SIKANKU: Home is where the heart is (II)

Most foreigners feel so cut off from mainstream America that they’ve stopped trying to integrate. All of a sudden everything becomes methodical. People will see you on the bus and ask “How are you doing these days” You’ll answer ‘good”. But even as you blurted out those words you know deep down that you’re not fine. You know that in your heart of hearts you’re hurting slowly and painfully because you miss home. Jim Reeves is one of my favorite musicians. He reminds me of my Dad and my childhood. If he (Jim) were alive he’ll probably call this “Silent suffering”.

Combine this with the international hustling code (IHC): broke, hungry and lonely and you’ll see what I’m talking about. Color me morally bankrupt but suffice to say that for those in long distance or cross boarder relationships the situation is even gloomier. Zimbabwean author Hope Keshubi says it much better: “the natural feelings that manifest themselves when woman and man really need each other, these feelings are difficult to keep (p.56). Nuff said.

Folks, it’s a sad thing in life when you’ve worked so hard and want to unwind and there’s no one or nowhere to turn to. Like I once wrote elsewhere, if this were an exercise in English summary—as we used to have in junior secondary school—here’s what I’ll say of our lives: no family, no money, and no pleasure. What else could be more depressing? I mean for all the days of my life in Ghana, for all the poverty we experienced, I cannot remember a single day when I got so hungry that there wasn’t even a semblance of food to eat. It was on days like this that I learned to appreciate my Mum most.

Because as a single parent, it’s still unconceivable to me how she managed to keep a family of three rascals (plus some cousins and nieces) not only fully fed but well catered for all the time. It may surprise you but the first time I went to bed desperately hungry not out of choice but due to circumstance was not in Accra but yankee. Believe it or not: it is in America, the land of plenty that I’m most wanting. In fact this will be amusing if it wasn’t so pathetic.

But the one thing I find most pitiable about life away from home is the case of people who cannot return to bid goodbye to say a dead relative. Or those who come here alive but go back in coffins. It happened to my friend whose name I’m not sure I should be mentioning. This is not my favorite topic but the reality is that these things happen. Can you imagine being so far away from your family and always looking forward to being with them only to hear that someone within has passed away?

What if that person is your parent or a very close relative? Then the heart wrenching part: what if you can’t go back to say that final goodbye? This has got to be one of the most miserable things that can happen to anyone. Yet, it happened to Regina Tetteh. It also happened to Ms Kakraba. That woman will never forget the dreadful phone call which announced the death of both parents in a car accident. Why do people have to go through things like this? How do they handle such calamities at all?

Life can be good some times, but other time’s it can be painful. Here’s my confession: before I came over, I used to think that life must be a bed or roses in the US. We used to think: “things are so tough down here; it shouldn’t that hard out there”. Well, not quite. The lesson here is that the grass isn’t always greener at the other side of the fence. Of course I’m grateful for all the opportunities I’ve had both domestic and international.

But two things need to be understood. First, it’s not all hearts and flowers. Secondly, if the relationship with your homeland is a romanticized one then its worth citing Mpe again—“separation is not the end of love”. While America offers wonderful opportunities, make no mistake, it can be as dire as it can be nightmarish. This might not be everyone’s experience, but there’s no doubt it is for others.