Akosua Rona 4: Frontline Kpakpakpa

I have been looking forward to this week’s story, but apparently not more than Naa Momo, who came to attack me for not posting the latest Rona story yesterday. I had to remind her that the story lands on Wednesday and not Tuesday. After 2 days of disrupted plans, dumsor, drafts disappearing and many of life’s interruptions, I present this week’s episode 😅. Happy reading, guys!

‘Dr Amoah!’

‘I am not sure why you insist on calling me that.’

‘Because doctor no be rice and stew. If I became a doctor, everybody would have to call me Dr Ghapson. Perhaps that is why I didn’t get into medical school.’

‘But you did pretty well for yourself.’

‘Oh come on! Everybody knows that being a lab technician isn’t as cool and glamorous as being a doctor. Well, at least not for me.’

‘But without you guys, my diagnosis is a guess at best.’

‘You make a solid point. I can almost convince myself that spending the day with people’s urine samples, saliva warps, stool and blood samples is as glorifying as having the nurses swoon over you, the Ghanaian mothers clamoring to introduce their eligible daughters to you, the pensioners nodding at you with respect. Almost convincing.’

‘This guy! Hahaha! That Ghanaian mother part makes my girlfriend feel so insecure. She is so convinced that one day one of my mother’s friends will win me over with her daughter.’

‘Ei! As for this one, I am on Stacy’s side oo! No be small stew she cook give you those campus days. I also remember how she patiently waited for your unemployed self to finish medical school. Definitely on Stacy’s side.’

‘Guy, relax. We are all on Team Stacy. I am a one woman man, remember?’

‘Let’s pray your mother’s friends get the memo soon enough. Rivals aside, how is Stacy doing?’

‘Apart from freaking out that someone might infect me with the virus, she is okay.’

‘This reminds me of my mother. She calls me every night to ask me how I am feeling. I keep telling her that I have been observing safety protocols with samples for ages. Somehow COVID has her spooked.’

‘Stacy is terrified. She has tweet alerts for the Ministries of Information and Health. She is always refreshing the global data website. She be COVID correspondent. She is always forwarding something new to me with a ‘Babe, have you seen this?’.’

‘The poor girl doesn’t want to lose you. Not after all her stew investments.’

‘I can’t blame her. My patients self diagnose and downplay their symptoms. They wait until things get worse before getting help. I have no way of knowing if an asymptomatic COVID-19 carrier is sitting before me, but the job is the job. We move! ’

‘That is tough chale. In the lab, we are covered in protective gear. You, not so much.’

‘Well, we wear some sort of protective gear to cover our clothes and bodies from getting into contact with the droplets. We need as many PPEs as we can get, especially those who work with the confirmed cases.’

‘Frontliners assemble! That is why Nana is making the cash rain. Now everybody dey claim frontline worker status, even the receptionist at the laboratory. 50% extra plus no taxes. COVID bonanza!’

‘I know that my landlord is praying that the increment will apply post COVID. This morning before I left for work, he came to ask me for the remainder of my rent, because ‘Showboy has released money’. The salary no drop sef!’

‘This money eh, the people who have plans to benefit from it have nothing to do with the frontline risks.’

‘Bro! My mother will call me and suddenly come up with a reason why I need to MOMO her 300 cedis. I don’t know why Showboy couldn’t do a silent increment. Now everyone is counting my coins.’

‘Silent increment? In the year of reckoning? Election year? You dey joke! Fa Facebook Live no hooki me!’

Esther shakily inhaled and reached for her phone.
Mama picked up on the third ring.

‘Hello? Mama?’

‘Why are you crying?’

Her mother had a knack for accurately sensing her feelings. There was a time when Mama called her out of the blue when her boyfriend had just broken up with her, two weeks before her final exams in Coventry University. She also called her instinctively after her first big fight with Randall after the wedding. Mama just knew.

‘Mama, I am tired.’

At this point, the tears had graduated from silent ones to loud hiccups. Esther put her left hand over her mouth, even though she was sure that Randall was too preoccupied with his FIFA 20 online gaming to hear her.

‘He doesn’t help with anything. I wake up at 3am everyday to try and finish my office work from the day before. I have missed every one of my deadlines. All I want is for him to do something other than sit in the chair all day and scream goal into his headset microphone. Isn’t this his house too? Aren’t they his kids too? Can’t he see that I am swamped? He is always staring at one screen or another. This is the 21st century. He needs to be a present father. I didn’t sign up to suffer o! Me too, I am someone’s beloved daughter. I am tired!’

Mama was quiet on the other end of the line.

‘When you these young people are going to get married, you focus on how cute the couple looks together and how nice their reception dance moves are. Those are the ‘goals’. I keep telling you that nobody dances in marriage and an irresponsible man can suddenly look ugly in your eyes. I asked you before you married this man if you really knew what he was like and if he really knew what you were like. Look where we are now.’

‘Mama, I don’t need this right now.’

‘You didn’t listen then, and clearly you are not listening now. Listen to me. Esther, Randall wasn’t brought up like you. He has probably never seen his father do anything more than sit in a chair and stare at the TV, so that is what he knows. Your father was always working around the house so that is what you expect from Randall. The same is true for Randall when it comes to you. Be patient with him and with yourself.’

‘But I have told him to help-’

‘Tell him again. Be specific with your request. Randall, please watch the kids while I take a shower. But Esther, relax. We are in a pandemic. Nobody is going to judge you if your kitchen is dirty or if your kids had Indomie for lunch 3 times this week. Well, except me of course and I am not even judging you.’

‘Wait Mama, have you been spying on us?’

‘That is not the point. Be gentle with yourself. Take a shower and dress up a bit. It will do you some good. The kids are also his. Drag their playpen to the TV room and leave them there. He will learn how to fit into his role slowly.’

Esther sniffled. She was already feeling better.

‘Relax. Nobody expects you to have it all together. That burden isn’t yours to carry. Nobody is perfect.’

‘Not even you, Mama?’

‘Not even me, Cherie. Take it easy on yourself.’

‘Now I am fully ready to curse the guy who ate the bat in China.’

‘You are now getting there? I was ready to curse him the moment the leagues were cancelled. Who sent you? Couldn’t you eat shrimps or beef?’

‘For real! At first, I took it all in my stride. It was like a holiday I didn’t know I needed. I started working out, started an online course, took the opportunity to finish my writing, even started working on my Spanish again….’

‘And now? Let me guess. You are now fully nurturing a potbelly and the online course will have to finish itself.’

‘Spot on! Duolingo sent me some passive aggressive message yesterday about how they can see that this is no longer working.’

‘I hate those messages! I am with you. I am ready for COVID to be over.’

‘Chale, I am tired. Everybody is going live on IG. Unnecessary fights on Twitter. Everyone is organizing post-COVID strategy webinars. Bro, we all don’t know what will happen post COVID.’

‘I miss dressing up. Saturdays were packed with energy. Naming here, wedding there, party there, soccer there. Now there is nothing to do but stare at screens.’

‘Corona needs to write concluding remarks, bro.’

‘With immediate effect!’

‘Officer, I greet you!’, Ato waved cheerily at the police officer seated at the barrier.

‘Where are you going to?’

‘Town’

‘To do what?’

‘One-two. One-two.’

‘The President said stay at home. Are you wiser than him?’

‘Officer, ɛkɔm di yɛn!’

‘But they have been distributing food every day?’

‘That food? They have put juju inside so that NPP will win, so I will never eat it.’

‘Ei! So how will you eat?’

‘Kpakpakpa! One-two, one-two.’

‘That goes against the President’s directive. Staying at home will save your life.’

‘The book long people don’t know everything. Nobody will die. I am outside now. Am I dead?’

‘You want to sleep in cells eh?’

‘Oh Officer, small play we dey play? I am sorry, Officer. Okay, I will go home but I need a small favour.’

‘What is it?’

‘Ever since Akufo-Addo locked the door, I have not eaten Hafiza’s waakye. 16 days, no soft wele. My head is even aching.’

‘First it was kpakpakpa, now it is waakye and soft wele. You are not serious.’

‘Officer, true for God! I need this waakye.’

‘You better vanish from my sight! The government people are serving kenkey today. Go and take some and use your imagination to chew the wele.’

‘But Officer, times are hard. Easter koraa we won’t celebrate. Small waakye too?’

‘Go and buy the waakye. I want just shitɔ, no stew. More gari.’

‘Ah Officer! I thought you said I should go back home.’

‘I have changed my mind. Or you want to eat the kenkey like that?’

‘God forbid!’

Ato started walking briskly and realized he was missing something.

‘Officer, you didn’t give me money for your waakye oo. Officer?’

