One of my very real ‘adulthood’ experiences was moving from home to Koforidua in the Eastern Region to have my housemanship.
I use real here because prior to that, there had been a number of adulthood experiences; this however felt a little more serious.

I chose a town that was unfamiliar to me, where I knew no one. A few of my colleagues were equally having their housemanship at the same facility but we weren’t friends then. A few of them I had exchanged a few sentences with. Others, none at all.

I moved to Koforidua on a sunny day in February 2022 with nothing but a dream, a couple of things I had saved up to buy and my transportation. That was it. I barely had anything to survive the several months of having to work without a salary.

In the weeks and months that will follow, everything I feared would happen did happen. The ones I couldn’t imagine happening happened as well.

It was in Koforidua that I called a friend in tears after I was sexually assaulted at a Hall Week event at Koforidua Technical University.

It’s been so hard to listen to “For my hand” by Ed Sheeran since then despite how much I loved that song.
It’s been very humiliating for me to share this experience seeing as it was one of those times where I had made a goal to connect more because of how lonely I felt.


It was there in Koforidua where I battled with one of the most unbearable episodes of depression( this wasn’t the last). It was there I realised how small my world was and how little connections I had made during my entire 6-year PharmD degree. It was there I watched how quickly connections I thought I had made quickly fizzled and this took its toll on me.

It was in Koforidua where I started compiling what would later become “My Prelude to Becoming”, my debut book.
It started with phrases, quotes, few sentences, diary entries. They were mostly scraps and bits of writing. Not much to make sense of.

Through it all, I’d indulge myself in books especially comfort books. They were distracting or they soothed me in some way. It inspired me to want to write a comfort book but all I ended up doing was writing about grief and loss and how much I yearned for the affection of people.

Initially, I wanted to publish them as they were. Mini poetry of 3 or 4 lines. Upon the advice of a friend, I started expanding on some of the original lines I had written. Eventually, I went ahead to publish my compilation even while doubting, due to its small volume.

In the end, I did publish it and I’m scared senseless. That book is like prodding me open and seeing all the scars I’ve been trying to hide. Sometimes I wondered if I should have waited till I had a few more ‘happy tales’ to add before publishing. Who knows? It might have made me a little more confident.                                                 

There’s been a lot more shit that has happened after Koforidua but hey, I gotta give Koforidua its flowers (Pun intended). Cheers!

Either way, writing my debut book feels like one of the most daring things I have done.