Author’s note: Thank God it’s Friday! The weekend starts now and here. My first story in 2016 and probably my longest post since. Have a great time reading. And don’t walk away without telling me what you think 😚😚:). Here goes.
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Akua held unto her belly. The little bump was growing. She smiled.
“One day when we get together properly and have a little one on the way, I’ll hold unto your belly every moment possible. We’ll feel the miracle together.”
“How I wish it came true.”
She mumbled and rested her back against the tree. The dryness of it reminded her it was Christmas. She dropped the packed bag and hoped a taxi will drive by soon. The temperature was dropping with some warmness to it that irked her.
“I’ll show up on Christmas, bring you and my prince a preserved snowman.”
She smiled and brushed some straying strands of hair off her sweaty face. She grabbed her face towel, poured a bit of the sachet water she had to make it damp. She pressed it against her chest to cool off and wiped her face.
It was already hard to be standing here, almost abandoned without thinking of Evans.
Why was he showing up in her thoughts today? And why shouldn’t he?
“I love you too much not to tell you the truth. This little prince isn’t yours”.
That was as much as she was able to send him via Skype.
It was true. She loved him too much to see him glow, laugh and do all those rib-cracking dances for someone else’s son.
A lone tear trickled down her cheek. She didn’t brush it off. She didn’t have the strength. The only thing she had strength for was keeping Evan’s joy.
He might be home now. His father consoling him. His mum and sister will just remind him of how they had already pointed out from start he should move on when he travels.
Because I couldn’t prepare their loved Fante Fante and 3tew, they wouldn’t see any other good in me.
She allowed the thought to linger, to buy her some time to decide exactly where she was headed. Her little apartment at Fadama was out of the options. It was too close to North Kaneshie and it meant she could stumble on Evans any time.
She was sure he wouldn’t come looking for her. She couldn’t even explain it but she knew too well he was filled with nothing but rage.
Pretty mad. That was the way Evans would have put it.
She smiled. It’s been a while since she felt the happiness a smile came with.
She poured a good amount of water into her mouth and gulped it down. She won’t allow anymore recounting to steal this smile.
You know it’s not true. How can you bring to mind Evans without everything else that’s happened these months.
His face with a glower came to mind. She’s tried avoiding him however possible.
She wouldn’t log into Skype for fear of a message from him. She un-installed her imo, viber and whatsapp as well. And was thankful Facebook and Twitter never made any sense to him. He didn’t understand why he had to befriend tonnes of people he would perhaps never know in reality.
She allowed her fear that he wouldn’t want to set eyes on her and this protruding abdomen settle when her monthly allowances from him stopped coming in.
Then there was his mum, Mrs Blankson to deal with. She’s lived up to her Araba name well.
“You are not even worth being called a whore. You are worse. A disgrace.”
She spat out the words harshly, one hand on her hip and the other almost poking her on the nose. Standing on the Blankson ‘s compound with neighbours walking in to calm Araba down was utterly shameful. She has been wrong in lying to Evans that he’d gotten her pregnant the night of their traditional wedding. Evans was scheduled to return for work the next day and their church wedding was to be after a month. So the church allowed it. Evans above all wanted the marriage consummated before he left.
But it didn’t wholly justify the names his mother used on her.
Mrs Blankson called her a forgotten Ashanti, a reared brat and a trump.
She felt for her phone. It’s vibration was making her arm tickle.
She flipped the cover off. This plain cover is a life saver. She saw the caller through it before flipping open. And the call was a divine intervention. She can end her pity party.
“Frank… Thank goodness… I’m around the new road around the clinic… Yeah… Just take that curve…Yeah… But we won’t be headed home… I’ll explain… Sure… Thanks.”
Lord, you just know when to make help show up.
Soon she’ll have someplace to soothe her aching back. Also get some meal. Some good food.”
Fante fante and 3twe – an ethnic food of the Fantes in Ghana. Stew made with red oil, vegetables and a lot of fresh fish and accompaniment made from corn.
“Mum. Why did you do that when she told you?”
Evans was at his wits end. He knew his mum never fell in the right spot with Akua. Not when he started seeing her. Not after he proposed to her. And definitely not when they had the traditional wedding.
Mrs. Blankson sat at the far right end of the dining table. She pushed a fork full of vegetables into her mouth, added a mince of fish and chewed on it for a while. It was almost comic. Evans wondered if she’s heard him.
“Mum.” He looked into her face, pushing himself slightly.
“Abadze. 3nmame ndzidzia.”
“Maa. 3y3 very unbelievable. 3nim saa de?”
He pushed himself back and got up. He had to see Akua. Really understand whatever happened. That’s what he should have done 4 months ago. He started walking off.
“You don’t dare.”
Mrs Blankson was still seated. Evans walked back and sat, half-filling the seat.
“What do you want mum?”
He wished his dad wasn’t at the men’s group retreat. It meant having to endure his mum two more days alone.
Thank God Basiwa wasn’t home. It would have been two against him. And they will certainly win. It’s always been like them to keep talking till you were drained and just back down.
“I want you to start thinking like a properly brought up fante man. You aren’t some Otavio or whatever in those telenovelas.”
“You know too well I don’t watch those mum. And I need to find Akua before she does…”
“She runs away with that baby’s father?”
Mrs Blankson was getting sarcastic now. Evans snatched his car keys from the table and got up. He wasn’t going to sit and do this with his mum again.
“I’ll find her mum.”
He took for the door. Four months is quite a time. He will, if God’s on his side, hear her tiny voice again, touch those sharply pointed chins again. If she allowed it kiss that flat forehead.
