Not one of us

Been ages, I know! Forgive me for the absence but I am back now. I trust you have all been doing well! A special welcome to all those who have recently joined the family. Make yourselves at home 🙂 This one is dedicated to Kwame Acheampong for bugging me to publish a story asap and to Carlian for keeping my secret. 😉 It was so nice to see you! A very happy birthday to the President (no, he doesn’t read the stories but I like the way he says Ghanaian..lol)

Happy reading, guys. I missed you.

X, Keni

Rusticated.

The first time Michael heard that word was when he was watching the Indian movie 3 Idiots with his best friends Koomson and Nat. Later that night, when he told his mother about the new word, she smiled and said something he had become used to hearing.

You remind me of your father.

She always said that with a pained look in her eyes, tinged with pride.

This time she added, ‘He was always fascinated with big words.’

She concluded by staring at some imaginary object in the distance.

He hated it when she did this because it reminded him of that feeling that he kept buried way beneath the surface. It was a cocktail of anger, low self-esteem, everything negative. But today he wanted answers. Somehow it felt like the answers would make the pit in his stomach disappear.

Being an illegitimate child was the worst thing you could be as a Ghanaian boy. It was always your weakest point in an argument and your enemies were not afraid to play that card whenever they were down.

‘Bastard!’

He knew what it meant but the first time someone hurled the word at him, it felt alien. Strange. Like he was having an out of body experience. He was 15 and he had just beaten another boy for bullying Koomson. Yes, Koomson was scrawny and his glasses as thick as the bottom of his mother’s favourite drinking glass, but he did not deserve to be bullied. He was kind, smart and funny- and his parents treated Michael like family. Plus Koomson’s mother’s toolo beefi jollof was heaven on earth.

So he hit Bola in the stomach- very hard. Bola doubled over and the growing crowd cheered. Michael was a forward midfielder, the Messi of his class, so he was nimble-footed. Try as he could, Bola could not hit him. He kept dodging Bola’s blows and throwing surprise punches. The jeering made it worse.

Ah Bola paa? You no fit mellow am?

Michael dey form oo. Muhammed Ali standards.

He should have seen it coming- the way Bola’s eyes squinted, the way he stepped back to ensure that everyone could hear him, the glint of triumph that flashed in his eyes just before the words came out of his mouth. But then again, what could he have done to stop it? How do you explain away the fact that you didn’t know who or where your father was? That all you had of him was his surname and the constant ‘You remind me of your father’ chorus? There was no coming back from that.

Bastard! Find a father before you come to a fight. Even your father knows that you are good for nothing. That is why he never comes to the school.

The disgrace and the anger that rose like bile in Michael’s throat was so intense that he had to take a step back. It was taking every last bit of his self-will not to punch Bola in the face but he didn’t want to break his mother’s heart. Being called to the principal’s office because your son had beaten up another boy was something she did not deserve to go through. The judgmental looks she got when she came for PTA meetings were bad enough.

That was the thing about being an illegitimate only son. You grew up way too fast too early. You learnt things the hard way. You buried weakness, hunger, anger, pain and illness- it was your way of protecting your mother from extra burdens. You became fiercely loyal. You weighed consequences, decisions, everything! At age 15, you thought like a 28 year old man.

So he walked away, his head bent and his heart heavy that once again the ‘illegitimate child’ card had reared its ugly head. First time it happened was in kindergarten. His class teacher, Big Auntie Maggie, was helping them to make Father’s Day cards for their dads. The boy sitting beside him asked in a loud voice, ‘Why is Michael making a card? He doesn’t have a daddy.’ Auntie Maggie tried to get him to keep quiet but he would not back down. ‘It’s true. His daddy did not come for Parents’ Day. My daddy said he does not have a daddy.’ That was the first time Michael got into trouble in school. He tore the buttons off the other boy’s shirt.

Not having a ‘daddy’ followed him everywhere. He was now 17 and he still refused to discuss the topic of who his father was with his mother. She didn’t push it. Poor woman- she had dealt with so much ever since he was born. Aside from her references to the similarities between them, he did not really know who he was, what happened and why he had never met him.

‘I want to know. I want to know everything.’

Cecilia Addo smiled and sighed. Tapping the seat beside her, she said, ‘Sit. It is going to take a while.’ Three hours later, both of them were shedding tears and Michael’s respect for his mother had soared so high into the heavens that it was probably poking St. Paul as he walked on the golden streets of No. 01 Where God Dwells, Heaven.

The first and last times she saw Barima were both cut out of a movie. He was the charming 39 year old man who dressed to kill and always had something witty to say. He wasn’t in a hurry to get married. He just wanted to have a good time, so they did. They went everywhere- old, new, undiscovered, everywhere. He was always learning new words and finding ways to use them in everyday life. Then he travelled to go and lecture in Virginia. Her heart sunk when he embraced her for the last time, his perfume lingering long after he had left. It was a tearful farewell- they both made promises to be reunited soon.

God must have laughed. Her period was late that month- in fact it never arrived. Cecilia decided to keep the pregnancy, even though she was on her way to becoming an air hostess with Emirates. Her mother disapproved but she didn’t feel like it was her place to criticize her daughter- after all, she too had Cecilia out of wedlock and against the wishes of her parents. Cecilia was stubborn, just like her and as it turned out, that would be her saving grace- that stubbornness.

It saved her the day she went to inform Barima’s family. His sister spat in her face and swore that her brother would never do something as lowly as impregnate a woman out of wedlock. She threw her out of the house, with her five-month old pregnancy. Cecilia swore to never return to that home and to never rely on anyone else to help her take care of her son. But her stubbornness did not prevent her from missing Barima, from seeing glimpses of him in her son, from wishing that someone would help her with the task of catering for a son who inherited her strong heart and his father’s love for words.

‘I want to meet him.’

‘Your father?’

‘Yes.’

She said nothing in return, but he knew that it was a yes. It was a hard ask to go back to the people she swore she would never return to, but he knew that she would do it for him.

That day was particularly sunny. The sun had shown up in all her resplendent glory to record the day’s happenings, to bear witness to the meeting of father and son. The compound was a big one, with green lawns and brightly coloured flowers. The security guard who accompanied them to the gate had an air of self-importance about him as he announced their arrival.

‘There is a gentleman here who says he is Master’s son.’

‘His son?’

The click of what sounded like expensive heels got nearer to them. Cecilia’s stomach turned and Michael instinctively put his arm around her. It was a woman- probably the wife of ‘Master’. She had this air of gracefulness about her and her eyes travelled from Cecilia to Michael and back to Cecilia.

‘How may I help you?’

‘I am here to see my father.’

The sound of his own voice startled him. Calling him his father was something that he had not intended to do, and yet here it was, rolling off his tongue like melted ice cubes.

‘Your father?’

‘Yes. My father. Is he home?’

‘No, he is not. But do come in.’

Her hospitality surprised them. It contradicted with her body language- almost as if her heart was saying one thing and her body another. They were ushered into a big room with expensive furniture and offered water.

