KICHI, THE STRIPED KINGFISHER, COULD FEEL THE GRADUAL RISE OF THE HEAVY WINDS PUSH AGAINST HIS NARROW WINGS AS HE STEADILY DESCENDED THROUGH THE THICK FOG. The Crowned Tree’s silhouette slowly emerged in sight, its branches standing firm through the silver-colored breeze. 

Kichi has arrived. 

His syndactyl feet clutched even tighter onto his sack of leaves, rocks, and twigs ensuring the last remaining treasures of the Mugumo tree did not get carried away by the harsh storms in the last second. 

As he flew closer, echoes of a rattling beak could be heard from the tree’s base. 

Korongo, the stork, was waiting for him. 

“Welcome!” Korongo rattled, “How was the journey?” 

Kichi quickly ruffled off the water from his feathers head to tail. 

“I am surprised these winds did not blow me back to Mugumo!” Kichi playfully remarked, “Otherwise I am glad to be here.” 

Not far behind was the arrival of Kwera, the weaver bird. Soaked and shivering, she relentlessly made her way to the two birds. 

“Two already? My...there is a lot to be taught. Follow me.” 

The two strangers glanced at each other, emulating a sense of confusion and comfort that they are both in a new cycle.  

With Korongo in the lead, the three made their way up the Crowned Tree’s thick trunk and fluttered across one of its long branches. 

As Kichi landed, he could feel the soft moisture of the branches’ moss and the pine scent drifting off the leaves. It was almost as if he was rehatching into a new being. 

Nearby, Kwera slowly and cautiously bobbed her head in all directions before stopping at the sight of a narrow hole in the tree trunk beneath the branch they stood on. 

“Are there any nuts we can find in that hole?” she asked. 

Korongo, who had been absentmindedly plucking off little bits of a rough bark, paused and looked up. 

“Sorry?” he asked. 

“The hole down there. “Are there any nuts or seeds one can find? I am a bit hungry after the journey.” 

Korongo paused mid-pluck, tilting his head. 

“Oh, I don’t think I quite understand. Are you asking about the hole below us?”  

Kwera’s red-brown eyes narrowed.

“Yes, she is asking for nuts or seeds. She has not yet eaten,” Kichi trilled. 

Kwera quickly cocked her head to Kichi, further narrowing her eyes, conveying disapproval. 

“Aah, I see,” Korongo rattled. “We use that hole to store food for the drought season. I am afraid you can’t go there. Didn’t you bring any food with you? At least for the next few days?” 

Kwera lowered her head in embarrassment. 

“I can share some of my food with her. I brought enough” Kichi offered. 

“That is very kind of you,” Korongo replied. “Both of you should get some rest. Tomorrow, I will show you around and help you settle in.” 

Korongo moved toward the edge of the branch. Stretching out his cream-colored wings, he soared upward and disappeared into the heavy fog now descending upon the Crowned Tree, eager to engulf every part of its towering presence. 

Kwera hurriedly tore open a large sack with her beak. From it, she pulled bundles of thick elephant grass, and began steadily weaving them together. 

Seeing this, Kichi joined in. 

He plucked out some of the needle leaves from the branch extensions, leaving them bare. Kwera looped the grass around the extensions, forming layered rings that hung slightly beneath the branch. At the bottom, Kichi intertwined Kwera’s woven grass with the twigs he had carried from the Mugumo tree. He passed the loose strands back upward while Kwera tightly knotted them into place. 

At last, the nest was complete.

The brown and yellow spherical-shaped nest stood out vibrantly among the branches, drawing the attention of Mwewe the red-tailed hawk, whose sharp eyesight pierced through the fog and leaves high above.

Proud and astonished, the two birds fluttered inside their new home. 

Sheltered and dry, the two birds quietly nibbled on soaked ground nuts as the fog and wind started to subside. The scent of the dried elephant grass and twigs stirred memories within  Kichi—fast races among his flock toward the Mugumo fig tree, where the winner earned the juiciest locust. 

Eventually Kwera’s thoughts trickled their way to her beak. 

“Why couldn’t he understand me?” She asked. 

Kichi turned to her.  

“Who? The stork?”  

“Yes,” Kwera replied, narrowing her eyes again. 

“It can be difficult hearing in these winds,” Kichi said.

Kwera cocked her head sideways. 

“But yet he heard you?” 

Dumbfounded, Kichi buried his head beneath his left wing, pretending to search for imaginary pine needles among his feathers. 

Noticing the silence, Kwera lifted her gaze toward his spiked, shaggy blue-gray crest. 

“Now that your feathers have dried, I can tell you might be from the rainforests, right?” She cheekily tweeted.  

“Rainforests? Not at all,” Kichi replied. “I don’t even know what kinds of canopies surround this place.”

