"He who molds your head (like a waterpot) is the one who can break it." Akan proverb
He calmly bore his rage as he sat at the back of the taxi. C'mon, control. You are nearly there. He fingered the knife in his bag. It was razor-sharp, just the right condition he wanted for the job at hand. Served cold, it was sweetest. Payback.
What a boyish face. He looked at the new guy who was to join Abondi and him in their room. The two of them had been very good friends since secondary school and had booked the same room for their second year in the University. One student had to join to complete the number of students assigned to each room, and he was quite sure they could cope with this babyface.
"Whassya name boy?"
"Robert, but my friends call me Robbie."
"Well then, may I call you Robbie."
It was not a request, more like a statement.
He decided that he liked the guy. He could stay. If he had decided otherwise, the boy would have been booted out, one way or the other. Everyone knew that Hardened, aka Zagidibogidi, had his own way in every thing. His father's fame played no little part.
He hated traffic jams. They had a way of occuring when he was in a hurry. Almost always. Particularly today he wished the taxi could fly. And it was hot too. Damn.
They got on well with Babyface. The boy was pure innocence. Whilst he and Abondi were into all the fun campus had to offer, Babyface was all about righteousness and holy holy. The Jesus way and all that.
Why at all had he boarded this rickety old taxi? The driver had parked near the police near on the Liberation Road and was fidgeting with his engine. Didn't he know that this was Get Even Day? Well, would he care?
Rose. His rose. The charming sweet figure of a lady who was the toast of all on the campus. It had taken a long full year to woo her. The many notes, love notes he had written. Not counting the payment of the small boys who acted as courier agents. The visits that occupied a non-negotiable place in his daily routine. The pain of her continual rejection that nearly paralyzed his heart. The hurt to his pride. All his life, he had gotten what he wanted. The blow to his ego. The longing to be linked to her name that became an obsession.
Eventually. Didn't Babyface mouth that aphorism - there is time for everything. And he had always known, too, there is time for nothins. Was he called Hardened for nothing's sake? He had a crocodile skin. Even the hardest bone succumbed to the teeth of the patient dog. He pestered her. He followed her. He flattered her. He spoilt her with gifts. She could no longer pretend that he didn't exist. Or didn't care.
She gave in. Eventually. One long year of perseverance. And not letting go. Never. She was his Rose. Of Sharon, to borrow one of Babyface's.
His friends on his floor carried his shoulder-high on the day of his conquest. Straight into the pond. They rejoiced with him. Rose was all he needed to be what he really was to be. She changed his life. Bye-bye to the Guy called Hardened, the Zagidi. Enter Randy Sandin. He started taking life seriously, for a change. Thanks to his Rose. Monkey no fine, but if his mother continues to love him, Monkey could at least start bathing. Walking well. Speaking well. Zagidi changed, for his Rose' sake.
The taxi was moving again, at last. A mechanic had to come and help. He had not choice but to wait, he didn't have enough to pay for the first part of the journey before the breakdown, and also for the second leg. The taxi drivers didn't charge the same fare from station to station when that distance was covered in two taxi journeys. He had waited for years, a few minutes wouldn't hurt. He looked at the clock on the taxi's dashboard; they had about twenty more minutes of travelling to do. He thought about how he would do it. He may allow him to do a little talking. You know, like in the movies. A little Confession before the hood falls. Not good to meet the Old Man with unacknowledged sin all over. The second part of the Judgement, he would give the Old Man the privilege of executing. The first act was his for the taking. Exclusively his.
The news had shocked him. Someone had tempered with his Rose. Desecrated his temple, his object of worship. He heard it in the lecture room. Raped the previous night, after he had visited her. Her room-mates had travelled and he had kept her company. They had conversed a lot, on a broad range of topics. About their future, together. Their future home. Their future kids. Their future this. Their future that. He had left her waving at the junction to her hall. Waving and smiling. Late in the night. She never got back to her room.
He quickly rushed to the Hospital. At the Entrance, he was stopped stopped by a grim-faced policeman. And he was flashing an ID at him and escorting him to the waiting van.
Everything happened so far. He lost track of time.
Rose had been raped. Fact.
He had been arrested and awaited trial. Fact.
He didn’t know why. Fact.
At the trial, he saw them. His colleagues at work. No pity in those eyes. Their message came piercing his heart.
Rapist!
He couldn’t stand the glare. He squirmed under the force of their ocular judgement and feared and loathed it more than the verdict of the jury.
When the verdict finally came, he was not surprised. He had pleaded not guilty, but who would take him seriously after his fame on campus, for his way with women, for his violent ways.
But Rose changed that! He wanted to scream.
Not to be believed. Add to that, he was the last person seen with her.
His parents had also be in court, on the date of the verdict. Only that day. They did not believe him. They sent a note through the lawyer who elected to defend him, pro bono. He should consider himself no more a part of the Sadins. He was the black sheep of the family. He has brought disgrace to the mighty name.
Only his Rose could tell the truth, she who trusted him but alas, she lay in intensive care, in coma.
He was sentenced to eight years imprisonment, with hard labour. There was general agreement in the courtroom. Hugs and pats. The Monster was to be put away.They were now on the 6th Avenue road. His chamber were on the fourth close off that road. He fingered the weapon once again. Should it be a slit throat or a stab? In the back? Perhaps in the heart. Where it hurt most. Afterall, had he not stabbed him in the heart too? Where it had hurt him real bad.
Abondi visited him in prison a few weeks later. Babyface didn’t come till much later. Only once, because he decided not to see Babyface again, not after what Abondi told him.
It felt eerie the first time he had a visitor – Abondi. The prison officer could as well have sat at the table with them, he stood so close.
“Zagidi, Charlie sorry man! We know say no be you do am! Why? Life be so unfair!” Zagidi could feel the pain in Abondi’s voice. His close pal of many years, his shame was Abondi’s as well.
Then he dropped the bombshell.
It was Babyface who had implicated Zagidi. Babyface had sworn he had seen him at midnight with about three boys who he couldn’t recognize, and that these boys raped Rose. Babyface had identified a shirt that was found at the scene of the crime as Randy’s. This was the shirt that had been tendered as the main exhibit in court, that main basis upon which he was arrested, charged and convicted.
He had planned his revenge since then. And he had been determined each passing day of toil and untold hardship, all undeserved. And the time had come. Finally, it had come.
After four years, he had been released. He hadn’t bothered to find out why and how he had been released early. Not his bother. Find and kill, that was his bother.
It had taken only two days to trace Babyface. A successful lawyer. Well, your days are numbered, Baby Boy. I am seeing to the First Part of the Judgement.
The taxi screened to a halt. Zagidi nearly missed the office, and had to shout for the taxi driver to stop. His voice and his mask of anger must have frightened the driver. Randy alighted and looked up the Signpost in front of the building. Winner Chambers. He chuckled.
A couple of minutes later, he was in Robert Handleman’s office. Babyface hadn’t changed much. The lawyer looked up, studied the visitor’s face, took in the unkempt beard, bloodshot eyes and recognition dawned.
“Randy! Hey, Randy! It’s you! Praise God! At last you are free and you are here!”
For a fleeting moment, Hardened was confused. What guts! You send me to prison and you sound like Holy Mary!
He recovered his composure, went to the door, locked it and put the key in his pocket.
“Hey. Cut it man. Cut it. Praise my foot! I do the talking and I assure you, it shall not be long. Shall be as short as this.”
Calmly he brought out the weapon and thoughtfully turned it over in his hand. He sat down in the chair and looked at the lawyer. How he hated him. The lawyer was uneasy, Zagidi was enjoying it.
“Don’t even dare!” Babyface’s hand was suspended over the telephone.
“Now! You want to confess. Before you die? Hurry!”
So he didn’t know, thought George, as he looked up at his former room-mate and felt sorry for him.
“You think I caused your imprisonment?” Good God! This lawyer Babyface wasn’t just stupid, he was naïve too. Who did?
“Randy, Abondi caused your fall.” What! You must be joking. Abondi my buddy buddy?
“It is all here, my friend. Here in these papers. Abondi signed this affidavit before he died. Last week. He raped Rose. Together with his friends. He always wanted her but you got her first.” Stop it! Stop it! Stop it, man! I can’t bear it anymore. I caaaan’t!
“On the strength of this evidence, you were released. I arranged your release. I couldn’t come to tell you myself since I found out that you didn’t want to see me. Welcome home, man. It is all over. The nightmare is over.”
Randy wept like a child. How could George be so nice when he had wanted so much to kill him? Did he also know that Abondi had lied about him?
“Randy, one bit of good news! Rose is out of coma, and has been asking of you. Can we go see her now?”
Three hours later, a new Randy, in new clothes George has bought for him that day and feeling invigorated after a good bath and meal, sat near Rose’s bed at the hospital. He held her hand. George smiled at them. They will be together again as friends.
“Randy, let bygones be bygones, OK.”
“Can you forgive me, George?”
“Of course, I can.”
“But why? How can you?”
George smiled. “The Jesus Way, remember?”
© Nana Awere Damoah
November 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Story 6: October Rush
She was a timid girl, one whose timidity enhanced her countenance. She was stressed, it was clear and wanted some attention, a listening ear. As a leader in the hall fellowship, I was an appropriate choice as the downloading site for her worries, and to offer the requisite comfort and advice. She had been to look for me in my room on three previous occasions, each time failing to meet me, since I kept a busy schedule and hardly studied in my room to avoid interruptions. My presence in the room at that moment was in response to a note she had left for me: could she talk to me, please, urgently. I waited and there she was, all taut and ready to explode.
I had to put her at ease, but all I did seemed inconsequential; all she wanted was to get the issue off her chest. I braced myself for whatever she had to say. After a few minutes of hesitation, during which period I just sat looking at her, encouraging her in silence, she blurted, “It’s the boys! They are pestering me so, and I just can’t cope!”
It was about three weeks into the new academic year and the school was under the siege of the phenomenon called the October Rush. A new academic year brought with it many changes, but most significantly, it brought freshers, especially fresh ladies who were classified as New Stock. The continuing female students had various tags too. Second year ladies were Reduced to Clear, and the third/final year students belonged to the class where you bought one and got one free.
At the beginning of the first semester, it was generally held that the best time to shop for ladies was as early as possible, the desirable ladies being the first year students before they got acclimatized. The Rush was on, already.
“Sister Akua, you see, I am confused already. Is it a sin to be fresh and beautiful in this university?” she lamented.
“Of course not. But take heart and tell me exactly what is getting you so worked up.”
She undoubtedly hadn’t been prepared for such an experience. In the maze of activities that were crowded into the first month of the academic year, many a first year student became perplexed. Orientation programs, registration procedures, accommodation search, getting used to new schedules for lectures and everything else, learning to find one’s way about the large campus and preparing for matriculation – it was all unnerving for a fresher.
“Sister Akua, take this Archito guy. He is in the second year and in Kat. I met him in the STC when I was coming to Kumasi and became friends. He’s been coming to my room every other day. He is cool, handsome, and speaks good English too. I like him, he was my first friend here on campus. He’s already been of immense help and has devoted a lot of his time showing me around campus. My room-mates say he is so cool and I shouldn’t lose guard. He has already proposed and says he is coming to visit this weekend for his answer.”
It was Thursday evening. My room-mate came in from a discussion then. When she saw intense our conversation was, she just changed her attire and went out to the Games Room. The fresher looks up at me, with a sad face. Oh, this Rush!
“Then there is this guy I met at Paa Joe during the joint prayer meeting the SCC [Student Chaplaincy Council] organized in the first week. After the first day, he came for me every evening so we could go together. And he has been visiting me regularly ever since. He has not said anything in terms of proposal but, sister, actions speak louder than words. Some friends tell me he is a powerful Christian brother and he is always sharing scripture with me. Well, I respect him for his life and brotherly affection, but I feel he wants more. He is visibly uncomfortable when he sees me talking with other guys and becomes sullen the rest of the day when we are together. What should I do?”
****
Inte Gorang stood in front of the mirror and put finishing touches to his face. He turned this way and that way, brought his palm close to his mouth, fingers pointing upwards and exhaled out softly through his mouth, to smell his breathe. The mouth perfume had the effect he desired. His shirt was well-starched and ironed, with the edges razor-sharp, the texture almost brittle. His head shone from the spotting waves cream he had judiciously applied and his hair was well-brushed into the scalp. Yellow, the shoe shine boy, had ensured that one could see his image looking at the tip of the shoes. A few puffs from his designer perfume and Joe Pabitey was ready for his evening visit to Africa Hall.
Few people called him by his real name. He was nicknamed Inte Gorang, an adulterated version of Garang. His friends linked him with John Garang, the Sudanese rebel leader because they teased that Joe had been fighting for years, four years actually, to get a girlfriend on campus, an inte. His persistence was both admired and jeered, and each time he approached the P-Lodge immaculately dressed, he was sure to receive applause and sometime, blessings from his Katanga colleagues. A few times, even as he turned up the hill towards the Great Hall, he could hear the chorus of the song composed for him by his hall mates…
Ma ensi wo yie
Inte Gorang eeei
Inte rebel leader eei
Fa nkunim die bra nne!
To wit, “let it go well with you, Inte Gorang, Inte rebel leader, bring victory back today!”
In his final year, Gorang was bent on avoiding the proverbial four-zero, the term used to describe students who completed their four year degree courses without getting hitched, without grabbing. He was a veteran of the October Rush, of course. Each year, after failing to win a province, he went back to the drawing board to re-strategize. His advances were not limited to the freshers though. It is just that having failed to succeed in the past three years in all the year groups, he had decided to really focus this final year. The last battle, going for the kill, do or die, be victorious or die trying!
In furtherance of this, he had returned to school two clear weeks before school re-opened and befriended all the porters in the female or mixed halls. With heavy tipping, he had their tacit agreement to note down all the nice girls and their room numbers, so he didn’t have to spend time on reconnaissance. Once school re-opened and the freshers were to start arriving for the orientation program, he had been to Accra more than four times, to journey back to Kumasi on the STC buses, to get acquainted to some of the ladies at the bus terminals. With such rich experience, he could pick out the freshers with ease – their large suitcases, parents dropping them and anxious at their departure (most of them leaving home for the first time), eager conversations on mobile phones, more information obtained from a little eavesdropping. He was extra helpful to them and once they got to Tech junction, he ensured that he was visibly available to get them taxis to campus, a coincidental good Samaritan to the freshers, all part of the battle plan.
*******************
It was convenient for him to be a resident of Independence hall, called Indece by most students. The hall’s proximity to Paa Joe, the school’s stadium, suited him well, as he loved to pray at Paa Joe. Brother Bazook was very prayerful, an ardent Christian who spent at least two hours each day interceding for souls and his nation, his foremost prayer topics. He earned his nickname when he acted in a play at church. In that drama, he enacted what he loved doing in real life: praying. In one of the scenes of prayer, he was leading a group of ogacious Christians in prayer and called on them to ‘shoot the devil’ with spiritual intercontinental ballistic and other long-range missiles. Those were the years after the Gulf war. As the leader of that group, he employed the bazooka, thus the name Bazook.
He was in the third year and going out with girls was way out of his mind. He felt that he was too spiritual for that carnal indulgence. Brother Bazook was known to have cast the spirit of carnality from another brother when the latter asked him for bread, rebuking that “when souls are perishing, you are thinking of bread!”
In the first week of his third year, Bazook had spent two hours at Paa Joe, praying in tongues and interceding, what is called kabeying in the chrife parlance. He felt really fulfilled and satisfied that he had done his Christian duty as he rounded up his prayers around 8.30 pm. As he climbed up the stairs to cross the street and take the path via the annex block, he spied a guy sitting by the security box. He walked on, until he heard the guy walking behind him, calling him and catching up with him.
“Brother, God bless you for your prayer. May I ask, what you were praying about?”
Bazook smiled at the stranger, wondering where he was coming from. Perhaps he wanted to learn and tap into his passion for souls.
“Well, I was interceding for souls this evening.”
“Brother, the Spirit intercedes for us with groans we cannot understand, and He knows our real heart desires. I can interpret tongues and all I heard you say for the hour I was at Paa Joe was ‘Lord, give me a wife!’ That is the true desire on your heart, even though you may try not to listen to that inner voice.”
Bazook spent that night really reflecting on that. Indeed, he had begun to think about relationships lately, much as he tried to push it out of his mind. Perhaps, God had used the stranger to tell him it was OK to have such thoughts, and they may not be too carnal after all. Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to be a Paul. A spiritual Peter was also in the Bible. As he reflected on, it hit him that it was October.
*******************
The length of the queue behind your door is a reflection of your popularity as a fresh girl during October Rush, she was told. She knew she was beautiful. That fact was forcefully appreciated whilst in secondary school in Cape Coast. During the InterCo competitions, she had the most enquiries from the boys from Kwabotwe, Adisco and Augusco, much to the chagrin of her friends, who tried very hard to hide their envy. It got to a point where she had to play pranks on those boys to keep off. She always recalled one particular incident with mirth.
