Thirty years after Mulenga's death, the land was once again under threat.
The grandchildren had grown into adults.
Thandiwe was now a respected teacher.
Her brother, Chola, managed the family fields.
Their cousins farmed nearby, raising cattle and growing maize on the land their grandparents had worked so hard to preserve.
Life was not easy, but it was theirs.
Then one morning, three white vehicles arrived.
Men wearing reflective jackets stepped out carrying maps, measuring equipment, and official documents.
The villagers watched from a distance.
Chola approached them.
"What are you doing on our land?" he asked.
One of the men adjusted his glasses.
"We are conducting a survey."
"For what?"
The man hesitated.
Then he answered.
"The government has approved a development project."
A cold silence followed.
"What project?"
"A luxury agricultural estate."
The words felt like a slap.
The surveyor pointed toward the hills.
"This entire area has been earmarked for investment."
Chola's jaw tightened.
"This land belongs to families."
The surveyor sighed.
"Not for much longer."
By sunset, the entire village knew.
Foreign investors wanted the land.
And powerful people in the capital wanted the deal completed.
That night, the grandchildren gathered beneath the mango tree.
For the first time in decades, the family faced a battle that could destroy everything their grandparents had left behind.
And nobody intended to surrender.