#43: in which blessing becomes homecoming queen.

and slays at it, of course.

       I can imagine myself in my small apartment in Accra, sitting on the sofa with my feet up, a pose my mother hates because she believes  it communicates laziness. She’s right. It does, in my case, communicate laziness. But she's not here to see me, so she cannot complain. She's far away in Gambia; I am in Ghana, and I am the master of my own life. I can sit as I please. I can imagine the sounds around me — the drip-drop of the faulty tap in the bathroom, the activity outside the door, of people and pets moving about their day in the large compound. Knowing me, I probably would be watching the latest episode of The Broski Report on the television. I wouldn't be concentrating on Brittany Broski's witty voice droning in the background though. I'd be on my phone scrolling through Instagram for the umpteenth time, wishing I was as chic as the people I follow.  I can imagine it all, especially the fact that I would be alone.

I love being alone. I have always been alone. I didn’t grow up with the rambunctiousness of fellow playmates.  My idea of a great time is time alone in my room, debating aloud with myself on matters of philosophical and political  importance, sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed and ravishing an entire packet of chocolate-covered Digestives. I love hanging out with people, but being alone is my favourite thing : the action of intentionally removing oneself from the crowd that is life and seeking solitude  is nothing but spiritual to me. My alone-time is sacred. But I’ve come to learn that there is a precarious line between being alone and being lonely. Last summer, I chose to stay in Ghana because I got an internship opportunity there. I was misled into thinking it was an in-person affair. It wasn’t until it was too late that I found out that it was virtual. And so I spent the summer of 2023 really  alone. Then  I realised exactly what loneliness is and how pervasive it is.

How do I explain loneliness? It’s like being in an awfully large cave alone, your words and actions bouncing off the walls, echoing to you and you alone. My goodness, was I miserable! It’s a suffocating thing, loneliness. It’s like a cancer that nibbles and eats away at you… It is little wonder experts have concluded that it kills, even faster than a lifetime of smoking cigarettes. I remember the misery I used to feel waking up, knowing that it was going to be another day spent without company. There was no one to share moments with and that realisation stang like a m******. I believe there are periods in one’s life that inform their overall life politics. My lonely summer definitely changed the way I think about hyper-individualism and community. 

I loved the summer of 2024 because I was not alone. For  the past four months, I have not been alone in any capacity. I have been surrounded — enveloped , ensconced, whatever-other-word-there-is-to-use — by others. Even in moments of quiet, I could hear my father’s steady breathing in the next room, or feel my  cousin’s cushiony cheek on my breasts as she slept. I was never alone. People interspersed my days, and I found that it delighted my soul.  I’ll be back in Ghana in a few days. As the consummate overthinker that I am,  I’ve been thinking about my holiday and the person I am after it. I enjoyed it thoroughly, more than I ever expected and dare I say, more than I’ve ever enjoyed a holiday in my entire life. It was only when I sat down to write this essay that the motifs started to become clear: all my favourite moments this summer had a common denominator — delightful people.

there is no reason for this picture; i just want to be vain.

There are so many delightful memories that come to mind. I’ll try to recount them as I type. There were the walks with my father. We would talk around the estate and talk about everything and anything. That simple act of walking — and talking has greatly improved my relationship with my father, which was almost nonexistent before this summer. There was my adventurous trip  around rural Gambia to do development work with my internship institution. I was in a group with nine older adults and we camped at a village called Kauur in the North Bank Region. I slept on the floor for ten days straight and had to share meals with my other teammates. After vomiting my lunch and dinner the first two days (I myself was offended at my flagrant display of weakness) my stomach adjusted. I survived! All’s well that ends well, they say. Gambia is such a beautiful green place, and in the rural areas the sky is the clearest blue, the water is clean and the air is  so fresh. I loved it. I was sad to part with my teammates when the project came to an end. It was so much fun. There were the many workshops I attended and the friends I made there. I was so happy to have made friends with Gambians my age so organically; I didn’t have many that weren’t childhood friends, having been away from Gambia for so long. There was the weeklong workshop I attended where we lodged at a beachside hotel. One evening, my new friend and I walked to the beach, dipped our toes in the sea, took beautiful pictures and watched the sun set¹ — all while chatting away. It was simply magical. At another workshop, another new friend and I went on a long drive down the new Senegambia road. We stopped at a supermarket in the tourist strip and we recorded so many funny pretentious videos for our social media “fans” that will never see the light of day because we looked a mess! We had a rollicking time pretending to be influencers shopping at Erewhon. There were the moments with my cousins Ayo and Ola (they’ve begged me to name-drop them on here). I spent so much time at their house that my iPhone has labelled all the many pictures I have there as “home”. My cousins are twelve and nine and I think they are the coolest children to ever walk God’s green earth. They are also really good at cards and enjoyed thrashing me anytime we played. Every Sunday we would go to Bubbles and get Boba tea.... So many memories; I could go on and on for hours.

In more ways than one coming home has changed me. It has made me a more joyful person. It has infused in me a strange kind of hope. It wasn’t all easy; there were days I had to contend with the existential anxieties that come with being a young adult, but all in all, I am leaving home  rejuvenated, hopeful and most of all happy. I now have this fierce desire to do the things I have said I always wanted to do, and be the person I have said I always wanted to be.

I like to imagine myself as a bird, or a migrating being of some sort. l imagine my life as a journey propelled by the sheer force of the wind, an adventure from place to place, nowhere permanent. So far in my few years of life I have lived unanchored. I am always a guest in some capacity, a temporary resident. I don’t see that changing. I think my life  will be just that for a while — like that of an adventurous traveller .That used to scare me, but now it fills me with utmost excitement. Because if there is one thing that is as constant as the air we breathe, it is people, and I believe that where people are there is life and love and things worth fighting for.

things currently making me happy:

• my new laptop (her name is claire and she’s a beauty)

• my imaginary boyfriend

• back to school shopping.

• reading the outlander series like a crazed individual

• the anticipation of seeing my friends at school.

• and oh — i was on a podcast episode with a friend! she was a lovely host and we had a great time. check it out if you want here.

the beautiful sunset…

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