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Akosua Rona 3: Dr Whatsapp

Happy New Week, and a very hearty welcome to all the amazing people who have joined the family ever since we started Akosua Rona. I hope you enjoy your stay 😊. Today is exactly 4 years since we won the Best Blog Award at the Ghana Blogging Awards. I always say I could never have seen that coming, and it is really all thanks to you guys! Boy, time flies! I hope you are doing well and staying safe! Happy reading! ❤️

‘Hello? Fati?’

‘Hi…’

‘What’s going on? You have been very hard to reach. Talk to me.’

‘Reginald….Promise you won’t get upset. I don’t really know how to say this.’

‘Fati, just say it.’

‘I think I’m falling back in love with my husband.’

Reginald couldn’t believe his ears.

‘Regi, are you there?’

‘What did you say?’

‘I knew you would be upset.’

‘Upset? More like confused. Fati, you were going to leave him at the end of March. We have bought a house together. We booked a trip away. We have investments together. We were 2 weeks away from starting our lives together, and now you are suddenly in love with your husband?’

‘Regi, I can explain. Actually I don’t know if I can. The lockdown imprisoned both of us in the same house. I was so sure that it would be a disaster but- ’

‘Jesus Christ, Fati. What do you want from me?’

‘Regi, don’t use the name of God in vain.’

‘Fati, my list of sins is long enough, with adultery on top of the list. I doubt He would mind me mentioning His name in frustration.’

‘I know this sounds crazy. I really don’t know how to explain it. I guess with a lot more time on our hands, we started talking again. I- I think it sort of rekindled our feelings for each other. He started being romantic again and I don’t know. I guess it softened me up. Last night, we made love. It was- ’

‘Sure, go right ahead. Don’t spare any detail. Tell your boyfriend how delightful it is to be back in your husband’s arms. Go on!’

‘I am sorry. I didn’t mean to-’

‘You didn’t mean to what? Tell me, Fati. You didn’t mean to sleep with your husband? You didn’t mean to fall back in love with him after three years of a failed marriage? You didn’t mean to what exactly?’

‘Regi, I know you are upset and I am sorry. I wish I had a better explanation, but we promised not to keep things from each other which is why I am telling you.’

‘Stop saying I am upset. I am not upset. Frustrated, yes. Shocked, yes. I can’t be upset with a man for winning his wife back. I should be upset with myself for falling in love with someone’s wife. My boss, to be precise.’

The office romance started exactly like they usually depicted it in the movies. They were working late one day on a proposal that needed to get to Canada before the next day, or else they would lose the contract. He remarked about her working late and how her husband would be probably be worried sick about her. She retorted that her husband could care less what happened to her. They ordered in food because he was hungry and after sending in the proposal, spent the night chatting about their lives.

Before he realized what was happening, he began making up excuses to go into her office whenever she was alone. She started looking forward to seeing him. They started sharing meals together and before long, a bed as well. After a year, they started talking about moving in together and that was when they bought the 2 bedroom semi-detached house in Abokobi. She was always talking about how she had never felt as loved as she did when she was with Regi. He was her listening ear anytime she fought with her husband. He was her escape, her hope, her knight in shining armor.

Interestingly, after spending 11 days under the same roof with her husband, she was back in love with him. It took her forever to respond to text messages and when she did, she rarely stayed online long enough for them to chat and catch up on their ‘independence’ plans.

Now this.

‘Regi, are you there? Are you okay?’

‘Me? I am very okay. Everything is perfect.’

What a mistake.

Every day, Boatemaa said the same thing at least 10 times before nightfall. She had come home to wash her clothes just one day before Addo D closed down the schools. That is what sealed her doom.

Poor Boatemaa had chopped enough onions to feed all the soldiers in World War II. She was always cooking and her brothers just kept overeating. She was tired of doing dishes. She couldn’t spend more than one hour in her room without her mother barging in to ask what she was doing. Mama had her sorting through old clothes to give to some of the children in the neighborhood. At morning devotion two days ago, Mama announced a ‘screens’ fast and seized everyone’s phone.

‘You people are spending too much time in your rooms. If it isn’t FIFA or that violent killing game, it is the bird app or the picture one. Come out of your rooms and talk to each other! We are a family.’

Thankfully, it was just Twitter and IG that Mama knew about. This wasn’t the time to tell her about Houseparty, Snapchat and the Zoom drink ups her friends had been organizing. Boatemaa used online classes as an excuse to keep her laptop and simply logged on to each of the sites to stay in touch with everyone.

Unfortunately for her, she dozed off with her laptop beside her. Mama walked in to find notifications popping up on her screen.

‘Boatemaa, wake up. Which house are they talking about? Who is throwing a party?’

Shoot.

‘Oh Mama, the Houseparty app is for group assignments.’
‘You think I was born yesterday eh? Open the group assignment and let me see.’

The girl needed to think and think fast. Everyone on her Houseparty was capable of saying something scandalous at any point. She couldn’t count on them to not disgrace her. Just then the doorbell rang and Mama jumped up. She had announced to everyone that nobody was allowed to open the door, except her. Somehow she was the one invincible to the virus.

‘I am going to see who is at the door. The president said stay home. Why are you ringing our doorbell? Simple instruction, mtchew!’

On her way out, she turned back.

‘Go and drink some of the cleansing juice and pour some for your brothers.’

Good Lord!

That cleansing juice was another one of the things she hated about being home. It was one of those concoctions that Mama had found on WhatsApp- pineapple peels, lemon grass, ginger, lemon and beetroot. It smelt like a potion from a fetish priest in those Nollywood movies Mama liked. They drank it every morning and evening- without sugar. The smell alone was depressing. Mama could find the cure for anything from her WhatsApp contacts. Only God would know when WhatsApp got a medical degree. Papa had banned her from forwarding her ‘discoveries’ to the family group chat, so now she just sent them directly to Boatemaa.

Mama called out from the hallway, ‘Boatemaa, you haven’t poured the drink. The level is the same as I left it. If you don’t drink it now, you will drink double the dosage this evening. Come and put yam on fire.’

‘My friends are inventing new cocktails and having virtual parties. I am here drinking Corona tea and playing modern day Cinderella.’

‘Boatemaa?!’

‘Maa, I am coming!’

The elders were ready. Reverend Deji motioned at his wife to shut the door so that he could begin the meeting.

‘Good evening. I have called this virtual meeting for us to discuss what direction our church is going to take, given the times we are in. We will take suggestions and then do a short brainstorm session. First, let us pray…..’

He knew that his elders were divided on the shutdown of churches. Some of them thought it needed to be done, others saw it as persecution. He was hoping to use the meeting to get everyone on the same page.

‘One of you has suggested that we start Facebook Live services.’

‘Osofo, my challenge with this is that not everybody has Facebook. Some of them don’t even have enough data to stay online for an hour’s service.’

‘Your concern is valid. What about recording the sermon to share via WhatsApp? That might be the best data friendly option.’

Some of them mumbled their approval.

‘I can hardly get the members under me to participate in regular services. How do we know that they will even listen in?’

‘How do we know that when they sit in church, they are not tuned out and scrolling through their phones? We don’t, but it is our job to preach anyway. I share your concerns but it is important that we provide some leadership. The people will be looking for some form of hope, some form of assurance and it is only Jesus who can give them that. Not you, not me.’, Rev Deji responded with a smile that none of them could see.

‘Reverend, I want to start a weekly prayer meeting in my house. We will follow the safety protocols.’

‘Absolutely not. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Kossi, but part of being a Christian includes obeying your leaders. Let’s obey the President’s directive. There will be no gathering under the name of this church. Pray in your individual homes.’

‘Osofo, what about tithes and offerings?’

‘What about them, Elder John?’

‘Well, given the current situation, how will we collect those?’

‘To be very honest, that isn’t my focus at the moment. If people want to give tithes and offerings, they are welcome to do so by MoMo, but I won’t make it a must. They need the money now more than ever. People have lost jobs, people have to feed and care for family. It is tough for everyone.’

‘Pastor, I was wondering if we could do some donations to the squatters who live around the church.’

‘That is an excellent idea, Sister Adei. Let’s discuss the specifics after today’s meeting.’

‘Osofo, what about the children?’

‘My daughter has volunteered to record a voice note every Sunday to teach the kids something, but this is a great time for the parents, particularly the fathers, to play the role of leading the family spiritually. Any other questions or contributions?’

There was silence.

Rev Deji seized the opportunity to comfort and encourage them.

‘I know that these are very strange times, but there is no time like the present for the true believers to rise up. As elders, comfort your flock. Reach out to them, remind them of God’s promises. They need to hear it now more than ever. We will get through this. This too shall pass.’


