Ghanaman

By Kabudi Wanga Wanzala

Set in Ghana, West Africa in the late 1960s, GHANAMAN is a coming of age story that traces the joys and hardships of 12 year old Kofi Mensah, and his adopted family, the Anamans. It is a story of love, friendship, betrayal, sacrifice, infidelity, survival and redemption. Will Kofi complete his formal education and fulfill his dream of helping his younger siblings in Sankor get out of poverty? How does a military coup detat affect a young West African country? Will the Anaman family overcome political, economic, and social obstacles in the new Ghana? These are some of the questions answered in Kabudi Wanga Wanzalas GHANAMAN.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469193373

Kabudi Wanga Wanzala

Born in Ghana, West Africa and educated at Mfantsipim, Kabudi Wanga Wanzala is a critically acclaimed musician whose compact discs include “Give Love a Try”, “ B e One”, “Inner Voices: Life in the Music”, “IV”, “Covers: The Best of Kabudi (1990- 2000)”, “Universal Truths” and “Success”.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by Kabudi Wanga Wanzala.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2012905903

ISBN:   Hardcover                                 978-1-4691-9336-6

            Softcover                                    978-1-4691-9335-9

            Ebook                                         978-1-4691-9337-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of Kabudi Wanga Wanzala’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

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Contents

Historical Facts

Names Given At Birth

Book One

Ghanaman: Revolution

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part 2

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part 3

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Part 4

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Part 5

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Part 6

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Book Two

Ghanaman: Liberation

Part 7

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Part 8

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Part 9

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Part 10

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Book Three

Ghanaman: Redemption

Part 11

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Part 12

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

Part 13

Chapter 125

Chapter 126

Chapter 127

Chapter 128

Chapter 129

Part 14

Chapter 130

Chapter 131

Chapter 132

Chapter 133

Chapter 134

Part 15

Chapter 135

Chapter 136

Chapter 137

Chapter 138

Chapter 139

Chapter 140

Chapter 141

Chapter 142

Chapter 143

Chapter 144

Chapter 145

Chapter 146

Chapter 147

Part 16

Chapter 148

Chapter 149

Chapter 150

Chapter 151

Chapter 152

Chapter 153

Chapter 154

Part 17

Chapter 155

Chapter 156

Chapter 157

Chapter 158

Chapter 159

Chapter 160

Chapter 161

Part 18

Chapter 162

Chapter 163

Chapter 164

Chapter 165

Chapter 166

Chapter 167

Epilogue

Pronunciation Key

HISTORICAL FACTS

NAMES GIVEN AT BIRTH

The Akan people of Ghana name their children according to the day of the week on which they are born.

BOOK ONE

GHANAMAN: REVOLUTION

Part 1

Chapter 1

Kofi Mensah

Winneba, Ghana–July 1978

Kofi Mensah was lying on his king-size bed on a sweltering hot July night, trying to sleep. For once, there was no woman lying beside him. He was alone listening to the peaceful and thought-provoking music of Kakaiku, Ghana’s preeminent highlife guitar band, on his battered preset Akasanoma radio. It was eight o’clock in the evening, and the action was just starting in Winneba—the nightclubs would soon be crowded as popular dance bands from Accra, Tema, Kumasi, and Takoradi entertained the people on this Tuesday night.

The neighborhood in which he lived was as quiet as a cemetery. The inhabitants, mainly elder fisherfolk, had gone to bed over an hour ago. The dances and the night life, they said, were for the young workers and students who spent most of their day sitting behind tables and desks reading books.

Kofi had hardly missed a dance at the Copa Cabana, Winneba’s liveliest club, in years. He was one of the most popular young bachelors in the fishing village of about ten thousand, and he was known for picking up ladies at dances and showing them a good time. His friends were in awe of him and complained that they couldn’t keep track of his numerous girlfriends—women he hung out with or women who had spent the night on his bed. As far as his friends were all concerned, Kofi was nothing but a screwdriver who could handle his women and booze. He was the life of the party.

But Kofi was bored this night. He was restless and tossed and turned on his bed. The last time he had gone to bed this early was when he was in primary school. He flung his freshly washed sleeping cloth to the foot of the bed and got up to let some cool fresh air into the room. He was feeling hot, but the louvers were opened as far as they would go.

Damn! he cursed as he stripped off his sweat-drenched undershirt and tried to make himself comfortable on the bed again.

A lot of problems were on his mind, and cool fresh air was the last on the list. He was leaving Ghana for the United States the next day to pursue a bachelor’s degree in economics at the University of Cincinnati, and he had sold most of his belongings—including his small reliable electric fan.

Oh, how he missed it! He couldn’t do anything now. He had to bear the infamous West African heat for just one more night. The plane was leaving at midnight the next day, and so he had a lot of time—almost a whole day—for last-minute things. He could take advantage of his last day to break the world’s record in sex, if there was such a record. So many girls he could easily bring to his cabin in that time.

But he was not in the mood for sex. All he could think about was his plan for the next day. He would breathe freely when the plane landed in the States. It wouldn’t be long now.

Kofi closed his eyes and whispered into the darkness, Oh, Lord, my Heavenly Father, please be with me as I take this trip. Please make everything all right. This is what I ask in the name of Jesus Christ, the Savior. He said a hurried amen and smacked his hands.

The mosquito that had been buzzing in his ear was now nothing but pulp. Kofi got rid of the bloody remains by scraping his palm against the corner of the empty Queen of the Coast sardine crate that served as his bedside table.

Were there mosquitoes in America? How will life be without these friendly little insects?

Ei, this America! he said aloud. It’s going to be wild, oh!

His smile quickly disappeared as he realized that he was going to miss his job, friends, Copa Cabana, Winneba, and the Ghanaian way of life. He had waited a long time for this moment, but now that it was getting close, he felt depressed.

