‘The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.’ Gustave Flaubert.
The old folk tales of the past. I loved listening to those stories. I grew up listening to them. I vividly remember the traditional folk tales my parents told with what they listened to growing up as part of the cultural norm. They called them”Kicha” to this day. Everyone would gather around together and listen to the stories with fascination.
It still brings those fond memories of just building imaginations when those stories were told at the time. Little did I know how much truth there were behind these tales; how the boy got stuck in a well by his brothers, as they were so convinced that their father favoured their youngest brother than had them, for instance etc etc. Wonder where that came from :).
Anyway, story books weren’t so much of a thing for them growing up, so the lack of hardback story books in their rural household really allowed them all to think of stories to tell their own family, friends and neighbours that would comfortably join in crowds, especially for those rainy nights, within their tinned roof houses and mud hut walls. How simply humbling and beautiful it sounds..X
They would light up candles and lanterns and display them around the room for added excitement and to help grab great attention to the theme of the stories. All usually related to some kind of wild animal or a bird. There always appears to be a bird in the story. Haha :).
So they would all huddle up together, look directly at the storyteller while the candlelight would glisten and they all would listen intently. Hooked by it they were.
The storyteller would use all kinds of voices and tones and pitches to create such array of characters that have been explored, whilst detailing and contextualising everything at the same time. Even the way a different setting was being described was not to be spared.
And that was the end of that chapter 😉 ..x