A Day in the Life of a President: A Short Story of Power and Love

By Armiyao Harruna

This is a story that spans from 1955 to sometime about 2045. It is a four-part story of a family originating from Cape Coast and Dowyaaniyili in the Northern Region, the story of a northern prince Dowbia Zangina that marries a German/Fante screen idol called Mercedes Huntman who loves him dearly and agree to move with him to the Dowyaaniyili, where he becomes chief after the death of his father. A military government throws him into Nsawam Medium Prison for allegedly collaborating with his journalist friend Ernest Dzigbordi to overthrow the military junta, and regains his freedom when a democratically elected government takes over.
Their Granddaughter Raabia Sedzro goes into politics and becomes the first woman president of her country. She is a successful president and all her good works are cut short when she is assassinated in 2031. The story of President Lankwei Addison takes the reader into campaign travels to the hinterland of Ghana, including some factual events in the governments of Presidents Rawlings, Kufuor, and Atta Mills.
Part Four of the story is drum narrations of historical occurrences not told in the first three parts. As recorded by a media guru Dowbia Yousif, the grandson of Mercedes Huntman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491893975

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© 2014 Armiyao Harruna (Folio 48). All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

All characters are constructed and fictitious except those cited in historical references, though some activities in the story may have some semblance of reality since Independence

Published by AuthorHouse 03/10/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9396-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-9397-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Acknowledgement

PART I GOING HOME

Legend

Radio Check

In The Beginning… .

Reminiscence: Zangina’s Version

Reminiscence: Mercedes’ Version

On The Way To The Airport

A Visit To Fespaco Country

Death Of A Chief

On Na Ziblim, Briefly

Behold The Regent!

Dowyaaniyili

Come With Me, Sayeth The Chieftain

Cape Coast Connection

Enter The Khaki Marauders

The Refugee

Efo’s Choice

V. I. P. Treatment

Publish And Be Banned

The Snooping Security Operatives

Betrayal

The Nsawam Medium Security Prison

Free At Last

PART II END OF THE INTERREGNUM

Naazo: The Movie

First Rungs Of The Ladder

Mommy, Don’t Trust Your Best Friend

A Politician In The Making

Chorus Of The Minority

The ‘Die’ In The Election Of 7Th December, 2012

The Oracle Of Obuasi

Bibiana, Bibianum, Bibiani

Visiting Nyankpala Campus Via Dow

Bayonets

Daddy’s Next Victim

A Quick One From Sogakope

Historical Aflao

War

Operation ‘I Be Lady’

Downtown News

The Warrior

Pandemonium

Special Announcement

Visiting The Patient

Recuperation Ride

Election Day

Hail, Madame Presidente!!!

PART III A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A PRESIDENT

Legend

Radio Check

Wild, Wild Oily West

A President And His Trusted Men

The President On Tour

The Sought- After Dejected Occupation

The Making Of A Terrorist

The President’s Blackmailed Secretary

A Minister’s Act Of Insubordination

The Taking Of Mandariyya

From The Editorial

But, Before The Editorial…

Press Release

Planned Demonstration

Keeping An Eye On The Primaries

Midnight Reports

Drop Something, Drop Something

Render Unto Zango… .

Baidoo’s Specter Surfaces

A Mole In The Shredder

Campaign Manager

Mandariyya Acquitted And Discharged!

Dodowa In The News

Going Nuclear

Campaign Heat One

Scandal At Golden Jubilee House

Welcome To Our Humble Home Ma’afia

Visiting Navasco Campus

Whistle Stop At Mandariyya’s Palace

Strategy Of The Loser

Makkah Case

Campaign Heat Two

Cabinet Reshuffling Goes To The Spa… .

