All Things Must Pass... (Last Night in Ghana)

She don’t care what it’s worth
She’s living like it’s the last night on earth

So it’s about 2AM of my last night in Accra, in Ghana, in Africa. Far from home, half a world away. However you put it. By this time tomorrow I will be somewhere over the Sahara en route to Amsterdam, the gateway to the “developed” world, a place far different from this one.

After returning home from a delicious dinner at Minnie’s and drinks at Jazztones, I came home and continued the process of packing, wrapping fragile gifts, trying to find order to things and finding interesting ways of maximizing the space available. Even my guitar is filled with my socks and underwear...

Festus came by my room for a chat as I was removing posters, maps and flags. When I turned around to look at the place I had made as my own space and sanctuary, I was struck by how empty it is now. No signs of life or character, just a bunch of junk on the floor; my life being jammed into a few small pieces of luggage.

This is the life I’ve come to know in the last nine months. And it’s become one that I’ve become rather comfortable with. I know the ins and outs of the university, the city and the country, plus a few others, somewhat. By now, I can dispense advice and wisdom like a human Bradt guide. I can eat almost anything and can sleep almost anywhere. Here, I’m capable, independent and treated as an adult (if not curiously by Ghanaians, like a free range zoo animal). I can make my way across the city, the country and beyond. I can pack a bag and leave anywhere at a moment’s notice. I can haggle.

Alas, I still have a life back home that I had put on pause. I suppose to say that is a bit naive, as if the universe will stay in suspended animation, like Super Mario in mid-leap. The world keeps turning and so has the world I once knew. People are getting lives, getting jobs, getting married.

Tonight, before packing it in my suitcase, I sat and slowly went through the giant scrapbook of home that Maleaha made for me. I realized that it represents another time and place – my “old life”, as it were. Everything looks a bit aged and faded. This is a life I can remember by sight, but not by hearing, smell, taste or touch. It’s all so fuzzy now, this life from so long ago.

The irony of this is that my “old life” is also going to be my “new life” (with some adjustments) by Saturday in the late afternoon. It’ll be back to work this summer, catching up with friends (hopefully, still) and playing some good tunes as well as seeing some great shows, inshallah.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m beyond excited to return home and I’ve been counting the days for almost two months. While I’ve become comfortable with my liberated, jet-set life here, I’m yearning for the one that I spent 20 years building up. Like a sympathetic executioner arriving at an inmate’s cell, I can hear the words calmly echoing in my head, “Okay... it’s time.”

I can see
The need in everyone
A change of season

I have parents to go home to, friends to spend time with, a dog to play with and a woman to build a future with. Beers that need drinking, basements that need jamming, movies that need watching and jokes that need laughing. These are the things that make life the rich tapestry that it has become. Like a fine kente, a Ghanaian would say, it is brightly coloured and intricately woven.

In the last nine months, I’ve done many crazy things, seen many fantastic places, experienced the warmth of human kindness and felt the presence of God throughout. I can’t help but be thankful every day for this experience, even if sometimes it can be too difficult to remember why. I’ve experienced so much and grown likewise. I’ve met so many people and have made so many friends from different places and have made strong friendships that will last for a very long time. I can’t imagine that by tomorrow everything will pass from me and become just a memory, a dream that I will have awoken from in my bed. I shudder to think that these nine months will soon become just a collection of stories that I’ll tell to others who will try to imagine it for themselves...

I’m just a boat on the ocean
I’m just a ship lost at sea

But hey, I’m still Mr. Obruni. And I’ll probably be back someday. Tomorrow never knows...