I grew up where the soil is red and the air is warm. The sun takes its time to rise and set, like it knows we’re in no rush. We didn’t have much, but we had everything that mattered. The land, the river, the people around us; everything worked together. That’s all we needed.

We didn’t wear shoes because the earth was soft under our feet. The smell of rain on the grass, the smoke from fires and the sound of cows calling all felt like home. The river was always there, either rushing when it rained or quiet and still in the dry season. It was always there, and it was part of us.

Every morning, we walked down to the river to get water. The jerrycans were heavy on our backs, but it didn’t matter. We slipped and laughed, racing to fill them. The sun would be rising by the time we got back, ready to start another day.

We washed clothes by the river. When the river was high, we would jump in, swim, and let it carry us. The whole day, we ate mangoes and guavas from the trees by the river, and that was all we needed.

In the shamba, we dug sweet potatoes from the earth. The smell of the soil was sweet, and we cooked them over a fire we made right there. There’s no food that tastes better than that; hot and fresh, right from the ground.

When visitors came, we didn’t just give them food. We gave them songs and dances. We put white chalk on our faces, wore our best clothes, and danced until our feet hurt. It was how we showed love, how we shared what we had.

Kenya might not have everything the world thinks it needs, but we have the land, the river, and the people who make this place home. And that’s all that matters.

So, world, if you want to feel real joy, come here. If you want to know what it’s like to live slow and simply, come walk with us to the river, sit by the fire, and feel the earth beneath your feet.

Come see what I see! 
 

Agnes Irungu