The secret island

Of all the gifts The Good Lord gives to us mere mortals, writing is one of the most awe inspiring.

At least to me. The ability to create a world in which others can disappear always astounds me. It has led to great plays, great movies and what’s the best of all, IMAGINATION.

I was 3 years old the first time I held a book in my hand. I couldn’t read, so at the time, it was the worst gift ever. I used to watch my mum and aunties read these things and not want to play with me….it all seemed like crap to me. I repeat, I was 3 years old. My mum kept that red book for years.

Then one day, during my holidays in Primary 4, after driving my mum a little crazy, she gave me that book. So I sulked to my room and started on it. ‘The Secret Island’ by Enid Blyton.

A little background into who I was. I was a loved child with two parents who took care of and loved me, relatives that spoilt me, did well in school and rarely if ever got into trouble. I always felt safe and I thought life couldn’t get any better. So when I opened this book about these young siblings (who were like me and my own siblings) who lost their parents, run away from their evil relatives and lived on a deserted island, it was a shock to my system. The sadness, the friendships, the survival and the adventure!!! Gosh the adventure. A whole new world opened up for me. All I could wonder was,’ were there kids like that??? How many islands are there in the world? Could I go to one?? I need moooooorrrree!!!!

I got done with that book and immediately nagged my parents and thus they started to feed my habit! Then to find out it was a whole series about these kids?? I almost passed out in ecstasy. Hmmm, maybe I did.  Since then I have nearly always had a novel on me. And sadly if someone asks about me, this response tends to come up “oh! The one with the novels?”   Sigh…At least they could say ‘the one with the great wit and intelligence?” or at the very least ‘the one with the great ass?’

The secret island opened up my mind, my imagination. I stopped living in only a tiny suburb in Kampala City. The Secret Island led me onto a road where being narrow minded would be difficult if not impossible. A road that made me curious, question the status quo and always want more. Because it made me know, that there is more to just being  plain old me, I could be successful, I could be powerful, I could be funny, I could survive on an island (as long as my friends are there)…I could survive anything because ‘The Secret Island’ led me on a road that led me to believe that there is more to being just me…in whatever tragedy, joy, adventure or scary moment there is, because I will just grab a book…and I can dream again and be more..

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