“The marriage has already been dissolved. Her uncle returned the drinks.”
He stopped, swallowed hard and slid the glass door. It didn’t matter.
I miss everything about her. I didn’t think I have. But now I know. I do. I have to find her, see her.
He grabbed the steering wheel of his old pick up and sped out. It was his pick for emergencies. He loved it’s steady nature.
If God wills he’ll find his love
Abadze – why in the Ghanaian Fante language.
3nmame ndzidzia – won’t you let me eat in the Ghanaian Fante language.
Maa. 3y3 – Mum. You are… in the Ghanaian Fante language.
3nim saa de – Do you know that in the Ghanaian Fante language.
“You haven’t tried getting in touch with Evans?”
Akua shook her head.
“You think he doesn’t want to speak to you?”
“What if he does?”
Frank steered away from an orange seller and joined the traffic. He frowned at the numbers of cars ahead of him. On the second lane, a bulgy man was shouting down another man in his late forties but with some strands of grey hair in his moustache.
The exchange was heated and hilarious.
The bulgy man had opened his door. Apparently he should be a Ga who can’t figure out some of the words the other man was saying.
“Misi gyae saa wontoatoa no.”
The man in his forties definitely is an Ashanti man.
So far as it is with you, live at peace with all men.
He smiled. The moment brought more life to the scripture for his meditation today.
He looked at Akua, her hands were on the edge of the door. Her eyes were fixed somewhere in the thin air.
“Did you hear me?”
Frank turned the volume on the music player down.
“So what if he does.”
“He’ll come looking for me.”
Frank nodded and looked out of his window. He wanted to know how the squabble on the other lane had ended. The cars ahead seemed to start moving. He got hold of his gear, ready to move. He caught an image of a familiar car in his side mirror.
Lord. Can it be?
Minni ok33 – what are you saying in the Ghanaian Ga language.
Misi gyae saa wontoatoa no – stop what your unnecessary argument in the Ghanaian Twi language.
Evans was enjoying the view of trees along the road. Africa was catching up. The news have to cover some of these good sights. The bad was too publicized.
The traffic was worse this afternoon. He was glad he wasn’t on the lane with those noisy guys and neither with those on the last. Their traffic was too much. A four Lane road in Ghana. A one-way one too. It’s a dream.
He pressed gently on the clutch. The traffic was finally clearing. He was reaching for a bottle of juice then saw someone looking at him, almost signaling him.
Not a friend. Ghanaians are going to just rant on about why you and Akua aren’t together. They hear you folks accepted the drinks her father returned. It’s too much work.
He kept looking at the guy. The man, no, apparently a lady behind him was horning. The guy kept signaling with his hand for him to take some turn. He nodded. It wasn’t like him to get distracted when he was on an important mission.
I can miss Akua altogether. This better be good.
He got into the third lane, then the second. When it was safe, he turned into the last behind the guy who had signaled him.
Could this be Frank? Frank Toddison?
He’s always been teased because of his name. He was as dark as an African as much as the name sounded European.
And was he with a lady.
Evans tried to look through the passenger seat. It wasn’t clear but it seemed so.
He beamed. If it was Frank, he’d help him find Akua.
“Why are you taking that turn?”
“I have to meet someone.”
Frank looked ahead. Trying to find a good lone spot to park. The neighborhood didn’t even look habited.
Akua said and looked away again. She had seen nothing of what was going on.
Frank parked under the shade of a huge tree in front of a bungalow. From how old and worn out it looked, he could bet it was government owned. Evans has just packed behind him.
It would have been awkward if he did besides him and saw Akua. She heard the car sound but didn’t turn back. Since he picked her up from around the clinic, she’s been absorbed by her thoughts. Nothing around held any interest for her.
“You want to come?”
“No. Go on.”
He stepped out and sighed. Whatever he was doing, he felt this strong surge and conviction that it was right.
Evans shouted and embraced him.
“Akua’s in the car.”
Frank said as he loosed his grip. He better warn him.
Evans’ eyes moistened. He’d mistaken her for someone else. He met with Akua’s eyes. She’s heard a voice like his and turned.
Evans couldn’t move. He hands were shaking. Frank stood aside as Akua walked toward them. This wasn’t his moment. God surged him on for these two to meet and he’d allow him finish this.
Akua’s face was covered with tears. She threw herself into Evans’ arms. Even if he pushed her away. This one hug would be worth it. But he didn’t. He allowed her nestle in his arms. She took a step back. She wanted to be sure.
“You are not mad?”
Evans shook his head.
“You don’t hate me?”
He shook it harder.
“You know I’m pregnant for someone else right.”
What’s happening Lord.
Akua was stunned.
“He’ll come looking for me”
That’s what she told Frank a couple of minutes back. 45. Maybe 30.
Evans took her hand.
“I came to do what I should have done 4 months ago. To say I’m sorry you have to go through the aftermath of the rape alone. And to be here for you.”
“I returned the drinks.”
“Your mum won’t…”
Evans smiled. She was so adorable. Her hair all over the place, her eyes red and soggy.
“I should have told you just when it happened… I was scared, thought you’d agree with your mum about moving on when you settle in London… I shouldn’t have gone with him for that party anyway. It was too wild and foolish…”
Evans hugged her
He felt her head nod on his shoulder. He looked down at her feet on those coloured leaves all over the tree. It was almost like a page out of a novel set in fall. But this fairy tale was his, theirs and he was home, with his love.
M’afua Awo Twumwaah