The next morning which was on Friday was somewhat cold, dry, and dreary but there were no signs of rain. I was however apathetic to the weather but if anything ever startled me that morning, it was the early onset of the harmattan or North-East trade winds and the swith with which it came. The early days of October hardly came up with these surprises, I thought. Well, fully aware of starting the factory work that morning, I had taken it upon myself to wake up at the crack of dawn so that I could get ample time to prepare myself and at least sweep the main compound before Torgbe came to pick me up. He told me he would be there by 5 AM and I was gratified to have finished all the intended chores about thirty-five minutes before the scheduled time. As I reclined in one of the plastic chairs in the room my elder brothers and I shared, it then clicked to my mind that I had forgotten my work cloth but was wondering if I had one or would get one. I glinted around but found none, took turns to Innocent's old student trunk, fished out its keys, opened it, and eventually hinted on a sizeable brown shirt that he once used at the same factory. Though its weight and size were about twice those of my normal shirts, I had never thought of being laughed at working in it. After all, was I not going to befriend the sand? Besides, was the factory work a grand ceremonial event like a wedding that would catch the eyes of guests and cameras? What should man struggle for? I simply had to get a pair of trousers to match the shirt. "That my overused khaki trouser would do.", I whispered, then reached out to an old schoolbag in one of the drawers and struck off the dust from it, folded the attires nicely into it, clasped it to my chest, and took back my seat. Queerly, I had begun to feel haggard. I could not contain it anymore and had decided to take a nap and hoped that, by a few minutes to the five, I would have woken up refreshed and sober.
"Piii! Piiiiii! Piiiiiiiiiiii!", a car horn spluttered intensely into my ears and instantly woke me up from slumber. Cognizant, I knew it was Torgbe and he had customized that manner of blowing all his car horns even if he brought someone's car. Anytime he chose such a formality in drawing someone's attention, it only meant that the former was in a hurry and that found it very time-wasting stepping out of the vehicle and fetching the concerned person. I stood up in trepidation, ran my right palm on the face to read clearly the time on the wall clock and it had struck 6:13 AM. Bewildered, I picked up my bag which was lying on the floor all this while, staggered outside, and called out Mum and kindly told her to lock the door for me and keep the keys.
But why? These our parents and natives always failing in keeping pace with time. You hit someone on phone for instance, and he tells you he will meet you in a five-minute's time. You wait for the five minutes, he never appears. You add another five minutes, he still doesn't appear and yet another, the same story. Finally, about say 45 minutes later, when you become too fed up and think of cancelling the appointment, then he appears looking very clumsy. You ask him why he kept so long and he fabricates a false but sweet excuse that could even make you think of giving him your most valued coat. He won't tell you the time you hit him up, there was no way he could get there within the five minutes even if he were to fly there in an aeroplane. But that's how most blacks live and our zero respect for time is one of the rationales why the African continent continues to retard in progress.
The car's engine was still on and revving. "Eddo! Delay me once more and I bet you'll walk to the factory!", Torgbe heated up. He brought a Toyota motor car. I hurried to the back seat and he drove off immediately when I barely shut the door. There I saw Michael, his seventeen-year second born in front, and one other boy, about four more years older than him, whom I hardly knew, sitting beside me.
Torgbe had five wives including my mum. Except for Michael's mum, the rest had had one or two or more children and carried them along to marry Torgbe. Torgbe wasn't a wife snatcher. If your husband was deceased and you accepted his proposal, he married you. Even if you the woman had had ten children or more before coming to marry him, that was no bother to him. They say new brooms sweep clean but for Torgbe, old ones do better because they know the corners. How he married most of his wives was the same manner in which he bought his cars. "Did I just hear you say I should have bought a fresh car? No. I would rather prefer a used one." Then it goes and not that he couldn't afford to buy a new one. He simply wouldn't and I didn't understand this and still don't. Management you say? Well, in less than a month, the engine got broke down. "Eddo! You and your brothers should give me a push." And we would continue pushing the old car until the old engine "coughed", which it often didn't. "Is that your father's car? Eei!" The embarrassments of car pushing on the roadsides? You know the story and don't laugh. No old wife had the effrontery to protest against his bringing in a new wife either. He simply considered that a sacrilege! You couldn't bear seeing him with a new wife, you were kicked out.
