In Summary
  • Why this nostalgic account you ask?
  • Because my mom’s 27th death anniversary is round the corner, and because, sadly, my parents' marriage became toxic with each passing year.
  • The music was replaced with shouting matches and the dancing was replaced with punches.
  • Do you have feedback on this story? E-mail: [email protected]

Like any other family, my siblings and I like to reminisce about the good old days.

One of my personal favourites was when we played silly games
as a family. I must have been four or five but today, decades later, I can still clearly see mom on her knees, scarf on her head, crawling, behind a sofa seat, making an ogre sound, chasing us. My brother and I would scream in pure joy and feigned terror when she caught up with us.

Our baby brother, too young to understand what we were up to, would bawl his heart out and mom would uncover her head and smile, assuring him that it was only a game.

We would throw him nasty looks and urge mom to play with us again.


I remember our dad teaching us a fun memory rhyme, which to date I can rattle on in my sleep. It was in my mother tongue. Most of my age
mates, who cannot even speak the dialect too fluently, look at me in awe when I effortlessly sing -or is it narrate-the rhyme.

My brother remembers training the dogs and feeding them with our dad. I remember being terrified of those huge angry guard dogs that were only released in the night to roam in the farm.

Only my brother and dad could approach those dogs.

They were so fierce that not only did they keep off any potential thieves in the night, but they also scared off the elephants. We have fond memories of riding in our father’s work truck, I think it was a trailer because our food was warmed at the dashboard area. I do not know about the science behind it, but we still talk about the magic of it. And of course, which Kenyan child can ever forget the annual trips to the National Agricultural Show? We behaved so well, weeks prior to the event.

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