It was the mid-1970s.
When two beautiful souls chose to join their lives, in marriage, they also made a sacred decision: to bring forth a third soul into the world.
Me.

As I grew, so did a tall, green plant outside my window — vibrant, alive, three-dimensional in its presence.
It climbed beyond the first floor, rising steadily until one day, I saw it bloom.

A single white flower emerged — silent, luminous, watching.
It wasn’t just a flower. It was a big eye.
A portal into something ancient and unknown,
quietly whispering secrets to the center of my mind…under my skin.
It haunted me — not with fear, but with mystery.

Years later, in the middle of my teenage drift, a few friends offered me a small cup of dense, jelly-like liquid.
“Only a cup,” they said. – It’s the fruit of the gods, the same as your home
I laughed, heart open, and said, “Bring it on!”

The moment it touched my tongue, my throat…I felt it:
As if I had swallowed a living heart — pulsing, wild, cosmic.
But I knew… this was something I had to do.

Mission complete, we thought.
“Now what?”
“Let’s go to the party,” they grinned.

At first, nothing seemed to happen.
But after a few puffs of a Russian cigarette, the world began to shift.
The drums grew louder — not in volume, but in presence.
Then the rhythm moved into my chest…
And then — I was the drum.

I was the beat that moved the crowd.
I made them jump, dance, and howl under the stars.
The night turned electric — a wave of colors, connections, and primal joy.

I couldn’t comprehend it, but I didn’t need to.
I felt it: unity, ecstasy, freedom.

Some of my friends were struggling, gripped by fear or confusion.
I wasn’t aware of their storms at the time.
I only felt the booming heartbeat inside my mind, echoing through space.

Eventually, we stumbled back home, laughter softening into silence.
I collapsed into sleep,
not the ordinary kind, but a soul-deep surrender.
I slept for nearly twenty hours.

And when I woke, I thought:

Was that real?
Or just a strange, beautiful memory of a dream…?

That was my first encounter with Grandfather Wachuma 
not just a plant,
but a mirror.
A teacher.
A doorway into the living mystery of myself.

I still dream of that memory of a dream.
But know Wachuma tastes me deeper and gently.