V is for lovers

I just had to write this one after all the different conversations I overheard today, regarding Valentine’s Day. Happy Valentine’s Day if you celebrate it, and never mind if you don’t. This is a story about love and life on Val’s Day in Accra! If you love Val’s day and you gnashed today, this story is pretty good consolation. Love always, Keni! 

 ‘All I am saying is if he is not posting you today, you have no business posting him. One sided PDA is always a bad idea.’

‘Exactly. For all you know, you are Boo Number 7 and yet here you are, putting together your most creative Flipgram video, because you are the only one who is in love.’

‘Lois, you have less to worry about. Yours is legal. You guys put a ring on it, so go ahead and post him.’

‘Not happening. He didn’t wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day today but I bet you he is reacting with 😍🤤 to some girl’s flirtatious selfie as we speak. He can post his own picture if he wants, but it won’t come from me.’

Jemila smiled. These girls made it too easy to play the pessimist. They were sitting at the entrance of the office, waiting for presents from God knows whom.

‘Why do you guys bother with Val’s Day anyway? You are with guys who air your text messages, don’t speak your love languages and want to keep the relationship ‘private’. Not very lovey dovey if you ask me.’

‘Hate all you want. Don’t come with your expectant hands when my cupcakes and my red wine arrive.’, Augusta retorted. She sounded more confident than the others. She was also the most promiscuous of the bunch.

‘Quick one. What are you getting your man for Val’s Day? Don’t tell me he is getting singlets and boxers, or even worse a sext.’

‘Why not? My body is a present. It is ten times more appealing when it is garnished with lingerie.’

Jemila rolled her eyes.

‘This is how you people wind up with November babies. It is all about sex for you, isn’t it?’

The dispatch rider walked up to them and asked, ‘Which of you is Jemila?’

The other girls exchanged surprised looks.

‘What?’, Jemila said after dipping her nose into the bouquet of roses the dispatch rider had handed over to her.

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t seeing anyone. It might even be one of your boyfriends.’

She smiled a mischievous smile as she watched them squirm uncomfortably.

Yo chic! Chale SOS! Where I go get cupcakes for?

Ah! Who is this and what have you done with Paa Kwesi?

Chale it’s an emergency. I need cupcakes ASAP.

But I thought you said you hated Val’s Day?

This is why I never tell you stuff. You’ll use it against me.

True dat.

Amoafoa, I need help ah!

Check Mango and Wheat or Bakeshop.

Thanks! I owe you.

Wait, wait, you are not getting off that easily. Who are they for?

That girl I like. I told you about her.

Patricia. What kind of name is that, anyway?

Trish. For the last time, Trish. For my female homie, you act too much like a girl. What kind of hating is this?

😂😂😂 are you even listening to yourself? Spill the details la!

Okay, okay. Some guy in her office sent her roses and balloons and I am determined not to lose. It is not longer about her. It is about my pride now. I can’t lose to an office boyfriend. Kai! I used to be the office boyfriend in my corporate days. I am thinking cupcakes, teddy bear and chocolates. I need that comfortable lead. You feel me?’

‘I swear, whoever came up with this Valentine’s day idea is a devil’, Festus said as he plumped himself into one of the more comfy chairs in the waiting area.

Kwakyewaa looked at him, raised one eyebrow and turned her attention back to her laptop. She was now catching up on Skinny Girl in Transit and really wanted to see what would happen with Tiwa and Mide at the end. She definitely did not need the distraction, and yet here Festus was, heaving and sighing, with no intention to go anywhere if she didn’t listen to him.

‘Okay fine. Let’s hear it.’

‘I am depressed.’

‘Depressed?’

‘Yes, because of Valentine’s Day. It is not good for my mental health.’

‘Festus, what is this?’

‘No, stay with me. I am single all year round. I make it through wedding season, baby naming season, Christmas, family reunions, school reunions, church programmes, the whole works! Trust me, I am fine all year round until Valentine’s Day.’

Kwakyewaa rolled her eyes.

‘Most dramatic!’, she muttered under her breath.

‘It is not about drama. Why can’t any girl love me? Why do they have to rub their ugly boyfriends in my face? If they were handsome, well-spoken and not cheating anka, I would be fine. All these sub standard boys have the prettiest girls and I am gnashing. Chale I no dey barb. Bae here, Boo there, Hubby in between, when we all know you are not the only one. You and I know!! Everyone on Twitter knows he is a Smash and Tell guy and yet you are disturbing my ears with Snapchat updates with Ed Sheeran playing in the background. On top of that, he will probably break her virginity tonight when she clearly told me she was waiting till marriage.’

‘What is her name?’

‘Whose name?’

‘Well it depends, Festus. It is either the name of the girl whom you went all out for and who ended breaking your heart or the name of the girl who is disturbing you with her inferior quality love on Snapchat.’

His tone was so hushed that she almost didn’t hear him.

‘Efe. Her name is Efe. She dumped me right after Val’s Day last year. Literally the next day’

‘That must have hurt.’

‘It still does chale! I can’t bring myself to block her. I keep hoping that she will come to her senses and realize that I am the love of her life.’

‘Give me your phone.’

‘Why?’

‘I am going to save you from this misery.’

She took his phone and blocked Efe on Instagram and Snapchat.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Festus. Better is coming. Now can I go back to my series?’

‘Nobody is getting anything from me! Girls have made every single thing about them and they have such unrealistic expectations. A decent bouquet of roses is 300 Ghana cedis. 300 oo! Chocolate, balloons, cake, food. None of them comes cheap! On top of that, you will pay a dispatch rider 15-20 cedis to deliver it to her office, just so her friends can awww and woww about it. Kyerɛ sɛ ɔpɛ accolades! Nonsense! She is not getting anything, not even a Happy Valentine’s Day text.’

‘What dey bore me be sey you will kill your self and do all this, and she will not even say thank you directly. She will post it on Snapchat and IG. Public vote of thanks. Kai!’

‘Ah, is that your problem? My problem is the fact that she will buy you a pack of handkerchiefs and boxers, with the excuse that you haven’t bought any in a while. What kills me is when they add singlets. Total budget is 70 Ghana. She won’t send a dispatch rider oo. She will wait until you pick her up for dinner and hand it to you like you should be grateful.’

‘Y’all sound bitter. My wife and I take turns in celebrating Val’s Day. If it is my turn, I do the spreading, and then the next year, she will do hers. Plain and simple.’

‘Your wife no get sister?’

Krrr Krrr Krrr

‘The woman no dey pick up oo. Today be cocoa season. Time no dey. She for come quickly make I go deliver the other presents.’

Dennis was having a rough day. First his boss had taken more jobs than usual. Two of his colleagues had resigned the day before, which meant more work and less time to do it in. Then he had a minor accident around Opeibea. His right leg was slightly swollen but he had deadlines to meet. The last person he delivered cake to complained bitterly that it has started melting as if he was the one who asked the sun to shine today.

He was standing at the Tullow Oil car park, with a host of other dispatch riders who were delivering everything from king size teddy bears to lingerie in boxes to cupcakes and roses. He started pacing impatiently.

Time no dey oo!

He tried calling again.

‘She still no dey pick?’

‘No oo, the funny thing be sey that same guy give me the same gift for 4 women. One dey Stanbic Heights, then this Tullow woman, then another dey Osu. The last one dey Tema.’

‘Ei! Make sure sey the names be the correct names. We no want wahala.’

‘Excuse me?’

Dennis froze. The Tullow woman had picked up the call and there was no telling how much she had already heard.

Wahala don start.

‘Fine girl! Come make we go eh?’

Tina smiled at the trotro mate and quickened her steps. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck in this Valentine’s Day traffic.

Valentine’s Day.

Why can’t they just abolish it?

She slid her hands into her purse and pulled out a 5 cedi note. Her fingers brushed the Kingsbite bar that her boss had given to her this morning. She didn’t actually hate the day. She just wanted it to end. Her other National Service colleague on the other hand detested it. She called it the commercialization of love and the manipulation of emotions. Tina was more than happy to take her share of the chocolate.

Thank God for Director Grace. I would have gnashed with hard labor.

Working in a building like the one she worked in could not be easy on a day like Valentine’s Day. There were men playing the saxophone to serenade people’s girlfriends as they got to work. Breakfast baskets appeared from nowhere. Lunch hampers were floating through the office. Today she had learnt that tiger lilies and orchids were as beautiful as red roses. When it was almost 4pm, makeup sets magically appeared, people were ready to glow up for the night.