This guy from Kwabotwe pestered her for the entire duration of one competition, for two days. From all indications, he was not used to bouncing from girls, one of those boys who felt every girl should melt at the mention of his name, like Blue band margarine in the presence of a hot knife. He just wouldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer. Patty Sutherland-Graves had learnt that for such boys, only a humiliation could teach them that even though all heads may look the same, the thoughts in them differed.
On the second day, she finally acquiesced and agreed to give him her name; he wanted to visit her at school. She told him she was called Pat Ricia and they agreed on a day for him to visit – two weeks later, that was the next weekend when the girls were allowed visitors.
On the appointed day, Alan Quartey – for that was the guy’s name, she could never forget it – duly turned up and asked for Miss Pat Ricia. By prior arrangement, the request filtered to Patty’s friends who took Alan to the assembly hall, and gave him a seat on a portion of the main stage, with the promise of informing Miss Ricia of his arrival. Back in the dormitory, Patty and her friends were rolling on the floor in laughter, completely taken up in hilarity! The guy was clearly a dimwit, to come asking after a Pat Ricia! Her friends took turns passing by the assembly hall, ostensibly to search for a missing item or to look for a friend, but the main purpose being to have a look at the latest toke to visit their campus.
After about two hours of waiting in vain for Miss Ricia to appear, Alan got the message and left.
Patty was a veteran at playing love games, and arrived on campus for her first year, well aware of the October Rush and eager to partake, clearly not on the receiving end.
***************************
We were sitting on the lower part of the bunk bed. I got up and went to the fridge to pick two bottles of Fanta, opened both of them and gave one to the girl. I had to insist when she initially refused the drink. I had been out studying the whole day and needed to refresh; perhaps I needed the drink more than her but it was good to get her relaxed a bit.
“What you are experiencing is what is called the October Rush, it is seasonal and will pass. The question to ask, Tina, is: Are you ready for any relationship at this moment in your life?” I asked her. I had found out her name by now.
“No, not really.”
“But you do appreciate that you cannot fight off young men forever, and that you will have to make a decision one day, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, I do. It is just that now with all of them coming towards me at the same time, I feel like a pollen-laden flower in the land of a thousand bees.”
“Yeah, that’s right and we all experienced it. What will be important to ascertain is whether any of these guys – and there will be more, I can assure you – is serious and will still be here after the Rush. Some of the guys see it as a game, some are also serious. Some of the guys come your way accidentally, others encounter you by plan. We will have to see how it goes. On the other hand, there are some girls who also take advantage of the guys in the Rush and even after.”
I recalled my room-mate in first year, Christabel. If ever there was a female player, she was one. She could wind the hearts of men like a Bonwire kente master weaver. Her tongue was sweeter than the honeycombs of Babylon and her tales were more intricate that those of legendary Kwaku Ananse. All the guys who came professing love to her were accepted, none of them suspected they had rivals, and each of them thought he was the only one on throne of her heart. Her admirers were not only students; lecturers, businessmen and teaching assistants had their names in her catalogue. She also said that you needed some for studying with, some to pay your bills, some to fund your shopping, and some just for going out to functions with. The relevant categories were education, finance, tourism and public affairs. She even had a guy whose main use was ironing. I always pitied that guy. Christabel would chat with him deep into the night, usually on Sunday, and then around midnight, she would make an attempt to touch her mound of dresses to be ironed for the week. This guy would immediately get up and insist on ironing! Christabel would smile sweetly, call him a darling and, a few minutes later, go to sleep, whilst the poor guy continued the ironing. He would finish at dawn, let himself out of the room and be back for the same routine the next week. Oh what love could push some men to do!
One day, whilst he was almost done with the ironing, it started raining very heavily. It was around 2 am. Christabel looked outside and decided that seeing how heavy the rain was, the guy should sleep in our room, and go to his hall early in the morning. The guy stepped out – we thought he was going to the gents, ok, ladies in this case. Twenty minutes later, there he was all wet, clutching a large piece of cloth in his hands. He had rushed to his hall to pick up his sleeping cloth! It just confirmed my belief that he had a few wires incorrectly connected upstairs!
“Room five-eight! Room five-eight!” That was my room-mate, Adwoa, calling from the P-Lodge. I stepped out of the room and looked down from the rails. There was a guy standing with her, who I recognized immediately as Brother Bazook.
“Room, Bra Bazook here is looking for Tina, and I told him she was with you.”
Tina was the first year, under-siege first year gal who had come to see me. Was Bazook one of the contenders for the young girl’s heart?
“Ei, Bra Bazook, so if it wasn’t for Tina, you wouldn’t have even asked of me, eh?”
“Sister Akua, it is not like that oo, just that mankind has been spending more time on souls, interceding and following up. I have an urgent message to deliver to the daughter of God, Tina.”
“OK, she will be down with you soon, or you want to come up here to see her?”
Tina had by now joined me on the corridor and indicated that he should wait for her at the P-Lodge; and we both returned to my room.
“Do you know Brother Bazook?” I asked Tina. She nodded yes.
“He is the chrife brother I told you about. I like him as a brother-in-Christ, but nothing more. If he should propose today, I will reject him, but how does one bounce such a brother without hurting his feelings? I can tell his affection is genuine and he is passionate, and I am certain he doesn’t go around proposing to lots of ladies…I could even be the first.”
At this point, I had to decide whether to follow my head or my heart. I will tell you why. I knew Brother Bazook well and always admired him. Indeed, my room-mate was the first person who noted how my face lit anytime he visited us in our room, and how many times I mentioned him in our conversations. Adwoa challenged me once that she believed I was falling in love with Brother Bazook. I rebuked her, affirming that I was just appreciating his spirituality and love for the Lord’s work. Upon reflection, however, I had at least admitted in my heart – yes, I had more than brotherly affection towards Bazook. He had been a friend for three years, but these feelings had been festering for at least one year. The problem was that Bazook seemed to see girls as trees, Adwoa usually said. On the other hand, how does a Christian girl go about letting a brother know that she loved him and was just waiting for him to pop the question, without appearing like a bone going after the dog?
Tina’s admission about Bazook therefore hit me, making me momentarily lose my concentration.
“Yes…yes, er what did you say? Oh yes, I know Bazook as someone who rarely expresses interest in girls. If he is developing some affection towards you, he must be serious then. Perhaps he even has a prophecy to that effect. Go on, go and talk to him.”
***************************
Gorang typically got to Africa Hall just after 9pm. As experienced as he was, he knew that most of the guys rarely visited girls after 9pm. The period between 9pm and midnight was usually reserved for those closest to the girls – boyfriends, relatives, girlfriends. Where boyfriends were concerned, it was called owner’s time. So for the brave, that period was free and if you were lucky to be admitted and no one was with your object of interest, you had monopoly, time to make your point and pitch.
Gorang was visiting two girls this time. Patty and Tina: one a tough nut and the other generally easy, by his analysis. The strategy was to spend more time on the tougher subject and then finish off with the easier target.
Gorang climbed the stairs up to the fifth floor and stopped to lean on the railing, to catch his breath. The lifts had not worked in the four years he had been on campus. “Both the hunter and the hunted suffer almost equally,” he thought, as he continued his walk up to the eighth floor. When he turned left towards Room 808, and saw the about six guys leaning on the railings on the eighth floor, he briefly wondered whether they were going up to the rooftop, what for he couldn’t fathom. Perhaps a prayer meeting? As he drew closer to the door of Room 808 to knock, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.
“Are you going there to see anyone?”
He turned to see the face of one of the guys he had passed, waiting on the corridor.
“Yes, I am here to see Patty, she is in Room 808.”
“Then please join the queue, we are all here to see her.”
“Come in please.” Patty was waiting. That was two hours later, but Gorang knew it was part of the game. With patience, one could kill an ant, dissect it and take out its heart, he soliloquized, as he opened the door and entered the room, taking his turn at the bidding table.
***************************
“When the Bible talks about offering yourself as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable, it includes even your choices. Making sure that what you chose does not become a scar on you and a hindrance to your Christian living.”
Tina was both shy and afraid of Brother Bazook at the beginning of their friendship, but with time, she was learning to relax in his presence. He, in turn, was increasingly loosening up enough to speak contemporary biblical English, instead of the King James version he utilized during the first week she met him. Tina remembered with mirth how he used to intersperse his speech with “Thou knowest”, instead of “You know”. They were standing under the trees that bordered the street leading to Africa Hall and, as usual, Bazook was sharing some nuggets, as he called them, from his bible reading that day.
Her discussion with Sister Akua had been helpful, and whilst descending the stairs to the P-Lodge to meet Bazook, she had decided to take matters in her own hands and stop acting docile. She had a right to decide who stressed her out, and who she wanted to get close to her. She recalled Sister Akua’s words that the decision was hers to make, one day. She decided that day will not be in her first semester.
“Brother Bazook, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Tina.”
“You see, I have been getting a number of boys showing affection to me in a nice way, during these past few weeks on campus…”
“Ei, I hope I am not counted in that list o!” Bazook burst out laughing.
Shyly, “Well, to be truthful, you are!”
Bazook continued laughing.
“OK, OK,” Tina struggled to get him to concentrate, “now back to my question. How can one ascertain that the love a man professes is genuine? If you love a girl, how do you show it, Bazook? Have you ever loved a girl? Can you fall in love within a couple of weeks and be clear that you want to have a life-long commitment?”
“Ebei, Tina, why? You want to set a GCE A level question or what?” This triggered another round of laughter, Bazook clutching his stomach.
“Well, let’s take it one at a time then, Tina. Yes, I have loved a girl, and still love her. And, no, even though I have shown you great affection during these few weeks, my motives are purely sisterly, nothing else.”
“I see.”
“Indeed, first advice and this was given to the girls especially in school by our scripture union patron: never assume a boy’s love. Let it be expressed first.”
“But what if it is quite clear from the boy’s actions that he is just waiting for the right time to propose, Bazook? What if it is obvious from the amount of time he spends on you, the number of notes he sends to you, the little gifts he sometimes sends across?”
“Still, don’t assume, Tina. My view is that a guy who really loves you will not be afraid to lose you during the October Rush, and may not rush on you during the period either. That person will possibly become your friend and not too obtrusive and interfering too, so as not to risk alienation. So, true, the person may ‘fall in love’ with you, but the maturing time for that love definitely will outlive the October Rush.”
“OK, good points there. You still haven’t answered one question, though.”
“Ebei, Tina, today you really want to grill me, huh? Don’t you know that if I am heard discussing these things with you, I could be tagged ‘carnal’? You know, you are one of the few girls who are able to get me to discuss these deep topics o.”
“Wow that is nice. But perhaps from you I can get unalloyed truth about these questions. I am certain that you do reflect on these topics in your mind a lot more though. So now back to the question: how do you show your love to a girl?”
“Tina!” She could almost swear he was blushing.
“Bazook! Ha-ha, answer the question, brother.”
***************************
“Do you have a car?”
“Er, no.”
“Are you staying in one of the hostels on campus, like Brunei or Gaza and how many are you in your room?”
“I am in Katanga. You know, in the old days, final year students had a room each to themselves, but these days, two of us have to share. Hmm, tough days now koraa…”
“How many are you in your room?”
“OK, we are two officially…”
“Total number in your room?”
“…and we have two perchers.”
“Do you have a fridge and a microwave in your room? What is your size of TV – is it plasma or 21 inches?”
“When was the last time you travelled abroad?”
“Which restaurants do you visit frequently in Kumasi, I don’t mean on campus?”
About forty-five minutes later, Gorang had to come up with an excuse and left Room 808 dejected. Eish, what that the levels the Rush game had reached? He was clearly not in the league of Patty, and he didn’t even know if he had enough energy to see Tina. Besides, it was late.
As he exited the P-Lodge, providence and fate combined to present Tina to him. She was just about to ascend the stairs to her block.
“Heloo, helloooo, Tina!” Gorang called.
“Hi Joe.” The name Inte Gorang hadn’t filtered to her yet, clean slate.
“I was coming to see you but something came up in the hall, so couldn’t set off early. That is why I am late.”
“Ah, but you just descended from the other block. If you really were coming to see me urgently, wouldn’t you have been descending from my block, where my room is?”
Eish, the first year girls this year are wild o, Gorang thought. A bad night it was turning out for him. A smooth operator, he didn’t miss a beat.
“That is what I was coming to. The ‘something’ I spoke about had to do with a project work, actually. So had to work on it, and submit to my project mate in 504, and she detained me to do some explanation too.”
“Alright, I understand now. So what did you want to discuss with me, Joe? Please make it snappy, as I have had a long day and feeling tired.”
“Well, Tina, you must have realized that with such beauty as has been bestowed on you, any man with a working brain cannot pass you without a second or even third glimpse. I have been glancing plenty times! These past few weeks, each day that passes reinforces the love I have developed for you, even beyond the outer beauty. Your character, your smile; your intelligent conversations, your style; all these have combined to sweep me off my feet. It has been difficult holding back this expression…”
“Joe, thanks, but this is about the fifth such poetry I have heard this week. Besides my beauty, can you give me five proper reasons why I should believe you, and can you wait for another month to see if these reasons still hold?”
Gorang had a fitful sleep that night. It was a bad day.
***************************
It actually turned out that Brother Bazook was interested in me, and the discussion with Tina teased him out of his shyness. Tina turned into his consultant. When I accepted his proposal, Tina later told me Bazook came straight afterwards to her room, speaking in his own tongues!
Gorang completed his degree, four-zero.
Patty bounced most of the bidders, settling for a married Kumasi business tycoon. When the tycoon’s wife returned to Ghana two years later, he dropped Patty, who was in her third year. She got onto the list of Reduced to clear.
Tina got hitched with a classmate of hers, in her third year. He had his own stories of chasing women, and getting wounded by some. In the university, he had become wiser and knew that most of the good girls didn’t like being rushed. His name was Alan Quartey.
When taking strolls on campus, Alan and Tina would bump into Patty a few times. Alan couldn’t even remember her, Patty did.
***************************
Tina heard her name and turned. A girl she knew from her secondary school was walking towards her, in deep thought. It was October again, and Tina could almost guess what the discussion will entail.
*THE END*
© Nana Awere Damoah, October 2010
I had to put her at ease, but all I did seemed inconsequential; all she wanted was to get the issue off her chest. I braced myself for whatever she had to say. After a few minutes of hesitation, during which period I just sat looking at her, encouraging her in silence, she blurted, “It’s the boys! They are pestering me so, and I just can’t cope!”
It was about three weeks into the new academic year and the school was under the siege of the phenomenon called the October Rush. A new academic year brought with it many changes, but most significantly, it brought freshers, especially fresh ladies who were classified as New Stock. The continuing female students had various tags too. Second year ladies were Reduced to Clear, and the third/final year students belonged to the class where you bought one and got one free.
At the beginning of the first semester, it was generally held that the best time to shop for ladies was as early as possible, the desirable ladies being the first year students before they got acclimatized. The Rush was on, already.
“Sister Akua, you see, I am confused already. Is it a sin to be fresh and beautiful in this university?” she lamented.
“Of course not. But take heart and tell me exactly what is getting you so worked up.”
She undoubtedly hadn’t been prepared for such an experience. In the maze of activities that were crowded into the first month of the academic year, many a first year student became perplexed. Orientation programs, registration procedures, accommodation search, getting used to new schedules for lectures and everything else, learning to find one’s way about the large campus and preparing for matriculation – it was all unnerving for a fresher.
“Sister Akua, take this Archito guy. He is in the second year and in Kat. I met him in the STC when I was coming to Kumasi and became friends. He’s been coming to my room every other day. He is cool, handsome, and speaks good English too. I like him, he was my first friend here on campus. He’s already been of immense help and has devoted a lot of his time showing me around campus. My room-mates say he is so cool and I shouldn’t lose guard. He has already proposed and says he is coming to visit this weekend for his answer.”
It was Thursday evening. My room-mate came in from a discussion then. When she saw intense our conversation was, she just changed her attire and went out to the Games Room. The fresher looks up at me, with a sad face. Oh, this Rush!
“Then there is this guy I met at Paa Joe during the joint prayer meeting the SCC [Student Chaplaincy Council] organized in the first week. After the first day, he came for me every evening so we could go together. And he has been visiting me regularly ever since. He has not said anything in terms of proposal but, sister, actions speak louder than words. Some friends tell me he is a powerful Christian brother and he is always sharing scripture with me. Well, I respect him for his life and brotherly affection, but I feel he wants more. He is visibly uncomfortable when he sees me talking with other guys and becomes sullen the rest of the day when we are together. What should I do?”
****
Inte Gorang stood in front of the mirror and put finishing touches to his face. He turned this way and that way, brought his palm close to his mouth, fingers pointing upwards and exhaled out softly through his mouth, to smell his breathe. The mouth perfume had the effect he desired. His shirt was well-starched and ironed, with the edges razor-sharp, the texture almost brittle. His head shone from the spotting waves cream he had judiciously applied and his hair was well-brushed into the scalp. Yellow, the shoe shine boy, had ensured that one could see his image looking at the tip of the shoes. A few puffs from his designer perfume and Joe Pabitey was ready for his evening visit to Africa Hall.
