The Farmlands of ZANABIA The farmlands of ZANABIA

do not begin at fences. They begin at breath.
The moment one steps onto the soil, the land seems to recognise footsteps—softening, warming, almost welcoming.

On this particular morning, the MAPHRAWs arrived first, their calm coconut heads gently tilting as if listening to the crops themselves. Mr Swanse followed, impeccably dressed as always, his spectacles catching the early sunlight. Dr Zo came next—no uniform today, just curiosity and quiet delight. And then Blenchy, cheerful as ever, already waving at birds he swore he’d met before.

Waiting for them was Mr Jiji, the giraffe head caretaker of all Zanabian farmlands.

Tall, unhurried, and impossibly observant, Mr Jiji is not merely a supervisor—he is a listener. Every landowner in ZANABIA pays him an annual fee, not as a tax, but as a trust. In return, he ensures balance: soil health, water harmony, crop rotation, and peace between land and grower. Quietly, without fuss, he also owns about 6% of all Zanabian farmland, though no one remembers him ever claiming it aloud.

The fields stretched endlessly.

Rice and paddy swayed like green oceans. Wheat hummed softly in disciplined rows. Fruits hung without hurry, vegetables grew with confidence, and herbs—oh, the herbs—whispered remedies into the wind. Over 700 varieties thrive here, each cultivated not for excess, but for wellness.

No pesticides. No panic. No rush.

“This land grows food,” Dr Zo murmured, kneeling, “but it also grows patience.”

Mr Swanse smiled. “And good accounting,” he added, watching crops align perfectly with irrigation channels.

Blenchy plucked a leaf, sniffed it, and declared, “This smells like health with a sense of humour.”

The MAPHRAWs said little. They simply nodded—because some places don’t need commentary.

Above them all, Mr Jiji stood quietly, surveying not ownership, but stewardship. The land did not belong to ZANABIA.
ZANABIA belonged to the land.

Beautiful.
Bold.
Unique.
Magical.

Very ZANABIA indeed. 🌾✨