From her seat in the trotro, she could see couples sitting in their air conditioned cars, heading out. Some of them looked like they had just had an argument. The heat in the trotro was becoming unbearable. She leaned her head against the glass window, hoping that it would provide some relief.

By 12 midnight, it will all be over.

43rd January: #7daysofXmas 5

It is about that time of year again, when everyone is regretting their Christmas choices and silently praying that the minutes and seconds until January payday would magically fly past. People like Ameyaw swore that it would never happen again a year ago. That didn’t work out like he had planned. Here is to January Payday coming soon! Also, happy new year, my darlings! 💜

Find the other  Christmas stories here .

So who sent me? 

Eh?

Every single year, I tell myself that I won’t do this again, and yet every year I do the exact same thing. 

Christmas koraa, is it by force? 

Why? 

Ameyaw’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

‘There is somebody here.’

‘Yeah, I know. I just want you to hurry up. You have been in there for about an hour. The rest of us also have bladders and bowels to empty.’

What the- 

Why am I even having a conversation  with this guy in the washroom?

He took his sweet time to flush the toilet. When he opened the door, he was expecting to see a whole line of people waiting to use the washroom too. It was just Collins. He was yet to meet a Collins that wasn’t annoying.

‘What took you so long?’

Ameyaw forced on a smile and said, ‘Take a wild guess’, before opening the tap.

It was better for Collins to assume that he was suffering from diarrhoea than the fact that he was broke. He was also yet to meet a Collins that wasn’t a gossip. The last thing he wanted was his office colleagues discussing his financial decisions.

Now about those financial decisions… December always brought out the worst in him.

First it was the music. Christmas music was always his weakness. Who could really argue with Nat King Cole? Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year. Then, of course the decorations and the lights. Even if he wasn’t in the mood for Christmas, that always did the trick. There was also Twitter. There was always a new advert about some new event or a new place to chill with the guys. Then of course, there were all the borgas suddenly hitting you up with ‘Yo mehn! Coming to Ghana this week? We for hang out.’

December is a scam!

His phone buzzed. It was Kuma.

‘Chale wosop?’

‘Chale Ameyaw, I make dry. Drier than Sahara desert. You no get some loose 1000 Ghana for there?’

Ameyaw laughed. It was that kind of laugh that could easily metamorphosize into ugly tears if he was not careful.

‘Oh I make serious oo, Ameyaw.’

‘We are both competing with the Sahara desert wai. Everybody make dry.’

‘Chale, slow! Didn’t we promise ourselves that we won’t do this again, last year?’

‘Haha, exactly. It is when the hunger pangs hit you that you suddenly remember how foolish you have been. I swear, I have been sitting here, silently cursing myself for every tip I gave, every ‘Drinks on me’ show off for the girls I did, every Uber ride I took. Ordering food left, right, centre when there was banku at home.

Chale, what was wrong with me? January to December 22nd, I take trotro like every normal Ghana boy on a budget. As soon as it was December 23rd, I remembered that I have Uber and Taxify on my phone. That Albert from Taxify koraa, he was sent. Everyday, discount code. Everyday, new event. Me too, mumu! I went everywhere some. What was I thinking? Uber in this Christmas traffic? Mumu raised to the power 1000!’

It was Kuma’s turn to laugh.

‘Ameyaw, relax eh? I even bought hair for girls who will probably blue tick me now that Christmas is over. You know how December is wedding season? Well, with all the ladies I juggle, I had to contribute to Akosua’s bachelorette, Cynthia’s wedding gift, cloth for Denise’s traditional marriage and countless makeup sessions. The weird part is I don’t know either the bride or the groom. I was blowing off 3000 cedis in one night like my borga friends, forgetting that we operate in two different economies and it is just about 470 pounds to them. Relax, yours can’t be that bad.’

‘Naah, chale. I do yawa. The moment my boss gave me the Christmas bonus, I should have deposited it in my investment account. At least, I would have had something to fall back on.’

‘The thing is we all seem to think that the December salary is for December chilling, forgetting that January has 365 days. Today sef be what?’

’43rd January, bro. 322 more days till payday.’, Ameyaw responded dryly.

‘My mother was suggesting that I take advantage of this self-imposed hunger strike and join the church in their 31 day fast. The church is helping the broke to survive January. I told her no thanks. They would probably have a prayer and anointing service on 31st and everyone will sow half of their February salary as their ‘Year of Progress’ offering. Not interested.’

‘The prayers that your mother is praying are the only reason why you didn’t crash your car, while half drunk on way too many cocktails this Christmas. You better join the fast.’

‘So true, chale. It is a wonder how we didn’t wind up with STDs and damaged livers.’

‘STDs? I beg, speak for yourself. All I did was party. One night stand is not in my playbook.’

‘So long as we agree there is a playbook, I am fine with the subtle judgement. Chale, Ameyaw, so the 1K, I should forget eh?’

‘Guy, forget koraa. Ever since we came back from the Christmas break, the security men keep trying to corner me for their ‘Christmas bonus’. Am I their employer?’

‘With your designer suits and shoes, they probably don’t see any difference.’

‘I wonder how they survive on their 700 cedis and below salaries. They are the ones with six children and stuff.’

‘They don’t have your expensive tastes. They stick to trotro, no Uber. They don’t crave for bacon and egg sandwiches. They have definitely not heard of Detty Rave.’

‘Chale chale don’t come and remind me. I can’t even afford Kofi Brokeman at this point, you are here casually mentioning bacon and egg sandwiches. I brought gari and a bottle of shito to work. Me, Ameyaw Owusu! Unbelievable! Thankfully the shito is the rich kind, bless my mother’s soul. I can at least deceive myself that the shrimps in the shito are the source of my protein. Stress!’

‘I cannot even laugh at you. I need to pay my rent, renew my car insurance and replace those shocks. All pocket draining activities chale!’

‘I don’t want to be you. So next year, more prudent financial decisions?’

‘So help me God!’

Ameyaw spotted his HR manager walking in his direction.

‘I have to go. We go link up later.’

‘Hi Ameyaw. Nana Akua from Finance is getting married this month. In the spirit of togetherness, we are taking a donation of 100 Ghana cedis each from everyone. I am here for yours.’

‘Erm what?’

‘Nana Akua. Finance. Her wedding is in 2 weeks. Everyone is contributing 100 cedis.’

‘Yeah I heard you. I am just surprised. When did we decide this?’

‘Well, I decided. Almost everyone has paid without complaining. Cash or mobile money?’

What is all this? It is not like I can say no. A wrong answer can cost me in the yearly appraisals. 

‘Erm, mobile money.’

At least that gave him a few more days to play the ‘I sent it oo. You didn’t get it?’ card.

‘I’ll be expecting the alert soon. Thanks, Nana Akua would be touched.’

‘Sure, anything for a colleague, in the spirit of togetherness.’

‘That’s the spirit! Can’t wait to take donations for yours.’

‘My what?’

‘Your wedding, of course. It is about time you settled down.’

I am just trying to survive January. Father Lord, what is all this?

‘Watch this space. I just need to find the bride first.’

His phone buzzed again as Miss HR walked away.

It was a Whatsapp message from Jeffrey.

‘Chale, I loan you some 100 Ghana in July last year. I dey need am.’

Jeffrey. The same Jeffrey whose weekend spending money was more than Ameyaw’s salary.

Ei! He couldn’t even remember taking the 100 cedis, but one thing was for sure. It would take a really dire situation for Jeffrey to ask him for money dating back to July. Nowhere cool! 

365th January better come quickly!

Cooking Class 2

If you are familiar with Kenikodjo stories, you’d know that the story probably has next to nothing to do with actual cooking. Sorry if you came expecting to find recipes and video tutorials. 🤪 And since I am familiar with Kenikodjo readers, I should also probably stop writing short stories with cliffhangers because you guys always want an ending. What is the fun in that? 😏 Cooking Class was exciting. Let’s see what Part 2 holds. 

‘Steve, all I am asking is that you watch the kids for one night a week. Just one night. I do everything. Their food is already in the fridge. It just needs to be warmed. They do their homework in school. You literally have to just have to be in the same house with them for 4 hours. They are your kids, not some aliens from outer space-‘

She paused and made the mmhm sound, as though she was listening in on the other person.