Few people called him by his real name. He was nicknamed Inte Gorang, an adulterated version of Garang. His friends linked him with John Garang, the Sudanese rebel leader because they teased that Joe had been fighting for years, four years actually, to get a girlfriend on campus, an inte. His persistence was both admired and jeered, and each time he approached the P-Lodge immaculately dressed, he was sure to receive applause and sometime, blessings from his Katanga colleagues. A few times, even as he turned up the hill towards the Great Hall, he could hear the chorus of the song composed for him by his hall mates…
Ma ensi wo yie
Inte Gorang eeei
Inte rebel leader eei
Fa nkunim die bra nne!
To wit, “let it go well with you, Inte Gorang, Inte rebel leader, bring victory back today!”
In his final year, Gorang was bent on avoiding the proverbial four-zero, the term used to describe students who completed their four year degree courses without getting hitched, without grabbing. He was a veteran of the October Rush, of course. Each year, after failing to win a province, he went back to the drawing board to re-strategize. His advances were not limited to the freshers though. It is just that having failed to succeed in the past three years in all the year groups, he had decided to really focus this final year. The last battle, going for the kill, do or die, be victorious or die trying!
In furtherance of this, he had returned to school two clear weeks before school re-opened and befriended all the porters in the female or mixed halls. With heavy tipping, he had their tacit agreement to note down all the nice girls and their room numbers, so he didn’t have to spend time on reconnaissance. Once school re-opened and the freshers were to start arriving for the orientation program, he had been to Accra more than four times, to journey back to Kumasi on the STC buses, to get acquainted to some of the ladies at the bus terminals. With such rich experience, he could pick out the freshers with ease – their large suitcases, parents dropping them and anxious at their departure (most of them leaving home for the first time), eager conversations on mobile phones, more information obtained from a little eavesdropping. He was extra helpful to them and once they got to Tech junction, he ensured that he was visibly available to get them taxis to campus, a coincidental good Samaritan to the freshers, all part of the battle plan.
*******************
It was convenient for him to be a resident of Independence hall, called Indece by most students. The hall’s proximity to Paa Joe, the school’s stadium, suited him well, as he loved to pray at Paa Joe. Brother Bazook was very prayerful, an ardent Christian who spent at least two hours each day interceding for souls and his nation, his foremost prayer topics. He earned his nickname when he acted in a play at church. In that drama, he enacted what he loved doing in real life: praying. In one of the scenes of prayer, he was leading a group of ogacious Christians in prayer and called on them to ‘shoot the devil’ with spiritual intercontinental ballistic and other long-range missiles. Those were the years after the Gulf war. As the leader of that group, he employed the bazooka, thus the name Bazook.
He was in the third year and going out with girls was way out of his mind. He felt that he was too spiritual for that carnal indulgence. Brother Bazook was known to have cast the spirit of carnality from another brother when the latter asked him for bread, rebuking that “when souls are perishing, you are thinking of bread!”
In the first week of his third year, Bazook had spent two hours at Paa Joe, praying in tongues and interceding, what is called kabeying in the chrife parlance. He felt really fulfilled and satisfied that he had done his Christian duty as he rounded up his prayers around 8.30 pm. As he climbed up the stairs to cross the street and take the path via the annex block, he spied a guy sitting by the security box. He walked on, until he heard the guy walking behind him, calling him and catching up with him.
“Brother, God bless you for your prayer. May I ask, what you were praying about?”
Bazook smiled at the stranger, wondering where he was coming from. Perhaps he wanted to learn and tap into his passion for souls.
“Well, I was interceding for souls this evening.”
“Brother, the Spirit intercedes for us with groans we cannot understand, and He knows our real heart desires. I can interpret tongues and all I heard you say for the hour I was at Paa Joe was ‘Lord, give me a wife!’ That is the true desire on your heart, even though you may try not to listen to that inner voice.”
Bazook spent that night really reflecting on that. Indeed, he had begun to think about relationships lately, much as he tried to push it out of his mind. Perhaps, God had used the stranger to tell him it was OK to have such thoughts, and they may not be too carnal after all. Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to be a Paul. A spiritual Peter was also in the Bible. As he reflected on, it hit him that it was October.
*******************
The length of the queue behind your door is a reflection of your popularity as a fresh girl during October Rush, she was told. She knew she was beautiful. That fact was forcefully appreciated whilst in secondary school in Cape Coast. During the InterCo competitions, she had the most enquiries from the boys from Kwabotwe, Adisco and Augusco, much to the chagrin of her friends, who tried very hard to hide their envy. It got to a point where she had to play pranks on those boys to keep off. She always recalled one particular incident with mirth.
This guy from Kwabotwe pestered her for the entire duration of one competition, for two days. From all indications, he was not used to bouncing from girls, one of those boys who felt every girl should melt at the mention of his name, like Blue band margarine in the presence of a hot knife. He just wouldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer. Patty Sutherland-Graves had learnt that for such boys, only a humiliation could teach them that even though all heads may look the same, the thoughts in them differed.
On the second day, she finally acquiesced and agreed to give him her name; he wanted to visit her at school. She told him she was called Pat Ricia and they agreed on a day for him to visit – two weeks later, that was the next weekend when the girls were allowed visitors.
On the appointed day, Alan Quartey – for that was the guy’s name, she could never forget it – duly turned up and asked for Miss Pat Ricia. By prior arrangement, the request filtered to Patty’s friends who took Alan to the assembly hall, and gave him a seat on a portion of the main stage, with the promise of informing Miss Ricia of his arrival. Back in the dormitory, Patty and her friends were rolling on the floor in laughter, completely taken up in hilarity! The guy was clearly a dimwit, to come asking after a Pat Ricia! Her friends took turns passing by the assembly hall, ostensibly to search for a missing item or to look for a friend, but the main purpose being to have a look at the latest toke to visit their campus.
After about two hours of waiting in vain for Miss Ricia to appear, Alan got the message and left.
Patty was a veteran at playing love games, and arrived on campus for her first year, well aware of the October Rush and eager to partake, clearly not on the receiving end.
***************************
We were sitting on the lower part of the bunk bed. I got up and went to the fridge to pick two bottles of Fanta, opened both of them and gave one to the girl. I had to insist when she initially refused the drink. I had been out studying the whole day and needed to refresh; perhaps I needed the drink more than her but it was good to get her relaxed a bit.
“What you are experiencing is what is called the October Rush, it is seasonal and will pass. The question to ask, Tina, is: Are you ready for any relationship at this moment in your life?” I asked her. I had found out her name by now.
“No, not really.”
“But you do appreciate that you cannot fight off young men forever, and that you will have to make a decision one day, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, I do. It is just that now with all of them coming towards me at the same time, I feel like a pollen-laden flower in the land of a thousand bees.”
“Yeah, that’s right and we all experienced it. What will be important to ascertain is whether any of these guys – and there will be more, I can assure you – is serious and will still be here after the Rush. Some of the guys see it as a game, some are also serious. Some of the guys come your way accidentally, others encounter you by plan. We will have to see how it goes. On the other hand, there are some girls who also take advantage of the guys in the Rush and even after.”
I recalled my room-mate in first year, Christabel. If ever there was a female player, she was one. She could wind the hearts of men like a Bonwire kente master weaver. Her tongue was sweeter than the honeycombs of Babylon and her tales were more intricate that those of legendary Kwaku Ananse. All the guys who came professing love to her were accepted, none of them suspected they had rivals, and each of them thought he was the only one on throne of her heart. Her admirers were not only students; lecturers, businessmen and teaching assistants had their names in her catalogue. She also said that you needed some for studying with, some to pay your bills, some to fund your shopping, and some just for going out to functions with. The relevant categories were education, finance, tourism and public affairs. She even had a guy whose main use was ironing. I always pitied that guy. Christabel would chat with him deep into the night, usually on Sunday, and then around midnight, she would make an attempt to touch her mound of dresses to be ironed for the week. This guy would immediately get up and insist on ironing! Christabel would smile sweetly, call him a darling and, a few minutes later, go to sleep, whilst the poor guy continued the ironing. He would finish at dawn, let himself out of the room and be back for the same routine the next week. Oh what love could push some men to do!
One day, whilst he was almost done with the ironing, it started raining very heavily. It was around 2 am. Christabel looked outside and decided that seeing how heavy the rain was, the guy should sleep in our room, and go to his hall early in the morning. The guy stepped out – we thought he was going to the gents, ok, ladies in this case. Twenty minutes later, there he was all wet, clutching a large piece of cloth in his hands. He had rushed to his hall to pick up his sleeping cloth! It just confirmed my belief that he had a few wires incorrectly connected upstairs!
“Room five-eight! Room five-eight!” That was my room-mate, Adwoa, calling from the P-Lodge. I stepped out of the room and looked down from the rails. There was a guy standing with her, who I recognized immediately as Brother Bazook.
“Room, Bra Bazook here is looking for Tina, and I told him she was with you.”
Tina was the first year, under-siege first year gal who had come to see me. Was Bazook one of the contenders for the young girl’s heart?
“Ei, Bra Bazook, so if it wasn’t for Tina, you wouldn’t have even asked of me, eh?”
“Sister Akua, it is not like that oo, just that mankind has been spending more time on souls, interceding and following up. I have an urgent message to deliver to the daughter of God, Tina.”
“OK, she will be down with you soon, or you want to come up here to see her?”
Tina had by now joined me on the corridor and indicated that he should wait for her at the P-Lodge; and we both returned to my room.
“Do you know Brother Bazook?” I asked Tina. She nodded yes.
“He is the chrife brother I told you about. I like him as a brother-in-Christ, but nothing more. If he should propose today, I will reject him, but how does one bounce such a brother without hurting his feelings? I can tell his affection is genuine and he is passionate, and I am certain he doesn’t go around proposing to lots of ladies…I could even be the first.”
At this point, I had to decide whether to follow my head or my heart. I will tell you why. I knew Brother Bazook well and always admired him. Indeed, my room-mate was the first person who noted how my face lit anytime he visited us in our room, and how many times I mentioned him in our conversations. Adwoa challenged me once that she believed I was falling in love with Brother Bazook. I rebuked her, affirming that I was just appreciating his spirituality and love for the Lord’s work. Upon reflection, however, I had at least admitted in my heart – yes, I had more than brotherly affection towards Bazook. He had been a friend for three years, but these feelings had been festering for at least one year. The problem was that Bazook seemed to see girls as trees, Adwoa usually said. On the other hand, how does a Christian girl go about letting a brother know that she loved him and was just waiting for him to pop the question, without appearing like a bone going after the dog?
Tina’s admission about Bazook therefore hit me, making me momentarily lose my concentration.
“Yes…yes, er what did you say? Oh yes, I know Bazook as someone who rarely expresses interest in girls. If he is developing some affection towards you, he must be serious then. Perhaps he even has a prophecy to that effect. Go on, go and talk to him.”
***************************
Gorang typically got to Africa Hall just after 9pm. As experienced as he was, he knew that most of the guys rarely visited girls after 9pm. The period between 9pm and midnight was usually reserved for those closest to the girls – boyfriends, relatives, girlfriends. Where boyfriends were concerned, it was called owner’s time. So for the brave, that period was free and if you were lucky to be admitted and no one was with your object of interest, you had monopoly, time to make your point and pitch.
Gorang was visiting two girls this time. Patty and Tina: one a tough nut and the other generally easy, by his analysis. The strategy was to spend more time on the tougher subject and then finish off with the easier target.
Gorang climbed the stairs up to the fifth floor and stopped to lean on the railing, to catch his breath. The lifts had not worked in the four years he had been on campus. “Both the hunter and the hunted suffer almost equally,” he thought, as he continued his walk up to the eighth floor. When he turned left towards Room 808, and saw the about six guys leaning on the railings on the eighth floor, he briefly wondered whether they were going up to the rooftop, what for he couldn’t fathom. Perhaps a prayer meeting? As he drew closer to the door of Room 808 to knock, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.
“Are you going there to see anyone?”
He turned to see the face of one of the guys he had passed, waiting on the corridor.
“Yes, I am here to see Patty, she is in Room 808.”
“Then please join the queue, we are all here to see her.”
“Come in please.” Patty was waiting. That was two hours later, but Gorang knew it was part of the game. With patience, one could kill an ant, dissect it and take out its heart, he soliloquized, as he opened the door and entered the room, taking his turn at the bidding table.
***************************
“When the Bible talks about offering yourself as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable, it includes even your choices. Making sure that what you chose does not become a scar on you and a hindrance to your Christian living.”
Tina was both shy and afraid of Brother Bazook at the beginning of their friendship, but with time, she was learning to relax in his presence. He, in turn, was increasingly loosening up enough to speak contemporary biblical English, instead of the King James version he utilized during the first week she met him. Tina remembered with mirth how he used to intersperse his speech with “Thou knowest”, instead of “You know”. They were standing under the trees that bordered the street leading to Africa Hall and, as usual, Bazook was sharing some nuggets, as he called them, from his bible reading that day.
Her discussion with Sister Akua had been helpful, and whilst descending the stairs to the P-Lodge to meet Bazook, she had decided to take matters in her own hands and stop acting docile. She had a right to decide who stressed her out, and who she wanted to get close to her. She recalled Sister Akua’s words that the decision was hers to make, one day. She decided that day will not be in her first semester.
“Brother Bazook, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Tina.”
“You see, I have been getting a number of boys showing affection to me in a nice way, during these past few weeks on campus…”
“Ei, I hope I am not counted in that list o!” Bazook burst out laughing.
Shyly, “Well, to be truthful, you are!”
Bazook continued laughing.
“OK, OK,” Tina struggled to get him to concentrate, “now back to my question. How can one ascertain that the love a man professes is genuine? If you love a girl, how do you show it, Bazook? Have you ever loved a girl? Can you fall in love within a couple of weeks and be clear that you want to have a life-long commitment?”
“Ebei, Tina, why? You want to set a GCE A level question or what?” This triggered another round of laughter, Bazook clutching his stomach.
“Well, let’s take it one at a time then, Tina. Yes, I have loved a girl, and still love her. And, no, even though I have shown you great affection during these few weeks, my motives are purely sisterly, nothing else.”
“I see.”
“Indeed, first advice and this was given to the girls especially in school by our scripture union patron: never assume a boy’s love. Let it be expressed first.”
“But what if it is quite clear from the boy’s actions that he is just waiting for the right time to propose, Bazook? What if it is obvious from the amount of time he spends on you, the number of notes he sends to you, the little gifts he sometimes sends across?”
“Still, don’t assume, Tina. My view is that a guy who really loves you will not be afraid to lose you during the October Rush, and may not rush on you during the period either. That person will possibly become your friend and not too obtrusive and interfering too, so as not to risk alienation. So, true, the person may ‘fall in love’ with you, but the maturing time for that love definitely will outlive the October Rush.”
“OK, good points there. You still haven’t answered one question, though.”
“Ebei, Tina, today you really want to grill me, huh? Don’t you know that if I am heard discussing these things with you, I could be tagged ‘carnal’? You know, you are one of the few girls who are able to get me to discuss these deep topics o.”
“Wow that is nice. But perhaps from you I can get unalloyed truth about these questions. I am certain that you do reflect on these topics in your mind a lot more though. So now back to the question: how do you show your love to a girl?”
“Tina!” She could almost swear he was blushing.
“Bazook! Ha-ha, answer the question, brother.”
***************************
“Do you have a car?”
“Er, no.”
“Are you staying in one of the hostels on campus, like Brunei or Gaza and how many are you in your room?”
“I am in Katanga. You know, in the old days, final year students had a room each to themselves, but these days, two of us have to share. Hmm, tough days now koraa…”
“How many are you in your room?”
“OK, we are two officially…”
“Total number in your room?”
“…and we have two perchers.”
“Do you have a fridge and a microwave in your room? What is your size of TV – is it plasma or 21 inches?”
“When was the last time you travelled abroad?”
“Which restaurants do you visit frequently in Kumasi, I don’t mean on campus?”
About forty-five minutes later, Gorang had to come up with an excuse and left Room 808 dejected. Eish, what that the levels the Rush game had reached? He was clearly not in the league of Patty, and he didn’t even know if he had enough energy to see Tina. Besides, it was late.
As he exited the P-Lodge, providence and fate combined to present Tina to him. She was just about to ascend the stairs to her block.
“Heloo, helloooo, Tina!” Gorang called.
“Hi Joe.” The name Inte Gorang hadn’t filtered to her yet, clean slate.
“I was coming to see you but something came up in the hall, so couldn’t set off early. That is why I am late.”
“Ah, but you just descended from the other block. If you really were coming to see me urgently, wouldn’t you have been descending from my block, where my room is?”
Eish, the first year girls this year are wild o, Gorang thought. A bad night it was turning out for him. A smooth operator, he didn’t miss a beat.
“That is what I was coming to. The ‘something’ I spoke about had to do with a project work, actually. So had to work on it, and submit to my project mate in 504, and she detained me to do some explanation too.”
“Alright, I understand now. So what did you want to discuss with me, Joe? Please make it snappy, as I have had a long day and feeling tired.”
