ROAD TO BEREKUM

So I've been commuting from my little town in Konongo to Berekum for about three years now. Here's a little chronicle of some of the unfortunate events I've witnessed so far... Enjoy... Or maybe not! 😂

# Part 1

 So there I am in this "Nana Aberewa" trortro bound for Berekum. It's uncharacteristically sunny this morning at 8am and the mate's body is stinking in kinship reciprocity. I know it's going to be a long day today because  there are only three of us in the vehicle at the moment. When exactly "botosses" will be shifted for the car to be full is only a mystery for the driver and his mate to unravel and the soon-to-get-restless passengers to dish about.

I whip my phone out to check if I missed any calls or messages. There are non. Then there norrrr this mister appears out of nowhere at my side of the window. His b.o is similar to that of a fish in an electricity deficient cold store. It dawns on me, that it's the first time I'm noticing the usual vendors circumnavigate the car. I chastise myself because I'm usually more observant. I wonder where I am this morning _ I know I'm not thinking this morning and neither am I doing that metacognition thing... One can sometimes be afraid to think about his own thinking you know?  So I do a quick survey of all the vendors around.

Just to look some in their eyes _to communicate that I've seen them, that I acknowledge their hustle. One woman even passes by with wigs _human hair she calls them. Those fine Brazilian ones some sisters there grew, fed and cut to sell just cause some mouths need feeding or whatever other expense that haemorrhage human resources. "Br3da, wadwen Wo he? " the mister by my window cries to me. "Oh Kafra" I respond. The sun turns its heat a notch up as if sensing the influx of people in the station. Well-mannered celestial bodies always adhere to the mathematical rules of proportion you know.

 I strain to get my kerchief from the left pocket of my shorts  and drag across my forehead. The beads of perspiration viciously wiped, I replace it in my pocket. " wob3t) ?" the mister accosts me with a memory card dangling at his fingertips. A memory from the deep recesses of my mind come rushing to the frontier as my previously sober disposition take on an impression of recognition...

 "Papa, I know you...do you remember me? " I say.

He shakes his head in the negative. I go on to tell him that about 6 years ago, in a Mampongteng-bound trortro, he approached me with a similar offer. He still doesn't recall. I vividly describe the clothes he wore that day, the bandage that hugged his arm _a little dirty or perhaps pre-used but hugging his arm all the same. I remind him of the altercation he had with a fellow that day near the car and then like a flash of electricity, he remembers. His face beams and confides in me that that fellow died a year ago in a freak accident.

 He had been sleeping on a veranda in the cold one night and a block had vacated its post in the 3-storey edifice to smash his head. They could barely differentiate between his eyes and brain tissues. I flinch  but he laughs. He assures me the funeral was fun _albeit it being short. His unclaimed body at the morgue was buried by state officials but one filched his blessings where he got it meboa? The vehicle is one "botoss" shy of starting its Berekum journey.

I politely decline his offer after he had gone as low as GH 3 .The chip I'm sure suffers from non-utility. I turn my eyes front with the fervor of a syto kid at a 6th March parade. The driver kicks the vehicle into gear...we are leaving Kumasi.

PS: Efya,my memory theory from last year works☺

PSS: You can totally share if you liked it! 😚