Room1045 Ep04: A good kind of different

Wow! It’s already been four weeks since the series started? Don’t worry, I am not thinking about ending it prematurely. I still remember what you guys did to me when 8 to 5 ended earlier than you expected it to. Here is where we left off last week and you can find all the Room1045 stories here as well. 96% of those who voted want a meetup. My next question is December or January? Been battling with December because of how overwhelmingly busy it can get. So here we go again:

Thanks in advance for participating. 

So, about cliffhangers! I get the message- don’t keep us in suspense for a week or else we will become hoarders. Hehehe! I thought we had agreed that cliffhangers were the ish, but alas! 🤷🏾I have also noticed that I have a lot of comments to reply to. I will respond to every one of them, I promise. Your feedback means the world to me. We have been chalking some interesting milestones that I cannot wait to share with you. (More on the Instagram page soon!) I also have a giveaway this week with Oshunluxe. Also, December cometh, which means we will have a few Christmas-themed stories like in the 7 days of Xmas series! 💃🏾
🤗 Happy reading, everyone! 

‘You must be Joan. We need to talk.’

‘Sandra, right? I recognize you from the vacation pictures.’

Sandra’s eyes widened.

She expected fear or shame. Remorse even.

Not confidence and self-awareness.

She wasn’t surprised. She was just like Joan when she met Barima- confident, blunt, mischievous, care-free.

Barima liked untamed girls.

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘I mean no disrespect, but you should know. You are his wife. If you haven’t figured out when he started making room for other women in his life, then that’s where your problem began. Secondly, if there is anyone you should be questioning, it should be him, not me. Like I said, no disrespect intended.’

‘You are right- I should know how long my husband has been sleeping around with campus girls.’

Sandra could not believe what was happening. She was standing on a university campus close to midnight, being schooled by her husband’s lover. She felt sick in the stomach.

‘Erm, Sandra. I can call you Sandra, right? I am not your enemy. I respect the family structure. I don’t call your husband. He calls me. I don’t sext him or flirt with him when he is home. I stay away from your anniversaries and family events. I stay in my lane. I give him what he wants so that he doesn’t have to pressurize you for what you might not be able to give him. I am not your enemy. Think of me as a spare tyre.’

‘Well, my family structure is pretty shaky at this point. Barima comes home but his mind isn’t home. He is out more often these days. He is out for longer hours these days. Look at the time he dropped you off. I feel like I am losing him.’

Joan felt a tinge of sadness for Sandra as she looked at her.

‘I am sorry. I just realized how insensitive I sounded. I mean, I have seen pictures of you and your kids. I knew you existed but seeing you in the flesh is something else. I still think you need to speak to Barima yourself. I can walk away today but there are still so many other ladies he can go to, so that doesn’t solve your problem. I thought whatever I was doing was working. I am sad to see that it is not.’

‘I think there is more than just one of you.’

This was a whisper. Sandra could not believe that she was opening up to her husband’s lover. It felt risky- showing her all the weaknesses in her marriage.

Joan stood there in silence. Anything that was going to come out of her mouth would definitely not be helpful. She looked at this beautiful woman whose face was covered in worry and self-doubt, and asked herself if she was the one who did this to her.

More than one person? Now that was new information.

Barima, I have always known that you were something else, but this woman doesn’t deserve this. I had better check for STDs.

STDs didn’t scare Joan. The first time she had sex was with one of her brother’s friends who also lived in the barracks. He liked her but she was reluctant to give in because he had a reputation for breaking girls’ hearts. Eventually she gave in and slept with him- three times in the space of one long weekend. Gonorrhoea greeted her shortly after that.

She didn’t learn her lessons from that.

Condoms are boring. The greater the thrill, the greater the satisfaction.

That was one of Barima’s quirks- thrills, thrills and more thrills!

She looked back at Sandra.

‘I am sorry to hear that. You deserve better. Everyone deserves to be loved fiercely. I am sorry about everything. I won’t have anything to do with Barima, going forward.’

‘Even though he is paying your school fees?’

‘You know about that?’

‘I manage the finances in our home. I see the money going out. Initially I thought he had another child somewhere. You never know with Barima.’

‘Wow!’

‘Marriage is hard work. You have no idea the things you have to manage. Pray you have better luck when you get married.’

Nii Okai tried to call again.

Her line was busy.

Should I try again? What if I end up looking desperate? But she did say I should call, didn’t she?

Dennis threw a pillow at his head.

‘Ah! Are you still trying to reach her? She is probably giving some guy a lap dance. I told you to forget her, didn’t I? You are a church boy. Can’t you see all the girls from the campus choir and the bible study group literally falling over each other to catch your eye? Of all people, Joan is the one you like?’

Nii Okai knew that Dennis was just being an honest friend.

Joan sounded like trouble. And fun.

He decided to send a text.

Hey Joan. Nii Okai here. Tried calling last night but the line was busy. Just wanted you to know I kept my promise. Have a good day.

The response was almost instantaneous.

Nii!!! Lol, you did keep your promise. I put my phone on Don’t Disturb because I was avoiding someone. I am glad you reached out. Busy?

Nope. For you, I have time. 

You are kinda sleek, aren’t you?And they said you were a boring church boy. Sorry I am perpetually blunt.

So I heard.

Oooh, you have been listening to rumours huh? What have you heard?

Nothing life altering. Yet.

That made me laugh. Yet huh? Well, I am glad whatever it is didn’t scare you off.

Jehovah himself lives in me. I don’t scare easily. 😉

I was right. Definitely a church boy.

It is hard to not talk about God. He is everything to me. Plus He led me to you.

To me? God has time to think about me?

Absolutely. He knows everything about you. Everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve worried about. Everything. 

I don’t know how to feel about that. My folder of sins must be full then.

Lol! What are you doing tonight?

What did you have in mind?

Dance with me. 

And that is how Joan ended up at the Campus Praise concert. She kept stealing glances at Nii, who was clearly enjoying himself. His hands were held up high and he kept singing along to the songs, with a big grin on his face. He was really serious about this Jesus thing.

The young men were having a blast in front, doing some kind of formation dance. Some girls were playing the tambourine in a way that was simply beautiful to watch.

This is definitely more exciting than being in a club. At least, here you can breathe and there is no alcohol-induced misbehaviour.

‘You alright?’, Nii Okai asked.

