08/09/2024
For my Love of Writing. Wrote this a couple of years ago for a project that did not come to fusion. So i thought its best for the world to see a snippet of it.
A License to Freedom
I grew up as what we call an "HP"—"a House Pickin". My parents were strict, the kind of strict that kept me indoors while other kids played outside. They were always afraid I might fall in with the wrong crowd. So, when the day came for me to leave for university, it felt like I had just been handed a license to freedom. I spent countless nights dreaming about the independence waiting for me at Fourah Bay College.
One of the things I always wanted to do as a young girl was wear an ankle chain. To me, it symbolized a kind of cool, effortless freedom. But under my parents' roof, that wasn't an option. University, however, promised a new life, and I was more than ready to embrace it.
The day finally arrived—October 23rd, 2003, my first day as a college student. Short skirts were all the rage, so I slipped into one, paired it with heels, and, of course, my beloved anklet, which I had hidden away until now. As soon as I got into the taxi, I put it on. My heart swelled with excitement during the long ride from Wilkinson Road, Quarry Junction, where I lived, to Model Junction at Circular Road. But as the taxi approached the Student Union bus stop, a wave of doubt washed over me.
"What if I don't even like the people?" I thought. "What if I get lost among these wolves?" My cousin, who had just graduated, had once described college boys with that exact word—wolves. A shiver ran down my spine as I boarded the bus, suddenly overwhelmed by a mix of anticipation and fear.
The bus stopped, and I reached for my fare, but the guy next to me had already paid. Startled, I looked at him, and he simply smiled.
"It's fine," he said, waving off my thanks. "First-year student, right?"
I nodded, still processing the gesture.
"Where's your class?" he asked.
The question hit me like a splash of cold water. I had no idea where my class was. I hadn't attended the orientation program, applying while awaiting my results. The only building I knew was Mary Kingsley Hall, where I had picked up my acceptance letter. I blurted out, "Mary Kingsley," hoping that would suffice.
He pointed in the general direction, "It's over there. Wait for me after class, and I'll help you get some 'legacy'—last year's course notes. We call them 'lagga' around here."
I nodded again, this time with a small smile. My cousin had mentioned those notes, and the thought of having them made my nerves settle a bit.
As I walked into Mary Kingsley Hall, I noticed a guy sitting alone, his hand propping up his head, lost in thought. I hesitated for a moment but then walked over.
"Hi," I said, trying to sound casual.
He looked up, surprised, but then smiled. "Hi. Are you a first-year student too?"
"Yes," I replied. "Social Sciences and Law faculty. I'm supposed to have a class here, but I don't see anyone around."
He chuckled softly. "Same here. I've been waiting for over thirty minutes, and not a soul has shown up."
"What do we do then?" I asked, feeling a bit lost.
"Let's walk around campus and see if we can find our class," he suggested, standing up.
And so we did. We wandered through Wilson Theater, the botanical garden, Kennedy Building, and beyond. We found no class but gained a sense of the sprawling campus that would become our home for the next few years. By the time we circled back, my feet were aching from the heels I had so confidently worn. I could barely hide my discomfort.
"Do you want to sit down for a bit?" he asked, noticing my discomfort.
I nodded, grateful, and we found a spot in the garden in front of the library building. As we sat, he shared his story. He was from The Gambia and had never been to school in Sierra Leone. The idea of knowing anyone here was almost impossible for him.
"You’re the first person I've spoken to since I got here," he admitted with a shy smile. "Let's help each other through this first week, okay?"
I was taken aback by his honesty and sincerity. "Deal," I said, feeling a sense of camaraderie. We both laughed, the tension between us dissolving. My stomach growled softly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten all day. Embarrassed, I fished out some mint candy from my bag and offered him one.
"This is my first gift in Sierra Leone," he said, taking the candy with a wide smile. "Thank you. It means a lot."
Just as I was about to respond, the guy who paid my fare earlier appeared out of nowhere. He strolled over like we had known each other for years.
"Baby, your class is over? I told you to wait for me by the bus stop," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
I blinked, stunned. Did he just call me "baby"? The words of my cousin echoed in my mind—wolves. Was this guy one of them? My reflexes kicked in.
"What's your name again?" I asked, feigning innocence.
He seemed caught off guard. "You forgot my name already?"
"We never exchanged names," I shot back, crossing my arms.
His smirk widened as he gestured toward my new friend. "Is he your brother?"
I glanced at my friend, who was watching this exchange with mild amusement. There was no resemblance between us. Not even close.
"Yes, he is my twin," I said with a mischievous grin.
The guy raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. Instead, he handed me a complete timetable of my classes with all the locations marked.
"Here, this might help you get around," he said, suddenly serious.
I took it, my previous annoyance melting into gratitude. "Thank you," I said, genuinely meaning it.
"Come to my room at Block…," he started, then paused. "Well, I’ll give you the lagga."
As he left, I turned to my new friend, who was still chuckling. We decided to head back to the "airport"—the campus bus stop. He made a quick rule: whoever sat in the front seat of the taxi paid for the one in the back. Since he was already in the front, I couldn’t help but laugh at his clever way of offering to pay my fare.
When we reached "Model," the drop-off point from campus, he hesitated for a moment before asking, "Can I call you to check if you got home safe?"
I bit my lip, remembering that we no longer had a landline at home. "How about I call you instead?" I suggested, hoping he wouldn’t think it was weird.
He gave me his uncle’s number, and I promised to call once I got home. That evening, I had to walk 100 meters up my road to the only telecenter in the area to make that call. It was supposed to be a quick check-in, but we ended up talking for three minutes. I smiled the whole time, even as I handed over the money—a small fortune for me back then.
The next day, he surprised me again. He had arrived early to stand in line for my course registration form. When I reached the line, he was there, holding a spot for me. My heart fluttered—a sensation I had only read about in novels.
From that day on, we were inseparable. We took classes together, ate together, and spent every spare moment together. We made no other friends because, somehow, we didn’t need to. The days were filled with laughter, stolen pens, and playful chases across campus.
On November 15th, as we sat on the "kakie" by the library doorway, he put his arms around me, steadying me on the thin concrete platform. His face was serious for once.
"Can you take off your anklet for me, please?" he asked, his voice low. "I have something to tell you, but I can’t say it with you wearing it."
I stared at him, surprised. My anklet? I had worn it every day since that first day. Without a word, I slid my foot across the ground, hooked the anklet with my toe, and let it drop to the floor with a soft clink.
"Done," I said, my eyes never leaving his.
He looked down at my foot, then back up at me. Slowly, he leaned in and kissed me, a gentle, hesitant kiss that left me frozen in place.
"I love you," he whispered, pulling back just enough to see my reaction.
Shock, happiness, confusion, and fear flooded me all at once. I didn’t know what to say. As I stood there, stunned, he bent down to pick up the broken anklet.
"You shouldn’t have broken it," he said softly, but I barely heard him.
"Did you just say you love me?" I asked, my voice trembling.
He nodded, a shy grin spreading across his face. "Yes, I did."
I stared at him, my mind racing. What would happen to our friendship? Would everything change?
"We’ll still be friends," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "But now, I’ll be kissing you. Deal?"
He held out his pinky finger, and without thinking, I hooked mine onto his.
"Deal," I whispered.
Michael was my first love. We spent four amazing years in college together. We were even nominated for Best Couple by the campus club in 2006. 20 years later, we’re still friends but not kissing.