‘Why have you come? Is it because of his riches? Look around you- he has a family now. We have children. We have the perfect life. There is no room for you in it- too many questions, too many whispers. My husband doesn’t have any illegitimate children. He cannot have any. It would tarnish the image he has fought so hard to build. Do you want a cheque? Is that what will make you leave quietly?’

‘Enough! What is it about all these vindictive people Barima has surrounded himself with? First, his sister, now you! We don’t want your money. We did not come here to be insulted either. This boy has lived all his life without a father and will continue to live, regardless of whether or not this father exists. He just wanted to meet his father. There is no reason to humiliate us. He has done nothing wrong- apart from being born into this situation. So yes, you are allowed to be surprised about the news of a son you did not know of, but do not, for a second, insult my son. You have no right to.’

‘Fine! Then leave the same way you came. You don’t belong here. Can’t you see? You are not one of us!’

Cecilia turned to look at Michael whose head was bent. When the woman started speaking about the kind of life that they had built for themselves, his eyes fell on what looked like their most recent family portrait. There was a man who looked like his father, given the way his nose looked. He was laughing with his three daughters and his two sons were standing behind him. None of them looked older than 15 years. Most importantly, they looked happy.

Michael’s eyes travelled along the set of pictures that were hanging on the wall- their vacations, birthdays, graduations, soccer games, everything.

He is a good father.

Somehow that burdened him even more than he would have expected it to. It would have been easier if he had been a bad father, if Michael could somehow convince himself that he was better off without him. It wasn’t the money or the travels. It was the presence of a father. That was what burdened him- the fact that he may never get to experience that. Not like his other siblings. That he will always be the disgrace, the secret, the taboo. Never the first son of Barima Asante who fills his father’s heart with pride.

‘Maa, let’s go.’

We all do!

Aaaaaand we are back!!! I have been gone for so long that I am even afraid that I may have forgotten how to write..lol! I missed you guys so much. Thank you to everyone who sent me a message to ask how the exams were going, followed by a subtle ‘so when are you writing the next story?’ I can’t wait to see where this new phase of writing will lead to, but I sure can’t wait to find out. Welcome to all the new readers- I see you! For those of you who are fasting in the period of Lent, I wrote a piece about fasting on Tested with fire that you might find interesting.

Now on to today’s story! Dedicated to one of my favourite Twitter darlings- Afadjato. Happy belated birthday Fui! Your sense of humour and wit are two of my favourite things about you. We should totally write a story together! Happy reading! ❤

The church looked like it was the home for rats and cockroaches- dusty, poorly lit, slighty musky and old. After all, Jesus did say he welcomed everyone. The pew Ayebea was sitting on had not been cleaned in ages and it creaked like a 250 pound woman had sat on it a little too heavily. The pink dress she was wearing was the only decent thing she could find that wasn’t in her dirty clothes bin and the wire in her brassiere kept moving. Every time she fidgeted, the damn pew creaked, causing the usher at the other end to give her a dirty look.

Whatever happened to welcoming people with open arms? Why don’t you change your pews instead?

Of course, she could not say that. Her mother would have killed her. Mama was one of the deaconesses in the church and she took her role very seriously. She left home at 4:30am for the church’s morning devotion, after putting Dada’s koko in a flask. Mama was one of the church’s welfare correspondents, which was a fancy name for the people in church who knew everything about everyone- from birthdays to how many children they had out of wedlock to who had not been for communion in the last 3 years- everything. She was the unofficial mother of the church. That was why it hurt her that Ayebea wasn’t a church girl. She had stopped nagging her to follow her to church, but Ayebea knew that Mama still muttered silent prayers to God about it when everyone was asleep.

The prayers was probably working.

How else could anyone explain why Ayebea would wake up at 8am to accompany Mama to a wedding at church? Everyone knew that Ayebea woke up at 11am on Saturdays and yet today she was seated in church, watching Mama move from pew to pew, greeting the people who had come from the groom’s church. She had a smile for everyone and a different conversation starter for every person. She carried someone’s baby and complimented another’s lace dress. She paused to greet another deacon and whispered something to one of the ushers.

She is really good at this.

Ayebea’s thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the groom. He looked like he was pouring out of the suit he was wearing, like the seams were only being held together by the blood of Jesus. He was chewing gum and he had sun glasses on. Ayebea frowned.

Even I know that it is bad manners to chew gum in church. And what is it with the sun glasses? Does the church have a sun roof that I don’t know about? Sigh.. this is why I don’t come to church. I will keep complaining and miss my blessing.

The bride came 45 minutes later than the invitation stated. The worship leaders looked relieved. After all, it was exhausting to convince the congregation to lift up their hands when everyone knew it was just a way to while away time until the bride arrived. She walked down the aisle, with a timid smile on her face, pausing long enough for her friends to take a picture of her dress for Snapchat.

‘…Jesus, Thou art all compassion,
Pure unbounded love Thou art;
Visit us with Thy salvation;
Enter every trembling heart.’

The woman seated behind Ayebea was singing in what seemed like a combination of Alto and Tenor in such a hoarse voice. What made it worse was that she insisted on singing every word a tad bit later than the rest- and she had her own adlibs in Twi. She kept inserting Yesu ee, M’agya and Agyenkwa ee everywhere she could. Ayebea was greatly relieved when the minister said, ‘The last verse please.’

Bless your soul, Rev Danso!

They never got to singing the last verse. Everybody in the church turned to the sound of scuffling at the entrance of the church. There were two women in wedding gowns at the entrance. One of them was in a bustier ball gown and the other in a mermaid gown. The ushers were trying to prevent them from entering the church and the women were bent on doing just that. Ayebea turned to look at the groom. The sunglasses were off his face and he had suddenly stopped chewing the gum.

Rev Danso started to make his way to the entrance while the bride kept hurling questions at the groom. From where she was seated, Ayebea could see him mouthing ‘Baby, calm down. I am sure it is nothing’ to the bride.

Honey, he is lying and he is doing it at the feet of Jesus, of all placees. It is definitely something.

The two other brides made it past the usher barricade and met Rev Danso halfway. By this time, the whole congregation was buzzing with anxiety.

Reverend: How may I help you?

Bride 2: We don’t need any help, Osofo. We are also here to get married.

Reverend: We are already having a wedding here.

Bride 3: It seems you don’t understand. We are here to get married to that useless boy, David. (pointing at the groom)

The congregation gasped. Ayebea started scanning the room for her mother. She had counselled the couple and sort of felt responsible for them. She also liked having things under control and hated surprises. This was definitely a surprise and it was getting more and more out of control by the second.

Groom: Ladies, calm down. There is no need to create a scene (making his way to the centre where the two other brides were.)

Bride 3 who was obviously the more aggressive one of the two retorted, ‘Don’t tell me to relax after sleeping with me and making me have three abortions. Three! Just last month, you were in my house telling me how this girl wouldn’t stop calling you even though you had told her to stay away from you. And now you are getting ready to marry her abi? No problem. We will all get married today.’

