Wild Thing

My last semester in college I took an intro to creative writing class. In one of the sections, our assignment was to write a non-fiction personal essay. Here is mine.

Dedicated to Nabby Baffour-Awuah, R.I.P my boo.

I do not remember my very first time. But whenever it was, I loved it. And still so. I love the feeling of having my stomach rise to my chest or sometimes fall to my feet. I love the adrenaline that surges through my veins and keeps going like a dog chasing its tail. I especially love it when gravity, distracted by an itch perhaps, forgets to hold onto me and for a brief moment lets me fly. The one and only thing I hate about roller coaster rides is the fact that no one I know enjoys them as much as I do. Until Nabby visited, Summer 2010. Nabby and I first met in high school where we participated together in a lot of the same things: basketball, dancing and even sitting at the back of chemistry class with Tomefa (another friend) not paying attention. 

The sun blazed its hardest that day, as though trying to convince the earth not to succumb to winter ever again. I was cheerfully on its side. Nabby, Tomefa, four other friends and I had plans to spend that day at Valley Fair, one of Minnesota’s very own amusement parks. A couple weeks before, I had been in a car accident, so that while my legs were fully functional with hardly any pain, they did look bruised and yellowed. And purpled and blued. I was wearing shorts; this meant the bruises were visible, causing my friends to ask questions and give their sincerest condolences. Then Nabby interjected, “Did the driver pay? We should chase him down!!” excitedly pumping his impeccably toned arm in the air, beginning the day as usual with jokes and laughter.

At the park, we worked our way through the rides, starting on the ‘baby’ rides that elicited loud enough screams from the thirty odd people on the ride to have me howling with laughter. See, I had been on all these rides before, but much like watching horror movies, there is the extra thrill that comes from watching the others too. After the first ride and my apparently obvious and fearless need for a G-force of any magnitude, Nabby decided I was going to be his ride buddy for the rest of the time. Hopefully, I would rub off on him, he said.

Soon enough the ‘adult’ ride for the day came along. Wild Thing, it was called. “Finally!” I practically squealed, unable to hide my excitement. “Nabby! Let’s get the front seats!” I called out, waving him over from my place in line. Still adjusting to the thrills of the day, he laughed, gave me a look and stood his ground in the fourth row seat line. Eventually I gave in and joined him, still elated at the fact that I finally had a friend willing to join me on the stomach dropping rides, front seats or not.

Halfway through the ride, I hooted and yelled as I pumped a fist in the air. Nabby held on to my other, repeating, “Ruddi, you are crazy.” I laughed, coaxing him to join me at least with one raised fist. By the end of ride, we each had a fist in the air. We rode Wild Thing a second time, this time paying it a four-fisted tribute, a tribute to the beauty of the rush of adrenaline. I finally had a roller coaster buddy.

I was back home in Ghana caught up in my jetlag and New-Year’s-Eve-on-the-beach high and oblivious to all ills.

Oblivious to the fact that halfway across the world, Nabby fought for his life. 

Skype: January 1st 2011; 5:35 AM

Dosoo: Ruddi, have u heard?
Ruddi:  ?
Dosoo: Nabby died…


The one and only thing I hate about roller coaster rides is the fact that no one I know enjoys them as much as I do.

Rest in Perfect Peace my Friend, till we meet again.