‘Yes, very fine.’

Joan’s phone buzzed again. It was Barima calling, again.

‘Excuse me. I will be right back.’

She made her way to the back of the room. The concert seemed to be ending anyways.

‘Hi Barima.’

‘Have you been avoiding my calls? I have been calling you since I dropped you off yesterday. What is going on? Pregnant and wondering whether or not to tell me? What is it?’

‘Whoa, slow down.’

‘I have been worried. Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, everything is fine. I am sorry I avoided your calls. I just didn’t know how to break up with you.’

‘What?!’

‘Yes Barima. I am not doing this anymore.’

‘What, some streak of guilt caught you? What happened between yesterday and today?’

‘I met your wife. That’s what happened.’

‘What?! Did she do anything to you? Are you okay?’

‘This is exactly why I am ending this. I tell you that your wife met your lover and your first inclination is to check if I am okay. Not regret or shame or even concern for your wife. I thought she was happy. I thought we were all happy. But she is not, and it is partly because of me. I can’t live with that.’

‘Joan-‘

‘No, Barima. Save the explanations for her. She deserves better. And you don’t need to worry about my fees. I will be fine.’

‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

‘Yes. Goodbye Barima.’

‘Joan-‘

‘Don’t make this hard.’

‘Goodness, you are so stubborn. If this is what you want, fine. I can’t force you to be with me. Just promise me that you will take care of yourself, Joan.’

She didn’t respond, partly because opening her mouth was going to make the tears flow down her cheeks.

Barima sighed and cut the line.

Sniffling and blinking rapidly to regain composure, she turned just in time to see another lady giving Nii Okai a hug.

Whoa, Joan! Is that jealousy? Already? Relax, it could be his cousin. Nope, definitely a cousin kinda hug. This girl likes him. 

She made her way to him through the maze of people shouting excitedly from all the praise-induced adrenalin.

‘There you are! I was wondering if you had decided to flee.’

‘Not a chance.’, Joan said with a smile.

‘I’d like to meet one of my closest friends, Esenam. Esenam, meet Joan.’

Esenam’s smile was fake. Plastered. That didn’t stop Joan from reaching out to say hello.

‘Hi Esenam. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Hi Joan.’

The pleased to meet you too was conspicuously missing.

Nii Okai insisted on walking with her to her room. She didn’t complain. He was good company.

‘She likes you. Esenam, I mean.’

‘The ever-blunt Joan. That is what everybody says but I don’t see it. We are just good friends.’

‘Is that your opinion or hers?’

‘Both, I imagine.’

Joan laughed.

‘You have succeeded in friend zoning her. Not that I mind. I won’t allow myself to be friend zoned though.’

‘Ha! You are interesting. Thanks for coming with me today. Wanted to show you a bit of my world.’

’Your world isn’t so bad. I enjoyed the energy.’

’I was hoping you’d say that, Joan.’

‘Plus, spending time with you has made me sure that I do like you.’

‘I know.’

Joan laughed.

‘Wow Nii Okai! I didn’t expect an ‘I know’ response.’

‘Well, I guess your bluntness is rubbing off me.’

‘Erm, this is the part where you say I like you too, Joan.’

‘It is not obvious?’

They both laughed.

As they climbed up the hill, Nii Okai reached out for her hand, but not before asking, ‘Is it okay if I hold your hand?’

So this is what Christian romance feels like. We have been together for almost 4 hours and he hasn’t been inappropriate in any way. We are actually talking and having a good time. Gentle, kind, funny, thoughtful, the right amount of cocky- I could get used to this. 

It felt different. A good kind of different.

 

P.S: I am sorry it took so long for this week’s episode to arrive. No, it wasn’t writer’s block. Your prayers seem to be working so far, in that regard. Let’s just say my phone, laptop, body, time and internet had a hard time syncing this week. Thanks for your patience. Special shoutouts to the sweet couple I saw at Accra Mall on Thursday evening. Thanks for being so understanding.  Readers like you make the world go round. See you all next week! 😘

 

 

 

Room 1045 Ep03: Another man’s woman

This week, I met two ladies who were super excited that I had started a new series. They also wanted to know why I had stopped writing earlier. I can’t exactly explain why I stopped, but I can tell you why I have started writing again. A few weeks ago, the most amazing CPR gave me a pep talk about how it was unfair to leave my readers hanging without new content. He reminded me that when I was juggling school and work and singing and a billion other things, I made time to write. If there is anyone who deserves the praise for getting me back on track, it’s him! ❤

And now to today’s episode….

‘He has been sleeping with the girls for grades oo.’

‘Who, Ansah-Akyea?’

‘Yes. There are different rates. If you don’t want a resit, it is two hours in his office. If you want an A, weekend getaway be dat! All those slay queens who were disturbing us with First Class ribbons are all suspects.’

‘Ei, that be some serious allegation oo!’

‘Oh this is common knowledge. I am surprised that you haven’t heard this. If you are a guy and you are in his class, attend every lecture, write every test and pray for a C.’

Chris cocked his head to the left, smiled quietly and looked back at his textbook.

The reading room was supposed to be quiet, more quiet than his room.

So far, he had heard about Ansah-Akyea’s intellectual brothel, the fact that the bush canteen fufu had given someone cholera, how to hack the internet interface for students and some other things he would never have known if he had not come to the reading room.

Probably better off in the room.

He impulsively checked his phone again to see if Agnes had messaged him. Nothing. His eyes hit his wallpaper, which was a picture of Agnes and the kids. He had taken it last 4 Christmases.

We used to be happy. Very happy. When she said she had landed a job with the law firm, I honestly thought that this was going to be our big break. We would have a steady source of income. We could take a loan and get a few things. I was wrong. 

The money made her pompous and working with fashion savvy, wealthy and knowledgeable men made her husband’s shortcomings even more profound. She started speaking to him in disrespectful tones. She started coming home later than usual. She stopped having sex with him. He was tempted to go to her mother with complaints but he had always promised himself never to involve any third parties in his marital matters.

Then all of a sudden, she was all over him. She came home straight from work every day. She was the one pushing for sex. She was suddenly quick to say sorry. When she told him she was pregnant, it all made sense.

‘We are going to have a baby!’

‘We are?’

‘Yes. Kwesi will become a big brother soon.’

This child cannot be mine. 

