Will our children learn the art of storytelling? Or is it even important that they do?

One sure thing I miss about my grandparents' lives is the stories. In fact, I often wonder whether we shall ever grasp the gem of that art. On both sides, my father's side and my mother's side, my grandparents told stories. The best of them was my grandfather, my father's father. He told stories with so much precision and gusto. There is none like him. His stories started well with a connection to the environment and nature. For example, if his story was about his day, he might begin with the *voices of the singing birds near his bedroom window*. Or they would start with the bull or cow's voice at milking time. He would go like... at dawn, I heard the birds start singing, I lifted my head a bit, I said to myself, get up and start your planned day, I said a prayer, I stepped down from my bed, it took me some time to find my walking stick, I picked up my smoking pipe. Then he would go on to speak about whom he talked to first, the details of the greeting, and what was on his mind. As he told the story, you would move along with him every step. He wanted that undivided attention. Between him as the storyteller and you, the listener, there had to be nothing disrupting the flow. He had a way of pausing the storyline, should nothing interrupt. Your job at that point was to make sure that you reminded him about the last words. Then he would continue. Let me share this, too: the best storytelling moments came when he had had a drink or two. If you know what I mean, then you know. If you don’t know, then you dont know. My grandfather enjoyed his drink until the last days of his life. He was 96 or so when he died. He died a sober man. It is January 1st, 2026. We have had a smooth holiday. Some parties here and there, and many other functions. For each end-of-year holiday, we leave the city for our home. I cannot imagine a Christmas holiday away in the town. What sort of holiday would that be? This holiday, I reached out and visited some people. It's always refreshing to see and get visitors around this time. There is something warm about meeting people from home. All you need to do is to be human, to be a whole person, and enjoy company. Everyone is enjoying the holiday.

Amog the people I visited is Mzee Blasio Kamunanwire in Mugarutsya, Bubaare, Mbarara District. Mzee Kamunanwire is a fine, good man. He migrated from Itegyero, near our home, to Mugarusya in the 1990s. What is for sure is that Mzee Kamunanwire was a friend of my late father. I count him one of my father's closest friends. Theirs was a mutual mentorship friendship—a very special one. When my father was still in primary school, Mzee Kamunwire was his teacher. That was the early 1960s. There was a beautiful turn, though, when my father was in college training as a teacher, Blasio joined to get certified too. So they both studied at Bishop Stuart College in Kakoba as primary school teachers. My father finished first, and he was employed at Bishop Stuart Demo Primary School. They related as friends. I should also have shared that Mzee Kamunanwire's father and my father's grandfather were best of friends. Our villages cross each other. A quick walker like those men would take 30 minutes to cross over and visit.

I was so grateful to visit Mzee Kamunamwire. I enjoyed the stories about how he and my father related, and how we valued my presence in his home. It's incredible how much influence the two friends had on one another. It was good to learn how Be became a go-between so my father and mother could marry. for all intents and purposes, he was the founder of the love story about my parents. He deserved all my time and visits, and I was honored to give it to him. I sat down and enjoyed a sophisticated and yet beautiful story. When we were young, we had cows at our farm that belonged to my host. I asked about the cows. One of them had been such a good breed. Long-horned cow of Ankole shape that had a high milk yield. I learned that one of the cows' descendants died under mysterious circumstances in Mugarutsya. We spoke about working and farming. He gave me two bunches of matooke from his vast plantation. Not that we needed matooke, but it was his courtesy gesture to give, and we gladly accepted to teke. I had such a great day visiting. I enjoyed the story of two great friends in the days past. I hope to go back soon. He has some back pain that I hope we can work togethet with his family to fix as I speak to teh pallitive care frieds around. He sees his doctor regulary at the Mbarara Regional Referal Hospital which is good. Happy New Year to you!