I really should be out there having fun with my friends for the last time.

When Kofi said his good-byes that evening to friends at the Ghana Commercial Bank where he worked as an accounting clerk, he was so anxious to get on the plane and leave the rat race behind. He was having second thoughts now. He thought about postponing his departure for a little while and quickly decided against it. He was only twenty-four, and his future looked dim. If he stayed on in Ghana, he’d always be in the bottomless pit, working hard every day and getting nowhere. This was his opportunity to get out, and he was not going to let anything stop him.

Kofi wanted to be an economist, but he couldn’t get accepted into the University of Ghana, Legon, because his Advanced-level grades were not outstanding. With an A in Economics and Bs in Political Science, English Literature, and the General Paper, he couldn’t get into Legon, Ghana’s premier university. Instead, he gained admission at the University of Cape Coast to study English Literature. Education in Ghana was very competitive, and one had to have more than good grades to make it.

He had turned the University of Cape Coast down because the institution, Ghana’s third and least respected university, had the reputation of producing teachers. Kofi didn’t want to be a teacher, so he decided to take the Advanced-level exams again to improve his grades. He had taken them three times already—in ’74, ’75, and ’76—but his grades kept getting worse. He gave up trying when he finally came to the sad conclusion that he would never get into Legon. He had wasted three years of his life trying to get all As in his subjects. It was time for him to do something else. He had to make a living one way or another, so he reluctantly found a job as an accounting clerk at the commercial bank in Winneba.

Although he had dropped out of the college race, Kofi never gave up his dream of becoming an economist. He knew that the only way he could accomplish his goals was to get out of Ghana and its suicidal competitive system. His job as a payroll/accounting clerk was boring, but he was taking home a decent paycheck every fortnight. That was all fine and dandy, but he couldn’t see himself working there for the rest of his life.

Thanks to James Andoh, one of his Mfantsipim secondary school classmates who was now in the United States pursuing a bachelor’s degree in chemical engineering, Kofi was able to get a place at the University of Cincinnati, Ohio, to study economics. James Andoh had made it possible for him to take the SAT, ACT, TOEFL, and other American standard tests to fulfill the university’s admission requirements at the West African Examinations Center in Accra. Since James Andoh was already at the University of Cincinnati and was active in the International Students Association, he had been able to make sure that Kofi’s papers were processed quickly. Kofi was going to stay with James Andoh until he got himself together.

America, Kofi muttered under his breath, will I ever get there? He began to sweat.

Suddenly, he was afraid he would not be able to pass through U.S. customs with the gold pieces and Indian hemp he was planning to smuggle. His body shivered as he remembered the photograph of the seven women who had been caught at Heathrow Airport trying to smuggle large bundles of marijuana into the United Kingdom. The photo had been plastered on the front pages of all the Ghanaian newspapers a few weeks ago.

The packages of good-quality marijuana they had tied all over their bodies made the young women look like plump healthy market mammies. Before-and-after pictures of the daring women had appeared in both the Daily Graphic and Ghanaian Times. The women had done an excellent job, placing the packages in all the right places: on their breasts, stomachs, thighs, and buttocks. What was amusing and interesting about the pictures was that the usually conservative dailies exposed the nakedness of these young ladies for the whole world to see.

Kofi shook his head.

No, that’s not going to happen to me! I am going to be extremely careful. Those girls were just greedy, trying to smuggle too much at one time. I’m not going to make that mistake.

Kofi had heard that it was easier smuggling pieces of gold. A local goldsmith had made a thick bracelet and an amulet for him, and he was planning to wear them the next day. They were made in such a way that they did not look valuable. Kofi wondered how much money he could make when they were melted down. The money from the sale of the gold pieces and marijuana would help pay his tuition and some of his living expenses. As for the marijuana, he planned to smuggle them in balls of kenkey—cooked corn dough wrapped in brown banana leaves—and small ceramic and wooden artifacts.

No way was he going to be caught with weed on his person. He had made deals with some craftsman and a kenkey seller, and they were going to hide small cellophane bags of the hemp in the special items they were making for him. Kofi was supposed to pick them up just before he left for Accra in the afternoon the next day.

Although Kofi had everything planned, he was still anxious and nervous. He wanted to get it over and done with. It was a do-or-die situation, and there was no turning back now. If he got caught, he would be locked up in one of those stinking foreign prisons for years, or he would be sent back home to languish in a Ghanaian prison for hard-core criminals. He would be treated like an animal, performing all kinds of laborious tasks for the prison system, and people in the outside world would soon forget all about him. He dreaded that very much.

He wondered how the seven women were doing. The thought that he wasn’t going to pass through London, especially the notorious Heathrow Airport, was a consolation. Kofi began to relax. From what he had heard and read, British officials were tightening their grip on Africans, especially Ghanaians whom they viewed as crafty and ingenious smugglers. As soon as they saw a Ghanaian passport, all hell broke loose. They ushered the traveler to a special room where they stripped him or her naked. Then they conducted a body search. Every orifice was scrutinized. The luggage and clothes diligently inspected.

Smugglers were either deported or imprisoned in the foreign country where the crime was committed. The punishment depended on what was smuggled and the quantity involved. Deportation was common because the jails were full of foreign smugglers. The dirty work was then left to the smuggler’s country of origin.

What was better: serving a stiff prison term far away from home or being deported and serving time in a Ghanaian prison?

Kofi shook his head.

I must not get caught.

Ghana-grown weed was reputed to be very potent and top quality. It therefore sold at a high price on the international black market. Kofi always wondered why the bankrupt Ghanaian government didn’t build up its foreign exchange reserves by exporting the leaves. A huge market for them existed.

Ghana is not using all its resources. What a waste!

