In our small village, we had come to terms with the fact that my uncle Joseph was gone for good. Uncle Joseph had been missing for five years, and no one had any real hope left. We searched hard at the start. Family members went to neighbouring towns, visited hospitals, and filed reports with the police. Nothing turned up. His phone went dead soon after he left, and calls never went through.
He walked out one morning saying he needed to find work in another town. That was it. No goodbye, no note. As the months turned into years, the searches stopped. People stopped asking. We assumed the worst. My grandmother took it hardest. She sat on the porch every evening, eyes fixed on the dirt road, waiting for him to walk up like nothing happened. Even she started to let go after so long.
So the family planned a memorial ceremony to say goodbye properly and find some peace. Relatives arrived from far away. The compound felt quiet and heavy. We set up chairs, cooked food, and talked about old times with Joseph. Preparations wrapped up the day before. Then, the day before the ceremony, Uncle Joseph came home. He appeared at the gate, thinner and tired but alive. He said he had been working odd jobs in distant places, lost touch, and only now made it back. Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=37523
