For a moment I thought she wasn’t going to pick up. Perhaps she’s not around the phone. As I psyched myself to give up on dialing her number, I was picturing where her phone could be. Maybe in the kitchen or bedroom, and she’s probably on the compound, busy with some activity.

Oh! And then she picks up! Her voice crackling from her end of the phone. She sounded moody, rather quiet, as if in a reflective mood. That was unusual.

“I was praying.” mom said.
I thought for a while. Mom praying at this time of the day? Of course she could pray anytime of the day but her devotions are usually in the mornings or evenings after supper. Sometimes around noon when she’s less busy, she may be found sitting in the shade of the balcony reading her Bible and perhaps praying a little or singing some hymns. But praying at an hour we usually prepare supper, that was so unusual.

They had relocated to a new place, in a another region, very far away. Then I was in school so I couldn’t help them pack, and I hadn’t seen how our new environment looked like. That was the nature of dad’s work, and we were getting used to always being on the move.

I heard the rumors. That our new place was a village. That it was a terrible place. And that we deserved what we got for all the trouble that our parents caused in their former place. From a big town, we’ve ended up in the least of the big town siblings: a village! A remote one.

I felt a mixture of sadness and anger.
Throughout my conversation with mom over the phone, I sensed her sadness, though she tried to act as if everything were OK. And when the call ended, my mood for the rest of the day was a gloomy one. Even while at lectures, I thought about my family in a remote village while I’m schooling in the city.

Mother was certainly praying for the strength and courage and grace for a successful stay in the new place. As for me, I thought about the wisdom of transferring a salaried worker to a remote village without consideration for the disruption to the schooling of the kids and the enjoyment of basic amenities which might be lacking in the new place.

We finally vacated and I decided to go home. The trouble I went through before reaching home was impressive.

First of all, there was no direct bus to Timodi, my parents’ new place. So, I had to board a bus to Kumasi, a five-hour journey, and from there board another bus. I hoped there wouldn’t be a third bus I had to take.

But the buses from the city to Kumasi and those headed to Timodi were no mates. The Timodi buses were rickety and looked like the perfect picture of disaster. But I had no choice.

That was the only way to see my family, the narrow path.

And indeed the long long journey home was a narrow path, a dusty one, and if we doubted how bad the roads were, the look on our rickety bus told pages of our misfortunes on the road.

We were packed like canned fish in a tin, and whenever the bus slow down for any reason, and it seemed to have a lot of reasons to slow down, the dust engulfed our windows and soaked everything in the bus, as if mimicking the heat of the scotchy sun that filled the packed bus. I could literally smell the sweat and breath of passengers that sat far from me in the bus. And most of the passengers were already used to the dusty voyage so it seemed they didn’t bother to take their baths.

Below our feet were bags of maize, tubers of yams and other sacks we had no idea what was in the. We just had to use them as footstool. Above us were more loads tied to the top of the bus. A goat stood up there, tied to a metallic frame welded to the bus, occasionally bleating and stomping its feet as if to motion the noisy passengers to be silent.

One or two passengers probably new to the route like me hurled insults at the driver for his bad driving. But judging from the driver’s long ears, I could tell they had grown deaf to such taunts.

Finally we reached our destination. At first, I thought there was a mistake somewhere. But it was no joke! Our destination looked like a couple of houses in the middle of a jungle. All the houses were built close to each other as if to help one another cope with the loneliness of living in an isolated jungle.

“Incredible!” I muttered as I alighted and made the bus conductor bring out my luggage.

I tried to make a call to my family that I had arrived. There was no telecommunications network.

Then I checked my WhatsApp messages. My brother had given me precise details from the city to the new place, including the look of our house in Timodi.

Slowly, I dragged my luggage with me and found the house just as my brother described.

Mom was the first to see me. She rushed to hug me. I was happy to be reunited with them.
She apologized for embracing me with clothes soiled with her cooking. I felt bad that she had to apologize. There was no need for her to do that.

“How did you find the house? “ asked, surprised.

I just laughed without giving a response.

When I saw my siblings, especially my sister, I was sad. The new environment had changed them a lot within the short period they came there. Her feet were dusty and her looks very different from how I last saw her. It was evident that getting basic amenities in this place was difficult.

“Hmmmm…” I sighed.
I tried to conceal my sorrow and disappointment. I tried to smile and cheer everyone, adding that the place was not as bad as I initially thought.

But in my room, my eyes were tearful. We had enjoyed wonderful times during our stay in the city and other big town we lived in. God brought all these good times. Shall we reject the bad times He sends too? Sometimes I wondered if it were really God that brought us to this new place. I had my reservations about the whole transfer system for the company my dad worked for. But as Christians we could only assume that God allowed it, and we hoped the best will come out of our new place.