Kofi rubbed his clean shaven face with the palms of his hands.

Thank God, I’m on a direct flight to America, Kofi whispered into the darkness.

Friends in the States who had managed to slip through the cracks had advised him to stay away from the New York airports: John F. Kennedy and LaGuardia. They had said the likelihood of him being caught at Dulles Airport, Washington DC, were very slim. Kofi was following his buddies’ instructions, but he did not want to appear overconfident. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter whether it was an airport in New York or Washington DC. America was America.

Sleep wasn’t coming. His mind was working overtime. He reached out for his packet of Rothmans cigarettes. Only one cigarette was left. Kofi crushed the packet and placed it on the sardine crate.

What am I going to do now?

He had planned to spend the evening locked up in his room, meditating and lying low. It was going to be difficult to stay in his room without any cigarettes. Cigarettes, like everything else in the country, were very scarce. He would have to search high and low to find some cigarettes. It was a big shame because people were hoarding essential items like canned milk, sardines, matches, bread, flour, and sugar, and selling them at outrageous prices. It was not uncommon for someone to pay an arm and a leg for a glass of iced water in Ghana. Everybody was out to make a quick profit.

All these things will not be a problem when I get to the States. Kofi chuckled to himself as he lit his last cigarette.

The room brightened up for a few seconds, and the acidic smell of burnt sulfur drifted in the still air after he struck the match. He blew the smoke he had inhaled toward the ceiling and lay back to enjoy his cigarette. He looked at his watch. It was just a few minutes past nine. He would have to go out after all and get some cigarettes for the next day. No way could he live without his Rothmans.

CHAPTER 2

Kofi Mensah

Winneba, Ghana–July 1978

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

Kofi heard a sharp knock on his door as he finished tying the laces of his dirty ProKed sneakers. He took a quick glance outside through the louvers and unlocked the door. It was his good friend Sammy Donkoh.

Hey there! Am I disturbing something? Donkoh whispered. Are you with some yawo?

Ugh, ugh! Kofi replied, shaking his head. I’m alone.

Sammy pouted his lips and peered at Kofi with squinted eyes. He didn’t believe his buddy.

Kofi saw the look on Sammy’s face and switched on his green light. Come in and take a look. There’s no one here.

What’s the matter with you, man? Are you sick or something? Donkoh asked, looking around suspiciously. Hey, if I were in your shoes, I would be emptying my reservoir tonight. You’re leaving tomorrow, so things should be koko for you tonight.

Kofi chuckled. Yeah, I know. Well, I was just relaxing—trying to get some sleep—but it’s not coming. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just don’t feel like doing anything tonight.

Why? That’s unlike you. Are you feeling homesick already? Come on. Let’s go to the Copa Cabana for some drinks. That’ll cheer you up. Kalabule Soundz is jamming tonight. Besides, what are you going to do with your paycheck? I hear you can’t exchange those useless cedis in the States. So let’s go and blow the money, huh? Let’s party for the last time!

Sammy, I’m sorry, but I’m really not in the mood for drinks or live music, Kofi said, switching off his radio. I was just about to step out to buy some jot. Why don’t you accompany me? We can stop at the Copa for a drink afterward, but I won’t stay long. I want to come back and get some rest.

I hear you. Sammy nodded. I’m ready when you are.

Kofi pointed toward the door. After you.

He switched off his green light, and they stepped out into the hot sticky night.

Sammy Donkoh was one of Kofi’s close friends, and he also worked at the commercial bank in Winneba. A well-known athlete, Donkoh currently held the national record in the marathon and 1,500-meter events. Women were constantly after him. Sammy had completed form five at Winneba Secondary School six years ago. He did not do well in his Ordinary-level examinations because he was busy representing his school and the nation at various sporting events. He was offered several athletic scholarships by American universities, but for some reason, his visa applications were always denied. Stuck in Ghana, Sammy found a job at the bank, and that’s where he met and befriended Kofi.

Looking at Sammy chain-smoking, one would not think or believe that he was a long-distance runner. At six feet two inches, he was taller than the average Ghanaian. He spent most of his free time lifting weights, so his body was well built—his biceps and calves bulged in his neatly pressed clothes. He had the physique most men envied and most women longed to touch.

Although Sammy was twenty-six years old, he looked like a teenager. He was light in complexion, and his handsome baby face was not marked by age or by the sharp knife of any medicine man.

Standing at five feet nine and a half inches with his neatly trimmed Afro hairdo, dark-skinned Kofi weighed a little more than 135 pounds. There was a long scar running down his right eyebrow. He had earned that mark of valor several years ago while playing a vigorous game of chaskele (street hockey) with some primary schoolmates. Because of his swiftness and his scrawny size, Kofi was selected to be the goalkeeper. As he tried to block a shot, the crushed empty Peak milk tin they were using as a puck struck him on his forehead, leaving a deep ugly bloody gash. He was rushed to the hospital where he received fifteen stitches.

Are you all right? Sammy inquired.

Yeah. Why?

You are awfully quiet and you are stroking your scar. You do that whenever you’re nervous.

Kofi chuckled. Man, you know me too well. I’m trying my best to relax.

I must say you are not doing a great job.

Gee, thanks!

By the way, have you finished packing?

What is there to take? I just tossed in some shirts, trousers, and a few small things. Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll go and pick up the ceramics and the kenkey, and I’ll be all set.

Sammy nodded. He knew all about Kofi’s plan to smuggle marijuana and gold nuggets into the States and hoped that everything would go smoothly without any problems. They walked in silence for a while, thinking about the same thing—whether Kofi was going to make it to the States without getting caught.

So, Kofi, what’s your program? When are you going to leave Winneba?

Sometime in the afternoon. Around one o’clock. I’ve still got a few things to pick up in Accra. I hope to be done by five thirty.