As fate would have it, neither of the two kids after Kwesi looked like him. He just knew that he was taking care of another man’s children but he didn’t have the energy to confront her. Of course, once Agnes’ maternity leave ended, she went back to her old ways.

His wife was now another man’s woman.

Brian’s forehead burrowed in a frown.

Kesewa wasn’t in class.

I should have checked on her before leaving the hall.

He had come to care for her. After being in the same class with her for the last two years, he thought he knew her. But moving into the room right next to hers had made him realize that there was more to her than met the eye. He had also noticed that her boyfriend was in the habit of beating her up. Why she was still with Chukwu was besides him.

He picked up an extra copy of the Insurance handout for her and stopped to buy her pineapple Kalyppo and rockbuns simply because she always bought that before she came into the lecture hall.

After his third knock at the door, she opened it just a little.

‘You don’t give up, do you?’

‘Nope. You weren’t in class. I brought you the handout and your favourite snack. Can I come in?’

‘Err, okay.’

When she opened the door wider, he immediately saw why she was hesitant.

Her eyes were bloodshot and there was a swelling above her right eye.

‘Why do you do this to yourself?’

Kesewa looked away.

‘Brian, you don’t understand.’

‘You are right. I don’t!’

Nii Okai kept looking at Joan.

She kept looking back.

Now she couldn’t wait for Dr Johnson to say ‘class dismissed!’ She wanted to wiggle her way to him and say hello. His eyes were too intriguing to ignore.

Her phone screen lit up.

‘I’m here.’

It was Barima. When he wasn’t dressed formally, he looked too young to be her sugar daddy. He hated that name- Sugar daddy.

‘Makes me sound like a 60 year old potbellied man with bad breath.’

He genuinely cared about Joan. He felt this need to be there for her. That was why he had offered to help her pay her fees.

She was smart, witty, honest and different. She knew not to text him when he was at home. She had the perfect balance between needy and loving. She always came when he called for her, no questions asked, which was why it was strange that she had not texted him back, ever since he came to pack in front of her lecture hall.

‘Class dismissed. Don’t forget to hand in your assignments to the teaching assistant before our next class. The handouts are-‘

The rest of Dr Johnson’s instructions were drowned in the screeching of chairs and tables.

Joan wiggled her way to the front of the class. Nii Okai was also making his way to her. He met her halfway.

She spoke first.

‘Joan. What’s your name?’

‘Nii. Nii Okai.’

She pulled his phone out of his left hand, typed her number and pressed the dial button.

‘Now, I have your number and you have mine. I have to run but call me.’

‘Expect the call tonight.’

‘I look forward to it. Nice to meet you, Nii.’

She dashed out as quickly as she came towards him and headed outside.

He stood there smiling a goofy smile until his best friend, Dennis walked up to him.

‘Why are you so happy?’

‘I just met the girl I am going to marry.’

‘Joan?’

Dennis doubled over with laughter.

‘That’s the girl God wants you to marry? Are you sure? I have heard a lot about this girl and none of it is good.’

‘God doesn’t lie or change his mind. God knows her better than you and I do and He still thinks she is the one for me.’

‘Okay oo’, Dennis said, holding up his hands. ‘If anything goes wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘What took you so long?’, Barima asked indignantly.

‘I was introducing myself to your competition.’

‘My competition?’

‘Yep! You are married. I should also explore my options, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t know how I put up with you. I brought you food.’, Barima said, reaching for the paper bag behind him.

She squealed with joy like a child and grabbed the bag.

‘The way to my heart!’

‘What kind of girl stuffs her face with food in her boyfriend’s car?’

‘I think the word you are looking for is sugar daddy.’

‘Chic, we talked about this.’

‘Why are you so allergic to the word? You are about 15 years older than me. You have your own family. We have sex and you buy me pretty things, give me money and make sure I am comfortable. That, my dear Barima, is the Webster definition of sugar daddy. Look it up.’

It was almost midnight when he brought her back to the hall.

‘Goodnight!’. she blew a kiss to him as he reversed and drove off.

Armed with her phone’s flashlight and loudly humming the chorus of a song that she had heard in Barima’s car, she started walking towards her room. She turned abruptly when she heard footsteps behind her, ready to scream her lungs out.

Her eyes narrowed as the woman made her way to her.

She looked familiar. Very familiar.

Probably about 34 years old. Light makeup. Expensive hair- probably Peruvian or Indian hair. She carried herself like a queen.

Then it hit her.

This was Barima’s wife. Sandra.

‘You must be Joan. We need to talk.’

P.S: 

Room 1045 Ep 02: The sins of the fathers

Goodness, I love you guys! Thank you for heartily welcoming Room 1045 the way only awesome readers like you can. Special shout outs to Etsey, LorettaAbby and the others who wanted Wednesday to come early. I am glad you like the characters you have met so far. It is interesting to see how people are already volunteering for the photoshoot even before the story fully unfolds. Full disclosure: once again, I have no idea how the story is going to end. Like I always say, we are on an adventure- you and I, and I can’t wait to see how things turn out. If you missed out on Episode 1, here you go! If you want to send someone all the episodes at once, you can share this link: https://kenikodjo.com/tag/room1045/ . Happy reading. The conversation continues online: #Room1045

She didn’t need to reach for her phone to see what time it was.

4:05am.

Not 4. But 4:05.

Her eyes always opened at 4:05 like clockwork. In her mind’s eye, she could see her mother barking orders to her workers as they got ready to open their shops. She also had people who sold smaller quantities by the roadside.

Maa Rakia.

That’s what everyone called her.

Understandably so, because she made sure everyone had eaten before business started at 4:30. On Mondays, it was Hausa Koko and koose. On Wednesdays, it was boiled rice, an egg and wele stew. She liked Wednesdays. Maa Rakia made the best wele stew ever.

She and her mother weren’t particularly close.

It was something that bothered her, even to this day.  She was kind to her workers and gave them loans without interest. She rewarded those who worked hard and pushed those who lagged behind to do better. She was a great businesswoman, but Maa Rakia could not see her. Like really see her.

Sala didn’t think it was deliberate.

This was the life Maa Rakia knew.

Work, pay workers, order more things, sleep, repeat.

Her grandmother had done it. Her mother had done it. And now, she was also doing it.