The Primaries

The Honourable Rapist

The Delegates’ Verdict

Sunday, The Day After

Reminiscences

PART IV RECITAL: THE BALLAD OF A CLAN

The Day Of The Griots

Dimmed Dreams

Hide And Seek In Kumasi

In Like Oliver Cromwell

Atonsu Story

Many Good Stories Don’t Get Published

Violence And A People

Dinning Out

December 4Th, 1896: Germany Invade Dagbon

A Husband Snatcher

The Last Laugh

Lansah And Alima

Go Tell It To The Prophet

The Proposal

Questions And Answers

The Presidential Presswoman

Myhoung And After

The Envoy

Dagbon: Death Of A Kingdom

Enter The Qalam Team

The Appointment Letter

Recording In Progress. No Noise

Sanban’lung’a: The Ballad Of A Kingdom

A Success Story

Accra, Twelve Years Later

Home At Last To Dagbon Academy

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This story is partly futuristic, thus confirming it to be a work of fiction. Certain historical and contemporary facts and sayings, even if not quoted verbatim, have however not been discarded, Names other than historical ones are constructed and fictitious and all descriptions and semblances, apart from historical figures, are coincidental. Some Dagbon cultural activities have been slightly modified to fit into the story.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

In the writer’s early years, he had contact with the late EFUA SUTHERLAND, when she was active with her ‘Kusum Agoromba’ troupe. He used to send her pieces of short stories. The writer had earlier called her to tell her about part one of the story and she readily agreed to have a go at it. When finally he was certain, he sent it to her from his base in Tamale. At her own time, in the year she left this world to the better one, she sent for the author.

Aunty Efua was full of gaiety and bliss, dressed in white and waiting for the writer. She was ready to go to Aburi Garden with him, in a not new pick-up vehicle. She carried along the typed manuscript. She spent much time going from plant to plant, with the author tagging along disinterestedly. At last the writer was invited to share her plate of brochette as she flipped opened the story. Aunty Efua expressed her satisfaction about the storyline, adding that her fear was the strong military presence in it, at that time of ruthlessness, I should advise myself on that. She recommended Ama Ata Aidoo to the writer, so that she could also add her comments. Ama Ata Aidoo was not in the country at the time, according to Aunty Efua. The writer put the story in his armpit and headed for Kpambero, Tamale; he temporarily shelved the story because there were other important matters to attend to at the time. The story was updated to parts two, three and four after her passing on. God rest your soul Aunty Efua.

Kpambero, Tamale.

13th October 2013.

TO:

UWARGIDA HASSANA DIYABIYU, PRINCESS OF GUSHIEGU

&

ALL FEMALE STUDENTS IN TERTIARY INSTITUTIONS THAT ASPIRE TO THE HIGHEST OFFICE IN MOTHERLAND

PART I

GOING HOME

LEGEND

ALPHA SAMBA—Call code used at the time for all security agents and vehicular stations on the frequency of the security network of Golden Jubilee House.

HAMMER—Golden Jubilee House Communication Centre

FISHERMAN—The President

HAWKER—The First Lady

BUSH FIRE—Advance Vehicle

LAGOON—Lead Car One

TIMBUCTOO—Lead Car Two

SHUFFLER—Back-up Vehicle

GARWAASHI—Ambulance

RAINBOW—Rear Vehicle

EAGLE ONE—The Presidential Aircraft

FIRMAMENT—The Presidential Helicopter

STORM—The Vice President

BEADS—The Second Lady

VIPER—The Vice President’s Advance Vehicle

VULCANO—The Vice President’s Lead Vehicle

VANCOUVER—The Vice President’s back-up Vehicle

VAMPIRE—The Vice President’s Rear Vehicle

RADIO CHECK

The consoles of the powerful Ford SUV that was the Command Vehicle were all bluish bright in the semi-dark compartment at 05.00 hours that morning. Then the cackling voice of the anchor at the Golden Jubilee House Communication Centre burst in.

Hammer calling Alpha Samba, Hammer calling Alpha Samba, over. There was a two-minute pause before the calls. Hammer-Bush fire, how do you read me over?

Bush fire-Hammer okay and all set over.