Beep beep.

‘Boss, so because of small Netflix password, you have aired me for one week? Small lockdown wey I want spy small too? Issokay wai, I will watch the DSTV like that!’

Vincent sighed. His eyes fell on the crumbled balls of paper that used to have his plans for 2020.

How could he begin to explain that airing messages was one of the ways with which he coped with anxiety? It had all started when all of his contracts were renegotiated. In one phone call that barely lasted 30 minutes, he had lost GHS 25,000 in estimated revenue. He could not even begin to process it.

He had never really done well with not being in control. He tried online classes, working out, binge watching movies, learning how to code. Nothing could take his mind off the fact that there was nothing he could do to stop the world from changing.

He really couldn’t explain it to anyone.

‘Hey, I am sorry I ghosted. I don’t have the energy to deal with other humans right now. I don’t know how you guys can be working out, baking banana bread, Tiktoking, Netflixing and Tiktoking when people are dying.’

Good enough? Nope.

He picked up his phone again and sighed.

Over 1000 WhatsApp messages and 200 emails. Just the notifications were giving him anxiety all over again.

I will try again tomorrow.

Never mind that he had told himself that everyday for the last 3 weeks.

Tomorrow.

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Akosua Rona 2: Fellow Ghanaians

Welcome back, readers! (and a special welcome to everyone who subscribed or followed the IG account😉). I hope you enjoy reading the mini stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. Like I said last week, this series is meant to capture our Corona memories. Call me the Memory Hoarder 😂 (that’s really who I am in real life. You should see my Google Images folder 🤩) Happy reading!

‘Why does your voice sound muffled?’

‘Because I am in my closet, hiding from my daughter.’

Henry couldn’t stop laughing.

‘Ah, big man like you. You are running away from your 4 year old daughter. Joseph, I shock give you!’

‘Bro, it is not a joke. She is hungry every 2 hours and after 3 spoonfuls, she is tired of the food. Every 30 minutes, she asks if she can go back to school. I tried to wear her out by playing games with her and I am the one who ended up tired. If I have to watch the same old episode of Peppa Pig another time, I will lose my mind.’

‘No be small full time job. What happened to your nanny?’

‘We had to send her away. She commutes to our place via public transport and we cannot risk her exposing Zoe to the virus. I say a silent thank you to God whenever my wife comes back from work.’

‘She is still working?’

‘Yeah, her boss has not heard that the world is coming to an end so they are running shifts. I barely have time to work on my projects. Thank God I am my own boss so I can afford to shift the deadlines.’

‘Massa, massa. Show me a boss who hides from his daughter in a closet.’

‘Abeg, she is a true force to reckon with.’

Joseph turned to find his daughter looking up at him. She had already stained her dress with what looked liked chocolate spread and her hair had sprinkles of biscuit crumbs. She was also clutching on to something that could easily be anything from a stone to a cockroach. He wasn’t eager to find out.

‘Daddy, I want to play.’

Dear Lord! Not again!

Tempers were rising, and so were the voices.

Throughout the entire period of Mama’s battle with Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma, Uncle Horace had blue ticked all their messages to ask for help. He was always in a meeting, according to his secretary. He was never at home, even when they could see his 4×4 packed in the driveway. Today, this same man was acting as if losing Mama was the most painful experience of his life.

‘So what are we going to do?’

‘We can organize a private burial now and then have a celebration of life later.’

‘Private burial? What does that mean?’

‘It means just a few of us will be at the funeral.’

‘How will her friends and our other family members be able to pay their last respects?’

‘We can do a live stream for those who can’t make it.’

‘Internet Funeral? Over my dead body! It is against our culture!’

‘There is nothing ordinary about this time. We can’t keep waiting. Who knows when the ban will be lifted?’

Frank looked up in disbelief at Uncle Horace, who had been named chief mourner.

‘My sister deserves to be laid in state in an honourable way. After all she has been through, it is the least we can do. I still can’t believe it. Ah ah ah!’, Uncle Horace’s voice trailed off like he was too overcome with grief.

Frank rolled his eyes.

What you really want is to gather funeral donations to complete your 3 bedroom house. All I want to do is bury my mother and start picking up the pieces of my life.

Mama had actually warned him about this, that the family would completely disregard all her wishes and push for a grand burial service, complete with a brass band and an elaborate reception. The money they couldn’t raise for her treatment would miraculously appear. Even then, there was no way that she could have anticipated this. On Sunday, the President had banned public gatherings. Funerals could only have 25 people in attendance. This was the first family funeral in a while and Uncle Horace really wanted to ‘chop his post’.

Frank asked again, ‘So what are we going to do?’

‘We will wait and that’s final!’

‘Chale Bruce, just this morning, I have washed my hands like 20 times. My skin colour is even changing. The weird part is I never knew how often I touched my face until now.’

‘I tell you! If my eye is not itching, then it is my nose that is tingling. I forgot to ask how business was doing.’

‘It’s been terrible. The hotel is running at a loss as we speak. And what terrible timing! We just started picking up. All the conferences have been cancelled, all the weddings too. With flights being cancelled and the borders closed, most of our guests can’t even show up for their bookings. We have had to send some of our cooking and cleaning staff away, because nobody is eating the food or sleeping in the rooms.’

‘Yeah! Maybe the government will give you some of the Corona money.’

‘Corona money?’

‘The 100 million dollars that the President said they had set aside for the virus.’

‘Isn’t that for the hospitals? They need every penny they can get. Besides, the money can only do so much. I hope they open the borders soon. That is what will bring in the clients with dollars to spend.’

‘Nowhere cool o! Business owners dey suffer. Employees too dey suffer.’

‘This virus better leave the country oo chale. Every time I feel my temperature rising or my throat starts to feel funny, I wonder if I have the virus. It is like- ’

Bruce coughed into his elbow.

‘Ei! I am my mother’s only son o! This is not the time to cough freely. You, it’s okay. Let’s continue the conversation on WhatsApp wai?’

The drivers were seated under the shed that the station master had built for them. They knew that he wasn’t giving them value for the ‘toll’ they paid everyday and yet they kept coming back because that was the quickest way to fill up the taxis.

‘Chale the taxi, ebi only 4 seats. How are we supposed to get enough money if they say we should leave the middle seat empty?’

‘Ah, who said that?’

‘Nana talk am. You no listen the speech?’

‘All I hear be Fellow Ghanaians o! The arishrish no be my level.’

‘He say make we stop dey go church sef.’

‘This President must be careful. How can you shut down the churches when we are in the middle of a crisis?’

The ‘Osofo’ of the station, Elder Kafui, was upset.

‘Ah but Osofo, think about it. If we keep the churches open, the virus will spread.’

‘How?’

‘Turn to your neighbour kakra, anointing kakra, praise and worship kakra, welcome 5 people to church kakra, and before you know it, half the church has the virus.’

‘The blood of Jesus speaks better things, my brother!’

‘Preach, Osofo! Man of God, flow!’, the other drivers cheered to encourage him. Most of the time, they did that to mock him, especially when he was upset.

‘These are all signs of the end time, I am telling you. Government must stop the logic- logic! As for me and my house, we will go to church on Sunday!’

‘Ah Osofo, you want to follow Apostle Paul’s footsteps eh? Don’t worry, we will come and visit you in prison.’

‘I have the freedom to worship!’

‘But who has stopped you from worshipping? What this means is that you worship from your house anaa?’

‘This is end time persecution! Before you know it, they will say ‘come for the 666 mark before we give you the vaccine.’

‘Ebei, Osofo. Your car is full now. Move it so that I can bring mine forward.’

‘Hello? Chale I dey suffer for house!’

‘No be you pɛ! I should have really stayed on campus. I just came home for stew oo and Show Boy cancelled classes. Now Mommee doesn’t even want me to go near the front door.’

‘This morning, Mommee woke me up at 3:30am for dawn prayers on Ghana’s behalf. Bro, my tongues no dey reach corona virus intercession level oo. Every five minutes, I say ‘Father Lord again.’

‘You turn prayer warrior be that!’

‘Naah chale, I am sure even the angels were frustrated. When we are not praying, we are rearranging things around the house. This woman has changed the position of the sofa 4 times in the last 3 days. Tomorrow, we are repairing the back door and clearing out the storeroom.’

‘Ah chale! Some guy owes me money but he has the peace of mind to do ‘Don’t Rush Challenge. Six different outfits. He can’t respond to my texts but he has time to edit Tiktok videos. Chale make I call you back!

