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By Root 948 0

he had.” I raised my lowered head and briefly met my uncle’s kind, inviting eyes before looking away. The gravel road was getting narrower as we approached the bottom of the hill. I told him that my father had mentioned him in every one of his stories of a troublesome childhood. Told him that my father had recounted to me about the time they went to the bush to fetch firewood and accidentally shook a beehive. The bees chased them and they ran toward the village. Since my father was shorter, most of the bees concentrated on my uncle’s head. They ran and dove into a river, but the bees circled on top of the water waiting for them to resurface. They had to catch their breath, so they got out of the water and ran to their village, bringing the bees with them.

“Yes, I remember. Everyone was upset with us for bringing the bees to the village, because they stung the old men who couldn’t run fast and some younger children. Your father and I locked the door, hid under the bed, and laughed at the commotion.” My uncle was giggling and I couldn’t help but laugh. After he stopped laughing, he sighed and said, “Ah, your father and I, we did too many troublesome things. If you are as troublesome as we were, I will give you some leeway, because it wouldn’t be fair for me to get down on you.” He put his arm around my shoulder.

“I think my troublesome days are long gone,” I said sadly.

“Ah, you are still a boy, you have time to be a little more troublesome,” my uncle said. We became quiet again and listened to the evening wind whizzing through the trees.

I loved the walks with my uncle, because they gave me a chance to talk about my childhood, about growing up with my father and older brother. I needed to talk about those good times before the war. But the more I talked about my father, the more I missed my mother and little brother, too. I didn’t grow up with them. I felt as if I missed that chance and would never get it again, and that made me sad. I spoke to my uncle about it, but he just listened, because he knew neither my mother nor my little brother. So in order to balance things out for me, he made me talk about the time my family lived in Mattru Jong, when my parents were together. Even then, there wasn’t that much to say, as my parents separated when I was very young.

I got to know my uncle quite well during our walks, and I began to eagerly await his arrival on weekends. He always brought me a present and would tell me about his week. He talked about the roof he had built for someone’s house, the beautiful table he had to complete the next day by polishing it, how well my cousins were doing in school. He said hello from his wife. I in turn would tell him about the table tennis and soccer tournaments I had participated in, the performance we had given for visitors, if there was any that week. We walked so many times on the same gravel road that I could close my eyes and still avoid all the big rocks on the road.

One weekend my uncle took me to meet his family. It was a Saturday and the sun was so bright that we couldn’t see our shadows on the ground. He lived in New England Ville, a hilly area in the western part of Freetown. My uncle came to Benin Home earlier than usual to get me. We took a noisy lorry to the center of the city. My uncle and I were quiet for a while, but began to laugh, because the two men sitting next to us were discussing which palm wine was better, one that was tapped from a standing palm tree or one from a fallen tree. The men were still arguing when we got off the lorry. We walked slowly toward my uncle’s house, his arm around my shoulders. I was happy walking with my uncle, but I worried whether his family would accept me the way he had—without asking me anything about my war years.

As we walked up the hill, nearing my uncle’s home, he pulled me aside and said, “I told only my wife about your past life as a soldier. I kept it secret from my children. I don’t think they will understand now as my wife and I do. I hope it is okay with you.” Relieved, I nodded, and we continued on.

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