SERENDIPITY

He had taken a turn for the better; character wise. He can honestly call himself a matured man now. The thing about pasts, presents and futures however is that, they are like building blocks and one cannot exist without the other.

Ernest Kojo Mensah is forty years old, a father of four; all from different mothers and all born out of wedlock. Granted he is currently married to the mother of his youngest child, a self-made man driving his own commercial bus (trotro) and a deacon in his church but you never truly outrun your past. Not on earth here, you don’t.

He would be the first to admit the credibility he doesn’t have was of his own doing, even discounting the string of offspring he’s left in his wake. 

His two oldest sons, Ekow and Fiifi turned thirteen a month ago, his third son, Ernest (Junior) was eight and he lived with him, his wife Naomi and their little girl, Adoma.

From the profession he’s chosen, it’s very obvious he had other things occupying his time and mind during the time he was supposed to be getting his formal education.

He was still trying to make the best out of the situation he found himself in. He knows he got off easy with only four kids because in his day, he would admit that no self respecting Casanova actually tried to mar his experiences with condoms. Thus he became a hunter of the unsuspecting females in his path. He hunted for the hymen.

It was this habit however that prevented him from denying it to himself whenever he was faced with the paternity of yet another pregnancy. Not that he ever admitted it to anyone but himself though. The age old “deny, deny, deny” has been his haven all these years.

His aged parents are always looking at him with the disappointment they could not quite hide. His meek sister, an ideal example of the well-trained Ghanaian woman, Evelyn, idolizes him. To her he’s always been “big brother”. His beautiful but brash and haughty not to mention rich sister, Alice hated him with a passion. It’s evident in the way she talked to him and their parents whenever it involved him. It always baffled him too because, of his sisters, he was rather fond of Alice when they were kids.

He understands now that everything changed the night their parents decided that the money they had could only sponsor one kid and they’d rather have their “only son” take as many re-sits as he could to qualify him for a tertiary education even though his sister already had the grades to take her to the university. Hell broke loose that night when Alice without mincing words told their parents that they were more or less taking a stupid decision. The old man of course was incensed; no woman talked to him like that let alone his own daughter. To him, they had done enough giving her an education to the secondary level and they must concentrate on the ‘man’ of the family. After all, he was going to save his family. Their father drove his sister out of his house that night, for a son that would amount to nothing!

Alice was a beautiful woman but her greatest asset perhaps was her brain. Not that it was any help to her in the early days though, apart from her studies that is. She loved to rub her intelligence in people’s faces, especially her male counterparts.  With years, however, came wisdom. She came to understand that though the majority may be stupid, it doesn’t help anyone to keep pointing that out. It certainly didn’t get her things she wanted; just enemies. She put herself through school, got her certificate and a job. It was quite a journey for her and no one dares blame her when she flares up whenever the “it’s the man’s decision” argument came up in family meetings. She had no compunction whatsoever to tell whoever to shove it. She would most times end up bankrolling the projects anyway.

She grew up hating the dynamics of her family. She saw her father as a tyrant who shoved his decisions down everyone’s throat, her mother as a spineless mute who never stood up to her husband, her sister as the mirror image of their mother and a never do well son she had the misfortune of calling her brother. To be fair, though, fate might just have dealt her a bad hand. She probably just had the misfortune of being born generations too soon for her own good.

************

This morning had started off as any other morning for Ernest. In the mornings, the majority of his clientele were the formal sector workers interspersed with a handful of market women. Fuel prices were up again and it was all everyone was talking about or wanted to talk about. Usually, he would just switch on his radio to drown out the sounds but his mate had broken it a few days ago and since he hadn’t budgeted for a new radio or even repairs, he endured the morning and all that was for the day. 

HER DUE

For you, I will dream again.

I will go back to that naive, carefree, possible world where seeing your smile of pride was the fuel that fed my engine.

I feel like a fraud taking advantage of that smile.

Yet making you cry would be the real crime.

Inside me, I want to be the genuine reason for your pride in motherhood

When I venture into that seemingly proud and fulfilled place,

I want to be able to boast of what sterling example of an object of pride and affection I've been

I want to believe in my child and never stop

Otherwise what is the point in this relationship?

This one between mother and child?

You believe

In me!

So I want to keep on believing

Thank you for keeping on dreaming for the both of us.

