It’s very rare in the UK that I’m up at 5am everyday sitting under a blue sky absorbing this much warmth before the temperature rises to the unbearable. It’s these little things I’m always longing for from my home of adoption. The African child in me awaits the early bird songs in the stillness of an environment until movement takes place. In no time, school children are off, their faces brimming from piled on moisturiser, one after the other smartly dressed in uniform. Kombies beep outside high walls and through the transport windows, I notice the young faces still half asleep, dreading the long day ahead. Little do they know there are still so many years ahead.
My grandmother’s flowers are blooming each day since I arrived. Hollyhocks, a flower I find undesirable anywhere in the world yet anywhere I’ve come across them, I thought of my grandmother’s garden. Each morning I’ve woken up here in her house, I’ve been having my cups of coffee observing her little garden, thankful for my wonderful childhood and this chance to keep her memory alive in these quiet moments until the township becomes alive.
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