I… don’t know where I come from.

It sounds like grand-momma, telling you where you come from

I grew up around people who knew where they came from. They went back to their villages and hometowns during the vacations and on certain holidays to spend time with their family. They came back with stories about cousins who were so different from them because they didn’t grow up in the city. They talked about how they only went because they ‘had to. But when they were done talking, there was always a faint smile playing on their lips. There’s no place like home.

Said it’s kinda like laughter, out of the mouths of your lovеd ones

I grew up in the city with most of my extended family scattered around the town (or the world). Going to see my family meant going to a different neighbourhood. Ironically, we too, didn’t meet as often as we were expected to. But when we came together on holidays (and birthdays), it was always a celebration of life. We thanked God, we teased, we laughed and sometimes, we fought. At the end of the day, when every exhausted person said their goodbyes, we were glad we came by. There is no place like home.

Or catching up with an old friend, reminiscing on back whеn

I have never been to my ‘hometown’ before. I have a vague idea of where it is located but I… don’t know where I am from. I don’t know any of my cousins who are ‘twice removed’. I don’t know which auntie fits where and how. I… don’t know where home is supposed to be.

Last week, my grandma was telling me about her grandma. She spoke so fiercely of her. She mentioned where we came from and how industrious her grandma was. She was a strong woman, my great [great] grandmother. As my grandmother spoke, I realised, I only know so much about my family. A lot of times, I feel bad… like I should know more. Ask more. Learn more.

Last year, I met a lady. She wasn’t from here. She asked me where I was from. Then she asked when I moved to Accra. I told her I’d lived in Accra all my life, but I am Bono and Fante. She was confused. How could I have lived all my life here and claim somewhere else as my home. She said that wherever a person is born/bred is their home. Plus most of my family is here anyway. I laughed. That’s not how it works, luv.

Photo by Amir Ghoorchiani on Pexels.com

Today, I roamed the streets of Accra with my friend. I showed them where to buy what. I pointed at the places I frequented growing up and how some of the landmarks are a bit different now. I knew where the road narrowed and where all the footpaths were. This is home. 

It’s like a summertime sprinkler, street side with my ice cream cone

Said it sounds like a choir, singing hymns, hallelujah

I may not know all about it, or be able to explain every branch on the family tree. But at the end of the day, when I roam the streets I grew up on, I can’t help but feel safe and warm inside. 

There is no place like home.

It’s the voice of God, yeah

It can make a grown man cry

voice of god – dante bowe

Nana Agyeiwaa Nyameba

P. S. Yaassss peoplleeeee!!! I’m still listening to Voice of God and it is such a-

I have no words😭😭

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