Long, long ago, before the roads were wide and before people counted days by calendars, there lived a people in the green highlands called the Agĩkũyũ. Their land was rich with forests, rivers, and stories passed from mouth to ear, from elders to children, as the fire crackled in the night.
In those days, when a man and his wife prepared for a long journey—maybe to visit distant relatives, maybe to trade goats and grain, or in case of parents death, especially the mother—they did not leave their children just anywhere. No, they knew better. They took the children to the home of their mother’s sister, the aunt from the mother’s side. This was the way of life in Kikuyu land.
The elders taught that the mother’s side was the safest place for a child. They said, “Mũtugo wa mwana umaga kũrĩ nyina”—the nature of a child follows the mother. The people believed that blood, life, and true belonging flowed strongly through the mother. This bond had no doubt, no question, and no shadow of suspicion.
But the father’s side was different. In Kikuyuland of old, people understood life as it was, not as it was wished to be. They knew that not every child born in a man’s house carried his blood. Such children were called kanyuri—children born outside marriage, and this was not a curse or a shame. It was accepted as part of life and especially preserving a lineage. Because of this truth, the elders feared that some children might be treated poorly on the father’s side, especially if doubt entered the heart of the family.
So they said, “Let the children stay where love is certain.” And that place was with the mother’s people.
The aunt became another mother. She fed the children, taught them manners, told them clan histories, and corrected them when they went astray. When the children cried at night, it was the aunt who comforted them. When they laughed in the morning, it was her laughter that answered back. In her home, no child was questioned, and no child was rejected.
As time passed, generations came and went, but this wisdom remained like a deep root in the soil. Even today, in Kikuyu families, children grow with strong ties to their mother’s side. They know their uncles and aunts, their cousins and grandparents from their mother’s home. They return there in times of joy and in times of trouble.
And so I conclude this story by saying: “A child is a visitor in the father’s home, but a child is a seed in the mother’s land.” That is the way it was in Kikuyuland, long ago—and that is why it still lives in the hearts of the people today.
In those days, when a man and his wife prepared for a long journey—maybe to visit distant relatives, maybe to trade goats and grain, or in case of parents death, especially the mother—they did not leave their children just anywhere. No, they knew better. They took the children to the home of their mother’s sister, the aunt from the mother’s side. This was the way of life in Kikuyu land.
The elders taught that the mother’s side was the safest place for a child. They said, “Mũtugo wa mwana umaga kũrĩ nyina”—the nature of a child follows the mother. The people believed that blood, life, and true belonging flowed strongly through the mother. This bond had no doubt, no question, and no shadow of suspicion.
But the father’s side was different. In Kikuyuland of old, people understood life as it was, not as it was wished to be. They knew that not every child born in a man’s house carried his blood. Such children were called kanyuri—children born outside marriage, and this was not a curse or a shame. It was accepted as part of life and especially preserving a lineage. Because of this truth, the elders feared that some children might be treated poorly on the father’s side, especially if doubt entered the heart of the family.
So they said, “Let the children stay where love is certain.” And that place was with the mother’s people.
The aunt became another mother. She fed the children, taught them manners, told them clan histories, and corrected them when they went astray. When the children cried at night, it was the aunt who comforted them. When they laughed in the morning, it was her laughter that answered back. In her home, no child was questioned, and no child was rejected.
As time passed, generations came and went, but this wisdom remained like a deep root in the soil. Even today, in Kikuyu families, children grow with strong ties to their mother’s side. They know their uncles and aunts, their cousins and grandparents from their mother’s home. They return there in times of joy and in times of trouble.
And so I conclude this story by saying: “A child is a visitor in the father’s home, but a child is a seed in the mother’s land.” That is the way it was in Kikuyuland, long ago—and that is why it still lives in the hearts of the people today.