She sprinkled some Ga expletives on the mess she had just cooked up. Ayebea winced and bent her head when she realized that some of the bride’s ‘friends’ were recording the spectacle on their phones.

Anything for a good gossip, huh?

Rev Danso calmly looked at the groom in the eye and asked, ‘Is what she is saying true?’

Bride 2 didn’t even wait for him to answer.

‘Don’t bother to lie, David. We have two sons together. You kept telling me that you were not ready to get married and yet here we are, today. You swore that you would marry me as soon as you were on your feet. It looks like you are on your feet now so let’s get married. Look, I even brought the boys.’ Everyone turned to look in the direction in which she had pointed. There were two boys standing in the doorway of the church- the first one about 4 years old and the second, barely a year old. They all had their father’s head and eyes. The original bride was now crying softly in her mother’s arms. Rev Danso looked completely at sea.

Bride 3 started laughing.

‘You think you are smart eh? You decided to have a private wedding so that we won’t find out. But God is not mocked, whatever you sow, you will reap. It is in the Bible, ask Osofo. We are all here- marry us. We have wedding gowns and all. I had no idea that you could rent gowns until this week. We have come to say ‘I do’. Infact, we all do.’

Ayebea turned to look at her mother again. Her eyes had reduced to slits and she had a frown on her face.

Reverend Danso asked again, ‘Is what they are saying true?’

‘Yes.’

The yes was so soft. As soft as a feather. But the whole church heard it.

‘Oww David!’, everyone exclaimed. Even Ayebea joined the chorus.

David, this is very disappointing.

Papa Osofo Danso turned on his heels and walked back to the bride, who had taken off her veil and ruined her makeup with her tears. He knelt beside her and whispered something into her ears.

Mama? She got up, walked up to David and gave him a resounding slap. The kind that could have risen Lazarus from the dead or parted the Red Sea. It was the kind of slap that the bride’s brother would have given him if she had one.

Ei Mama!

There was silence, as if everyone was afraid of incurring Mama’s wrath and receiving a slap of their own. Bride 2 looked uncomfortable like she regretted coming to ruin someone’s day. Bride 3 looked unperturbed, yes almost satisfied and victorious. Clearly she had an axe to grind. Three abortions was no small record.

Mama didn’t say a word on her way home. Not one word.

As for Ayebea, she could not get the howling of the first bride out of her mind. She couldn’t even make jokes about following Mama to church more often for more soap opera moments. Nobody deserved to go through this. Nobody. Not on their wedding day of all days.

The End

Kenikodjo.com

Thank you Ten Thoughts for your kind words!
I do agree with you, I need to write more often.
*whispering* Let’s keep that between us though. My readers know no mercy!

TEN THOUGHTS

Happy Rainy Sunday guys! Today being the last Sunday of the month, we’ve got a review and a guest author’s post. Tap the link and check it out. Let’s get to reading then?

Item:www.kenikodjo.com(Blog)

Reviewed by: Kobby Elikem

Crisp! It’s not a word you can use to describe something like a blog. But this is the Keni Kodjo blog we’re talking about. Hence, it’s… Crisp! The first time I read the kenikodjo blog I fell in love straightaway! Such talent! It weaks me!

From the fonts to the theme to the arrangement on the site; it would seem the blog was designed by a professional. If it were, it only goes to show how seriously she takes her readers. If that’s not the case, it only goes to prove that she has an eye for art (And this is someone who wears lenses).

The stories are beautifully…

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The Legacy

Hi guys!! I miss you so much! Only a few more days until we are reunited. Naa Awula is back with another thrilling piece! By the way, she tells me she is working on a sequel for Instagram Wedding. Give her pressure, like you do with me! 😂😉 Happy reading! ❤️

Sefakor was usually sweet, calm and all smiles but the female homo sapien that stood before Elorm this evening was far from calm. Her face was slightly swollen and she looked tired and worn. She had obviously been crying; her tears had dried now, but not without first causing her mascara to run and make her eyes look like a panda’s. Her hair looked like she had been briefly electrocuted. Her bright and happy-looking flowery knee-length summer dress was in direct contrast with her current emotional state. Elorm himself wore faded jeans with a T-shirt which, thanks to all the hand-washing, now had sleeves that had a lot in common with elephant ears.

“I don’t get what you mean by ‘more time‘. We were friends for 11 years, not counting the past 7 years of dating, and you’re saying we need more time? Heck this relationship is old enough to drive!” She had started to raise her voice. The only other time Elorm had heard Sefakor raise her voice, was at her dog who had once made the mistake of barking at him. Boy! Had that dog regretted it. The stern look that accompanied Sefakor’s order for silence had sent the poor creature scampering away with its tail between its legs. Standing in the middle of her sitting room today, he understood perfectly how that dog had felt. Even in her current state, Elorm still thought of her as beautiful.

Miss Sefakor Adade.

When Elorm first met Sefakor, he was only seventeen. He had injured his ankle playing for his school team during ‘Interco’. The sun showed him no mercy as he limped his way across the dusty field to the Red Cross Tent. Sweaty, tired and with an involuntarily-acquired tan, Elorm arrived at the tent, to find that the medical personnel had gone to get lunch, leaving behind teenage Red Cross Club member, Sefakor. Of course he didn’t know her name then but could sense she was special. She carried her duties in a calm, composed, somewhat shy manner. As she tenderly wrapped the bandage around his ankle, he realised she was being overly careful.

“Athletes don’t break,you know.” Elorm said with a smirk on his lips.

“Oh really?!” Sefakor asked in feigned innocence as she gently poked his wounded ankle.

“Ajeish!”

“Don’t you mean ‘ouch'” She teased. The two teenagers burst into laughter.

“Okay. We’re done here.”

“Stop feeling like you’re a doctor, it’s just Red Cross.”

“And yet you were scared”

“I wasn’t scared.”

Sefakor placed her index finger playfully on her lips. “Shhh…it’s okay. I won’t tell anyone that Elorm is a big baby.”

“How do you kn-”

“Here, let me help you out.” Sefakor helped Elorm out of the tent and to a nearby seat. “Don’t put pressure on your foot, ok? Later.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t see her for the rest of the sports season. He had forgotten about her till they met again in school one evening, just before entertainment began. A movie was showing that night and he had gone to the Assembly Hall ahead of time, as usual, to reserve seats for his buddies and himself. Their favourite seats were those in the back of the hall. On that evening, however, he noticed one of the four seats they preferred was already occupied. As Elorm got closer, he realised who was in the seat.

“Hi. You may not know this but, first years generally stand or sit in the front row.” Elorm said smugly.

“Good thing I’m in Form Two then.” Sefakor smiled. “I see your foot is completely healed.”

“Yeah. Thanks…I guess”

“Your limp gave you quite the cool gait though.” She was such a tease.

“So, not to be rude bu-….”

