It Once Took a Village

“The greatest gift a parent can give to their child is his or her own happiness.” — Thich Nhat Hanh

I'd like to think I was born in a village, a clan, a kind of modern tribe of some sought. Not a tribe in the old sense, but a community shaped by many cultures. I grew up just outside Nairobi in a place that was a full cocktail of identities. I grew among the Iteso, Maasai, Kamba, Meru, Luhya, Luo, Kikuyu, name them! These were my neighbours, my childhood friends, many of whom are still in my life today. Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen myself as tribal. When your childhood is shaped by that kind of mix, it’s hard to see people through narrow lines.

And childhood, back then, truly felt like childhood. We spent more time outside than inside. Mornings started with breakfast and cartoons - remember the Tom and Jerry's, Dexter's Lab, Jonny Bravo, Kids Next Door... Men! Good days eeh!, then by ten the real adventures began. We ran out, made toys from mud, wired our own toy cars, moulded clay guns, played police and robbers. The forest was our playground. We came home dusty and our parents didn’t seem to mind. Dirt meant you’d lived. We created joy with our own hands.

Looking back, I realize we grew up inside the kind of community Dr. Maté writes about. Raising children was a shared effort. Parents supported one another. Kids spent most of their days surrounded by adults who knew them, watched them and cared for them, especially during the long holidays. (Subscribe to continue reading)