Down the Winding Dirt Road I Walked

The day a small child with big dreams went adventuring out

The dirt road, captured in a painting by my mother. Property of the author.

Everyone was hiding from the heat of the afternoon Kenyan sun, from its blazing, burning rays; the snakes in the undergrowth, the frogs in the long grasses, and my family in the house I’d just walked from.

Everyone, that is, but me.

I was an adventurer. I was choosing a different life and a different path. The time had come for me to part ways with safety and comfort, and to go out into the world on my own. After all, I’d been reading of such adventures for close to two whole years by now.

At six years old — nearly seven — it most definitely was time. And to give this adventure a purpose, I was running away!

Along the winding dirt road I walked. Like every adventurer on their first solo mission, I was cautious yet bold. Excitement had swept me up, spun me round, and taken me into the imaginary world in which I confidently dodged danger, navigated my way through unchartered territory, and hopefully found my way into the city to my favourite milkshake shop.

That was before I’d set out, and before my excitement then dropped me briefly into a pit of logic.

To run away, I needed to pack: a toothbrush, some toothpaste, a tin containing some…