Unfortunately, and for reasons I had no idea to and still do not have any answer to, mum never had and yet there are no clear signs that she will have any child with Torgbe. Not that her womb could not contain child anymore but unlike the rest, the one or two pregnancies she had had with him turned out as stillborn. Notwithstanding this problem of childbearing, Torgbe had never for once raised accusing fingers at her about such pregnancy failures. I extol him for this but I am cocksure he had gone cool over this because he had had children with the rest. I could swear that if my mum had been his only wife, the two would have been better off if they divorced. Well, as my elder brothers and I had begun to grow, he would sometimes slip into some of these ill fortunes in his conversations. That was when any of us were involved, and one could tell he felt the pain.
Mum had always been the reserved type but had the sharpest memory. Keep a record of the mammoth dresses you wore for a whole year while she was with you and tell her to give a full account of them. She will tell you incisively the types, colours, shapes, how you wore each, when you wore them, and the mood in which you wore them. And for her dealings in figures? I'm not making a mountain out of a molehill but what is calculator? She would rather use her brains to do those strong sums, divisions, subtractions and multiplications and reserve the calculator money for corn beef. And how quickly and magically she did them and still does them! There is no way you could cheat her in any business under her very nose and her clienteles up to this day fear her for that. I always tell some of my friends that if this woman had been privileged to step foot in a classroom like you and me, I'm sure she would have made the female society proud, let me simply put it that way.
Michael's mother had also got her parts: the most boisterous, brawny, and heavily built! The powerhouse, they called her. She is Torgbe's first wife. Kweku Preko, Abokye Issaka, Alhaji Tunde, Okyeame Kpodo...who thought they were real men in their primes, had had their shares of her beatings. How could she credit them her money when they were in trouble but refused to pay her back? She wasn't the type that went about beating people for no apparent reason. She merely gave you what you deserved. With such heavy hands and thick legs, her children must have suffered real ordeals, if only they annoyed her. The very day Torgbe introduced my mum to her as his second wife, I bounced back when my ten-year old eyes caught her hefty physique. It was unusual of a woman and I had always thought of her as one of those local female boxers and this made me fear her. However, as I had begun to know her better, I realised she was a second mum and very witty in her ways. You were with her for a day and you didn't laugh, you surely must be taken to the psychiatrist.
Torgbe obviously was a 'hard' man and once he realized he could no longer entertain the conducts of any of his nagging wives, he either called for a divorce or distanced himself from her and leave her to her miserable devices. Mind you, the latter penalty was more dreadful and the next day, he didn't mind bringing in a fresh wife. Once he succeeded in getting one because he had the money, he washed off his hand from anything that concerned the victim. He didn't care what outsiders or any member of the family would say. You stretched him over this matter or decided to coax him to resign his decision, he gave the police payoffs and you served time. You continued to serve time until he decided you had had enough, then you were released. You were not fit to be jailed, he found someone and you got flogged mercilessly. You were too frail to receive lashes, he devised other alternatives to make your life uncomfortable.
He had gone through a lot in life, spanning from losing both parents as a toddler to the protracted scalding of his right hand by a gas fire as an apprentice in mechanics. "Innocent, Eddo, Michael...I left school at basic six, not that I had intended to. Not that I didn't have the brain. Not that I was a bad boy and that was expelled from the school. There was simply no assist anywhere but apart from any white-collar operation, which work had I not done before? Carpentry? Masonry? Driving? Bus conducting? Vehicle tire vulcanization? Mechanic work? Welding or blacksmithing? Farming? Merchandising? Second-hand clothing business? Storekeeping? Tell me! What work? Did you say someone linked me to any of those jobs? Where was that 'someone'? I hunted them by myself! Just ask Mr Kotokoli. I tried this, it failed. I picked up that, it was worse but I kept on trying until on that Saturday afternoon... This your lazy generation? You people think you're suffering when you eat food containing no meat or fish? Is Michael sleeping? Someone should knock him hard on the head! Useless sleepy scarecrow! Let me continue. I could go hungry for days until my belly carved in. As a result, I fell flat on the floor and never thought I could see the sunshine again. Clothes to wear? 'What' was a woman too? You people now think that I like women. Of course, I do now because I'm fit now to carry such troubles. Where was the room? My deceased parents never had one on their own and I had to take lodgings in merchants' kiosks at night when they had left, in the wild ghettos and streets with vagabonds. You couldn't locate any free kiosk the night it rained storms, you were doomed! No guardian to support or advise me either and I had to depend on my own conscience to build my life, something I'm very proud of. Today, you people think I'm rich but none of you know what man had gone through. The earth is a very hard place. Use your wit and work like how a horse does and make yourself proud. Suffer and make your own money! Proper money, I say! If I should ever grab any of you fooling about or landing someone's daughter in trouble because you think you've got balls, I swear on my parents' graves! I will behead you and report myself to the police!". Such were Torgbe's words and they are real. You could see one or two visible old scars on his legs and hands, marks scarred by toils. Mr Kotokoli was his closest friend and both had lived together in those rough days; they were as thick as thieves. He had several pictures of those days to back his words. I felt for him and sometimes when he remembered those odds, he got inclined in making others suffer similar duress. He was recently crowned a chief and that position had somewhat given him a mighty hand to deal with people who meddled in his affairs or crossed his path.
