My word: Miracles in the village

Growing up, I loved going upcountry to visit my cousins.

I loved the crisp, fresh air that “produced smoke” when we huffed and puffed and blew in the mornings.

I loved the cool and clean streams that we waded into on our way from picking gooseberries in the “forest”.

Best of all, I loved chewing sugar cane while sitting on top of the concrete water tank as we counted the number of cars that lumbered by.

The simplicity and tranquility of the countryside is simply indescribable.

I wanted to belong. I did, yet I didn’t.

To my cousins, I was the urban girl who had to wear shoes to go out and play. I couldn’t scoop water in my hands to drink because I didn’t quite know how to cup them properly.

And yet, back in the city, I was the girl who was too simple, too unbothered with the frills and thrills of city life. I always wanted to be away yet responsibilities held me there.

Decades later, I still long for country life.

So I’ve learned to find my own form of simplicity and tranquility in this concrete jungle. And then every so often, I take a road trip to the village to remind myself what the indigenous and authentic feelings are like.