I get asked about this a lot.

I joined Twitter not too many years after it launched. Back then, there were so few of us on there that when I ran a search for ‘Ghana’, I would only come across NGO country reports, international news clippings with Ghanaian elements (like the ‘Mabey & Johnson’ story, which I subsequently chased up and broke on Joy FM), or kokonsa from the likes of my sister and her other early-adopter friends. It’s far more populated now and infinitely more interesting as a result.

I suspect I was the first DJ in Ghana to start live tweeting my playlists, something I started doing (first at Vibe, then at Joy and later at YFM) because ads and Live Presenter Mentions (LPMs) kept getting in the way of giving credit to all the artists whose songs I played. I talked about the platform so much that my bosses at Joy actually nicknamed me ‘Twitter’ and tasked me with drafting the station’s social media policy. I smile every time I hear a radio presenter read out a tweet these days. Back then, only a few presenters saw the point and it was a real struggle persuading most of my colleagues that Twitter wasn’t some dadabee fad.

Sometime last year however – a few weeks after attracting my 7000th follower – I deleted my Twitter account.

No announcement.
No goodbye.
Nada.

I was out. Why?

The short version: blame Elidot & EDVWN (and maybe Mitsifantsi too: my most unapologetically analog homie in the history of ever). I kid: they were as shocked as anyone else. That said, the long version does begin with the rambling conversations we’d have on the bumpy drive up to Ashesi every week; GH Twitter’s all-seeing Eye of Sauron at the wheel, me riding shotgun and Yung Fly-Lo in the back.

Twitter came up a lot.

Ghanaians love humour. Kevin Hart’s is regularly the highest-ranked non-religious podcast listened to by Ghanaians on itunes. Make the mistake of watching a moving, Oscar-worthy, tear-inducing movie scene in mass Ghanaian company, and you shouldn’t be surprised when the solemness of the moment is ruined by someone making a joke – however lame – to diffuse the tension. We make jokes out of anything and everything: it keeps us sane through the daily insanity that comes with being Ghanaian.

The land of a million memes, Twitter is a funny place. The character limit lends itself perfectly to punchlines, and there are users on there who have built entire personas from wit. Which is all well and good, really (unless you’re Boris Johnson: a cautionary tale for every writer with more wit than foresight). But somewhere during my time on there, I also saw Twitter turn… dark. It’s hard to describe it in any precise way. My best attempt would be to say that something that started out as a hive started feeling like a pack. Sure: bees can sting (and I’ve done my fair amount of stinging too). Packs though? They can rip you apart.

There are so many thin lines on Twitter; between ridicule (healthy) and bullying (not so healthy), for example. I’ve seen arguments that start out constructively nose dive into something that looks suspiciously like trolling, which is something that happens on any platform. On Twitter though? No holds barred. I can quickly and easily shut down trolls who show up in my blog comments, for example. That is much harder to do in Twitter: just ask Leslie Jones.

It’s not just the trolling though. At least that’s overt. There is something else on there that can change even activism into something less noble at times. Maybe it was people I was following who I should simply have unfollowed, but the crux of it reminds me of a close friend who avoids horror flicks, gory scenes and general violence; not just because they scare her, but because she thinks they slowly, insidiously run the risk of desensitizing her to violence and bloodshed.

Insidious (ɪnˈsɪdɪəs) (adjective )

Definition: proceeding in a gradual, subtle way, but with very harmful effects.

Example: “Sexual harassment is a serious and insidious problem” , “the insidious erosion of rights and liberties”

I started getting that feeling on Twitter. That and a depression of sorts. Something sinking. It came up time and again during those rides and conversations up to Ashesi, and with it, a slow-growing need to shield myself from it all.

The Weight of Expectation: at some point I cannot remember, the number of people who wanted me to follow them back, or who tried to guilt-trip me because I’d promote one thing/person and not the other, or who tried (directly or indirectly) baiting me into subscribing to outlooks on the world that don’t ultimately work became more irritating than they should have. Maybe it was cumulative. Maybe I was paranoid. Either way, suspending the account put an immediate end to all that mess. It actually felt good letting it all go.

Writing: I’d long suspected that my reduced blogging was partly because tweeting allowed me enough of an outlet to vent my thoughts and feelings on things I would otherwise have written about in long-form.

With all of these in mind, I decided one day – on a complete whim – to suspend my account and see how I felt about it.

God, those first few days were surprisingly rough. I kept feeling the impulse to check on the Tweitgeist. I’d come across an article and feel like other people should know about it. Instinctively, I’d hit my share button and scroll through all the options Android gives you, looking for the Twitter logo… but alas, I’d deleted the app. I’d stare blankly at the phone, sigh, and keep it moving. This happened more times than I now recall. Twitter knows this and counts on it. You cannot just up and delete your account immediately: they suspend it and only finalize deletion if you don’t log in for

Four
Entire
Weeks.

I found it interesting just how entrenched my desire to share had become. I was born at a time when the internet as we know it didn’t exist. I started thinking about those born after sharing became the default, and suddenly started to understand why selfies, internet sex tapes, and Class Talkative had come into existence.

All the while, I had Elidot’s voice at the back of my mind, explaining (like the ZenGuruJediSageBuddhaMaster that he is) that virtual real estate was like actual real estate: it has value. And there I was, ready to swing a wrecking ball.

After two weeks or so, all those feelings and thoughts passed. The overwhelming need to share subsided. I figured out other ways to keep tabs on things (not Facebook: that’s another mess for another day). Elidot and EDWVN always filled me in on the rest. Some of it I missed, much of it I didn’t. I was surprised by the extent to which I didn’t mind being behind on information. I experienced a brief writing spurt but soon went back to my writing indiscipline, although I have since gestated about 150 ideas that all feel ready to emerge now. Two weeks later and the account was gone.

I miss it sometimes. Yesterday, a friend (who also recently left Twitter) mentioned a name I had not heard in awhile and I realized that our friendship had mostly gone down in the DMs. There are a number of such people. Beautiful, awesome spirits. I look forward to reconnecting with them in other ways. I’m not about to launch some ‘Leave Twitter’ campaign: no. Everything said, I still actually like Twitter. Overall though, I feel happy with my decision…

Or maybe I just needed a break. Maybe I’ll sneak back in under a pseudonym and make the occasional sagely observation, looking like I’m following no-one while actually tracking everyone through secret lists.

Or not.

Never say never say never.