“Well, Tina, you must have realized that with such beauty as has been bestowed on you, any man with a working brain cannot pass you without a second or even third glimpse. I have been glancing plenty times! These past few weeks, each day that passes reinforces the love I have developed for you, even beyond the outer beauty. Your character, your smile; your intelligent conversations, your style; all these have combined to sweep me off my feet. It has been difficult holding back this expression…”
“Joe, thanks, but this is about the fifth such poetry I have heard this week. Besides my beauty, can you give me five proper reasons why I should believe you, and can you wait for another month to see if these reasons still hold?”
Gorang had a fitful sleep that night. It was a bad day.
***************************
It actually turned out that Brother Bazook was interested in me, and the discussion with Tina teased him out of his shyness. Tina turned into his consultant. When I accepted his proposal, Tina later told me Bazook came straight afterwards to her room, speaking in his own tongues!
Gorang completed his degree, four-zero.
Patty bounced most of the bidders, settling for a married Kumasi business tycoon. When the tycoon’s wife returned to Ghana two years later, he dropped Patty, who was in her third year. She got onto the list of Reduced to clear.
Tina got hitched with a classmate of hers, in her third year. He had his own stories of chasing women, and getting wounded by some. In the university, he had become wiser and knew that most of the good girls didn’t like being rushed. His name was Alan Quartey.
When taking strolls on campus, Alan and Tina would bump into Patty a few times. Alan couldn’t even remember her, Patty did.
***************************
Tina heard her name and turned. A girl she knew from her secondary school was walking towards her, in deep thought. It was October again, and Tina could almost guess what the discussion will entail.
*THE END*
© Nana Awere Damoah, October 2010
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Story 5: Hope undeferred
Dear Kwesi,She sat back and looked at the letter again. The words seemed to connect with her very soul, and as she focused on each line of the letter, she seemed to be imbuing the words with her spirit, to carry exactly the emotions she felt to the intended recipient. The words seemed to her more like poetry than prose, poetry both sad and meaningful, emotional, full of life, and she was trusting that these words will be her angels of plea, to bring her relief from this pain of love. It was about 1 a.m. and the entire ambience was as quiet as a stillborn baby. She did not attempt to hold back the tears that overflowed the swollen banks of her eyes, finding their way into her mouth like River Ankobra's journey to the Atlantic ocean. The salty taste did nothing to soothe her aching heart. Her portable stereo oozed Kojo Antwi's song Dade anoma [Metal bird, a reference to an aeroplane], connecting with the thoughts she had transmitted onto paper. She wished, in tandem with the Musicman, that a bird would suddenly appear to take her letter to her loved one. She clutched the paper to her breast, rose and walked to the window, slowly, and watched through the netting. Serene was the view outside, contrasting her feelings, the cool breeze caressing her plump cheeks.
This letter comes with a reminder of the best gift I can ever give to anyone - my heart, my love, my life. It is very late here but I am very much awake, 'cos my dear, you are on my mind. Always on my mind. Cupid sent his arrow my way and I lurched forward with my bosom once I espied your name of the tail of the arrow; come and see the hole it has created in my heart. What sweet pain! I have heard one say that love, like a flower, quickly blooms and attracts but with the same celerity evaporates like a mirage in the Kalahari. If that is a popular opinion I walk a lonely path then, because my love for you is like the seed that forms in a woman's womb - once fertilised, it only knows growth. Like a mixture of concrete, this love hardens and intensifies in strength as it walks hand in hand with time.
Ah! my heart bleeds with this wound of love. I want you to walk this path of ecstasy, this journey of bliss, this adventure of forever-ness with me - always. I miss you terribly, so much my dear. Come quickly, my Prince, and heal my wound, my heart aches for you, my soul yearns for you and my eyes long to set their gaze on you, again.
I want to sing it out, shout it, tell it on the mountain tops to anyone who cares to listen, to the birds so they carry it to the ends of the world - you are mine, and oh, I love you. Lemme hear from you, darling, because you are all I live for.
She who is yours,
Araba
Kwesi was two years ahead of her in the secondary school, Amenfiman High. Araba knew him as a very serious science student, who was so much in love with his books. Rarely did you see him on campus without a book - a textbook, a novel, a book nevertheless. Grave was his countenance most times, pensive his aura almost always. Even in the dining hall, where it was usual for students to chit-chat and tease each other especially before meals, Kwesi would sit quietly at table, reading while meals were being served, and eat without as much as a look around him. In Amenfiman, there were five houses each for the boys and girls, and the houses were named such that there were five pairs. It was the custom that the girls in the female houses shared tables with the occupants of the counterpart male houses. Kwesi was in Bassanyin House, whose counterpart female house was Akoaa house; providence collaborated with fate to ensure Araba and Kwesi shared the same table. She admired him but only at a distance. He was so sober, how could anyone get across to such? He seemed quite content being by himself at all times, self-contained, not caring for a chat. The impression was that he would not even have time for anyone, let alone maintaining a friendship with the opposite sex.
She overhead the conversation at the corner of Akoaa dormitory called nnipa nse hwee, translated loosely as 'man is worthless', as she passed on her way to the bathroom for her afternoon bath. Nnipa nse hwee (NNH) was the gossip headquarters of the school, and being the subject of discussion at NNH was of two-fold significance: the subject was important, and the worth of the subject after an NNH treatment was less than that of a orphanage dog.
“That Kwesi boy, who does he think he is?” That was Akosua, the title holder of the Kokonsa hemaa (queen of gossip).
“Which Kwesi are you girls talking about? I hope it is not my Kwesi o!” Lady Tinash was just returning to the dormitory from class; she didn’t normally patronize lunch in the dining hall, as she considered it beneath her status as a leading lady in the school. She delved straight into the gossip.
“Tinash, ah, you know your Kwesi cannot be discussed here; you know when we talk about him, and only in flowery terms!” Sexy Gogormi was the moderator for this particular topic; indeed, she was like the communications and information director of Nnipa Nse Hwee, bringing in topical issues for deliberation.
Akosua continued, “It is the Mills-Brown guy, because he thinks he is handsome and intelligent, he goes around strutting like a Manhyia peacock, thinking of himself better than everyone else.”
“Who says he is handsome?”
“Ebei, SG (her friends called Gogormi by the abbreviated form of her nickname), don’t act like the hunter who said the bird wasn’t nice afterall, when he failed to shoot it after stalking it for days. Aren’t you the same gal who used to fancy Mills-Brown?”
All the girls burst out laughing. Tinash was like that. With her choice Asanti proverbs, she could bring humor into the discussions and also cut right to the bone. And when she wanted to be caustic in her remarks, those same proverbs came in handy.
“But seriously, girls, does that boy fear girls or what? I was on the same table with him last year, he was so shy of us!”
“I don’t think it is shyness, it is pride!” SG insisted.
“But he is an SU (Scripture union) member, how can he be proud?”
“Kai, their pride is even worse, when it is covered by a false spiritual cloak.”
Hmm, it was a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the NNH council.
Interestingly, though, the more the girls discussed Kwesi, the more Araba thought of him; she just could not get him off her mind. She was beginning to understand that Kwesi's apparent aloofness was a challenge to many and this situation to her was like wind to fire - it extinguished the small and rekindled the mighty.
The Scripture union (SU) brought most young christians on campus together; both Araba and Kwesi were members. One evening at SU, the program was Interaction time, during which members were supposed to interact with and get to know one another better. After a short time of prayer and singing, the MC for the evening asked members to chat amongst themselves. Araba turned to find the first person to talk to, and who did she face but Kwesi! Kwesi, of all the people at the meeting! Her heart missed a beat, no, two beats!
"Hello, I am Kwesi Mills-Brown, Form 5 Science," he opened up.
"Hi, my name is Araba...Araba Frimpomaa Larbi. Three C."
The ice was broken. They talked the entire period, a duration which many used to chat with about three persons altogether. It was a hilarious chat they had. It was as if they had known each other for years. She was pleasantly surprised by his sense of humour. Indeed, appearances are deceptive, but smell is not, and had not the elders said that it is only when you shook the nim tree (Azadirachta indica) that you smell it well? Definitely one needed to get closer to be able to shake - you can't shake by remote control. She was struck by his quiet nature, his simple choice of words and his depth of knowledge. After exchanging basic information about each other - age, subjects offered, favourite food etc - interspersed with jokes and anecdotes, Kwesi challenged her to live for the Lord and never give up her faith, in whatever difficulty she went through; and to value her salvation, since it was the best thing that had and will ever happen to her.
Before long, it was time for the meeting to wind up, and Araba and Kwesi had to go back to their seats. He again expressed his pleasure at meeting her and promised to keep in touch.
Araba took a long time sleeping that night. She was excited. She relived the conversation they had in her mind the umpteenth time. Oh, Kwesi was so pleasant to talk to. Truly, you could not judge an object from afar, she philosophised. She resolved to know him better, for here surely was a friend worth keeping. She reasoned that it was not that Kwesi felt superior to others but that he was just not an extrovert. Only when you got close to such people did you find the gold in them. Eh, Araba, are you now a psychologist, she teased her thoughts, with a laugh. With a beatific smile on her face, she drifted into a peaceful sleep, embracing her thoughts and taking a stroll into dreamland.
True to his word, Kwesi sent a note to her the next morning.
Hi Rabbs, [Oh she remembered! Araba smiled at his reference to her nickname]That note opened the gates to a fulfilling friendship between them. Kwesi and Araba kept nothing hidden from each other, encouraging and spurring one another on. They became an epitome of friendship on campus and grew fond of one another each passing day.
It was great chatting with you yesterday. Once again, it's been a pleasure meeting you. I hope to be a friend, and a good one too. There are a lot of things we can share together - our challenges, our anxieties, and of course God's word. Keep on keeping on in the Lord.
God bless,
Kwesi
Kwesi passed his 'O' Levels and continued at the same school. After his statutory National service, he continued to the University. He was in his fourth year in Medical school when Araba wrote the letter, that memorable letter, to him.
*********************
Araba was teaching for her National service at Assin Kabrofo after completing teachers' training college. Her friendship with Kwesi had developed into something stronger, that 'something' Araba found out during this period of her service.
The National service in faraway Assin, about four hundred kilometers from the capital city, was taking its toll on Araba. Her job as a teacher in the local junior secondary school was exhausting. She was miles away from home, in the midst of unfamiliar people; she felt so lonely. Her companions were the many letters that came from Kwesi, she looked forward to them each week with the expectation of a pregnant woman in her ninth month. Kwesi had become unto her a pillar, a great companion, a balm that soothed her in times of depression and frustration. It was there, in the dense forest area of Assin, where loneliness lead her to do long reflections, excursions in her mind she called them, that she came to the realisation that she was indeed in love. In love and with Kwesi. She saw him, now, not only as a friend and a brother, but a life companion. In retrospect and with the benefit of maturity, she understood her initial feelings towards Kwesi now - it was a seed of affectionate love, right from the start.
But for two months now, she hadn't heard from Kwesi. Had Kwesi deserted her, discarded her, left her when she needed him most, when her mind had finally accepted what her heart has been belting out for a long time, that she was in love with him? Had her love been in vain? She had heard many stories about those University guys, how they could easily forget about their steadies as soon as they feasted their eyes on those kyingilingi (slim) Varsity girls. You can't do this to me, Kwesi, surely you can't...but did he love her too, she asked herself yet again. “Never assume a man’s love”, she reminded herself. What if Kwesi just saw her as a sister in Christ, a friend?
*********************
Ebo Nkwantabisa was known far and wide in the Assin area. A famed hunter, it was believed that if one held a finger up, Ebo could shot it off at a hundred yards. The antelope and the deer he had killed, the gorilla and the wild boar he had subdued. He also loved to hunt another species in the land of the living: girls. And he had a similar reputation in that enterprise as well.
When he set his eyes on the new teacher of A1, one of the two local L.A. Middle School (even though the educational system had moved to the Junior Secondary School naming, the old name still stuck in the local lingua), his adrenalin level shot up a thousand notches. In the game of winning ladies, he operated with the same strategy he employed in the thick of the forest: study the intended target (likes, dislikes, sounds), observe its daily routine, draw a line of approach (including baits, traps), lie in wait patiently and strike opportunistically. Needless to say, his success rate was high. And it helped that he was the chief’s son.
*********************
Araba usually woke up at 5.30 each morning, to say her daily prayers and read the Bible, before opening her door. As a teacher, she didn’t have to go to the Ankobra river to fetch water. The headmaster had a rooster for the pupils to supply each teacher with water, firewood and charcoal. Water, the pupils procured from the river. Firewood and charcoal, they supply as a non-syllabus item he called Art & Craft. With this blanket subject, sundry items were provided by the pupils at no extra cost to the school.
Araba’s foot hit an item, in a sack, on the ground as she stepped out of her room. It was a bit foggy, as the monsoon and harmattan winds had started spreading a haze across the countryside. However, the cool wind that the harmattan conveyed brought relief from the oppressive heat. She jumped back immediately, a bit frightened. She went back into her room and waited for the day to fully break.
It was a roasted grass-cutter, its limbs linked by arrow-like sticks, spread-eagled.
“Baffour Maame!”
“Yes, Miss, maa dwo (good morning).”
The village folk called every female teacher Miss, whether married or single. Araba lived in a compound house, of five families, each occupying a unit of two rooms. The entire compound house shared one bathroom, and for nature’s call, the newly commissioned communal KVIP was the place to go. It was Baffour Maame’s turn to sweep the courtyard. As a privilege, again, Araba was exempt from sweeping the courtyard or scrubbing the bathroom. Bush allowance for teachers, it was called.
“Auntie, please, did you see the person who brought this?”
Baffour’s mum smiled to herself. She knew only one person who used that strategy in Kabrofo.
“No, I didn’t see anyone drop it there. I was up when the first cock crowed but no one has come near your door.”
“Hmm. OK, can you please keep this on the top of your barn for me, so it still gets smoked? I need to find out who brought it before I do anything with it.”
After school that day, Araba crossed the school field from A1 towards the street that separated Old Town from Sikafuo Amantem. She took the path behind Opanyin Apusika’s shop, and turned left into the market. She needed to buy some dried fish for the kontomire stew she was planning to cook. Baffour Maame had given her gift of ten well-built fingers of plantain and she intended to do justice to it.
With her fish and kontomire duly bought, Araba went by Nana Potisaa’s store, to say hi to the old lady. Madam Potisaa was one of the oldest in the village and particularly liked Araba, saying she resembled her long deceased grand-daughter. Araba gave the old lady the two tins of sardine she always took to her and sat by her bed to chat for a while.
Kwame Atta, one of Nana Potisaa’s grandchildren, came in.
“Miss, Bra Ebo is looking for you.” She didn’t know anyone by that name, but Kwame sounded excited. Araba stepped out to see a tall, well-built man sitting on the veranda.
He got up and extended his hand; she shook it.
“Please, did you get the akrantie I asked Atta to bring to you yesterday?”
Mystery solved.
“Yes, I did. I didn’t know who it was from though.”
“Ah, oh, it was from me. I trapped it myself and dried it in a special way, just for you, Miss.
“Thank you, but I don’t eat bush meat.”
“Oh.”
*********************
It has been a particularly tiring day. It was about 4.30 p.m. and she had just returned from school after preparing her students for the impending examinations. Getting home was becoming a chore too – she had to watch out for Ebo, changing routes so she didn’t have to cross paths with him. He had become more than a pest; perhaps unable to realize that not all girls were his for the taking in the village. His gifts had progressed from bush meat through mutton to kente, all in a bid to win her. Baffour Maame’s soup had undergone a revolutionary upgrade since Ebo set his heart on Araba. Not hearing from Kwesi exacerbated her frustration at the situation.
It had been a week since she mailed that letter to Kwesi. As she changed into her housedress, to try and relax in bed, her thoughts turned to him almost automatically, immediately, effortlessly.
A knock on the door. Who should be disturbing my limited peace of mind at this time of day, she wasn't pleased to wonder. She hesitated for a moment, but the knocking persisted. Sometimes her neighbours, especially Baffour Maame, could be tenacious when they wanted to ask her opinion. Again, what if it was Ebo Nkwantabisa. Her heart missed a beat.
“Not him, Lord!” she prayed. She rose and opened the door, reluctantly.
"Kwesi!"
She jumped into his arms. He nearly lost his footing; she was besides herself with joy. Kwesi smiled at her, that slow delicious smile of his that melted her intestines. She didn't relax her embrace, and he practically had to carry her to the sofa. Araba looked up at him in sheer wonderment, it was so good to be true, Kwesi with her and such a swift answer to her prayers! Such a speedy response to her letter, far beyond her expectations, really!
He suggested they go out for a walk. She obliged and soon with her arms intertwined into his, they took the path that went towards Moseaso, by the peaceful flowing waters of the Ankobra, the waters lovingly washing the rocks in an intricate, ancient ritual, undisturbed by the passage of time. For some time, they walked in silence. Interesting, reflected Araba, that silence could be so enjoyable when it was shared with someone significant, that silence could speak when one was well tuned to its frequency, when the ambience was right. Araba revelled in the moment and wished it would not end.
