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The old saying is that you cannot go home again.
I think one can always go home as long as one does not expect the places and people one left behind to stay the same. Things change. People change, and if one does not learn anything at all in life, one must learn early in life that change is inevitable. This is a fact and the only sure thing as we live our lives.
I have also learned that one must never live in the past. This only creates problems; therefore, to live an 1)authentic life one must live in the present, the here and now. One must live as if this is the last day on earth, but learn, care, and love as if life is 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.”
For obvious reasons I found great 2)solace in these thoughts as I prepared to go home after several years of absence from my beloved country. I found in these thoughts the will and the pattern 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 3)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 storyteller 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, the car, from 4)Accra the capital to 5)Suhum about fifty miles north, was stopped at a security road checkpoint on the 6)outskirts of Suhum where my mother now lived. I sat in the car and just looked out of the windows; however, I was very angry with myself and those who had stopped me. A 7)potbellied soldier with scars on his cheeks walked up and asked the driver to open the 8)trunk of the car. I told myself that I should resist getting angry. 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. Still I could not believe that this was my beloved native country I was actually visiting at this moment in time.
My mind flashed back to KuKuhill Estates, my beloved home on the hill at 9)OSU in Ghana. I thought about my favorite time when I was growing up—especially the noonday when lunch was prepared for Daddy by my mother and served by the servants. The kitchen was a separate building all by itself and was the center of all household activities. Oh, how I loved watching my mother create, as if by magic, one of her extraordinary and delicious meals...
I could not believe it. I had to wake up. Kukuhill was no more it had become a medical center. I was 10)choked with tears. It had taken me a bone-rattling three hours to drive from Accra to Suhum. There was an element of 11)poignancy to the journey and an uncertainty that I could not explain to myself.
In spite of the way I was feeling, I was still 12)stunned by the beauty of my beloved country. I was amazed at how little the land itself had changed. The trees on the plains and forests weighed down with ripe mangoes, bananas, 13)papayas, black berries, coconuts, 14)guavas, and 15)cashew nuts. At the 16)makeshift stands along the route north from Accra to Suhum, street 17)vendors 18)spilled out into the highway with people touching and 19)jostling at each other. This was always how it had been. I suddenly decided to take charge of our current situation and responded to the order of the security guard to open the trunk of the car.
I got out of the car and said to the security guard in 20)Pidgin English, “My friend, how you dey?” This meant, “How are you my friend?” He replied in a friendly manner, “I dey like I don dey.” This meant “So- so.” “You master, you be good friend.” He meant, “You are a good friend, Sir.” I continued, “I be in a hurry. I dey go see my mama, I no see for plenty years.” As I spoke, I raised my ten fingers. He responded, now smiling, “Yes sah, yes sah, yes sah, master. You go tell Mama I say her son den come home safe.” What he was trying to say was, “Go sir, go and tell your mother her son is home now.” Up to now my visit was clearly not a pleasant nor an enjoyable one for me. Perhaps he made it bearable just for a few minutes.
When I stepped into the half-sunken room that doubled as a shop for my mother, it led me straight into the courtyard. I was met and greeted by a 21)portly and elderly 22)tenant of my mother who ran the 23)palm wine bar next door. He took my hand and led me to his palm wine bar. The bar was really a 24)rickety 25)verandah in front of a large room 26)stacked with bottles and over the verandah hung a sign that read, “Palm Wine Bar.”
Back at the airport, I was silent and 27)somber as I waited for my return flight to the United States. The spiritual food I came to find in all its abundance had left most of my hunger untouched or 28)unabated. Like much of what had passed my lips, the trip had been sweet and sour, rich and bitter. I realized that you can never go home again and I realized that when I returned to the United States I would have a lot of unpacking. Not only would I have to physically unpack my belong-ings, but I will also have a lot of mental and spiritual unpacking to do.
