The One Who Holds Me (Sovereign Love #4)

30. Alex

30

ALEX

THEN

T he first thing that hits me as I walk out the doors of Kotoka International Airport is the heat wave. I’m used to the warm summer days, but even the ninety degree Fahrenheit July heat in New York is nothing compared to what I’m experiencing now. I can’t explain it and I have no choice but to embrace it because it’s refreshing.

It didn’t take long to find my suitcases and the immigration officers were polite and friendly, so the check-in process was very smooth. When one of the airport officials asked how I was doing, it felt like a warm welcome hug and it was as if God was telling me I made the right decision coming here.

Outside in the welcome area, my gaze sweeps through the crowd of people waiting to pick up their friends and family. A family of five walks past me, pushing trolleys mounted with suitcases as my phone pings with a message from Stephen. I swipe up to read, grateful that at least the airport Wi-Fi still works outside, and I respond to the message to confirm that I’ve retrieved my suitcase.

Stephen texts back to say he’s parking the car and will be with me in a few minutes, so I place my phone in my pocket and let my gaze wander. As I turn around and stare at the words Akwaaba written in bold white letters on a yellow board above the airport entrance doors, a calming feeling washes over me.

Of course, I have no memory of being here as a baby, but my senses know that I’ve breathed this air before, traveled these streets before, and lived in this world before. There’s something about this space, this environment, the warm air against my skin, the distinctive Ghanaian accent and the Twi language grazing my ears, that welcomes me with open arms. I’ve been here less than an hour, but I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m home.

A hand squeezes my shoulder, and I turn around to meet a familiar face smiling down at me. “Stephen?”

“Alex?” He leans back, tilting his head and squinting before a wide smile spreads across his face. “ Charley , you’re finally here. The borga has landed. Welcome to Ghana.” He steps forward and hugs me before taking my large suitcase and leaving me with the smaller one. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. It’s very busy tonight, so I struggled to find a parking space, please.” He points toward the parking lot.

“No, that’s okay. Thank you.”

Stephen is much taller than I imagined he’d be. With the muscles on him, the guy could take me down in a fight without even lifting a finger. Even his full grown beard puts mine to shame, but the good thing is, he seems even friendlier in person, which works well to get rid of my nerves.

“You packed very light,” Stephen says, as he makes a display of lifting my large suitcase with no effort.

“Yeah, there’s barely anything in that one. I had to leave some space for souvenirs.”

“That’s very smart.”

“Thank you.” I accept the compliment even though it was all Dad’s idea. Olanna crosses my mind as we mention souvenirs and I put a reminder on my to-do list to find the necklace she loved. Mom told me she bought it from a vendor at Makola Market, so Stephen added it to the list of places we need to visit after meeting my birth mom.

When Stephen finds his car, he places my suitcases in the trunk before we get in. Stephen was right about how busy it is because getting out of the airport parking lot is a struggle. It would’ve been smoother if the pedestrians weren’t walking on the road and if other drivers weren’t blasting their horns every two minutes. But after what seems like forever, we get on to the main road.

Throughout the entire drive to the apartment in Adabraka, a neighborhood in Accra, my eyes stay glued to the new, yet familiar world passing outside my window. Everything, no matter how small it is, fascinates me. From the shrubs and trees growing on the traffic island, to the billboard posters of new products and upcoming events, and the distinctive black and white patterned kerbs. All these little observations build an excitement in me I can’t explain. Excitement for a new world of endless possibilities.

“It’s so beautiful.” I turn to Stephen, who takes a glance at me and smiles.

“It is. But you’ve barely scratched the surface. When you’re well rested, I will show you what Ghana is made of,” Stephen says, as he presses on the brakes to make way for a driver who cut in front of him without signaling.

“Whoa, he was so wrong for doing that.” I point to the car in front of us, but Stephen only laughs and shakes his head.

“ Charley , it seems you wouldn’t be able to drive in Ghana.” He laughs before turning left off the main road and we make it to the block of apartments safely. It’s a quiet area with some shops and hair salons on the opposite side of the road.

Stephen asks me to wait in the car while he steps out and knocks on the black iron gate guarding the block of apartments, which belongs to my parents. A minute later, a young man, who looks to be around my age, steps out and strikes a conversation with Stephen in Twi, which I understand as Stephen saying he is here to check me in.

I’ve always wanted an opportunity to practice my Twi when I’m not with my parents or Kwame. This would be good exercise since everyone I’ve met here in Accra always starts speaking to me in Twi first.

The young man opens the gate from the inside and Stephen drives the car into the compound before parking in one of the many spaces available. “I have the key. Let’s get you settled in.” Stephen carries my large suitcase as we walk into the building and up the stairs to the second floor. He opens the door to the apartment and my jaw drops.

“Wow. Will someone else be living here with me?” I ask, admiring the living room space, the sofas and the smart TV.

Stephen chuckles. “No, please. This is all for you,” he says before giving me a tour of the one-bedroom apartment with smooth ivory tiles, a kitchen, living room, en-suite bedroom, and a balcony.

“What would you like to have for dinner? Jollof rice or waakye ?” Stephen asks after connecting my phone to the Wi-Fi.

I shrug. “I’m not really fussed. What are you having?”

“As for me dier , anything I see goes.”

I smile at the use of his Ghanaian slang. I’d have to get used to hearing them more this week. “Okay, then. I’ll eat whatever you bring.”

When Stephen steps out to get food, I send a message to my parents to let them know I’ve arrived. When no reply from Olanna pops up, my shoulders drop in disappointment. The blue ticks confirm she has seen the message I sent her earlier this morning before my flight left New York.

Our last conversation in the library didn’t go so well. I wanted to tell her everything. Especially when she started crying and begging me to let her in. I wanted to tell her. But I couldn’t tell her what I didn’t know.

I couldn’t tell her about all my uncertainties and my doubts. I couldn’t tell her that this is the first time in my life I’ve felt completely lost and that pushing her away is my way of guarding her from experiencing the dark twist of emotions that are slowly dragging me into a hole of despair. That’s why this trip is so important to me. Finding the answers to my questions will be the start of me making my way back to discovering who I am.

Vibration from my phone interjects my thoughts, and I swipe left to answer the video call from Mom and Dad. After confirming that I’m okay and reiterating their advice about staying safe, I end the call with them, just when Stephen arrives with some jollof rice and chicken.

For two hours, we sit in the living room, talking about how Stephen started working in the tourism sector and all the interesting clients he has had over the last five years.

“I spent most of my twenties in the U.S. chasing after the American dream. But on my thirtieth birthday five years ago, I had an awakening that changed my perspective. So instead of spending my life away from home, I returned to my roots and now I’m able to help craft the Ghanaian dream. I’m married to a wonderful woman, with a two-year-old son and a baby girl on the way. I wake up every day doing a job I love while showcasing the beauty of my beloved country. That, to me, is a dream come true and everything I’ve prayed for.”

“Wow, that is such an inspirational story, Stephen. You’re making me even more excited about this trip.”

By the time ten PM rolls around, fatigue hits me hard, and we bid each other goodnight as Stephen leaves for his own apartment with the promise of returning in the morning, so we can start our adventure.

After taking a quick shower and working out how to turn the air conditioning in my room, my head hits the pillow and sleep takes over. There can only be so much excitement for one day. I’ll save the rest for tomorrow, when the true journey begins.