Looking Back From The Hill (standard:non fiction, 1755 words)
Author: osofoaddo	Added: Oct 30 2002	Views/Reads: 3286/2131	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Powerful memories of home that keep coming back.

The old saying is that you cannot go home again. I think one can always
go home as long as one does not expect places and people one left 
behind to stay the same. Things change. People change, and if one is to 
learn anything at all in life, one must learn that change is 
inevitable. This is a fact of life. I have also learned that there is 
little to gain from pretending or acting as if all is well when in fact 
all is broken up around us. This is an inauthentic existence. I have 
also learned that one must never live in the past. Living in the past 
creates problems; therefore, to live an authentic life one must live in 
the present, the here and now. One must live as if this is one's last 
day on earth but learn, care, and love as if life will last forever. 
One cannot change the past, but one can always look and plan and hope 
for a better future. An African proverb my father taught me says it 
better; "Castles are only built in the future." Most of us live as if 
there is going to be a tomorrow. This is good, except that most of the 
time we are not prepared if things fall apart. We seem to expect things 
to stay the same. Sometimes we are so certain of ourselves that we fail 
to accept the bumps in life. Living as if there will always be a 
tomorrow to fix things, to care, to do things, to cherish, to love, to 
give, to say and to do those great things we dream of is false. It 
seems to most of us that there is always time, and there is no need to 
be in any hurry. We think the sun will always rise - as an old 
childhood friend of mine used to say as a joke, "My Lord what a 
morning." There is always a dawn on the horizon and there is no need to 
worry. But sooner or later, that final dawn comes when we least expect 
it. Another African proverb from my grandparents goes like this: "Only 
fools live by denying or pretending that there is no final dawn in the 
horizon." "Old or young, we are all chased by the final dawn of life," 
my father used to say in his serious moments. For obvious reasons, I 
found great solace in these thoughts as I prepared to go home after 
several years absence from my beloved country. I found in these 
thoughts the will and the way to live away from my original home. I had 
learned to accept the inevitability of life as I set out for home. 
Finally, I was aware that ultimately there would be that day when the 
illusion of life would cease and the end would come even for me. I seem 
to be ahead of myself. My name is not important, but what I have to say 
here and how these thoughts are connected and related to each other is 
very important. I just happened to be the story teller, as we say in my 
language. It is amazing how one thing always leads to another, and to 
larger issues, and finally to life and living itself. Just before noon 
on that Christmas Eve the car, on the way from Accra the capital to 
Suhum about fifty miles north, was stopped at a security checkpoint on 
the outskirts of Suhum where my mother now lived. For almost twenty 
minutes nothing happened. I sat in the car and just looked out of the 
windows; however, I was very angry at myself and those who had stopped 
me. A pot-bellied soldier with scars on his cheeks walked up and asked 
the driver to open the trunk of the car. I told myself that I should 
resist getting angry. I should not allow this experience to change my 
love for and views of my beloved native land, now over forty years old 
as an independent state. For me this experience was an epoch-making 
moment - the end of the old Africa I left behind. I now realized that I 
had been so out of touch with the reality of what was currently 
happening in my native country and all of Africa. I felt it closing in 
on me. I said to myself, "My God, the proverbial barbarians are at the 
gates." Still I could not believe that this was my beloved native 
country I was actually visiting at this moment in time. A new order had 
emerged from the ruins of the many coups and counter-coups. I now came 
to the conclusion that we had not seen the last of the coups, and that 
this present reality was the prelude of things to come. The final model 
would have to combine the present and the future. I was observing just 
another bad phase of a tribalized political culture of chaos. I felt 
the ground moving under me. It was enough to give me the chills. My 
mind flashed back to KuKuhill Estates, my beloved home on the hill. I 
thought about my favorite time, when I was growing up. The noonday when 
lunch was prepared for Daddy by my Mother, and served by the servants. 
The kitchen, a separate building all by itself, became the center of 
household activity. Oh, how I loved watching my mother create, as if by 
magic, one of her extraordinary and delicious meals. There was no 
discussion of the menu, nor was there elaborate planning with the 
servants. By the time mother, in her regal manner, came into the 
kitchen, she had all the characteristics of a Queen. All the servants 
bowed as she entered. Everything had been washed, cut, grounded, 
chopped, and carefully positioned. There were onions, okra, tomatoes, 
yams, peppers, and many more exotic tropical vegetables. She would sit 
down on a stool as if it were her throne and would not move an inch. 


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