The Small Town in Memory Lane

Back to the small town where it all began, the town where I lived and loved.

Talking a walk past the huge mango tree, memories flooding into my mind.

I see us, five little children, 3 girls and 2 boys, sitting under the shades of the tall tree with it's broad wings made of bright green leaves, building sand castles and making up stories to fit the moment.
I see us playing our favorite pebble games.

We get off the sand and off we go running through the compound with our aeroplane Turner, that's what we called the play where we cut a mango leave at it's two extreme ends and attach a small stick of broom to it, we run with it and the air generated from the motion makes the leaf turn like the blades of an aircraft.

I walk through to the paths where we go hunting for udara, the seasonal fruit which attract other children to our compound, some come to buy, others come earlier to pick them up before the cock crows, before we get to them. Local theft.

The borehole isn't so far from our compound. I see us, taking turns to manually push out water mechanically with the up and down swings of the borehole. We get exhausted, but we definitely enjoy it.

I walk past that, heading to the compound where we buy agidi. Oh, how we loved agidi Dam Florence. I learnt she kicked the bucket some 5years ago. No one made any delicacy close to that.

I got to the spot we were warned of, the spot where the bad and careless boys throw knockouts and drink. It isn't as scary as we were warned.

I remember how we wouldn't be let past the compound except to fetch water, firewood or go to church.

I take the other junction and return slowly to our compound.
I come back to the emptiness and dead silence as of a graveyard, isn't that what it has become of late?

I go into one of the rooms, it had brought memories of when we had an event and the house was filled to the brim, we took to lay under the bed frame on a mat to tell of school tales, boys we loved and dreams we incubated.

The kitchen has been reduced to being really small, just a pot with food as oppose to 5, at once.

I don't see the many goats and chicken. I don't see the many kids and bright clothes. I don't hear the giggles, the noise and the many music.

I remember when a small disagreement erupted among our parents and we had to take a part because we couldn't see each other again. Everything is cool among them now, but the distance has taken us apart.

I don't see us, the 5 of us, sitting under the mango tree again, in our little town devoid of responsibilities and worries of tomorrow.
Time has past and time has made a huge difference.