THE PASTOR'S WIFE

She, a pastor’s wife! She doesn’t even like people that much to be cast in the perpetual role of godly hostess the rest of her life. This wasn’t about Patrick, this was about her. Over the past few years, Patrick’s spiritual growth and that of his relationship with God has been a blessing and an amazing thing to witness but a pastor? She had no doubt he could be one and an exceptional one at that but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that; she didn’t want to be that wife who undermined all her husband’s hard and noble work with her attitude. She wasn’t called to the office of pastor’s wife, period!  

***************

MC: Praise the Lord!

Audience: hallelujah!

MC: It’s now time for the word. Someone, say ‘the word’.

Audience: the word!

MC: oh, I didn’t hear you. Let’s hear you say, ‘the word!’

Audience: the word!

MC: yes, the word. The bible says: ‘man shall not live by bread alone but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God’. Pardon me, I still love my old King James version, amen? ‘Proceedeth’, that’s what I’m talking about, hahaha. Amen!

Audience: amen!

 MC: It is now time for our spirits to be fed and watered and we are blessed to have with us; Mrs. Stella Kudjoe to minister to us, what has been given her by the Holy Spirit, tonight. Hallelujah! Without wasting much time, we call on Rev. Mrs. Stella Kudjoe to give us the word. She is the wife and helpmeet of the man of God who couldn’t be with us here today. You might have noticed her in the front seat. Even the Queen of Sheba would be envious of her beauty. Ah, snow white kwraa, is no match for her beauty.

The student body gathered in the auditorium that evening burst into applause as Stella mounted the stage.

Stella: Hahahaha! Thank you, Michael. Hello, everyone! Hahahaha!

Audience: Helloooo!

Stella: What an introduction. Snow White! Oh, my dear Michael! Hahaha! I bring you greetings from Rev. Patrick Kudjoe. He is awfully sorry he couldn’t make it here today. I know how it is; When I was a student, I would have had a strike each against the organizers of this program and the substitute speaker already. After all the hype they gave the guest speaker in their posters and all. I pray you don’t be like I was back then, ameeeen!

Audience: Amen.

Stella: Rev. Kudjoe has his heart set on this institution because it is one of the structures God used to groom him into who he is today. So you guys are special, Amen!

Audience:  Ameeen!!!!!

Stella: This is his alma mater and mine as well. This is where we met, so those of you so bent on the “exters”, “inters” are good too……..praise the Lord!

Audience (mostly male voices): Bor hor bioo, bor hor bioo! 

Stella: shall we pray. Lord, we thank you for the gift of life and for the grace you have made available for us to be able to meet you like this. Minister to each of our hearts as you see fit. Let us leave this auditorium with a testimony that, indeed it was good we were here. In Jesus’ name…….amen!

Audience: amen!

*****************

BEFORE

It didn’t use to be the way things are now. Patrick, the man she dated wasn’t one you would call religious or spiritually astute. He was the guy that sat at the back of the congregation observing the goings on. His whole demeanor seemed to suggest the Pentecostal settings of his church were not really his style and that he would be more comfortable in an orthodox setting, kind of. He was the classic mysterious and brooding guy that happened to be a constant in the fantasies of most girls. It was no wonder Stella fell for him too. To Stella, he was God’s answer to her prayers. He was the last person she would call zealous when it came to church business, which suited her just fine, as long as no breeze of kingdom service touches her hair. It didn’t take a genius to know that his career trajectory was as far removed from the pulpit as possible. In church, he could easily be mistaken for a mute; a mute who suddenly seemed to find his voice once outside the church walls. Then came all the prayers to make him more committed to the things of God than he currently were, just not to the point of stewardship and Stella’s prayers were answered or so it seemed. Patrick himself had categorically stated one day that he doesn’t know what would even give him the desire to want the responsibility of a pastor. That had been the icing on the cake for Stella.

THE PASTOR'S WIFE..........teaser

Taking out an early mortgage on a house was an investment the Kudjoes were proud they made. Twenty months later, they were halfway to owning their own home. The grounds of their home was one of natural luxury. In a neighborhood bursting with concrete and pavement, their green carpet grass gave one an almost royal welcome to the house. The fence walls with their metallic bar extensions were low enough for one to see inside the compound, playing an aesthetic role instead of a protective one. The pentagonal structured house had something else going for it, in that, it was the only house on the block which wasn’t a storey building.

