Growing up, my siblings and I used to
be shipped over to our village on
holidays (or maybe punishment) to live
with my grand-parents. They had a
large plot of land behind their house where they planted a variety of
crops ranging from maize, cassava, scent
leaves and everything in between. In the mornings around 5a.m, we
would wake up grudgingly to
accompany grandma to the farm and
help her till, weed and sometimes
harvest these crops. She also had a
poultry with old layers that gave us a steady supply of eggs. We had to pick
those eggs and wash them every
morning. As a city kid, I enjoyed doing
these chores nearly as much as
anyone would enjoy getting a beating
from Floyd Mayweather. But we did it anyway, because we were often
rewarded afterwards with large bowls
of delicious soups with big chunks of
meat. Plus the punishment of not
doing it was much to bear.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s