As a little boy growing up in my hometown on the Kwahu Mountains, I remember vividly how I would have to walk for miles, carrying my farm load; usually firewood and harvested crops on my head with no option to have a rest until I reached that shapeless, huge stone. It had a soothing stream of water by it, with short shrubs growing in it whereas filled with the brown leaves the trees along its bank shed into it. This repeated excruciating experience pinched my heart always. Why didn’t my parents make me carry a load, which will be lighter enough for my journey home?
This occasional overload sometimes made me hear some cracking noises like the chirps of crickets within my skull. That even aside, I wouldn’t have had a problem if there were a rest top at every 100 meters we walked. Notwithstanding, just like any hardship in…
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