Maa Rakia worked hard. Very hard. Her family only had one store, but thanks to her, there were now 4 other stores, in addition to a hundred other workers. She didn’t intend to get pregnant. Casmel just had a way with words and he didn’t try to get money from her. He just enjoyed her company and she enjoyed his. The baby was a surprise. Knowing that it could slow her down, she said nothing to Casmel. The last thing she wanted was a man who would ask her to stay home to take care of his child and be intimidated by how much money she made each day.

She loved her business. The smell of the new clothes. The ability to spot a profitable set of goods. The ability to anticipate trends. The ability to read the market. She also loved the way the relationship manager at Barclays fell over herself to make sure she was comfortable anytime she went to deposit the sales for that day. People like the relationship manager looked down on her in the past, but the hard work paid off.

She loved Sala. Everything she was doing was for her future. She just wasn’t close to her simply because she didn’t think she had much to offer her daughter.

‘Abbas! Abbas!’

Abbas sighed and opened his eyes. Sleeping in his wheelbarrow under the shade of the neem tree was one of the highlights of his day. Business was a little slow today. Most of the students had already moved in. Apart from the odd errand here or there, there was very little to do, so he slept. He needed to be alert for his night security job at the Vice Chancellor’s residence. The VC had caught him dozing once at 2am. He was determined to make sure that it didn’t happen a second time.

‘Abbas, come and see la!’

Kuma was clearly not taking no for an answer.

Abbas saw the reason why, as soon as he got up and started walking towards Kuma.

Chukwuemeka.

‘This guy walks as if we are begging him to do the ground a favour. What I don’t understand is why the girls are dying for him. Look at that nice girl in 1045. The guy beats her as if he is making sheabutter. She too, mumu. She will go back to him.’

‘Ah, but can’t you see the car he drives?’

‘Kuma, is it car that you will use to exchange your life? What are you saying? If he kills her right now, will the car follow her into the grave? I am sure even her father has never hit her before. Because of love, nansins!’

Chukwu sauntered past them, with his workout bag slung behind him. He was still sweating from the cardio workout but he insisted on showering in his own room. He didn’t want to share a bathroom with the other guys. Besides, it was easier to lie under the AC and dry off after his shower.

He hated living in Ghana, but Baba insisted that it was safer for him here than in Nigeria. The political games he played as Governor made his children an easy target, so he had shipped them all off to different schools around the world. The twins were in a boarding school in Switzerland. Ijeoma was in Russia. How he ended up in Ghana was still a mystery.

‘My son, it makes sense to keep you in Ghana. You are my first son and if anything happens, you are the one who will inherit everything. I can’t have you too far away.’, Baba explained.

Chukwu nodded and even smiled. He could read between the lines- ‘You are not smart enough for me to spend this much money on you. Ijeoma is going to be a doctor. Your younger brother wants to be President. Your youngest sister is studying to become a lawyer. I won’t spend that much money on you for you to come home with a Third Class.’

Then there was the issue of Kesewa. He had never thought he would ever hit a woman. Baba started hitting his mother the day she found out about the mother of the twins. She didn’t leave- mainly because of the money and the prestige. She wanted to hold her Christmas parties, make huge donations at fundraisers and appear in the Ovation magazine; so she stayed. She looked the other way while he brought in other women to the house. When he made love to prostitutes in their bedroom, she slept in one of the other rooms or went to visit one of her friends. Baba’s money and prestige allowed him to get away with anything and everything.

The first time he slapped Kesewa, he didn’t know how his hand landed on her face. Her screams jolted him back to reality. When she stormed out of his room, he sat on his bed with his head in his hands, wondering how he got there. After 30 minutes, he got a text from Kesewa.

‘I know you didn’t mean to do that. I forgive you. Coming over in 5 minutes so that you can pamper me with something nice. Love, Kess.’

He stared at the phone in disbelief. Kesewa and his mother were cut out of the same cloth.

Once he realized that she could not leave him, the beatings were more frequent. Sometimes it was because of her tone. On other days, it was because she didn’t pick up when he called her. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that there were other guys gunning for her attention. Infact, he wasn’t going to date a girl that other guys didn’t want. But no matter how often he hit her, she stayed. There was nothing that a shopping spree or an expensive gift couldn’t fix.

Joan rolled her eyes.

This honestly feels like torture.

It was Wednesday again. Dr Johnson was sitting in his chair, dictating notes in that same boring monotone. He wore the same dull green and brown tie and dye shirt every single time they had the class.

Today she didn’t really feel like copying notes. Besides, she could always get a photocopy from Vincent, the class prefect who clearly had a crush on her.

In fact, speaking of class prefects, let me make sure he is copying his notes.

Craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the class prefect, her eyes met some otherguy’s eyes. His lips had slightly parted and he had squinted like he was in shock. From where she was sitting, she could not see much but he looked like he was tall.

Cute!!! He looks a bit too innocent for me though. Probably a church boy. We can work with that, I guess. That way, if he already has a girlfriend, I can become his ‘sister in Christ’. Mmh, I wonder why I haven’t seen him before. He is too cute to not notice.

Nii Okai couldn’t believe his eyes.

God must have a sense of humour.

Last night, on his way back to his room from prayer meeting, he had halfheartedly asked God to show him who his future wife was. After all, the leader had said that he could ask for anything believing that God had heard him and his request would be granted. Ever since he had decided to take his walk with God seriously, he likes to practise the things he learnt at every meeting.

And here he was, staring right back at the girl he had seen in the dream. Same forehead, same smile, same glint of mischief. Yep, same girl.

Room 1045 Ep01: Early Days

It’s series season again here in Kenikodjo land. Been thinking about ways to make this series different from all the others. It feels different. I am not quite sure why though. Looking forward to hanging with you guys every Wednesday. As always, I would love to hear from you. Your feedback helps to shape the story in many ways as we go along. Hashtag is #Room1045.

This week, we’ll take it nice and slow and meet a few of the characters. Happy reading!

‘Jesus Christ!’

‘Joan! Don’t use the name of the Lord in vain.’

‘Nobody woke me up for my lecture? It is 11:45.’

Kesewa looked up at Joan, as she jumped down from the bunk bed.

‘You didn’t ask anyone to wake you up.’

‘But my alarm-’

‘If you set your own alarm and snoozed it when it rang, who am I to wake you up? I don’t know what agreement you have with your pillow. Besides, I don’t know about you but I like to be left alone when I am sleeping.’