‘Steve, just stop it. I have always put you and these kids first. You know that. Stop this emotional blackmail crap. All I want to do is this one thing and even then, you have to make it about you.’

She paused again and listened intently.

‘Actually, no. You don’t need a manual to spend time with your kids once a week. We discussed this. No, Steve, no. This stops today.’

She paused again.

‘Unbelievable! You see, this is the problem. We pick up after you and enable you, just like your mums did, and you grow up thinking that it is your right to do absolutely nothing. I need to go and chop vegetables and whisk eggs. Goodbye Steve.’

Akorfa hung up and instantly realized that the entire class had heard her conversation.

You need to stop raising your voice, Akorfa. Now everyone is in your business. Never mind, just shake it off and make the best quiche lorraine they’ve ever seen.

‘Men are trash. I keep saying that.’, Letitia said as soon as Akorfa walked back in.

The men in the class expressed their disapproval.

‘No, you see, the problem is that all of you are entitled. Whether you realize it or not, society has made it okay for you to get away with things that are somehow an abomination for women to even think about.’

Akorfa kept her head down as she chopped her carrots into tiny cubes. Letitia and the rest of the class could have a discussion on gender roles and double standards for all she cared. She was here to make her dream a reality and nobody was going to stop her, not Steve, not anyone.

Bruce had too much on his mind to listen to Letitia’s voice and remember what temperature the oven needed to be at before popping in his quiche lorraine.

Why am I still here?

After a month of lessons, he had gathered enough confidence to whip up a meal that was guaranteed to sweep Ayebea off her feet. He took a day off work and slaved away in his mother’s kitchen all day. The meal wasn’t too complicated but fancy enough to impress her.

Banku, okro stew and banana cake for dessert.

She loved freshly baked pastry. She also loved the ‘swallows’- banku, fufu, omo tuo, kenkey. She loved men who could cook. It was guaranteed to win, just like placing a bet with 1.15 odds on a Barca vs Huesca game.

Time check. 4:50pm.

He told her to get there at 5:30 but knowing Ayebea, she would be knocking at his door by 5:15. He lowered the fire under the okro stew and dashed to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Ayebea was at the front door.

‘Hey Bru- mmh!! Wait, is that cinnamon I smell? Did you bake? Oh my goodness, I get first dibs on Chef Bruce’s cooking? This must be my lucky day.’

She grinned and started bouncing like a 5 year old who has had too much sugar. He grinned as well because it was cute to watch.

‘Can I have dessert first? I promise there is enough room in my stomach for everything you have prepared. I have a four chamber stomach, remember?’

‘Yeah, I remember. There was this one time you beat Horace at the kenkey eating thing. I can still see the look on his face in my mind’s eye.’

She nodded, with her mouth full of banana cake.

‘Bruce, this is actually really good. Wow! Impressive! We could start a business, you know? It is soft and moist and- heavenly. I love it. Great job!’

‘Glad you like it. Actually, I have something to tell you.’

‘I’m all ears. I think I am ready for my banku now. See, I told you! Four chamber stomach.’, she said, pointing at her stomach region.

Bruce sighed.

‘I went to cooking school because of you.’

‘Because of me?’

She looked shocked.

‘Yes. You tweeted about loving a man who could cook. I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I figured if you wanted a man that could cook, I was going to learn how to cook, because you deserve the best.’

His eyes moved from his hands to her face. Her fingers were stuck in mid-air, with the palm oil from the okro stew trickling  from her first morsel of banku right down to her wrist. Her left hand was in her hair. She was tagging at one of her twists, the way she usually did when she was deep in thought.

‘Erm, I am speechless.’

‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’

‘I don’t know, Bruce. On one hand, I am beyond gobsmacked that you think I deserve the best in the world, and that you signed up for cooking class just because of me. It is sweet and touching and — I can’t even find the words. That is what makes this part sad. That tweet-‘

She paused and brushed her forehead with the back of her hand.

Sighing, she continued,’ I tweeted that because the guy I like cooked dinner for me and his parents. It didn’t even turn out that great but I appreciated the effort. Yes, I know. It is crazy. I met someone and I didn’t mention it, and now I have met his parents. I feel terrible because my tweet about a guy I like has made the guy who likes me learn how to cook because of me. I know I am rambling and I am not making a lot of sense, and I wish I could undo all of this because-‘

‘Ayebea, don’t- don’t do that. Don’t beat yourself up. You had no idea I liked you or that I was learning to cook because of you. I can’t blame that guy for introducing you to his parents. I should have introduced you to my mum a long time ago. Finders, keepers. That is what they say. Don’t worry- I will finish the class anyway. Whoever I marry will have you to thank for my impeccable cooking skills.’

He convinced her to finish her food and pack some of the cake for tomorrow. He brushed off her ‘Are you sure you are okay?’ with a ‘I am fine. Don’t worry. I am fine, I promise.’ When the door shut behind her, he walked to the sink, lowered his hands into the warm soapy water and stood there for a long time.

Who am I kidding? I am not fine. The love of my life has a love of her life and it is not me. I am just her really sweet friend who can make banku and okro the way she likes it, and banana cake that transports her to heaven. What kind of zone is this? On top of all this, the guy can’t even cook well. I am supposed to just show up for the next class with the same energy? The whole class knows I was learning to impress her. Now what? No, I am not fine.

Suddenly he didn’t have the energy to watch the Barca v Huesca game anymore.

Kobena called today.

Three times.

No, I didn’t pick up. I think it is not good for my mental health to encourage him to waltz into my life again. Besides, at 54, I should be more in control of my life. This cooking class is going great. Most of the students actually have talent and other people are actually interested in signing up for the next one, that is if I can amass enough self-discipline to organize another one.

The problem with Kobena is that he knows all my buttons. I was too vulnerable with him. Plus I need something to occupy myself with, when I close from these classes.

Should I adopt a baby? Naah, Letitia don’t be silly. After 3 months, you will forget to prepare food for the poor child. Babies don’t drink Jack Daniels, remember? Plus, getting a baby isn’t a hobby you pick up because you are bored.

Maybe I should get a pet. Alternatively, I could focus on baking something complicated and fall into bed exhausted so that I don’t entertain such morbid thoughts.

He is calling again. Don’t pick up…and yet somehow my fingers are picking up the call.

‘Hello Kobena? Sorry I missed your call.’

This is a disaster! Gourmet chef my foot! Who sent me to lie in the first place?

Lesson number 1: the next time you are tempted to lie, consider how easy or cheap it is to maintain that lie. This lie had already cost Pomaa 2500 cedis, plus the other costs that she has not factored into the budget- Uber rides to and from the class, a second round of ingredients because she always got it wrong on the first try and more frequent salon visits. Her acrylic nails needed re-fixing at the end of each week.

Lesson number 2: Know what you are getting into. She didn’t realize how difficult it was to actually cook like a gourmet chef- you know, with your heart and soul- and a generous sprinkling of natural talent. The day she learnt how to poach an egg, she actually burst into tears when the rest of the class applauded. It had taken her no less than 30 different attempts to finally pull it off. It looked so easy on that cooking show on DSTV that she was convinced that it would just take a few seconds to pull it off.

Lesson 3: Don’t keep lying. She had managed to pull off dinner with the crew and it had actually turned out great. Everyone talked about how delicious everything was and how well garnished each dish was. When they were having dessert (lemon meringue pie which she ordered from Koala’s bakery, with vanilla ice cream), one of the girls mentioned that she has a party in a month’s time.

Out of nowhere, she proposed that Pomaa be the one to cater for the event. That was her cue to say no, or to act like her calendar was full, or to even come clean and say that all of this was a scam. Once again, her tongue went on a frolic of its own and promised to send menus via email so they could discuss what exactly to serve. She wanted to impress the newbie that one of the guys brought along, the cute architect that had complimented her cooking three times already.

This nightmare is just getting worse! Sweet Jesus! Hopefully nobody asks me which year I completed my course at Le Cordon Bleu.

Room 1045 Ep 11: Narrowing 101

Greetings!! We are back on the #Room1045 train and yes, it feels good to be back! Last time, Nii and Joan got back on the campus romance train. Kesewa ran off to go and nurse Chukwuma, and someone from Ohemaa’s past resurfaced. Let’s see what this episode has for us. Also, a hearty welcome to all the Kenikodjo newbies. 