Kwesi broke the silence eventually, with a squeeze of Araba's hand. He explained why he had not written for such a long time. He had been on a team of medical students' outreach to the Brong Ahafo region to educate the folks on malaria prevention, as part of a UN-sponsored project. They had been away for about two months and on their return, he found Araba's letter in his pigeonhole - he came to Assin immediately.
"Oh Kwesi" was all Araba could say. She felt cherished, and all the anxiety and tension in the past couple of months seemed to ebb and dissipate.
They were now on the outskirts of the village, on the southern part. The sun was beginning his journey to his sleeping abode, and most of the villagers were returning to their homes from the day's work at their farms, with loads of foodstuff and firewood on their heads. Araba waved back at Auntie Mansa, who had her sixth child tired to her back, with two of her children following their father, who held in his hands a freshly trapped grasscutter. A visitor of Miss was always welcome and many of the other folks smiled, waved or stopped to shake hands. It was better to shake hands, since a wave from afar was sometimes deemed uncouth, and referred to as cutting a branch of a tree! However, few stopped to shake the hands of the visitor, as they sensed that Miss wanted some privacy.
Kwesi turned Araba to face him, and he looked down into her eyes.
"My dear, know this. We may still have a long way to go but take this from me. Allow me to borrow from Scripture. Human as I am, I promise never to leave you nor forsake you. You seem to think you alone have the capacity to love, more than all men; all ladies have that false impression. Hear this: I love you back! So long have I loved you, and I have had to admit it to myself, eventually. I know I haven’t shown it much, I needed to be careful, to be sure of myself, of my commitment, to move appreciation to affection. But now I know that my love is for you, and I want to shout it out too, now!"
He embraced Araba warmly. Contentment showed on both faces as they remained in their embrace. Far above them, the sun smiled gently on those two lovebirds and gave them his blessings, as he opened the door to his house. The songs of the birds ceased, the wind became quiet, the tree branches craned their long necks, all nature seeming to come to a standstill as Kwesi and Araba walked back to the village slowly, arms linked, down the aisle of life, a solemn procession with the trees and creatures of nature as their companions and audience, back to the village, back to love, back to peace. Heartaches may still come their way, but at least they knew they had a cure - their love.
© Nana Awere Damoah
Updated October, 2010
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Story 4: The Showdown
Published in the Ghanaian Saturday 'Mirror', Saturday September 23, 1995
The man behind the desk was bent over sheets of paper spread all over the desk. He was seriously working, oblivious of the rhythmic humming of the air conditioner, the soft music being played on the radio, and the continuous knocking on his door. The secretary, who was not unaware of this occasional eccentric behaviour of her boss, opened the door and entered the office after knocking for well over three minutes. The man still went on writing, his handsome face contorted in concentration.
Miss Ocansey smiled at the bent form of her boss. She really loved working with him; she had been with him for about three years as his personal secretary, and she had loved every minute of it. What a boss to serve! Committed, dedicated – and handsome too. Mr. Stephen Benson was a man of about thirty two years. Slim and tall, he had a body which spelt inner strength and a face bright with intelligence and vision. A graduate of Oxford University, he had pursued a series of courses, coming out an editor and publisher, all in one piece. For the past six years, he had been managing his own firm, churning out a total of twenty splendid novels in this period, each novel a bestseller. He was unmarried, and flirtatious bachelor of the highest degree too.
“Sir, a visitor to see you, please.”
He still went on writing. Miss Ocansey hesitated for sometime, and tried again. This time, Mr. Benson looked up and realised for the first time that it was past mid-day and that he was very hungry. He had been working for about five continuous hours on the novel “A day to remember”, written by one of his best clients, Nii Noi Narh Snr. A great writer, and a great novel. He wanted to finish it within the month and take a well-deserved rest for a period of time.
“Yes, what can I do for you, Miss?”
“A lady visitor to see you, sir. Can I show her in?”
“Yes, yes. Please do. And a cup of coffee for me, please.” And with that, he resumed his work, with the same serious concentration.
He looked up soon to meet the stare of a lovely lady, standing a short distance away from his desk. She was about twenty-five, he reasoned, and by God, beautiful. For a moment he absent-mindedly stared at her before he came to himself and showed her to a chair in front of him.
The lady sat down gracefully, and with the same grace placed her handbag on her lap. A split moment of silence as their eyes met…
“Mr. Benson Stephen, Editor-publisher at your service, ma’am.”
He had said this a million and two times in his career and he always felt refreshingly confident each time. Today was no exception. It assured him always of his competence.
“Miss Akosua Nketia is my name. I am an author. I have a novel I want published and a friend recommended you to me at a party. She said you were the best this side of the world; so I decided to rush down to see you. I have the manuscript here. Can you take a look, sir? Here, thank you.”
A knock on the door, and the secretary entered with the steaming cup of coffee. Miss Nketia politely refused Mr. Benson’s offer to have a cup made for her. He took the manuscript and skimmed it, taking sips of the coffee intermittently. As he read, he thought also of the beautiful homo sapiens seated before him. A nice fish worthy to be sailed after. Having finished with the script, he placed it on the desk and smiled at the lady.
“Can I call you Akos? Good. The work is perfect, the plot is excellent, I am just in love with the suspense, and your climax is just splendid. I think you’ve got a deal. Anyway, everyone will like to deal with a … beautiful lady like you. Well… let’s see…can you meet me on Friday at eh…Sadisco Hotel so we can discuss this in more detail? At 4.00 pm? Good. See you then.”
Friday evening found them seated around a table on which were two bottles of Star beer and two glasses. They had been chatting for about an hour when Mr. Benson made his next move:
“Miss Nketia, tell me, what do you do with your beauty?”
She smiled shyly and sipped her beer. Mr. Benson asked her to tell him more about herself and how she became a writer.
She proceeded to give him details of her life; what she didn’t tell him, however, was that she was married to one Lieutenant Patrick Atiemo, and that her husband was on a peace-keeping mission in Rwanda. The night turned out to be a long one, with a lot of dancing together. At the end of the day, both had no doubt in their minds that they were in for a something more than a business relationship.
“Friday nite” turned out to be a favourite time for these lovebirds. They went out together to many places, and were hardly apart. Akosua ended up partly giving up her house, and staying with Stephen. This, of course, had a great effect on Stephen’s commitment to his work, failing to publish Nii Noi Narh’s novel, and even that of Akosua; actually, she didn’t care for it any longer. They continued this relationship with an intensity akin to madness until a tragedy caused its abrupt end.
Lt. Atiemo had returned from Rwanda to find his marital home empty, his wife nowhere to be found. He wanted to surprise her, so he didn’t send any notice of his arrival date. After waiting a couple of days without her return from wherever he presumed she had travelled to, he called on a good friend of his to enquire about Akos, as he was getting worried. What his friend told him shook him to his very bones. His wife going out with someone and, not just that, sleeping in his house as well. He just couldn’t take it.
Back home, he thought about the whole situation. He wasn’t one given to wine but he drank that day, tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All these years he had lived for his wife alone, toiled to make her life comfortable, been faithful to her. In Rwanday, whilst his colleagues sampled the native women, he had remained faithful to his vows, to love Akos and only her. And what does she offer in return? God, he surely had to end it all. End it, blast it, shoot the bastards in their stomachs for sure.
He took out his pistol and loaded it. His military mind was set in motion. They were the enemy. He knew what he had in mind, the enemy didn’t. He knew they existed, they didn’t. His next move was to find them.
Stephen and Akosua had had a wonderful day. Akos had finally agreed, after a lot of persuasion, to take Stephen to see her home. In high spirits, they entered the sitting room. Stephen instantly felt Akos freeze beside him at the sight of the man sitting behind the dining table with the pistol in his hand. Akos just couldn’t believe her eyes. She never expected her husband to be back so soon; at least, he should have written to inform her he was coming home.
Before she could recover from her shock, two shots rang out – a bullet each finding its mark in Akos and Stephen. As they fell, Atiemo shot his head off.
Stephen was shocked the most about the whole incident. As he went down in pain, he cried “Oh God, save me…” but all he could perceive was darkness, deep darkness enveloping him…
Stephen was sure he was in heaven, and an angel was looking down at him. All around him was bright light. This must be the light that, he learnt ages ago in Sunday school, was supposed to shine forth from the throne of God.
The angels moved about. All he could whisper was “Have mercy, Lord, and give me another chance, another chance.”
Slowly, his gaze focused and the haziness cleared. He was looking up at a nurse, and he realised that he was not in heaven but in a hospital, and the nurse holding his hand was speaking to him.
“Yes, He will give you a chance again, sir. Thank God you are alive and recovering. Been in a coma for the past three days. Shot in the shoulder, you were, and the only one alive of the three of you. Give your life to the Lord, take Him as your own, and you will never regret you did.”
And regret he did not, as later years were to prove. He repented of all his evil, past ways and turned over a fresh new leaf, eventually becoming a minister of the Gospel.
His favourite sermon was the “The Showdown”, the story of a great deliverance.
The man behind the desk was bent over sheets of paper spread all over the desk. He was seriously working, oblivious of the rhythmic humming of the air conditioner, the soft music being played on the radio, and the continuous knocking on his door. The secretary, who was not unaware of this occasional eccentric behaviour of her boss, opened the door and entered the office after knocking for well over three minutes. The man still went on writing, his handsome face contorted in concentration.
Miss Ocansey smiled at the bent form of her boss. She really loved working with him; she had been with him for about three years as his personal secretary, and she had loved every minute of it. What a boss to serve! Committed, dedicated – and handsome too. Mr. Stephen Benson was a man of about thirty two years. Slim and tall, he had a body which spelt inner strength and a face bright with intelligence and vision. A graduate of Oxford University, he had pursued a series of courses, coming out an editor and publisher, all in one piece. For the past six years, he had been managing his own firm, churning out a total of twenty splendid novels in this period, each novel a bestseller. He was unmarried, and flirtatious bachelor of the highest degree too.
“Sir, a visitor to see you, please.”
He still went on writing. Miss Ocansey hesitated for sometime, and tried again. This time, Mr. Benson looked up and realised for the first time that it was past mid-day and that he was very hungry. He had been working for about five continuous hours on the novel “A day to remember”, written by one of his best clients, Nii Noi Narh Snr. A great writer, and a great novel. He wanted to finish it within the month and take a well-deserved rest for a period of time.
“Yes, what can I do for you, Miss?”
“A lady visitor to see you, sir. Can I show her in?”
“Yes, yes. Please do. And a cup of coffee for me, please.” And with that, he resumed his work, with the same serious concentration.
He looked up soon to meet the stare of a lovely lady, standing a short distance away from his desk. She was about twenty-five, he reasoned, and by God, beautiful. For a moment he absent-mindedly stared at her before he came to himself and showed her to a chair in front of him.
The lady sat down gracefully, and with the same grace placed her handbag on her lap. A split moment of silence as their eyes met…
“Mr. Benson Stephen, Editor-publisher at your service, ma’am.”
He had said this a million and two times in his career and he always felt refreshingly confident each time. Today was no exception. It assured him always of his competence.
“Miss Akosua Nketia is my name. I am an author. I have a novel I want published and a friend recommended you to me at a party. She said you were the best this side of the world; so I decided to rush down to see you. I have the manuscript here. Can you take a look, sir? Here, thank you.”
A knock on the door, and the secretary entered with the steaming cup of coffee. Miss Nketia politely refused Mr. Benson’s offer to have a cup made for her. He took the manuscript and skimmed it, taking sips of the coffee intermittently. As he read, he thought also of the beautiful homo sapiens seated before him. A nice fish worthy to be sailed after. Having finished with the script, he placed it on the desk and smiled at the lady.
“Can I call you Akos? Good. The work is perfect, the plot is excellent, I am just in love with the suspense, and your climax is just splendid. I think you’ve got a deal. Anyway, everyone will like to deal with a … beautiful lady like you. Well… let’s see…can you meet me on Friday at eh…Sadisco Hotel so we can discuss this in more detail? At 4.00 pm? Good. See you then.”
Friday evening found them seated around a table on which were two bottles of Star beer and two glasses. They had been chatting for about an hour when Mr. Benson made his next move:
“Miss Nketia, tell me, what do you do with your beauty?”
She smiled shyly and sipped her beer. Mr. Benson asked her to tell him more about herself and how she became a writer.
She proceeded to give him details of her life; what she didn’t tell him, however, was that she was married to one Lieutenant Patrick Atiemo, and that her husband was on a peace-keeping mission in Rwanda. The night turned out to be a long one, with a lot of dancing together. At the end of the day, both had no doubt in their minds that they were in for a something more than a business relationship.
“Friday nite” turned out to be a favourite time for these lovebirds. They went out together to many places, and were hardly apart. Akosua ended up partly giving up her house, and staying with Stephen. This, of course, had a great effect on Stephen’s commitment to his work, failing to publish Nii Noi Narh’s novel, and even that of Akosua; actually, she didn’t care for it any longer. They continued this relationship with an intensity akin to madness until a tragedy caused its abrupt end.
Lt. Atiemo had returned from Rwanda to find his marital home empty, his wife nowhere to be found. He wanted to surprise her, so he didn’t send any notice of his arrival date. After waiting a couple of days without her return from wherever he presumed she had travelled to, he called on a good friend of his to enquire about Akos, as he was getting worried. What his friend told him shook him to his very bones. His wife going out with someone and, not just that, sleeping in his house as well. He just couldn’t take it.
Back home, he thought about the whole situation. He wasn’t one given to wine but he drank that day, tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All these years he had lived for his wife alone, toiled to make her life comfortable, been faithful to her. In Rwanday, whilst his colleagues sampled the native women, he had remained faithful to his vows, to love Akos and only her. And what does she offer in return? God, he surely had to end it all. End it, blast it, shoot the bastards in their stomachs for sure.
He took out his pistol and loaded it. His military mind was set in motion. They were the enemy. He knew what he had in mind, the enemy didn’t. He knew they existed, they didn’t. His next move was to find them.
Stephen and Akosua had had a wonderful day. Akos had finally agreed, after a lot of persuasion, to take Stephen to see her home. In high spirits, they entered the sitting room. Stephen instantly felt Akos freeze beside him at the sight of the man sitting behind the dining table with the pistol in his hand. Akos just couldn’t believe her eyes. She never expected her husband to be back so soon; at least, he should have written to inform her he was coming home.
Before she could recover from her shock, two shots rang out – a bullet each finding its mark in Akos and Stephen. As they fell, Atiemo shot his head off.
Stephen was shocked the most about the whole incident. As he went down in pain, he cried “Oh God, save me…” but all he could perceive was darkness, deep darkness enveloping him…
Stephen was sure he was in heaven, and an angel was looking down at him. All around him was bright light. This must be the light that, he learnt ages ago in Sunday school, was supposed to shine forth from the throne of God.
The angels moved about. All he could whisper was “Have mercy, Lord, and give me another chance, another chance.”
Slowly, his gaze focused and the haziness cleared. He was looking up at a nurse, and he realised that he was not in heaven but in a hospital, and the nurse holding his hand was speaking to him.
“Yes, He will give you a chance again, sir. Thank God you are alive and recovering. Been in a coma for the past three days. Shot in the shoulder, you were, and the only one alive of the three of you. Give your life to the Lord, take Him as your own, and you will never regret you did.”
And regret he did not, as later years were to prove. He repented of all his evil, past ways and turned over a fresh new leaf, eventually becoming a minister of the Gospel.
His favourite sermon was the “The Showdown”, the story of a great deliverance.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Story 3: You cannot conceal evil
Me Kweku Ananse, m’eni ate yie (I, Kweku, I am really smart)
Amansan nyinaa bo medin, yiee (Everyone mentions my name)
Me, ye woo me ewia kete kete (I was born at noon, in broad daylight)
Me papa mpo ante asiee ei (Even my dad didn’t understand)
Azaa diee me fa no kwa (I am cunning beyond measure)
Na se me sesa paa diee, me nnye da! (As to changing my ways, I will never do that!)
Anitee ne waga dire diee (Cunning and cheating…)
Ete se m’ataa die! (…are like the clothes I wear!)
Se wo de me kyim a (If you doubt me)
Bisa me nyonko Akoto (Ask my friend Akoto)
Megyee ne yere a na oto nko (I won his wife over, when he was dozing)
Emere a oko Aborokyire mpo (When he had traveled abroad)
Na ewiase bone nsuma no nti (Because, in this world, you can hide sin)
Me suban bone no eda edi (My bad character was exposed)
Nanso eno ekyire nyinaa no (But after all these…)
Me, me koso aye saa daaa!! (I will continue in my trickery!)
The spider worked tirelessly, spinning his web in the corner of the cubicle. It was a huge web with intricate designs. It hummed as it worked, tired but hopeful, hopeful that a good work yielded great dividends. It is he who labors who enjoys the meal.
The fly was enjoying the flight through the nice ambience in the room. The day’s peregrinations have been fruitful. He had traveled far and wide, and he enjoyed various substrates. He was in high spirits and had already started looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Life was good, life was wonderful, and life could be great. The wind was his friend, the air was his companion and he knew no enemies.
