The farm

Photo: Annie Spratt, Unsplash!

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We have another wonderful story from our African writer, Ina Mina, whose native language is French.

I
WAS in high school when I started going to my grandparent’s farm. My siblings and I used to spend one month each summer in their village. The night before we left, my mother always cooked some food to eat during the trip. I remember that fried fish, meatballs, and bread were always on the menu. 

     On our way, my dad stopped at a store to buy water. We enjoyed the trip and our stay in the village. The trip was a good time of entertainment for us. I loved to see the landscape and the trees disappear as we drove. During our stay in the village, my grandmother took my aunt and me to the farmland behind their house. I did not know how to hold a hoe or how to use it. At first, when I saw the furrows, I thought they were graves. My grandmother told me that I asked my grandfather one day why there were so many graves in the village.

     My grandmother taught me how to hold a hoe and how to create a furrow. I didn’t like the farm when I had to work. It was too much work! The only time I enjoyed the farm was when it was time to pick corn. The first day we picked corn I kept eating and drinking just so I could stop working sometimes. The next day my hands were full of sores. My grandmother knew I did not love to work on the farm. During the month, she took us to the fields four times. The fields were right behind the house.

     Now it is a great memory. I wish I could go to my village today and go to the farm with my grandmother. I would do the work all the day long and everyday! —Ina Mina

 ©InterestEng. July 2013 - July 2021 §  The stories in the magazine portion of the site are written by English language learners. Stories are corrected by a native English speaker.  § Photos are staff photos or used with permission.  §  To contact us:  go.gently.on@gmail.com