[In the heart of an African society, I clung to the shimmering fragments of the day I was born, a day veiled in my infancy yet etched in the legacy of my people.] Societal expectations, like ancient echoes of the ‘signs of the time,' weighed heavily upon me. I had grown up engulfed in my own myth in which childhood was supposed to be carefree, playing in the sun until witnessing the sunset, getting involved in some minor misdemeanor, making new friends to play toys with and having adventurous experiences every day. This had been my own dimension of life. Every member of the society who knew or thought they knew me believed that my arrogance was congenital. [I still remember vividly, on the 12th of May in 2008, when my mother, who had been carrying her third pregnancy, finally gave birth to my little sister.] A swarming crowd of relatives, neighbors, and members of the society was dispersed in the yard. The outdoor cooking area buzzed with people, while inside the house, my mother sat on a chair, cradling my baby sister amidst a throng of guests. A lot of singing and ululating came from both young and elderly women, who looked perfect in their African attire, accompanied by penetrating whistles from the men. Children of my age were taking turns dancing in the center of the circle, surrounded by a clapping and cheering crowd. I was the only one lost in a mish-mash of thoughts, wishing every day could be like this. Everyone was highly spirited and filled with nude exhilaration. [Eager to have a look at the special, newly introduced family member, I walked into the house and stood right next to my mother.] I gazed at her as she swayed the baby gently from side to side fluttering her with kisses while boils of joyful tears formed in her eyes. Her tears of joy spoke of a time gone by, when I was the star beneath a similar sky. She politely whimpered, “Simba this is the same thrill that overflowed our hearts the day you were born, all the celebration and gifts once belonged to you.” Her words painted a picture of celebration so true. In those moments, I felt the echoes of my past, wishing for days where such bliss could last. [The week of my fifth birthday and my sister's birth marked a pivotal moment as my parents enrolled me in kindergarten-which began with teachings so true.] I was taught societal values that included showing respect to elderly members and honoring their presence by prioritizing them in every possible way. This involved greeting elderly people either by kneeling down, bowing my head, or performing the rhythmic African clapping of hands. I was told to relate and share with neighbors, help the needy and apologize after having done something wrong. Grandfather told me folktales aimed at passing on life survival skills, which include hunting, herding cattle, fetching firewood, fishing, preparing the land for rain, and assuming the fatherly role in my father's absence. My mother's kitchen beckoned for assistance, while my father's garden called for care. Each task a step in the life I was to embrace, yet my youthful heart longed for a different space. [The state of being consumed in my own dimension of life hindered me from accepting the entire norms and core values.] The resonating memories of the day I was born kept me contemplating to the extent that I wanted to live the same day, free of duties and the cumulating orthodox. I struggled to execute the norms and values and become responsible. There was this one time when I got home very late, far beyond my carefully set child curfew. I went to play with my neighborhood friends. We had our own custom-made football made of plastics and papers. I was enjoying the match in the dusty road when I heard my mother shouting out my name. I knew it was time up for me. I refused to comply with my conscience and decided to ignore her regardless of my friends who opted I rushed home. When the sun had completely set and everyone was heading home, I walked home covered in mist of dust. When I reached home, my mother flogged me, and I was so angry that I skipped supper. At that moment I felt I wanted to be alone especially being extremely inspired by the popular western movie “Home Alone”. [As I grew up, I matured in my appreciation of being African, and to this day, I still value African culture.] I strongly believe that the mandate of our culture is to place a good background foundation, uplift one another regardless of our differences in sex, change our lives through embracing and showing love to our native country's beliefs, practices and mode of contact and lastly, to take pride in our skin color. I can testify because I have been able to make good conduct with people at school, church and the society despite the time it took me to accept the morals. So now I see the norms as the map to my quest, in every lesson learned, in every test. The essence of culture, in each guiding light shows me the way to success, through both day and night