My uncle died on a quiet afternoon.
The wake was simple: no flowers, no luxury, only a few neighbors came.
After the funeral, I stayed in the middle of the garden he had planted.
The wind caressed the leaves, and I could have sworn I heard his voice:
« Do not hate the world. Live well, and life will be good to you. »
A year later, my uncle’s garden had become a large plantation.
It is from there that we still draw our sustenance today.
But for me, the most precious inheritance was not the land, it was the lesson of trust and kindness.
If, that day, my mother had done as the others did and turned her back on him, we might never have had a second chance.
And without my uncle, we would probably still be living in poverty.
That’s why, when people ask me who the hero of my life is, I only have one answer:
« My uncle, the man whom everyone rejected, but who loved us with a pure heart. »
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