Hammer-Lagoon, how do you read me over?

Lagoon-Hammer five-five over, the radio operator answered and adjusted his headset.

Hammer-Timbuktu, do you read me over?

Timbuktu-Hammer, okay over.

Hammer-Fisherman, do you read me over?

Fisherman-Hammer, Oscar-kilo over.

Hammer-Shuffler, do you read me over?

Shuffler-Hammer two-five here, I almost can’t get you.

Shuffler be on Stand-by, your radio will be replaced in the next three minutes.

Hammer-Rainbow, do you read me over?

I’m not sure the left parking light of Timbuktu is working. Five-five with me, Sergeant Ofori spoke merrily into his handset. Senior Man, as his subordinates in the police addressed him, was the oldest in the team, and one of a few radio operators that had had over twenty-four years as radio operator in the Police Service. He was a former Spider.

On and on the radio check went, covering all radios in operation, including the nine vehicles in the Presidential convoy that ‘The Old Man’ was using for his three-day tour of the resourceful Western Region.

Communication with His Excellency’s vehicle was encrypted, and was on the general system only in cases of emergency. It was one of three ‘accident-proof’ Land Rover LR6 ordered in 2044 from Rover UK for the President. The 6.5 V8-engine vehicles were all air bags in the interior, and rubbery and springy outside. An LR6 rolled, and back on all fours in case of an accident, no matter how severe the impact, and all passengers protected by inflated air bags. The chief driver of GJH was the President’s official driver anytime His Excellency was going on tour. This visit was going to be his third to the region as President. The President’s personal protection unit was composed of members of The Spiders and their codes were kept to themselves.

Every individual on the Presidential Convoy was a specialist in their own way, and for the tedious and risky job they did, good allowances were paid them. All presidents had been happy with their convoy, except in very rare cases when vehicular accidents occurred.

The Presidential Convoy was a delight to ride in, the peak of power. Anybody that rode in a Presidential Convoy had a story to tell; what with the road being swept clean of traffic by advance riders sometimes a kilometer ahead of the main body, alerting all vehicles that the President was just around the corner, give way…

IN THE BEGINNING… .

Zangina was enraged, to such an extent that he had not even noticed it was drizzling. He hardly could utter his address to the taxi driver, and when he did, it was with hostility.

Kotobabi! he barked when the driver asked him about their destination, and without waiting jumped into the front passenger seat. The taxi driver was a little alarmed, but looking at the passenger, he suspected he was not harmful, but frustrated; so he drove in the direction of Kotobabi.

Stupid! Stupid! He kept muttering to himself. Turning to the driver, he shouted, Stupid girl, I’ll show her! The taxi had already reached the Police Headquarters, leaving Black Caeser’s Palace about half a mile behind. It was at Caeser’s that it all started. Stupid bastard, she will pay for this! He kept mumbling to himself. She thought she could cause a public scandal; good, good, she did it all right, and we shall see. A German bastard she is!

He was seething with anger. He was also seeing how it all started… .

He was with Dzigbordi, his closest friend. Tuesday, Dzigbordi’s niece was with them. The three originally intended terminating their evening loiter at their favorite spot, The Metropole, downtown Accra. However, Dzigbordi, aka DJ, said no, it was to be at Black Caeser’s Palace, and so it was at Caesar’s, with Tuesday blindly tagging along. Tuesday had on the other hand wished it were The Metropole, where Fela Ransome Kuti with his Koola Lobito was featuring.

Tuesday had indeed wanted to listen live to Fela’s performance of his piece she called ‘Adejonjontijon’ before flying out to Paris in the next four days. Tuesday’s fiancé would meet her in Paris and drive her to Geneva, his duty station. He was a software expert, having his cubicle of an office in Palais des Nations. She said his name was Gagbetor, originally, like herself, from a Togolese village not far from Kpalime but took Ghanaian nationality.