Hmm, you may have been itching to say that Torgbe was very polygamous and that's never below the mark. In fact, he was a staunch fun of the game. If he were a president, I wouldn't be dazed if he entirely called off monogamy and subbed that with polygyny. Of course, he would consider polyandry an abomination and an insult to men's rights and integrity. How could he share his wife with another man or worst of all, men? The shape of a sword is that of its scabbard, an Akan proverb says - The ways of men could be traced from where they were born and bred. Polygyny was rife in his hometown, a community that may have heard of Christianity and Islam but really could not tell whether they existed or still exist. That's my, or let me say our hometown too and I won't deny that. But my family and I had left there when I was barely five years old and I have always known that my natives believed and still hold to the beliefs of ancestral spirits and man-made deities. Mm. Well, my God has taught me never to call or regard anyone unclean but the thought of my people weltering in the spirit of darkness etches me all the time. Even so, what matters to me most is that, you adapt to what is just in all circumstances irrespective of your religion. I never scorn someone's faith or religion. I am a Christian, you are an atheist or traditionalist but lack evil intentions, we could eat together and sleep under the same roof. I just hope that in the end, we shall all know the true light, the only true God and direct our ways to His.
And most men from Torgbe's hometown, my homeland, our hometown would, make you believe that only men of straw married one wife. They simply did not care whether or not they could properly cater for them and the children. Well, if they really meant a weak man is to one wife and a strong man is to more than one wife, I couldn't care less but how wrong they must be. They can go ahead and share their own curses. Friend, do not judge me wrongly by saying I'm against polygyny, though I must say it has never occurred to me to practise one. My only worry is about the man who marries more wives and as a result, produces more children, but could not or refuses to fend for them and leaves them to wallow in hardship or poverty. Good, and as I might have already said, Torgbe was well-heeled and each of his wives lived in different houses with their children. This was principally meant to lessen envy and fighting among them and I believe that is a wise thing he did.
If you're probably feeling cold, please, draw your blanket closer and listen more, and don't lose the track of the narrative. We had still not arrived at the block factory and that I must continue from where I ended. "Eddo, do you know who is sitting close to you?", Torgbe remarked. "No, please.", I let out my ignorance. "Why won't you? It's not your fault either; your continual stay in school prevents me from introducing you to some of these family members. Well, that's Kweteh, one of your auntie's sons. He will be learning welder work but for now, he and Michael will join you and the others at the block factory.", he replied. "Goodness! That's great but I hope he won't run away as the others did?", I joked and everyone including Torgbe could not keep a straight face. "Someone should remind us to fill that empty gallon in the car trunk when we get to the filling station. I need to get an electric machine for this block factory. The expenditure on diesel alone drains whatever profit I make in the business!", Torgbe grieved some minutes later.
Casting memories back, I quite remembered I had been to that factory only twice: one in Basic 4 and the other in JHS 2. As we landed on the dusty road that he often took any time we were going to the factory, I took a deep breath and was knocked sideways having noticed that those villages that linked the road had still not undergone any significant development. Once in a while, an unroofed storey building bearing a bold red inscription "STOP WORK, PRODUCE PERMIT NOW!" on its wall would pop up in one of the deserted towns. The folks too had not upgraded their modes of life either. Thorough and unblushing skin bleaching, the rife in teenage pregnancy, gangsterism, miscreancy, debauchery, arrant animosity for schooling, and what have you. Another school of thought too would argue that such lands could not grow anything vegetative. How on earth could a seed survive on such degraded lands? Had one not been to one or two of those arid farmlands with their coextensive scanty foliages? Who were you to stop those bulldozers and Caterpillars too? Didn't the avaricious youths connive with the chief to trespass on the lands of the weak with those earth-breaking machines, and eventually sold them to foreigners? And when Mr Osmanu Iddrisu, that man of integrity dragged the issue to court, who stood by him to restitute the sold lands to their true owners? How could he win the case when the chief and his cohorts had already greased the palm of the local court to bend the law in their favour? Nature spat out its resentments! Doblo Gonno, Kojo Ashong, Oduntia, Okushiebiade, Akraman... and these were linked contiguously to one another seemingly in that order. As I rolled down the car glass to allow in some fresh air, I vividly recalled the names of such small towns and villages. From home to the block factory often took about a thirty-five-minute normal drive and that was the only nice thing about the whole journey.
