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When chores where not chores
<p>During the December holidays, chores were never just chores. They were woven into the rhythm of the season, carried out under skies that felt kinder and days that seemed to stretch endlessly. Sweeping the compound in the early morning came with laughter and playful complaints, the broom moving faster than usual because we knew what waited on the other side of duty. Fetching water was no longer a burden but a race, a shared mission, footsteps echoing with excitement rather than fatigue.</p><p><br/></p><p>In the kitchen, chores became an invitation. Peeling, washing, stirring small hands learning from older ones, ears tuned to gossip, laughter, and quiet lessons that were never written down. Even washing plates felt lighter then, done with speed and purpose, just so we could run off and join the others before the sun climbed too high. The work connected us, each task a thread binding cousin to cousin, child to parent, grandchild to grandparent.</p><p><br/></p><p>Chores taught us patience without saying the word. They taught responsibility without punishment. They reminded us that everyone belonged, that everyone had a role, no matter how small. There was pride in finishing early, in being told “well done,” in being trusted with more the next day. And when evening came, tired bodies gathered together, work forgotten, stories shared freely.</p><p><br/></p><p>Now, the chores still exist but the feeling does not. The sweeping is quiet. The kitchens are smaller. The hands that once guided us are gone or too busy. What we long for is not the work itself, but the warmth that surrounded it the sense that even in duty, we were never alone. Perhaps that is what the holidays once gave us: not rest, but togetherness. And maybe one day, if we’re careful, we can teach that feeling back into the work again.</p>
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