"Grandma, everything looks just the same, it's amazing how some things never change". I enthused, my eyes sweeping across the familiar yard as she gathered tiny sticks and dry "Uben" (pear) leaves for the fire. The Sun was already going home and hung loosely in its golden orbit, casting long shadows across my little village.
"Nne" nothing changes around here, the moon, the stars, sunrise, sunset, the bounty of the land, everything, but it is not so in the big cities. I just wonder at how everything moves so fast over there..... Maybe it is the way of the "New Way" but I love our way more" she smiled wryly as she sat down on her low stool to start the fire.
It was time to prepare the evening meal and my Grandma was as adamant as ever, nothing could make her change her mind about using those other methods of cooking, other than the firewood, two new kerosene stoves remained stowed away in her room, she just refused to use them and all of her children's plea to at least try them out, had fallen on deaf ears.
I watched as she meticulously arranged the sticks around the fireplace, placing the dried leaves on top of them. Shortly the cackling sound could be heard as the flames went up into the air, along with the scent of the burning firewood and the rich aroma of the dry "Uben" leaves.
I sat beside the clay hearth, enjoying the warmth from the fire, just as I used to do, before leaving for the city, to pursue my education.
"Nne", Grandma's gentle voice cut across my reverie, "I am so happy that you have not forgotten this land, its sweetness and its people " her keen eyes never leaving my face. "I am so glad that you are looking well too".
"Nne" (my mother) was Grandma's endearing name for me, because she believed I was the reincarnation of her own mother.
"No Grandma, I will never forget my heritage, no matter how far I go from here or how long I've been gone". I answered, flashing her one of my best smiles. With a look of relief, she sighed and adjusted the big pot on the fire!
I knew what the land meant to her, our people, our culture, our traditions, and how fiercely she resisted every external influence, seeing 'our way' as something worthy of preservation....
"When our people leave for the city, they often forget where they come from and slide back into the Western ways of life." She said sadly, shaking her head from side to side.
"But there are so many good things about the Western life Grandma, I'm getting an education and learning the language of the "White man", with different technological innovations, they are taking away our toil and making life easier for us". I tried explaining to her in a convincing manner.
She looked up from the bubbly pot, her face calm, then it gradually broke into a smile.
"You might be right, Nne, but they are also turning us into lazybones, slowly sucking the life out of us, but......yes, there is some good in them".
I saw the need to change the direction of the conversation because I wasn't up for any argument with Grandma, I was too tired from the long journey.
"What are you preparing for dinner, wait, wait let me guess, "Nsala" soup, because I can smell the condiments already, yes? I asked excitedly, it was my favourite soup!
"You are right my dear! But first I want to make you some herbal tea, hot enough to flush out the bad effects of all the junk food you people eat over there, in the city" she chuckled softly.
"Please Grandma, I don't want your herbal concoction anymore, it's very bitter, you know how it makes me want to throw up! I protested, making a face at her.
"Aha, so you now prefer all those sweetened drinks you take over there....erm.....erm ..." She stuttered as she placed her index finger on her forehead, willing herself to remember....
"Coca cola, you mean? I interrupted with a soft chuckle.
"It is no match for my brew when it comes to great health benefits, yet you gulp it down by the bottle" she murmured, eyes twinkling, she just knew was going to force it down her throat anyhow.
I quietly nodded in agreement, biting my lower lip as the flames danced beneath the old, blackened concoction pot. I watched her stir the steaming tea carefully, the pungent scent of boiling leaves and roots assailing my nostrils, I knew I would have to drink the tea, there was no wriggling out of this one this time.
This happened many years ago but the fire still burns, the concoctions I once abhorred have come to my rescue many times over
Image created with Ai.
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