“…But you usually sit here. Got it.” Sefakor cut in. “I’m going to the dorm anyway. Not a big fan of our movie nights. It’s always one boring old movie or the other.”

“What would you have preferred? Romance?”

Sefakor rolled her eyes. “Something that goes more like: You-killed-my-parents-when-I-was-five-and-now-that-I’m-twenty-three-and-a martial-artist-you-must-die.” She got up and started to head toward one of the doors of the Assembly Hall.

Elorm was as amused as he was intrigued.

He called after her, “I could punish you for not coming for Entertainment, you know.”

“And what’s stopping you now?” She said, still heading towards the door and without looking back.

“Well, to do that, I’ll need a name and a House number.”

She paused, without turning to look at him. “Sefakor. House Four.” Then she was gone.

During the rest of the term they would occasionally run into each other, mostly brief encounters but it was clear there was a deep connection, a strong bond growing steadily each time they met. They were soon inseparable friends.

After eleven years of friendship and a number of heartbreaks they realised they only truly found solace in each other. They started to date; been seven years since. They had had their ups and downs like any other relationship but the connection they felt was so much stronger than the minor disagreements here and there. They were so certain they were meant to be.

She had been there for him through thick and thin. If a deal fell through at work; Sefakor. If Manchester United lost a match; Sefakor. If he remembered something funny and wanted to share it; still Sefakor. Yet standing in her home this evening, Elorm wished he was anywhere else, but here.

He wasn’t even sure where to begin. He loved her but he just didn’t know how to break the news to her. The initial plan of postponing the wedding for as long as possible had seemed like a great idea but he could no longer lie to her. This was the kind of news that no one could ever recover from. It would break her heart and he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her this way. But with the way things were going tonight, he would just have to confess to her. Elorm turned to face Sefakor again. It was clear she wanted answers. Her stare was so intense he felt the hairs on his arm stand. He could tell she had hit her limit and it was understandable.

“Faa’kor, please sit and let’s talk about this.”

“You’re not going to talk your way out of this this time, Mister. I know you well enough to know you’re hiding something. What is it, Elorm? Why do you keep postponing the knocking and formal introduction? I’m tired of wearing this ring and waiting for you. It’s been almost three years since you asked me to marry you. If you are no longer interested in us, just tell me. Why punish me further by making me wait in hope?”

Oh those almond brown eyes again. Elorm thought.

“Faa’kor, you know I want more than anything in this world to make you mine but it’s just not that simple.” He managed to say quietly.

“Did you find someone else?” She was not giving up until she had answers.

“No. You know I coul-”

“Who is it? Someone from work right? Is it Akua Eduafua? I know you’ve got a soft spot for her.”

“Faa’kor. Stop it. It’s no one at work.”

“From church then? Priscilla maybe?”

“No.”

“Then what is it? We had everything ready when your dad passed and it’s like he took a piece of you with him. You’ve never been the same since. I understand you two were close and he left you a ton of responsibilities but it’s been almost three years. Three years!”

Silence.

Pentatonix’s rendition of ‘Say Something’ was now playing softly on the TV which they had been watching before this discussion on marriage started. Perfect timing, Elorm thought.

“Elorm, don’t you go mute on me!” Sefakor was desperate for answers.

Elorm couldn’t take it anymore. The dilemma was eating him up from within. It had started to show on his person: the strand of grey hair that had recently appeared in his beard was evidence enough. Sefakor had teasingly called it a biological aberration. If only she could joke about this new development as well. Elorm exhaled with force, his classic tell for when he was stressed or under a lot of pressure. He had waited all this while, hoping he would be called back to the specialist hospital. He just wished he would receive a call saying there had been a mix-up; that everything he’d been told earlier was false. Oh how he wished and hoped and prayed…

“Elorm” She said quietly, “Does this have anything to do with your Dad’s passing? Did he secretly dislike me?” She paused. “Answer me, Elorm.” She had started to raise her voice again.

Everything that he had kept bottled up was pushing forcefully from within. He felt his chest muscles tighten.

“I ca-ca-can’t marry you.” Elorm stuttered.

“And exactly what is that supposed to mean? After all these years? Talk to me Elorm, talk to me!”

Elorm parted his lips slowly and began to explain. Sefakor could never in her worst of nightmares have imagined what hit her next. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened in shock at the words that rolled off Elorm’s tongue:

Elorm exhaled with even more force.

“You’re my sister. My dad and your mum wer-”

He never finished that sentence. The slender body of an unconscious Sefakor hit the tiled floor with a loud thud.

Thanks for reading!

Interco: Annual Inter-colleges Sports Competition

Knocking: Traditional ceremony where the family of the groom officially informs the family of the bride of the groom’s intent to marry the bride.

Say Something: song originally by A Great Big World, Christina Aguilera

Photo by courtesy of Pinterest

8 to 5 Ep15: This is not a drill

Fam!!! Funny enough, I am not emotional about ending 8 to 5. Although, between you and I, I am only ending it because I have exams soon and a girl needs to zoom in. (That almost sounds like an over-zealous prayer secretary will say.) I have enjoyed writing it- infusing it with real life and pushing myself a bit more. I consider it such an honour to have had your undivided attention for the last 4 or so months. I hope it has been worth your while. I am looking forward to what the next project would push me to do. For now, I will be going back to my first love- short stories. I have been getting some love from Nigeria over the last two weeks. Team Naija, I see you! 🇳🇬 Do say hi or leave a comment. We would love to meet you 🙂 Shoutouts to the silent reader I met this weekend who made me promise not to do this. At least I didn’t mention your name 😉 Follower Friday has taken off! Could be you this week! Special birthday wishes to Naa Awula, Dr Tele and Yasmin (aka Gagert, aka Kafui). As always, happy reading!

‘..to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse..’

Edem fought the urge to laugh at the irony of it all. He was sitting in the front row of a church, watching a girl who had almost broken his virginity get married to a man he knew she did not love. The best part was that the girl was allegedly his sister. He would have preferred to have been seated with the PwC guys at the back or to not be here all together, but Grams insisted that he make an effort to get to know the people who were his relatives.

So far, so good.

He was still not ready to call his father Daddy or Father, but at least they had conversations every now and then about everything and anything. His ‘aunties’ doted over him, constantly asking him if he needed to eat something. His younger cousins were fun to be with. Watching them dance at the engagement after party helped him to laugh. He had not done that in a really long while. He had still not spoken to Akwesi. They had never gone this long without speaking to each other. He missed him. He missed Maame Esi too, but he knew better than to try to call her and check up on her. It was time to get his life back on track.

Joseph squinted at the screen.

These damn clients. Everyday revert, everyday changes.

He had started working with a small advertising firm not too far off from Oxford Street as a copywriter. His political days were over, at least until 2020. Now the only heartbreak he had to nurse was the one inflicted by the Black Stars. Even Korantemaa had become a distant memory. He had gone back to being celibate, deliberately ignoring all the hints the client service executives were sending his way.

Mawuli had gone into ‘solitary confinement’ with the military so he really didn’t have friends he could talk to.

