From High School Legend to Finding Purpose: Kwame's Story. Episode 2: Loss and the Unknown

Episode 2: Loss and the Unknown

After that night with Samuel, Kwame often told himself, Tomorrow, I’ll change. Tomorrow, I’ll do better. But tomorrow came and went, and Kwame’s life remained the same. The streets of Nima still called to him, and he still answered. He was the guy everyone knew: always roaming, always moving, always on the edge of something—but never quite crossing into purpose.

At home, Kwame lived with his grandmother, Nana Yaa, and four siblings in a small, weathered compound house. Life wasn’t easy, but Nana Yaa was the glue that held them all together. She was the kind of woman who could make miracles out of little—stretching a pot of soup to feed five mouths or calming heated arguments with nothing more than her steady, commanding voice. Despite her strength, raising Kwame had been her greatest challenge. Of all the grandchildren, Kwame was the most stubborn, always disappearing into the streets, always chasing one hustle or another. Yet, despite everything, Nana Yaa never gave up on him.

For a while, Kwame’s behavior didn’t bother him—until it started to bother her.

One morning, after Kwame had returned home late the night before, Nana Yaa pulled him aside. “Kwame, you’re not a bad boy, but you’re lost. The streets won’t teach you what you need to know. One day, they will fail you. And when they do, you’ll wish you had listened.”

Kwame didn’t have a response. He just nodded, as he always did, and then left the house to meet his boys. But her words stayed with him.

The Illness

Life took a dark turn when Nana Yaa decided to travel to her hometown for a funeral. Funerals in Ghana were significant, almost sacred, and Nana Yaa had insisted on going, even though her health had been fragile. Kwame hadn’t wanted her to go, but she had brushed him off, saying, “I’m not dead yet, Kwame. Don’t talk to me like I am.”

When she returned, something was different. At first, it was just fatigue—nothing unusual for an old woman. But as the days passed, her condition worsened. She started coughing at night, her voice became weak, and she stopped eating. By the second week, she was bedridden.

Kwame, for all his roaming, found himself at home more often, trying to help in small ways. He’d fetch water, prepare food, and sometimes just sit beside her bed in silence. It was the first time in years that he had been still long enough to notice how frail she had become. For the first time, Kwame felt helpless.

The Dream

One night, as Kwame dozed off on the floor of the living room, he had a dream—a dream so vivid it jolted him awake. In the dream, he walked past the hall and saw the woman who had been hired to care for his grandmother standing over Nana Yaa. The woman held a long, sharp nail in her hand and was driving it into Nana Yaa’s chest, her face emotionless as she worked.

Kwame woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. It was the first time he had ever had a dream like that, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it meant something. Desperate and terrified, he ran out of the house, heading straight to find Samuel.

When he found Samuel, the older man listened intently, his face serious. “This isn’t just a dream, Kwame,” Samuel said. “It’s a revelation. The enemy is close, and your grandmother is in danger.”

Samuel gathered a group of prophets, and they came to the house to pray. The air was heavy with tension as they anointed Nana Yaa with oil and called on God for healing. Kwame stood in the corner, watching as the prayers grew louder and more urgent. But one of the prophets suddenly stopped and turned to Kwame.

“She will not survive this,” the man said, his voice quiet but firm. “Her time is near. The date is set.”

Kwame’s chest tightened. He wanted to scream, to throw the man out, to deny every word he had just heard. But deep down, he felt the truth of it.

The Loss

The day came faster than Kwame could have imagined. Nana Yaa passed away in the early hours of the morning, just as the prophet had said. Kwame was the first to find her, her body still and her face peaceful, as if she had simply fallen asleep. But the peace she left behind was short-lived.

Her death shattered the fragile balance of their home. Relatives who had barely been around while Nana Yaa was alive now swooped in, making decisions about the house and the children as if Kwame and his siblings didn’t exist. Whispers filled the air—judgments about Kwame, about his roaming, about how he had failed to honor the woman who had raised him.

At just 17, Kwame found himself abandoned in a way he had never felt before. It was as if everyone had been waiting for Nana Yaa to die, just so they could wash their hands of him. His only anchor in the chaos was his older brother, Kofi. The two clung to each other, trying to make sense of a world that seemed intent on breaking them.

The Crossroads

Kwame began to spiral. The streets that had once felt like home now felt cold and empty. The boys he used to roll with didn’t know how to comfort him, and he didn’t know how to ask. His dreams became darker, more vivid, filled with shadows and voices he didn’t understand.

One night, as he sat alone outside the house, staring at the stars, he thought about Nana Yaa’s words: The streets won’t teach you what you need to know.

For the first time in his life, Kwame didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know who he was without his grandmother, without her steady hand guiding him. He felt like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to jump or turn back.

But somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, Samuel’s voice lingered. “God has a big plan for you, Kwame. This life you’re living? It’s not the one He made for you.”

Kwame didn’t know if he believed it. But with everything he had lost, it felt like the only thing left to hold on to.

To Be Continued in Episode 3…