It was with such warm thoughts and with such abandon that the fly flew directly into the spider’s web. The fly’s house was just around the corner and here he was stuck in the trap of the dreadful, wicked spider. The fly struggled to get out of the entanglement, silently praying that the spider was asleep. His prayer went unanswered, as he spied the spider coming slowly towards him, with a smile of contentment of his face. It is only the tongue that can interpret a palatable meal, thought the spider as it moved towards the fly. The sweetness of the pudding is in the eating. The fly struggled to go free, but fate and time were not on its side, as the spider moved towards it for the kill, with the fly struggling, struggling, struggling, but in vain…
Akoto woke up with a start, sweating as if he had been in a struggle. The room was warm. He felt hotness on his skin, and got up to sit on his bed. His room-mate slept on, snoring like a scooter motor bike whose exhaust pipe had burst. Kweku M. Ananse was his name and he was the most carefree person Akoto had ever seen. So full of life and ideas.
The hall clock, which was reputed to be as old as the University, chimed five times. The myth was that when the clock stopped chiming, the University would produce the premier first class student in Physics. And the story went that to prevent this, the Physics department set a tithe of its budget each year aside to ensure the clock was always in good shape. Akoto didn’t mind that story much; all he cared for was that the clock was as reliable to offer the correct time as his room-mate and friend, Kweku, was in being mischievous.
Akoto didn’t remember the last time he had dreamt. Even if he did, he didn’t remember the full plot when he woke up. Kweku was the dreamer; he had a tale to tell each morning he woke up. And you could be sure to hear another tale if he slept in the afternoon. Akoto teased him that his many dreams resulted directly from the sumptuous meals he managed to eat each night, before he slept. That and the fertile ground for constructing mischief, the ground he called his brain. Kweku the smart guy, Kweku the mischief, Kweku the fox.
It was five thirty in the morning and try as he could, Akoto couldn’t go back to sleep. The dream was simply interesting and he couldn’t find anything useful to brood over in it. Even though he has seen the namesake of his friend in it. Spiders always weaved webs and that was not news at all.
“Massa, wake up, wake up”, Akoto tried to rouse Kweku from his sleep.
The man slept like a puff adder who slept both day and night because it couldn’t distinguish between the two.
“Kweku! It is time to get ready for lectures!” Akoto persisted.
“Hmm, hmmm, won’t man get any peace in this world at all?” Kweku mumbled. “What is it, eh, what koraa is the matter?”
“Time for bathing, lazy booonnnnneeessss!”
“Kai! And I haven’t ironed too!”
With that, the Spiderman jumped from his bed. He was nicknamed the Spiderman because of his surname. As first, he wasn’t too pleased with the alias, but after watching the movie Spiderman, he realized the character really epitomized what he, Kweku Ananse, could achieve: almost anything. To Kweku, the whole world was like a draught board and the smartest player could always win the game. The rules of the game were: the end justifies the means. It is only the squirrel that sings “things must be done in the right way”. In the gospel of life according to Kweku Ananse, life was hard and the smart take it. His father had made it through life by being smart and the offspring of the snake cannot be short. The elders had advised that one should not be happy when people remark that you were a chip of the old block, because your father might have been a questionable character. But Kweku loved it so. He was indeed the Spiderman.
Akoto was already in the bath-house when Kweku left the room. It was Tuesday, and they both had to pass by the Obaasima Hall to escort Ama Adoma to lectures, hence the early wake-up.
Ama Adoma. The only one advantage his friend Akoto had over him. The prettiest girl he had ever seen in his fast life. Her neck was like ringed sausages, earning her the name Ama Konf, the girl with the beautiful neck. When she smiled, her checks reformed into two dimples, which could hold two pebbles with ease. Her walk was like that of a graceful Adowa dancer. The most beautiful lady on campus and she was Akoto’s fiancée.
Kweku and Akoto were both in their final year at the University College of Amenfi, and had a final semester to go. Kweku hailed from the mid-sector belt of the country and no-one really knew the exact town he came from. Kweku was as evasive about his hometown as he was about the secondary school he attended. When pushed to the wall about his origins, Ananse was known to say to his questioners that if you searched too deeply under the eyes of a corpse, you were certain to see a ghost. But his cunning and cleverness you couldn’t take away from him. Sometimes, Akoto wondered whether his friend really sat for any examinations at all, before entering the University.
“Kweku, please hurry up. We are running late.”
“Ho ho, you and your pushing with respect to Adoma, why? Is she a time-bomb? Will she explode if we don’t get to her on time?”
“Charlie, you can play with your fiancée when you get one. As for me, I won’t let any other person take away my girl with TLC – tender loving care. I will guard her like an Iraqi government minister!”
“Even the Queen of England is not treated like your Adoma. Anyway, I am ready. Let me not be the reason for any break-ups. But remember, there is bound to be a knot in any long string.”
On their way to the Obaasima Hall and then to the lecture hall, Akoto thought of what Kweku had said. Akoto’s mum lived in the United Kingdom and so he traveled abroad on most vacations. His visa had already been obtained and he was due to travel right after his final examinations. He wanted to spend a couple of years, slave away and come back quickly to Ghana to wed his queen. Even the vulture which is not edible nursed its eggs in the branches of a high tree, because man is hard to trust. And Akoto didn’t want to keep Adoma waiting too long after school before marriage and didn’t want to be too far away from her. A glance at Adoma by his side reinforced his resolve to marry her in the shortest possible time.
“What a beauty”, thought Kweku, as he also stole a glance at Adoma as they walked to the lecture hall. His plans were still under construction within his mind. Wasn’t it said that young people kept their money in the pocket of their parents? And for Akoto to marry this girl? Kweku had no problem with getting girlfriends, the problem was in retaining them. But Adoma was special, and he was beginning to like her a lot. A tooth loses its respect and place in an aching jaw and a nugget can never sparkle besides charcoal. Adoma was fit for him, Kweku, and have her he would. It was only in the community of pregnant women that an over-matured coconut dropped on its own accord. He was the smartest man on campus and he would certainly pluck this ripe coconut.
Kweku knew he would have to call on all his skills and fertile schemes, and he was prepared for it. He didn’t mind the fact that this could bring a rift between him and Akoto, because however kind a man is, he would not give his wife as a gift to his friend. He would bide his time and strike at the right time – it was with patience that the experienced hunter killed an elephant. Kweku felt that he was entitled to Adoma, on the same level as Akoto. Wasn’t he the go-between for the two lovebirds in the early days of their relationship and even now? Didn’t he help Akoto win Adoma? Indeed, a bedfellow in sowing the seed should be a part in the harvest, he reasoned. He didn’t mind what people would say when he succeeded. Ethics, friendship, betrayal of trust, all stupid impediments. The scarecrow was made to deceive the coward. He wasn’t a signatory to all those idealist codes!
Nyonko bi sen onua (A friend sticketh closer than a brother)
Nanso Kweku Ananse diee (But Kweku Ananse…)
Oye nyonko (Is a friend who is…)
Sasa bonsam (Like the devil himself!)
Anytime Adoma visited their room, in the absence of Akoto, Kweku tried to subtly suggest to her that Akoto would disappoint her someday. Especially, since he would travel abroad soon after their final exams. On the other hand, Kweku did his best to tell tales about Adoma to Akoto, slipping in little innuendoes about her escapades. Akoto kept his cool about Adoma, insisting that if the eye hasn’t seen it, it is not dirty. As long as he hadn’t heard from two or three witnesses, he would continue to trust his queen.
Soon, it was time to leave school and Akoto to travel abroad. Akoto was traveling right after vacation. On the departure day, Kweku, Adoma and Akoto traveled together to Accra for his flight. The parting was emotional; it was difficult for both Akoto and Adoma, and Ananse joined in their tears. He who cannot weep should not follow a funeral procession, and Ananse played the part of the true friend at that moment, empathizing with the two lovers.
Akoto reaffirmed his commitment to return as soon as possible to marry Adoma. Seeing the flood of tears overflowing the banks of Adoma’s eyes, he promised her that he will come back in less than the two years he had initially planned. Since Adoma was not staying in the city, and didn’t have access to the Internet and couldn’t also get letters through regular mail, Akoto decided that he would be writing frequently through Ananse.
“Akoto, my friend”, Ananse promised, “I will do my best to ensure that communication between the two of you is not broken. After all, the mushroom and the hill have not thanks between them. They are one and the same. What is yours is mine to maintain for your sake.”
“Me d’ase, Kweku. You have been such a good friend, and my heart is light knowing you are here for me.”
It had been six months since Akoto left and Adoma, who was doing her National Service in Breman Asikuma had not heard from him at all in the past four months. Not even a letter. Kweku Ananse called her at the Post office weekly and always said Akoto was yet to send a single letter down for her. After two or so letters in the initial months after his departure, Akoto had just gone mute. The mouth that is used to source a loan is not the same one used to pay it. Akoto had promised her heaven, and sworn to keep her in perpetual touch. Adoma was disappointed and was becoming increasingly disillusioned with Akoto. Her only consolation and forte of strength in the hard times had been Kweku Ananse. Kweku Ananse, an object she was having thoughts of.
Kweku’s plan was working to perfection. Parcels are made to facilitate easy recovery. And he made sure that with each visit and call to Adoma, his hidden message was easily deciphered. Initially, he had forwarded Akoto’s letter to Adoma, to give her the impression that if Akoto should write, Ananse would promptly deliver the letters. He had even traveled the whole night to Breman Asikuma, arriving at dawn, just to prove the point that he (Kweku) treated Akoto’s letter with urgency.
But when two bosom friends vie for one and the same lady, they have chosen a common road to be each other’s enemy. And Kweku was determined to win this war. And Kweku was the linguist in this affair, the middle man in this relationship. Did the elders not say that only the linguist can blow the chief’s ivory horn to sing his highness’ eulogy? Kweku had decided to blow the horn and produce a tune favourable to him. He kept subsequent letters from Akoto to Adoma and also kept those from Adoma to Akoto. His weekly calls and occasional visits to Breman increased in frequency.
“Kweku, this your friend, what sort of life is this? Eh, how can he treat me this way?”, Adoma asked Kweku one afternoon in Asikuma. It was in August, now about a year since Akoto left and many months since Adoma heard from him.
“Adoma, the head is not a coconut that you can open to see what is inside it. Though he is my friend, I cannot explain all his actions”, Kweku said, looking at the beautiful girl before him. It is only a toothless cat that doesn’t lick his lips when a mouse is playing near his nose.
“But Kweku, why? I have always been a faithful partner to your friend. And I have not given him any cause for him to treat me like this!”
“You can understand some men. You usually don’t know the worth of someone until she leaves you. In school, we had a prayer we prayed in the dining hall. Some want, they don’t get; some get they don’t want…”
“But we want and we get so we thank thee oh Lord!”, Adoma finished it. They laughed together. Adoma’s tone turned serious: “Kweku, what do you mean by that?”
“Oh, no, nothing serious. Except that, to the blind, the antics of the monkey and his gesticulations would never be enough to excite. But the monkey would seriously entertain the discerning with the same dance!”
When Ananse left that evening to Accra (he left earlier that day because he said his bank was organizing a week long course for all its banking staff – Kweku was the Human resource officer), Adoma chewed long and hard on his words. Was Kweku telling her that she was blind and not seeing how good he, Kweku, had been to her in those trying times? Kweku was good-looking and had been good, too good, to her. A bird in hand in worth two in the bush, and there was no use waiting for those two in the bush, especially when they still had wings to fly! Who knows what Akoto was doing in the United Kingdom?
But her love for Akoto was so strong, and, Akoto being her first love, she knew it would be difficult getting over him. She was so confused, and she had no other person to turn to but Kweku Ananse. Her many letters given to Kweku to mail for her had not been replied. Kweku informed her that anytime he asked Akoto about the way forward with the relationship with Adoma, Akoto was always evasive.
Akoto was surprised Adoma hadn’t written to her after the very first one he received from her, and that was in the first month he arrived. Thoughts of her filled his every minute when he was awake and thoughts of her put him to sleep each night. Beautiful, lovely, sweet Adoma. He was on track with his promise to return in a year and a half, and he was slaving his life away to accumulate funds. He had bought most of the items needed for both the customary rites (engagement) and the wedding. He had also prepared his costume for the two ceremonies. There was so much he needed to discuss with Adoma at that point – and so much to plan. But her silence baffled him seriously.
The only letters he received from Ghana were from his buddy Kweku Ananse, and they were not missives of good news. Kweku reported that Adoma had started flirting with the chief in the village where she was teaching. Kweku said after numerous chats with her to put a stop to the immoral affair, she still persisted. To Akoto’s query why Adoma wasn’t writing to him, Kweku asked him how someone who is busily enjoying a sumptuous meal would have time to talk. Yet Akoto didn’t lose hope and continued to write, care of Ananse his trusted friend.
Ananse the banker was seriously enjoying the game, and the web he was spinning around Adoma and Akoto. He walked into his dedicated cabinet where he kept the letters of the two lovebirds. The cabinet was divided into two, with labels: Adoma and Akoto. He laughed. He was doubling as a mailman too! He thought his friend a nice fool, and the adage that “a foolish man in a pensive mood is making no judicious plan; he is still a buffoon” came to mind. Kweku intended to take full advantage of his friend’s absolute trust in him. The storm was gathering and when the rains finally come, Kweku was sure to be ready!
So when Kweku proposed to Adoma in October, Adoma’s patience had waned and she was angry as well. If Akoto thought he could treat her shabbily, she would pay him back! Her heart told her to hold on and wait for her love, but her mind entreated her to move on with Kweku. Life was short and not worthy to be wasted on those who take their loved ones for granted. But she decided to wait for the time Akoto had promised to come back. Maybe, he has an explanation for this mistreatment.
Two years had gone by and still no news from Akoto. Adoma gave in to the incessant pressure from Ananse. The wedding at the Holy Tabernacle of the Lord, the latest charismatic church in town, was planned and executed in record time. Kweku convinced Adoma that, knowing her family’s preference for Akoto, it was not prudent to involve them. And in any case, before anyone took the message to them in Dunkwa-on-Offin, the wedding would have been over, and the deal sealed. With the certificate of notice from the local authorities, they approached the church and had the quiet wedding.
Kweku had won the target of two years and he felt so satisfied. In a little over a month, he was ready to move on to his new target. He had trapped the crab and not the water in it. The water could flow away for all he cared! In such a short time, Adoma was beginning to regret her marriage to Kweku!
In December, three years after Akoto had traveled and more than a year after he had promised to come back, Akoto came back to Ghana. He had used his time abroad to study part-time for his law degree. He was so excited on his flight back home. He had not been faithful to his promise, but he was sure Adoma would understand. Especially when he had written to both Adoma herself and Ananse (so he could add his voice to his plea), explaining his delay. Now, he was going to marry the love of his youth. Not hearing from Adoma all these years heightened his excitement further. Akoto trusted Ananse fully, and in many letters, Ananse had assured Akoto that his queen, Adoma, was waiting for him.
On his arrival, he went straight to Kweku’s home and that was where he came crushing down to earth!! His love, the object of his attention, the reason for his almost slave-like toil in a foreign land, the lady of his heart married in his absence! And to the one person he trusted above all, save God! The truism that the ant which would bite you is in your own cloth, so near you, hit him hard! He rushed away from Kweku’s house and went straight back home. He couldn’t forget the smile of victory on Kweku’s face as he left his bosom friend’s house.
Back at home, he wept all his hurt away. Finally, it was the image of his smiling friend that stopped his copious tears. One cannot weep and meditate at the same time. Akoto decided to do all he could to wipe away that smile from the face of the scoundrel. He decided to win back his love. And to teach Kweku Ananse that throughout history, honesty had triumphed over trickery and deception. Yam is sweet but one should eat it in the normal way lest over-swallowing chokes him. Kweku had eaten his yam and Akoto was determined to let him choke on it. He would teach Kweku Ananse that evil is always overcome with good and always exposed. If a snake comes out a hole and invites you to dip your hand into the same, be not afraid because the danger in that hole is already out. Kweku’s trickery and strategy was already out and Akoto knew he could beat him at his own game.
The next day, he went to the school where Adoma was teaching. She had been transferred to Accra after her marriage. Kweku had seen to that. The reunion between the two was frosty at first. At breaktime, Akoto was able to pull her away from her class to a quiet restaurant.
“Adoma, why? Why didn’t you wait for me? Why?” Akoto was holding back tears.
“Eh, please hold on. See the black pot calling the kettle black! I should rather be asking you why you disappointed me so. Why did you not get in touch with me for so long? Why did you not reply my letters? Why did you not bother to write to me? Did you think for once that I am a human being, a woman with feelings?” Adoma let down the dam that held all her hurts, mixed with regrets.
“Are you telling me you never received the many letters I sent to you through Kweku? Even though you had written only once to me? Even when I was informed you were not being faithful to me!”
“Whaaat!! Me being unfaithful to you? You wrote to me through Kweku?”
“Yes, Adoma. I have always written, sharing all my experiences, and also explaining why I had to spend more time to complete my law studies. And I even wrote the latest last month, informing you I was coming back in December. Did you not receive that too?”
“Oh, Jesus!”. That was all Adoma could say, as she broke down and wept. It became obvious to both of them that Kweku had played them apart, to his benefit.