Zangina heard his friend call her Dzidzor instead of Tuesday, and later explained to him that Dzidzor was her native name. Anyway, the trio was out to make the best of her remaining hours in Ghana. As usual, Zangina, known as Zanjy for short, was twirling a glass of quinine tonic on the rocks, and both uncle and niece were downing Heinekens and Club beer respectively.

It was well after midnight and the nightclub was reaching its climax with the American chart buster of the year, a cool soul music.

Then SHE suddenly materialized!

Her entry drew the attention of all eyes in the night club, they did so involuntarily. She was Beauty itself. At a glance one could tell that she was of mixed blood; very fair in complexion, with uncombed hair that spread over her shoulders. She was tall, and carried herself on a pair of exposed beautiful legs. A closer look would reveal that she was to some extent hairy on the limbs. The nose was not very African, more pointed than flat.

The eyes were not cruel, even though angst reflected in them. That made her even more beautiful. She wore a white T-shirt that revealed traces of her nipples. She stood in a pair of flat, brown leather sandals, exhibiting ten long, healthy pedicured toes, with crimson-varnished nails. As she stood there looking round the tavern, her tight lips exposed the dimples in her cheeks. She had applied a red lipstick, probably to match the T-shirt and the pair of red knickers. There she stood, arms akimbo, her hands resting on her broad hips. She possessed all that she needed for every person to call her a beautiful woman.

Then she inStantly located them. All three hit the table almost simultaneously with their glasses. She approached them in slow but long strides.

Get up right now boy, and let’s get going! that was Mercedes Huntman addressing Zanjy, beckoning him with her right forefinger.

The focus is on us Yaa, please. Come on join us. If you want, give me five minutes please, and I will join you outside, Zanjy said in a very conspiratorial voice.

What! she barked.

I-

What did you say, to join you? Are you insulting me as well?

Yaa please, the focus is on us, Zanjy silently repeated.

What’s focused on us, and says who? In any case, the spotlight is yet to be turned on!

Scandalous, he reminded her in the same low tone.

Ho ho, I adore scandals don’t you know? Mercedes informed him, and by the count of three you should be out or by God I’ll make you regret I caught you red handed cheating on me, yes I did! And you there, whore! she addressed the only female at the table.

The name is Tuesday, not Hor, the owner of the name corrected with choked voice.

And I’m Thursday, as you heard that sexually insatiable he-goat at your tail call me. Mercedes looked scornfully at her, and fiercely too. Wait a minute, she paused, thoughtfully. Then, with a click of fingers she added, Aaah yes, you are the one, at last. I see how lucky I am today to meet the devil herself, all dressed up to ruin my marriage! Ohhh yes she is, the one that’s very generous down there eh? You haven’t even finished your free services to all the directors in your ministry, and you are now swimming out of your small streams into bigger rivers eh? Oh ho. Prepare now then, for you are in a cul de sac and face to face with Yaa and that’s me! As she advanced towards Tuesday, DJ pulled back his chair, stood up, and blocked her.

Honey pleas… .

Aww shut up boy and stop honeying me! Mercedes silenced Zanjy, getting angrier by the minute. He readily obeyed and sat down in the mute mode. She continued in a loud voice. I can see you enjoy having troubles Daavi or whatever you’re called. Well, I don’t normally like it, but if you try me, you will regret. Now get out of here, and fast! Mercedes growled, pointing at Tuesday. And you there, raising her chin in the direction of Zanjy and in a deceptively lowered voice said, I say get up and let’s get going home!

Before Zanjy could protest, there was a loud order, Zanjy let’s go! followed by a crashing noise as Mercedes swept clean the whole table by pulling the table spread, spilling drinks over the three occupants of the table. Now the spotlight was on them, as all eyes turned on the table.

The head-waiter and his staff rushed in and gently calmed Mercedes out to the waiting taxi. She had started for the nightclub unprepared the moment she got the hint her lover was having some good time there. She grabbed the next taxi that was passing in front of her. She had not even taken any money. Mercedes sobbed once, a sob of anger and anguish.

