Witnessing the journey of self
I was born, like everyone like all my peers with a map I did not draw, and spent half my life folding it back to its original creases, pretending I had never opened it to a country called elsewhere. Elsewhere is a beautiful liar, fluent in every language the heart wishes to hear. It promises … The post Witnessing the journey of self appeared first on Ghanaian Times .
Born into a world that felt foreign, I spent years trying to fit the map handed to me by fate, only to realize it was my own journey to navigate. Elsewhere, a deceptive temptress, promised sweetness but often delivered disappointment. Years of seeking happiness beyond home left me questioning ambition and purpose.
An elderly Ewe woman, whose home was Newtown, taught me that the lagoon does not leave the sea, but rather remembers its origins. This wisdom resonated with me as I later understood the floods of Accra only after my roof had succumbed to the elements. There lies a deep-seated understanding that transcends individual voices, passed down like a shared inheritance.
My grandmother imparted the idea that wounds create a space for light to enter, a concept echoed by my grandfather's proverb: God does not close a door without leaving His hand upon it. Both messages impart the same mercy, just expressed differently through distinct languages.
Cities that once existed are now only echoes in the contours of my speech — the memory of Keta, now submerged. This form of homeland is intangible, a lingering ache etched within words, reminiscent of the comforts of home despite the absence of physical presence.
Exile, I discovered, is not merely a geographical crossing. It can manifest as an empty seat at a table once filled with loved ones. Grief, when unalleviated, resembles a lagoon forsaking its connection to the sea. It must be allowed to acknowledge its past, to drift towards its source, just as a swimmer navigates a current by aligning their trajectory.
One elder, revered for his dignity, instilled in me the understanding that true sophistication lies not in material possessions, but in carrying one's past with grace and resilience. The wise man spoke of the axe and the tree, embodying the lessons of impermanence and endurance.
In the realm of labor, there exists a profound respect for the unspoken, as exemplified by the fishermen of Anyako, who maintain their nets with unwavering determination, ever mindful of the water's relentless churn. It is in such labor that dignity finds its truest expression, devoid of pretense or expectation.
Love, in its purest form, resembles the gentle illumination of a lamp's oil, providing warmth and guidance without demanding praise. Each person who has entered my life has arrived as a gift, bearing their own provisions, transient yet leaving an indelible imprint upon my existence.
Forgiving those who have wounded me does not imply condoning their actions, but rather recognizing that dwelling on past grievances prolongs the burden. The lagoon's water, capable of drowning, also carries one home, a poignant reminder that challenges often hold the key to our growth. Embrace the people around you, not through idealization, but through authentic connection, allowing their essence to influence you without becoming an unattainable mirage.
Written by urgent.news from Ghanaian Times's reporting — not their text. Machine-written — may contain errors; check the original before relying on it.
