When
I think about childhood in the Kenyan countryside, I’m reminded of the vibrant
days spent exploring the vast lands, where the sun kissed your skin and the
trees provided both shelter and sustenance.
It
was one of those endless afternoons in the heart of Kenya’s countryside, the
kind where the air was warm but not too hot, and the scent of the earth mingled
with the rich fragrance of wildflowers and ripening fruit. A group of children,
my cousins and myself included, set off on a quest that only those who grew up or
tasted the adventures of visiting the countryside during the long holidays,
which were sometimes extra in the Moi era, among the hills and valleys could
truly appreciate the hunt for the sweetest mangoes, avocados, blackberries,
macadamia, passion fruits and so many others.
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| Commercial Papaya Farming in Kenya |
Our
feet kicked up dust as we made our way to the grove of trees near the river.
The mangoes were ripe, the kind that hung heavy from the branches, their skins
a deep, golden hue. But there was a problem—most of the good ones were high up,
beyond our reach. Undeterred, we got creative.
Using
a long stick, we tried to knock a few down, our laughter filling the air every
time we missed. But then, there was one clever cousin, Moses, who had an idea.
He pulled down his shirt and tied it like a sack at the end of a branch. With a
careful aim, he swung it towards the ripest fruit, and with a satisfying thud,
the mango dropped into our hands.
Victory!
We
devoured the mangoes right there, juice running down our arms. It wasn’t just the
sweetness that made them special, but the effort, the teamwork, and the joy of
being part of something shared. And as we sat beneath the shade of the mango
tree, a gentle breeze began to stir, as though the land itself was joining in
our celebration.
But
this wasn’t the only fruit that colored our days. The surrounding countryside
was full of treasures. Just down the hill from the mangoes, there were
guavas—plump, green, and tart, with the promise of sweetness once you bit into
them. We’d pick them right off the tree, dust them off, and savor the tangy
flavor, spitting out the seeds with skill.
Even
better was the jackfruit, that massive fruit that hung like an alien spaceship
from the tallest tree. The trick to eating jackfruit was all about patience—waiting
for it to ripen just enough that it practically fell apart in your hands,
exposing the golden, sticky pods inside. We’d pull out the pods, chewing on the
chewy, aromatic flesh while giggling and trying not to get our hands too
sticky.
But
perhaps the most magical tree of all was the avocado tree. The fruit from these
trees had the perfect balance of creaminess and flavor. We'd climb the
trees—sometimes barefoot, sometimes barefoot and reckless—to reach the ripest
ones. The prize was always worth the climb: soft, buttery avocados, eaten alone
or spread on a slice of warm, homemade bread, each one of us stashing some to
add to the yummy githeri with plantains that our grandmother always prepared
for lunch.
Sometimes,
we’d find ourselves near the papaya trees, pulling down the fruits with our
bare hands. It felt like a treasure hunt—every tree a new adventure, every
fruit a prize waiting to be discovered.
And
while we indulged in the wonders of nature’s bounty, there was always the
reminder of how much the land gave to us. The bounty wasn’t just in the fruit;
it was in the shared moments, the sense of wonder, and the knowledge that we
were part of something bigger than ourselves.
As
the sun began to set, we’d head back home, arms full of fruit and hearts full
of laughter, the promise of another day’s adventures already taking shape in
our minds.
Those
days of running barefoot, of tasting the earth’s sweetness, will always remain
a part of me, a reminder of the simple joys that come from nature’s gifts. In
Kenya’s countryside, the fruits weren’t just food; they were memories in the
making.
Contact us for
that fruit tree seedling that has been part of your good growing up memories.
0724698357/0723213602.
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