‘He is regaining consciousness.’

Kesewa’s voice was surprisingly steady. She leaned over and turned him to his side.

‘This will help him breathe more easily.’, she said over her shoulder to Marcia.

When Chukwuma opened his eyes, she waited a few seconds and helped him to sit up.

‘It’s Kesewa. You had a seizure and Marcia called me so I came over to help. Where are your drugs?’

He pointed at the bottom drawer in his wardrobe and Marcia scrambled over to look for it.

‘Erm, there are a lot of bottles here. Which one?’

Both Chukwuma and Kesewa spoke at the same time.

‘The blue bottle.’

Kesewa walked up to his fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

‘I can’t believe you came.’, Chukwuma’s voice sounded groogy.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’, Kesewa responded, suddenly conscious of how high pitched her voice sounded. She cleared her throat, even though there was nothing there.

‘I don’t know…just touched you did.’

‘Here, drink up. Feeling better? I called your mum. She is on a flight to Accra. I know you can’t stand it when she fusses over you but I didn’t know anyone else who knew everything about what to do when you have a seizure.’

‘I have you. You seem to remember everything I taught you.’

‘I have a good memory, remember? That is how I got 5As for WASSCE. Memorization skills holding me down.’

‘-and holding me down as well. I don’t know what would have happened if you had not come here.’

Kesewa smiled.

‘It was good that Marcia called me. Now you should get some rest before your mum gets here. It is a 2 hour flight, remember?’

Chukwuma started to drift in and out of sleep. Kesewa turned her head in Marcia’s direction and caught the look on her face. She followed Marcia’s gaze to her own hands. She was rubbing the back of Chukwuma’s right hand out of habit- that was how she got him to fall asleep back in the day anytime he had a seizure. She quickly dropped his hand, picked up her power bank and her phone and walked out of the room.

Why is my heart beating and why do I feel this overwhelming need to go back and take care of him? Why did my heart flutter when he said I have you? What is wrong with you, Kesewa? You can’t be falling back in love with the man who treated you like crap. This is like a bad Nigerian movie. 😫 Okay, time to go to the library. Get some sense into your head. Memorize something. 

Prince shifted his weight from one foot to another. It was almost time for Lamisi to come and visit like she promised. Given the way the conversation had gone, he had already passed by the pharmacy to get a pack of condoms. He was ready!

The only problem was today it was a full house in Room 1044. Bryan, Yooku and Senior Man Chris were all there. Even PK who is never in the room was sitting behind his laptop, watching some Pastor Chris sermon. If it was just one person, it would have been easier to ask the person to take a long walk, but it was 4 of them- and one of them was a man who looked old enough to be his father.

What can I do? I definitely can’t postpone this bamba. She would think I am all bark and no bite. After all those sexts, the least I can is give her a good time. Besides, blue balls are not good for my health. What do I do?!

‘Ah, why what dey wrong you?’, Bryan asked, after watching him pace up and down on the balcony for a good 5 minutes.

‘Glad you asked. My woman bi dey come visit me. I beg, you go fit excuse us small?’

Both Bryan and Yooku started laughing.

Dangling his legs off his bed, Bryan threw  his Chelsea jersey into the bag he had turned into a laundry basket.

‘Ah, so this is why you are walking up and down like you have misplaced your school fees? Problem no dey. I even need to go to my old man’s office. Boss man Chris, he wants to narrow us.’

Chris looked up in amusement.

‘Does narrowing mean the same thing it meant in my day?’

‘Yes please. He wants to kick us out of the room so that he can impress a girl with his waist bending skills.’

Prince looked down at his phone.

I am at your door.

He signalled to the boys that she was in. When he opened the door, he swallowed.

This girl isn’t here to play.

Bryan picked up his backpack and nodded a greeting at the lady. Yooku started to convince Chris to take a break from his notes and go with him to get his car washed.

The boys are good. Everyone dey lef one by one. 

Except PK. His ears were still covered with the Dr Dre headphones his uncle bought him for his birthday and he was aggressively nodding at his laptop. He clearly agreed with whatever Pastor Chris was saying.

Lamisi looked at Prince quizzically.

‘Give me one second. Sit here.’, he pointed at the bed Chris sleeps on.

‘Chale, PK make I see you for the balcony briefly.’

PK paused his video, clearly irritated by the interruption. He also tossed a cursory look at the lady who was wearing what looked like a bandana with shorts that could pass for panties, sitting on the bed, hitting her acrylic nails against the wood.

‘I beg, you go fit excuse us small?’

‘Excuse you how?’

‘As in can you leave the room for just an hour?’

‘So that?’

‘Ah, what do you mean by so that? PK, don’t do this.’

‘So let me get this straight. You are a percher in this room. You technically don’t have a bed, but you expect me who paid for my bed and for my share of the room and who by the way is almost never in the room to enjoy it, to leave for an hour so that you can fornicate? Did I get that right?’

‘Never mind, forget I asked.’

‘No, I can’t forget it.’

‘Ah chale. I said, forget it. Stay in your room and enjoy it.’

‘No, but why are you angry? Don’t I have a right to be in my room? Don’t I have a right to not condone sin? I am probably saving you from STIs. Why you bore?’

By this time, Lamisi was tired of waiting around.

She walked up to Prince and said, ‘Call me when you have sorted yourself out’, using her index finger to trace a line on his chest, stopping just before the bulge in the gym shorts he was wearing.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Prince grabbed PK’s collar.

‘Herh, God will punish you! What kind of wickedness is this? 5 months of hard work down the drain because you just had to be Jesus. Is your fornication missing? What is wrong with you?’

Bryan took in a deep breath. Going to his father’s office on any given day was a daunting task, but whenever his dad summoned him, it became 10 times more daunting.

Osei-Ntim Towers.

Such an egoistic name.

Why would you name a building after yourself?

When he first said this, his father had given him a speech about how businesses named after the owners had gone on to excel.

Cadbury. Tata Motors. Horlicks. Colgate.

’I am leaving you a legacy. The least you can do is show a little gratitude. If I had the kind of opportunities you people have today in my time, I would have been President of Ghana by now! You these social media babies take everything for granted!’

Bryan always stopped listening whenever the conversation took a turn like this. All of this- the 7 storey office complex, the factories, the houses, the flats, the buses, the hostels, the family vacations- none of it was for ‘them’, like Papa always said. It was all part of the elaborate script that Papa had written out for his family when he was a child.

Everything had to be done the way he envisioned it. Bryan had even heard that Papa wanted a son first so he had Mama’s first pregnancy terminated when he found out it was a girl. That was why Bryan found joy in defying Papa’s wishes. He simply refused to play the part in Papa’s grand scheme of things.

Bryan nodded at the secretary whose office was big enough to house 3 men with queen size beds. Tentatively, his fingers lingered a few seconds before knocking on Papa’s door.

‘Come in and have a seat.’

Papa went back to the documents he was perusing before Bryan walked in. Bryan, on the other hand, allowed his eyes to wander the length and breadth of the office.

This man is all about putting on a show.

‘I am reviewing your transcript and you had a B in Qualitative Research Methods.’

Papa’s voice sounded pained.

‘My transcript? Even I haven’t seen those grades. How did you-’

‘You are not going to manage this empire with substandard results.’

‘Papa, that’s the thing. I don’t want to manage your empire. I am not interested in living out your legacy. I wanted certification for photography. You insisted that I should get a first degree but in Business Administration. We just had to stick to your perfect plan. Not everything will go according to your plan, most especially not me. I am going to become Ghana’s best wildlife photographer and people from all over the world will come and everyone will know the Osei-Ntim name, just like you wanted- just not for a business empire, for photography.’

‘I didn’t get this far by taking whatever people told me without question. You are my only son and even if it is the last thing I do before I die, I will make sure that you are ready to carry on with this legacy, and that’s final!’

‘Sala? Did you hear anything I said?’

Startled, she looked up to see the eyes of her study group members looking at her in amazement.

Shola continued, ‘Now that we have your attention, can we continue?’

‘Erm, sorry guys. I was a little distracted.’

‘A little? I just wanna know who he is.’,

‘Hey, hey, give the girl a break. Shola nie, everyday school prefect tendencies. Even those of us who are secretly crushing on her are not complaining about other people making her smile. Abeg, let’s go back to infections. This exam is not going to write itself.’