Joan rolled her eyes and grabbed her jeans from the top of her bed. She turned to look at the other girl.

Salamatu.

She almost never spoke.

To be fair, they had only been in the room for a week.

It was still early days.

Joan pulled off her nightie and then instinctively covered her breasts. It was too early to walk around the room naked. Next thing she knew, Kesewa would be gossiping about her to her ‘we think we are better than everyone else because we got into Business School’ friends.

She looked at the time again.

11:50.

Crap! This man is definitely going to think that I am not serious.

Kesewa laughed.

‘Relax. I am sure he is not even there yet.’

‘I was late for his first class on Monday and he wasn’t pleased. He marks attendance as soon as he gets there and anyone who comes after he does is marked absent.’

Kesewa pressed the space button on her PC, freezing the moment just before Fitz and Olivia’s lips met. Scandal could wait. This was too good to believe.

‘Ei! Attendance for a dance class? This man must think he is Beyoncé or something. It is not that deep.’

‘Joan, I can drop you off.’

When Salamatu spoke, they both looked up.

‘Erm, so you don’t have to wait for a shuttle.’

‘Oh thank you very much.’

I didn’t know she had a car.

Salamatu shut her Biology books and got off her bed. The person supposed to be on the bed beneath her had not yet moved in. Kesewa kept assuring her that there was nothing wrong with sleeping on the ‘down bed’ even though she was only in level 100, but she still insisted on staying on the top bed. The truth is she never really liked ‘down beds’.

Everyone sat on them and didn’t bother to smoothen the bedsheet when they got up. She also didn’t want anyone to step on her bedsheet when descending from the top bed. Waking up at dawn to study was easier on a top bed. All she needed was a torchlight. She had to get into medical school. She had to. She hadn’t been able to sleep well ever since she got her admission letter. The pressure of an entire generation of women was on her shoulders. This was her chance to prove to her mother that she did not make a mistake by not aborting her. Failure wasn’t an option.

Silence reigned in the car as she drove up the hill to the dance studio.

‘So do your parents have anything against you buying stuff on your own?’, Joan asked.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well, you brought everything from home. I have seen inside your locker. You have everything from an extra sponge to Vodafone recharge vouchers. I could have sworn that I saw a telescope in your locker. You have a car and so you don’t need the shuttle.  So there has to be a story.’

Salamatu smiled.

‘It is my mum.  She has three stores in Makola and two in Kejetia. She sells everything, so I have everything.’

‘Oh cool. Boyfriend? Sugar daddy?’

‘No and no. Right now, my only priority is to get into medical school.’

‘Well, from what I hear, you are quite the shark, so that shouldn’t be a problem. Sorry if I sound like a stalker. Let’s just say I do my research.’

‘You? Where do you come from?’

‘Six siblings. Last born. Dad was in the army but I don’t have a disciplined bone in me. Oh and I have a sugar daddy. Just so we are clear.’

‘Noted.’

‘Also, I didn’t want to come to uni when I got this BFA offer. Who comes to the university to learn how to dance and sculpt? Oh, also my sugar daddy thinks I am studying Economics. So do my parents. I am fee paying. My parents think I am a regular student so they pay regular student fees. Sugar Daddy pays the difference. Yeah, my life is a movie.’

Sala didn’t know what else to say. Nothing she could say would sound half as interesting as Joan’s life did.

‘We are here. Good luck with your lecture.’

‘Wish me luck with the grumpy old man.’

Abbas balanced the chopbox on his head as he headed towards the hall.

Who in their right mind comes to the University with a chopbox? Does he think that this is an extension of Capital High or any of those secondary schools?

He deliberately slowed down so that the potbellied man behind him could catch up with him. The man was panting and sweating profusely.

They got to Room 1045 and knocked.

Kesewa opened the door in her tiny shorts and crop top.

‘Yeees?’

‘Are you my roommate?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘This is my room and you are standing in my way.’

‘There must be some mistake. Check out 1044. I know there are boys in that room. Literally next door.’

Just before the man could utter a rebuttal, Bryan opened his door and poked his head out.

‘Bryan, can you check to see if he is in your room. For some reason, he is bent on being in 1045.’

‘Sure, come this way, Sir.’

‘Thanks Bryan.’

‘Anytime, Kesewa.’

‘Come in. Meet the guys. I am Bryan. Level 300 Business Admin. Yooku is a law student. Prince is Yooku’s cousin. He is perching here for a bit until he finds a room. Between you and me, that usually means for the entire sem. Then there is Prayer Warrior PK. He spends more time at prayer meetings than he does at his Statistics lectures. That’s the gang. You?’

‘Chris. Level 200 Psychology. I was doing the Distance programme but I switched to Regular this year. I am a policeman but I am on study leave.’

He didn’t add that he just signed up for the course because he also wanted a degree. His wife was a secretary in one of the law firms and she was disrespecting him simply because he didn’t have a degree. Those men with white wigs in her office who used English words that he could not even dream of spelling had suddenly made his wife feel like he was below her standard. He also didn’t add that he had 3 children- two of them were probably not his.

But then again, it was early days. No need to air his dirty laundry just yet. It was bound to air itself sooner or later. Who knew, maybe the prayer warrior could save his marriage.

Kesewa came out of the washroom and reached for her phone.

2 missed calls.

Her stomach instantly tightened.

The knock on the door worsened the situation.

‘Hi Chukwu-‘

The loud slap across her face caused her to bite her tongue.

‘How many times have I told you that I hate it when you don’t pick up my calls?’

Her ‘I was in the bathroom’ was suffocated with tears.

‘Why do you keep doing this? You always do what I don’t want and then you push me to punish you.’

She crawled away to wash her mouth.

‘Pick up your damn phone when I call you. Don’t make me come down to get you again.’

Salamatu stood at the door, not quite sure if she should open it with her key or knock.

It all made sense now, why Kesewa kept vanishing for hours on end.

The door opened before Salamatu could decide what to do. The man standing in front of her looked like he could eat a horse as a starter for his three course meal. She gulped.

Chukwu stormed out, saving a grateful Sala the trouble of awkward hellos.

She quickly put some water in the kettle and reached for a face towel, attempting to reduce the swelling on Kesewa’s face.

