Lost and found. But really let’s call this borrowed and returned. While COVID-19 raged on in 2021, I found myself on an unlikely trip to a remote, sleepy village in Cote D’Ivoire, sampling marine ecology and preparing reports that could potentially turn a beautiful, idyllic paradise into a hub of pollution, lost livelihoods as well as loads money for the powers that be. The moment I set foot in this village, I fell in love with the natural, untouched beauty, the persistent rain and the smell of smoked/smoking fish. I also felt an unfamiliar emotion, was it trepidation, anxiety?
I had no idea exactly what was disturbing my spirit, until a strange woman with the most beautiful olive skin and finest wrinkles threw herself at my feet and called me her son. In broken French, she said, ‘Welcome home son. I knew, I’ll not taste death before you came back.” I didn’t know this woman, but she did look like an older version of my oldest daughter. I looked at the man standing behind her trying to get her to control herself and it seemed as if I was staring in a mirror. The man in the mirror; he was me, except he wore old, tattered clothes, and had really calloused hands. I did not want to be rude or dismissive so I knelt down and held her, “Mama who are you?” I asked, but in that moment, my heart knew the truth.
Lost and found. Except I was never lost. I was sent to do a thing that is very necessary. Sent to pave a way to lift my entire family out of poverty. Lost and found, they say, but I think I was borrowed for a while and now I have been returned. This lost and baby boy has been returned, fully grown, a man, polished, educated, and full of love and grace. Misskorang, I am fifty years old, a seasoned marine biologist, I consult for big oil companies, I’ve had a good life, travelled the world, and made a family of my own. But the parents who raised me, who loved me to death, and gave me all these opportunities did not birth me. Neither did they adopt me. They stole me out of desperation. I have no angst, no grudges, just gratitude for all I’ve been given, and the pleasurable privilege of having two sets of parents.
I have attended some of the best schools in the world. I have met presidents and kings. I am or should I say was an only child. My parents were good to me, they raised me well, an only child, and managed at the same time to present the world to me on a silver platter. I was on course to become a pilot, until I went snorkeling one summer off the coast of Mexico with friends, that was when I changed career paths. When I told my parents my change of plans, I saw a knowing look pass between them, it was as if they were saying, “we knew it!” They supported me and allowed me change courses at school, from engineering to animal biology.
On my father’s insistence, I learned French. I hated it, but no matter how much I complained or cajoled, he didn’t budge. By my teenage years I spoke and wrote fluent French and English. My father knew something I didn’t, that one day I’d need French to speak to some very important people.
MissKorang, I am a wanderlust. This trait was instilled in me by my parents, they were diplomats and had access to the world. There is no continent I haven’t been to, and very few countries I haven’t visited. The only thing I love more than traveling is the beach. When I sit at the beach, I become in sync with the roaring waves. And when I am in the water, I felt a sense of belonging and connection. I always have a sense of peace at sea that I could not explain. Until this day in Cote D’Ivoire when I met these sea faring folks, who knocked my socks off…
When the lockdowns happened in France, I was miserable. I love my family and children. My beautiful wife is my best friend, but even she wanted me out of the house at some point. I was restlessness . I love to be on the go, that’s how my brain is wired. When the lockdown was eased somewhere middle of 2021and international travel was allowed, my projects resumed, I stoked. One of those projects was preliminary research of marine ecology off the coast of Cote D’Ivoire bordering Ghana.
I made arrangements for my trip, my dear wife was happy for me to get gone! I informed my aged parents I was traveling to Cote D’Ivoire, a country I had curiously never been to, curiously because I had visited all her neighbors. My mother’s immediate reaction was, “Don’t go. Send someone else instead.” Now let’s be clear, my mother has a very sharp intuition, when she says, “Don’t go,” You do not go period. My father supported her, his argument was COVID was still spreading hard and fast, he did not want me to get sick in a foreign country.
I made arrangements for one of my VPs to go. At the airport, she tested positive for COVID. Too much was at stake for my company, so I packed bag and baggage, called my mother, “Pray for me Mama, I have to go.” She cried on the phone.
Days later, after meetings in Yamoussoukro with partners and politicians, I journeyed to this idyllic village that looked like something out of a historical romance novel. I fell in love, don’t get me wrong, I love big cities but pristine places like this village have a special place in my heart. And yet from the moment I stepped foot in this village my spirit was troubled, I didn’t quite understand why so I chalked it up to my mother’s unhappiness about my trip. I decided to enjoy my stay and do my job. But my heart stayed troubled.
As part of my company’s outreach programs, we go to schools in poorer areas we work in to distribute books and speak to the children, encourage them to look beyond their circumstances. At the elementary school in this village one boy regarded me with the most quizzical expression the whole time I spoke. When it was time for questions he raised his hand, “Sir are you from this village?” he asked in fluent French.
“No i don’t,” I replied
“You look exactly like my Uncle,” he said.
“Well say hello to him. Hopefully I’ll get to meet him before I leave,” I replied, half joking and half serious. Little did I know.
Apparently this boy went home and told his family he had met his Uncle’s long-lost twin brother but no one believed him.
A few days to my departure, I was walking shirtless on the beach, when a group of kids came running by. A couple of them stopped to stare at me.
“Comment allez-vous?” I asked them.
One of them pointed to the birthmark on my midriff and pointed to the same kind on his calf. Now I had never paid much attention to this mark that looks like a child had practiced drawing triangles with a black marker on my midriff, my parents didn’t have it, neither did my kids, I never paid it any mind. Until now.
Now listen Misskorang, I did not become a marine biologist by being daft okay. I am no whiz kid nor NASA engineer but I have intellectual capabilities. I began to add things up, my mother’s melodramatic reaction to my trip, that boy in the classroom, my gut feeling, now I share a strange tattoo-like mark with a little boy in a strange village.
I tried to ask them questions but they took off running. Screaming and speaking a language I did not understand. I tried to follow them but soon lost them. So I returned to the beach to calm myself and try to make sense of what was going on. Something was up and I needed to know.
Before long I heard some commotion behind me, the kids had returned with adults in tow. Amongst them, this beautiful old lady who looked like an older version of my daughter and a younger man, my age, but weathered by an obvious hard life, he very obviously was my doppelgänger.
The woman threw herself at my feet, In broken French, she said, “Welcome home son. I knew, I’ll not taste death before you came back.”
I locked eyes with my doppelgänger, he said, “Pa and I come here every year on our birthday to pray and pour libation to call you home.” He spoke broken French too.
“On OUR birthday?” Oh. My. God! I have a twin brother?
I knelt down and held the old lady, “Mama who are you?”
But even as I asked the question, my heart knew the answer. She anointed my head with sea water and ‘washed’ my feet with beach sand. Lost and found, I collapsed in the bosom of my mother and wept the baby tears I never got to weep. Lost and found, I have questions. But for now let me allow my heart to break and mend.
Continuation Here
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At MissKorang we strive to bring you life stories that teach timeless life lessons and, some of those stories, like this one, are real life stories submitted by our readers and shared with their permission. Identifying attributes are edited out to protect our contributors’ privacy.Can you leave your thoughts with these kind people in the comments? If you want to send us your experience, email us at submissions@misskorang.com. Or submit using this anonymous form. Please do not reproduce any part of this content without permission from us. Our stories contain affiliate links. When you click and make a purchase, we may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.