“Adoma, I still love you and you know that. I know you still love me, and that would not change.”
“Akoto, I do know you love me and I still do love you, but I am still married to your friend, that cheat!”
They affirmed their love to each other and pledged to find a way to pay Kweku back in his own coin.
Providence seemed to be on their side. When Adoma told Akoto later that the customary rites were not even performed, Akoto knew he had Kweku by his neck! Because the notice for marriage from the local authorities was valid only on the basis that customary marriage had been done. And also, Akoto found out that the pastor of the church where the wedding was held had not been licensed to perform marriages by the authorities! Therefore, the marriage between Adoma and Kweku was null and void!! The fact that Akoto was a lawyer played no small part in the investigations! Indeed, knowledge of the law had triumphed over trickery!
Trouble, when it comes, doesn’t rain; it pours! Just about the same time that Kweku’s marriage to Adoma was annulled, an audit at the Accra International Bank, where Kweku worked, revealed a serious scandal which Kweku was involved in. A man that builds himself a house of lies usually provides himself with a large window through which to escape when he is in trouble.
Before the police could lay their hands on Ananse, he bolted. “Better escape with shots and injury, than to be captured for the fire” and Kweku was in no mood for the prison!
The wedding of Adoma and Akoto was held in grand style at the Holy Ghost Cathedral, with the heads of the Orthodox churches in attendance. As for Kweku, Adoma and Akoto thought he had his due recompense. Why should the chicken weep and fast in sympathy for a hawk which is imprisoned? In their joy, they had no tears for Ananse, no. Adoma and Akoto can be seen on the streets on Accra, living happily!
A little note: Kweku Ananse is still at large and his next victim could be you!
Amansan nyinaa bo medin, yiee (Everyone mentions my name)
Me, ye woo me ewia kete kete (I was born at noon, in broad daylight)
Me papa mpo ante asiee ei (Even my dad didn’t understand)
Azaa diee me fa no kwa (I am cunning beyond measure)
Na se me sesa paa diee, me nnye da! (As to changing my ways, I will never do that!)
Anitee ne waga dire diee (Cunning and cheating…)
Ete se m’ataa die! (…are like the clothes I wear!)
Se wo de me kyim a (If you doubt me)
Bisa me nyonko Akoto (Ask my friend Akoto)
Megyee ne yere a na oto nko (I won his wife over, when he was dozing)
Emere a oko Aborokyire mpo (When he had traveled abroad)
Na ewiase bone nsuma no nti (Because, in this world, you can hide sin)
Me suban bone no eda edi (My bad character was exposed)
Nanso eno ekyire nyinaa no (But after all these…)
Me, me koso aye saa daaa!! (I will continue in my trickery!)
The spider worked tirelessly, spinning his web in the corner of the cubicle. It was a huge web with intricate designs. It hummed as it worked, tired but hopeful, hopeful that a good work yielded great dividends. It is he who labors who enjoys the meal.
The fly was enjoying the flight through the nice ambience in the room. The day’s peregrinations have been fruitful. He had traveled far and wide, and he enjoyed various substrates. He was in high spirits and had already started looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Life was good, life was wonderful, and life could be great. The wind was his friend, the air was his companion and he knew no enemies.
It was with such warm thoughts and with such abandon that the fly flew directly into the spider’s web. The fly’s house was just around the corner and here he was stuck in the trap of the dreadful, wicked spider. The fly struggled to get out of the entanglement, silently praying that the spider was asleep. His prayer went unanswered, as he spied the spider coming slowly towards him, with a smile of contentment of his face. It is only the tongue that can interpret a palatable meal, thought the spider as it moved towards the fly. The sweetness of the pudding is in the eating. The fly struggled to go free, but fate and time were not on its side, as the spider moved towards it for the kill, with the fly struggling, struggling, struggling, but in vain…
Akoto woke up with a start, sweating as if he had been in a struggle. The room was warm. He felt hotness on his skin, and got up to sit on his bed. His room-mate slept on, snoring like a scooter motor bike whose exhaust pipe had burst. Kweku M. Ananse was his name and he was the most carefree person Akoto had ever seen. So full of life and ideas.
The hall clock, which was reputed to be as old as the University, chimed five times. The myth was that when the clock stopped chiming, the University would produce the premier first class student in Physics. And the story went that to prevent this, the Physics department set a tithe of its budget each year aside to ensure the clock was always in good shape. Akoto didn’t mind that story much; all he cared for was that the clock was as reliable to offer the correct time as his room-mate and friend, Kweku, was in being mischievous.
Akoto didn’t remember the last time he had dreamt. Even if he did, he didn’t remember the full plot when he woke up. Kweku was the dreamer; he had a tale to tell each morning he woke up. And you could be sure to hear another tale if he slept in the afternoon. Akoto teased him that his many dreams resulted directly from the sumptuous meals he managed to eat each night, before he slept. That and the fertile ground for constructing mischief, the ground he called his brain. Kweku the smart guy, Kweku the mischief, Kweku the fox.
It was five thirty in the morning and try as he could, Akoto couldn’t go back to sleep. The dream was simply interesting and he couldn’t find anything useful to brood over in it. Even though he has seen the namesake of his friend in it. Spiders always weaved webs and that was not news at all.
“Massa, wake up, wake up”, Akoto tried to rouse Kweku from his sleep.
The man slept like a puff adder who slept both day and night because it couldn’t distinguish between the two.
“Kweku! It is time to get ready for lectures!” Akoto persisted.
“Hmm, hmmm, won’t man get any peace in this world at all?” Kweku mumbled. “What is it, eh, what koraa is the matter?”
“Time for bathing, lazy booonnnnneeessss!”
“Kai! And I haven’t ironed too!”
With that, the Spiderman jumped from his bed. He was nicknamed the Spiderman because of his surname. As first, he wasn’t too pleased with the alias, but after watching the movie Spiderman, he realized the character really epitomized what he, Kweku Ananse, could achieve: almost anything. To Kweku, the whole world was like a draught board and the smartest player could always win the game. The rules of the game were: the end justifies the means. It is only the squirrel that sings “things must be done in the right way”. In the gospel of life according to Kweku Ananse, life was hard and the smart take it. His father had made it through life by being smart and the offspring of the snake cannot be short. The elders had advised that one should not be happy when people remark that you were a chip of the old block, because your father might have been a questionable character. But Kweku loved it so. He was indeed the Spiderman.
Akoto was already in the bath-house when Kweku left the room. It was Tuesday, and they both had to pass by the Obaasima Hall to escort Ama Adoma to lectures, hence the early wake-up.
Ama Adoma. The only one advantage his friend Akoto had over him. The prettiest girl he had ever seen in his fast life. Her neck was like ringed sausages, earning her the name Ama Konf, the girl with the beautiful neck. When she smiled, her checks reformed into two dimples, which could hold two pebbles with ease. Her walk was like that of a graceful Adowa dancer. The most beautiful lady on campus and she was Akoto’s fiancée.
Kweku and Akoto were both in their final year at the University College of Amenfi, and had a final semester to go. Kweku hailed from the mid-sector belt of the country and no-one really knew the exact town he came from. Kweku was as evasive about his hometown as he was about the secondary school he attended. When pushed to the wall about his origins, Ananse was known to say to his questioners that if you searched too deeply under the eyes of a corpse, you were certain to see a ghost. But his cunning and cleverness you couldn’t take away from him. Sometimes, Akoto wondered whether his friend really sat for any examinations at all, before entering the University.
“Kweku, please hurry up. We are running late.”
“Ho ho, you and your pushing with respect to Adoma, why? Is she a time-bomb? Will she explode if we don’t get to her on time?”
“Charlie, you can play with your fiancée when you get one. As for me, I won’t let any other person take away my girl with TLC – tender loving care. I will guard her like an Iraqi government minister!”
“Even the Queen of England is not treated like your Adoma. Anyway, I am ready. Let me not be the reason for any break-ups. But remember, there is bound to be a knot in any long string.”
On their way to the Obaasima Hall and then to the lecture hall, Akoto thought of what Kweku had said. Akoto’s mum lived in the United Kingdom and so he traveled abroad on most vacations. His visa had already been obtained and he was due to travel right after his final examinations. He wanted to spend a couple of years, slave away and come back quickly to Ghana to wed his queen. Even the vulture which is not edible nursed its eggs in the branches of a high tree, because man is hard to trust. And Akoto didn’t want to keep Adoma waiting too long after school before marriage and didn’t want to be too far away from her. A glance at Adoma by his side reinforced his resolve to marry her in the shortest possible time.
“What a beauty”, thought Kweku, as he also stole a glance at Adoma as they walked to the lecture hall. His plans were still under construction within his mind. Wasn’t it said that young people kept their money in the pocket of their parents? And for Akoto to marry this girl? Kweku had no problem with getting girlfriends, the problem was in retaining them. But Adoma was special, and he was beginning to like her a lot. A tooth loses its respect and place in an aching jaw and a nugget can never sparkle besides charcoal. Adoma was fit for him, Kweku, and have her he would. It was only in the community of pregnant women that an over-matured coconut dropped on its own accord. He was the smartest man on campus and he would certainly pluck this ripe coconut.
Kweku knew he would have to call on all his skills and fertile schemes, and he was prepared for it. He didn’t mind the fact that this could bring a rift between him and Akoto, because however kind a man is, he would not give his wife as a gift to his friend. He would bide his time and strike at the right time – it was with patience that the experienced hunter killed an elephant. Kweku felt that he was entitled to Adoma, on the same level as Akoto. Wasn’t he the go-between for the two lovebirds in the early days of their relationship and even now? Didn’t he help Akoto win Adoma? Indeed, a bedfellow in sowing the seed should be a part in the harvest, he reasoned. He didn’t mind what people would say when he succeeded. Ethics, friendship, betrayal of trust, all stupid impediments. The scarecrow was made to deceive the coward. He wasn’t a signatory to all those idealist codes!
Nyonko bi sen onua (A friend sticketh closer than a brother)
Nanso Kweku Ananse diee (But Kweku Ananse…)
Oye nyonko (Is a friend who is…)
Sasa bonsam (Like the devil himself!)
Anytime Adoma visited their room, in the absence of Akoto, Kweku tried to subtly suggest to her that Akoto would disappoint her someday. Especially, since he would travel abroad soon after their final exams. On the other hand, Kweku did his best to tell tales about Adoma to Akoto, slipping in little innuendoes about her escapades. Akoto kept his cool about Adoma, insisting that if the eye hasn’t seen it, it is not dirty. As long as he hadn’t heard from two or three witnesses, he would continue to trust his queen.
Soon, it was time to leave school and Akoto to travel abroad. Akoto was traveling right after vacation. On the departure day, Kweku, Adoma and Akoto traveled together to Accra for his flight. The parting was emotional; it was difficult for both Akoto and Adoma, and Ananse joined in their tears. He who cannot weep should not follow a funeral procession, and Ananse played the part of the true friend at that moment, empathizing with the two lovers.
Akoto reaffirmed his commitment to return as soon as possible to marry Adoma. Seeing the flood of tears overflowing the banks of Adoma’s eyes, he promised her that he will come back in less than the two years he had initially planned. Since Adoma was not staying in the city, and didn’t have access to the Internet and couldn’t also get letters through regular mail, Akoto decided that he would be writing frequently through Ananse.
“Akoto, my friend”, Ananse promised, “I will do my best to ensure that communication between the two of you is not broken. After all, the mushroom and the hill have not thanks between them. They are one and the same. What is yours is mine to maintain for your sake.”
“Me d’ase, Kweku. You have been such a good friend, and my heart is light knowing you are here for me.”
It had been six months since Akoto left and Adoma, who was doing her National Service in Breman Asikuma had not heard from him at all in the past four months. Not even a letter. Kweku Ananse called her at the Post office weekly and always said Akoto was yet to send a single letter down for her. After two or so letters in the initial months after his departure, Akoto had just gone mute. The mouth that is used to source a loan is not the same one used to pay it. Akoto had promised her heaven, and sworn to keep her in perpetual touch. Adoma was disappointed and was becoming increasingly disillusioned with Akoto. Her only consolation and forte of strength in the hard times had been Kweku Ananse. Kweku Ananse, an object she was having thoughts of.
Kweku’s plan was working to perfection. Parcels are made to facilitate easy recovery. And he made sure that with each visit and call to Adoma, his hidden message was easily deciphered. Initially, he had forwarded Akoto’s letter to Adoma, to give her the impression that if Akoto should write, Ananse would promptly deliver the letters. He had even traveled the whole night to Breman Asikuma, arriving at dawn, just to prove the point that he (Kweku) treated Akoto’s letter with urgency.
But when two bosom friends vie for one and the same lady, they have chosen a common road to be each other’s enemy. And Kweku was determined to win this war. And Kweku was the linguist in this affair, the middle man in this relationship. Did the elders not say that only the linguist can blow the chief’s ivory horn to sing his highness’ eulogy? Kweku had decided to blow the horn and produce a tune favourable to him. He kept subsequent letters from Akoto to Adoma and also kept those from Adoma to Akoto. His weekly calls and occasional visits to Breman increased in frequency.
“Kweku, this your friend, what sort of life is this? Eh, how can he treat me this way?”, Adoma asked Kweku one afternoon in Asikuma. It was in August, now about a year since Akoto left and many months since Adoma heard from him.
“Adoma, the head is not a coconut that you can open to see what is inside it. Though he is my friend, I cannot explain all his actions”, Kweku said, looking at the beautiful girl before him. It is only a toothless cat that doesn’t lick his lips when a mouse is playing near his nose.
“But Kweku, why? I have always been a faithful partner to your friend. And I have not given him any cause for him to treat me like this!”
“You can understand some men. You usually don’t know the worth of someone until she leaves you. In school, we had a prayer we prayed in the dining hall. Some want, they don’t get; some get they don’t want…”
“But we want and we get so we thank thee oh Lord!”, Adoma finished it. They laughed together. Adoma’s tone turned serious: “Kweku, what do you mean by that?”
“Oh, no, nothing serious. Except that, to the blind, the antics of the monkey and his gesticulations would never be enough to excite. But the monkey would seriously entertain the discerning with the same dance!”
When Ananse left that evening to Accra (he left earlier that day because he said his bank was organizing a week long course for all its banking staff – Kweku was the Human resource officer), Adoma chewed long and hard on his words. Was Kweku telling her that she was blind and not seeing how good he, Kweku, had been to her in those trying times? Kweku was good-looking and had been good, too good, to her. A bird in hand in worth two in the bush, and there was no use waiting for those two in the bush, especially when they still had wings to fly! Who knows what Akoto was doing in the United Kingdom?
But her love for Akoto was so strong, and, Akoto being her first love, she knew it would be difficult getting over him. She was so confused, and she had no other person to turn to but Kweku Ananse. Her many letters given to Kweku to mail for her had not been replied. Kweku informed her that anytime he asked Akoto about the way forward with the relationship with Adoma, Akoto was always evasive.
Akoto was surprised Adoma hadn’t written to her after the very first one he received from her, and that was in the first month he arrived. Thoughts of her filled his every minute when he was awake and thoughts of her put him to sleep each night. Beautiful, lovely, sweet Adoma. He was on track with his promise to return in a year and a half, and he was slaving his life away to accumulate funds. He had bought most of the items needed for both the customary rites (engagement) and the wedding. He had also prepared his costume for the two ceremonies. There was so much he needed to discuss with Adoma at that point – and so much to plan. But her silence baffled him seriously.
The only letters he received from Ghana were from his buddy Kweku Ananse, and they were not missives of good news. Kweku reported that Adoma had started flirting with the chief in the village where she was teaching. Kweku said after numerous chats with her to put a stop to the immoral affair, she still persisted. To Akoto’s query why Adoma wasn’t writing to him, Kweku asked him how someone who is busily enjoying a sumptuous meal would have time to talk. Yet Akoto didn’t lose hope and continued to write, care of Ananse his trusted friend.
Ananse the banker was seriously enjoying the game, and the web he was spinning around Adoma and Akoto. He walked into his dedicated cabinet where he kept the letters of the two lovebirds. The cabinet was divided into two, with labels: Adoma and Akoto. He laughed. He was doubling as a mailman too! He thought his friend a nice fool, and the adage that “a foolish man in a pensive mood is making no judicious plan; he is still a buffoon” came to mind. Kweku intended to take full advantage of his friend’s absolute trust in him. The storm was gathering and when the rains finally come, Kweku was sure to be ready!
So when Kweku proposed to Adoma in October, Adoma’s patience had waned and she was angry as well. If Akoto thought he could treat her shabbily, she would pay him back! Her heart told her to hold on and wait for her love, but her mind entreated her to move on with Kweku. Life was short and not worthy to be wasted on those who take their loved ones for granted. But she decided to wait for the time Akoto had promised to come back. Maybe, he has an explanation for this mistreatment.
Two years had gone by and still no news from Akoto. Adoma gave in to the incessant pressure from Ananse. The wedding at the Holy Tabernacle of the Lord, the latest charismatic church in town, was planned and executed in record time. Kweku convinced Adoma that, knowing her family’s preference for Akoto, it was not prudent to involve them. And in any case, before anyone took the message to them in Dunkwa-on-Offin, the wedding would have been over, and the deal sealed. With the certificate of notice from the local authorities, they approached the church and had the quiet wedding.