Sala was grateful that Yaw, being the joker that he was, had moved the attention off her. With their heads huddled together over the chapter on respiratory syncytial virus.

When nobody was paying attention, Yaw nudged her.

‘I hope it is not one of the older medico guys. It always ends badly with their kind. You don’t deserve that.’

She smiled and said nothing because he wouldn’t believe her if she told him who was texting her.

Bonsu.

The same guy who terrorized the whole school, the one who took her book and pushed her to enter the lion’s den, the one who was rude and cynical. That one.

It had all started with a random text from him almost a month after their incident.

Hey big head. Thanks for not burning my mum’s picture.

First of all, your head is bigger than mine. You need to pick on someone your own size. About the picture, it was more about your mum than about you.

The banter had been going on for about a month now and she found herself looking forward to the texts anytime she was idle. It wasn’t anything romantic, but she was leaving that option open.

Her phone buzzed again and she instantly started smiling.

It is true what they say about a social media notification having the same effect as a dose of dopamine on your mind. So addictive. 

It wasn’t Bonsu. It was Maa Rakia.

‘Hello Mama.’

‘Salamatu, yaya dai?’

‘I am fine, Mama.’

This was how their conversations always went. Maa Rakia spoke Hausa and she always responded in English.

‘Yaya makarantar?’

‘School is fine, Mama.’

What she heard next made the phone fall out of her hand.

‘Get married? To Ibrahim Kilba’s son? Why?’

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.

 

 

 

Room 1045 Ep10: Sparkle

Anybody home? 👀 I saw all the messages and emails checking in to see if I was okay because Room 1045 and the blog for that matter had no activity for the longest time. The reasons are many but I won’t bore you with them. One highlight during this absence is that I got married in August this year to CPR. Marriage is interesting and I imagine that I will draw quite a bit of Kenikodjo inspiration from it. Enough about me. You didn’t wait this long for me to write a diary entry. 😆

At this year’s meetup, we read Episode 9 and threw round ideas for the rest of the series. Since it’s been so long, I feel like it is only fair to start with a recap. Basically, Room 1045 covers the lives of 3 (well 4) very different girls- Kesewa, who has just broken up with her abusive boyfriend; Salamatu who is doing everything she can to enter medical school and make her mother proud; and the life of the party Joan who has recently broken up with her sugar daddy and is enjoying being in love with a church boy, Nii Okai. Before we left off, we were just getting to know Stacy/Enyonam who had woken up in a room that could very well have been a crime scene and our lover boy Dean of Students was trying to keep his complicated love life in order. Let’s see where the story takes us this time. 

 ‘Say in the name of Jesus!’

‘In the name of Jesus’

‘Any weapon-‘

‘Any weapon-‘

‘of the enemy meant to steal my joy’

‘of the enemy meant to steal my joy’

Kossi slightly cocked his head to the left and waited until every eye was opened and staring at him. He then adjusted his blue hand towel on his shoulder and positioned himself in a ‘about to run a race’ position. Pausing to look at his congregation who were now hanging on to his every word, he shook his head, like a disapproving mother.

‘Listen- we are not here to play. Don’t get tired. Abonsam works double shifts- both when you are asleep and when you are awake. Some of you, this is the first time you are praying this week. Pray it well. You must stand in your authority as a child of God and send that excuse of a devil running like a disgraced dog. Macho your voice and declare the things I am saying. Have you seen a commander giving instructions in soprano before? Who would listen to you? Macho your voice! Turn to your neighbour and say ‘Macho your voice!’ ‘

They excitedly looked at one another and repeated his words.

‘Macho your voice!’

‘Good! Now as you begin to clap and declare with authority, the devil and his fianga fianga assistants will have no choice than to obey. The witches that are holding a conference in your hometown because of your shining star, they will catch fire. They will scatter. It will be a missed call. Turn to your neighbour and say ‘Issa missed call!’

With renewed energy, they started clapping with new strength.  It was almost as if someone had passed cups of Lucozade around, in the short while that he was speaking. The tongues filled the air, so did the sweat induced stench of the prayer warriors.

That was his gift. He could get up any crowd worked up. He could get anyone to do anything. If he had had the right name and connections, he could have become the Youth Organizer for the political party that caught his fancy. All he needed was ears to listen, and he found many of those in this church. That was how he paid his school fees for the last 2 years of his degree, fed himself, paid his hostel fees and took his younger twin brothers through primary school. Every time he saw someone do a double take and look at him, he was sure they were old students who couldn’t believe he was still on campus.

Over here, nobody cared or even knew that he had never graduated because of those two Geography papers that he could never seem to pass. The ladies were eager to cook for him. The gentlemen were willing to do his bidding. He was fine with this life. Next move was to buy a piece of land and start building his church, so that his church members could transition naturally when they graduated. He could already see it in his mind’s eye- the signboard leading to the plot of land.

Redeemer Evangelistic Ministries.

Very soon, they’d graduate to putting it on a bus, on T-shirts, car bumper stickers. Who knows, they could even have a jet one day. Jesus was his only retirement plan and like the saying goes, Jesus never fails.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her, stomping towards them.

The tomboy who hid her curves underneath round neck shirts and jerseys and oversized hoodies, the one everyone assumed was a lesbian. She had the (un)fortunate lot of having the room at the end of the first floor of JB Danquah Hall. That also made her a permanent and unwilling participant in their prayer meetings, because the portion of the field they met on was right beneath her window. He walked up to her, after signalling one of his Junior Pastors to take over.

‘Do you get a kick out of having these weekly conversations with me? You know, the ones where I climb down the stairs to remind you that this is a university and this hotel is for residential purposes, not for a re-enactment of the tower of Babel story?’

Kossi smiled.

‘You know the Tower of Babel story?’

‘That’s beside the point. If you need to pray, by all means, pray. It is bad enough that you swindle these people with your ‘sow’ and ‘give to God’ gimmicks. You don’t need to rob me of my sleep. If the laws in this damn country worked, I could have you hurled before a court and fined for noise making. I won’t have this conversation with you ever again. The repetitive nature of it annoys me. Try whispering. God is not deaf!’

‘Ma guy, your phone dey vibrate oo.’

Nii shut his eyes and turned his head in the direction of the ceiling fan. He already knew who was calling. He just wasn’t ready to talk to her yet. The phone vibrated again. This time he picked it up. It was the latest Whatsapp message.

I am going to text you and call you until you respond. I know this is not what you had in mind when we first spoke and I am sorry, but I won’t just move on because things seem messy. People don’t run into a guy like you everyday. I have never met a man who hesitates and asks God for permission before he puts his hand around my shoulder. I don’t know anyone else who makes this Jesus thing look so cool. That is why I am not giving up. I am going to keep fighting for you, Nii Okai, until the day you look me in the eye and tell me to stop. 

Dang, this girl.

He pulled the shirt he wore to lectures over his head and dabbed behind his ears with his cologne. He opened the door and found Joan standing outside his door. She grinned when her eyes met his. He pulled her into his arms and just stood there, saying nothing.

‘That cologne is working for you.’

‘I missed you too, Sparkle.’

‘Sparkle? Is that my new name?’, Joan asked, with a smile playing around her lips.

‘Just hold still and let me enjoy my hug.’, he rebutted.

‘So you know you wanted to hug me and you were blue ticking me? I am rolling my eyes at you right now.’

Nii smiled.

‘For the record, I wasn’t deliberately blue ticking you.’

‘Please, please. Let’s make up first so that I can laugh at you for avoiding my calls for one week. Did anyone steal your heart in the one week I was off duty?’

‘I don’t think anyone stands a chance around you, Joan. They wouldn’t dare, not if they want to stay alive.’

‘I will take that as proof of me marking my territory well and ignore the subliminal messages you are throwing me. Well, I also have a lot to tell you about. It is like all the action happened when you started avoiding me. So remember when-‘

He could not hear a word she was saying. Her face was lit up as she talked excitedly about what she had been up to and the streetlight behind them was casting her shadow on the pavement they were walking on. Her eyes told him that she was glad that they were okay. She had laced her fingers with his and her palms were slightly sweaty.

‘Are you listening to me?’

‘Sorry, I was storing up this memory in my Favourite Memories folder. It is perfect. You are perfect. I am sorry for blue ticking you, Sparkle. You don’t deserve that.’

