I did not have much to do. Between channel surfing and newspaper browsing, I relived the memories of yester-years labour day celebrations. Jean was nowhere in sight. She decided it is those days she hibernates in a salon for a whole day in the name of "I am my hair".

For our close-knit nuclear family, it was always a tree planting day. A day when the whole family would wake up and walk to our little forest to re-afforest the trees we have been cutting the past year. Dad would have visited the local greenbelt movement nursery the previous day and brought a variety of trees. Mostly it was a collection of blue gum/eucalyptus and cypress trees-I am not sure about their English names.

We would wake up to a mug of fermented porridge, put on gumboots and dress for the weather which most of the time was chilly and drizzling. We will then head to our little forest with jembes, fork jembes, pangas, spades and a wheelbarrow of tree seedlings. Dad would always carry his old Sanyo radio to listen to the celebrations in Nairobi.

It was fun for my kid sis and I. There were the wild fruits, mostly strawberry-like fruits, wild berries, others from indigenous trees that would leave your tongue purple and others will be gummy. Then there was the ochre type of soil that was multi coloured and "delicious" to eat. The tree climbing was exhilarating and sliding down the wild vines from tree tops would give you an adrenaline-rush. It was fun. Most of all, was the bonding of the family unit that provided warmth, security and a worryless environment. I guess it was unifying even with nature for every tree we planted guaranteed us a better future subconsciously. Things that are now a bygone.

I loved farming from an early age and I always had my own small plot, a kitchen garden of sorts where I would experiment growing all manner of food crops. It was exciting watching a seed break up and a seedling sprout out of the soil. Sometimes I would be impatient and every evening after school I would dig up the seeds to check if the green plant is sprouting. Teachers would be amazed to my answer to the question, what do you want to be when you grow up. I always said, "when I grow up I want to be a farmer". Until latter years of primary education when I discovered electronics which led to the demise of the antique Sanyo radio and an engineer was born.

I just realized the other day that I am still growing up and I want to be a farmer. I acquired some slice of land in the outskirts of Nairobi and my childhood dream resurrected. I still want to be a farmer when I grow up. Currently I am torn between eucalyptus farming, smalltime horticulture farming, poultry farming or dairy farming. The thought of this is elating, my reunion with soil mechanics, away from virtuality.

Yesterday was Labour day and I could not help but empathize with the workers who were yearning for some hopeful meager salary increment from a detached president. I could not help but sympathize with mankind grappling to come to terms with a looming food crisis, hunger and famine.

Maybe, when I grow up I will be a farmer and help guarantee food security.