The sun was beginning its slow descent over Assinie, a stretch of golden sand and swaying palms on Côte d’Ivoire’s Atlantic coast, where the lagoon meets the ocean in a tranquil, shimmering dance. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of salt and distant woodsmoke, the only sounds the gentle hush of the waves and the laughter of children playing far down the shore. Daniel, thirty and newly unburdened by work, wandered barefoot along the water’s edge, letting the cool surf wash over his feet. Assinie was a place of quiet beauty—a favorite escape for city dwellers from Abidjan, with its long, uncrowded beaches, coconut groves, and the rhythmic pulse of the Atlantic. Here, the world felt both vast and intimate, the horizon stretching endlessly, yet every detail—the driftwood, the fishing boats, the distant calls of seabirds—felt close enough to touch.
It was on this peaceful walk that Daniel noticed something half-buried in the sand: three loose, weathered pages, their edges curled and ink faded by the sea air. He knelt to gather them, brushing off the grains, and tried to arrange them in order. The handwriting was elegant, the French-tinged English unmistakably feminine, and as he began to read, he realized he was holding a letter from a mother to her son—a letter signed simply, “Awa.”
Awa’s words flowed with warmth and candor, as if she were speaking to her son in the hush of a quiet evening. She confessed her regrets and shared the wisdom she’d gathered from a winding career. “My darling,” she wrote, “if I could give you just one piece of advice, it would be this: don’t overthink your future. I wasted too many years worrying about where I’d end up, comparing my path to others who seemed to move in straight lines while I zigzagged. Focus on what’s in front of you. Pour yourself into the task at hand, and trust that each step will build on the last. I learned too late that the present moment is where your future is made.”
Awa admitted she had once believed her own ideas were always right, and she urged her son to stay humble. “Be careful believing everything you think. I wish I had listened more, asked for advice, let others challenge me. Even the smartest people need a mirror held up to their thoughts. Don’t isolate yourself with your plans—talk to people, let them help you see what you can’t.”
Her letter was full of hard-earned truths. She warned against measuring oneself against others, reminding her son that every detour and side road would one day prove invaluable. “Your journey is your own. The detours, the side roads—they’re not wasted time. They’re the experiences that will set you apart. One day, you’ll see that knowing more than one way to do things is like speaking two languages. It’s a gift, not a burden.”
Awa described her own patchwork career, never quite fitting the mold, and how, in the end, it was her breadth of experience that mattered most. “I used to envy those who stayed in one place, mastering a single process. But when I finally reached a place of influence, it was my breadth of experience that mattered. I could see the bigger picture, connect the dots others missed. Don’t be afraid to collect experiences, even if they don’t seem to fit together at first.”
She urged her son to look inward, to define success for himself rather than chasing someone else’s dream. “Don’t chase someone else’s dream, not even mine. Take time to understand what matters to you. The world will try to tell you what success looks like, but only you can define it for yourself.”
The final page was the most poignant. “You may worry about money, about titles, about getting ahead. I did, too. But I promise you, if you stay focused and give your best to what’s in front of you, the rest will come. Salary, success—they’re a matter of time and attention, not luck. And remember, the things you think of as baggage—the odd jobs, the failures, the skills you picked up along the way—those are your advantages. They’ll make you stronger when it matters most. Don’t go through this alone. Talk about your dreams, your doubts. Let others in. I wish I had.”
As Daniel finished reading, the sky over Assinie was streaked with pink and indigo, the ocean reflecting the last light of day. He felt a deep connection to Awa, her son, and to his own uncertain journey. He knew, with sudden clarity, the first thing he would do: protect this letter at all costs. He would frame it and hang it above his desk, a daily reminder of wisdom, humility, and the beauty of forging his own path.
Melvin Bosso
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