The Gift of Love

“When it’s gone, you'll know what a gift love was.”  Ian McEwan, Enduring Love

Over the years I’ve found love the easiest of subjects to write about. Always fully emotionally charged and with enough permutations to make even the most certain of men hesitant, the ideas just seem to materialize when they are needed. It is amidst this background that I find the need to write this piece.

As we lay claim to the fact that we each have our own stories, there is always that one story common to most of us. The story of that one girl. Mine was not so different. My “that girl” was you, my first love. You were the first girl I knew who loved me. The meet happened years ago. So long ago that we had both moved on and subsequently become friends.

At least I believed I had moved on, until I found out there was someone else now who you love as much as you did me. I know, its ignorant for me to assume I would always be special to you, Especially considering that I had moved on too. I know, that is why I was surprised at the outpouring of sadness that initially occurred when I discovered this.

There is no hope of us ever hooking up again, we both realize we are not the perfect fit for the other and now that I reevaluated things, I’m happy that you’re happy. I wish nothing but the best for you and him. I hope he brings more joy in your heart than I ever did and none of the tears I ever caused to flow down your cheeks.  For good measure, and because it perfect encapsulates my feelings I’ll add the words of Bruno Mars to this:

Oh I know I'm probably much too late
To try and apologize for my mistakes
But I just want you to know
I hope he buys you flowers
I hope he hold your hands
Give you all his hours
When he has the chance
Take you to every party
Cause I remember how much you loved to dance
Do all the things I should have done
When I was your man

An African Man

     I thought of my Grandpa, and couldn't hep but smile. He was no great African Statesman, no political activist, no human rights advocate, he was not a millionaire, an investor or a world traveler  He was my grandpa and that superseded all those preceding accolades.

    You have heard that it has been said that African men are not emotional. There is more than a  modicum of truth in that...(cue the discussion between traditionalists and modernists about my generalisation). It is not so much that emotions do not exist in the social landscape of African men, it is that they tend to shove it in the darker recesses of their mind. My grandpa was an African man in that regard.He never once told me he loved me, but there was no action that he ever took that ever gave me cause to doubt that he did. 

     He was a warrior. Having fought for the British in the Gold Coast he held military members in high regards but he never boasted of his service. In fact you had to be really close to him to know he served. He is an African man.

     He believed in family. We were not related by blood, something you wouldn't know unless i told you. He adopted my friends as his. My friends had as many stories of him as of their own grandparents. He is an African man.

     He worked the same job for all his life. He mastered all the intricacies of his job. He showed up everyday and his job became an extension of his life. I had never seem him blow off work or call sick. He did all that and then he retired to his house. He is an African man.

    He was a collector, a historical document in itself. I did not have to go to the museum (which everyone knows is a disgrace when its collection is evaluated) to look at all the old currencies we've had. My first constitution i got from him, my first sierra leonean books were from him (still fondly remember "sawpit boy" and "kossoh town boy"). The first krio bible i saw was his. He had lived our country's history and yet he was never one to pontificate to others. He is an African man.

     I never heard him discuss politics, he always registered and went to the polls. He knew the history and lineage of most of the politicians. He never tried to indoctrinate those under his care. he did his civic duty and asked for nothing in return. he is an African man.

     He was stubborn, headstrong and sometimes overbearing. His wife i'm sure would have stories to tell of some of the times they had a spark in their relationship. He always told it for what it was. He had worked hard for all he had all his life and did not tolerate any who would want to take from him what was rightfully his. He is an African man.

     My grandfather is not a legend, he is a man. He lived his youth, he served his country, he pays his dues, he takes care of his own. He is my African man and I would that he gets this compliment rather than  a  eulogy.