Postcard From Aisle 16

Earlier this morning, I stood alone in Home Depot’s hardware department — aisle 16, to be exact.

A sea of shiny nuts, bolts, washers, and screws lay before me.

Yes, I had an exact replica of what I needed in my front right pocket, but it was halfway stripped and 30 years old.

The thought of trying to match it with one of the 10,000 screws staring back at me felt like a daunting task.

Luckily, unbeknownst to me, there was a tiny strip of metal with a line of numbered holes running across it.

All I had to do was fit the rusted screw from my pocket into its corresponding hole and — bada-bing, bada-boom — I’d know exactly what I needed.

Easy peasy.

Now holding a box of 6/32 screws, and feeling quite chuffed with myself, I noticed an orange shirt approaching from my left.

“Can I help you find something?” he asked in an unmistakably thick African accent.

“I actually just found what I came for,” I replied. “But you know what? I might also need a baby screwdriver. Can you point me in that direction?”

“Baby screwdrivers?” He racked his brain for a second. “Ah, yes. They’re just here, at the end of this same aisle.”

After following his lead, I crouched down and grabbed the cheapest one available — a black-and-yellow, pen-sized Stanley.

“This should do the trick.” I told him.

“Great. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Material-wise, I’m good to go. But I would love to know where your accent is from.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, he smiled with pride,

“Ghana. I come from Ghana.”

“Really? You guys play Colombia tonight, right?”

“We do. And I’m very impressed you know this.” He said with a chuckle.

“Well, thank you for your help, my friend.”

I placed my hand over my heart.

“And please know… you are more than welcome in this country.”

“Thank you,” he said, still grinning. “But there is no need to welcome me. I have now been here 25 years.”

I raised my brow and stepped a little closer.

“Yes, but in case you haven’t noticed, this country has recently stepped backwards about 50 years. So I do my damndest to make anyone not born here feel welcome. You get what I’m sayin’?”

“I understand completely. And thank you.”

His smile quickly faded.

“It is sad what has happened to this country. I will retire soon, and when I do, I am leaving for good.”

“Back to Ghana?” I asked.

“No. I will go to London, where my wife and two daughters moved. Before, the plan was for them to remain here. But not anymore. Things have changed in a way that they no longer want to be here. So I will go there.”

“I’ve lived in London a few times,” I told him. “I love that city.”

“Life is different there. Not perfect… but now, it’s much easier and better for both my daughters.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I can’t argue with that. How old are your girls?”

With the quickest smile, David reached for his phone.

“Here. Let me show you.”

He scrolled through a handful of photos taken from his wife and two daughters’ last visit.

“What a beautiful family. You must miss them?”

“Well, only a little,” he said, laughing. “But thanks to WhatsApp, I see and talk to all of them every day.”

“Ahh, one of the most beautiful benefits of technology,” I told him.

Just then, my phone pinged with back-to-back messages from the city inspector I was soon to meet up with.

“Brother, I’ve got a guy from the city waiting on me, so I need to scoot. But I wanted to ask — can I take your picture?”

His face instantly lit up like a Christmas tree… then coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me.

“Actually,” I said, “I wanted to take a photo of just you. One you can send to your girls.”

“Ah, so you want a picture of only me?”

“If that’s okay, yes.”

“Of course, this is no problem. But after, we take one together, and I will send them that one too, okay?”

“Deal.”

After a few snaps, we exchanged numbers, shook hands, and shared a heartfelt bro-hug.

“Take care, Mr. Adrian.”

“Oh, I’ll be back,” I said as I began walking away.

“Hey!” he yelled out. “Don’t forget to send the photos.”

I turned back towards him, nodded a big yes, and held my fist in the air.

“Go Ghana!”

Smiling from ear-to-ear, he shouted back,

“Go Ghana!”

With a pocket full of screws,

Adrian

UPDATE: Ghana may have lost their match, but David and I now have plans to meet for an African lunch here in Dallas.

And that feels like a damn good win to me.

If you enjoy stories like these, please consider how far a simple Like, Comment, or Share can go.

They’re all free — and they help independent writers like me more than you know. 🙏🏼

Leave a comment