Stella lay in bed, contemplating how to start her tirade of accusations against God. God just broke his promise to her and she just had His number this time. Her month long leave from her job just took on a whole new distasteful turn.
Patrick was supposed to join her anytime from now as he would have also taken leave. Between their individual jobs and all the volunteering they both did for their church, their marriage needed conscious, steady hard work. This was one vacation she was looking forward to. Their marriage wasn’t stale but she missed her husband all the same.

Quality time with her husband; the two of them just fooling around, postponing all serious business to a more stressful time was the plan. The bombshell Patrick dropped on her last night wasn’t cool, by any standards. This morning, he left for work, oblivious to the roiling turmoil inside her. Why couldn’t he be intuitive enough to sense what was going on within her? What kind of silly joke of nature would make her husband a pastor and her, a pastor’s wife?

She, a pastor’s wife! She doesn’t even like people that much to be cast in the perpetual role of godly hostess the rest of her life. This wasn’t about Patrick, this was about her. Over the past few years, Patrick’s spiritual growth and that of his relationship with God has been a blessing and an amazing thing to witness but a pastor? She had no doubt he could be one and an exceptional one at that but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that; she didn’t want to be that wife who undermined all her husband’s hard and noble work with her attitude. She wasn’t called to the office of pastor’s wife, period!     

THE MYSTERY OF THE GAME III

The moon was up but because of all the competition she was getting from all the light bulbs in town, her luster went unnoticed. Nostalgia gripped my heart for I even missed the smell of burning kerosene soaked wicks from lanterns and bobos. Who would have thought? This was no city and there were certainly lanterns and bobos around but somehow, the effect wasn’t how I remembered it. The canvas for my memories seemed to be irrevocably damaged. Maybe it’s selfish of me but I wanted my Lolobi to be the Lolobi I remember from long ago. I wanted the whole ‘village experience’ to be like I always remembered. Maybe too, it is time I considered that maybe, just maybe I am the one who has changed that much.

***********

I tried to recapture the little I remember by going back years into my past. It was the dry season and it was cold, chilling cold. There was a bonfire and there around the fire was us kids. The older kids amongst us were roasting anything that was edible. Plantain, yam, cocoyam, fresh peanuts in pods, breadfruits, you name them. The younger kids were always charged to stay a certain distance away from the fire. I was usually either with my maternal family or my paternal family during these rare evenings but in my memories, I moved the characters around to the same location and time, around a bigger bonfire with the adults and kids all around. There was always a story or a riddle contest. There were also tidbits of local gossip too. Hush, hush stories of what new marital scandal was in town, careful accounts of which god was exacting a fresh stream of vengeance on defaulters. Then there were the ghost stories of which ancestor had visited whom in recent times. Civilization has certainly taken a lot away but the gods obviously still worked their butts off not to be forgotten or taken for granted. 

Earth to Audrey, earth to Audrey! I came back to the present to a story about an accomplished man who happened to drop dead after he came home to be king because he was next in line. From what I could deduce from my aunt’s story, the death happened under unexplained circumstances and though nobody dared say it out loud, everybody ‘knew’ the faction of the kingmakers which was opposed to the man ascending the throne was responsible, or as they like to put it; ‘they had a hand in it’.

That night was the first time I met Kalai. He was a young man in his early thirties, good looking and a hunter. His house was a few houses removed from our home and he seemed to get along well with everyone, that’s what I had been told. Did I say good looking? He was more than that. He could hold a candle to any city boy I know. He had charm. He was married to Dorothea and their marriage was about two years old. Kalai had nieces and nephews but one nephew in particular stuck to him like glue everywhere he went and this evening was no exception. Sammy, as usual, tagged behind his uncle as they stopped by our little group. From then on, the conversation turned to one of the bond between the uncle and nephew. The kid wasn’t even that close to his own father. Then there were tales of his hunting experiences. I personally thought some of them were exaggerated but what the heck, the guy has earned himself the right to a few tall tales. Our visit was almost coming to an end and we were scheduled to leave the following day so my mom suggested that if he catches any game that night when he goes hunting, she would be interested in buying. He was delighted to hear it and promised to bring one back for us.

