A welcomed back to my home

It's good Friday and there's a break from work and school,
this Easter break, I decided to travel to our village compound. It had been a while since I last visited, and I felt the need to reconnect with my roots, take a break from the noise of the city, and spend the season surrounded by memories of home. Easter has always meant more than just celebration for me, it is a time of reflection of Christ’s passion and crucifixion.

As I arrived at the compound, a wave of nostalgia hit me. The familiar trees still stood tall, the same ones I used to run around as a child. The house was quiet, and the entire space felt still, almost forgotten. The dry season had left its mark. The ground was littered with dry leaves, scattered all over the compound like a faded brown carpet. The sight made me pause for a moment. It was clear no one had been around to clean. No footsteps had disturbed the leaves, no broom had touched the earth in a while.

I dropped my bag inside and changed into something more comfortable though sun flies chest me away so I had put on a polo instead of singlet. I found an old broom by the back of the house, the same kind we used to use, made of palm fronds and bound tightly at one end. Holding it felt strangely grounding, like I was stepping back into a familiar rhythm.

I began to sweep, after parking of the sticks slowly at first, testing the strength of the broom while I listened to some cool musics as I gathered the dry leaves. As I worked my way through the compound, I started to feel the silence shift. The sweeping wasn’t just physical labor, it became a form of meditation.

The work was tiring. The sun beat down hard, and the sweat soaked through my clothes quickly. But I didn’t stop. I moved from one corner of the compound to the next, clearing paths, making little piles of leaves and debris, then gathering them into bigger heaps to burn or dispose of. With each section I finished, I could see the transformation. What was once dull and lifeless started to look clean, open, and peaceful.

Neighbors passing by stopped to greet me, some surprised to see me there. A few offered to help, but I politely declined, it felt important for me to do this on my own. One elderly woman smiled and said, “You’re bringing life back to this place,” and those words stuck with me.

The compound has always been more than just land and walls. It holds stories of childhood, of family gatherings, of laughter, of quiet moments. And seeing it in that neglected state made me realize how easy it is to forget places that once meant so much. Sweeping, in a way, felt like reconnecting with all of that again. It was like telling the compound, “I remember you.”

By the time I finished, the sky had started to turn a softer shade. The shadows were longer, and a light breeze had picked up. I sat on under a beautiful and well shaded tree, looking at the clean compound. There was a deep sense of satisfaction in that moment. The place looked different. Not just physically cleaner, but emotionally warmer. It felt like home again.

Thanks for stopping by