I have no plans for tomorrow afternoon, and I would like too see you off at the airport. You know, your flight is at midnight, and that’s kind of late. I probably would not be able to catch a bus back to Winneba. I think the last bus leaves Accra at eleven thirty. Anyway, I think I’ll go along with you. I can spend the night with one of my cousins. How’s that?

I could use your company. Thanks. Kofi squeezed Sammy’s shoulder. I would really appreciate it.

The twenty-minute walk from Ponkokyir to the middle of town seemed longer than it actually was. Kofi and Sammy were just strolling, taking their time reminiscing. When they got to the Copa Cabana, a lot of people they knew were standing in line, waiting to get in. Some of them came up to Kofi to wish him a safe and happy trip while others just kept their place in the line, shouting out questions, Hey, Kofi, are you coming in?

What time?

I’ll see you when you get in.

We should talk, oh.

You owe me a drink before you split the scene.

We’re waiting for you guys inside.

Kalabule Soundz had just arrived, and the crowd was all fired up. It was the group’s first show in Winneba, and they had a great many people waiting to see them. Word was that they were the hottest group in Accra at the moment, and the people couldn’t wait to rate them.

Kofi heard the band members tuning their instruments and testing the microphones. The show was running a few minutes late because the bus driver, who had been drinking akpeteshie that afternoon and was intoxicated, had initially dropped off the musicians and their loads of equipment at the Point, another nightclub in Winneba. After realizing his mistake, he drove around the town in circles like a maniac looking for the Copa Cabana.

The sound check was completed after a few minutes, and the master of ceremonies introduced the group. Kalabule Soundz broke into their first song Serpentine Fire with great energy and enthusiasm. The musicians were so good Kofi could have sworn that Earth, Wind, and Fire was right there at the Copa—Phenix Horns and all!

Suddenly, there was a mad rush at the bamboo gate as the excited crowd struggled to get in. Many of the guys in line used that opportunity to rub themselves against the buttocks of women standing in front of them. One man was courageous enough to fondle the breasts of a young woman. The angry woman turned around and warned him not to attempt that again. A few minutes later, she accused him of caressing her buttocks; and she made a scene, cussing and putting the guy to shame.

Kofi and Sammy stood there a while listening to the music and observing the commotion outside; then they continued their walk in search of cigarettes.

The road toward Abasraba was quiet and dark. The street lamps all along the road, scattered here and there, were either too dim or not functioning at all. It had been that way for years, and nobody had done anything about replacing the burnt-out bulbs. It wouldn’t be long before all those streetlights would have to be replaced.

Kofi wondered what purpose those electric lamps served. People were now depending on moonlight or the many kerosene lanterns and lamps that the sellers of kelewele (fried plantains), fried fish, ground red pepper and banku, bread, bananas, oranges, and other foodstuff used so they could see their money and the items their customers were interested in purchasing.

A few people were walking in the direction of the Copa, and an occasional car or police jeep zoomed by. The people who lived in this part of the town were either sleeping or sitting behind kiosks or tables in front of their houses selling all kinds of food: kelewele, bread and tea, kenkey, fish and pepper, and all kinds of fruits and vegetables. Every now and then, Sammy and Kofi stopped and asked the sellers whether they had any cigarettes hidden somewhere. They walked on when they got a negative response.

Most of the sellers who almost always had cigarettes were of no help that evening. They had all run out of their supplies but promised to keep some on the side for Kofi and Sammy when they got their orders in the next day.

Kofi just smiled. Tomorrow I will be in the States, and I won’t have to worry about scarcity and hoarding.

Sammy saw a group of guys smoking cigarettes walking toward them. He recognized one as a classmate at Winneba Secondary School. Ei, Abaka-Wilson, what’s going on?

Nothing. What about you?

I’m hanging in there. Listen, we’ve been looking for cigarettes all evening. Do you know where we can buy some?

There’s an old lady selling oranges and bananas in front of a yellow building about four hundred yards from here, Abaka-Wilson whispered to Sammy. She’s got some hidden in her basket, but you have to talk her into selling you some. You know old ladies. They can be difficult at times. He pointed them in the right direction and wished Sammy and Kofi luck.

Thanks, man, Sammy said, slapping his friend’s palm.

Anytime!

It was not difficult locating the house and the old lady. She was an extremely cautious Hausa trader. She liked to sell only to her regular customers and people she knew quite well. It took Kofi and Sammy a long time to convince her that they were not undercover policemen or soldiers out to bust her for hoarding essential commodities.

They did purchase two packs of Embassy cigarettes from the shrewd old lady, still very hesitant when she handed the packets to Kofi. She charged them one cedi and eighty pesewas—making a clean profit of fifty pesewas.

What a rip-off! Sammy muttered under his breath as he walked away from the woman.

He and Kofi did not haggle with her because they had come a long way and done enough talking for the evening. Besides, Kofi had a lot of cedis and could afford to throw them around for once in his life. Kofi would have to give his friends most of his money because after he sat on the plane, those cedis were going to be worthless. Sammy hoped he was one of Kofi’s lucky friends.

I should remember to keep some of these cedis as souvenirs for my children, Kofi said, looking at some wrinkled and faded notes. Ah! Ah! Ah! These cedis are useless. Totally useless outside this country.

It’s so sad. But what are we to do? Sammy asked as he lit a cigarette.

Spend it!

Kofi and Sammy laughed loudly and walked into a nearby beer bar.

CHAPTER 3

Kofi Mensah

Winneba, Ghana—July 1978

Auntie Grace’s was packed as usual, but unlike in the other beer bars, there was never any rowdiness. The people who usually came to the entertainment establishment were well mannered and never used obscene language or started fights. Most of the patrons were just relaxing—sipping ice cold beer and talking politics. The owner, Auntie Grace Bonney, always mingled with her patrons, engaging them in political and social issues and artfully encouraging them to drink more booze. She was about fifty-five years old and very educated. Most people liked her because of her good sense of humor.