All too soon, we had landed! While we were few metres close to alighting, Torgbe had had a call at home and that meant he would drive away immediately we arrived at the block factory. I was as right as rain and so he did after he reached out ten Ghana cedis each to the three of us as our feeding fee for the day. "WELCOME TO YAHOMAN, THE TOWN OF HOPE", those words were adorned in deep blue on one of the two signboards, rooted adjacent to Sonday's (Torgbe's nephew) welder shop. The said shop and Torgbe's block factory were few metres close to the roadside. It had been four solid years since but the environment had not changed that much. A few self-contained and storey buildings with modern corrugated roofing sheets and some such unroofed had been put down in the town. The single-room cement store which stood close to the untarred highway had still not been plastered and its concrete roof had been attacked by green algae. The unwalled building structure where the general factory work operated still laid in front of the janitor's house. Those six conjoined cemented water tanks were still in good form and as usual, were adjacent to the former and full of groundwater nearly to the brim.
The words of Apollonius of Tyana, "Don't keep your good manners to the end another time, begin with them." were very dear to me. As I peered in the direction of the said tanks, my eyes caught Paapa, the factory's machine operator. He was a moderately tall sixty-year-old dark man who mostly spoke Twi but was an Ewe to the backbone. At that old age, I always wondered if he really could operate that machine but dare him not! All this while, he was earnestly servicing the machine and was oblivious to our arrival. "Good morning, Paapa", the three of us flew there and lent out our greetings in chorus. "Eish! Eish! Eddo, Michael and as usual Kweteh good morning, when did you come? Kweteh had been here for the past week. Eddo, I learnt you had completed secondary school. Where is Torgbe himself? He bought ten bags of cement yesterday for today's work. Where is the gallon of diesel?", he woke up from the trance and registered his response. We answered every bit of the queries after which Michael handed him the gallon of diesel. "Please, change your attires. We need to start early. Eddo, take the wheelbarrow and fetch the ten bags of cement in the store. Michael and Kweteh should help Kantoman carry the block pallets and arrange them close to the machine.", Paapa further remarked and we acted accordingly. Kantoman and he had worked in the factory for over ten years. The former, few years younger than Paapa and somewhat plumpy, had been monopolized as a glutton, yet worked with very little thrust and ego. Whew! Why wouldn't Auntie Mansah pick a fight with him? How could he come to her daughter's wedding, eat virtually all the meals, drink in addition, and leave without him contributing even a pesewa? And did he even smile to add a little beauty to the pictures taken at the same wedding? What could one say more?
I could count almost one thousand and five hundred cement blocks at the factory out of which about five hundred were partly dry. It was obvious the latter were moulded few days ago. I could see roughly two and a half trips of sand relatively closer to the factory machine and that was not quite bad. After attending to those duties we were assigned, we decided to eat something before facing the real work of the day.
Geared up, we were set to work. As Paapa instructed, Kweteh and I were to conflate the sand with the cement while Kantoman and Michael were to carry the freshly moulded cement blocks on a wheelbarrow and locate them at a convenient place so that they could dry. The former work apart from it being the toughest demanded gross attention and experience; the compactness and durability of the blocks depend on proper mixing of the cement and sand. It was not customarily right for the operator to push the truck of block or do any sand mixing especially when there were at least three workers including himself. "Eddo, I know you'll be stressed up because it's been long you've held shovel but don't worry, it's not one man's work.", Paapa let out his condolences and I received them in good faith.