Kesewa stopped her even before she could touch her.

‘I don’t know what you saw or heard but it is none of your business. Chukwu loves me. He just gets a little too angry sometimes. We are not discussing it. You are not allowed to pity me. Look at me, do I look like someone who should be pitied?’

Sala wanted to say yes. Instead she said nothing.

 

Uber-who?

We all know how much I enjoy trotro rides. I have even learnt how to climb a troski in heels and a pencil skirt, but ever since I ripped the back of my dress getting into a 207, I vowed not to sit in a troski unless I absolutely had to.

Enter Uber.

Cheaper rates than the regular taxis, most of the time.

If you are lucky, you can pull up for your event in the backseat of a Honda Accord. On other days, it is the matchbox, Daewoo Matiz.

Like a boss. With your perfume and the back of your dress intact.

Until the day when every Uber is more than 20 minutes away and there is a price surge.

68 cedis for a 20 cedis journey.

Because of what?

Anyway, on a day like this, you swallow your pride and walk to the main road to stop one of the many taxis that you typically ignore, as you make your way to sit in the air conditioned Uber.

‘Taxi!’

‘ Yeess Ohemaa. Where you dey go?’

‘Airport.’

’40 Ghana.’

‘ Ah boss, I will give you 25 cedis.’

‘Ei madam paa? Sakumono to Airport?’

‘Boss, that is what I pay everyday.’

‘Oh madam, add 5 cedis.’

‘No, 25 cedis is all I will pay.’

‘Oh Ohemaa, 5 cedis pɛ?’

‘If it is pɛ, then dash it to me. 25 cedis, will you go?’

‘Ei! Yoo, let’s go.’

Oga Taxi driver didn’t know that Uber was not an option at the moment. He probably just accepted the fare because he was afraid that I would whip out my phone and request for a car before his very eyes.

I sat in the car and asked him to roll down the glasses. I was told that this was how the car was when his master gave it to him. No AC, no natural air.

Shortly afterwards, I asked him if he could change the radio station to Citi FM. I didn’t want to miss Bernard Avle’s commentary on his visit to Denmark.

‘No.’

‘No as in the dial cannot be moved or you won’t change it?’

‘I won’t change it. It is time for ‘Fa bɛ wɔ su.’ I don’t want to miss it. It is a ‘fine’ programme.’

‘Excuse me?’, I thought to myself.

I whipped out my phone ready to type out my complaint to Uber Ghana when I remembered that it was just a taxi.

As if depriving me of #CitiCBS wasn’t enough, he started singing- loudly. Even my two fake phone calls were not enough to give him the ‘lower your voice’ hint.

Then he decided that we should enact a session of Need for Speed. He started overtaking people, taking sharp turns and driving right into potholes.

Fam, I was livid!

Once again, I had to suppress the urge to report him. GPRTU doesn’t have a mobile app, right?

We finally arrived at Airport. I gave him his 25 cedis and started to get out of the car.

‘Oh madam, no coins for Hausa Koko? Add 2 cedis eh?’

You have got to be kidding me?!

One star would have been his portion without fail!

Funny thing is, before Uber, all this would have been normal. Post-Uber, that was absurd.

Just when I got to the gate, he honked.

I turned to see him sticking his head out of the car.

‘Madam, should I wait for you?’

Waiting for Kathy

I co-wrote this story in 2015 with Gerard Nartey via whatsapp. He’d write one paragraph and I would write the next, even though we didn’t have any idea what kind of ending the other person had in mind. I don’t know why I never published it then. Happy reading and cheers to spontaneous writing! 

His eye lids weighed due to gravity. He kept wake to hear she’d arrived at home so he could tell her. It was important she knew, and it had to be that night. She’d put her phone on airplane mode to conserve battery in the event she arrived to meet stark darkness at home. She didn’t like being kept in the dark, it was far beyond her journalistic nature to be informed.

She was inquisitive, that one. Very observant too. It was near impossible to keep anything a secret around her. It was half past 10, now he was worried. It could get really dark at night where she lived. The trees on the way to her house had formed a sort of canopy which kept the sun rays at bay during the day. At night however, the moon could barely seep through the branches. It made the walk home even more eerie. Absentmindedly, he picked up his phone. He was going to wait ten more minutes and then call Ruth, her sister.

Her line was engaged. Kathy said she strongly suspected Ruth was in love. She showed symptoms. He argued that the ‘signs’ rather than ‘symptoms’ were familiar to her because they were similar. She threw a karate punch at his gut, not powerful enough to knock the wind out of him entirely, but enough to bully him into toeing her line of thought rather than the benefit-of-the doubt nonsense he was predisposed to advocating. “Love is a disease, a mental one” she said, daring him to counter. If he had a tail, it was tucked between his legs at that moment. He was reminded that she was perfectly capable of warding off an attack in her eerily quiet neighborhood.

12 minutes past 11.

He tried her sister’s number again. This time it rang but she didn’t answer. Worry had rudely plucked the sleep from his eyes. He had to tell Kathy today. His phone buzzed and he picked it up expectantly. It was not Kathy, just an Instagram notification. He had never been that much of an Instagram person, but once again Kathy had done her magic. Her argument was that if he didn’t get with the times, he would become a boring old man. So he obliged. It turned out that he enjoyed being there more than he let on.

It was interesting how addictive it could get. There was something exciting about peering into a person’s life through their pictures, status updates and comments. There was this nagging urge to document things, this craze of creating a certain impression about one’s self. Someone had commented on a picture Kathy had put up of the two of them. He liked that picture- he was saying something and Kathy was looking up at him with an adoring smile on her. He smiled at the memory and then dialed Kathy’s sister’s number again.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi Ruth. Is Kathy home yet?’

“Who this?” Ruth’s tone bordered on kurt.

“I shock for you Ruth.”

He continued, “This is the sexiest voice you’ve ever heard.”

“Oh Patrick, it must be the reception in my room. Hey boo!”

“Azaa girl” She laughed.

“But you better than anyone will know where Kathy is. The way the two of you are like two peas in a pod…”

“Hey, hey, hey sister girl. Hold it there…”

“My guy, no long things. If you like Kathy, look sharp. I will lobby for you.” She paused a moment. “She just got into the house, should I give her the phone?”

“No Ruth, I’m sure I’ll hear from her soon. Chic, I beg don’t say anything to her. To be continued.”