One thing she couldn’t tolerate was uncouth behavior, and so she did not allow students on her premises. She knew they were the ones most likely to get drunk, act stupid, and sing vulgar songs.

Auntie Grace was one of the few people in Winneba who owned a Mercedes-Benz, and she was highly respected because she spread her wealth around the town. She was a very active member of the Winneba Methodist Church, and she continually donated large sums of money to keep the church building looking clean and respectable. The beautiful black-and-gold robes the choir members wore every Sunday had been donated by Auntie Grace.

Her generosity was not solely reserved for the Methodist Church. The primary and middle schools associated with the church also benefited from her hefty contributions, and she poured a lot of money into the numerous vocational and commercial schools in the Winneba area. Without Auntie Grace’s help, most of those schools would not have been able to purchase textbooks, notebooks, chalk, pens, pencils, and miscellaneous school supplies, sewing machines, typewriters, and other business equipment. Her latest project was the Winneba Library, which she had established with the help of some of her benevolent business friends. At present count, there were less than a hundred books in the small building, but at least that was a start.

Kofi and Sammy knew Auntie Grace quite well. Whenever she came to deposit her polythene bags full of money at the bank, they took good care of her. She was sitting at one of her bamboo tables with two other women and four men. Facing the door, she could easily see the main street and everybody who walked into her club. She was all smiles when she saw Kofi and Sammy.

Ei, Mr. Mensah and Mr. Donkoh! Auntie Grace called from her seat. Nice to see you. How are you this evening? She excused herself from her table of friends, got up, and walked toward Kofi and Sammy.

Oh, we are doing all right, Sammy said.

Kofi shook Auntie Grace’s outstretched hand. I am leaving for the United States tomorrow, and I just passed by to say good-bye to you.

That’s very nice of you, Mr. Mensah. What part of the States are you going to?

Kofi knew Auntie Grace had been to America several times in the last two years and that she was familiar with the various states. What she went to do in America was a big mystery. He guessed it was all business related.

Ohio. Cincinnati, Ohio. I hope to start studying economics at the University of Cincinnati, Kofi said, putting his hands together and squeezing them tightly. He was always a little uneasy when he talked to the big shots that lived in Winneba. They made him feel uncomfortable, and he always wanted to do his best to be in their good books. It was always good to have a big shot on your side. They could help you in so many ways.

Hmmmm… Ohio… I was there some years ago. Some place called Cleveland. It was beautiful. It was wintertime, so it was very cold, but the snow made the place look so calm and peaceful. I hope you’ll like the city you are going to. Anyway, have a safe trip and do the best that you can in your studies.

Auntie Grace looked around and signaled one of her waitresses to come. You’ll drink some beer, won’t you? Sit down and make yourself comfortable. It’s my treat, so don’t worry about paying. Adjoa, please bring these gentlemen some cold, cold beer. She winked, and Adjoa nodded.

Kofi and Sammy sat down at one of the tables in a corner and smoked while they waited for Adjoa to bring the beer. She came back with a six-pack of Heineken.

Sheeei! The woman is making us show. She’s giving us the best, Sammy whispered to Kofi.

Kofi smiled. Local beers such as Star, Club, Tata, and Gulder were hard to find in the country; and yet Auntie Grace Bonney was giving them a six-pack of Heineken—imported beer. It was unbelievable.

You see what you get when you treat those big shots nicely? You get fringe benefits. You sit down and play! The woman has contacts. If you can’t find some item on the market, come to Auntie Grace. She will have it, Kofi said, taking a swig of the cold brew.

Aaah, it felt good going down! Just what he needed to calm his nerves. His lonely apartment could wait until later.

Kofi and Sammy consumed the six-pack of beer in a hurry because they wanted to catch Kalabule Soundz at the Copa before the musicians went on break around midnight. It was a few minutes past eleven when they thanked Auntie Grace for her hospitality. Kofi managed to slip Adjoa some cedi notes before he stepped outside the bar. The young girl smiled at him in appreciation.

Kofi smiled back and winked.

Had it been another day.

He shook his head and walked toward Copa Cabana feeling good about himself.

CHAPTER 4

Kofi Mensah

Winneba, Ghana—July 1978

The line of people waiting to get into the Copa Cabana wasn’t as long as before. It was mainly people who had already been inside and had stepped outside for some fresh air and space. The Copa was crowded, and it was very difficult finding a place to sit. Kofi and Sammy were able to secure a table not too far from the pile of loosely placed cement blocks that served as the urinating grounds for men and women. The stench was heavy, but the people were either too happy or tipsy to notice.

The beer and stout had already run out at the Copa, so Kofi and Sammy had to settle for Three Musketeers gin. Kofi wished they had stayed at Auntie Grace’s. She had lots of beer. Kofi hated to mix beer and hard liquor, but he couldn’t have fun without drinking something, and so he went with the flow.

Three Musketeers gin of all drinks. Kofi shook his head. What a shame!

Everybody was having a good time as usual—dancing and shouting profane words playfully at each other. Kofi was very relaxed and letting himself go. The dry gin was slowly getting to his head. How silly of him to think that he could spend his last night in Ghana alone in his little room. This is where he was supposed to be, with all his friends. Having a good time.

I’m not going to worry about tomorrow anymore. I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

He took a long shot from the bottle of gin, contorted his face as he swallowed, and shouted a profanity after the alcohol settled in his stomach. People on the dance floor responded, and there was loud laughter all around.