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Akosua Rona: Week 0

Welcome old friends and newcomers! I have missed this! Every one of us has a Corona story to tell- from the university student and the politician’s house boy to the market woman and the doctor’s girlfriend. I hope at least one of these mini stories makes you smile. If you are used to my story series, you will notice that these stories are relatively shorter. If you are new to this, you have loads to binge read. Happy reading!

Seven missed calls.

‘Ewurade aden? Why is this woman calling me? Can’t a guy have a nap in peace? I can bet my last cedi that it is nothing deep too.’

Ebenezer grudgingly hit the redial button. She picked up on the first ring and started yelling.

‘What if your child was dying and we needed you to give her blood? I called you seven times. You need to stop ignoring me? That is no way to treat your wife.’

Eben looked at his ceiling fan for a good seven seconds and asked himself again for the umpteenth time why on earth he had thought that a one night stand with some girl with the best waist winding skills in Bloombar was a good idea.

Young and stupid. That is what I was.

‘First of all, Akuba and I don’t have the same blood type. If anyone would be donating blood, it would be you. Secondly, I have told you that it is rude to call a person more than 3 times unless it is a life and death situation. Thirdly, you and I are not a couple. We have a child together from a one night stand. That is hardly grounds for claiming ‘wife’ status.’

Jacklyn laughed.

‘Ei Ebenezer Asare! You didn’t have all these explanations when you were having sex without a condom eh? Abeg abeg! This thesis doesn’t change anything. Pick up when I call you, simple. Or I will keep calling. I don’t like to be ignored.’

‘What do you want, Jacklyn?’

‘Your daughter is running out of diapers and formula. We also need to stock up on Cerelac. You know that is what she likes to eat. Everyone is saying that there will be a lockdown so we need to buy a lot. Send me at least 5000 cedis.’

At least! At least! Yehowa, I go wound this girl!

‘Jacklyn, do you eat the money? No, honestly! Help me understand. You think it is oxygen eh? I gave you 1500 cedis just last week, and that was a top up, completely different from your monthly allowance and we just entered the third week of March. What do you do with the money?’

‘Children are expensive. Taking care of them is stressful. I also need to pamper myself every now and then. Now they say the virus is in Ghana so I need to buy some stuff.’

‘Send me the list. I will buy it and heaven help us both if it is full of things for you and not Akuba. I still don’t know what you used the top up money for.’

‘I really don’t think it is any of your business but I bought some virgin hair. They were having a sale- 90% off.’

Eben closed his eyes and shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was eerily calm.

‘I am not sending you anything, not even a 1 pesewa coin. I don’t care if you are going to resell the hair or eat the hair during the lockdown, whenever that is. If you can choose to buy hair instead of food, there is really nothing I can do for you.’

‘Eben, but why are you upset? I just-’

‘I am not done. This is the last time that you will ever call me for money. I send you money every month for my daughter’s upkeep, not for your slay queen cravings. It is not my business what you use my hard earned money for? You must think I am a fool eh? It is not your fault. I blame myself- nobody but myself. Next time when I see a girl winding her waist in the club, I will get up and leave. Mempɛ temptation biaa!’

‘Fine. There is no need to get this upset or resort to insults. Why are you so quick tempered? Anyway, I was thinking of moving to your end when the lockdown is announced so that we can both take care of- Ah! Hello? Hello? Eben, are you there? Eben?’

If he knows what is good for him, he will send the MOMO!

‘Wait! The wedding has been postponed?’

‘Yep. Flights have been cancelled. My parents and our guests from overseas won’t be able to make it.’

‘Wow! I didn’t see that coming. Are you okay though?’

‘I don’t have much of a choice, do I? There is no way I am having a wedding without Mummy and Daddy present, and since the virus is spreading, it would be insensitive of us to ask guests to come all the way here.’

‘How is Kojo taking it?’

‘To be very honest, he is more disappointed that all the leagues have been suspended than he is about the wedding being postponed. He barely blinked when I asked him about retrieving the deposits we have already made. When it was Champions League, he was so distraught, going on and on about interrupting the rhythm of his life and other dramatic things. I guess table numbers and reception cocktail drinks are not as exciting as Liverpool and Barcelona.’

‘Haha! What is going to happen to the deposits though?’

‘My planner is dodging the question. I am sure she has already made plans with the money. I don’t mind her keeping it but I don’t know how long this is going to go on for. What happens next? The fresh flowers we were bringing in from Netherlands have gone to waste with the borders closed.’

‘Ei abrokyire flowers! My girl be doing the most. No be small trending. BellaNaija kakra, Radiance Bridal kakra. #WeddingOfTheDecade. But honestly, Corona no try. My fascinator and rechargeable fan were ready!

‘Corona is showing me who is boss. We have been planning this wedding for a year and half. Just like that, everything has come to a standstill, fairytale wedding and all. I am just trying not to panic.’

The email alert came in just after Kwansah had finished eating the fufu.

HR.

Why on earth is HR sending me an email? It is not my birthday and I am not due for an appraisal. That woman is always in our business. Mtchew!

He walked into the conference room to find everyone in the company sitting around the conference table. He started scanning the room for the best spot, close to his squad and away from the direct view of whoever was chairing the meeting. A few seconds later, he saw Agyeman waving to get his attention.

‘Chale, what is the meeting about?’

‘I hear say them dey come sack people for not reaching their targets.’

‘Wey targets?’

Mariam interrupted their conversation.

‘Kwansah, you should know better than to listen to Agyeman. He never has the facts. I hear they are going to ask us to work from home.’

‘Which home? Why?’

‘Are you living under some rock? There are two cases in Ghana. I hear there are more cases koraa.’

‘Ei! But I thought they said Africans were immune to the virus. Anaa Twitter scientists were tripping?’

‘Twitter? That is where you get your news from? What do they know?’

The conversation was interrupted by Patience, the HR executive that everybody mostly ignored and avoided. She seemed very pleased with her newfound importance. She glared at the back of the room until everyone has gone silent, then she started to address them.

‘Management has decided to institute a work from home policy effective tomorrow morning. As many of you are aware, given that we now have COVID-19 cases in Ghana, we want to avoid a situation where you are exposed to the virus as a result of your commute to and from work. We also have no way of knowing who has been infected by the virus. As a company, it is in our interest to adhere to the provisions of the labour laws, especially with regards to safety. We are still exploring the possibility of keeping some skeletal staff but that will be discussed on departmental levels. We will be using Slack and Zoom to monitor work projects…..’

She kept speaking but the guys had stopped listening.

‘Slack and Zoom for the Adjiringanor there? You dey joke! My MTN modem only works if I place it in a particular corner of my bathroom. No be small Hello? Hello? you people go hear.’

‘Me sef! Who is going to pay for the extra data? With my current bundle, I barely watch anything on Netflix. Common WhatsApp video call dey drink data pass!’

Mariam quipped, ‘If you guys were paying attention, you would have heard that she was talking about an internet allowance. I need to stock up on some groceries. I should probably pass by Koala on my way home.’

‘Ei! You are going to do your panic buying at Koala? See eh, the Ghana, ebi two oo! The Better Ghana agenda is working for her!’

‘Bro! We that we are on the Agbogbloshie level die3!’

‘Oh massa, you dey hype. Kwansah, the number of empty Melcom bags I have seen in your house alone. Which Agbogbloshie? You don’t even know where that is.’

‘Why you dey expose me? Allow me to set my agenda in peace. Mariam dieɛ she has always been in another league oo!’

‘See, she doesn’t even touch her salary oo. The life of the rich and fabulous!’

Mariam rolled her eyes.

‘I am going to ignore you boys and listen to Patience from HR.’

‘Forget that Patience girl. She moom she be impatient pass! Ei chale, she is looking here. Let’s look serious.’

‘Legon, Madina, Oro! Last two!’

The mate reached for his sweat drenched bandana and wiped his face again.

When Priscilla got to the trotro, she looked like she was contemplating whether or not to sit in it. She looked down at her watch and sighed.

If I wait for the next one, I am going to be late for the prayer meeting.

‘Madam, yɛ ntem!’

She boarded the vehicle and pulled out her handkerchief to cover her nose and her mouth. When it was her turn to give the mate her money, she tried to delicately place it in his palm, trying to avoid contact as much as possible.

Unfortunately, the coins fell to the ground. After nodding apologetically at the mate, she opened her bag and poured her hand sanitizer into her palm.

‘Herh sister aden?’ The lady beside her wasn’t having it. ‘First, you wasted our time when we got to the bus stop as if the car is below your standard. Now you are acting like there is a disease in the air.’

One of the men at the back came to her rescue. ‘It was the right thing to do. Haven’t you heard that Corona Virus is now in Ghana? We are not even supposed to be sitting this closely to each other.’

The mate was livid.

