DIARY OF A COAST GIRL

It was a Saturday morning, unlike other days, the moist breeze of dawn didn't bring the melodious tunes of the early morning singing birds, nor did it echo the sound of the showers. It only carried the cold that accompanied it to me on my bed. I was still drowsy and contemplating if I should just keep myself in this sheet and pretend the night wasn't over or get up and train myself for the winter days in “Ablotsi”. Telling you I sluggishly dragged myself out of bed would be a lie because I jumped down since I was on a top bunk and started looking for my slippers, as I was still sleepy. I did what I had to do and was talking to my friend about meeting him in the farmer's hall (Akuafo) since I was going to use the library there. During the call, a colleague knocked and asked if I would go to the 1957 art gallery.  It wasn't part of my plans, and the fact that we were three and two of them had plans and were even dressed before letting me know made me feel a sting. But I h...

“And the Holy Spirit, Amen.” I faintly heard as my wandering mind returned to the present moment. The mind has its freedom, and I believe it’s the only free thing a prisoner has. I was in the Catholic church for my aunt’s burial. Though my body was present, my mind was travelling through the past, the present, and the future. In the past, I remembered a woman called Dashi. Dashi was part of the African traditional religion and very devoted. Just like in other religions, there were levels and titles. For her long years of devotion, she had her title and was called Dashi. Her name, “Dashi,” meant the snake goddess. Dashi was a very good woman, kind, generous, and witty. She was known in our village for making the best roasted groundnuts and maize, and we were always the first to taste them. On days we weren’t around, she would leave them with our grandma or mum for us. It was the same with her "Bora" and other foods she sold. Dashi didn’t only share her food with us. She also s...

 The Night Walkers Once, I lived the nights Where the moon paired with burning wood To help an aging old man tell his tales Of times when they were blazing like fire And glowed like the moon. Once, I lived the nights Where my maesters shared stories Of the night walkers The terrors and bad omens they brought, And the messages they left behind. They said they came as men, They said they came as women, They came to leave omens, They said they came as animals, They said they came as the wind. But I have lived the night Where the night walkers were no destroyers. They were drunk men staggering home, Women; ancestors with calabashes in search of water. Their messages were acts that screamed privacy. The animals were flying owls, Active crabs, busy by the wall, making new homes. They were black male cats with glowing eyes, Visiting their white partners with drowsy gazes, with meows that made their “catish” sultry. The wind was the sea breeze, Running free, sweeping through the surface. ...

 THE ENEMY WITHIN  The first day I placed the voice to the profile and name “Edward Asare” was on the 5th of May, 2024. His voice wasn't just the one that tells you to do A to make it B for the media and your person, but it was that voice that re-echoes within you when the pastor is preaching and it feels like God revealed to him to point at you with his voice only. It was the voice that you feel was directed only at you. He talked extensively about stopping people from defining you and being positive. Tell yourself how beautiful and wonderful you are. He talked about setting a reminder and believing in yourself. At the end of his talk, I realized that for me to be a better person, I need to be the one to control my mind, believe in myself and put in the needed effort; it is centred on me. It was one of the best sessions I had in May because it placed me on the spot. I have to be the one. But I had an enemy: my mind. My mind has been the enemy within that reminds me always abo...

    WHEN THE PIED CROW SINGS  It was a sunny day, and I had just returned from town after running errands for some people for a token. The journey back home was tiring and got me thinking.  I remember years ago, my aunties and uncles from the city always told us to study very hard and take our education very seriously so we can also grow up, get a good job, and get a better life in the city. We could buy our cars and build our houses, they said.  Well, I was in my bed thinking perhaps they didn't tell us the full story as they were also hunters then or their way of hunting was just different. Because coming to the city taught us to know people who know people. We should have an ass that could attract a market square or have fair skin as I was told "dark is ugly” and be as beautiful as the goddess of the sea. Again, my aunties didn't say I would've had to do multiple jobs just so I could make a dough that wouldn't even get me a corn dough at the end of the day....

For the past few days, I've been organizing my funeral. I’ve written down what I want my family to do, who should attend, and who shouldn't. I've decided who receives my belongings and which items should be given away. I have screenshots of messages that should be featured in my brochure, including what people have said about me on my birthday and the impacts I've made that have been mentioned and recorded. After crying and writing all this every day, I get up, smile, and go out. I decided I didn't want my secondary school to hold a candlelight vigil for me because that school killed me before I even died. I've mentioned people who must write a story about me, write key points, and named the book. I've also written letters to be delivered to some people who must look out for my mom, dad, and younger sister until she finishes her university education. Interestingly, while writing all this, I was helping others. I was sacrificing my time and energy for people ...