Once a villager, always a villager         




I was born in the village, I grew up in the village and I belong to the village. On holidays like these, I retreat to the village, to share the little there is with fellow villagers. The fresh air, the plenty maize, pumpkins, groundnuts and little everything else make the village tick.

The juicy little stories of witchcraft, statecraft, politics, courtships and all. The river, the cattle, the donkeys, the goats and the chicken, all know the holiday has come, in their own way.

For the cattle, the chicken, the goats and sheep, the story is about losing one of their own in annual tragedy premised on the pot and the human belly. For the dogs and cats, it the plenty of left overs. Yes this is village life.   Drinking binges are plenty. Yes plenty. Let us drink and be sloshed once we get there