It was a simpler time, a simpler place and the distant drumming of life moved at a slower, sweeter pace.The lack of technology as we have them now, meant we spent a lot more time outside, than in–having rapport with Nature.
Growing up in a rural area in Africa was exhilarating and reliving the experience fills me with the most wonderful feeling.
Summer meant the long-awaited holiday that lasted for a period of about three months, a time of adventure, pure fun, and the best part being, freedom from all forms of schoolwork. It also meant that my cousins from the big cities would visit Grandma and me, and we would have a full house, filled with excitement.
Oh how I looked forward to it!
The first thing that immediately comes to mind when I read this prompt is an image of my cousins and me having so much fun on a summer day— on many summer days.
My cousins had arrived from the city the previous evening, just before nightfall. Worn out from the long journey, they were supposed to take their rest— but there was no rush, tomorrow beckoned, the real fun awaited!
The first cockcrow at dawn signaled the beginning of the new day and though the sky was still dark, I had learnt to wake with the dawn. Wriggling out of the cozy embrace of sleep early was one of the first lessons Grandma taught me.
I sat up on my clay bed and watched as she supplicated in her corner of the hut. Excited, I thought of tiptoeing to the other wing of the hut where my cousins still slumbered, eager to rouse them. But I had to wait—impatiently, for Grandma to finish her prayers.
As I waited, my mind wandered to the sounds of the chirping crickets and the croaking frogs nearby, the cool dawn breeze moving the leaves in a gentle rustle, and the consistent barking of "Eche", the hunter's dog.
By the time Grandma was done, I could hear the rhythmic sweep of brooms against the sandy compound floors, the villagers were already up, as always before dawn, tending to their morning chores.
After exchanging morning greetings with Grandma, I quickly opened the door of the hut and dashed outside barefoot, the excitement of the day ahead too heady that I could hardly contain it.
The air smelled fresh and fragrant, earthy from the early morning dew and from the firewood smoke curling out of many kitchen huts.
With the cool sand tickling my feet, I hurried into the hut to wake my cousins, they were sprint-ready and in no time, we were all gathered under the giant "Udara" (star apple) tree, arguing over which fun activity to start the day with.
But before any real mischief could begin, Grandma’s firm voice called us in for the first meal of the day, a breakfast of steaming yam served with palm oil and enriched with shredded onions, dried pepper and crumbled dried fish on top.
After eating, the real fun began. We raced each other down the path leading to the stream, our favourite place, carrying earthen pots and little nets. The water was always cool and clear, rushing gently over big and smooth pebbles. We swam about, along with other children, laughing and chasing tiny fish. I could still feel the thrill of standing under the small waterfall, water cascading down my body, allowing the coolness soak into my bones.
We climbed trees and swam in the stream, trying to catch tiny fishes with our bare hands. We hopped over bamboo fences and stomped through the water. We raced goats, caught frogs and chased after fireflies. The bigger boys played football and the girls played "Oga" or other games befitting the moment.
By midday, after wolfing down a lunch of cassava meal served with vegetable soup and loaded with lots of dried meat and fish, we set out for the village square, seeking to escape from the sun's fiery blaze. The shade under the large mango tree was our target, plucking the ripe, juicy fruits and sucking them greedily as we went along. It was funny how the sticky juice dribbled down our chins and elbows.
Here, we meet up with a large gathering of other fun-seeking children.
At sunset, we dragged ourselves home, dog-tired. Grandma was already preparing our dinner of concoction rice with dried bonga fish, the rich aroma of "ogiri isi" (a local flavouring) filling the air. The village women sat outside, gossiping as usual about their escapades, while the pounding of fufu and okra echoed from nearby huts.
As night fell, we gathered around Grandma for the final lap of entertainment, our bellies full, our bodies tired but content. The moon cast its illuminating silver streaks across the sky as she told us folktales—stories of the cunning but wise tortoise, the swift but foolish hare, the protective spirits of the forest and of our ancestors, each tale, a lesson in morality—rewards or benefits of being virtuous and the consequences of engaging in vices. We sat huddled, listening intently, the warm night air heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers.
Deep into the night, one by one we would succumb to Nature's call—sleep, satisfied that we had a spent the day to the fullest.
And the next day, we did it all over again. It was simply awesome!!!
Although all of this might probably seem like the Stone Age to the younger generation, I believe we had more freedom as kids than we tend to see today. What I can truly say is that those experiences made us stronger, wiser and better equipped to handle difficult tasks and take on responsibilities.
To 
They are indeed timeless treasures! And generations to come would simply love it!
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