‘Massa, si! Get down. Ɛnyɛ by force!’

One of the old men on the same row as Mr Hero spoke up, ‘Mate, relax wai. Abotrɛ. Madam, this disease is not for us. Nobody in Ghana will get it. God is punishing the white people for coming to buy our ancestors as slaves.’

A market woman sitting right behind the driver chipped in. ‘Saa Akosua Rona o sɛ wan wan no! Mi dieɛ business ekɔ so, nti no problem’

‘Ei! Me, I heard that if you are in right standing with God, you won’t get it. God is wiping out the sinners. The politicians will go first.’

‘When did God say this? You people have been putting words in God’s mouth. Last week someone also said the world is coming to an end. We taya!’

‘Young man, stop the book long. When elders talk, listen!’

‘Senior, we are no longer in that generation o! I have the right to speak just as much as you do.’

Priscilla looked up in bewilderment, thinking about whether or not to intervene. This would probably be the best time to let them know that speaking loudly without face masks could spread the virus. After all, the conversation started because of Corona and the hand sanitizer that her mother insisted she carry everywhere. She chose peace.

‘Mate, bus stop!’

See you next week! 😉

I believe that storytelling is a way to chronicle our history. The Corona Virus is definitely a part of the Ghanaian story. If you enjoyed this story, please share it with someone else. Also, if you have an #AkosuaRona story that you will like to feature in this series, feel free to slide in my DMs on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.

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If you missed any of the previous #AkosuaRona posts, catch up right here!

#7daysofXmas 6: Grinch

If you have been following Kenikodjo long enough, you know I absolutely love Christmas, hence the 7 days of Christmas series, but not everybody does- and with good reason. This one is for those who don’t! The stories in the Christmas series aren’t related so you don’t need to read the first one to appreciate this one, but you can go back and read them as you sit in the unbearable Year of Return traffic. Even if you have already read the first 5, you can still do a refresher. After all, we watch Home Alone every year in this country 😉 Happy reading, guys!

‘Dem start oo! Every Tom, Dick and Harry is going to forward those annoying ‘Season’s greetings’ ‘Merry Christmas’ messages to me. Nothing dey bore me pass the pictures that have glitter and snow. Bro, we don’t have snow in Ghana. And these people didn’t even speak to me all year round! Why? Why? Whose idea was it to go around wishing people a Merry Christmas? What is merry about this Accra? The only good thing about Christmas are the days off.’

‘Party pooper nie! Caleb die3, you have a problem with every single celebration. If it is not Val’s Day, then it is International Women’s Day or Father’s Day. Nothing makes you happy.’

‘I just don’t like being forced to deal with people. Christmas forces me to deal with people that ignore me all year round. I have to sit in traffic for longer hours because everyone is rushing to go and spend time with people they don’t really like. You people make resolutions you don’t intend to keep. Chale, ‘tis the season to be fake!’

Caleb and his work colleague, Jerome, were walking through the mall, after a long day at work. All he wanted to do was to pull down all the decorations in his way. He could hear the faint strains of a Christmas carol from the shop directly opposite them.

‘Oh and don’t get me started on the carols. Ghana here sef, all they know is ‘Feliz Navidad’. On top of all that, HR will force you to buy someone a present sake of Secret Santa. Last year, I bought perfume for that girl in Accounting. Jerome, guess what I got in return? A pack of handkerchiefs.’

‘Yeah, I dey kai! That day moom die3, if they had shown you who bought it anka, blood and fireworks!’

‘Bro! At least there will be football matches during Christmas. Something to make the season a little bearable.’

‘Auntie Rose, don’t lie to me. If you know it won’t be ready in time, just tell me. It is not Bronya ataade oo. I need it for an event on the 22nd.’

‘Oh mensuro. I will do it for you. Today is what? 9th? Come for it on 17th. Let me do it now and be free koraa before the Christmas people come with their pressure.’

‘You koraa, that is your cocoa season. You must be very happy.’

‘Happy? My dear, you don’t know whyris going on. They come with unreasonable demands with unrealistic timelines. Someone will come on 28th and say she wants a white dress for Covenant Service, first Sunday in January. The style is a combination of 2 pictures from Pinterest, one blurry screenshot and another picture from Instagram. Maaba? The older women are even bigger culprits.’

‘Ei! Hahaha, no be easy for this side. But you are making money right?’

‘And worsening my eye problems and ulcer in the process. I don’t have peace of mind during this season koraa oo.’

‘Then don’t take the orders eh?’

‘I used to do that until someone went to spoil my name on Instagram. I lost a lot of money that year. You know taking care of adolescent boys doesn’t come cheap, so Christmas slave it is. It is especially hard because their dad died during the Christmas season 5 years ago. All I want to do during that period is to lie in bed and think about him because everything triggers a painful memory, but sika nti.’

‘Money is good but take care of yourself too, I beg. So you said 17th abi?’

‘This bow tie will go nicely with the blazer. I have already asked Foster to come by and give you a haircut, just in time for the family portrait at 2pm.’

‘Remind me again why we need to do this, Agnes.’

‘Because your family believes that appearances are everything. How else do you expect your parents to announce your return? Besides, you know your mum will pull her manipulative tears act if you refuse to take this picture. She has already picked a spot on the wall for this picture, and if i know her well, also booked a spot in the Glitz magazine. All you need to do is get the haircut, dress up and smile for the camera.’

Agnes was his family’s ‘manager’. She was the first person to survive his mum’s unbearable ways for more than 3 months. She came in as a personal assistant, now she basically managed everything and everyone in the Bediako family. She was the one who ordered birthday cakes, remembered appointments, arranged airport pick ups, bought books, cleaned up messes and never panicked in any crisis. She was also blunt and yet discreet. His parents trusted her completely.

‘But this doesn’t make sense. We haven’t even had a family dinner since I came back because they are both busy but they can find the time for a family portrait? Classic Bediako style!’, he grumbled as he pulled a shirt over his shoulders.

‘Less complaining, more movement, Barimah! The party is later this week. Friday evening. Don’t say I didn’t tell you.’

‘Yes ma’am! If you find my mum, can you tell her I am looking for her?’

The Bediako empire was built on business and politics. Dad always said that was the perfect cocktail for staying wealthy. He was the business man and Mummy was the politician. She channeled the political money into the businesses which in turn paid for their lavish lifestyle and the political campaigns.

Every party organized by the Bediakos was the social event of the year. Rumour had it that this year, some of the very high profile artistes coming for the Year of Return were scheduled to perform at the Christmas party. Of course, those rumours would remain unconfirmed.

One of the unspoken rules for these parties was to make sure that what happened there stayed there. Nobody took pictures/videos other than the official photographers and nobody leaked any details of the party. In return, the invited guests stayed on the guest list of the party that allowed you to rub shoulders with the most influential people across the continent- presidents, musicians, business moguls. It was like the ‘Davos’ of Christmas parties. Preparation always took weeks. Agnes and Mummy went over every detail painstakingly and each year’s party had to top the one from the year before.

Barimah and his siblings had been taught how to work a crowd- compliment the ladies, impress the gentlemen. Keep them entertained but don’t give away too much. Make them open up to you but maintain a boundary. Get as much information as you can without giving as much back. It was like a game and Barimah hated playing it. They had their work cut out for them- go to the best schools, visit the most beautiful cities, intern at the most outstanding firms, marry strategically and pick one side of the Bediako coin- politics or business. Maame Adwoa was clearly headed in the business direction with her LLB and International Business Management master’s degree. Nana had the politics in his blood. He had every one of the older guests eating out of his palm at every gathering.

Barima walked into his father’s study abruptly.

‘Dad, have you seen Mum? Been looking all over for-‘

Nothing prepared him for the sight that was before him. A woman who was not his mother, scantily clad in one of those leather outfits that the Mortal Kombat fighters wear, was sitting on his father’s desk. His father’s head was buried between the woman’s thighs. Suddenly it felt like the room was spinning.

‘Can’t you knock? Privacy is still something I expect as the head of this house.’

‘Wait, what is happening right now? Who is this?’

‘Barima, quit overreacting. You are no longer a child. You can’t possibly be the only stranger in Jerusalem. Your mother and I have an arrangement that works for both of us. In exchange, we both look the other way while we find pleasure wherever we please. Your mother’s boy toys know better than to come to this house though.’

‘Jesus Christ!’, Barima exclaimed while averting his eyes from the sight that was before him. His palms were sweaty and he could not stop blinking.

‘What have I told you about getting overly emotional? How are you going to succeed in this world of ours, with these idealistic expectations?’

‘That was my mistake-thinking that i could survive in this world that you have created. All of this is such a façade- the picture perfect family- and I am the fool that believed in it.’

