Growing up in the 1980s in Mukunyu village, tucked away in the rolling green hills of Kyenjojo District, was a beautiful mix of simple joys and life’s tough lessons. Our days started early with roosters crowing, the smell of porridge cooking over wood fires, and the sound of birds waking up the world. Life was not easy, but it was full of quiet richness.

My parents were hardworking farmers. They grew coffee, cotton, and all sorts of food crops. We were eight children in the family, but somehow, they always made sure we had enough to eat, clean clothes to wear, and a chance to go to school even when money was tight.

What I remember most about them was their kindness. My father did not say much, but when he spoke, you listened. My mother, on the other hand, had this warmth that could fill a room. During festive seasons, she would cook huge meals and always keep extra plates ready for neighbors, friends, and even strangers who showed up unannounced. Our home was open, and so were their hearts.

They believed in community. Forgiveness was not just something they preached; they lived it. I remember one Christmas, a neighbor who had wronged us came by. My father looked at him, smiled, and said, “Life is too short to carry heavy hearts.” That moment has never left me.

And they did not just think about today; they planned for our tomorrow. They bought land, made lasting relationships, and paved the way for us to have something to hold onto even after they were gone. For that, I will always be thankful.

Now, as a teenager, I found myself drawn to music. It was everywhere, floating from village kiosks, crackling through radios at community gatherings, or playing from dusty gramophones. I was hooked. Seeing my love for it, my father surprised me with a radio cassette player. I was thrilled, but I had no cassettes to play!

So, I came up with a plan. My friend Robert and I worked on the farm, picking over 100 kilos of coffee under the scorching sun. Our first sale did not go well; the beans were under-dried, and the buyer turned us away. But we did not give up. We went back, did it right, and finally made a sale. It was my first real income.

With that money, I bought my first music cassettes, some flashy bell-bottom trousers, and a pair of shiny disco glasses that glowed under the moonlight. I felt like a star.

I remember when Edie Brickell’s hit song “What I Am” hit the airwaves. Hearing it through my cassette player in our little thatched house felt like magic. My friends and I would walk proudly through town with shirts tucked in and sodas in hand, feeling cool and confident.

Then came the moment that still makes me laugh to this day. One afternoon, caught up in the excitement, I shook my Fanta soda bottle. The moment I opened it, it exploded all over me! I was soaked from head to toe. Everyone around burst out laughing, and I just slipped away, sticky and embarrassed, but smiling through it.

Looking back now, those memories are golden. They remind me of how youthful energy, mistakes, laughter, and small victories shaped who I am. They taught me the value of kindness, hard work, and joy in the little things.

And every time I walk through a coffee field or hear an old cassette track, I am taken right back to that time. And honestly? I would not trade it for anything.