Life brings about all kinds of challenges in one’s path, just as there could be great fortunes in the same path. I would say that entry into the writing world is a journey that started from the events that occurred in my family. At the age of 7 years, Losing my mother made life quite unbearable. While the difficulty started with coming into terms with our mother’s absence, what was still in the store would leave us (me and my siblings) as wreckages.
My father lost his job a year later. A dismal letter I had a chance to read stated the leading cause of dismal as recklessness at work which jeopardizes safety at the company, despite several warnings to be careful while handling various tasks assigned to him. My father now stayed at home with us before going for what he called “therapy sessions.” However, these therapy sessions did not bear the intended results, and soon my father became a drunkard.
The once beautiful home became lonely, and desperation was slowly attacking each of us, enslaving us into depression. At this point, a friend noticed my detachment from the lively me and made it his responsibility to assist me overcame all the challenges. This journey started with reading books. Henry shared several storybooks that I had to read and write the book’s synopsis to ascertain that I had read it.
Reading one storybook after the other was boring, and I constantly felt the urge to let it go. However, Henry was not ready to let me go of the culture he was trying to build in me. A fine Saturday morning, Henry visited me, carrying his usual black leather bag, swinging it playfully. Spotting me, he could wait but announced to me,” hey! Good news for you, you have graduated!” Reading the perplexed look from my face, he continued,” No more of short storybooks; it’s time to explore what the novels got.”
On that Saturday, Henry handed me a book saying, “Now explore oversees, from right here.” He then whispered to me before leaving, “this is from the land of Barrack Obama’s father.” I took the novel and hurriedly did my chores to explore the overseas right from my room. The reading culture had already started to grow in me; locked into my room, I would read one storybook after the other, and the day’s worst moments would somehow pass without me noticing. The desperation moments began to fade as I hardly had time to lament over all the troubles we were facing.
The novel’s title was “The river and the source,” authored by Margret A. Ogolla. The novel would be best described as a generational book seeking to enhance women’s empowerment. The author likens a home without a daughter as a river without a source, which was meant to give the girl child acceptance in the African society. The novel describes women’s epic and generational journey, from Akoko to her daughter and granddaughters. The inspirational journey of the four generations of women started when Akoko lost her husband, a king at the time, and everyone was against her, and she was soon in deep poverty. The trend flows through with each generation having the men eliminated, leaving the women to face the challenges in a society that did not recognize women.
Although the novel was based on women’s empowerment, I reflected on our family, the young family, which now looked old and odd. For the first time in several years, this reflection got me shedding tears. I could not help but do what Margret Ogolla did, write a story of our family. The story of the lovely family shattered due to the cruel hand of death.
When Henry asked for the River and source synopsis, I gave him a written story. A story of our family, our cherished home. As Henry read the story, I could notice his watery eyes. This had never happened before despite him knowing every bit of our family and the woes that were facing us since our mother left for the unknown world. On finishing the story, he tightly hugged me and said, “Sorry, am sorry,” and he left with no more words.
Henry’s reaction made me realize how writing says what words cannot, how it brings about emotions that words cannot, and brings about an understanding not achievable through sharing words. The day marked a source for my River, a river carrying lots of events to transform into a novel and occurrences into a story. A week after Henry had left, his father visited, which changed everything in the family. He somehow helped my dad get a new job, and soon our family started to glow, although we still felt the emptiness without our mother.
I began to read more and write more, every single novel I read added a pool of knowledge on different spheres in my life. The more I read, the more I wrote. I currently put every event of my life down on paper; hopefully, someday, I will publish a novel to change and transform someone. Reading has become a part of me despite being hard at first; I do it for pleasure and as a way of gaining knowledge on different matters.
I would thus say that I have become a reader and look forward to sharpening my writing skills, communicating, triggering desired emotions, and inspiring and transforming others!