REMINISCENCE: ZANGINA’S VERSION

The taxi had already arrived at the Discocambo intersection at Kotobabi and the nightclub was still active. Zanjy nursed the idea of coming down and ending his night adventures there. No, he said to himself, you are still so angry with Mercedes; you would certainly not like to go in that nightclub in this bad mood. Better still, go home and draw a plan of action for tomorrow. No one could calm him this time, the end had finally come and he didn’t want that bastard again.

She doesn’t even know why I’m called Zangina. Zangina was a famous Dagbon king. He was young and wise, and he was clever as well. According to my father, from the recitation at Sanbanlung’a, the ballad of the Kings of Dagbon, Zangina and his older siblings travelled to the Nayiri at Mamprugu to compete for the skin of Dagbon. Zangina had in his entourage a faithful friend of the future king. When Zangina later became king, he elevated his friend. That friend was the founding father of the clan. My father named me Zangina after the original wise king. So how can she treat me like a nobody?

She dared! Mercedes dared order me, Prince of Dowyaaniyili, and publicly at that, expecting me to obey her. "Kavini! Enough is enough!" And you there, get up boy and let’s get going home! Ooi Naawuni (my God)! calling me insatiable he-goat, what an offence! What will my father say when he hears this? Noooo-no! Sheege yol’nwo! Laayila, Kavini.

Home, Zanjy paid his fare and rushed inside. Alone in bed and watching the ceiling he was already planning what to do on the morrow (or, he wondered, isn’t it today, Saturday?).

He would see Aunty Lucy Woode at Asylum Down and boldly tell her this time no more reconciliation; he was through with her niece. He would then go and notify Uncle Ebow Woode at Community 7 in Tema. The Valco supervisor would underStand him, (he always did) and even praise him for having tolerated the stormy temper of his bronyi niece Mercedes. He was the champion of the family, being the only person that could speak his mind boldly to even his late sister Esi, youngest of them all. He was very muscular, and Zangina once suggested to Mercedes that her uncle was perhaps once a fisherman or a boxer before joining Valco.

He was still mad at that foolish girl. What do you know in this world? Zanjy spoke to himself. I taught you almost everything. I was the one that deflowered you, wasn’t I? and I remember how I had to calm you down as I brought cold water in a wet towel to spread over your lower abdomen. After that, I massaged your lower abdomen and brow with Thermogene. Didn’t you weep like a girl of four when you saw the blood? Who was it that gave you two tablets of Phensic, or was it Codeine, to ease your pain? Zangina. Who was it that washed the blood-soaked bed sheet? Zangina. Do you remember who taught you how to use a kerosene stove? Zangina did, and I remember when I was pumping the stove you were afraid it would explode. When the kerosene came up, Zangina collected the box of Three Legged Pot matches from you to light it.

Look girl, you’ve brought nothing to my life; au contraire, I suffered for you. When you came into my life, I lost almost all my girlfriends. Until now that you have learnt the lessons that I thought you, leaving those girls you sacked was like abandoning kenkey with fish, sardine, corned beef mixed with sliced tomatoes, some salt and pepper, for kenkey and pepper, just that, and that was the initial damage you caused me Yaa. You didn’t even know how to prepare tubaani and TZ until I personally taught you. So what are you trying to prove? Or you think that because we are of the same height you can wrestle with me and get my backbone hit the ground? Try it, and I will show you. His mind went blank as he continued looking up the ceiling.

Zanjy realized that the ceiling was getting dusty, with cobwebs in stages of formation. His mind went blank for a while and he did not know why he was lying there. Then it suddenly crossed his mind that he loved Mercedes. He knew it would not be easy for him to break up with her. She was also too wifely to let go, so loving, devoted, and so helpful, oh yes she was.