“The forests north of the Kalahari Desert. The ones with Limba trees… yes?”

“Well… close. I am from the Mugumo tree in the highlands. Dark green grass and cool winds. Whenever it rained, the showers lasted long but stayed gentle. And when the sun returned, the smell of wet grass meant the best time to find juicy earthworms rising from the loam soil.”

Before he could continue, Kichi felt a heaviness gather behind his eyes.

Quietly, Kwera handed him the last two groundnuts with her beak.

“Why did you leave?” she asked in a low whistle.

“The drought,” Kichi answered softly. “When our trees were destroyed, the rains became scarce. Our flocks starved, and the few remaining pollinators either perished or fled. Everything changed.”

He lowered his gaze.

“Baba told me, ‘Kichi, there is nothing left for you young ones here. Fly to the trees with plenty. You can survive there.’”

Kwera ruffled her feathers, trying to trap more warmth against the cold. Perhaps they would need another layer of elephant grass by morning, she thought.

Mimicking her movement, Kichi gently returned the question.

“And you?”

Ruffling her feathers in excitement, Kwera was glad to finally tell Kichi of the Acacia tree under the golden sun. 

“My home is filled with honeycombs yet no honey. Why do you think that is?”  

Kichi slowly shook his head in confusion. Kwera whistled a low tone in disappointment, wishing he attempted several answers to her favorite riddle before accepting defeat. 

“When weaving our nests in the Acacia tree, no branch is left bare. We pick, gather and stack up our nests together, poking hollowed patches here and there for each family. One big nest, different holes. Do you now understand?” 

Kichi lifted his beak, envisioning her comparison, “Aah I now see!” He gleefully whistled.  

He could do with some warm wild honey in this cold.  

Contented, Kwera continued, “I come from a big flock. We are barely alone. I could not enjoy worms by myself without mama letting me know that the hatchlings in the next hole need to be fed as soon as they come out of their eggs. Worms I rightfully deserved after almost getting caught by a snake! Such a pain,” Kwera laughed. 

“There is drought there too, right?” Kichi asked, “Is your flock also starving?” 

Hearing this, Kwera’s whistle sharply rose, “My flock does not starve, Kichi. Don’t insult me.” 

“What? How am I insulting you?” Kichi hopped onto his feet in shock. 

“Our food was scarce, but everyone had something. We were hungry but we never starved.”  

Seeing Kichi’s reaction, she toned back to her natural calm whistle. “A flock only begins to starve when one chooses to eat by himself.” 

“Then why did you fly here alone?” Kichi curiously asked. 

At first, Kwera wanted to lull herself to sleep hoping to avoid Kichi’s question. His prolonged glare, however, was bound to get a fair share of her story.  

“Our honeycomb was not just a home. It was also a source of beauty for other beings to see. We would see many of them pass by the tree to observe our nest. Some would be walking, while others carried around in boxes that had wheels. We didn’t mind them. So long as they would not touch the nest. But one day a group of them came around and set up a fire near us.”  

Kichi’s undeterred gaze solaced Kwera to resurface memories of her lost home. 

“We thought they would leave by morning, but they stayed. All we could hear was their strange base sounds. Our flock debated whether we were to forge on gathering, or yield until they left. One night while we were sleeping...we smelt smoke.”  

Knowing what was to come, Kichi sensed a cold shiver beneath his wings, “Did they burn the nest down?” 

She nodded. “I never saw flames spread so fast before. What took us years to weave, all gone in one night. Mama, my brothers, and I survived the fire, but it displaced us. They’re not here because of her broken wing.” 

Kwera lowered her beak. 

“When I was told of the Crowned Tree, I flew here to seek shelter so they can join me once she heals. I don’t know how long it will be, but we all need to start somewhere.” 

Kichi hummed in agreement. Having exhausted all their woes, the two birds cozily positioned themselves at the nest corner ready for slumber. 

The nest slowly welcomed in the cold breeze from outside, agitating Kwera to stack the hollowed entrance with the remaining grass. For now, let the winds wait for their wake by dawn. 

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Writer’s Note

The title ‘The Wide Nest’ serves as a metaphor for first-world countries that open their borders to immigrants from developing countries with a promise of a better life and future for the families they bring. However, these promises are proven to be somewhat unattainable due to dynamic policies which indirectly oppresses the mental, physical and emotional well-being of immigrants and their families. There is an added layer of social segregation and ‘race jobs’ particularly regarding Black immigrants that are supposed to take on the ‘tough jobs’ as we are viewed to supposedly have a higher tolerance in facing targeted adversity but not viewed as worthy enough in taking positions of leadership or economic empowerment. As we have left our homeland, food inaccessibility poses a key issue in health sustainability as most of us are confined to abandoning our staple foods that connect us to healing and cultural pride, all in the name of a ‘necessary sacrifice.’