Kweku had won the target of two years and he felt so satisfied. In a little over a month, he was ready to move on to his new target. He had trapped the crab and not the water in it. The water could flow away for all he cared! In such a short time, Adoma was beginning to regret her marriage to Kweku!
In December, three years after Akoto had traveled and more than a year after he had promised to come back, Akoto came back to Ghana. He had used his time abroad to study part-time for his law degree. He was so excited on his flight back home. He had not been faithful to his promise, but he was sure Adoma would understand. Especially when he had written to both Adoma herself and Ananse (so he could add his voice to his plea), explaining his delay. Now, he was going to marry the love of his youth. Not hearing from Adoma all these years heightened his excitement further. Akoto trusted Ananse fully, and in many letters, Ananse had assured Akoto that his queen, Adoma, was waiting for him.
On his arrival, he went straight to Kweku’s home and that was where he came crushing down to earth!! His love, the object of his attention, the reason for his almost slave-like toil in a foreign land, the lady of his heart married in his absence! And to the one person he trusted above all, save God! The truism that the ant which would bite you is in your own cloth, so near you, hit him hard! He rushed away from Kweku’s house and went straight back home. He couldn’t forget the smile of victory on Kweku’s face as he left his bosom friend’s house.
Back at home, he wept all his hurt away. Finally, it was the image of his smiling friend that stopped his copious tears. One cannot weep and meditate at the same time. Akoto decided to do all he could to wipe away that smile from the face of the scoundrel. He decided to win back his love. And to teach Kweku Ananse that throughout history, honesty had triumphed over trickery and deception. Yam is sweet but one should eat it in the normal way lest over-swallowing chokes him. Kweku had eaten his yam and Akoto was determined to let him choke on it. He would teach Kweku Ananse that evil is always overcome with good and always exposed. If a snake comes out a hole and invites you to dip your hand into the same, be not afraid because the danger in that hole is already out. Kweku’s trickery and strategy was already out and Akoto knew he could beat him at his own game.
The next day, he went to the school where Adoma was teaching. She had been transferred to Accra after her marriage. Kweku had seen to that. The reunion between the two was frosty at first. At breaktime, Akoto was able to pull her away from her class to a quiet restaurant.
“Adoma, why? Why didn’t you wait for me? Why?” Akoto was holding back tears.
“Eh, please hold on. See the black pot calling the kettle black! I should rather be asking you why you disappointed me so. Why did you not get in touch with me for so long? Why did you not reply my letters? Why did you not bother to write to me? Did you think for once that I am a human being, a woman with feelings?” Adoma let down the dam that held all her hurts, mixed with regrets.
“Are you telling me you never received the many letters I sent to you through Kweku? Even though you had written only once to me? Even when I was informed you were not being faithful to me!”
“Whaaat!! Me being unfaithful to you? You wrote to me through Kweku?”
“Yes, Adoma. I have always written, sharing all my experiences, and also explaining why I had to spend more time to complete my law studies. And I even wrote the latest last month, informing you I was coming back in December. Did you not receive that too?”
“Oh, Jesus!”. That was all Adoma could say, as she broke down and wept. It became obvious to both of them that Kweku had played them apart, to his benefit.
“Adoma, I still love you and you know that. I know you still love me, and that would not change.”
“Akoto, I do know you love me and I still do love you, but I am still married to your friend, that cheat!”
They affirmed their love to each other and pledged to find a way to pay Kweku back in his own coin.
Providence seemed to be on their side. When Adoma told Akoto later that the customary rites were not even performed, Akoto knew he had Kweku by his neck! Because the notice for marriage from the local authorities was valid only on the basis that customary marriage had been done. And also, Akoto found out that the pastor of the church where the wedding was held had not been licensed to perform marriages by the authorities! Therefore, the marriage between Adoma and Kweku was null and void!! The fact that Akoto was a lawyer played no small part in the investigations! Indeed, knowledge of the law had triumphed over trickery!
Trouble, when it comes, doesn’t rain; it pours! Just about the same time that Kweku’s marriage to Adoma was annulled, an audit at the Accra International Bank, where Kweku worked, revealed a serious scandal which Kweku was involved in. A man that builds himself a house of lies usually provides himself with a large window through which to escape when he is in trouble.
Before the police could lay their hands on Ananse, he bolted. “Better escape with shots and injury, than to be captured for the fire” and Kweku was in no mood for the prison!
The wedding of Adoma and Akoto was held in grand style at the Holy Ghost Cathedral, with the heads of the Orthodox churches in attendance. As for Kweku, Adoma and Akoto thought he had his due recompense. Why should the chicken weep and fast in sympathy for a hawk which is imprisoned? In their joy, they had no tears for Ananse, no. Adoma and Akoto can be seen on the streets on Accra, living happily!
A little note: Kweku Ananse is still at large and his next victim could be you!
Story 2: Project Akoma
For making it to the classroom early, he was pleased with himself. The morning was good and the milieu was silent. Having rained the previous day, the humid air that blew combined with the peaceful ambience to give a soothing result. For the umpteenth time that morning, he was grateful to be alive.
It took some time for the next person to enter the lecture room. The lecture was not to begin till after the next half hour and it was the best time to reflect on the happenings of the previous day. To take stock and to re-strategise, so to speak.
Akos had been his target for almost two semesters. When the heart decides, it is left to the mind to make plans. His heart had sent a message through the fastest nerve couriers to the brain cells that it had finally found its desire. The missing rib. And will the brain act fast? He had started to think then.
It was found out that the target beauty was in the second year, on the tall continental block, in fact on the last floor, and in a different faculty. There were no common grounds for ever meeting. This meant that such avenues had to be found and exploited; otherwise, they had to be created. Akos, it was found out through research, was hard to get, and had been labelled a no-go area. That was another issue to tackle. The matter at hand then assumed project status. More literature review had to be made, all the various methodologies had to be considered, the best out of the lot had to be settled on, and the cost estimation had to be made and presented. Project Heart was born.
He recruited friends to join the project team. They had various assignments to do. He as the general overseer and the owner of the patent did the brainwork and asked for their help when required. He followed her to church, and observed her schedules throughout the weeks. After lobbying for a while, he managed to get introduced to the beauty after one Sunday service and managed to get her to remember his name. A few visits to the continental block assured him of the method to choose. The first two chapters were done with.
The experimental procedure was put in place. That meant that the costs had to be incurred. Gifts started to flow, and the visits took a more regular status. Reception wasn’t bad. Roommates’ attitudes were encouraging. Everything was going according to plan. Getting to the latter part of the chapter, a few strolls were arranged – even though they happened whilst he was being seen off.
Then, the last chapter. Results, discussion and conclusion. The previous day, he decided the time was ripe to spill the beans. He proposed. And the results were not good. Apparently, he didn’t prepare the grounds well, because the proposal bounced; the ground was too hard. Upon reflection, he had been able to do the discussion of the results. The methodology chosen was not appropriate. The optimum conditions weren’t achieved. The titration to the end point was not accurate.
The conclusion of the matter as he sat in the lecture room was this: the project will not be abandoned. Though he trailed at the first trial, he was prepared to take it up in the next academic year. He will have to do more research on the alternative methods. He won’t have to do any literature review since neither the topic nor the specimen had changed. If anything had changed, he had. He had gained more insight into such project. For one thing he was grateful: he knew one way not to do it successfully. He agreed perfectly with Thomas Eddison that discouragement was out, because “every wrong attempt discarded is often a step forward.”
It took some time for the next person to enter the lecture room. The lecture was not to begin till after the next half hour and it was the best time to reflect on the happenings of the previous day. To take stock and to re-strategise, so to speak.
Akos had been his target for almost two semesters. When the heart decides, it is left to the mind to make plans. His heart had sent a message through the fastest nerve couriers to the brain cells that it had finally found its desire. The missing rib. And will the brain act fast? He had started to think then.
It was found out that the target beauty was in the second year, on the tall continental block, in fact on the last floor, and in a different faculty. There were no common grounds for ever meeting. This meant that such avenues had to be found and exploited; otherwise, they had to be created. Akos, it was found out through research, was hard to get, and had been labelled a no-go area. That was another issue to tackle. The matter at hand then assumed project status. More literature review had to be made, all the various methodologies had to be considered, the best out of the lot had to be settled on, and the cost estimation had to be made and presented. Project Heart was born.
He recruited friends to join the project team. They had various assignments to do. He as the general overseer and the owner of the patent did the brainwork and asked for their help when required. He followed her to church, and observed her schedules throughout the weeks. After lobbying for a while, he managed to get introduced to the beauty after one Sunday service and managed to get her to remember his name. A few visits to the continental block assured him of the method to choose. The first two chapters were done with.
The experimental procedure was put in place. That meant that the costs had to be incurred. Gifts started to flow, and the visits took a more regular status. Reception wasn’t bad. Roommates’ attitudes were encouraging. Everything was going according to plan. Getting to the latter part of the chapter, a few strolls were arranged – even though they happened whilst he was being seen off.
Then, the last chapter. Results, discussion and conclusion. The previous day, he decided the time was ripe to spill the beans. He proposed. And the results were not good. Apparently, he didn’t prepare the grounds well, because the proposal bounced; the ground was too hard. Upon reflection, he had been able to do the discussion of the results. The methodology chosen was not appropriate. The optimum conditions weren’t achieved. The titration to the end point was not accurate.
The conclusion of the matter as he sat in the lecture room was this: the project will not be abandoned. Though he trailed at the first trial, he was prepared to take it up in the next academic year. He will have to do more research on the alternative methods. He won’t have to do any literature review since neither the topic nor the specimen had changed. If anything had changed, he had. He had gained more insight into such project. For one thing he was grateful: he knew one way not to do it successfully. He agreed perfectly with Thomas Eddison that discouragement was out, because “every wrong attempt discarded is often a step forward.”
Story 1: Across the Mecca Bridge
It was a rich white sky laced with blue that looked down on the earth that morning. It had rained the previous night and the streets were strewn with leaves and dead branches. The fragrance of earth, leaves, roses, soil diffused into one, filled the air.
The grass still held morning dew, forming cute little droplets on the surfaces of the leaves. There was no wind, no sunshine. It was all serene, peaceful.
Egyabemaa’s face matched the spirit of the morning. As usual, it was radiant with joy. She sang as she descended the stairs, a song she had been singing from the bathroom.
When peace like a river
Attended my way
When sorrows like sweet billows roll
She went through the great doors opposite the P-Lodge and into the street. Her heart was gay and she was at peace. It felt good to be alive!
Whatever my lot
Thou has taught me to say
It is well, it is well
With my soul
Others on their way to lectures passed her. Some waved and hurried on. She preferred to pass through Redemption Hall. The path under the trees was part of her route. As she went down the hilly plain towards the roundabout, Adwoa bypassed her. Her room-mate was always in a hurry. Egyabemaa looked at her wrist watch, and realised she had enough time to move on at her normal pace. She was over the Mecca bridge now.
It is well, it is well
With my soul, with my soul
It is well, it is well
With my soul
Many others were crossing over the bridge. She gave no attention to anyone and none gave her any tangible notice. She sang on as she crossed the street at the Agric Junction. The lectures were due to begin in five minutes.
Carl woke up with a start, the alarm clock’s high pitch notes piercing his eardrums. He really had to hurry up, if he was to see that lovely lady he had been stealing glances at across the Mecca Bridge for the good part of the previous couple of weeks.
He had found out through observational investigation that if he got to the Bridge around 7.10 am on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, he was bound to catch a glimpse of her and hear her sing one of those songs that sounded like heavenly angelic tunes in his ears.
It was clear she had seven-fifteen lectures on these days. He had been following and admiring her those past weeks but had not been able to say even “Hi”.
His room-mate had teased that Carl had an almost zero rating on the ‘Confidometer’, the confidence scale.
Carl was also described by his friends as one who saw ladies as trees and honestly he had no feelings towards them. But now, this mysteriously lovely lady, this singing nightingale, had captured his heart and the feeling he was experiencing was a little short of alien to him and he really wanted to see her again.
But he was late today. it was 7.50 am and by now the lady must have passed the Mecca Bridge already. He rushed to take his bath, and dressed up in record time. He had a lecture at 8.15am. Quickly he set out for Mecca. By then it was 8.30am.
As he approached the Mecca Bridge, he saw her. It was her, and she must have closed from her morning lecture. She was standing on one side of the bridge, reading a notice that had been chalked on the street, right on the bridge.
He approached the bridge on the other side, and stole a glance. Their eyes met, and locked for a couple of seconds. Then, she smiled. ‘Hi’, she said. ‘Hi…hi…hi’, he stuttered.
She asked him what Akataslopsa stood for; that group was to meet at Majesty Hall, the notice read. After his explanation, she expressed her thanks, gave him a smile that warmed his whole being and walked away, singing.
He was so elated at being able to talk with her, that it was minutes later that he realised he hadn’t even asked her name! “One day at a time, sweet Jesus”, he sang to himself, as he walked up to his lecture which was almost over by then.
It took Carl yet another two weeks of glancing to resolve to finally break the ice, and become friends with her. One morning he got to the Admin Block before 7am and sat under the shed, waiting and watching.
When he saw her walking towards the bridge, he crossed over to her and with anxiety written all over him in block letters, asked her name and room number. She just smiled. That was the starter he needed.
Their friendship evolved into close association, from strength to strength it grew. When in the following semester he proposed to her and she said “yeah!”, his joy knew no bounds. And guess where he made the proposal. Across the Mecca Bridge.
The grass still held morning dew, forming cute little droplets on the surfaces of the leaves. There was no wind, no sunshine. It was all serene, peaceful.
Egyabemaa’s face matched the spirit of the morning. As usual, it was radiant with joy. She sang as she descended the stairs, a song she had been singing from the bathroom.
When peace like a river
Attended my way
When sorrows like sweet billows roll
She went through the great doors opposite the P-Lodge and into the street. Her heart was gay and she was at peace. It felt good to be alive!
Whatever my lot
Thou has taught me to say
It is well, it is well
With my soul
Others on their way to lectures passed her. Some waved and hurried on. She preferred to pass through Redemption Hall. The path under the trees was part of her route. As she went down the hilly plain towards the roundabout, Adwoa bypassed her. Her room-mate was always in a hurry. Egyabemaa looked at her wrist watch, and realised she had enough time to move on at her normal pace. She was over the Mecca bridge now.
It is well, it is well
With my soul, with my soul
It is well, it is well
With my soul
Many others were crossing over the bridge. She gave no attention to anyone and none gave her any tangible notice. She sang on as she crossed the street at the Agric Junction. The lectures were due to begin in five minutes.
Carl woke up with a start, the alarm clock’s high pitch notes piercing his eardrums. He really had to hurry up, if he was to see that lovely lady he had been stealing glances at across the Mecca Bridge for the good part of the previous couple of weeks.
He had found out through observational investigation that if he got to the Bridge around 7.10 am on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, he was bound to catch a glimpse of her and hear her sing one of those songs that sounded like heavenly angelic tunes in his ears.
It was clear she had seven-fifteen lectures on these days. He had been following and admiring her those past weeks but had not been able to say even “Hi”.
His room-mate had teased that Carl had an almost zero rating on the ‘Confidometer’, the confidence scale.
Carl was also described by his friends as one who saw ladies as trees and honestly he had no feelings towards them. But now, this mysteriously lovely lady, this singing nightingale, had captured his heart and the feeling he was experiencing was a little short of alien to him and he really wanted to see her again.
But he was late today. it was 7.50 am and by now the lady must have passed the Mecca Bridge already. He rushed to take his bath, and dressed up in record time. He had a lecture at 8.15am. Quickly he set out for Mecca. By then it was 8.30am.
As he approached the Mecca Bridge, he saw her. It was her, and she must have closed from her morning lecture. She was standing on one side of the bridge, reading a notice that had been chalked on the street, right on the bridge.
He approached the bridge on the other side, and stole a glance. Their eyes met, and locked for a couple of seconds. Then, she smiled. ‘Hi’, she said. ‘Hi…hi…hi’, he stuttered.
She asked him what Akataslopsa stood for; that group was to meet at Majesty Hall, the notice read. After his explanation, she expressed her thanks, gave him a smile that warmed his whole being and walked away, singing.
He was so elated at being able to talk with her, that it was minutes later that he realised he hadn’t even asked her name! “One day at a time, sweet Jesus”, he sang to himself, as he walked up to his lecture which was almost over by then.
It took Carl yet another two weeks of glancing to resolve to finally break the ice, and become friends with her. One morning he got to the Admin Block before 7am and sat under the shed, waiting and watching.
When he saw her walking towards the bridge, he crossed over to her and with anxiety written all over him in block letters, asked her name and room number. She just smiled. That was the starter he needed.
Their friendship evolved into close association, from strength to strength it grew. When in the following semester he proposed to her and she said “yeah!”, his joy knew no bounds. And guess where he made the proposal. Across the Mecca Bridge.
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