For years, he had tried shedding her off his life but ended up loving her more. What happened some few hours previously could better be described as zilch, compared to some earlier rows in their life as lovers. He remembered the one they had after a reception thrown in her honor for one of her successful movies. That was when Frank Essilfie, her wealthy cousin, presented her with an expensive gift, a Morris Minor!

Zanjy could not comprehend any simple reason behind a cousin presenting a gift of a car to a cousin, and that made him extremely jealous. The friction between them was so blistering, and tempers so vitriolic. The gladiatorial vibes between Mercedes and Zanjy at the party thrown by Frank was such that their close circle discussed among themselves that this time that was it, the end had finally come. That night they patched up, to the delight of Frank Essilfie and some of their friends. They both loved each other and they knew it.

REMINISCENCE: MERCEDES’ VERSION

Mercedes unlocked her door at exactly 12.38 a.m. and dashed straight into her bedroom, took some Alka Seltzer back to the sitting room and fetched a bottle of cold water from the Philips refrigerator in the kitchen. After taking the medication, she relaxed on the sofa for a few minutes, conscious that dawn was approaching and she would never be able to sleep again.

She went to the piano and tried to strike some few cords but lacked concentration. She switched on the Garrard player, loaded it with some three selected 33 rpms and went back to the sofa. The first song to hit her was You’ve lost that loving feeling", a Cilla Black blockbuster. Mercedes went to the bedroom again and let go her body heavily on the king-size bed. The song kept coming strongly through the cube near the bedside Braun quartz clock that read 2.58 a.m.

He shall come, she muttered assuringly to herself. She would show him. He shall soon come. Men! In addition to being cheats, they are also dishonest, selfish, and irritating. It flowed in her mind as she continued to recite to herself, They are never appreciative of women’s love. They usually like those who squeeze and kick them hard in the arse, and ignore those devoted to them. Zanjy is only one classic example in the world. How on earth did I even get entangled with that son of a bitch? Her mind travelled several years back in time… .

She was born Mercedes Huntmann, of a German father and a Fante woman. Her father was a temporary adviser with a team doing feasibility studies on irrigation at Dalon in the Northern Region. Her mother Esi Kakraba Malaa Woode was a community health nurse who was at the time posted to Dalon. One Friday evening, waiting by the roadside for a vehicle to Tamale to spend the weekend with her friend Samata, as she did every weekend, Esi noticed this young, blond German cruising in her direction in his VW combo. She flagged and the vehicle passed her and suddenly stopped a few yards ahead. That was how her parents met.

Eight months later Esi Woode was married to Claus at the Tamale Roman Catholic Cathedral. The following day they were in a local court to register the event.

Esi Woode was already four months pregnant when they officially exchanged rings. After their honeymoon in Matanzas and Varadero, they returned to Ghana. A private but expensive maternity home in Tema delivered Mercedes one cool Thursday at 10.44am.

Mercedes was a little over one year when Claus’ tour of duty was over, and he and his family flew back home to Stuttgart. Mercedes grew to be a beautiful girl. She attended a private school where at the age of nine she participated in playing violin in some of Mozart’s Selzburg symphonies. Her piano lessons were a delight to theatergoers and particularly her father.

One day Claus went to work and never returned. Late in the night the telephone jingled. The caller had summoned Esi to the hospital. She was to identify a corpse, which she found to be that of her husband. A drunk driver in a Citroen 2CV killed Claus in an automobile accident. Mercedes was ten years old at the time and knew her father very well. She loved him, and wept for several days when Esi first broke the news to her. Her father was her best friend.

The insurance, along with Claus’ pension and other benefits was quite appreciable for a mother and daughter. However, Esi could not cope with the racist community they lived in. (Claus, up to the time of his death could not penetrate the circle of his friends and relations because he had married a black woman. There was no contribution from his wealthy family, who possessed an ancient castle, to the widow).

Two years into widowhood Esi decided to go back home to Ghana with her daughter, where they belonged; she would not allow her daughter to be brought up in a society of racists. Indeed, she never knew so much about Hitler until she got to his country and that was enough.

