It was almost dusk, the sun rays where no longer visible. The sun was hidden under a heavy dark, thick, blanket of cumulonimbus clouds. Rain was pouring and pattering outside, accompanied by a roar of thunder and serialized flashes of lighting. The cyclonic rainfall was almost flooding the banks of Mabungwe River.

We gathered around the cackling fire desperately trying to warm up ourselves and listening to stories which were being prattled by our grandmother. She was now older than the age not the opposite. She barely walked and she was semi-crippled due to stroke. She was in deep pain, you could tell by the way she closed her small color blind and short sighted brown eyes. Nevertheless her pain seemed normal to us and we were not worried about her.

She narrated series of antiquated stories, some of them were endless and others didn't have the root. The good thing about these stories is, they're all meaningful and worthy pondering on. These stories made us to lose our concentration and concern about her ailment.

As grandma was reciting her...