The line went dead.

Kathy settled into the large sofa reserved usually for her Paa as they affectionately called their dad. Ruth sat adjacent her and stared hard at Kathy.

“Do you have a problem, Ruth?”

“Should I write you a list?”

Kathy couldn’t help but smile, then she burst out laughing.

“What do you want?”

“To give my sister a hug.”

Ruth got off her seat and plunged into Kathy with the full force of a bear hug. She got up to leave after that and suddenly turned, almost as if it was an afterthought.

“Does Patrick have a girlfriend?” Ruth asked.

“Do you like him?” Kathy retorted.

“I’ll marry him tomorrow if he asked me. He is such a gentleman. I mean, if he can put up with you, then he can definitely handle me”, she answered with a mischievous smile on her face. Shaking her head at her sister, Kathy was reminded to call him.

‘Hey’

Relief washed over him. She was home, safe and sound. Even though she was often fearless and fierce, he had this urge to protect her.

‘Glad you are home safely’

‘Kinda cute that you were this worried. Isn’t it past your bedtime?’, she teased.

He smiled, knowing that she was also smiling on the other end of the line.

‘I have something to tell you. It could not wait. Two things, actually’

‘Ok, I am listening’. Her voice quivered slightly-it was rather uncharacteristic of her. He himself was nervous and kept pacing up and down in his room. His palms were suddenly sweaty and the saliva in his mouth seemed to have evaporated. This could change everything…

‘I have been accepted into a five-year doctoral fellowship in Denmark. Two years, Master’s degree and the subsequent three years for the doctorate degree. It starts in January, so I technically have only four months before I leave. The second thing is that I am in love with you. I have been in love with you since the day you silenced loud mouth Kow, in SSS 2.’

Silence reigned. He knew she was thinking, trying to process everything he had just said. He was also thinking about all the things he did not say- that he didn’t want to lose her, that he hoped they could work it out.

‘Patrick?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll wait for you.’

Taboo 05: For Ewe, For Worse

Been a while since we Taboo-ed. No better time to start like the present. Today’s story is one that strikes a chord with everyone who has had to deal with tribal discrimination here in Ghana. Sometimes it lurks in the shadows of our lighthearted banter, sometimes it is a little more bold, a little more conspicious. ‘Krobo girls are sex maniacs, Hausa men are too domineering, Akyems are materialistic.’ The list goes on and on. I hope this story starts a conversation. Happy reading- and sharing!

Thursday nights are my favourites. Or should I say were my favourites. Those were the days when Ayerebea’s mum went for women’s fellowship meetings, all the way in Dansoman. Ever since they moved to Sakumono, her mother insisted on still attending church service in Dansoman, rather than join a new one in Sakumono. Her dad always gets home after 10pm. This usually gave us 4 solid hours -give or take- to have some time to ourselves. Not for making out. Ayerebea is not that kind of girl. She was saving herself for marriage. The first time I tried to surreptitiously slide my hand in between her thighs, she quietly dragged my hand out and placed it in her hand. Her quiet smile said everything that her lips didn’t need to. When I was lucky and she was ovulating, I got a kiss and a lingering hug. Nothing more. And I could not complain. I took it.

Ayerebea was one specimen of a woman. Wise. Classy. Oblivious to her sexiness. And she loved me. Yes, even with my protuding ears and not too flattering nose. She laughed at my jokes and we liked the same kind of music. Every Thursday, she would stand in her mother’s kitchen and cook me a meal from scratch. She would get off work an hour early and get home quickly to start before I got there. She would hum to herself, not realizing how endearing it was to see how the beads of sweat clung her baby hairs to her forehead. She could tame a bowl full of onions in minutes and no amount of steam could bully her. She also did all of this barefooted, stopping occasionally to give me a tin to open or peppers to destalk. Like I said, one specimen of a woman.

‘You ready?’

‘Mmhm’

Today we were eating goat stew and boiled yam. The thick chunks of watermelon sitting in the fridge were next in line. We never got to eating the watermelons, or to lying in the sofa to talk about whether or not twin boys were a good idea, or to listening to our favourite parts in Kidi’s Odo over and over again.

Her mum came home early, just after my second morsel of yam went down my throat. That’s when everything changed.

It’s been five months since that Thursday and I still have a sharp pain in my chest.

I still can’t bring myself to eat. No, I haven’t cried. Ewe men don’t cry.

I can still play out the entire scene in my head .

Ayerebea’s mum, in her Women’s Fellowship shirt and ankara slit, complete with a white duku, clutching a leather bound study bible. The smell of the spices in the goat stew. The dripping of the water from the kitchen sink. The heaviness in the air. The look on Ayerebea’s face. The sound of my heart pounding.

‘I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you, Mr- ‘

‘Glover. Patrick Glover.’

‘Mmh. How long have you known my daughter?’

‘A year and half, Ma’am.’

I was sweating and I knew I was on trial.

‘What do you do for a living?’

‘I am an engineer. Well, almost an engineer. I still have the panel inteview to do and then it will be official.’

‘Oh that’s nice. Good for you.’

Ayerebea fidgeted and I looked up at her.

‘Do you love my daughter?’

‘D-do I love her?’

‘Yes, do you love her?’

‘Yes ma’am. Yes, I do.’

‘I see. Glover, huh? That means you are Ga?’

‘No, ma’am. I am Ewe. I come from Yama.’

She looked up, as if she wasn’t sure if she heard right. After slowly setting her bible on the dining table, she placed her handbag on top of it.

‘I see.’, she said slowly, ending the long pregnant pause.

‘Goodbye Mr Glover.’

‘Mummy!’ That was the first time Ayerebea spoke.

‘No. You, listen to me! Whatever this is, it ends today. I am sorry, girl but there is no other way. Whether you are pregnant for him or not, whether you have made a covenant to be together for ever or not, this- whatever this is- it ends now! I will not give my daughter to an Ewe man. I will not become the grandmother of an Ewe child. I will not have Ewe in-laws. It doesn’t matter if you have never been to your hometown. You still have Ewe blood running in your-‘

‘Mum! I love this man. We plan to get married and have kids. Twin boys. You don’t even know him. He is kind and funny. He asks for my opinion and actually listens. Who cares where he comes from? I don’t!’

