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From the days of my childhood faraway in a village called Danko, a suburb of Eremon in the Upper West Region of Ghana, my imagination about what the cities looked and what kinds of people lived there, were satisfying. In order to put an end to my wild curiosity, I envisaged that perhaps people who lived in the city ate special and different foods. Else, what was the essence of all the different kinds of food that some of my relatives who lived in the city brought home during Christmas, that I could barely pronounce their names. I thought of how they all dressed neatly and changed their clothes often as the city demands, if not why did they look more glowing among my village friends and I?, The best clothes we wore occasionally were what they wore casually, and even the international language they spoke was different from ours. Well, who cared about the tenses like they did. It was obvious they cherished it compared to their mother tongue “Dagaare”, compelling us to mix ‘sand, cement and plenty of water’ in the name of constructing sentences to impress and suit what they chose to understand. Of course, who did not want to have a feel of the city, in my mind, that was the only place I dreamt to be but what on earth could possibly send me there. Later years, I found myself on the second corner seat of a “Trotro” near the window that aided me have the meaning of a city revealed to my very own eyes. I have finally become a witness to what goes on in the city.
It is just a few minutes past 6 am and I can’t explain why everyone seems to be so busy, probably looking tired already. I imagined how I would have been stretching in the comfort of my bed back in the village. You dare not try that in the city else you go to bed without eating. One thing I noticed, no one said “good morning” to the other compared to the mandatory routine one had to endure from every soul you sighted on the streets of my village. No one seemed to look friendly, could that be the result to the task of search for daily bread in the city? Before I could think for an answer to my question, my lenses noticed a wretched car at the side of the road I described a death trap, oh yes! I was not sleeping. Raising my head after bowing down over disappointment, then I sighted a beggar crawling across the road, hmm!! how would this day probably have ended? How about those school children who risked their lives crossing the dangerous roads? Maybe, trying to avoid being late for school, and where were their parents? I only hoped they reached safely at their destination. The hawkers who almost tore my dress, begging me to purchase an item from them so that they don’t go hungry for the day. This obviously was not what I hoped to see in the city. It got my jaw dropping. What about the market women who had arranged fresh fruits under the scorching sun? Did they have to eat them if their sales weren’t good or maybe they got rotten? What about those shops which were packed with similar goods so closed to one another along the road? Did each seller make any profit for the day? As thousand and one questions went through my mind about almost everything I saw earlier, little did I know that, that was just a tip of the iceberg. There were these young men standing by the road side with frightening faces who “in a second wouldn’t hesitate to snatch my handbag from me if I got careless”. An old woman beside me cautioned: “this is where most of them were born and that is how they survive “, she added. This got me more puzzled. Before I could finish saying thank you to the good Samaritan, I raised my head a little and what I saw was the largest yet dirtiest gutter and far ahead were unending slums making a settlement of tattered tents. This got me to raise my eyebrows. In a moment, I felt I was probably missing. This was obviously not what my mind imagined. Now, I was prepared to see more of the worse. At this point, I was sure I was not ready for another heartbreaking view of anything as far as the city was concerned
Apparently, that was not to discourage me from the beautiful imaginations I had perceived about the city. The luxurious cars in a long and seemingly unending queue I starred at caused me to smile. Everyone could recognize that I had set my eyes on something glittering. I wondered the whereabouts of the queue but that wasn’t my interest though. The streets brightened towards the night and I referred to their beauty as second to heaven. The beauty of shopping malls was glowing and well equipped with merchandise. A long the streets were tall, magnificent buildings and the well-planned schools looked condusive enough to lure one to learn. I was privileged to have a view of where the president of my country lives. The beautiful boundless waters caught my attention as I enjoyed the freshness of its breeze. These were certainly scenes one would not find in the village. That was quiet impressive, it got me analysing a wise saying deeply which says “no wise king judges a one sided case”. Life is for sure not a one sided story.
On my return, I shall surely have a story to tell. My curiosity has finally been satisfied. At least, I learnt lessons I needed no classroom teacher to teach me. As the saying goes, “until a child explores, of what in the world would she see”. In my village I would be all alone along the road and don’t have to deny myself good sleep at the cost of punctuality. For what reasons shall I not go back to my little peaceful village, but for some other reasons and lessons of life, I would like to find myself in the city. Freedom is all I adore.
By; Diyuoh Dora Mwinteroo
Email address; mwinteroodora@gmial.com
