After the #dumsormuststop vigil, I walked back to where I had parked and drove home, via the Nkrumah Memorial Street (formerly known as Tema Motorway). Usually when I turn off towards Comm 20, I would get an inkling of whether we have lights at home or not by the illumination at the first gate of the Abbatoir compound. I usually approach this anticipation with trepidation. And if it is dark, my heart usually sinks.


I experienced a new sensation yesterday.  It didn’t matter what I saw. My heart was light. I had joined hundreds to speak our mind as one. To voice our unified frustration with the state of affairs, epitomised by the dumsorification of our state. As one voice, we had demonstrated that we could be marshalled by our peers who feel passionate enough to step out.


I was glad that the momentum of joint action is gathering and that it can soon be powered like a dynamo by its own internally-generated energy.

My heart was light.

And as I turned around the bend, the Abbatoir first gate was lighted.

I had light.



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