Kofi didn’t want to dance, so he sat there drinking and talking to some ladies he knew. Sammy was lost on the dance floor. Many of their friends came over to the table just to pat Kofi’s back and to wish him well. It was then that Kofi realized how many of his women friends he had slept with. It seemed like they were all at the Copa that night, giving him their addresses and reminding him to send them some dollars, cosmetics, and beauty aids.

Man, as for me ibi only black jeans I dey want oh!

Yeah. You for write to me, or that’s it.

I’ve got a brother in America. Here is his address. Please, contact him and see what he is doing about my connections to America.

Hey! Yeah! Give me your address and I’ll keep in touch.

Come on, Kofi. Let’s dance the next number.

Atinga, the local photographer, was there taking pictures. Everybody wanted to pose with Kofi by some of the palm trees that decorated the grounds of the Copa Cabana. It was a hassle because he had to get up and walk across the dance floor to the lighted spot so the photographs could be taken.

But Kofi was a good sport. He posed for a lot of pictures and even offered to cover the bills for some of his friends. Atinga always demanded payment before he took any photographs; and because Kofi had put down a large deposit for his friends, Atinga was all smiles, happily snapping away. One of Kofi’s primary schoolmates, Kweku Arhin, had promised to send him copies of the photographs after they were developed by Atinga. Kofi gave him some money for the postage.

After a while, Kofi was back at the table drinking his gin and talking to some women. He was high, and his head felt heavy. Kofi decided to shake some of the tension off by dancing. He hadn’t danced all night even though lots of women had tried to pull him out of his seat. He knew he had to pee or sweat some of the booze out of his system, or he’d be in serious trouble. So when he finally got up to dance, the people around cheered and followed him to the dance floor. They made a big circle and put on a romping display with Kofi in the middle.

Hey, Kofi, show us what you can do on the dance floor! they said. Show us what you can do!

Kofi obliged by gyrating his waist and moving his body to the funky rhythms as the people clapped their hands. One by one, his friends stepped into the circle for a few minutes to show off while the people chanted, Get down. Get down. I said do your thing!

When Sammy was pulled into the center, he stole the show by doing seven pushups with one hand. Then he got up and moved his waist in an obscene fashion as if he were making love to a woman—first in slow motions and gradually wriggling himself to a frenzy. He took off his shirt, displaying his well-built hairy chest and chiseled abdomen. The sweat slowly trickled down his light-skinned body, and all eyes were on him.

The women, young and old, gasped as he flexed his muscles. This is a real man, they whispered to one another. Wouldn’t it be nice?

The young women shrieked in delight, chanting, Horsepower! Horsepower! O dem! Bonsue! as Sammy moved to the music.

Kalabule Soundz joined in the fun by letting the percussion section take over for an extended jam. The band was excellent, and the musicians really knew how to work the crowd. They were reserving most of the popular party favorites for the end of the show. They knew which songs would rock the people—songs by Bob Marley and the Wailers!

Kofi found that interesting. For years, no self-respecting Ghanaian band could go around the country without paying homage to Jimmy Cliff, the original king of reggae. People really identified with his songs about hard times and the struggling man. But today, Bob Marley was the current rage. With tunes like Exodus, One Love, Jammin’, and Waiting in Vain, he had won the hearts of Ghanaians and had taken the reggae scepter and throne away from Jimmy Cliff.

Kalabule Soundz had already played several of Bob Marley’s earlier hits and was holding back on tunes from Kaya, his latest album. They knew that if they did not play any of the songs from the new album, people would denounce them as kolo. Ghanaians loved new material—the latest releases from the top artists in the world of music.

When the percussion jam was over, Kalabule Soundz immediately plunged into Kaya, the title song of Marley’s new album, much to the audience’s delight. Although people were exhausted from all the wild dancing, they stayed on the floor waving their hands as they loudly sang the lyrics with the band.

Hundreds of people left the dance floor right after the song. They thought the band was going on their break after such a frenzied performance. They were wrong.

Instead, Kalabule Soundz shifted gears and started playing some slow jams so people could catch their breath. Three Times a Lady, the latest hit from the Commodores, was a song no one was going to sit out.

Sammy was sweating like crazy. He tried to wipe himself dry with his tattered handkerchief as he walked back to the table. Kofi was already at the table with a new bottle of Three Musketeers in his hand. By his side was Maame Ekua, one of the most beautiful girls in Winneba. She had just come from the Point, which she said was as dead as ever. Love and Peace, the band hired for the night, was so terrible people had to leave for other nightspots. Maame Ekua was trying to make small talk with Kofi, but he was ignoring her.

Maame Ekua was not one of his favorite people. She talked too much, and she had a reputation in town. It was rumored that the two teacher-training colleges in Winneba were her home. She spent most of her time there moving from guy to guy and room to room. Maame Ekua was the town’s nymphomaniac, and Kofi was not interested in her at all.

Kofi winked at Sammy. He hoped his friend would do something to get rid of Maame Ekua. For all he cared, Sammy was free to take Maame Ekua home for the night if he wanted to. All Sammy had to do was keep an eye on her before she slipped away with someone else. Maame Ekua was always looking out for a handsome man to bed.

As if he had read Kofi’s mind, Sammy pulled his chair close to Maame Ekua and tried to join in the one-sided conversation. Maame Ekua was trying to persuade Kofi to dance with her before the band went on break, but Kofi was adamant. He didn’t want to dance—especially with a girl like Maame Ekua.

Come on, Kofi. It’s your last night. Be a gentleman and dance with the lady, Sammy said.

He smiled when Kofi reluctantly took Maame Ekua’s outstretched hand and led her to the dance floor. The band was now playing How Deep Is Your Love? by the Bee Gees.

I’ll get you back for this, Kofi whispered in Sammy’s ear as he passed by. You wait and see!

