In the dust-choked embrace of the African savannah, Adisa, a tribesman whose world is tethered to the pulse of ancient traditions, finds his existence unraveling with the arrival of relentless emissaries from the West. The air, thick with the scent of impending change, carries the metallic tang of uncertainty. The outsiders, armed with promises of progress and veiled intentions, approach like vultures circling a carcass. As they bring gifts that glitter with the false allure of civilization, he grapples with the uncomfortable realization that the threads of his heritage are slipping through his fingers. The clash of cultures reverberates through the savannah, a discordant symphony that threatens to drown out the ancient melodies that once resonated in the hearts of his people. In the shadow of impending assimilation, Adisa becomes a reluctant ambassador of a world on the cusp of irrevocable change, a tribesman caught between tradition and the encroaching shadows of the unknown.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, the once vibrant rhythms of the savannah seemed to fade, replaced by the dissonant notes of a lament. Adisa, burdened by the weight of his dual role as ambassador and guardian of tradition, witnessed the erosion of the ancient melodies that had echoed through the hearts of his people for centuries.

The village, now transformed by the concrete structures of the emissaries, lost its connection to the land. The sacred groves were replaced by machinery, and the once pristine rivers became tainted with the byproducts of progress. Adisa's heart ached as he saw the youth of his tribe becoming entangled in the web of a culture that sought to replace rather than blend.

The elders, those wise sages who once held the collective memory of the tribe, withered like the leaves of a dying tree. Their stories, once passed down through generations like a cherished heirloom, were now drowned out by the clamor of a civilization that viewed their tales as relics of a bygone era.

Adisa, torn between loyalty to his people and the responsibilities thrust upon him, retreated to the outskirts of the village. Under the vast African sky, he stared at the stars, searching for guidance in the constellations that had guided his ancestors. But the stars seemed distant, as if they, too, mourned the loss of something precious.

One fateful night, as the air hung heavy with sorrow, the village gathered under the muted glow of the foreign streetlights. Adisa, standing at the center, felt a lump in his throat as he observed the dance of his people. The traditional garments were now overshadowed by Western attire, and the sacred fire, once the heart of their gatherings, flickered weakly in the face of electric illumination.

The elders, their eyes reflecting the fading embers of a dying flame, approached Adisa. In a hushed tone, the eldest among them spoke, "The pulse of our traditions weakens, Adisa. We are losing our way, and the spirits that once watched over us have grown silent."

Tears welled in Adisa's eyes as he recognized the truth in the elder's words. The clash of cultures, instead of creating harmony, had led to a discord that echoed through the hearts of his people. The emissaries, oblivious to the cultural erosion they left in their wake, continued to promise progress, blind to the cost paid in the currency of heritage.

In the final whispers of the night, Adisa, burdened by the realization that he had become an unwitting accomplice in the unraveling of his people's identity, vowed to seek a way to mend the tear in the fabric of tradition. As the mournful cry of a lone hyena echoed in the distance, Adisa embarked on a solitary journey, hoping to find a way to reconcile the irreparable loss with the remnants of his fading heritage. The savannah, once a cradle of ancient wisdom, now cradled the weight of a people on the brink of cultural oblivion.

This is Adisa's story. He is the subject of this drawing. The drawing is graphite, charcoal and ink on paper.