Joan looked up at him and blinked back the tears.

‘Nobody has ever called me perfect before. You are the cheesiest guy I know but I love it.’

‘Oh so it’s the cheesiness. And here I was thinking it was because of my killer looks and my sense of humour.’

‘Can someone get the door please?!’, Ohemaa yelled out to nobody in particular.

When the bell rang again, she grumbled her way off her bed, down the two flights of stairs to the front door.

What is the point of having such a huge house with so many workers if nobody can answer the door? The weird part is it is always someone from Mummy’s bible class group or yet another person coming to kiss Daddy’s ass for one favour or another. And yet here I am, ascending and descending stairs like the angels in Jacob’s dream. Mtchew!

The smirk on Ibrahim’s face when he saw that she was the one who had opened the door reeked of mischief.

‘What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that you were not welcome here.’, she said without as much as a smirk.

‘I am here to change your mind.’

‘Don’t bother trying. Goodbye Ibrahim.’

She tried to shut the door but his foot stood in her way.

‘Ohemaa, listen. Please. I know that when my mum died, I became a jerk. I couldn’t handle being vulnerable. I was afraid that if I allowed myself to feel affection, I would  lose the people I loved and I didn’t think I could deal with that a second time. But you know how I was, before that. We had too many good times together. That has to count for something.’

‘Those time should have counted for something. Listen, I have moved on. I am not interested in this kind of telenovela behaviour. If you suddenly have a conscience, good for you, but use it to woo some other girl. I am not 14 years old anymore with pigtails, waiting for you to notice me. Now move. I’d like to close my front door and go back to binge watching my favourite web series.’

‘Is it because of that Dean of Students guy? Rumour has it that he sleeps with whoever is open to it. You deserve better.’

Ohemaa smiled dryly and tilted her head to the side.

‘My mother sent you, didn’t she?’

‘Why would you say that?’

‘Because you have been away for some time and there is no way you could have known about Paapa. Plus, she has always been in love with the idea of us being in love. Oh, and nobody is as manipulative as you two. Goodbye Ibrahim. I am impressed at ‘how much you have changed.’

That being said, she swung the door shut with such force that he had no choice than to take his foot out of the way.

Mother. What game are you up to this time? What is the end game?

‘Stacy. Stacy. We brought you some food.’

She looked up to see her roommates, with a pack of Papaye.

Sala continued in a soft voice.

‘I remember you saying that you liked Papaye, so I thought it would be a nice touch.’

She smiled in gratitude.

‘Thanks guys. You’ve been pretty cool about all this.’

Her roommates had been more helpful than she had expected them to be. The last two weeks had been crazy. There had been loads of disciplinary committee meetings, trips to the lab for testing, meetings with the school counsellors; and they were there for almost every part of it. Today was the day when she was going to sign the bond of good behaviour. The disciplinary committee had decided against expelling her, which meant she didn’t have to tell her mother about all this. Not that it would have made a difference. Nothing she ever did got her mother’s attention these days.

Kesewa’s phone buzzed. It was Marcia.

‘Why is Marcia calling me?’, she asked, staring at the phone screen.

‘Maybe Chukwuma has finally beaten the love out of her.’, Joan responded dryly.

They laughed.

When the phone rang again, Kess walked away from them before picking up the call.

‘Hello?’

The voice that followed the panicky breathing at the other end of the line was one that was drenched in fear.

‘Kesewa, it’s Chukwuma. His body is jerking and he is foaming at the mouth. I- I- I don’t know what to do.’

‘Okay, relax. He is having a seizure. Where are you?’

‘We are in his room. We were having sex and then- Oh God! Is this my fault?’

‘Make sure he is lying on his back and make sure there is nothing near him that he can grab onto and harm himself with. Just be there with him until he calms down. I am on my way. Just be calm okay? Otherwise you might make things worse.’

She hung up to see three sets of curious eyes staring at her.

‘Chukwuma is having a seizure. I need to go and see him.’

Joan spoke.

‘Okay, so I am going to do what I typically do and say what everyone else is thinking but probably won’t say. Kess, you were in an abusive relationship with this guy. Don’t put yourself in a position where you are pulled back into this unhealthy cycle. You might just become some Florence Nightingale. You have given Marcia first aid advice. We can call the hospital. There is really no need to go there.’

‘Listen, I am tired of your need to always give me advice. You are in no place to give me life hacks. Your life is as messed up as it gets. For all we know, Barima might come back tonight and cause yet another scene. You don’t own me. I am not your project. Chukwuma needs me. I am going to be there for him and that is the end of the discussion.’

See you next week! 

 

Taboo 07: Abonsam Cartoons

Pornography is not typically discussed in Ghanaian homes, neither is sex. Adults act like it doesn’t exist and their children end up discovering it on their own. For many Ghanaian boys and girls, pornography becomes their main source of ‘sex education.’ In Ghana, pornography is referred to as ‘abonsam cartoons’, loosely translated to mean ‘the devil’s cartoons.’ Guest writer Kuukua Asante tells the story of 13 year old Kayla’s introduction to abonsam cartoons.

Happy reading! 🙂

“Ao! Ma please, Ma please…. Agyeii”

Mansa’s screams and pleas were making my heart pound even faster. I had already started sweating from where I knelt, waiting my turn of the lashing after Ma was done with Mansa.

“Stupid girl! Evil child! Beyifo) You want to spoil my child for me eh?”

“No Ma…I’m sorry-”

“Shut up! Ashawo!”

Whoosh! The cane would slice through the air before landing in a piiiw on Mansa’s body.

“How dare you talk back at me?”

Whoosh-piiw! Whoosh- piiw!

“Agyei ee! Ma please! Aaoo”

“And as for you Kayla,” Ma said, turning to where I knelt in the living room floor, “I haven’t even started with you and you’re already crying. Better go and write down your confession to Father Quaye, because by the time I am done with you, you will no longer be able to speak. Akola bone!”

I try to get up from the floor but my knees suddenly weigh a ton. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands and stare at wetness. I hadn’t realized that I was crying.

Mansa is our house help but Ma never calls her that in public. It’s always ‘the girl who lives with us’. She is not allowed to eat with us at the dining table, or sit by us in church, or go to the movies with us. She cooks, cleans and washes Ma’s clothes and the car. Sometimes she picks me up from school even though I have told Ma that it embarrasses me. I am old enough to walk home from school by myself. I’d rather she washes my clothes for me instead but Ma won’t allow it.

Mansa and I teach each other things. She taught me how to play Ludo and Snakes and Ladders and Stay – for you. I taught her how to use the microwave, my computer, the TV and the DVD player.

We are in trouble right now because of the DVD player.

Ma attends weekend school and when she’s away on Saturdays, Mansa invites Ayittey, the boy next door, to come play Snakes and Ladders with her. When Ayittey comes over, Mansa sends me to go and buy Abuyaa Waakye for them. Abuyaa is quite far from home but I don’t mind because Mansa will give me some of the waakye, and wash my school uniforms for me.

Ayittey did not come and play snakes and ladders with Mansa today. She said Ayittey had gone to visit his family in Takoradi.

“That is what he said, but I know he’s lying. There’s another girl p333”

“Why would he lie about that?”

“You talk like a child.”

And the conversation ends.

Mansa ends conversations like this all the time. I have learnt not to ask too many questions when she’s talking to me, otherwise she suddenly remembers that I am thirteen years old and then the conversation ends.

Mansa brought out Ma’s brown CD case. It is the one she does not like me to even touch, but Mansa has gone to bring it to the hall. She locks the front door, closes the louvres and draws the curtains even though it’s only 1pm. She also does this when Ayittey comes over so I always have to knock when I come back from Abuyaa, and they always take too long to open up.

“Ma said I should never touch that CD case, Mansa.”

“Yes, because it is not for children. It is for Adults; this is Abonsam Cartoons”

Mansa says we are going to watch some of Ma’s Abonsam Cartoons. She makes me promise never to tell anyone and then opens the case after I have agreed. There are several CDs with naked people on them. Mansa takes out the one that has the two naked black women holding handcuffs on it and inserts it into the DVD.

I try not to ask questions as naked bodies start dancing across the screen. I am uncomfortable looking, but I am curious to see more, so I keep watching. Then I start to feel a strange discomfort between my legs. I look away from the screen and at Mansa who is lying in the big couch across the TV. She has one hand in her skirt and the other is rubbing her breasts.

