In September, a fine drizzle fell from the skies over northwestern East Africa.
Bukoba, a small fishing village on the western shore of the Great Lake, Lake Victoria, lay under the rule of the Kingdom of Karagwe.
Ripples danced across the lake as the water gently lapped at the damp earth along the shore. The fine rain fell into the lake without stirring even a single wave.
Morning came, yet the sun had not risen. Still, dawn light spilled over the horizon, tinting the sky west of Bukoba Village.
Hazy water mist mingled with rain as fine as cow hair. A gust of cold wind swept through, icy and damp, and beneath the murky sky, Bukoba Village seemed steeped in sorrow.
As a village, Bukoba had a primitive layout. Upon entering, one could see a ring of outer fencing woven from vines and mud, its surface thick with moss, low and mottled after enduring wind and rain.
Inside the fence stood homes built around semicircular frames of vines and branches, a little over a meter high. Banana leaves and other plant leaves were laid over them to shield against wind and rain.
At the center of the village stood an altar, a circle formed from stones of varying sizes. It was where villagers usually gathered for events.
Behind the altar stood the homes of the chief and elders. Other than being slightly taller than the villagers' homes, they held nothing remarkable. This was roughly the shape of the entire village.
With a population of more than a hundred, Bukoba Village mainly relied on fishing for survival, sustained by the abundant fishery resources of the Great Lake, Lake Victoria.
The people of Bukoba felled trees along the shore, most of them thick enough to wrap both arms around. They hollowed out