The Reason Behind My Voice

  Photo credit: Humprey Muleba As a child, I looked forward to my father making it home after a long day at the farm. I remember staring at him and cupping my face while he ate or did something around the house. He knew that look. He knew I needed to hear another one of his stories so he would quickly complete his task or tell me one of his famous tales between bites.  I recently reflected on my relationship with my father and my relationship with storytelling. I love stories; it is carefully knitted in the fabric of my being. It brought me great joy to sit and bask in his well-crafted stories. My father is masterful at what he does and it still brings me great joy to listen to him even now. It does not matter that I have heard one of his stories before. I will still listen again and again. Until he grows tired of telling them (I hope he does not) because the truth is he will not always be there to tell me stories of his youth; of when he met my mother or when my brothers and I were bo