power to change the bull has always been yours. Use it. Protect it. Teach it to your children. Because if you forget it, the bulls will take over the field. They will fight, mount, and destroy until there is nothing left. But if you remember it—if you stand, speak, and act with courage—the farm will flourish again. The cows will feed, the calves will play, and the farmers will smile once more.
And when the next season comes, you will not fear the market. You will walk there with confidence, knowing that you, the farmer, hold the final power—the power to choose, the power to change, the power to shape your future. Because in the end, my friends, the truth remains simple: the bull may be strong, but the hand that chooses it is stronger.
That is why, when the bull fails, the farmer changes it. No one can stop him. Because the power is his. Yet somehow, in our world today, we have forgotten that truth.
We act as if the bull owns us—as if we were the cows.
We bow, we beg, we wait for permission, and we forget that the farmer has the final word.
My brothers and sisters, hear me clearly: the power to change the bull belongs to the people. No one can take it from you unless you give it away. Not the bull, not the song, not the bribe, not the threat. You were born with that power, and your fathers fought for it. But power is like a tool—it only works when you use it.
In the village, a wise farmer never leaves his cows alone for too long. He checks them every morning, walks around the pen, listens to their sounds. He knows their moods. He can tell when one is sick, when one is ready to mate, or when one is unhappy. He does not sleep through the season and wake up only when the calves die. He stays alert.
That is how citizens must behave. We must be watchful owners of our cow—our country. We must not close our eyes and complain later. We must not sell our vote and cry afterward. We must not trade our power for gifts and expect respect in return. Because when you sell your power, you also sell your voice. And when you lose your voice, even your cow stops listening to you.
The power to change the bull is not just about voting; it is about awakening. It is about understanding that leaders serve, not rule. It is about realizing that silence feeds corruption, and unity defeats it. It is about remembering that when the people stand together, even the strongest bull bows.
In my village, when a bull misbehaves—when it kicks the cows or destroys fences—the farmers do not fight it alone. They call a njama—a gathering of elders. Each man brings his voice, each woman brings her truth. They speak, they decide, and they act together. And the bull, no matter how fierce, is removed. It may roar, it may resist, but once the farmers agree, it must go. That is how power works—it grows when shared. When people stand together, they cannot be ignored. But when the farmers are divided, the bull grows proud. It learns to play one against the other. It says to one, “You are my friend.” To another, “You are my enemy.” And as they argue, it mounts the cow again.
By the time they realize it, another weak calf has been born.
So, my brothers and sisters, unity is the rope that tames the bull. No single farmer can pull it alone. But together, we can lead it anywhere. The power to change the bull begins in the mind. You must first believe that you deserve better. A man who thinks he deserves nothing will accept anything. A woman who believes her voice does not matter will remain silent even when the cow cries. Change begins the day you realize that silence is not peace—it is surrender.
When I was young, my grandmother told me a story. He said that long ago, there was a stubborn bull in the village. It was strong but cruel. It kicked the cows, broke the troughs, and scared the children. Everyone feared it. No one dared to go near. The owner, too, was afraid. He said, “This bull is too strong for me.” One day, an old woman came from the neighboring ridge. She watched quietly, then said, “The bull is only strong because you feed it.”That night, the farmer stopped feeding it. Within a few days, the bull grew weak, calm, and finally bowed its head. The lesson was simple: what you feed grows; what you starve dies.
Leaders grow powerful because we feed them—feed them with our fear, our silence, our praise, our ignorance. We allow them to believe they own the cow. But when we stop feeding them—when we stop clapping, stop fearing, stop excusing—their power fades. They become what they truly are: servants on our land.
Changing the bull does not always mean rebellion; it means responsibility. It means knowing when to say, “Enough.” It means using the tools of wisdom—your vote, your unity, your courage—to make a better choice. It means refusing to be bought by sugar, blankets, or songs. Because your cow is worth more than that. Your future is worth more than that.
When election season comes, that is the season of power. It is like harvest time. Every farmer knows that harvest is sacred—you must not waste it. If you are careless, you will go hungry until the next season. The same is true with your vote. Use it wisely, or you will regret it for years.
Some people say, “What difference can my one vote make?” I say, “Ask the farmer whose one cow survived the drought.” One cow can rebuild a herd. One seed can start a forest. One vote can change a nation. Never underestimate your power. The problem is not that people lack power; it is that they forget they have it.
The power to change the bull also means the power to hold it accountable. After you choose it, do not go to sleep. Keep watch. Ask questions. Demand results. When a bull knows the farmer is watching, it behaves. When it thinks the farmer is asleep, it grows careless. The leaders we choose must feel our eyes on them—firm, fair, and constant.
In our village, when a bull misbehaves, its owner does not beat the cows. He faces the bull. He says, “This is my herd, not yours.” That is the spirit we need. Stop fighting each other; face the real problem. Our problem is not the tribe of the bull; it is its character. Our problem is not where it came from; it is what it does when it reaches the kraal.
The cow belongs to all of us. It feeds all of us.
So the decision to change the bull must come from all of us. I know change is not easy. It takes courage to challenge habit, to break fear, to speak truth. But nothing grows in comfort. The same way a farmer sweats in the sun to harvest grain, we must sweat a little to harvest justice. We must plant courage, weed out corruption, and water the field with unity. When the farmers of the village agree, even the sky listens. When the people of a nation agree, no power can silence them. Because the true power does not rest in the bull; it rests in the hands that choose it.
My brothers and sisters, the day you realize that your vote is your rope, you will stop bowing. The day you realize that your unity is your fence, you will stop fearing. The day you realize that your wisdom is your seed, you will stop begging. That is the day your cow will stand tall again. That is the day your calves will grow strong. That is the day the land will sing.
The power to change the bull has always been yours. Use it. Protect it. Teach it to your children. Because if you forget it, the bulls will take over the field. They will fight, mount, and destroy until there is nothing left. But if you remember it—if you stand, speak, and act with courage—the farm will flourish again. The cows will feed, the calves will play, and the farmers will smile once more.
And when the next season comes, you will not fear the market. You will walk there with confidence, knowing that you, the farmer, hold the final power—the power to choose, the power to change, the power to shape your future. Because in the end, my friends, the truth remains simple: the bull may be strong, but the hand that chooses it is stronger.