Maybe it is time to join a dance class or something.

Maku bounced baby Tim on her lap. He barbled some baby nonsense that only he could understand. Living with her mother had made her appreciate a lot of things she took for granted when she was a child. She had come to rely on her counsel and her company.

Sitting outside after the kids had had their baths and gone to bed was one of her favourite things. The smell of baby powder, the comfort of suffering through baby related stress together and the gentle breeze slightly fragranced by the forget me nots at the side of the house all made the end of the day a big highlight for her.

She had not seen Robert in the last 10 or so months. He didn’t turn up for the naming. He didn’t even acknowledge the invitation. As fate would have it, baby Tim was the spitting image of his father. As her mother said, ‘it is God’s own way of playing pranks on men who don’t want accept their responsibilities. The children they fight so hard against end up looking exactly like them.

Quitting her job had taken courage. But then so had walking out of the abortion clinic that day. Dracula did not approve. Letting go off the affections of an office boyfriend proved to be more difficult than she had anticipated, especially at a time like this. Her leap of faith became a huge jump when she started the consultancy. Having experience in working with capital markets certainly made it easy for her to get contracts. These days she worked from home, baby Tim suckling on her left breast while she replied an email.

It wasn’t always smooth. There were days when she missed the safe, predictable nature of an 8 to 5 job, but she was happy. Once baby Tim was weaned off the breast milk, she could attend evening classes or even do a correspondence class online. Even though she always acted like she was fine, there were still days when she cried herself under the shower because Robert wasn’t coming back.

She knew that he had heard about all the changes in her life. She knew that he knew that Tim was his photocopy. She knew that he knew that she knew. Sometimes she wished she didn’t know. Anytime she felt overwhelmed, she did the one thing that had given her solace ever since that day at the abortion clinic- she prayed.

‘My son.’

‘Grams.’

Akwesi looked down at his hands.

This was the first time he had been to see her since the ‘break up’.

This was Maame Esi’s idea.

Maame Esi.

Bless her.

I don’t deserve her.

‘I love you, Akwesi. You. I am not confused or in doubt or anything like that. If I was, I would break up with you and keep my distance from Edem because every gossip in town would be dragging my name into the mud about splitting two childhood friends. You know I don’t have a problem adjusting to change. My parents’ divorce was one crash course. Yes, I have a very soft spot for him, but that is where it ends. He is like a brother to me. I know it sounds cliche, but it’s true.’

Somehow Maame Esi’s speech was meant to convince two people. She knew she had been walking dangerously close to the borderline and that spending time with Edem was only compounding problems but the accident shook her. She had honestly thought she was going to die and it made her reevaluate her choices. Even on her hospital bed, she had tried several times to get Akwasi to resolve all the problems in his life. She had added Joseph and Edem back to the group chat, forced him to make peace with Joseph and was now working on him making amends with Edem.

‘Even if you hate Edem’s guts, you can’t possibly take it out on Grams. That is not the Akwesi I fell in love with. Go and see her.’

So today when Maame Esi had finally been discharged and brought home, he drove to Edem’s house. He knew Edem would be at work and this way, he could tell Maame Esi that he had made the effort. It wasn’t that he was being difficult. The truth was that he was ashamed. He had allowed his feelings of betrayal with Joseph to spill over into his encounter with Edem. He didn’t know how to redo it.

‘It’s been too long, Akwesi. Where have you been?’

Classic Grams, acting as if she doesn’t know what has happened. She had thankfully recovered from the stroke. Now she spoke a lot slower than she used to and walked with the help of a cane but other than that, she was back to being Grams.

‘Been around oo. I am sorry it took me so long to come see you.’

‘You came. That’s what matters.’

The door opened and they both turned to see Edem, entering the house.

‘Grams, I decided to work from home tod-‘

There was silence for what seemed like a decade but in reality, it was only a minute.

‘Yo! Wossup? You go chop kenkey and domedo?’, Edem asked, gesturing towards the bag he was holding.

‘Sure fam. Can’t leave you to get a potbelly on your own.’

Just like that, it was a new day.

Grams smiled at Edem and mouthed, ‘That’s my boy.’

This is not a drill. Please exit the building.

The automated voice kept repeating the warning.

Edem shut his rose gold MacBook and lifted the documents off the table. He kept the door open while the ladies rushed past him with their heels in their hands and slippers on their feet.

Is this by force? Wearing heels you can’t run in.

He shook his head as he hurried down the fire escape.

People had huddled together at the car park, looking up at the building. There was no sign of fire or smoke anywhere.

‘It must be a false alarm.’

‘Why do they keep doing this?’

‘They don’t pay me enough to be running down these stairs.’

That outburst from the size 16 woman in the office beneath theirs made everyone laugh. She was huffing and puffing like the proverbial wolf in the three little pigs story.

‘Ei Ewurade, my heart. Maybe I should join the boys for body twetwa exercises after work.’

This time, even Edem was laughing. Apparently body twetwa was what some of the girls called the boys who had ripped chests, with lines that could pass for meandering tributaries of a river.

One of the cars parked ahead of Edem was reversing towards him so he stepped backwards. He bumped into something. Or someone, judging from the soft gasp he heard.

‘I am so sorry.’

‘No, it’s my fault. I should have looked behind before moving.’

‘That’s okay.’

She smiled. Not that she needed to. Edem was already swooning.

‘Edem. Edem Afadzinu.’

‘I know. Baaba Hayford.’

‘You do?’ His eyes widened.

Her smile deepened. She was clearly enjoying this.

‘No, I am not a stalker. My cousin works in your office. You walked past her cubicle once and I asked her your name. Let’s just say I am good with names.’

‘Wait, how long ago was this? Coz I have been on leave for a while now.’

‘I did say I was good with names, didn’t I?’

‘Well, I was just wondering how I would have missed seeing you.’

Looks like the Akwasi in me has arisen.

Edem smiled quietly to himself. She was truly beautiful. Her hair was slightly curly and because she was sweating, a few strands had clung to her forehead. If there was ever a perfect nose, she was the one who had it. She also had a chinple, smack in the middle of her chin that deepened when she smiled. She was wearing a rose pink chiffon top with trousers that had nicely drawn out her hips and legs. She didn’t have heels on, her ballet pumps looked sensible and comfortable at the same time.

There was something else about her that he could not quite put his finger on. She wasn’t being coy or seductive. She was being blunt and mischievous. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

‘So you know we are going on a date soon, right?’

He took a leap of faith, waiting to see if she would reciprocate.

‘Depends on how soon soon is.’ The chinple deepened once again.

I like you Baaba. I like you a lot.

‘How about now? They can’t seem to locate the fire anyway.’

‘Oh right, the fire.’

She laughed. He laughed.

‘Now works just fine. I just need to tell my cousin.’

‘Just to be sure, you don’t work at PWC, neither do you plan on working there, right?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Good.’

‘And you are not related to me either.’

Baaba laughed again.

