Embers of Glee...

The soft glow of the night light cast a warm radiance upon my grandmother's humble thatched mud hut, the place that she called home. As dusk settled in, there was no need for a reminder to retreat indoors, for darkness enveloped the village like a cloak, and we knew better than to linger outside in the shadows of night. In a community where myths held sway over the people, and simplicity reigned, I, a city-raised child, found myself captivated by the tales and traditions that defined village life.
 
Growing up, my parents often took my siblings and I back to their rural roots during holidays, exposing us to a world far removed from our urban comforts. Initially, I viewed these visits as a form of exile, resenting the lack of modern amenities such as electricity and running water. However, as I've grown older, I've come to appreciate the wisdom and traditions of my grandmother, the simplicity of bathing in the river with my cousins, and the thrill of exploring the wilderness in search of mushrooms and firewood.
 
One of my fondest memories of those nights in the village involved gathering around the crackling fire in my grandmother's circular mud hut. The fire, the heart of our home, illuminated our faces as we huddled together on the earthen floor. I can still picture my Gogo, her weathered hands coaxing life back into the dying embers with a gentle blow, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. Despite the thick smoke that stung my eyes, I was entranced by the stories spun by my oldest cousin, Doca, who wove tales of mythical river gods, majestic mountains, and mystical creatures that haunted the village's dreams.
 
Doca had a gift for storytelling, her animated gestures bringing the narratives to life as we sat spellbound by the flickering flames. From the legend of Nyami-nyami, the vengeful River-god, to the eerie tales of witches and mermaids that prowled the riverside, each story transported us to a realm of wonder and intrigue. And as the night wore on, laughter mingled with fear, creating a tapestry of emotions that only the firelight could evoke.
 
In those moments, surrounded by kinship and tradition, I found a sense of belonging and connection to a past that shaped my roots. The dying embers of the fire marked the end of our nightly ritual, leaving behind a residue of joy, shared stories, and timeless memories. As we dispersed to our sleeping mats, the embers of the fire served as a reminder of the bonds that united us - bonds forged in the glow of the flames and the warmth of family. The night was filled with the echoes of stories, laughter, and whispered secrets, a treasure trove of moments that would stay with me long after the fire had dimmed.
 
Looking back on those nights in my grandmother's hut, I realize now the value of tradition, storytelling, and the simple pleasures of life. The lessons I learned in those moments of darkness and light continue to guide me, reminding me of the importance of family, community, and the power of shared experiences. And though the flames may have long since faded, the embers of those nights still burn bright in my heart, a reminder of the enduring magic of storytelling and the timeless connection of family.

​~Memory