For as long as I can remember, I have been seeking ADVENTURE.
My childhood home in Kenya was filled to the rafters with people.
and resting just for a while.
We didn’t have a big home. It was in fact, a poorly built structure that stood in a generous expanse of land but was crumbling at its edges and disintegrating from within.
Mum had a big heart and a habit of taking in anyone that called on her for help. We made room for a few Ugandan refugees that made it over the border, a few Soweto Freedom Fighters escaping incarceration. We even made room for dubious “long-lost family members” who somehow convinced my mother that we were related in some round about the moon and back sort of way while they devoutly sponged off her generosity. There we all cramped inside our home. And these were the “additions” to the main household that was at one point about 10 strong.
Space inside the home at least, was a very precious and sought after thing. Thus, I spent most of my time outside. Escaping the imprisoning words of adults. Seeking silence. Hoping always, for adventure. And I always found it. In the trees, in the fields of maize, in the forgotten tumbledown places that we could not afford to maintain.
I would sometimes watch Disney films(when the power supply would allow)and dream of having a bedroom to myself filled with toys and fine white cotton bed linen. But that was a distant dream. In reality, I had to share my bed with my sister, and “my bedroom” with 3 others. I never had the nerve, will or the heart to complain.
At school, I would find ways to be alone but this was misread by my single minded teachers as evidence of me being “troubled”. Perhaps I was. I didn’t think so at the time, not at least until some adult put the idea into my head.
Perhaps this is why I find myself guarding my own space and time so vehemently and I am quite certain that this is where my hunger for adventure (all big and small, near and far) begun.
Location: Morogoro, Tanzania.