‘I sense a story coming. But I don’t want to talk about exes on our first date. Wait, will there be another date?’

‘There most certainly will. And it is one heck of a story.’

The End

Jezebel’s Jollof

Naa Awula is back, serving us some realness. 1st February was her birthday as well, so I am sure she is coming with all the euphoria and hope of a new year. Happy reading!

A tune plays softly in the background. The decor – splendid. The atmosphere is filled with oohs, ahhs and awws of guests. Hundreds of pairs of eyes, all fixed on you. Beads of perspiration form rapidly on your brow. You dab at them, careful not to wipe off your drawn-on eyebrows. An echo of your voice is all that can be heard. Your voice quivers slightly as you repeat slowly after the Reverend: “…to be my lawfully wedded husband; to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, in sickness and in health…”

Pause. Deep breath. Take a minute. Maybe two. Take as long as you need but just make sure you pause before you go on.

Look around you. These people are going to leave you two to face life together, alone. They won’t be there. Family, friends, no one; just you two. So don’t you rush into making this decision. They’ll ask, “What are you waiting for? He’s a cool guy. Do you know how many ladies are clapping and making declarations at the Achimota Forest, just to even get a guy to ask for their number?”

For guys it’s: “My guy, make you no slack. In jollof dey bee waa. Wey she fine too.” Sure let’s go on and make decisions we’ll have to live out for the rest of our lives based on jollof and social status, shall we? Any Jezebel can cook and clean but is that all that makes a godly wife? Chef and janitorial skills?

Making a decision on whether or not to be with someone can be tough, real tough. Especially when he/she has ticked off everything on your checklist but there’s still something about him/her that just creates an uncomfortable feeling in your heart. You can’t seem to place your finger on it. Everything appears cool on the outside but there’s just a hint of you’re-not-sure-what-it-is in there. Deep down within you feel some uncertainty. Any time you have to meet up with him/her you have a feeling in your gut that almost makes you sick. You sense within you that something is very wrong even though everything looks alright. Allow me to introduce you to the small print.

During an update, we’re usually notified of terms and conditions and given the option to select ‘I agree’ or ‘I disagree’. Selecting the latter usually means we can’t continue to the next stage so most of us usually select the former just so we can proceed. We seldom read the terms and conditions on most of these installations we make. Then we get excited when we see the notification: 3 updates successfully installed. It’s only when you start encountering some problems that we go back and realise we were prompted but we did not notice it because it was in small print.

Many a time we overlook the small print people have and click ‘I agree’ just so we can hit ‘next‘. You can tell within your heart of hearts that something just isn’t right with them but you go with it ‘just ’cause.’ You know the kind; the things you’re consciously overlooking that you know you shouldn’t. Sometimes it’s not in small print but in huge red flags which we ignore. “It’s all in my head”, you assure yourself, “There’s nothing wrong with him.” “My mum likes her and all my guys know her”, you convince yourself, “We’ll be okay.” Are you sure? Her terrible temper she lives in denial of; his rudeness, he insists is his way of expressing his opinion….you’ll be okay? We’d rather endure this so we too can flood timelines with selfies and posts; to let that ex know we’ve moved on; to create the illusion of a perfect relationship to everyone. But God didn’t make you to be ‘okay’; He made you for greatness. You two are not equally yoked; you’re not even headed in the same direction. “Can two walk together, unless they are agreed?” (Amos 3:3). So you’d rather keep him/her around till ‘something better’ shows up when the truth is you’re concerned your schedule is so busy you’ll probably not meet anyone else and you don’t want to be judged by everyone for letting a ‘catch’ go.

Society has a way of subtly nudging you into places you don’t want to be. It didn’t start now and certainly won’t be ending soon. So be strong. Listen to that still small Voice’s prompting. Take time to read the small print in detail; because in that quiet hall, draped with fabric and sprinkled with soft petals, in the presence of God and man, your next words to what you’ve started shall be ‘….till death do us part.’

8 to 5 Ep14: Bro Code

Hi guys!! Post No 100, y’all!! I have great news for you guys! The next time you see another alert, we will be in February! Can I get a Yay? Been one long but interesting month for me. Thanks for giving Awula such a warm welcome. Maybe she will overcome her shyness and write another story. Like I said on Kenikodjo Social Media today (yeah it is a thing lol!), we are starting a new tradition- Follower Friday. I can’t wait for you guys to ‘meet’ one another- who knows, there might be a marriage or two from this! All you have to do is to keep your eyes on Kenikodjo Social Media every Friday for a highlight on a Kenikodjo reader. Yes, even you the silent readers. I have FBI and CIA ties 😉 Happy reading, fam! ❤

‘Akwasi, listen-‘

‘No, you listen! You are having sex at age 18, lying to your parents and your brother, sneaking in at night and you have the guts to allow yourself to be smooched in front of your father’s house. I am just waiting for Mummy to return from China. I am sure you will be sent off to the village somewhere to some auntie we have never heard of, where there is no Snapchat or Instagram to feed your ego.’

Now she was crying.

Korantemaa, Madam I have an answer for everything, Madam I have the world wrapped around my little finger.

For a split second, he almost felt pity for her. After all, she was his baby sister. He was the first person she ran to anytime she was scared, until she started allowing boys to touch her. She was the one who kept all his little secrets when he was growing up- like the days he sneaked out for parties, the day he crashed their dad’s car and the many times he had stolen money from their mum’s purse. She was his ride or die.

When he spoke again, his voice was calmer.

‘Why though? Why did you do it?’

She knew when her tears had diluted his anger. That had always been her secret weapon- it worked like magic on both Akwasi and Daddy. The only person who remained unfazed by her tears was Mummy. She could always see right through her. Korantemaa cleared her throat and sniffled for extra effect.

‘Every girl likes to be needed. Joe made me feel like I was a queen.’

Akwasi burst out into laughter even before he could stop himself.

‘You like to be what-? Wanted? And what did you call him? Joe? Y’all sound married and stuff. Like a couple that has been married for 35 years with 6 kids.’

‘Akwasi, don’t laugh.’

‘Too late.’

His laughter continued to echo down the hallway as he walked away.

‘So are you still going to tell Mummy?’, she asked in a hopeful tone.

‘Oh yes, without a doubt. The village die3 you will go.’

‘He is a really sweet old man. I have grown fond of him and vice-versa. He has only a few days left but I am determined to make them count so I always sneak in chocolates so that he can have his piece of pleasure every now and then.’

‘Sounds like an interesting man.’

‘Would you like to go and see him with me? I am heading there now actually.’

Don’t go.

That was the first thought that came to him.

Why not?

You need to wean yourself off her, Edem. It’s not healthy.

What is the worst that could happen? We are just going to see a man who is about to die. Harmless, right?

‘Sure, let’s do this!’

He was sweeter than Maame Esi said he was. Funny, with a twinkle in his eye. He looked like one of those people who had lived a great life with no regrets. He was also very fond of Maame Esi, ‘his angel’, as he affectionately called her.

