Anglo Jos

I remember taking a walk one late Sunday afternoon with my siblings many, many years ago. We walked up from Kufang to some hills around Anglo Jos. There we came upon some relics of the colonial past, a crumbling house and a pathway lined with beautiful trees that probably led somewhere.

The crumbling house was blue and it was surrounded by the detritus of a charmed existence, to my 13-year-old eyes. I forgot my siblings as I tried to conjure up the presence of those who had lived there, moving from room to room and imagining what life must have been like for them.

There were the remains of a fireplace and there was a chimney, but its roof was the wide open sky. there was an orchard at the back, a lovely one but in a terrible state.

I wondered how they were able to get up those hills to build it because we just happened upon it in our wandering.

I wanted badly to explore the place and satisfy my curiosity about its surroundings but my sister called and said it was time to go home. I went sadly. But I hoped to return to it one day.

I fantasized about reclaiming and rebuilding the blue house and then moving in to reenact the fabulous life of its previous occupants as I imagined it.

I left Jos instead.

 

 

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