Barima turned and walked out of the study, ignoring his father’s ‘Close the door behind you!’. He marched past Agnes and the caterer, almost knocking over one of the lights that the photographer had set up for the portrait session.

‘Barima, where are you going? It is almost time for the shoot. We talked about this.’

‘Agnes, you will take this picture without me. I don’t care how you will explain it. I trust you to come up with an excuse that will satisfy the gossips. I won’t be part of this. No party, nothing. I am done. I won’t even ask how long you have known about the women and men that share my parents’ bed. You are all liars and I am the biggest fool of all. I legit thought that we were a family. Apparently, we are just a business arrangement.’

Sheila opened her Instagram app and sighed.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

Hating Christmas came naturally to her. She was sexually assaulted on Christmas Day 13 years ago, by one of the men sitting around this very Christmas table. Of course, nobody knew except the two of them- her 45 year old cousin and her 28 year old self. Keeping quiet at the time felt like the best option for her because she knew he was going to get away with it.

Of course, her 15 year old mind did not process the fact that he would still be invited to all the Christmas parties and family gatherings, and that she would lose her appetite every time he laughed like he was doing now.

Her mind kept screaming ‘Shut the hell up’ each time he opened his mouth to answer a question. Her mother kept asking her if she was okay and she nodded and smiled each time like she did in 2006.

Scrolling through IG didn’t help her. Not with everyone on her feed, posting their picture perfect family portraits, sharing video highlights from the concerts and celebrating.

Looks like everyone is having a good time. Except me of course.

‘So Sheila, when are we meeting that lucky gentleman? I am ready for a 2020 wedding oo’

She blinked twice and scoffed.

This stupid rapist has the nerve to ask when I am getting married after traumatizing me and destroying my impression of men?

She pushed her chair back and mumbled, ‘I need some air.’

Not everyone enjoys the holidays. Writing this piece made that even clearer. This season, be kind and empathetic. ❤ Merry Christmas (or not), depending on where you stand! You can find the other Christmas stories here!

Same Old, Same Old

This is my attempt to break out of this terrible case of writer’s block. I have Antony Can-Tamakloe (@afadjato) and Kojo Cue’s album ‘For My Brothers’ to thank for the inspiration to write this story. For everyone who has had to stay at home a little too long, waiting for a job offer, I see you.

Otu picked up his phone to call Sarah. The automated voice on the phone told him his airtime was low. Vodafone always knew how to kick him when he was down.

Come on! I don’t need this right now!

Miraculously the call went through, but her line was busy. He tried again, thirty minutes later and her line was still busy. Who was she talking to at all? This happened a lot lately- her number being busy. Back in the day, she would put the other person on hold and talk to him instead, but then again, back in the day, it was just one of her classmates or her judgmental cousin or someone from primary school. Not so much lately.

Ever since she started her National Service at the Petroleum Commission, she had become super busy. Initially, she was just there as an Administrative Assistant, but her excellent work got her promoted to Interim Personal Assistant to the Chief Executive Officer. He wasn’t surprised at all. Sarah stood out wherever she went and in whatever she did.

She had always been meticulous, intelligent and a team player who could work with little to no supervision. You know, all those things you wrote on your CV that you didn’t mean. She was actually every one of those things.Tweet

The job put her in contact with all sorts of people. She barely even had time to eat lunch, to talk of finding time to laugh at the tweets he forwarded to her DM. They no longer had time for movie marathons and long phone calls, like back on campus. It took some getting used to, but like she always said, ‘We are constantly evolving. That is what makes this fun. No two days are the same.’

The only problem now was he was done with service and he had a lot more time on his hands. To be honest, even when he was an NSS personnel at the Ministry of Tourism, Culture and Creative Arts, his most demanding task was filling in Excel sheets with data; and that he could do with an entire season of a Netflix show playing in his ear. Sarah thought he was crazy the first time she saw him doing that with How To Get Away With Murder.

‘Won’t you miss out on all the non-verbal stuff?’

‘Nope, their voices tell me everything I need to know.’

‘You are weird.’

‘And yet the most eligible lady in the entire University of Ghana Business School is my girlfriend.’

‘Maybe she likes weird boys.’

‘Good thing there are more quirks where that came from.’

When he wasn’t inputting data or putting the Ministry’s WiFi to good use, he was buying breakfast, snack and lunch for all the women on his floor. He knew Auntie Getrude’s waakye, fufu and omotuo orders like the back of his hand. He could tell whether or not to ask Director’s secretary if she wanted something to eat, based on how loudly she was typing. He also knew how everyone wanted their roasted plantain and where to get the best koko around. His BSc Administration (Human Resource Management) degree might have come in handy after all.

Reality dealt him the hardest blows when he finished service. The money ran out quickly, very quickly. After a month, Mama started dropping all sorts of hints about going out there to look for a job. That had to be Daa’s idea. He could be passive-aggressive like that. He never confronted his sons directly. He did it through Mama. It was almost as if he didn’t know how to relate to them. He never complimented them or shared any Father-Son moments with him.

His aunties started leaving their 4 year old children at the house for him to ‘babysit’. How that even started, he would never know. He woke up from a nap one day and they were in the house. Nobody ever asked him if he had plans or he even wanted to keep 4 year old kids company. It was almost as if his not having a job gave him zero options and opinions. Last week, when he stopped to say hello to Auntie Faustie, the owner of the kiosk he had been buying Nido sachets from since he was a child, he overheard her describe him as ‘Auntie Grace ba n’a ɔte fie no.’ Yep, the whole neighborhood was up to date on his unemployment status.

Whenever he told Sarah things like this, she would laugh and say ‘You will get a job soon and the joke will be on them. Don’t worry.’ He believed her for the first 7 months. After that, he stopped talking about it. Whenever she asked about his day, his response was ‘Same old, same old.’

How on earth was he going to explain to his exceptionally supportive girlfriend that he hated the fact that she was the one who had to pay for his internet bundle every month? How could he expect her to understand how depressing staying at home and shouting ‘keep quiet’ a gazillion times at his nephews was?

How could he explain how the LinkedIn updates from his classmates had made him feel useless? Or that he had muted all WhatsApp group chats? Or tell her how his desperation led him to sign up for LinkedIn Premium to increase his chances of finding a job, only to be hit with that $29.99 charge on his already empty account?

He was tired of walking down the dusty road for yet another interview in which they smiled politely and lied through their teeth about getting back to him, tired of forwarding his CV, tired of editing his cover letter, tired of Sarah picking up the tab whenever they went out, tired of making excuses why he could not ‘hang out’ on Fridays with his platinum debit card waving classmates, tired of eating beans and plantain 4 times a week and kenkey on every other day, tired of relying on Mama’s benevolence to be able to ‘splurge’ on Papaye every now and then.

Goodness! Yɛɛka splurge aa wose Papaye! 😫 Ah chale, what did I ever do wrong? I went to school, got good grades, made the right connections and yet I can’t find a job to save my life.

One night, he woke up to use the washroom and heard Mama crying in the sitting room. He almost rushed in to ask her what was wrong when he heard her earnestly pleading with God to give her son a job for her sake. He blinked back his own tears as she promised to do anything God wanted if He would just make her son smile again. It broke him to see how his being broken broke her.

If he could get any job, he would take it. He applied to be a waiter at one of the new hotels and a lady told him that he was overqualified for the job. He went by his old SSS to see if they needed a teaching assistant for the Business class. The headmaster told him that they didn’t have any vacancies. He was really open to taking any job, anything that would get him out of the cycle of ‘Uncle Otu, I want to weewee. Uncle Otu, Nhyira has stolen my shoe. Uncle Otu, I want water.’ He had started looking up scholarships to do a Master’s degree, just to end the cycle of doing nothing.

Then there was Sarah. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was ‘outgrowing’ him with every passing day. Of course, this wasn’t something he could discuss with her. It would seem as though he was punishing her for progressing, but the truth was that she was becoming a different person every day, a person that he wasn’t sure he could keep up with. The kind of influence she wielded, the kind of men that courted her attention, the kind of places she went to, her entire outlook on life had evolved. He was happy for her. He was just sad that he wasn’t evolving along with her and he knew that to was only a matter of time before they no longer had much in common.

There was this man in the Quality Assurance Department in her office who hovered around her a little too much for his liking the last time he passed by, after yet another fruitless job interview. He had come to drop off a folder for her boss to look at. Barely acknowledging Otu, he swooped in for a hug and complimented her perfume. After three minutes of ‘idle chit chat’, he asked if she had already placed her lunch order and what time she planned to head to the kitchen. Clement, that was his name. A guy who smelt good, was in constant contact with her and who was milking every last drop of his ‘Tall Guy Advantage’. It took every bit of Otu’s self control to not blurt out ‘Back off! That’s my girlfriend’, but that would make him look weak and small. He wasn’t interested in adding that to his ‘rap sheet’ at this point.

