The Smell of Rain
Growing up in the village was not easy. We had to help our parents in the farms and I have to say that it was extremely exhausting. All year round we toiled.
The land was prepared from January to March as we waited for the rains. We planted in April. Maize was the cash crop but we also planted beans and potatoes. Weeding and top-dressing was done from May to July. We harvested the beans in August, planted potatoes in September and October. November and December we harvested the maize, celebrated Christmas and started the cycle once again the next year.
There was no resting. But we were taught not to complain. We accepted our way of life and even had a hard time imagining that our future would be any different.
I cannot tell you how much I loved to see the view in the image below.
Seeing rain from the distance hills felt like being born again. It was a ray of hope. A glimpse of an oasis in a vast dessert. The flicker of light in a dark, dark tunnel. It meant that we could go home early that day.
I went home the other day, saw the rain coming and feeling of nostalgia overwhelmed me. My kids, I soon learnt, still have so much to learn. I was preparing lunch and when I asked my 5 year old what I was cooking with while chopping the green onion leaves, she had no idea.
Doing what any responsible mom would do, I taught them how to eat clovers, showed them how to make rope from grass and asked them to feed the cows.