Written in November 2015.
"Look!" I pointed at the coconut tree that was falling. I prompted Reggie to have a look. We were on a shopping spree at a market in Cape Coast to get a few ingredients that would make the Christmas meal complete. It was Reggie's last boxing day in Ghana and my first Christmas spent in Cape Coast. I surmised that the fallen tree would cause harm, although I tried to be as optimistic as possible. But, then, when we arrived at the scene from the vegetable section of the market, the tall tree had smashed a skull, and it was that of a small boy!
What I witnessed got me riveted to the spot. The shock was overwhelming. I had not known the victim from anywhere, but the sudden pang of hurt provoked my eyes to let go the tears it unsuccessfully tried to hold back. The victim's mother wailed and wailed and I wondered whether her inconsolable being was because she felt she had been instrumental in her son's demise. She had laid a mat beside her as the coconut tree stood by unnoticed as that which would take a little boy's life in minutes!
Before November welcomed me this year, October took Angela away. She had been a member of the union choir we had formed at senior high and during our session at the grotto prayers, she had sang tenor with me. However, even after we had gone to university, not one of us had said a word to another before.
I had seen her among the queue that led to the hall tutor's office, waiting to be registered as new members of University of Ghana, Elizabeth Frances Sey Hall. I could not make out where I knew her from, but two other friends I had known from St Rose's contacted me later to inform me that Angie had told them about seeing me on UG campus.
I had not known her personally, but her demise hurt me very much. There were series of questions I asked, both necessary and unnecessary ones, after news got to me about her demise. I could not understand why a fresher, like I was, could not even write her first university exams.
Such times are those that make us wish life were a movie, so fictional that we could re-act scenes we did not like; so that the unfortunate would be a hoax; so that the pleasant would be accepted. But such moments are ones that should also remind us that death respects no particular soul; that we're as vulnerable as those who have taken the lead.
Is there a tomorrow?
"Look!" I pointed at the coconut tree that was falling. I prompted Reggie to have a look. We were on a shopping spree at a market in Cape Coast to get a few ingredients that would make the Christmas meal complete. It was Reggie's last boxing day in Ghana and my first Christmas spent in Cape Coast. I surmised that the fallen tree would cause harm, although I tried to be as optimistic as possible. But, then, when we arrived at the scene from the vegetable section of the market, the tall tree had smashed a skull, and it was that of a small boy!
What I witnessed got me riveted to the spot. The shock was overwhelming. I had not known the victim from anywhere, but the sudden pang of hurt provoked my eyes to let go the tears it unsuccessfully tried to hold back. The victim's mother wailed and wailed and I wondered whether her inconsolable being was because she felt she had been instrumental in her son's demise. She had laid a mat beside her as the coconut tree stood by unnoticed as that which would take a little boy's life in minutes!
Before November welcomed me this year, October took Angela away. She had been a member of the union choir we had formed at senior high and during our session at the grotto prayers, she had sang tenor with me. However, even after we had gone to university, not one of us had said a word to another before.
I had seen her among the queue that led to the hall tutor's office, waiting to be registered as new members of University of Ghana, Elizabeth Frances Sey Hall. I could not make out where I knew her from, but two other friends I had known from St Rose's contacted me later to inform me that Angie had told them about seeing me on UG campus.
I had not known her personally, but her demise hurt me very much. There were series of questions I asked, both necessary and unnecessary ones, after news got to me about her demise. I could not understand why a fresher, like I was, could not even write her first university exams.
Such times are those that make us wish life were a movie, so fictional that we could re-act scenes we did not like; so that the unfortunate would be a hoax; so that the pleasant would be accepted. But such moments are ones that should also remind us that death respects no particular soul; that we're as vulnerable as those who have taken the lead.
Is there a tomorrow?
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