‘So is that your boyfriend? Rubbing him in my face even before I die?’

Edem and Maame Esi laughed. Well, Maame Esi more than Edem.

‘No, he is not my boyfriend. He is my boyfriend’s best friend.’

‘That sounds complicated.’

This time it was only Maame Esi who laughed.

‘You are such a tease. This is Edem.’

‘Edem Afadzinu’

‘I know that name. Afadzinu. A man and his wife died in a car crash and I was the star witness in that case.’

Edem swallowed hard.

What kind of movie do I live in these days? First some prodigal father pops out of nowhere and now some random guy just happens to be there when my parents died?

‘They were my parents.’

Maame Esi’s forehead was already displaying worry lines. Edem had been through way too much in the last month, she was worried about what another surprise would do to him.

‘My condolences, son. They seemed like really nice people. The lady kept-‘

His sentence was interrupted by raspy coughing.

‘The lady kept saying my son, my son. The man died on the spot. The lady was heavily bleeding but she kept murmuring for her son. I remember it as clearly as though it was yesterday. Truly sorry for your loss.’

It was hard to describe how he felt about this impromptu confession. So much had happened that he didn’t know whether to feel sad, happy or angry. So he chose to feel nothing. He was just numb.

‘Thanks for telling me.’

‘Sure, anything for Maame Esi’s boyfriend.’

‘He is not my-‘

‘I know. I know. Just teasing.’

Edem cleared his throat again. The lump didn’t seem to want to go away.

‘I should be heading back to Grams.’

He heard her running towards him but he didn’t turn. He just wanted to be alone. He didn’t want to deal with his conflicting feelings for Maame Esi upon everything he had to deal with. It really felt like life had dealt him the worst possible combination of cards.

The screeching sound made him turn. That and the sickening thud Maame Esi’s body made as it hit the bonnet of the car. From the corner of his eye, he could see Akwesi running towards her, with a pained look on his face.

He got to her first and checked her pulse. She was still breathing. The joy that sprang up in his heart died when his eyes met Akwesi’s. Maame Esi had been running after him to comfort him. She was so bent on reaching him that she didn’t see the car speeding towards her in her right hand side. The driver had applied his brakes but not in time to stop the car from hitting her.

The nurses helped to put her on a stretcher and sent her to the Accidents Ward, straight into surgery. The entire time, Akwesi did not say one word to him. He just kept staring at Edem.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘I am waiting for you to confess.’

‘To what?’

‘Lemme see. It is quite a tall list. Keeping secrets from me, spending time with my girlfriend under the guise of taking care of Grams, almost causing my girlfriend to lose her life because of you, should I continue?’

‘Akwesi, listen-‘

‘No, you listen. You are supposed to be my brother for crying out loud! Doesn’t the Bro Code mean anything to you people? First Joseph, now you. You don’t flirt with your homie’s girlfriend. You don’t spend time with her without telling her boyfriend. If you find out you are falling for her, you keep your distance. You freaking walk away, Edem! You don’t keep secrets from your brother. You don’t tell economical truths.’

‘Akwesi-‘

‘What? You are going to tell me you don’t have feelings for her? And I am making this up and being paranoid? I’d like yo see you try! You were emotionally dating my girlfriend. And I had to hear it from her mother and not you.’

‘Emotional dating? Emotional cheating? Don’t forget that I know you. I have known you all my life, Akwasi. You are no saint. You have emotionally cheated or dated so many girls in this lifetime. Stop playing the angel card.’

‘How dare you throw my past in my face? Edem, you know what? We are done- me and you. Just leave.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Leave, Edem.’

Shaking his head, Edem walked towards Grams’ ward.

He was too tired to think. Too tired to fight. Too tired to care. Too tired to beg.

He groaned inwardly when he got to the door. His ‘father’ was waiting for him when he got to the ward, along with a lady who looked vaguely familiar from behind.

‘I’d like you to meet your half sister Nadia.’

Nadia’s eyes widened when she turned to face Edem.

‘You are my brother?’

Wow Jesus wow! Can this day get any worse?

‘Apparently so.’

‘You two know each other?’

‘Oh you have no idea how well we know each other. The world is too small, way too small.’

See you next week for the concluding episode of 8 to 5! Stay safe! Xx

Instagram Wedding

This story is based on a conversation I had with one of my beloved friends Naa Awula. She had such vivid descriptions that I forced her to make a story out of it. Plus, I haven’t told a random short story in a very long time-I miss those. Have fun! 😉 Also, this is the first time I have let someone guest feature directly from the blog. I feel so naked 😂 Oh, and show her some love. Make her feel welcome 😉

Shormeh glanced in her rear-view mirror. She was anything but pleased with the version of her that looked back at her. Her hair was a perfect illustration of the word ‘mess’, her face; evidence that soft tissue was not exactly the best way to deal with a sweaty face on a hot day. Every few minutes, she would roll up and turn on the air-conditioning in the hope that by some miracle it was working again. Each time, she was greeted by a rude blast of warm air that made her feel more like bread-dough in a preheated oven. She couldn’t wait to have the air conditioning fixed. Couldn’t wait, but would have to. The quote AC Link had given her for repairing it was reason enough for her to put it off till later. For now, she was playing referee to a match between wedding expenses and her monthly income. Her friend Kayla’s wedding was just a few months away and it turns out she was expected to bear the cost of her wardrobe as a bridesmaid, as a sign of support.

The cost would have been worth it if it was her wedding. But then again, she probably would spend next to nothing on her own wedding since she wasn’t necessarily a fan of all the fanfare that came with weddings these days. Bearing the cost of her bridesmaid’s dress hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal initially until Kayla shared a long list of all manner of items on their WhatsApp group page. Now here she was headed to Spintex with Kweiki to check out shoe shops because her ‘Yi-no-low-na-sh3-no-high’ corner in Makola didn’t have the particular shade of buff peep-toe heels the bride had asked everyone to wear. “Bridesmaid fioo ni gbormor baafee…so so pressu-” she stopped herself mid-sentence, remembering she wasn’t alone in her car.

She stole a glance at Kweiki who throughout the drive had been busy on her phone. Occasionally, she would pose, take a selfie and smile at her screen. “Good.” Shormeh thought to herself; she hadn’t been heard. The last thing she wanted was to have another lecture from Kweiki on weddings. This morning’s dose was enough.

“Oh Shormeh, don’t be boring. It’s the details that count. So what if she wants us to get shoes that are the same shade as plantain Fufu? We’ll be trending on all the popular wedding pages on Instagram, Facebook…. You name it. Don’t you want her wedding to become a hashtag? Be supportive.” Kweiki had said.

“Madam, I’m not even on Instagr-”

“Which your choice really.”

She glanced at Kweiki again. The latter was taking a video of herself dabbing at her face with a powder puff. She uploaded it on Snapchat, then typed across it: ‘Accra is too darn hot’. She looked at Shormeh, “You should be glad I’m here to help. This wedding would have been a total disaster if you were left alone to plan with Kayla.” Kweiki teased.