That night as the town slept, Kalai headed for a thicket outside town with his riffle and torchlight. As he got away from the town, the moon’s shine made it useless for him to use his torchlight. After an hour of treading through the night, he finally entered into a thicket to try and find some game to sell. He had dreams, dreams of making a better life for Dorothea and himself and their unborn babies. A rustle from the dry leaves a few feet away from where he was got his attention. He switched on the torchlight and readied the riffle, only to find out it was a papa cobra probably on his way back to his family. He decided on leaving it alone and waited it out till it had passed. The dew had already started to settle on the leaves. It was past midnight and the night was a chilly one. He would rather be sleeping by his wife’s warm and soft body, occasionally tweaking her waist beads but with the reputation he had earned himself as the town’s best hunter, he really wanted to impress the woman and her pretty city daughter. Deeper and deeper, he went into the woods.

 He remembered the first time his father had taken him hunting, he was so scared of how quiet the night could be, but now, he welcomed this. The intermittent sounds of an owl or two were sounds he was used to now. Once or twice, he’d met wild species like a leopard but he rarely did. In fact, he hadn’t met one in a long while and he hoped tonight wouldn’t be an exception. Occasionally he met a viper or two, like he just did with the cobra and he almost always let them go, not wanting to waste his shots. One time, he shot and killed a tree python and had good market for it too. He is a hunter and because he is, he is particular about whose meals he bought and ate if he ever does. Not that he has any need to since he married Dorothea. By now, the moon had made it all the way to the other side, informing him that dawn was breaking.

He turned to head back home, disappointed. After moving a few metres, he felt rather than saw a movement. Leaving himself no room to second guess himself, he raised his torch and riffle and there in front of him was a beautiful and graceful deer. Before he thanked his god and ancestors for such a gift, he fired. Picking up the poor animal, he finally gave thanks and headed home.

By the time he neared home, the R.C bell was sounding for dawn mass. He carried the game across his shoulders, his riffle slung over his right shoulder and his torchlight in his hand, he walked on home with a puffed chest. When he got to his buyer’s house, he saw that the household was already up so he decided to drop off the game before heading on home for a warm bath, a warm bed and a warm wife. He greeted them and laid the game at their feet but instead of the looks of admiration and smiles of adoration, they were all giving him looks like he’d just committed a sacrilegious act. The animal was a beauty, if he does say so himself. The only word that came from the group came from the old lady and all she had to say was “Aaaoooo!”

What had he done that was so bad? He brought them game, that was it. Everything that happened after that happened so fast, he barely had time to blink. By six am, there was quite a crowd outside the house. Among the crowd was his Dorothea……….with tears in her eyes. That was when he looked down again for about the hundredth time at the game and found at his feet, ……………..the lifeless body of Sammy…….his Sammy. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. “How could, did this happen?” The million cedi question that would be asked over and over again.

*************

I’m not a morning person and travelling miles to Lolobi didn’t miraculously make me one. I woke up to all the ruckus going on outside. I walked out and the sight that met me was one that can only be captured by the imagination. I had never seen a dead body before, much less one with so much gore. In the middle, by the body, was Kalai.

How could this happen? He kept on saying he shot a game and not his nephew but how is that possible? What was Sammy doing in the woods when his parents testify that they saw him to bed themselves the previous night when Kalai brought him home? If he did follow his uncle into the woods, then how could he not see him the whole night.

That was the height of my excitement. The issue became a police case of course but I doubt any satisfactory answers would be found. Back home, there would be all sorts of rituals to purge the family and town of the calamity but poor Sammy was gone either way.

My mom was a witness, apparently, so she had to give her statement to the cops. We had to deviate from our departure plans but early Sunday morning, we said good bye to family and headed to Hohoe to pick a bus back to the home I’ve had for the past fifteen or so years. Events of the past few days would make for a nice story one day and I just told it.

***THE END****

THE MYSTERY OF THE GAME II

We spent the rest of Thursday evening visiting with my immediate uncles and aunts from both sides of my family. I’m beginning to understand how convenient it is to marry one’s own kind. Just imagine; I wouldn’t need to schedule a whole new trip for my father’s side of the family. Quite a reunion that it was. Uncles, aunts and cousins, some of which I have never met. Among all the effusive displays of affection and all the fussing, maybe things haven’t changed that much at all.

There is something no returnee will dare do; that is to not go pay visits to people one knows in town. With a town like Lolobi where everyone seems to be related to everyone else, that is a whole day of hiking………and talking……and smiling. I didn’t know that before but let me say; after our courtesy visits, I had no doubt I am Miss Congeniality and that I would make a hell of a beauty queen.