‘You don’t know what you are talking about. You think love will matter in 10 years’ time? You don’t even speak Ewe. What are you going to do when his relatives come and visit? You would have to wonder if they are gossiping about your cooking. I am your mother. I know what is best for you.’

Ayerebea was crying. Me? I was speechless and broken-hearted. The mother of the woman I loved was looking at me like I had some disease and she didn’t want to get infected. I had been a decent boy all my life. My parents raised me well. I knew how to be a responsible adult. I was going somewhere with my career. I had prospects and I was madly in love with this woman’s daughter.

And yet, none of that mattered. My tribe did.

I still don’t know how I got home that night. What I could not get out of my mind was how a woman could be this heartless, while she was still dripping with church anointing.

‘Don’t get me wrong. I have tried to forget her. I can’t. How do you get over Ayerebea?’, I said to nobody in particular.

‘I can’t move on- not until I no longer have a choice. Not until there is no iota of hope left.’

I am pretty certain that my walls were tired of listening to me. I could only talk to them. I could not tell my parents, just in case things changed with Ayerebea’s mum. I didn’t want to ruin my chances with Ayerebea, just because of her mother. My mother would never ever allow me to even befriend anyone who made Ewe jokes.

She always said, ‘Be proud of who you are and where you come from. If anyone wants to avoid you because of where you come from, it’s their loss not yours.’

I still love Ayerebea.

It is difficult for her.

The whole ‘honour your parents’ thing has always been a big deal for her.

These days, when I call her, the conversations are strained. Short. Void of her ‘Patrick, stop making me laugh. My tummy hurts.’ Hollow.

Sometimes she doesn’t pick up at all.

I don’t blame her.

What could she possibly say?

She’d eventually move on and cook yam and goat stew for someone else, barefooted. She would marry a man who is not Ewe, while her mother smiles approvingly from the right hand side of the aisle in her gigantic mother of the bride hat. They’d probably have twin boys. She’d laugh at his jokes. Not mine.

If I am lucky, she will remember me on random days when Kidi’s Odo plays on her little pink radio.

Maybe not.

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.

Bayerɛnomics

September is here!!!!! I know my announcement is 23 days late but it is my birth month and I am allowed to flout the rules. A lot has happened while I have been away. Allow me to give you a quick update:

  1. I finished my LLB!!!!!
  2. I broke my glasses and spent about a week walking by faith, not by sight. Suddenly I am not too keen on wearing glasses 24/7 (or at all)
  3. I have officially joined the natural hair girls. Did the big chop. CPR documented the whole thing- pictures, videos, the whole shebang.
  4. The website has a new look. I hope you like it.
  5. I had the severest form of writer’s block ever. I kept doubting everything I wrote down. (Thank you Fui, you are awesome!)

There are a few other updates that I am keeping close to my chest so that you will be surprised when they happen. Speaking of surprises, I am doing a giveaway to commemorate my 27th birthday. 3 giveaways, actually, I think you will like them. Keep your eyes on the Facebook and IG pages for updates. 

Did I mention how much I missed you guys? Thank you to everyone who checked in on me, prayed for me during the exams and wished me a happy birthday. It is safe to say that September is lit and Kenikodjo is back!

Chances are you can smell it before you see it. You can even hear the sound of the hot oil welcoming the yam chunks, which were only previously covered in salty water.

The mob of people?

Yeah, that is how you will know that Sister Akua showed up today. The people who sell yam and koko and waakye have off days, you know. They get married, have outdoorings, go on holiday and go for church conventions.

Anyway, the people. They will be standing in a long winding queue. That is how you know that the yam is good. If there is no queue, it is just average yam and it is probably cold. The more exotic the yam chunks look, the more expensive they are. I have seen curly fry- types, square cubes, slender slices, fat chunks, you get the picture…

Get in the queue and make sure you are comfortable, because you are going to be there for a while. The man in the tie in front of you will probably order for his whole office.

‘Ma me bayer3 ne atomo 3 cedis, Mep3 pack. Second one no y3 no rubber. Atomo 4 cedis. Menp3 m3ko. Third one no ma me meko bebree’

You get the vibe? Individualized orders for every single person on his team. That can be super annoying especially if you are just buying yam 1 cedi and sweet potato 1 cedi, with 3 cedis worth of turkey tail. The food might be finished and you would have to wait for the next batch. (It gets worse when it is waakye- one egg, fish two, plantain 2 cedis, no gari, etc)

Pray that the MD of that big office doesn’t pull up and roll down the windows of his 4×4, letting out a little of his Glade-scented air conditioned air and a few beats from his Amakye Dede jam. You will instantly become invisible- all of you. Sister Akua would serve him and deliver it to him in his car. Yes, she will even make small talk and laugh at his lame joke, all the while as you stand in the scorching sun.

But nothing lasts forever. It will eventually get to your turn. You will finally be face to face with Sister Akua.

‘Bayer3 1 cedi, atomo 1 cedi, tsofi 3 cedis.’

‘3no nkoaa?’ Sister Akosua would slightly lift her face to look at you, probably wondering why you are ordering just that.

After that, it is pepper buffet time.

Past the tray in which the chicken thighs, fried fish, gizzards, sausages and turkey tails are arranged, there are probably 3 bowls of pepper- ground pepper (red), shito (black) and green shito. No ketchup here. These days, the green shito is a favourite for most yam lovers. There is a formula to it, or so I am told: half a spoon of each with a little of the ‘water’ from the tomatoes in the ground pepper so that it feels like a lot.

*whispers* It’s a rip off.

If her shito is good, you will know. She will have medium-sized and large containers of shito with a good amount of oil dancing at the surface, right next to the tins of sardines, tuna flakes and corned beef. She will also be super stingy with the shito, like it is oxygen and everyone is out of breath and she was the designated oxygen distributor.

No, you didn’t just imagine me rolling my eyes. I actually did.

After all of this, the yam better be grewgrew with a slight sugary taste on the inside and a slight salty covering. The steam that hits your face after your first bite should make you smile. The juices from whichever protein you chose should blend nicely with whichever medley of pepper you end up with. When it is almost done, you might probably sigh with contentment about how a meal so simple could taste so good.

If not, it wasn’t worth it.

Bon appetit!

*bayer3- yam

*atomo- sweet potatoes

*shito- black pepper

*tsofi- turkey tail

*grewgrew- crunchy