It’s the cold season. I am seated with the jiko right in front roasting maize straight from the garden. Two things are happening here. I am warming myself up and keeping the biting cold at bay and enjoying roast maize. The ultimate prize being that l am doing it myself. An experience to behold, very different from buying from the roadside. It feels traditional. I finally touch base with my ‘traditions’ l muse to myself as l turn the maize the other way.
Life here is bliss. Enjoying a cup of hot steaming tea that boasts of rich goat milk. How l love being a farmer’s daughter. Earlier today, l went into the chicken coup to refill their water troughs and collect eggs.
Going about the chores, l remembered stories l enjoyed reading as a little girl. Make believe stories that told of how the animal kingdom held parties, talked like humans and even held competitions.
That got me thinking; so what if l told folklores? Who would listen? Who would care?
I make up some for my niece who insists on my narrating. Absent mindedly, l make up one on the spot to get her off my back. She can nag when she means business. Mom says it’s her age to want to listen to stories. So, over and over again l’ll narrate stories as per her demands which come way too often. The catch being that, l forget the story as soon as l tell it but she never does.
She will want to hear a certain story for the upteenth time and l will tell a new version each time but she is a nice soul who keeps correcting me on the way. On good days, l will convince her to allow me tell a new one but later will want to hear it again. Sigh!
This brings me to asking you what your folks told you about the smoky trails left behind by a jet in the sky? I know you are smiling. Lol.
Today, kids be like “Does your phone have games?” The traditional gathering around grandpa or grandma on the heath has gone extinct.
I remember when we were little, we would make an old mzee sing us a traditional child-song on our way home from school on a daily basis without fail. The old man, a mukurino, would sing thumping his foot leaning on a walking stick and making faces and smiling sweetly, his big coat moving in rhythm.
We would find him seated on a raised ground exhausted from climbing uphill. Many little kids would gather around him waiting for a song treat. He never once disappointed his little fans.
Nowadays, there are no old men seated around three-stones to tell tales but Storymoja got you covered where kids gather around and get to enjoy stories told by experts.