He looked at his phone. It was almost 1. Sarah would probably be heading over to the kitchen for lunch and Clement would probably appear there ‘coincidentally’. Just thinking about it made him sick in the stomach.

His thoughts were interrupted by incessant ‘Uncle Otu’ shrieks. He jumped up and rushed to the kitchen to find two of his little cousins in a tussle.

‘What is it?’

‘He has poured my water on the floor.’

‘It’s not me!’

‘It’s you!’

Sigh. Fix it, Lord.

I didn’t think I will make it to the end of this post. Lord knows how many drafts have been sitting here, waiting to be completed. Yaaaayy to overcoming writer’s block, one post at a time! Merry Christmas in advance, guys! ❤️

Room 1045 Ep 13: Welcome back

Greetings from Room 1045 land 😃 One of you actually sent me a whole blogpost full of break up lines for Joan! 😂 (I should just add that to the 1000 reasons why I love you guys! Best best readers in the entire universe! 💜) Also, welcome to all our newbies and returning visitors 😃. Starting this Friday, we are going back to our #FollowerFriday tradition on our Instagram page. Please follow the page if you haven’t and who knows, our reader of the week spotlight might just fall on you. 😉 And now to this week’s story!

There is always one person who sells everything on the block- from eggs to blades to shaving sticks to super glue to phone credit to brown envelopes. The main hall blocks that is. Nii Okai always wondered how those people’s roommates felt, having people always knocking on their door, especially at odd hours.

Imagine his amusement the first time Joan panicked because the convenience store in front of her hostel was closed.

‘Can’t you get it from one of the students who sells stuff here?’

‘Sells stuff where?’

She laughed.

‘Nobody would do that. Over here, they sell body splash, human hair, sneakers and PS4 CDs. The cool kids won’t be caught dead selling sanitary towels. Goodness, I am toast.’

‘We could go and get some.’

‘From where?’

‘I don’t know, wherever sanitary towels are sold.’

‘It is not just any sanitary towel. I need that specific type. I bleed heavily- listen, this is too much information, even for a boyfriend as sweet as you.’

‘I am not complaining, am I?’

Joan smiled. He was doing it again- being oblivious that he was perfect. He looked more worried about her sanitary towel situation than she was.

‘Okay fine. I hate Always because it cuts your skin. I have to get Kotex.’

‘Kotex. Got it. Is there a specific colour or something?’

‘Nope. Anything Kotex should be fine.’

‘I will be back.’

He didn’t know where he was going to get Kotex at 8pm but this was Sparkle we were talking about. There was no way he could say no to her. He ended up leaving campus to go and check one of the 24/7 service pharmacies in the area. They had three different types for heavy flow so he bought two of each. Never mind that this was not a budgeted expense and he would probably have to rely on gobɛ for a week or two to recover.

‘Show boy nti!’, he chuckled in amusement as he walked out of the pharmacy.

When he showed up at her door an hour later, drenched with sweat but with the proudest, biggest smile on his face, her squeal made it all worth it.

‘You bought more than one?’

‘So you don’t have to run out of them anytime soon.’

‘You are doing it again.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Being perfect. No, this isn’t a complaint, it is a compliment. It is a ‘Thank God for you’.

‘Ladies and Gents, this is what they call catching feelings.’

‘Okay bye!’

‘Paapa’

‘I love it when you say my name with such seriousness.’

‘I am glad you can tell I am serious.’

Ohemaa’s forehead was furrowed and she was definitely not in the mood for the ‘flirting and etc’ he had in mind. It wasn’t often that she came to his house. He had planned to take full advantage of the opportunity.

‘My mum knows about us.’

He tried to keep his shocked reaction as natural as possible. Too much and she would see right through him. Too little and she would suspect him of already knowing.

The woes (and thrills) of dating an intelligent woman.

‘She does?’

‘You don’t sound very surprised.’

‘Well, this is the university. When you are Dean of Students, after a while very little surprises you. What do you want to do about it?’

‘Nothing. I am not a 16 year old girl anymore. She can’t tell me what to do. Nobody can tell me what to do.’

Her tone was defiant. She was obviously upset about something but he knew better than to push her into talking now. If they did get to his only agenda for the day, she would start spilling all her inner thoughts once they were snuggling. She’d probably start by complaining about the hair on his chest and how it was pricking her cheek, then she would probably talk about something funny she saw on Twitter and before long, the doors of her private thoughts would have flung open.

This is why most guys don’t like snuggling. Next thing she will be asking you things like ‘What do you love about me?’ Now, come and see boys thinking through all the things she would like to hear because ‘I like everything about you’ is never a good answer.

‘Are you going to stay a bit longer?’

‘Yes, if you don’t have any other plans.’

‘There is a Senior Members meeting this evening. They want to go on strike right after the exams. But none of those pot bellied men is as fair as you, my maiden.’

‘Like an ancient accent would make a difference in this situation.’

Her face still looked serious but her eyes were dancing. As predicted, the reason for her furrowed brow came tumbling out of her mouth when they were lying in bed. She was worried that her mother was up to something because she had sent Ibrahim to the house.

Paapa agreed.

Darn it. What are you up to, Adelaide? I told you to find the snitch, not distract your daughter. Or perhaps she wanted to kill both birds with the same stone.

He made a mental note to call her over the weekend to put this to rest.

I need to go home.

The urge kept getting stronger. It was almost like God wanted Chris to get the message loud and clear.

By 3pm, he had made up his mind. He was going to head home that evening. It was better now than next week, because exams were just around the corner and he would rather get this over and done with than write the exams with this feeling hanging over him.

‘Guys, I will be heading home today. I just want to spend a few days with the family before exams begin.’

‘Senior Man, cool koraa! We will make sure that nobody uses your bed for any illegal activities. Our regards to the family.’

Chris smiled. Bryan was always the most mature of the lot. He also seemed to know how to handle sticky situations. Everyone knew he was worried about his wife cheating on him and was probably thinking it, but Bryan had managed to circumvent it rather neatly.

When he got to the gate of his house, he psyched himself up for the worst. The kids were playing outside and as soon as Kwesi saw him, he ran towards him with loud shouts.

‘Dada aba ooo!’

His siblings followed suit, the youngest one a little unsure about what was going on.

I should come home more often.

‘Where is Mama?’

‘She is inside.’, Kwesi answered, gesturing towards the kitchen. Indeed, she was. He could smell the okro stew even before he got there.

‘Agnes?’

She turned to look at him. If she had missed him, it was definitely not showing on her face.

‘You are back.’

‘Yes, I thought I should come and spend time with you before the exams start.’

She waited until Kwesi had gone back to play with his siblings, before she said what she wanted to say.

‘You shouldn’t have come?’

‘What do you mean by that, Agnes? Listen, I am trying here. Whatever reason you have for building this barrier between us, let’s talk through it.’

‘It is too late, Chris. I am leaving you. That is why your coming is just going to make it harder on the kids.’

Conflict resolution. That was one of the weakest points of their marriage. The way she interpreted his words and his actions always left him bewildered. It was like they were speaking two different languages and there was no interpreter at hand.

‘Agnes-‘

‘Chris, this isn’t working. We all know it. Don’t make me look like the bad person because I don’t want to stay in a bad situation.’

‘What about the kids?’

‘What about them?’

‘Are they mine? Is any of them mine?’

‘What sort of question is this?’

‘One that requires an honest answer. Are they mine?’

‘I am not going to respond to this. If you suddenly doubt that you are their father, go to court. Get a paternity test done.’

Kesewa was kicking herself and silently wishing that Chukwuemeka wouldn’t wake up.

This was a mistake. Joan was right.

She had come by the night before to check on him, to see if he needed anything else or if he had run out of medication. That was the lie she told herself, the reason she gave herself to silence her conscience and the rage of every part of her body that had ever felt the wrath of Chuks’ raised hand. Of course, being with the Casanova who knew all her weaknesses and who was also feeling indebted to her for saving the day was bound to end badly; but she told herself that nothing was going to happen.

Right?

She could hear Joan in her mind’s ear: ‘Then explain what you are doing in his bed? Administering medicine? Checking his temperature? Kess, we spoke about this.’

She brushed her thoughts aside and tried to wiggle her way out of his arms without waking him up. Just when she got to the door, she heard him say with what most certainly sounded like a sneer, ‘I always knew you would come back to Daddy. This is where you belong. Welcome back.’