“Why? Do you want me to turn it off?”

I shake my head quickly, not wanting to be called a child again.

“Come, come and sit next to me.”

I quietly do as I am told.

“Let’s watch something else” Mansa says after a while. I silently sigh but my relief is cut short when she reaches for another CD from Ma’s brown case. This one has three white women and two black men on it. All of them are naked.

I want to tell Mansa that we should stop but I don’t. I just sit quietly and watch. The strange discomfort is growing and I want it to stop. I don’t want it to stop. This is all very confusing, very wrong.

“We have to stop, Mansa.” I push away from her and walk towards the DVD.

“I knew I shouldn’t have done this with you” she says, sitting up now. “Don’t turn it off ok, five minutes p3 then we stop”

“But Ma will -”

“Ma will come home at 6, we will put everything back before she comes. She won’t know unless you tell her. Will you tell her?”

I shake my head, and walk back to the couch. The lights go off as soon as I sit down.

“Dumsor! You see your bad luck!” Mansa accuses me but I am more worried about the CD stuck in the DVD.

“Do you think the power will come back?” I ask.

“Do I work at ECG?” Mansa retorts, irritated by the stupid question. She’s packing up the CDs, I can see that she’s scared too although she hides it well.

“It will come back. It always does at 6pm.” I say, but the wild thumps in my chest betray the trust of my words.

We go about completing our chores while we wait, and hope, that ECG will bring back the light.

We did not hear Ma come in. It’s only 4:30, we weren’t expecting her! We did not even hear her open the main gate. All we heard were the loud knocks on the front door.

I slowly unlock the door to let Ma in.

“Good afternoon, Ma” it takes every muscle in my scared stiff body to move my lips.

“Why have you people locked yourselves inside? And why are the windows closed? Is it not hot enough?”

I fiddle with my fingers and say nothing. I am too nervous to even swallow my own saliva.

“Herh! Am I talking to stones?”

“No Ma” Mansa replies.

Just then the ceiling fan begins to rattle and spin- the power is back! The TV turns on, the DVD player also turns on and auto-ejects the CD.

Yie! Ma has caught us feeli feeli!

If you are new to the Taboo series, it is a collection of fictional stories that depict real life happenings in Ghana; those things that we normally don’t talk about. If you also have a story to share, please send an email to kenikodjo@gmail.com. My hope is that each of these stories will cause us to pause and think. I also hope that they will start conversations. Share your thoughts with the hashtag #OurTaboo. Thanks for reading.- Keni.

Taboo 06: Born One

Another Taboo story is on the horizon! This one is all too familiar. We tell the story of Densua, the beloved daughter of her very pious parents, who is sitting on a ticking time bomb. If you have missed a period or had to have a child out of wedlock in Ghana, you can most probably relate to this story. Happy reading!

‘Bring your prayers to an end.’

Densua kept her eyes shut even after her father said Amen after the morning devotion prayers, simply because she was afraid of the tears that were threatening to fall if she opened her eyes. Pulling at the ends of her braids towards , she tried to cover her face as much as she could as she made her way to her room. She had barely sat on her bed when her mother knocked on the door.

‘Naa, are you okay? You seem rather quiet.’

No, Maa. I am pregnant.

Of course she could not say that. Maa would have probably screamed or even worse, fainted on the spot and that alone would make the situation ten times more awkward. She always imagined what morning devotion would be like when her parents discovered that she was pregnant. Just thinking about it made her shudder.

No morning devotion session was the same. On the days that Maa and Dada were fighting, the hostility flying behind the hymn singing and the Scripture reading was enough content for the Akan drama show. If any of the children had disrespected Maa during the week, ‘Remind these children to obey their parents in the Lord, for this is right.’

‘Naa?’

‘I am fine.’

She waited until Maa had shut the door before she took off the hoodie. She stood in front of the mirror and lifted the two shirts she was wearing beneath the hoodie.

The bulge was showing ever so slightly.

As always, the feeling was a cocktail of excitement and horror.

I have a child growing in me. 

And as always, the tears kept dropping.

She always took her bath at dawn, when everyone at home was asleep. She always wore clothes that were either bigger than her. She was always in her room when she was at home. She always ate when the kitchen was empty, just in case the smell of the food made her throw up. She ignored the ‘W’ay3 k3se oo’ comments from her friends. The heartburns were constant, even when she was drinking water.

It was one thing to have a child growing in her and it was another thing to keep it a secret from everyone in her life. Well, not everyone.

She had told Paul. Of course he was ‘mature’ about it but he was distant.

Like she had come to tell him that she was having the baby with someone else, and he was just playing the role of a supportive friend, who was removed from the entire situation.

‘So what have you decided to do with the baby?’

‘What have I-‘

‘Yes, I can’t decide for you. It is your body, your life that is most likely to be affected by it.’

He was right. Her life was about to turn upside down.

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Okay. Just do what works for you.’

Just like that.

Like he wasn’t the one who unhooked her bra every single time. Like he wasn’t the one who gave her the rundown on which emergency pills worked and which ones didn’t. Like he wasn’t the one who promised to marry her and litter the world with babies- only problem is the baby came before the ring.

Just do what works for you. Coward. 

Every day that went by without her staining her panties with blood made her more apprehensive. She kept kicking herself for not insisting that they use a condom. His ‘I will pull out’ assurances made her brush away her worries. After two weeks of waiting for the all-elusive period, she bought a pregnancy test and confirmed her worst nightmare.

She touched the bulge ever so gingerly.

Hi! I am sorry that I cry all the time whenever I touch you but having you is one of the saddest things ever. Not because of you. No, far from that. It is because how everyone else is going to treat me like I am such a disgrace. The girls on the Youth4Christ group chat are going to gossip about me under the guise of interceding for me. None of the guys who used to crush on me are going to bother to text back any more. I am now damaged goods. 

Densua jerked back when she heard a noise outside her room. It was just her brothers goofing around.

I know that my family will be supportive but they will be so disappointed, like I have failed them. And yes, I have. Ghanaians don’t forgive you when you are a Born one. Even I give people who are Born One the side eye. Now look at me- in the very same position I have silently ridiculed people for being in. And I can’t get an abortion- no, never! That is like murder. Wait, you are too young to hear this monologue. 

Sigh.

I can’t even make smart mothering decisions. How am I going to raise this child?

She had contemplated an abortion in the scary and lonely 36 hours after she discovered that she was pregnant. She had frantically googled how to get an abortion in Ghana and scanned through the first 6 results.

The laws of Ghana do not allow a healthy mother with a  healthy pregnancy to get an abortion with the sole reason of not wanting the pregnancy. Abortions are allowed only under a few conditions such as an incest pregnancy, impregnation of a ‘female idiot’ mad female, impregnated rape victim, or when health care workers determine that the baby, if born, will not be able to have a meaningful life, or if the pregnancy threatens the health or life of the mother, should she continue with the pregnancy.
Compared with other women, women who have had an abortion in the past have twice the odds of obtaining the procedure. Women experiencing repeat abortions may be more highly motivated than other women to avoid an unwanted birth. They may also be more aware of where they can obtain an abortion and of the legal status of abortion in Ghana.
Marie Stopes International has been working with the government to provide safe abortions in Ghana since 2007. Tens of thousands of women die every year as a result of complications related to unsafe abortion. Counterfeit drugs, quack doctors, tea-leaves, knitting needles, even small bottles filled with improvised explosives inserted into the uterus.
An abortion must be performed by a registered physician with the consent of the pregnant woman. The consent of next of kin or a guardian is required if the woman is not capable of giving consent. The abortion must be performed in a government hospital or a private hospital or clinic registered under the Private Hospitals or Maternity Homes Act of 1958 (No. 9) or in a place approved for the purpose.

Her eyes skirted from one Google result to the other, with the pit in her stomach widening with every new discovery.

It was these same Google results that broke the news to  Nana Esi.

Nana Esi was the person that everyone assumed was her best friend because they did everything together. She didn’t bother to correct them because it wasn’t as though she had a best friend alternative.

‘Chale let me use your phone to look for the nearest Stanbic ATM. I need to get some money to pay for the Mongolian weave. Rita’s wedding is coming up and I need to be ready.’

