Architecture

With a deep sense of nostalgia, I remember every detail of my childhood spent playing around my grandmother’s granary. It stood right next to her house, and as kids, we never thought much about its importance beyond being a storage place for the harvest. Grandma would often send mein there to collect maize, beans, or sometimes even eggs, when a chicken had laid inside. Being the smallest, I was the only one who could easily fit through the narrow entrance. This humble grain storage, once a symbol of rural livelihood, is now almost extinct. Walking through the village today, I can barely spot a single one left, and the thought that I might never see one again in my generation fills me with sadness. It’s not just the structures that are disappearing, but the loss of the deep, intellectual heritage that shaped their design, planning, and sustainability principles. Granaries, placed securely in the courtyard to protect them from wind and rain, were crafted from mud and thatch, sometimes as large as houses with m ltiple compartments. Their purpose went beyond storage—they embodied principles of protection: from dampness through thatched roofs and raised rafts, from pests with natural repellents, and from theft with tiny openings designed for only small children to access. The intricate details of construction were rooted in generations of knowledge, passed down quietly and now slipping away. To think that such thoughtful, sustainable design—once so vital to rural life—has almost vanished is heartbreaking. It’s not just the physical structures we’ve lost, but the wisdom that made them such a crucial part of our heritage.