古话说：人不可能重返家园。可我觉
得，一个人只要不期待他离弃的人和物一成不变的话，他就可以重返家园。事情总是在发生变化，人也在发生变化，一个人如果一辈子什么也没学到的话，他一定要在人生早期明白一点：变化是不可避免的。这是事实，在我们的生活中，这是惟一可以确信的事。
此外，我还明白，人不能活在过去。因为那样做会产生很多问题。因此，如果你想真实地活着，就必须活在现在，此时此刻。人必须把今天当成自己最后一天来过，但又要在学习、关心和爱他人时把生命视为永恒。人无法改变过去，但人总可以寻找、计划以及期待一个更美好的未来。我父亲教我的一句非洲谚语说得好：“城堡只建在未来。”
在远离我挚爱的祖国数年准备重返家园时，这些道理让我感到很安慰，那是出于很明显的原因——在这些道理当中，我找到了自己旅居异乡的决心与方式。当我动身回家时，我已经学会了接受生活中一些事情的不可避免性。最后，我明白了生活的幻想终究会有一天终止，生命的尽头也终究有一天到来。
看来我是说过头了，不知所云。我的名字并不重要，重要的是我在这里要说的关于这些道理怎么连在一起，以及它们相互之间的关系。用我的话说，我只不过是一个讲故事的人。神奇的是一件事总会引出另一件事，再引出更大的问题，并最终扯出生命和生活本身。
我开车从首都阿克拉到其北部五十英里的苏霍姆城。快到中午的时候，在苏霍姆郊外的一个安检关卡，汽车被拦住了。我母亲现在住在苏霍姆城里。我坐在车里，从车窗往外看，然而我对自己以及那些拦下汽车的人很生气。一名大腹便便，脸上有疤的士兵走过来，让司机打开行李箱。我告诫自己要忍住不发火，我意识到自己已经对自己的祖国以及整个非洲的现状都不了解了。我仍然无法相信此时我正身处的这个地方，就是自己挚爱的祖国。
我的心思回到库库山庄园，那是我亲爱的家，在俄亥俄州立大学加纳分校里的山上。我想起成长时的一段最珍爱的时光，特别是在中午的时候，我母亲给父亲准备好了午餐，由仆人端上。那时厨房是在独立的一幢楼里，那是家里一切活动的中心。啊，当时我很喜欢看我母亲像变魔术般准备着不同寻常、极其美味的拿手好菜……
我无法相信眼前这一切，我必须醒过来。库库山庄园已经不存在了，它已变成了一个医疗中心。我哽咽着。从阿克拉到苏霍姆三个小时的路程把我颠得浑身骨头都快散了，这次返家之旅给了我很大的感触以及难以名状的不确定感。
尽管我当时很难受，但我挚爱的祖国的美丽景色还是让我深深地震撼。这片土地变化不大，这一点让我感到吃惊。平原上和森林里的树果实累累，挂满了芒果、香蕉、木瓜、黑莓、椰子、番石榴和腰果。从阿克拉往北到苏霍姆的路上，小贩从沿路的临时档口拥到高速公路上，人们拥挤熙攘——这里一直以来就是这样。突然间，我决定要控制眼前的局面，回应士兵要我们打开行李箱的要求。
我下了车，用洋泾浜英语对士兵说：“我的朋友，今天你怎么样？”这是“我的朋友，你好吗？”的意思。他友好地答道：“今天我差不多。”那是说：“一般般。”“你先生，你是个好朋友。”那是“先生，你是一个好朋友”的意思。我继续说道：“我是在赶时间，今天我去看妈妈，很多年没见了。”我边说边举起十个指头。他笑着答道：“好的，好的，先生，你告诉妈妈我说她儿子安全回家了。”他想说的是，“走吧先生，回去告诉你妈妈她的儿子回家了。”到那时为止，我的返家之旅很明显不是一次愉快抑或很尽情享受的旅行，或者有那么一会儿，他让我觉得好受些。
那间半截埋在地下的屋子既是我母亲的居所，也是她的店。我踏入屋子，径直走到院子里。我碰见了我母亲的一个胖胖的老租户，他向我打招呼。他在隔壁经营一家棕榈酒酒吧。他拉着我的手，把我带到他的酒吧。那个酒吧其实是大房间前面的一个摇摇晃晃的门廊而已，房间里堆放着酒瓶，门廊上方挂着一个牌子，上面写着：“棕榈酒酒吧”。
回到机场，等着返回美国的航班，我沉默着，闷闷不乐。我来这里找寻的精神食粮很丰富，但却远远未能满足我，我的饥饿感并未削减。就像大多从我嘴里经过的东西一样，这次返家之旅甜酸参半，苦乐参半。我意识到人真的不能重返家园，等我回到美国后，我必须卸下行李。我不仅仅得给我的物品行李拆包，而且我还得卸下许多精神包袱。
The old saying is that you cannot go home again.
