The Other Side of Home

I had lived a full season's song and some when we had to leave home with nothing but the feathers on our backs. I remember it clearly. It was the day after I caught my first wiggle, unaided. The leaves had crunched gently when I hopped on them. I showed my catch to Ma Gale. “Stop playing with your food..." she had chirped, “...There is not enough. We must get ready to leave”.

So we had left, when the great-light rose from its nest, because home no longer felt like home. It was getting colder, darker, windier. I had to stay on the left flank with the other younglings. Pa Gale was directly to my right and Ma Gale was a flutter of wings ahead of me. I had to memorise my position because it was of ‘utmost importance that we stay in formation’ Ma Gale had gurgled.

“But where are we going?” I had tweeted.

“Where the people with skin as brown as the earth like to sing and dance.” Pa Gale had responded.

I like to sing too. Dancing, came with time. I’m a queer one, I’ve been told. Sorry! I often get ahead of myself. Pardon my feathers! Hi, I am Knight Kwabena Gale or Kwabs, and this is the story of my journey to the other side of home.

We had been flying for a mid-season and a lover's song. The air was crisp and nippy, nothing like the sultriness I was used to. The vastness of deciduous trees that had once been a vibrant green had slowly turned into a kaleidoscopic assortment of russet, saffron and scarlet leaves. Many of these leaves had fallen to the ground leaving behind giant claws for trees.

When the great-light boasted above us, we trusted its bearings, and when it retired to its nest, the smaller lights took over, guiding us on our way. Underneath me, I saw brown and green and blue and brown again. Sometimes, the earth rose. At other times it fell as though it tried to hide its face. Sometimes, the land sported a mixed hue of verdures. Sometimes, the land was bare and hard. Sometimes, there were things that moved so fast you could barely keep them in sight. Other times, everything was still. The way I remember it, it was altogether splendid and invigorating.

With each journey of the great-light across the blue above, I saw new things, strange things, creeping things, crawling things, flying things, running things, things that killed other things, things that helped other things. I remember a rest stop with a resplendent flaming red of dry leaves as far as the eyes can see. I had even made new friends. But Pa Gale had said we could not stay, that we had to leave before there was too much white in the blue above.

“Why Pa?” I had trilled.

“The gale that moves is the gale that lives” he had whistled with an air of sagacity. But I am not a sage you see, and I did not understand.

“Why can’t we make another home here?” I had persisted

“A true gale knows its way home” Another snippet of seeming wisdom that made no sense.

“But Pa, this place is cozy and nice. And I have made new friends. I want to stay.” I countered.

“It is cozy, yes. Nice even. The insects here have a certain exotic allure, but it is not home” he twittered.

“So how do we know when we have arrived?”, I twittered back.

“We feel it in our bones, in the breeze, in the smell of the air and how it fluffs our wings.” He cooed in a birdsong, I was yet to recognize.

“But I don’t understand, Pa”, I chirruped repeatedly.

“You will”, he warbled gently and with that he had flapped his wings to join the others as we took our positions in the blue above.

Every now and then a huge gust of wind will threaten to break our formation. On Ma Gale’s signal we would fly closer, and on Pa Gale’s we would spread out. Ma Gale had warned that gales who did not eat their greens would be swallowed by the gust of wind because they would be too weak to keep flying. But the blustery wind had come and we were swallowed, green-eating gales and all. I promise, I had eaten all my greens. I still do, in fact. Maya insists on it. Anyway, I am getting ahead of myself, again.

So we were all swallowed by the wind that does not care whether you ate your greens or not. I managed to find a cluster of rocks and held on to its sides with my beak. Finally, the wind left. I called out “Ma, Pa, Baba, Lala, Kaka, Kuku, Fufu, Juju…” No gale twittered back. I sang, I chirped, I warbled, I trilled every distress call I knew. Still no gale.

I think I must have broken a wing because when I tried to fly it hurt badly. I found a few sickly earthworms and decaying shrub to keep me nourished and hopeful. But as the chill of the darkness moseyed in, so did my despair. I tucked my wings in, bowed my head and closed my eyes.

I like to think now that I was waiting gallantly for death to knock on my beaks; unafraid, unperturbed and unstressed. I don’t know how they found me but they did, the people with skin as brown as the earth. They gave me food and tended to my broken wing. They made a home of twigs for me and then put a fortress around it. In return, I sang and danced for them. And yes, I have since learnt how to dance well. It made them very happy.

My bones are shaking excitedly. My Maya will soon be back. She always has something special to give me when she returns. I look forward to our long talks on politics, society and Afreeca. I can already hear her voice greeting the others outside. She opens the door and I flit around excitedly.

"Hi Kwabs" she croons in a heavy gale-ese accent.

She feeds me a juicy wiggle straight from her palms. I peck at it greedily, my bones still shaking. She settles down in her lazy chair picks up her blue stick and her stack of big white leaves. My Maya really likes to leave dainty little marks on the white leaves.

I must be really excited today because my bones don’t stop shaking.

Before the shadows of their wings darken the door post, before the children run out to bid them farewell, I realize why. There it is, in the breeze that beckons, in the smell of the air and how it fluffs my wings.

Ma, Pa, Juju, Fufu…

And I open my throat and start to sing.