I grew up in a rural area alongside my cousin Bob. Our grandmother took care of us while our mothers worked in the city. We had a wonderful childhood, full of memories we still cherish to this day. She was the kindest person I’ve ever known. It was truly a blessing to grow up under her care and learn from her. May she continue to rest in eternal peace. We called her Apesa.
Bob and I were inseparable—we did everything together. I remember him scrubbing my back while we bathed, and I would scrub his. In our village, Apesa was one of the few people who owned a water tank. It was a gift from Plan International, as Bob was one of the sponsored children. In the evenings, instead of using the bathroom, we preferred to bathe behind the water tank.
Life in the village was simple but full of joy. Apesa would tell us stories by the fire as she cooked dinner. Like most homes in rural Kenya back then, we used firewood for cooking. During maize harvesting season, we would sit by the fire, roasting maize and listening to her stories. Those moments felt magical.
Our school was a few kilometers away, so we had to wake up early and walk there—no bodabodas (motorbikes) back then. Like most children, waking up early was a daily struggle. Apesa would wake us up at least four times before we got out of bed. Breakfast was always tea and ugali (also known as sima), a heavy, traditional Kenyan dish. It was filling and gave us the energy we needed for the day, even though we didn’t appreciate it much at the time.
Meal times with Apesa were often dramatic. Bob and I constantly compared our portions and complained. If I thought mine was too much, I’d accuse her of loving Bob more. Whenever one of us was sick and couldn’t attend school, the other would refuse to go alone. Everything was a competition. Despite the chaos, Apesa had a way of making us both feel deeply loved.
She was gentle at heart, but when we misbehaved, she didn’t spare us. Her form of discipline? A sharp pinch on the soft part of the inner thigh—it stung so badly we’d call on our ancestors! Still, she rarely needed to discipline us because my uncle handled that part.
Apesa taught us so much: how to pray, plough, plant, cook, and wash utensils. Despite our mischief, we were well-mannered children who respected our elders and followed instructions—largely thanks to her guidance.
My uncle, let’s call him Uncle John, lived with us during those years. He had a girlfriend who lived on the other side of the village, separated by a hill and a river. Since there were no mobile phones then, he used a distinct whistle to call her. Whenever she heard it, she would come running down the hill to meet him at the river.
One day, Bob and I decided to mimic the whistle and see what would happen. Sure enough, she came running—three times! Each time, she found no one and had to climb back home. We thought it was hilarious… until Uncle John found out. How he discovered it remains a mystery. He was furious. We denied everything, of course—we were only eleven. But he made us go fetch our own canes, and we got a thorough beating. Needless to say, we never tried it again (though we laughed about it years later).
Despite being strict, Uncle John created many fun moments too. He had a radio that could record cassette tapes. Sometimes he’d ask us to sing or secretly record us playing, then play it back for us. Our voices sounded so strange, and we would laugh hysterically. Though he beat us often—almost daily, it felt like—we’re grateful. Without his discipline, we may have turned out spoiled.
We were always up to something. I once climbed a very young, flimsy tree and waited for the wind to blow so I could sway with it. One day, it snapped while I was on it. I fell hard and landed on a tree stump, getting a deep cut on my thigh. Bob once broke his arm during one of our invented, complicated games. We always came up with risky play ideas. Looking back, it’s a miracle we survived!
I also remember a time we went swimming in the river near a massive waterfall. We built a pool by placing stones at the river’s edge—just inches away from danger. If those stones had been swept away by the current, we wouldn’t have made it. I wouldn’t dare try that now. But back then, we felt invincible.
Our childhood was wild, free, and full of laughter. I’ve left out so many stories—there are simply too many to share in one sitting. It would take an entire book to tell them all.
For now, let’s pause here.
More stories to come.