Sammy tried hard to stifle his laughter. As soon as Kofi and Maame Ekua left, Sammy burst out laughing; then he moved over to the next table to sit with Veronica, the girl he hoped to take home after the dance. He was having so much fun that evening. Tomorrow he would miss Kofi.

The emcee announced that the band was going to take a forty-minute break, and because they had started the show late, they were going to play until three thirty instead of the usual 2:00 a.m.

Yaaaay! the crowd roared in appreciation. They knew they were going to get their money’s worth of good entertainment.

Thank God Almighty the band is not living up to its name—Kalabule—and they are not ripping us off! someone yelled.

Copa Cabana was filled with loud laughter. Kalabule Soundz was giving the people more than they had ever imagined. The crowd clapped their hands and whistled as they slowly streamed out of the nightclub to get some fresh air.

Breaktime. This was the period all the food sellers outside were waiting for. Those selling cooked meals such as kenkey, fried fish and pepper, rice and beans with goat meat stew, and gari, beans, and fried plantain had the most customers even at 12:30 a.m. The narrow streets were busy and full of life as couples strolled looking for nice, quiet dark places to get into some foreplay or the real thing.

Kofi found himself walking home with Maame Ekua by his side. Did Sammy hit the jackpot with Vero? He had been rapping her most of the night. Kofi had faith in his old buddy. Sammy would get lucky.

Kofi had promised himself several times that he wasn’t going to sleep with any woman before he left Ghana. He wanted to make sure that no one was carrying his child. He didn’t want to be worrying about any dependents he was leaving behind. As far as he knew, none of the many women he had bedded had missed their period or were pregnant. Kofi knew that dozens of women were after him, and they would do anything just to trap him into marriage.

It had happened to so many people he knew. In most of the cases, contrary to the woman’s claims, the accused man turned out not to be the baby’s father. Just a few weeks ago, Sheila Hansen, a secondary school girl who was as black as charcoal, had a beautiful light-skinned baby boy with gray eyes and straight black hair. The poor student claimed that her doctor friend, who had recently graduated from a college in Germany and was home in Ghana for a short visit, was the father. People knew Sheila wasn’t telling the truth. The alleged father, Kobena Grant, was blacker than black, and the baby did not resemble him at all. In fact, the baby’s features were more Caucasian than African.

After some heavy investigation, the Hansen family found out that the baby’s real father was a white professor from Scotland who lectured romance languages at the University of Cape Coast. The professor was said to have fathered many kids in the town, but unfortunately, he did not acknowledge any of his offspring.

Kofi didn’t want to be put in a position where he was responsible for taking care of someone else’s child. He also didn’t want to have his children aimlessly roaming the streets of Ghana not knowing who their father was. He vowed that the day he was blessed to be a father, he was going to make sure that he was in the child’s life. To play an active part in the child’s nurturing. At the present time, he was definitely not ready for fatherhood. He had taken precautions to make sure that his bed mates wouldn’t get pregnant. The last few months, he had made it a point to use prophylactics and other birth control devices.

He could hear the voices of Sammy and his other friends ringing in his head, urging him to take advantage of his situation. After all, he was leaving the country and wouldn’t be back for a while.

If I were you, I would be sleeping with as many babes as I can tonight.

What’s wrong with you? Your bula die?

In America, you probably won’t get anybody to screw oh, so you might as well get it while you can.

He clearly remembered Sammy’s words, Your bula die? Your bula die?

Kofi smiled. His head was reeling. Was his bula still alive?

I’ll prove to them that my bula is still alive. I just have to be careful.

No babies… no babies.

He looked at Maame Ekua and shook his head. What the hell am I doing with her?

Ah, go for it! a voice said. It’s your last day. The best person to have tonight is a nympho like Maame Ekua. She does not want your baby, man! She just wants to sleep with you. She just wants to sleep with you.

The quiet voice echoed in his head.

Kofi unlocked the door, switched on his green light, and told Maame Ekua to make herself comfortable while he went to pee. I think I’ve got a bottle of Guinness on the table. You can have it if you want something to drink. I’ll be back in a moment.

He lit a cigarette and staggered out to take a piss in the bushes behind his room. The toilet was too far away, and his bladder was bursting. He had to let it out at once.

After Kofi relieved himself, he still pondered. Should I have sex with Maame Ekua? What if she has some disease?

I have some condoms.

What am I doing?

I am wasting time.

What’s going on with me?

I am losing control.

When Kofi came back to his room, Maame Ekua was already undressed and lying on the bed drinking Guinness. She was hiding her nakedness under his Adinkra sleeping cloth. Kofi slipped in a cassette, and the room was filled with the music of Isaac Hayes.

Have you got some Barry White? Maame Ekua asked, putting the half-empty bottle on the sardine crate. This music is too mellow for me. Barry is the man. He’ll put us in the right mood.

Yeah, I’ve got something. Kofi went into his packed portmanteaux and looked for Barry’s Let the Music Play cassette and played it for her.

They did not talk.

Kofi sat at the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette while he listened to the music.

Drink some of my Guinness, Kofi, Maame Ekua said, trying to start a conversation. I can’t drink it all.

Don’t worry about that. You drink what you can. I’m fine. I don’t like mixing drinks. I have had too much gin and beer already, and stout will definitely make me sick.

Kofi sat there gazing into the darkness and tapping his feet to You See the Trouble with Me. After extinguishing the cigarette, he started taking off his clothes. He left his briefs on and joined Maame Ekua in bed.

He took a long look at Maame Ekua, admiring her body. So this is how Maame Ekua looks like without her clothes. Man, she’s gorgeous! More than I ever imagined.

Maame Ekua was truly ravishing. She was twenty-four years old with an exquisite body. Her voluptuous breasts were swollen and firm, and they bobbed up and down at the slightest touch of Kofi’s hands. Her dark soft skin was covered with a slight layer of silky hair.

