I went to London late last year, primarily for a break from Ghana, get my head in the right space. Also take advantage of the free NHS service before they realised I was not longer a resident and struck me off.
The other reason was to decide whether Ghana was really the place for me. If I had done my time, and now it was time to return to the sanity of the west. However, after a few weeks it was obvious that the cold weather was killing me but not more so than my mother.

Don’t get me wrong, I love her to bits, but she just doesn’t get that in three years I am going to be turning 40 and as such she needs to back down a bit. Now I know, a mother is always going to be a mother, but she is just too much. She dictates (tries) how my hair is done, what clothes I should wear. If I go out for even a stroll to the corner shop, it’s “where are you going, what time will you be back”. Like I never knew before why my dad used to do so much overtime before he retired. Normally, as you get older, you try and relax more and think about money less as the kids are grown and the responsibilities are less. As I grew older, I realised, it was just to be out of the house.

She also thinks that she can solve the world’s problems, come back home she said. When I said no (it was more of a knee jerk reaction), she then called an endless amount of family members to try and convince me. Then she would casually bring up the fact that she spoke to so-and-so and they think I should stay. Casually she would bring this up during Eastenders, or when we were having a conversation about the price of tomatoes, like I don’t know how she does it, but she can switch a conversation in a second.
It was only when I said that I would rent out my house and she realised she wouldn’t have anywhere to stay that she finally “let” me come back to Ghana, her parting words to me were “it’s alright, I will be over soon, and I will convince you to come back”. If only she knew, she is probably the most reason why I came back.

I had a good 6 weeks of peace when as threatened, I mean promised, she returned to Ghana. Now I am wishing that I had stayed in London and come back to Ghana the day she was flying back.

It’s been 3 months, there are 5 more to go and honestly, I am so glad that I am working now, not because I am so excited about this opportunity but it gets me out of the house. In 3 months, she has managed to break my broom, a bowl, the handle on a mug, a dustpan handle and a plastic container. Just like my ex boyfriend however, nothing is her fault. It was either an inferior product or there was too much washing on the rack. Obviously.
She has moved my things around, thrown things away and basically apart from my room I don’t know where anything is anymore. Then she complains that she has to do everything in the house.

She cooks fresh food every day. You would think that I would be happy for that, not really, because, there are just the two of us, I have a small fridge, so everything gets shoved into the freezer. Then it is forgotten about. It is just so not necessary every single day.

She decided to break up with my ex on my behalf, and she doesn’t mind to tell the whole world MY business, just because she can. She also likes to tell me when/where and if I can go out. The other night, I couldn’t sleep, so was walking around the house. The next day I get a call from my aunt, asking why I was taking a walk at midnight and that it is not safe. Like, I am so surprised she didn’t like the ex, he also liked to talk our business and tell a little exaggerated story to go along side.

Yesterday I ignited my passion for baking. I am not too good with cakes, but got bread and buns down to an art. So I made two loaves of bread and 6 hot cross/iced, kind of hybrid type buns. I made the buns shortly before I went to sleep and covered them in the container. Obviously she knows better and decided to uncover them and went to sleep herself. So this morning, well let’s say the ants enjoyed a midnight feast.

It’s been 3 months, 5 more months to go. If I survive that long that is….