I think one can always go home as long as one does not expect the places and people one left behind to stay the same. Things change. People change, and if one does not learn anything at all in life, one must learn early in life that change is inevitable. This is a fact and the only sure thing as we live our lives.
I have also learned that one must never live in the past. This only creates problems; therefore, to live an 1)authentic life one must live in the present, the here and now. One must live as if this is the last day on earth, but learn, care, and love as if life is 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.”
For obvious reasons I found great 2)solace in these thoughts as I prepared to go home after several years of absence from my beloved country. I found in these thoughts the will and the pattern 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 3)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 storyteller 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, the car, from 4)Accra the capital to 5)Suhum about fifty miles north, was stopped at a security road checkpoint on the 6)outskirts of Suhum where my mother now lived. I sat in the car and just looked out of the windows; however, I was very angry with myself and those who had stopped me. A 7)potbellied soldier with scars on his cheeks walked up and asked the driver to open the 8)trunk of the car. I told myself that I should resist getting angry. 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. Still I could not believe that this was my beloved native country I was actually visiting at this moment in time.
My mind flashed back to KuKuhill Estates, my beloved home on the hill at 9)OSU in Ghana. I thought about my favorite time when I was growing up—especially the noonday when lunch was prepared for Daddy by my mother and served by the servants. The kitchen was a separate building all by itself and was the center of all household activities. Oh, how I loved watching my mother create, as if by magic, one of her extraordinary and delicious meals...
I could not believe it. I had to wake up. Kukuhill was no more it had become a medical center. I was 10)choked with tears. It had taken me a bone-rattling three hours to drive from Accra to Suhum. There was an element of 11)poignancy to the journey and an uncertainty that I could not explain to myself.
In spite of the way I was feeling, I was still 12)stunned by the beauty of my beloved country. I was amazed at how little the land itself had changed. The trees on the plains and forests weighed down with ripe mangoes, bananas, 13)papayas, black berries, coconuts, 14)guavas, and 15)cashew nuts. At the 16)makeshift stands along the route north from Accra to Suhum, street 17)vendors 18)spilled out into the highway with people touching and 19)jostling at each other. This was always how it had been. I suddenly decided to take charge of our current situation and responded to the order of the security guard to open the trunk of the car.
I got out of the car and said to the security guard in 20)Pidgin English, “My friend, how you dey?” This meant, “How are you my friend?” He replied in a friendly manner, “I dey like I don dey.” This meant “So- so.” “You master, you be good friend.” He meant, “You are a good friend, Sir.” I continued, “I be in a hurry. I dey go see my mama, I no see for plenty years.” As I spoke, I raised my ten fingers. He responded, now smiling, “Yes sah, yes sah, yes sah, master. You go tell Mama I say her son den come home safe.” What he was trying to say was, “Go sir, go and tell your mother her son is home now.” Up to now my visit was clearly not a pleasant nor an enjoyable one for me. Perhaps he made it bearable just for a few minutes.
When I stepped into the half-sunken room that doubled as a shop for my mother, it led me straight into the courtyard. I was met and greeted by a 21)portly and elderly 22)tenant of my mother who ran the 23)palm wine bar next door. He took my hand and led me to his palm wine bar. The bar was really a 24)rickety 25)verandah in front of a large room 26)stacked with bottles and over the verandah hung a sign that read, “Palm Wine Bar.”
Back at the airport, I was silent and 27)somber as I waited for my return flight to the United States. The spiritual food I came to find in all its abundance had left most of my hunger untouched or 28)unabated. Like much of what had passed my lips, the trip had been sweet and sour, rich and bitter. I realized that you can never go home again and I realized that when I returned to the United States I would have a lot of unpacking. Not only would I have to physically unpack my belong-ings, but I will also have a lot of mental and spiritual unpacking to do.