Kofi was really amazed at her shape. It was perfect. Her stomach was flat, and the only thing that protruded as she lay on her back were her breasts, which resembled two medium-sized pawpaw.

He looked at her hips. They were well rounded. She wore a thin string of beads around her waist to make her figure curvaceous. He touched her big buttocks. They were very soft, and they branched into a nice pair of straight legs. Maame Ekua was a beauty, and it was obvious that she took good care of herself. He wondered about all the rumors.

Are they true? Or are people just jealous of Maame Ekua’s beauty so they just spread awful things about her?

He looked at her. She was bursting with desire, waiting for him to take her to the eleventh heaven. She had closed her eyes, but Kofi could tell that she was enjoying the light kisses that he placed all around her neck and breasts. She moaned and moved her body in a rocking rhythm.

Kofi slowly worked his fingers down her stomach until they touched her inner thighs. He played with her pubic hair, and she spread her legs so he could move down with ease.

Aaah! Maame Ekua cried out when she felt his warm fingertip on her clitoris.

Suddenly she was wet.

Having enough of Kofi’s gentle stimulation, she reached out and grabbed his penis. To her surprise, there was no erection, and he was still wearing his briefs.

What’s the matter with you, Kofi? Don’t I turn you on? she murmured.

Sure, you do. Gin always does this to me. I’ll be all right in a few minutes. Just relax and enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine, he promised.

You’ve been acting strange all night. Is it because you’re leaving tomorrow? Forget about that and have a good time. If there’s something bothering you, tell me. Maybe I can help.

Yes, there was something bothering Kofi. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to make love to Maame Ekua. The voices in his head were confusing him:

Do it! Do It!

What are you waiting for?

Your bula die?

No babies… no babies.

What if she has VD?

What if?

Shit! He really wanted Maame Ekua now. She looked like someone who could give him the ultimate pleasure. He didn’t tell her what was on his mind, and she didn’t probe.

Maame Ekua was biding her time. She knew that she would be screaming out in ecstasy in a matter of time. She was too hard to resist.

She knew exactly what to do to put some life in Kofi’s bula. As Kofi kissed her breasts and played with her pulsing clitoris. Maame Ekua took a hold of his limp organ and gently squeezed it, making it warm. Then she slowly massaged his sagging balls and the tip of his circumcised penis. Her warm soft hands soon recognized a gradual growth of the shaft. She slowly increased the pace of her fondling until he gained his full growth.

Kofi slipped off his briefs. They were restricting his erection and making him very uncomfortable.

Maame Ekua sighed. At last, she was just a few steps away from paradise! She could tell Kofi was in the mood now, and he was enjoying himself. His breathing had changed, and he had begun to poke his forefinger deeper into her. Maame Ekua wailed softly in delight.

The moisture inside her made some gurgling noises as Kofi’s finger leisurely thrusted in and out. Maame Ekua’s palm could feel Kofi getting bigger and bigger. Whenever she squeezed his throbbing penis, Kofi got excited.

He was ready for her now.

Don’t forget your condoms.

What are you waiting for?

Kofi reached for the packet of Sultan condoms he kept under his pillow while Maame Ekua gently rubbed the head of his penis, sending tiny waves of joy down the middle of his back. Kofi felt like yelping in delight. He fumbled with the condom packet for a brief second and left it unopened under his pillow. The sensation was too much for him, and he couldn’t concentrate. It felt so good.

He moved over to his side as Maame Ekua fondled his scrotum, taking hold of his manhood and guiding him into her body.

Kofi resisted for a split second—he needed to wear a condom.

No babies… no babies.

But he couldn’t control himself. He gave in and gasped as his stiff bula swiftly slipped into Maame Ekua’s warm vagina.

He lay there for a while enjoying the sudden warmth. He could feel Maame Ekua’s wetness all over again. He pressed his body closer to hers so that his sensitive balls knocked on her pubic area whenever he penetrated.

Maame Ekua couldn’t take it anymore.

Kofi, I want to come now, she pleaded. Please make me come now.

She swung her shapely waist furiously. Kofi squeezed her soft bottom.

Relax, girl. It will come out if you don’t take it easy.

Maame Ekua did not relax. She tightened her grip on Kofi and helped him with the pulsating motions of ups and downs as Barry White crooned If You Know, Won’t You Tell Me in the background.

Then she felt Kofi’s buttocks tightening, and a hot squirt of liquid began to flow inside her.

Don’t stop! Yes… yes… ssshh! Yes… like that… shhh… Maame Ekua moaned through clenched teeth. I’m coming… I’m coming. Oh! She gasped as she climaxed.

Suddenly, Maame Ekua began to act like a wild woman—clutching Kofi tightly and digging her long nails into his flesh.

A surprised Kofi wondered what was going on. Is Maame Ekua possessed by an evil spirit or what? He had never seen anything quite like that before. She was crying out for more, more, more.

Kofi was exhausted, but he managed to produce two smaller orgasms to Maame Ekua’s delight. He noticed that the more she came, the wilder she behaved. He’d had enough. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

He let out a grunt as he ejaculated then passed out with no more life than a dead piece of wood.

CHAPTER 5

Kofi Mensah

Winneba, Ghana—July 1978

Kofi woke up with the morning sun’s rays hitting him directly in the face. He rubbed his eyes and tried to get up, but the pain in his head was so great. He lay back again, holding his head. It was throbbing, and it felt like it was going to explode like a volcano. After a few seconds, he realized that he was not in his room. All of a sudden, the bed felt very hard and uncomfortable.

He tried to guess whose room he was in, but he couldn’t. He had not been in this room before.

Whose room is this? What am I doing here? And how