Personal Narrative: My Home

My arms were killing me.
In an effort to distract myself from the pain, I began to mentally go through my favorite scenes from Harry potter, but even the thought of my favorite book couldn’t keep my mind off my discomfort for long. Huffing, I lugged the water-filler bucket uphill, careful not to spill too much of its precious contents. That would mean another trek downhill and I’ve had enough of that for one day.
I brightened up when I neared my destination- a simple hut made of mud and clay, its thatched roof glimmering under the morning sun. Hastily slipping out of my mud-caked sandals, I hurried on to the little veranda and set my burden down with a soft thunk. Heaving a sight, I stretched my aching hands up and arched my sore back, my toes digging into the now-familiar clay floor, the cool sensation it provided a welcome relief to the blisters adorning my feet. …show more content…
It was a two-roomed affair, housing a family of five. My first impression of it was that it was small- too small to house so many. Now, with me in the foray, the already-crowded house was bursting at the seams. I was introduced to the Marai household as part of my Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award. This required me to live with them for an extended period of time; learning their lifestyle, helping with their everyday chores and all in all, integrating myself within their family