In Mukono there was a lot of children: always smiling, always playing, always taking care of their littlest brothers and sisters. In Mukono ther was an old woman, the grandmother of all those boys and girls. Really old, really crazy. She talk to me. I didn't understand anything. It was a different language. But after she sang... a sad song. She cried. Their hands were shaking. I bring a sweet to her. She cried more, but she eated it. In Mukono there was a big tree. A tree older than the children, older than the old woman, older than the village. A tree that is able to explain the history of this village to everybody that wants to listen at it.
2 Comments
Anonymous Guest 02 Mar 2011
Very Nice story. Is she the old woman who appear in the picture DSCN2000.JPG and others?tim linville 28 Feb 2011
Your Attention to Cultural Differences is Admirable,Vicky :) Sounds Like You Learned Something of Yourself,as well!And it would Appear You Let the Tree Tell You the History of the Village!