Friday morning, after the first hour of our visits, I started whining about how tired I was. Mind you, there are no taxis here, at least that much is the same.

No less than three men, old enough to be my grandfathers, maybe, have made jokes today about me being their wife. Apparently, I was quite the heartbreaker in my toddling days. I am told I even rejected some of them, vocally, without shame. Hahaha, the things you get away with in the name of being a kid, eh. Now, as a shy young woman, I can barely reconcile myself with the kid who entertained crowds at a time and relished the attention.

Most people remember me for my infamous rendition of different animal sounds. I certainly do not remember but it is recounted that I created quite a bit of traffic in front of either of my grandmas’ houses. People going to the stream or their farms or going to a neighbor’s house to fetch burning coals to start their own fires would stop to watch the spirited kid mimicking the sounds of different birds and animals. With the way the story is told, I am surprised I didn’t ace my ornithology course last semester. I don’t remember doing these things but I have heard the story over and over again that sometimes I can swear I remember, or at least it feels like it.

Back then, I was the centre of attention because of how lively I was as a kid, now, I am the centre of attention because I am a returnee. It’s like when people look at me, after the initial “for lormor mgbor?” literally translated “is this you all grown up?” they revert back to seeing Komla and Jovita’s kid, making everyone laugh. The feeling this invokes is not unlike that which a carnival monkey might feel when it is being expected to swing around and do tricks for spectators’ amusement. ***sighs***

“I don’t do that no more, peeps. I’m all grown up.” Of course, I never say that out loud.

  

Over the years, a lot of its inhabitants have travelled outside and returned. And like any other show-offs, some of the people we visited wanted to prove that, yeah, they’ve also been out of town at one time or the other. What they normally do is to drop a sentence or two of Twi in the conversation after my mom has reaffirmed the town or city we were coming from. I watched in amusement as my mom flippantly let it drop that I am perfectly capable of understanding and speaking Siwu so they shouldn’t worry about misunderstandings. Hahaha. This people blast sometimes paa oh. I spent a few years in this town before we left and they are treating me like I just dropped from Paris. If they were to meet my siblings who have never set foot on this land before, they would probably start speaking tongues with them. Oh, and did I tell you that one of the most irritating habits of some Ewes in the city was to start speaking Ewe with you once they see you sign your surname? That attitude was one reason why I stopped speaking the Ewe language. I used to speak it fluently as a kid but no more. Like I said though, I’ve outgrown all that stuff and now I plan on relearning the language because aside from the attitude of its speakers, it is a beautiful language.

The people we met could fall into a range of variables. They couldn’t be more diverse if we had intentionally handpicked them for a research. There were the grandmotherly and grandfatherly types who would tease me mercilessly for something I’m supposed to have done in the past. There were the motherly and fatherly types who seemed unable to shut up about their own kids and where they are or what they are doing, some of them outside town. Then, there were my peers. Most of whom were married and with whom things seemed awkward.

The weather-beaten clay walls from which I used to get my fresh supply of soft pebbles for snacks have a lot of them plastered over. Yes, I used to snack on some of the softest and sweetest tasting rocks when I was young. I might probably have developed a case of pica if I hadn’t left. My mom’s junior sister initiated me into it but it was our little secret. I guess the cat is out of the bag now. Hmmm, the tempting assault on my olfactory senses every time it drizzles on a dusty road. That smell of freshness always reminded me of my childhood and now, that too has changed.

That evening, I had yet another change to be disappointed about. Both of my grandmothers were present and so were some of my aunts and uncles from either side of the family. Such a casual gathering rarely happens but with our arrival in town, exceptions were made.

The moon was up but because of all the competition she was getting from all the light bulbs in town, her luster went unnoticed. Nostalgia gripped my heart for I even missed the smell of burning kerosene soaked wicks from lanterns and bobos. Who would have thought? This was no city and there were certainly lanterns and bobos around but somehow, the effect wasn’t how I remembered it. The canvas for my memories seemed to be irrevocably damaged. Maybe it’s selfish of me but I wanted my Lolobi to be the Lolobi I remember from long ago. I wanted the whole ‘village experience’ to be like I always remembered. Maybe too, it is time I considered that maybe, just maybe I am the one who has changed that much.