When I was 20, I left for England to study. It was something I’d always wanted to do – study abroad. The idea excited me. I didn’t want to study at home. I never wanted to. And so I left.
My mother cried on the way to the bus station. She liked my new city, but she didn’t like me living here without her. I told her I’d take care of myself – that I’d make friends with good people, study hard and not skip breakfast.
During this time, I drifted from some friends. We talked less. We cared less. Sometimes I don’t think we cared at all.
One morning during English class my teacher started talking about Damilola. While I was watching videos of this poor boy who got murdered on the way home, I thought of my friends.
What if it was me?
What if it were them?
That afternoon I wrote some emails for 2 of my friends. I told them about Damilola, and about how scared I was of losing them. I told them what I’d been up to, I sent them photos of my lunch that day. I told them not to worry – I’d learnt how to cook. The girls and I were taking care of each other. I told them to take care too.
I told them I missed them.
I got an email back the next day from one of them.
I miss you too much.
I thought about this a lot – about how it was such an interesting way to say it. I told him I missed him too. We’re still dear friends today.
The night I sent the emails, I got a text from the other friend.
He asked me what a word meant. He read my letter because the word was in it. Two weeks later someone told me he’d made fun of the lunch I made.
We’re not friends anymore.
I thought of Damilola again today. And I thought about my two friends.
Change is a funny thing.
tutu kuehs 