The weather was gradually succumbing to the divine fiat to cry. It would soon be raining. Not just ordinary rain but the type that levels the tarred roads of Accra
But in the midst of all these was an exception; a fourteen year old boy who appeared to be unperturbed about the yet-rainy environment. He was pre-occupied in his thoughts. Armah couldn’t believe that after studying for long hours, he did not recollect much during the end-of-term exams. “This is not possible.” He kept saying to himself. “I studied the material, memorized word for word. I prepared myself for this exam but why didn’t I remember?”
Now rocks of rain have started to fall. He became aware of his environment and sheltered himself in one of the telecommunications bus-waiting benches. After the rains have subsided, he managed his way home.
Janet and Ben, newly weds, were busy chatting on the verandah of their two-bedroom apartment. Their building, a perfect replica of a colonial structure was beautifully adorned with traditional symbols. At the back of the house is a fertile ground well-irrigated for the cultivation of primarily maize and vegetables. The couple have just consumed some balls of banku and tilapia with hot pepper and generously allowed the fragrance to pervade their surrounding.
“So Janet, don’t you think that your strike action is having a negative toll on the students”. Ben, a neuro-psychologist by profession, switched the subject to a different one. Janet, a sociology lecturer at the University of Ghana, played with the hairy chest of her husband for a moment, then replied, “Yep, you’re right. But if our politicians receive large chunk of our taxes in the form of fat allowances and ex-gratia for a resounding abysmal performance, darling, what prevents me from striking to amass income to cope with the high cost of living”.
Ben just grinned, possibly impressed with his wife’s line of argument. “Well, that’s understandable. Today, I got a funny case at the office today, about a young man, probably in his 30’s, suffering mental deterioration as a result of abuse of amphetamines. Janet, before treatment, do you know what the man requested for? Janet shook her head. Her husband just let out a laugh and continued, “He said he would be marrying very soon, and thus, we should give him cutlass to weed the grass around his genitals so that his wife to be would have clear view of his asset”. Janet couldn’t hold her laughter. This heartily chat continued for hours. It was the couple way of de-stressing and enjoying the presence of each other.
The central market of La as usual was busy with commercial activities. Sellers were applying all sorts of marketing gimmicks to attract customers. Human noise and the moans of car engines coupled with brisky business interactions dominated the suburb. In one of the trotros was a heated argument between a mate and a passenger.
“Er, if you don’t want trouble to trouble you, give me my balance.”
“Madam, I’ve no balance to give you. The fares have been increased.”
“I think you want me to turn upside down that thing you call your nose. Okay, fine, don’t give me my balance”. The sarcastic tone of the middle-aged market woman signaled disaster for the young mate. Exchanges like this add beauty to the market.
Baisiwaa was occupied at the fish-mongering section, making huge sales. She turned and looked at the Waltz clock behind her. It was 2.30 p.m. she is getting late. She has an appointment with someone so special to her; very dear to her heart.
Meanwhile, Kotey was anxiously pacing up and down in his room. He has spent four years in the in the security service, had eight years of training, and very competent in even arresting highly-sophisticated criminals, but why is this particular case a hard nut to crack? He must strategize well, he advised himself. He put through a number of calls requesting for certain documents relevant to his present case. He must knock down this criminal, he admonished himself.
Cudjoe was struggling to organize his thoughts, trying to figure out something in his sub-conscious. The myth surrounding his current circumstance etched in his mind. He has made a number of anti-government statements, and a couple of invisible government functionaries has declared war against him. A war in which there is a thin line between morality and values, conscience and barbarism. Eliminating the target is the primary and ultimate objective of this war. And Cudjoe is the prime target. He has come to understand that fatal games like this comes with the territory, and he is ready to play but he wants to first of all unmask the hidden faces behind his hunt. Who wants him dead? Who is paying the assassins?
Just then, he heard a knock on the door. His present residence is only known to the sunlight that radiates his soul. Earlier, he had arranged this obscured meeting with her and maybe, this is going to be their last physical interaction.
He got up, hid his pistol at the back of his dark blue jeans for any eventuality, and opened the door. The countenance at the entrance brought ebullience to his smoldering mind. It was Baisiwaa. A lady he has cherished for the past two years, who stood beside him through bad and reliving moments. A noble woman who would go the extra mile to put her profession aside to act as an espionage and informant to her beloved.
Static glances between the two froze for a couple of minutes. Body and soul of each yearn for the other. Cudjoe, like an already charged battery ready to discharge power in any appliance, grabbed Baisiwaa, closed the door, and placed a deep wet kiss on her lips.
“I’m all yours, Cudjoe, I permit you to be dirtily gentle on me”. Baisiwaa managed to say. The energy that characterized the emotional engagement sufficed that the two were sexually famished. Cudjoe withdrew his lip, fixed his gaze on the fair and well-textured face of her, and started undressing her. It lasted for twenty-five minutes.
“What is the latest development in town?” The satisfied but anxious Cudjoe inquired. Baisiwaa yawned, stretched on the highly-sophisticated bed, rested on her legs, and responded, “Cudjoe, now they’ve legitimized your case…painted a nasty picture of you to the outside world. Believe it or not, you are now a famous narcotic drugs peddler. Congrats, dear”. Cudjoe grinned. “Wow, that’s exciting. Then, this means that my assassins and the security apparatus would be after me now. Great.” Baisiwaa noticed the anxiety and fear that betrayed his superficial confidence. “We are in this together, love. By the way, you promised to tell me everything that led to our present dilemma. I know they want you for your extreme anti-government sentiments, but give me the details.” Cudjoe began: one day, I went to the Alpha hospital for a check-up. The chief medical doctor there is a former course mate of mine, so our relationship was somehow informal. His office, which used to be on the ground floor, has been relocated to the fourth floor. I was notified of this at the reception. So, I got into the elevator. Upon reaching there, I noticed something strange. You know, the hospital is a very crowded place, on that particular Monday, I found it strange that the corridors was silent and not busied. But on Dr. Kufour’s end, were these heavily muscled men in dark suits with black sunglasses hovering around the entrance of his office. My instincts told me something fishy was transpiring. I froze instantly, not knowing whether to move forward or back. But now these men were coming to my direction, and... I don’t know how to explain it… but I re-entered the elevator. Fear gripped me and something kept on telling me that I’m in trouble. On the ground floor, I noted that a stout dark man, also in a dark suit, was hotly questioning the receptionist about something. I headed for my car and drove off. Around Dansoman, I spotted through my rear mirror that a green Pajero car was following me. When I slowed down, it also slowed down. I concluded to head to the police station, but… I don’t know… I decided against that, and rather devised to escape from them, which I successfully did. Later in the day, one of my neighbors called to inform me that a group of security officers are in my residence, probably searching for me or something. Thus, I decided not to go home. But I don’t know why these men are coming after me?”.
Just then, the chime for TV3’s breaking news echoed the single-room. The anchor reported, “Good afternoon viewers, information reaching our newsroom from credible sources reveal that Dr. Kufour, the Chief Medical Officer of Alpha hospital, has been murdered in cold blood this afternoon. According to the Inspector General of Police, the one behind this barbaric and unthinkable felony is the Daniel Cudjoe Koomson, who is currently on the run. Stay tuned for more updates”. What! Cudjoe exclaimed, whiles Baisiwaa stared at him, speechless.
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