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The People Called Family

“Owuo ayε ma di ooo owuo wa yε ma di. Ah we di mi ewu” screamed a woman, she was addressing death as though it was human. She said he had taken something precious from her. Her voice was hoarse perhaps from shouting too much. Aya got out of her bed and crept towards the window. She could see them, they were clad in the traditional black and red mourning attires. Many of them were women who wore black scarfs on their heads, wrappers

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Tribute

I’m running out of time… I still can’t find the words to write you a tribute because it requires that I allow myself to feel. My walls of denial, built in defence, are quickly crumbling under the weight of this reality.  Still, I hold on to the faint hope that you will show up at the door this evening. Or tomorrow. #StartingToFeelReal #PleaseComeBack #Late post

To a sister, schoolmate- Ama Mensima Abban.

We were not the best of friends, we were not class mates, or dorm mates, or table mates but you were more than an acquaintance. I  remember one time I had come to your dorm for some purpose I cannot remember now. You were trying to unzip your chapel cloth. I quickly offered to help, and though you allowed me to, you said something that has since stayed with me. You said you usually zip and unzip your dresses yourself. I wasn’t used to that idea so I think I dared you to zip up by yourself . you did. “It’s good to be able to do these things by yourself” you said. And since then all we shared were occasional hello’s on our way to the Dining Hall, Chapel or to prep. But I learnt to zip by myself too and our conversation often came to mind when I zipped up my dresses by myself when I went to

read more To a sister, schoolmate- Ama Mensima Abban.