Tales of Tristan

Each new day in the village of Kosoko was like the previous;  little kids running in every direction with the intent of playing on the foremost part of their minds, and older kids acting grown up while chatting with rabbits and rats, weird, right? That's Kosoko. Mothers, ever busy, could also be seen keeping an eagle eyed look on their kids and hollering at them to return when they began to venture far out of sight amidst gossiping with peers. When dusk strikes and the lights come alive, the aroma of their food compel both men and kids to respond with stupendous alacrity. The men of the village only engaged in farming, which was contrary to their former occupation; hunting, but ever since the Igwoba(village head) bestowed upon animals the gift of speech, animals were rarely killed for food and sport. Kosoko was indeed a beautiful village, but it wasn't always so. ( Now, you're probably wondering where I am in all these, am I part of the men, women or kids running in draping pants?... Well, I'll let you in on a little secret : I am dead, and this is a story of how I died).