A mini-truck loaded with sachet water crossed her Aveo, without giving her any warning, leaving the two in a cloud of dark fumes. Shormeh rolled up and turned on the AC in a motion so coordinated, you’d think she’d been practising it all her life, waiting for an opportunity like this one to show it off. A blast of hot air greeted her again. Quickly, did she turn it off.

“Geez! Are you trying to bake us?” Kweiki exclaimed. “I’ve been enduring you turn that thing on and off, for the most part of the morning. If you need it that badly let’s just get it fixed.”

“Well, I would if I could, but with the wedding and everything, it’ll have to wait.” Shormeh had rolled down again.

“Ei Madam, any opportunity to complain about what we’re paying for as bridesmaids! Think of what Kayla has to pay for, it being her wedding and all.” Kweiki reminded Shormeh.

“Well I can’t help but wonder sometimes whether her aim is to get married or just update her social media accounts. It started out cool when she said she wanted us to be her bridesmaids. Then she starts posting all these items on the group page and I’m wondering what’s going on. I ask only to be told these are the things we’ll be using that we have to pay for.”

Kweiki burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“More like ‘who’s’ so funny?’ Why do you choose to behave like someone who’s time-travelled into this year, Shormeh? Weddings have taken a new turn. A wedding must have personality. It should be able to make other weddings jealous… Set a standard and watch them try to meet it. Get ready, ‘cause when it’s my turn…chai!”

Shormeh shook her head in amusement. She checked the time. 11:23am. Great. Now she would have to move things around in her day if she wanted to get some rest before Sunday. She preferred lazy Saturday mornings to mornings like this one. She would rather stay in bed all morning than be here in this traffic and heat combo. She tried to guess how much longer she would be on the road for based on the traffic situation. The mini-truck which had crossed her made it difficult for her to see far enough to make an accurate judgment. One thing was for certain though: she couldn’t wait to get off the road.

Kweiki had turned her attention back to her phone. she was now contorting her lips in a manner that suggested she may be quite intrigued by duck beaks.

“Kweiki, I’m not saying Kayla shouldn’t plan her wedding the way she wants to oh. It’s just that the way she’s going about it, you’d think she’s just trying to paint a great image of her wedding to society rather than simply get married.”

“I see. So if this were your wedding…”

If this were my wedding, I would not have fifteen bridesmaids.I’d rather pick just the two or three people I know will pray with me earnestly towards the wedding and keep me calm when my emotions rise on that day or at any point during the planning. I’ll probably even have no bridesmaids at all”

“We hear you oh.”

“Yeah. Come to think of it, what’s the role of bridesmaids anyway? We’re all just going to be dressed like the decor and be constant reminder of what the wedding colours are each time we walk by.”

“It’s called sisterhood.” Kweiki interjected.

“Oh is it?! How many people on the platform do you know?”

“Well, there’s you, and Kayla of course. There’s also…um…um…the other lady…the one from Kayla’s office.” Kweiki snapped her fingers, as though that would remind her

“The fact that you can’t even remember her name is evidence enough of what I’m saying. If I even decided to have bridesmaids, I’d pick people I know would get along well. Planning a wedding is enough stress on it’s own, you don’t need more stress from your friends. I can assure you Kayla picked most of her team based on their ability to afford their own stuff for the wedding so…”

“At least when it’s over, the lace, the dress, the hair extension, shoes, all yours.”

“Sure. All I’ve ever wanted is to spend almost a Thousand Ghana Cedis on items I’d never buy if I had an option.” Shormeh replied, without making an effort to conceal her sarcasm. She was still looking to change jobs but for now that GHc1,000 represented an entire month’s salary.

“Well, she said she’ll pay for our makeup and hairstyling.”

Shormeh had to press her lips tightly together to stop herself from dignifying that with a response. How did makeup cost even match all they had to pay?

Kweiki’s voice cut into her thoughts,”The dresses are in. Kayla just posted it.”

“On the group?”

“Nope, on Snap. Listen: “Bridesmaids dresses in. Yay!””

“Mmm”

“Let me show you the pages that she’s getting ideas from. You’ll get the concept once you see these. Just a minute. The network is suddenly acting up.” Kweiki was fixed on her phone again.

“Mmm.”

“You’re just not a wedding person.”

“Oh I love weddings, trust me. I just am not sure yet how it makes sense to spend all my life savings in a day on an event that marks the beginning of a new life?”

“That’s why you draw up a budget.”

“Oh please. Most people only do that because that’s what the wedding websites said but they never actually follow it. They see one thing online, they want it. They see another, they want it too. Then they start throwing pre-wedding parties and try to raise funds for the wedding. I’m just thinking: Money that could be used to rent chairs, is being spent on a bubble machine and other decor items. So when we walk in and we don’t have seats, do we distract ourselves from our discomfort by chasing the bubbles around?”

The two burst into laughter.

“You’re just a silly silly girl, Shormeh. You’re not serious.”

“Just saying. If you can’t afford something, just go with the essentials. But we just want to ‘trend’. No one is going to refuse to sit through your reception just because your yellow is sunshine yellow instead of buttercup. Or that your reception setup is not up to the standard they expected. No Minister will refuse to officiate because you had too few bridesmaids. Ideally, we should have been given the option to decide whether or not we wanted to pay for our dresses. Let’s be the ones to offer;don’t assume we are ready to pay. We’d never planned to sew long grey satin dresses. Yet here we are, about to pay almost GHc800 for a dress we’ll most probably never wear again.”

When Kayla had said the bridesmaids dresses were a two hundred each, Shormey had assumed she was talking in Ghana Cedis.

“Imagine the awkwardness when I sent her GHc200 via mobile money and she’s confused as to why I’m sending her money. Now, I tell her it’s for my bridesmaid’s dress and she casually tells me : “No, no, I meant it in Dollars. It’s $200. The Bridesmaids dresses are being shipped in from Canada.”. At that point, I went numb. All I could think was: ‘Gulp. Did she say Dollars?? Really? How is that even….? Nevermind.’.”

“Are you the reason she sent the group a message about the dresses’ being charged in Dollars?” Kweiki giggled.

“Hm. I was so embarassed eh? So I asked her to send the money back to me, and she tells me there’s no need to since it covered 40% of the cost of the lace for the traditional wedding, all I have to do is rather top it up.”

“Weddings are a big deal, Shormeh. Not to say that all the money we’re paying isn’t getting to me; it is. But you see, this is a once-in-a-lifetime event; it’s not like birthdays that come yearly.”

“Sure. I’ll try to keep that in mind whilst dressed in an entire month’s salary at someone else’s wedding.”

“Um, Shormeh? Where’s your phone.”

“Right here. Middle compartment. Why?”

“Is your Whatsapp working?” Kweiki asked slyly. Shormeh knew that look too well and she knew exactly what it meant.

“Oh for heaven’s sake! What’s she asking us to pay for this time?”

Thanks for reading!