That evening, the evening I became a woman, began like any other. I had stepped out just before dusk, when the sky still held onto the last of its colour—soft purple, pale blue, kind orange. The sun spilled its light in gold ribbons, coating everything with warmth, so that everything glowed with the godlike radiance of love. It had become my ritual to walk through the quiet suburbs to the hills, where I could climb the rocks, breathe in the green, and look out at Accra lying still on the horizon.