She grabbed the phone and opened the browser, only to find ‘how to get an abortion’ in the search tab.

‘Oh my goodness, Densua! Are you preg-‘

Densua used her hand to cover Nana Esi’s mouth.

‘Don’t say it out loud.’

‘Who is the father? Paul? Oh my goodness, does he know?’

‘Yes he does.’

‘Oh my goodness!’

‘Stop saying ‘oh my goodness’ so many times.’

‘Sorry, do your parents know? Does anyone else know?’

‘Nope and I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can.’

‘Oh my poor girl. That must feel lonely. But how did you get pregnant?’

‘Seriously? How do people get pregnant? What kind of dumb question is that? We had sex, okay?’

‘But there are so many options for preventing a pregnancy.’

‘Please don’t do that Ghanaian thing’

‘What Ghanaian thing?’

‘That thing that Ghanaians do. They give you the best advice after the situation is beyond repair. You know, the oh you should have left your husband the first time he slapped you, and the but you could have used a condom or made sure you were in your safe period, and the oh this bank has better lending rates for car loans. Always when the situation is beyond repair.’

‘Oh, that was exactly what I was going to do. So what are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know yet. Right now, all I am thinking of is the fact that no matter what I do, I will always be the ‘Born One’ girl. They chastise you for getting an abortion and yet they also punish you for not getting one.’

‘You will be okay. You have a supportive family and church network. You will do just fine.’

‘Yeah, tell me about it when they are whispering behind my mother’s back that she didn’t bring up her kids the right way. You know what I hate the most, I would have been part of the gossips if this was someone else.’

If you are new to the Taboo series, it is a collection of fictional stories that depict real life happenings in Ghana; those things that we normally don’t talk about. If you also have a story to share, please send an email to kenikodjo@gmail.com. My hope is that each of these stories will cause us to pause and think. I also hope that they will start conversations. Share your thoughts with the hashtag #OurTaboo. Thanks for reading.- Keni.

Cooking Class

My friend Larkor deserves the accolades for this one. Enjoy, everyone! I miss you guys so much and this is one of my attempts to win back your love after going MIA for so long. 🙈 So much has happened and too much time has gone by to waste your time with long explanations. Just one request: when you pray, pray for me as well! And yes, the next Room1045 episode is inching its way out of my drafts. I enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy reading it!

This is not the day to have a headache. And this is certainly not the day to be downing another shot of Jack Daniels while chomping on smoked bacon and scrambled eggs at 3am in the morning. And yet here I am. Sitting on the counter of my kitchen island in just my panties, breaking about 6 hygiene rules, while Patti La Belle croons away through my Bluetooth speakers.

My eyes follow the neon glow in the dark hands of my wall clock for a good five minutes. Then I drag the whole bottle of Jack Daniels closer to me and my lips part aggressively to receive the liquid like a nursing child pulls on his mother’s aching nipple.

Did I mention I am sitting in the dark? Yes, that’s what you do when you are trying to avoid reality. Reality as in you are 54, fat, single- actually make that nursing the wounds of being jilted by your under aged lover, with nothing to your name except fame and cook books.

‘He said I cooked too much. What does that even mean? How many women even know how to cook well? How many women enjoy cooking? How many women are Cordon Bleu trained?’ How many women know the difference between the different types of Gorgonzola cheese?’, I say to nobody in particular. My state of the art kitchen stares back at me in silence.

Sigh.

Kobena was not my type. Apart from both being Ghanaians, we had almost nothing in common. He had gone to public schools all his life. I did the CTK- SOS- Swiss Culinary Arts Academy before heading to Le Cordon Bleu. He liked Indomie with sausage khebab covered in khebab pepper, while my to-go quick meal was a steak fajita bowl with garlic lime rice, washed down with a glass of wine. But he was cute, funny and very skilled under the sheets. That is how he ended up moving in- and then out after 5 weeks.

5:30am.

What is on my agenda for today?

I casually look at my Apple watch to see what I have on the agenda.

First Day of Cooking Class!!

Instantly, the headache intensifies. It had honestly felt like a good idea when I put up the cooking class ad up on social media. I was tired of cooking for someone else’s restaurant and yet too lazy to start my own. Cooking classes seemed like the perfect step after successfully publishing three books on gourmet cooking on a budget. What could be better than teaching people how to make delicious food? Great idea, right?

Now? Not so much.

‘Wait, wait, you- you, Bruce Ampah, Mr I am allergic to washing dishes, Mr I will never enter the kitchen, Mr-‘

‘Yeah yeah we get the point.’

Bruce rolls his eyes and shakes his head. She is laughing that loud laugh of hers. The one that she rolls out for boys boys. Yes, that is also a synonym for friend zone. The zone he had been sitting in since Class 4. Until Maa Bea found out.

His mother had always had that thing. The ability to read him like a book. She never even saw the two of them- him and Ayebea. All she did was hear his side of a long conversation with Ayebea one Saturday night. She had cramps and he was cracking jokes so she could laugh and forget the pain.

‘She doesn’t know, does she?’ Maa Bea quipped as soon as he got off the phone.

‘Know what?’

‘That you are hopelessly in love with her.’

‘Naah-‘

‘Awww my poor baby. Do you plan to tell her?’

‘Someday.’

And that someday was inching closer and closer. Two weeks ago, she had tweeted about how she loved men who could cook. The next day, he signed up for the class.

He was going to ace that class, cook her a three course meal and tell her that he fell in love with her the first day she threw a crumpled paper into the dustbin and yelled ‘Basket!’

‘So you are not going to tell me why you signed up for the class? You know cooking involves onions, right? You hate onions. Why are you learning how to cook?’

‘You will find out soon enough.’

‘Aargh, you know how at the beginning of the year, you make such grand resolutions like this year I will sign up for cooking classes and take my cooking more seriously?’

‘Yeah, I planned to get my before baby body back, and yet here I am stuffing my face with sandwiches and a milkshake, instead of drinking green tea. That’s clearly not happening.’

The ladies sat in silence for a while, as they watched their children play in the kids corner the restaurant had set up.

‘I am tired of waiting for that perfect moment. It is now or never. I know the kids are young and I know I don’t have the money to go on a frolic on my own, not when Steve refuses to have anything to do with the kids, but I need to do this. I still see it- a big sign with Akorfa’s Kitchen on it.’

‘Yes!!! Do it. I am tired of listening to you criticize other people’s cooking and going on about what spice would bring out the flavour in the food. You need to start your own kitchen so that I can eat for free AND criticize your cooking, even though to be fair, your cooking is pretty flawless. I still think about that okro soup you made three years ago. Divine!’

‘Well, if you of all people approves, then I must be doing something right.’

‘Oh yeah I forgot. Now I have someone to blame when we get to heaven, when Jesus asks me why I never lost the weight. I will put my best surprised look and say ‘You never tasted Akorfa’s fish pie, did you?’

‘I am never giving you fish pie.’

‘Is that your final answer?’

That’s the problem with a lie. You need to keep telling more lies or else the truth will be uncovered and it is never pretty.

You see, I know this, which is why I don’t know why I told them I could cook. Not the ‘I make a really nice omelette’ kind of cooking, the ‘I can start a restaurant in my backyard’ kind of cooking.

I don’t know why I did it. It just seemed like everyone had something great going for them. What would you do when you are at game night with a table full of overachievers? A neurosurgeon who conducts his church choir, a lawyer who has a fashion side gig, a writer who has published his second book and is thinking of writing a web series next, a music producer who was working with all the biggest stars.

You guessed right. I told them I was a gourmet chef. Everyone oohed and aahed, and then they asked me to cook them dinner in a week’s time.

I know it was stupid. Like why didn’t I think of something like copywriting in a ad agency or working in an investment bank? Something I didn’t have to prove.

This big mouth of mine! It got me in trouble when I was 5, and to this day, I still haven’t learnt my lesson.

There goes my 2500 Ghana cedis!

‘Welcome to cooking class. My name is Letitia Boakye. This is not a quick fix class. It will push you. It will frustrate you. It will excite you when your crème brûlée comes out perfectly after attempt number 25.’

Nervous laughs fill the room.

‘Oh yeah, I meant that, and we are not closing until you get it right, but if your head is in the right place, you will love it. You will also never be hungry ever again. You can whip up masterpieces with the leftovers in your fridge. Now, let’s create some magic!’

I really missed you guys! ❤