"Lessons under the Acacia Tree"

In the evenings, the _dala_ compound was my classroom. I’d sit beside my grandfather, _jokwaro_, as he carved a walking stick and the fire glowed low. He never raised his voice. He taught with stories and silence. “Watch,” he’d say, pointing to the cattle. “A man provides. A man protects. A man keeps his word.” He taught me how to herd, how to mend a fence, how to speak in _baraza_ without fear. He taught me respect for elders, for women, and for God. He told me about _chira_, about marriage, and about carrying the name of my father well. By the time the stars came out, my hands were dusty and my heart was heavy with responsibility. That’s how Luo boys graduated — under the tree, with grandpa.