JUST A QUESTION

Just a  question
Have you ever been to the village stream?
With the folks, carrying jerry cans of different litres
 And the girls balancing iron and plastics buckets on their heads

 Making your ways down through the narrow path flanked by thick bushes

The memories were always great
And the feelings tantalizing
 Sometimes the cans are put in wheelbarrow and we take turns to push
 Getting to the stream is a dream we cannot wait to achieve

 Yet the distractions along the path cannot be brushed aside
 The plucking of mangoes, ripe and unripe
 The stoning of pears and guava
Stretching out and cutting off little branches of the black velvet tamarind

 The steep between the narrow path and the stream must be threaded with caution

 to avoid tripping over.
 Walk gently with shuffling legs or use your buttocks if you are that scared
And finally we are in the stream.

Years ago according to the story, a tree fell across one Eke night
There was no storm, so the legend suggests the tree provides a sitting place at night for the ancestors to drink and make merry
 Whatever,  it provided us more fun at the stream

 It divided the stream into two halves
 stem of the tree somehow lays above the ground.
So we would crawl to the highest elevation of the stem and have an aerial view of the stream and the surrounding

Unclad, we jump into the cold, chilly water
Splashing waters sideways, upwards.

Pinching our noses to avoid the liquid from gaining entrance into our nasal cavity.
 Swimming takes longer than fetching

Fetching is our ticket out of the house

Thirty minutes or so we begin to feel the cold and we shiver
A rural jingle about a sudden departure from a place of visit no matter who's cooking homeward for warmth is intoned and we quickly fill our cans and zoom off

Did you remember this?

If not, then I guess childhood didn’t treat us all, equally