A bag of cement required about six or seven full wheelbarrows of sand and the mixing had to be done about three times before stacking it close to the machine. As Kweteh and I delved the shovels in the caked sand, opened it up, and ruptured one of the bags of cement into it, my palms had begun to hurt. Michael fancied watering the sand-cement mixture and that I was not amazed when he grabbed a bucket close to the machine and immediately attended to that. Tardily, when the first mix was set, Paapa as usual donned his cap and repositioned it backward, filled the machine's tank with some more diesel, took the steel machine starter, plugged it into its wheel, took a deep breath, and finally fired the engine after two unsuccessful attempts. The sputtering of the machine was deafening and could be heard in the whole area. "Torgbe must get an electric machine! The starting of this old engine has as usual drained the very two balls of kenkey in my system.", Paapa lamented and was sweating profusely. He then gathered momentum, filled the two-compartment machine mould with the set mix, and started the first operation. My wristwatch which lay on the tank read five minutes past 8 AM. Everyone to his duty. I stared at the rest of the nine bags on the floor with contempt and looked straight into Kweteh's face and we both laughed. We were fully engaged in the work in that manner and by 4 PM, we were done and had washed down ourselves and dressed up. Back and waist pains caught me on the raw and my palm had hurt terribly.
Each pallet carried two blocks and every single cement bag mixture should produce twenty pallets of five-inch blocks. I could see two hundred and twenty-one pallets of freshly moulded five-inch blocks there which meant out of the ten bags, we had gained roughly a bag of cement and that was twenty additional pallets of block: Torgbe's delight. Mind you, this had its negative implications - the blocks may be less durable because more sand was added thus declining the strength of the cement. Losing customers was the repercussion. Torgbe had just driven in with the same car he had brought in the morning. "Paapa, how many bags did you finish up today?". "Please, as you can see for yourself, ten bags and one over.". "Okay, and I guess that amounts to one hundred and forty-three Ghana cedis.". "Yes, please.". Those were the usual or similar talks Torgbe and Paapa had any time we got off from any of the factory works - moulding of blocks, loading them to sites of customers, developing them into poles when there was no space at the factory, and so forth. Paapa having given us our share and ensuring all working tools were sent into the cement store, bid us goodbye and as usual, walked away home with Kantoman. The two were in the same area and that was so close to the factory and that there was no need to take public transport. Torgbe then drove us home instantly. "Eddo, how have your bones been?", Torgbe teased and guffawed few minutes to arriving home. "Hmm. I managed.", I replied in an undertone.
The block factory work had perpetuated in that manner and was booming and attracting more customers. Except for Sundays and Thursdays, the rest of the days were devoted to active work. I needed not skip the Friday evening service too which started at 6 PM and that I had talked this over with Torgbe and he had concurred and made sure we closed from the factory latest by 5 PM. Sundays were as usual dedicated to the office work. All too soon, my hands had grown callus and I had subsequently become accustomed to the drudgework. The too-way-farther sand tippings from the factory's operating machine was one of the racking experiences. This often resulted when we had used the same trucks of sand at least twice. When Torgbe didn't take pains to hire a tracked vehicle to attend to that, which he often didn't, it only meant that we had to convey the required bulk of sand using wheelbarrow before beginning with the actual work. Apparently, this was time wasting and ungratefully too, one received no extra payments for such donkeyworks. How did I manage to track that full tipper truck of sand using one wheelbarrow on that Saturday when I was brought alone to the factory? Apparently, who else had instructed me? While the sun was intensely scorching, did I not start at 8 AM and by 5 PM was done? How much did I receive after all? Such peanuts! But I thanked God I lived because I had heard of a man, not an old man, who selfishly worked out a similar grinding but died at the spot when he was virtually done. The cement attack on my soles which made me stand down for a week, the feeling of a fresh ground pepper thoroughly smeared in one's wound? Where was the safety boot?
No wonderment though, but Michael and Kantoman had become sporadic and as result, Torgbe had seen the rest of us as the lynchpins of his factory. Well, Torgbe had kept Michael under his nose and the former had equated the latter's attitude to gross indolence. "Michael! Continue to feign sickness and be behaving like an anaemic old lady! The new year is almost here and I shall tell you how I pay your fees!", Torgbe threatened at him one afternoon at the factory.
Difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations, so they say. The odds came in battalions and I was somehow prepared for them and I would say Mum's pieces of advice had entwined my scattered good intentions towards any business I was involved in. "Eddo, please be reminded that Torgbe is not your biological father. He had to bring us here and customarily marry me when your real father joined his ancestors. Matthew and Innocent, your elder brothers were older by then and they could remember the story. Carina was just a toddler and may not recall a thing. Please, on that note, even if he refuses to give you a dime at the end of that hard labour and insults you in addition for no apparent reason, put yourself together! No situation is permanent, as they say.", those words were from Mum and were directed to me the night before I started the factory work.