古话说：人不可能重返家园。可我觉
得，一个人只要不期待他离弃的人和物一成不变的话，他就可以重返家园。事情总是在发生变化，人也在发生变化，一个人如果一辈子什么也没学到的话，他一定要在人生早期明白一点：变化是不可避免的。这是事实，在我们的生活中，这是惟一可以确信的事。
此外，我还明白，人不能活在过去。因为那样做会产生很多问题。因此，如果你想真实地活着，就必须活在现在，此时此刻。人必须把今天当成自己最后一天来过，但又要在学习、关心和爱他人时把生命视为永恒。人无法改变过去，但人总可以寻找、计划以及期待一个更美好的未来。我父亲教我的一句非洲谚语说得好：“城堡只建在未来。”
在远离我挚爱的祖国数年准备重返家园时，这些道理让我感到很安慰，那是出于很明显的原因——在这些道理当中，我找到了自己旅居异乡的决心与方式。当我动身回家时，我已经学会了接受生活中一些事情的不可避免性。最后，我明白了生活的幻想终究会有一天终止，生命的尽头也终究有一天到来。
看来我是说过头了，不知所云。我的名字并不重要，重要的是我在这里要说的关于这些道理怎么连在一起，以及它们相互之间的关系。用我的话说，我只不过是一个讲故事的人。神奇的是一件事总会引出另一件事，再引出更大的问题，并最终扯出生命和生活本身。
我开车从首都阿克拉到其北部五十英里的苏霍姆城。快到中午的时候，在苏霍姆郊外的一个安检关卡，汽车被拦住了。我母亲现在住在苏霍姆城里。我坐在车里，从车窗往外看，然而我对自己以及那些拦下汽车的人很生气。一名大腹便便，脸上有疤的士兵走过来，让司机打开行李箱。我告诫自己要忍住不发火，我意识到自己已经对自己的祖国以及整个非洲的现状都不了解了。我仍然无法相信此时我正身处的这个地方，就是自己挚爱的祖国。
我的心思回到库库山庄园，那是我亲爱的家，在俄亥俄州立大学加纳分校里的山上。我想起成长时的一段最珍爱的时光，特别是在中午的时候，我母亲给父亲准备好了午餐，由仆人端上。那时厨房是在独立的一幢楼里，那是家里一切活动的中心。啊，当时我很喜欢看我母亲像变魔术般准备着不同寻常、极其美味的拿手好菜……
我无法相信眼前这一切，我必须醒过来。库库山庄园已经不存在了，它已变成了一个医疗中心。我哽咽着。从阿克拉到苏霍姆三个小时的路程把我颠得浑身骨头都快散了，这次返家之旅给了我很大的感触以及难以名状的不确定感。
尽管我当时很难受，但我挚爱的祖国的美丽景色还是让我深深地震撼。这片土地变化不大，这一点让我感到吃惊。平原上和森林里的树果实累累，挂满了芒果、香蕉、木瓜、黑莓、椰子、番石榴和腰果。从阿克拉往北到苏霍姆的路上，小贩从沿路的临时档口拥到高速公路上，人们拥挤熙攘——这里一直以来就是这样。突然间，我决定要控制眼前的局面，回应士兵要我们打开行李箱的要求。
我下了车，用洋泾浜英语对士兵说：“我的朋友，今天你怎么样？”这是“我的朋友，你好吗？”的意思。他友好地答道：“今天我差不多。”那是说：“一般般。”“你先生，你是个好朋友。”那是“先生，你是一个好朋友”的意思。我继续说道：“我是在赶时间，今天我去看妈妈，很多年没见了。”我边说边举起十个指头。他笑着答道：“好的，好的，先生，你告诉妈妈我说她儿子安全回家了。”他想说的是，“走吧先生，回去告诉你妈妈她的儿子回家了。”到那时为止，我的返家之旅很明显不是一次愉快抑或很尽情享受的旅行，或者有那么一会儿，他让我觉得好受些。
那间半截埋在地下的屋子既是我母亲的居所，也是她的店。我踏入屋子，径直走到院子里。我碰见了我母亲的一个胖胖的老租户，他向我打招呼。他在隔壁经营一家棕榈酒酒吧。他拉着我的手，把我带到他的酒吧。那个酒吧其实是大房间前面的一个摇摇晃晃的门廊而已，房间里堆放着酒瓶，门廊上方挂着一个牌子，上面写着：“棕榈酒酒吧”。
回到机场，等着返回美国的航班，我沉默着，闷闷不乐。我来这里找寻的精神食粮很丰富，但却远远未能满足我，我的饥饿感并未削减。就像大多从我嘴里经过的东西一样，这次返家之旅甜酸参半，苦乐参半。我意识到人真的不能重返家园，等我回到美国后，我必须卸下行李。我不仅仅得给我的物品行李拆包，而且我还得卸下许多精神包袱。