Reminiscing. After a long day walking under the trolling sun, up and down the hills of the city where truth stands, I remain puzzled by the never ending unraveling of stories that we each pass by.
If I was asked about my day, I couldn’t really recount the lot. My feet still aching from my dragging of them in tight shoes. My neck stifled for always looking forward so I don’t crash into strangers. At a pause, most people seem to be escaping from an unfriendly stare behind their backs whiles for others, it’s just a joy ride, laughing and taking selfies. The one truth for us all is that the sun is too hot and needs to calm down.
I am relaxed in my cubicle listening to Tupac’s Life Goes On, and maybe I can now come to realize what my day was all about – definitely something more than sucking myself dry with gibberish spilt by my lecturers or seeing new faces anytime I go for lectures…honestly, I think I’m probably the new face always.
How many brothers fell victim to the street ? The opening line of Tupac’s song. And even though this piece is not about Tupac nor his song, but it is worth expressing the sense of compassion the opening line drives to us as listeners and readers. Hopefully, maybe we too can feel.
So my day was about people. Sinking in and nodding to the song I begin to ask the same question over and over again. How many of us..? Walking hurriedly in sweats I come to feel that I am not walking past just people but stories. What does the gentleman who just brushed past me have to share. If we went deep into him we could understand why he was listening to the song in his ears or understand his reason for just wearing the airpods without playing anything through them. Or the two ladies who are walking in front of me. One holding the other’s hand so tightly and placing her head on her shoulder. Could they be enjoying the company of their love for each other or one was consoling the other for breaking up with her boyfriend. A lot of things we don’t know and may never yet get to know. But more than just getting to know what is happening in the lives of others, is it not important that we start to ask the question – How many of us see?… the stories around us or ourselves in the life of others. What could that teach us more about ourselves and how could we learn about the world as we walked pass strangers.
I ran into a girl after lectures. I see her in the once-a-while I go to class. A surprisingly pretty lady. I took interest in her when the lecturer called her Hajia. I stretched to see who that was. She wore a scarf on top of a loose verse tacked into a tight pair of jeans. A perfect example of the latest crop of muslim girls on campus. Immediately after the lecturer was done, I had already been up chasing this girl down the stairs. Some friends were waiting for me but who minds when I had a damsel to catch.
I finally caught up with her. Being the dump guy I was, everything was itchy and slumpy at first, but I caught up with her reservation. After a few pleasant exchanges she was on a roll. Talking about her parents, Nigeria, Koforidua, how her name was special, the fact she’s toured the country, how she chooses her friends, her counseling habits, how people perceived her to be strong while indeed she broke down sometimes, very much everything about her, and even about her husband. Yes her husband. I just kept listening. Most of the time I didn’t even ask and what I asked she wouldn’t share. What were her hobbies? The topic of her research work ? About all these she said they were personal and private. Then the tables quickly turned on me. How she apparently sensed my lack of confidence, how she believes I don’t even know myself, her fact that I am not a big player, how she was certain I didn’t know what I was about, that I hadn’t said anything in the forty minutes we’ve been talking, how she was not impressed with the nothing I said. I just kept listening. I had wasted her time. Three kasoa trotros had come and gone so we waited for the next one. After a while it arrived and just after we agreed to meet again the next lecture , I started to think about the same question again. How many of us really know ?.. about the lives of the people we ran past every day. Could we have the patience to get to know ? And how much of ourselves could we get to know in the lives of these strangers ? As strange as this may sound but more of pretty amazing, all the people we pass by everyday hold in them bits of ourselves that we could get to know. And the girl could be wrong or right about all the things she thought about me, but beyond that, I learnt a little more about myself just by listening to her tell me about herself and more. How many of us really do know?
I will keep this shorter. I promise. So I visited a girl friend after. What better to chill in the sweet words of another girl after a ‘lecture’ about ‘myself’ from a girl. Plus I was just fulfilling a promise. She was happy but even more than that she was truly happy. This is how it all went. I was tired and famished so when she started laughing at my predicament on the phone, I threatened to change my course. She moaned as I kept walking. Finally up the stairs. I knocked and entered when I heard a voice say ‘come in’. I had just saved someone’s night but more than that, I’m sure, I saved her life. Two guys were already in the room. They were visitors of two of her roommates. One couple in the balcony, the other couple on their bed, the girl half naked and the guy all jacked up. Her third roomie was on her top bed pretending to be asleep while my friend was just sitting there soaking up all the ‘pressure’.
So I put my game on. After a couple of tight hugs and pecks, we shared lots of jokes and laughed hard. We took pictures, talked about muscles and sexuality while we casually touched each other. I had to keep up. It was just about time before the two guys left and we were now the ones giving the ‘pressure’. You could see she loved it. I had to run though. It was getting darker outside. As we walked out still in each other’s arms, the question came right back to my mind. How many of us really care?…about what we mean in each other’s lives? What our actions mean to others and what it tell us more about ourselves? Even though that was the first time we met, everything was so satisfying. I started to think that maybe I really made her night but beyond that how much of it was about me cooling off than was about her happiness? Could it be that we are always selfish or sometimes we truly care? And if we did, how many of us do?
Enough of the story. I’ve got to go back to my research work 🙂
Lansah Lawrence
University of Ghana
Commonwealth Hall.
Breaths in circles
Lansah Lawrence 