Apologies for the delay. PDS showed me who’s boss. (For my non-Ghanaian readers, it means I had electricity challenges.) See you next week, folks and don’t forget to follow the IG page for #FollowerFriday! ❤️

Room 1045 Ep12: Night (K)night

I will just go right out and say how much I can’t stand Bryan’s dad. How can you make your wife get her pregnancy terminated simply because the baby is a girl? I have said a prayer or two about this marriage angle that Maa Rakia seems to be bringing in. Can the poor girl just make it into medical school first? 🙄 Also, what is Kesewa thinking, ‘catching feelings’ for Chukwuma? Were we not all here when he was slapping you all around the place? We were just praising you for straightening your crown in Queen Kess . Don’t go and make the wrong choices, okay?

mad men television GIF
Just saying, girl!

The university never sleeps.

That was one of the things Ernestina learnt when she joined the Christian Fellowship Choir. The very first time the MD suggested an all night rehearsal, she looked at him like he had 6 heads.

All night rehearsal?

Ei!

Mama would have a fit if she knew that I was out of bed after 9pm, and to make matters worse, in the company of men. I can almost hear her saying, ‘I sent you to school to get a degree, not to audition for Music Music’.

She went for the rehearsal, not to spite Mama and her over-protective tendencies, but because she really liked being part of the choir. One of the Level 300 ladies overheard her singing in one of the bathroom stalls and had invited her to come for just one rehearsal.

She had never heard more beautiful singing- and everyone looked like they were having so much fun. Her favourite thing was that they sang both contemporary and classical music. It was the perfect marriage for her delighted musical ears. Growing up, her strict choir master father banned any type of music that did not involve sight reading from music sheets covered in crochets and semi-quavers. Her lullabies were composed by Beethoven. The first time she heard Celine Dion was when she went to secondary school from the radio set her school mother smuggled into the dormitory. It was magical! She started humming non-classical tunes to herself when Daa was out of earshot. 

Being at rehearsal was her happy place. Voice training, the aerobics meant to get their blood pumping, the hardly ever appropriate jokes the male voices cracked every 30 minutes, the struggle with the midnight mosquitoes, the very light Milo the welfare team brought in an ice chest for 1am snack time, the cautious visits to the washroom in pairs with a flashlight- she loved all of it.

Her absolutely favourite thing was walking back to her hostel at the crack of dawn. The very first time,  the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir kept her company because she didn’t want her mind to wonder if someone was going to kidnap her or rob her. She was surprised to discover that there was a whole tribe of late night companions to keep her company. There were the Biological Science students coming back from a group discussion, the Law Students who hid in tutorial rooms to cram the judgement of an important case in their heads, the Drama students returning from their rehearsals, the club goers, the ‘night workers’, the watchmen and cleaners taking over shifts, the FitFam guys heading out for their jogs and brisk walks, the prayer warriors coming from their all nights or heading out for early morning evangelism. There were also the food vendors who were carrying hot pots of hausa koko, beans, kenkey, freshly baked bread and pastries to their selling spots, ready to feed the hungry university community who were still turning in their beds. 

‘Well, I hope he is handsome at least.’

‘Bonsu, really?’

Bonsu’s laugh echoed through the empty hall.

‘Shh! Someone will hear us. I don’t know if you have heard but I am trying to get into medical school.’

‘Well, incoming Doctor, I don’t know if you have heard but I am very powerful in these parts. How else are we sitting in the Commencement Hall at 2am in the morning, talking about your marriage proposal? Is it even a marriage proposal if your mother delivered it over the phone in flawless Hausa?’

Sala picked up the pen on the seat next to her and threw it at Bonsu.

‘You are not helping.’

‘Actually, I am. I am doing my most annoying edition of Bonsu in hopes that you will be too busy juggling being annoyed by me and studying to have time to worry your head about Ibrahim Kilba’s son.’

‘I am supposed to go home and meet him. What if-‘

Her voice trailed as her mind wandered through the thousand corridors of her brain.

‘I can think of a long list of what ifs. What if  he had bad breath? What if he expects you to be a stay at home mum? What if he doesn’t want you to become a doctor? What if- Sala, breathe. Sala, look at me.’

Bonsu pushed Sala’s books aside and lowered his face until he was face to face with her. She was breathing heavily.

‘Look at me and say this after me. 1, 2, 7, 11, 39, 18. Say it Sala.’

‘1, 2, 7 -11….’

‘You can do it. 1, 2, 7, 11, 39, 18.’

‘1, 2, 7, 11, 39, 18.’

Her breathing normalized.

‘You are okay. You are okay. Everything is going to be okay, Sala.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘Well, you did say you have panic attacks from time to time so I started looking for things to do when you do have one around me. Apparently the mind cannot panic and mention numbers that are not in chronological order at the same time. When you focus on the numbers, your mind forgets to panic. Or something like that. It is not like I care or whatever. I just don’t want you to die or anything.’

Sala grinned.

‘Why do you always do this? Downplay your smartness or your affection for someone or something. There is always ‘or something like that’ at the end of anything smart you say, like you don’t want it to be obvious that you are smarter then they think you are. And anytime you say something nice or thoughtful, you throw in a ‘you know, whatever.’

‘Whatever.’

This time, it was Sala’s laugh that echoed through the empty hall.

She had not yet met Ibrahim Kilba’s son. All she knew was Maa Rakia and Ibrahim Kilba had decided that an arranged marriage would be best for their ’empires’. He had a extensive import business and Maa Rakia was confident that controlling all aspects of the trading business was the way to ensure that nothing took them by surprise. She still had no idea how her medical degree fit into all that.

Bryan stopped to catch his breath.

Night time running usually cleared his head. The gentle breeze, the seeming silence, the lights, the lack of human interaction, the fact that he could go anywhere so long as the security guards were asleep. If he timed it right, he could also even get a few good shots of the sun rising. Running had become an inevitable fix for him. Anytime he spent time with his father, he left more scarred, more upset, more defiant.

I hate him. I hate this life. I hate living like this. 

He let out a scream that shocked his own ears. The anger he felt every time his father tried to control his life was almost suffocating. It made him think of doing extreme things just to get back at him. Sometimes, just sometimes, he felt like ending his own life because he was so sure that his father would stop at nothing to make him and everyone else a mere pawn in his game.

Joan tossed in her bed and checked the time.

She absentmindedly noted that Sala wasn’t in her bed, but that wasn’t odd. She was known to study at very odd hours. She also noted that Kess was not in her bed. Stacy was in her bed, muttering softly to herself. 

Poor girl. These nightmares are still worrying her. 

When she was in secondary school, Joan had to get used to night terrors because her school mother used to have very violent nightmares that always resulted in her waking up with screams, covered in sweat.

She looked up at the ceiling and started counting backwards from 1000, avoiding the real reasons why she was awake.

Barima and Nii Okai.

Funny how my demons have caught up with me. 

She could almost hear Nii Okai telling her not to ‘claim the demons’. Bless his soul.

The repercussions of ending things with Barima were slowly rearing their ugly heads. Since the semester was coming to a close, the things that Barima usually took care of were suddenly staring her in the face- her school fees, her hostel fees, clothes, makeup, pocket money. She had never really lived on the money her father sent her because it could not support the lifestyle she preferred. On the other hand, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to let go of that life.

Barima still kept contacting her, asking her to quit playing games and call her back. He had given up on threatening Nii Okai with law suits because even that was not getting him Joan’s attention. He kept sending texts, showing up at odd hours, calling her phone, sending her food and flowers- everything he knew that would typically work. The thing was she was no longer the girl he used to date.

That girl vanished the day she allowed herself to fall for Nii Okai. She had never been loved so simply and so purely. The wit, the sheer innocence in his eyes, the way he looked at her like he could not believe someone like her could be in love with him, she had never met anyone like him. He was willing to do anything to make her happy, even if it meant compromising on his beliefs.

At first it was just the kissing, but now they were getting dangerously close to having sex. Every time they made out, they would promise each other that it won’t happen again, of course until the next time they were alone in a room. She knew that he would never have done this if it wasn’t for her, and even if he would, she didn’t want to be the reason why he ended up doing it. That was why she wanted to break up with him. That was why she could not sleep. She kept rehearsing what she could say possibly to him without hurting his feelings.

It is not you, it is me.

Naah, that is what happens in the movies. A bad movie to be exact. 

You deserve better.

Come on, Joan. Do better. 

I don’t think I am the right girl for you.

Goodness. How do the boys do it? No wonder they just vanish or send a text or cheat on you, so they don’t have to do it themselves.

Somehow she knew that when morning came, she had a tough call to make.