In Abby's hostel

the things that happened there

Some Saturdays ago, it was valentine’s day…

I was burnt out, swollen in the face from sleep deprivation and readying my mind for what i couldn’t avoid. I tried to sleep early, or go to bed early, like they say is appropriate to say, but then i remembered i had to pray.

It was a few minutes to my birthday, i felt no blues, no jitters, just a hesitance, a reluctance toward the entry into this inevitable new age. But weeks or maybe months before, just like the final stage of grief, i had come to the acceptance, i had embraced it and even the subsequent ages in advance.

I look back on how far i have come as a writer, and though many may consider it a gift or talent, I would say it’s more of sheer grit and practice, though i can’t deny God was generous with gifting me.

For as long as i can remember, writing and drawing have been parts of my life, I’ve been both observer and participant in the realms that these two arts create.

At some point, i wanted to experiment being a rapper, to see where that leads… I was pretty decent at rhyming, but i lacked a message or story… so i figured it wasn’t for me and just went on admiring my favourites in the rap game.

Poetry was cringe to me at first, maybe because of how it was expected to sound and be. But growing up nonconformist, non-compliant, unorthodox in approach, I decided i could try writing poems in my own way.

My first poem bubbled out of my soul kind courtesy of a girl i had a crush on in high school. She was called Akua, but preferred to be called ‘Kiki’… there is so much to say about her but let me let you glimpse the poem for today. it went like

Kiki, sounds like laughter…
but say it a little louder and..

I remember the look on her face when i garnered all the nerves and dared to hand her the letter, her face warm-blushed into a smile, she swung her arm and giggled.

That was my first return to poetry after trying to rhyme in junior high.

But i forsook poetry again, because i felt this poem was a one-time-miracle of a poem.

But when I got to uni, the struggles of academics held me full-choke, and while in the strangle and struggle of it all, i fumbled for a hobby to keep me afloat and at least sane, something to keep- my mind off the constant rigour that caused my mind to whirr and whirr, rev and rev.

So i circled back to writing poetry as a hobby, no matter how badly it came out, just for practice and my own enjoyment, and so i did.

I remember how two people i knew: Nana Esi and Solomon encouraged me by telling me that they found my words resonant. I didn’t really see what they saw but i appreciated the fact that they appreciated something i was doing that was still at practice and seed stage…

Fast forward, i met my older sister’s friend called Abby. She was sweet, kind and into writing. I never knew this until we had a conversation about interests.

It happened that one day she asked to see my little short pieces i wrote on facebook… she glared at my phone’s screen. She seemed impressed, and surprisingly so.

She seemed to see something immediately. She believed in the talent, and that was a rare moment. From then on, she kept me in conversations.

I would sit with her in the hallway of her hostel and she would tell me about music, Chimamanda, writing and how it could take me. I would listen for hours on end without uttering a word back, just nodding and never bored.

She sometimes gave me writing assignments, gave me fruits, gifted me money on birthdays, encouraged me to study alongside my growing passion for writing poetry as she knew i struggled with my academic life.

i willingly became her prodigy, she was a guide to me, ever so compassionate, keen to see me soar as a writer… seeing me through my haphazard growth as a promising nonconformist writer…

Years later, I am at this point where i am about to have a book out and ready to put out work that was shaped by her guidance and careful mentoring.

At each point, i will look back over my shoulder and see what she planted in my past.

Writing has blessed me and i owe to God foremostly and then to angels like her who accepted me while i was still some nebulous amoeba-like thing when it came to writing.

Thank you Abby. I will forever give you your flowers