Revisiting the Old Path of Brotherliness

There was a time when not seeing a relative for weeks felt like a lifetime.

A time when your neighbour knew your children’s names, your church leader knew where you lived, and your brother in the next town could tell you what was cooking in your kitchen without asking.

That time is slipping from our hands.
Today, blood siblings can live in the same city and not know each other’s home address.

Church members can worship on the same pew for years and still not know which street the other returns to.

We have become experts at being close in name, yet distant in life.

We Have Lost the Art of Showing Up

In the past, visitation was not optional. It was duty. It was affection expressed through presence.

“I will pass by your house on Saturday.” That was a promise.

Now, we only show up for the big days—anniversaries, weddings, funerals. Gye sɛ biribi asi ansa na yɛbɛhu wo.

And even then, some still find reasons to be absent. Absence has become our new normal.

We tell ourselves we are busy. That work, traffic, and “modern life” won’t allow it.

Maybe that’s true. But this is also true: we make time for what we treasure.

We make time to scroll. We make time to watch. We can still make time to love.

Phones Cannot Hold Hands

Technology was supposed to bring us closer. And in many ways, it has.

A call, a voice note, a quick “How are you?” across continents.

But a text cannot sit with you on your veranda when your heart is heavy.

A video call cannot peel oranges with you in silence.

A “get well soon” message cannot mop your fevered brow.

We call each other mostly when we need something.

When we are sick. When we need money. When we missed the meeting.

We have turned relationship into transaction.

We Are Present in Death, But Absent in Life

This is the painful part.
In Africa, the moment someone dies, the whole community finds time.

We travel. We contribute. We cook. We sit with the family for days.

But where were we when that same person was lying in a hospital bed?

Where were we when the bills were piling up? When depression was eating them alive? When the rent was due?

We are generous with funeral cloth, but stingy with presence.

Quick with donations for caskets, slow with help for living rooms.

The House Has Gone Quiet

Breaking bread in each other’s homes used to be normal.

Children ran in and out of each other’s compounds. Women borrowed salt and stayed to chat. Men fixed each other’s roofs.

Now everyone has retreated inward. Gates are locked. Hearts are guarded.

We have replaced community with privacy, and warmth with convenience.

A Call Back to Our First Love

The old path is not lost. It is simply overgrown.

We can clear it again.
Be intentional: Put “visit him/her” on your calendar the same way you schedule meetings.

Show up small: You don’t need a ceremony. Go with fruits. Go empty‑handed. Just go.

Check in before the crisis: Call not because you need help, but because you care.

Open your table again: Invite someone for rice and stew. No occasion needed.

Know your people: Know where your brother lives. Know your pastor’s children’s names.

Money is good. But presence is better.
Gifts are good. But “I came to sit with you” is healing.

Let us not wait until a funeral brings us together.

Let us not wait until someone is gone to say, “I wish I had come.”

The world is moving fast. But love still moves at the speed of showing up.

Let us return to the old path of brotherliness.

Not because it was perfect, but because it was human.

And we were made for that.