I set off from Accra today a happy man.
I awoke early, got my bags packed and had to redistribute some crazy excitement threatening to burst forth.
I met with my wonderful bosses with a token of appreciation for helping realize the dreamlike opportunity to not only help make Chale Wote possible but also vend.
We had a little tete-a-tete about my shortcomings, strengths and a general discourse on life and art.
Then I met my secret crush who was supposed to be in Yaoundé on Thursday. She leaves today and i wish her well, none of my wahala.
I met with my Wa bound tribes man, close friend and colleague for my USB cord and importantly, to bid adieu.
I met with my granny who surprisingly didn’t talk my head off. She was rather succinct. Well, relatively.
It was nice interacting with my cute cousin who no longer cries around me, my aunt and the other beautiful people at Abelemkpe.
I got home with a can of black pepper shitor. I took a shower. I found room for my books (Nikki’s actually), flip-flops and shitor.
I left Kumasi a devastated man.
We didn’t stop at Linda Dor to my dismay. But no worries, we stopped over at Kumasi to refuel and stretch. A tall, elegant feline sat in front of me. We interacted a little. I made a new friend.
I waited for as many people as possible to disembark. I grabbed coffee for new friend. Bought the worst fried rice ever (and for 10gees), ate right beside my bus, watched the bus head off towards the fuel pumps, went to pee, waited for the bus return to my position, then got in.
I went over to my seat which was right in the front.
My hand luggage, a backpack, with my laptop (my life essentially), my passport amongst other documents, medicine, flash drive, a package I was supposed to deliver, one of my phones and jewellery I was keeping safe for a friend, G O N E !!!
I immediately reported to the driver. I inquired from the passengers that sat around me.
Nobody had seen anything.
We did something like a search.
The bus continued on to Tamale.
I disembarked at Tamale, distraught and bitter.
We stopped at a security checkpoint at Kintampo.
I was escorted by a police (why are police so harsh and insensitive even when they’re “helping you?”) to search through all four buses that had set off from the OA terminal that night.
We journeyed on to Tamale.
A Nigerian movie was on. It starred Desmond Elliot. He had a loyal dog. I couldn’t be fascinated.
I did not enjoy the trip.
I thought over and over about the stuff I’ve written.
Over my beats. OMG, my beats. Beats I was saving to perfect, to prove that I’m actually pretty good. Beats I’ve played to no one.
My work. My thoughts. My ideas.
My songs. OMG, my songs. All those countless nights, sorting and renaming songs, creating playlists, all gone!
I want to cry. I want to break something. I want to thrash about.
But all that would be futile. It doesn’t bring my bag back so I don’t. I remain calm.
The only time I dive in to my pent up frustration, anger and disappointment is when some idiot in the guise of a sensible adult tries to order me about while I search for my bag. He went so far as to accuse me of lying about my bag and being a thief whose end goal was to rob them as I rummaged through passengers luggage.
That really irked me.
I’m not at all into curses.
May that idiot have the worst bad luck ever.
I am totally into curses now.
And whoever stole my bag, you can’t say i was careless. I hid my bag so it was a deliberate thing. Karma is a bitch, and she’s rotund.
Thank the stars however for the little ray of sunshine in my dark hour, a little ray I am most thankful for, Marilyn.
Thank the universe also that I retained my two birthday gifts, headphones and a phone.
My only consolation.
People can’t be trusted. Always keep your hand luggage with you, no matter how bulky and heavy. Even if it’s just to pee.
May the FORCE be with you!