Sometimes in November.
There’s something strangely magical about November. Not quite festive yet, not completely dull either, just that in-between moment when the world seems to exhale. In the west, the month rolls in with fog that hangs like a curtain and daylight that clocks out far too early. You leave home in the dark, return in the dark and start wondering if sunshine was just a rumour.
That’s November for you: cold fingers, steamy breath and the constant hunt for your misplaced gloves. It’s when people start queuing for overpriced lattes that taste like nostalgia, pumpkin spice, gingerbread or anything that promises warmth. Supermarkets swap out summer fruits for mince pies and the word “cosy” becomes everyone’s favourite adjective.
For many Africans in Europe, it hits differently. You start calling home more often, partly to hear familiar voices, to remind yourself what sunlight sounds like. Your WhatsApp chats are full of people back home complaining about the heat, while you’re layering thermals like a human onion. You laugh but your heater’s already working overtime.
It’s also that month when reality hits: the year’s almost over and you start reviewing your resolutions. Some you nailed. Others, well, let’s say they’ll roll over into next year like unused data. Everyone becomes reflective, a little sentimental and a touch ambitious again. November brings both endings and beginnings disguised as endings.
Across African cities, it can mean harmattan’s dry wind whispering through the trees. In Europe, it’s the wet chill that bites your nose. Two sides of the same coin: both tell you change is coming. The festive buzz begins to hum in the distance: Black Friday deals, Christmas markets and the eternal debate about when to put up the tree.
However, the best thing about November is it slows you down. It invites you to pause before the chaos of December. To light candles, sip something warm and maybe text that friend you haven’t spoken to since summer.
Sometimes in November, life feels softer. The world tilts toward stillness and you realise that in between the cold, the wind and the fading light, there’s beauty in the waiting.
