A Moving Train

 

Life can be compared to a moving train. No one knows the actual time or day it first sets off except the one moving it. We humans do not know the actual time of the day our lives first began except our creator. As the train moves, none of the passengers know when it will stop moving, so is life. Once born, we have no idea when our lives will come to end. All that the passengers know for sure is that they will get off the moving train at a point in time or see others do. Neither when nor how, we know for sure that we will die or see others die. As some die, others get born. Passengers get off the moving train as newer ones get on board. As the train keeps moving, a lot of things set in. The train runs out of diesel, accidents occur, people are able to reach their destinations on time, and others aren’t. Some lose hope, others keep hoping. Some are skeptical from the very beginning on the train, others too confident. During the accidents, some lose their loved ones, others lose their “hard-worked for” treasures. Some people die, others are just lucky to survive. Some get permanently hurt, others wish they did than to die. Some get disabled, others fit as never before. Life is full of regrets, misery, and pain. There are times when we lack, times when we lose hope, times when we lose our loved ones and our most treasured. Times when everything seems wrong, times when everything turn against us. Times when we see nobody around but we and our struggles. We face regrets, heartbreaks, disappointments, surprises. Wonderful things happen in the train nevertheless. The music from a passenger’s player that calms the moment. It soothes minds, souls and spirits. With the music, the passengers find themselves in a new place where nothing as suffering exists. Times in the train when a teenager gets off his seat for a weak granny. A time when smiles spread on faces at a passenger’s joke. So is life. The times of joy, love, peace, liberty, and laughter. In the moving train are mean and heartless people. But a day is saved at the company of the loving. We meet the selfless and wicked in real life too. People who are too busy to listen, too proud to humble, too bossy to surrender, too mean to give. In contrast are the martyrs, the patriots, the servants, the benefactors and the angels. After the accident, some passengers cannot even spend a second without blaming the driver for the loss. They aren’t glad to be saved. Their anger gets to the max that they force to get off the train even when it could not stop. They end up dead, right on the ground, hopeless! Some passengers who survived are only grateful they did. In their minds, they know they are in no way better than those dead. They’re just grateful. They are able to reach their destinations. So is life. Some of us blame our creator for our every hard time, most of which are out of our own free will to act. Whenever we use our own direction because we think He after all doesn’t care, we lose track our lifetime purpose. Life is moving….Enjoy the journey.

The boy nextdoor

                                                            

Right next to my uncompleted building was my childhood friend Ato. We’ve been friends since when both of our parents decided to come to Accra to seek greener pastures. My dad was well known for his Johnson Brothers Limited. One of the wealthiest men in Chiraa. The other women tripped our house for help. They always got loans which they rarely paid back from my mom. She owned the biggest jewelry shops and supermarkets. But in grade 3, my parents lost everything. Whether fate or destiny or coincidence, I cannot tell. My “business man now laborer” dad got us the uncompleted building which we made our home. Coming from Adjumakoma is my friend Ato and her widow mother. His father had died when he was three. And his eight other siblings were at Adjumako each living a life of their choice under the supposed care of a grandmother who cannot see or talk, and “shits” on herself. All the eight had different fathers. Ato’s mom was indeed a super woman. Having one child with the Okyeame of their village, another with that cocoa farmer, that hunter from the next village and on. I don’t know what and how, but whatever pulled Ato’s mom to come seek greener pastures in Accra really saved Ato. Not saved as in free, healthy and wealthy, but he would have been a terrible thief who had impregnated six girls in a week back home. That was life at Adjumako. The struggles are even worse in the streets of Accra. Ato and I sell from dawn to dusk. On days that we had lessons in the morning, we sold throughout the day. That was just not it. We cleaned and labored to get money. He bought books and supported his mom with his gains. I did same to support my “house-cleaner” mother, my three siblings and my “laborer-drunkard” dad. But this one thing always beat my mind. The joyful face Ato always wore. He always talked about hope. A hopeful future when we wouldn’t be sweating under the scorching sun anymore, a time when we will eat what we want, not gari and water. It sounded to me a stupid hope. But what got me pissed and always made me change the topic was the source of his hope. Ato never stopped making noise about God. To him, God loved us, us all. He knew the purpose of our lives and will take us to a joyful end only if we followed His ways. No wonder Ato always read his bible, never missed church and smiled even when he was insulted and mocked, and shared his water with the other children in school. None of these made sense to me. Where was this God if I went through only hard times, when I lost the most important person in my life, when I had to sweat under the sun to fill my stomach with wet gari, when life made no sense. I cried as I walked with Ato towards the airport gate. I was going to miss the one person who made feel human. The only person who I spent my every time with. He’s on a sponsorship by one of his church elders to study in South Africa. This was what Ato told me as I hugged him for minutes: “Dede, there is a God who knows the destiny of His children. He will bring you to a joyful end only if you accept Him and follow His ways. Accept Him into your life and let Him have His way”. These words that Ato said to me run through my mind as I walked home. I began questioning myself. “So, was there a God who really loved me? Who will accept me and bring me joy if only I accept Him?” “Dear God, forgive my sins, I accept you into my life. Your will be done”. These words I said as tears rolled down my cheeks. For once, I thought, if there was any life I would want to live, then that will be the Ato- type of life.

