Dust danced in the air, erasing every available moist in the atmosphere. The unsettled dust in the atmosphere was a replica of my story. The scorching sitting in the sky had been brandishing heat mercilessly. The crowd moving in different uncoordinated directions was the wrong people to ask for the direction to the path that leads home. The decision was in my best interest. Even from afar, I could smell the stench of lost oozing from their direction. The hastiness of their feet as they walked in directions I know not, queried my soul.
Wriggle and wriggle did I move until I got to a crossroads. On the left hand side was the snaky path leading to the thunderous sea. On my right hand was the street leading to many hills and mountains. In the tired state of my soul, I moved forward forgetting the other options placed on my left and right.
In an instant, sweet memories of the past began to surge in me. It was the memory of the good old days when perfection was seen in everything around me. The cracked feet and lips as a result of harmattan sizzled with its own kind of beauty nestled in the crooked lines. The caked palms and its whiteness reignited sanctity. The race to the river along the narrow path smelled of ecstasy. The fireflies in the night and the giggling children dancing to the rhythm of the clapping of their hands were seasoned with pure joy.
The road I walked on had slanted palm trees on both sides of the road were pointing to the place of my origin and the birth place where my placenta was buried.
Home, here I come!
Photo Credit:Global Air Media