It had been three weeks of active labour but the wages came in bits and other weeks, not at all. I had been wondering why we were hardly paid though the factory work grew each day. Paapa would complain bitterly only when Torgbe was away but I could not phantom the former's cowardice. Besides, is he not about four years older than Torgbe?
Hmm. Roughly one and a half months had elapsed and my siblings would be coming home for the Christmas holidays. Some of my colleagues I had graduated in the same year with would also vacate soon and pester me with their maiden experiences at the university. I was nagged by these thoughts and these reminded me of that Sunday evening when Mr Obeng, one of my benefactors, a chemistry tutor, and the coordinator of the then quiz team at the Accra Academy (my alma mater), reached me through phone call. He wanted to know if I had bought any of the awaiting university forms which I said no, with remorse. The very next day, I was called to the school and he and Mr Ebo Sey, the then assistant headmaster (academics) and a benefactor too, tried their best to get me one of those forms but unfortunately, all the tertiary institutions had closed down their admissions. These two knowing my plight wanted to help me secure a scholarship and to further my education that same year. Graved, though I was, I told them I shall continue to be indebted for their supports and good intentions towards me. "Don't worry, Mr Ebo Sey and likewise Mr Obeng. I hope to gather some money and purchase one of those forms and apply to either KNUST or Legon next year, God willing. Petroleum Engineering, I suppose. Thanks again.". Those were the words that flowed from my mouth as I bowed out of the head's office and said goodbye. I told them I shall keep in touch with them and call them when the need arises. That incident took place after two months of my leaving secondary school.
A new year, 2020 had kicked in. To rake over old ashes, the foregone Christmas holidays came in swiftly but I was too anxious in my savings and that, paid very little attention to whatever jollification the family had had. Nothing strange in that; looking ahead was what mattered to me. All schools in the country had reopened a week or two immediately after the new year celebration. The block factory had continued in its usual form and luckily, the payments had improved. Kwesi had joined us two weeks before leaving again for school. By February, 8, I had gathered enough money, went to the Amasaman post office, purchased the KNUST form, and applied for petroleum engineering as my first choice while having picked three similar engineering programmes in addition. Securing admission at the tertiary is not enough, I said to myself. I needed to apply for one or two scholarships to eliminate the same or similar miserable fate I had suffered in secondary school. All the while, Mr Ebo Sey and Mr Obeng, my benefactors were still in mind but I didn't want to confront them this time around because I felt they had done so much already. Besides, did they not have families to feed? What about their children's education? Did they not pay fees?
There, a test of time lingered in. March loomed in too soon and as I was reading a post from Facebook, the mistress of the female staff of my secondary school messaged me through: "Agbesi, a government scholarship for the brilliant but needy student is out and I'm glad you've been shortlisted. Please, are you interested?", I read the message in thorough bliss and replied affirmatively. I then paid seventy Ghana cedis to her via mobile money for a form she recommended to me. That done, I was told to board a car to the head office of the Ministry of Education at the Central Region, Osu to fill in the form and be assessed through an interview.
I had never been to Osu before and it was quite farther away from Accra. Whatever holds, I needed to secure this scholarship and was very passionate for it. This propelled me to use google maps and I finally landed there. There, disaster struck. I had tried severally to reach the mistress on phone but the latter wouldn't just pick. Once in a while, her phone would be off. I was struck in trepidation about her weird attitude because she had called through the same line just few hours ago while I was in the public transport. "Kaish! Baba Oluwah! Dem take do you too? Brotherman, ebi Ghana you dey and your eyes for gbele like Hajia koko.", a Nigerian security man at the place expressed his grief after I told him the story and later told me that there was nothing like government scholarship there. Two students had already been ripped off the same way, he added. I kicked myself for how foolish and gullible I was. "Aww! The seventy Ghana cedis, the heavy transports...gone? Oh, I now see! I guess one of those scammers used that innocent woman's picture and contact to execute this diabolical agenda.", I whimpered, cursed the swindler, and walked away.
Well, I opted to turn the bad day into a blessing of disguise. The Parliament House? The Independence Arch? The Black Star Square? The Christiansborg Castle (also called the Osu Castle)? The Ohene Djan Sports Stadium? Did I not tour around those national scenics in Osu for the very first time? What about the sight of its glorious azure beach that made me accidentally strike my forehead against someone's? Every cloud has a silver lining, and so it was but I dared not tell anyone especially Mum and Torgbe the mess. I had kept this to myself and never thought of disclosing it either. Torgbe, especially? Hmm he would roast me with all the insults he could ever think of and give me hot beatings in advance!