You Are Great

                                                 

You are great, You are great, You are great. These words, grandpa will always speak anytime that we sat around the "bokyia" in the evenings to listen to stories. Before each story, he will tell me I am great. And after each story, he will say "Kay, you are great". I didn’t know why, but he never forgot to tell me I am great every evening when we gathered to share stories. It was an everyday routine. I never understood, besides I was only eight then. So much of a child to understand his words. Well, I became sort of further up and tired because definitely grandpa was going to say "You are great" each evening.  It no more became "anything" to me. It was normal now that I heard it every evening and never understood what I heard.

 It was a Saturday evening and grandpa and I have gathered around the fire for storytelling. And of course I was going to hear "You are great". But this time around, I was going to ask why? "Grandpa, why do you always say I am great?" I asked as grandpa and I walked towards the porch. Surprisingly, grandpa took away his hand that held mine; he took two steps backwards, smiled and looked me in the eye. In my mind, I laughed because I knew today was the day. Grandpa was finally going to tell me why I was great and why he kept repeating that so that it no more sounded a myth to me. Slowly he said," Kay, you are great". He said nothing more. I kept blaming myself because he rather got me more confused. That night I thought if grandpa didn’t know about my balky behaviour even at age eight.  I went out to play with Kuuku and Joojo even when mama asked me not to. I stole papa’s coins to buy "aleewa" even before telling him. I was mostly bribed with coins before attending Sunday school. I couldn’t talk well as Maama Esi did at age five. I didn’t have any talent but Kaafui could draw ''everything'' as young as five years. And still, grandpa thinks I’m great? In January 2014, I took my SAT exams. Even though I performed averagely well, I grieved because I couldn’t hit the mark. But a friend encouraged me. Even though not satisfied with my scores neither, she said:'' You are great, because you have the potential". In junior high school, my friends always said I was great. For a topic which was not well understood to the class, I could explain for everybody to understand and perform well in examinations. My little sister also says I am great. I am not anybody who draws perfect circles. I sinned no differently than other people. But anytime I lied, disobeyed, disappointed, I felt remorseful, asked for forgiveness and not repeat my mistakes. To her, I was a great mentor. In senior high school, my friends said I was great. I was humble in learning and selfless in teaching. I never gave up on anything. I cried, grieved and felt inferior at some points in life, but those times weren’t the end. I always stood up again and moved on. To them, I was great for my determination. Hearing these things each and every day, I couldn’t think of myself as anything than great. Now you who is reading, I just want you to know that YOU ARE GREAT!