When Esi finally decided to leave Germany, Mercedes had learnt a lot. She had seen racism; but she had also seen how her mother got the respect of her neighbours and fellow workers because she was a woman. She had seen women all over the place, very busy each day working hand in hand with men, and appearing equally on the television to talk on matters concerning the state. With these childhood memories, she left Stuttgart with her mother to Cape Coast. As she was growing up, Mercedes learnt the alternative name of their new destination as Oguaa. She thenceforth used it more often.

Esi supported Mercedes up to Holy Child. The girl was in secondary form four when Esi died, a victim of pneumonia. Esi’s brother Ebow Woode who lived in Tema took Mercedes in, and from then on she spent all her holidays in Tema, where she was born, and now her new home.

The break came unsurprisingly.

There was an advertisement in the INFORMER inviting artistes for audition and casting in Omaratta’s production of Aaron Gyabilla’s movie Bawa. Mercedes was in the lower sixth form and her cousin Frank Essilfie had introduced her to his friend the director of the movie. The producer had the script rewritten to cast the leading female as half-European. Frank Essilfie, a business executive was the producer.

Bawa was a success and Mercedes became an inStant celebrity. The film won awards in both Carthage and Fespaco. An enthusiastic French producer who wanted to discover Mercedes invited her to Cannes but Frank refused, advising her instead to concentrate on her studies.

When she was in her final year of sixth form, fate brought Mercedes face to face with a man she would love forever. With all her chances and fame, with all the men and wealth openly inviting her, she finally fell for a man who introduced himself on the campus as Dowbia Zangina, and that’s not even the full name. Economist. You may call me Zanjy if you find my name mouthful.

Her roommate Cornelia had a few more boyfriends than she could manage and one of them was Moses, who had promised to marry her. Moses had come all the way from Accra to visit Cornelia in Cape Coast. With him was his friend Zanjy. It was only normal that Cornelia solicited Mercedes to keep Zangina the economist company. That was how it began.

From the very beginning, she thought he was a nice man, and indeed, he was. He was not a talkative, and she didn’t push further. The few words that he uttered indicated to Mercedes that he was a humorist. Later in life she thought it was funny, people did not see him as a tall man, but instead considered her tall. Yet they were both exactly the same height of five feet eight.

He was broad shouldered. There was a conStant feature on his face, and that was his moustache. She wondered how he would look like without the moustache, for she felt, he looked more handsome with it. When he smiled, she saw he was gap-toothed. She liked him and the manner he conducted his conversations. In fact, she felt she more than liked him that first day.

When she received her diploma and degree in drama in Ghana and the U.K, she joined the Ghana Play House as a technical advisor. She was again the leading person in Gyabilla’s second movie Danaa. However, the producer suspended shooting because she was then four months pregnant for Zanjy. Two months after delivery of a fine baby boy named Azindow, the crew was on location in Gambaga.

Danaa superseded Bawa in everything cinematography and that got to the famous filmmaker Ekow Asmah who, it was rumoured, planned a big role for her in a big, future movie. She particularly enjoyed her role in Danaa, something like a local Joan of Arc. The very despotic feudal polygamist Danaa bullied not only his wives, but also a majority of the village’s womenfolk. Mercedes played the role of the woman who stood toe to toe against Danaa. That saved the womenfolk of the village from not only Danaa’s grips, but also other bullying men.

She also played active roles in stage productions, both acting and directing.

Currently she was the secretary of Screen and Stage Actors Association in addition to her personal work as Chief Executive Officer of CLAUSI, an outfit in memory of her father; CLAUSI dealt in export of African fashion and objets d’art. Her clients were mostly from the U.S. and Germany. Of late, the Japanese and Chinese importers were getting interested in CLAUSI products and placing big orders.

Now that Dowbia Azindow was twelve and Nadia eight, and her last screen appearance as old as nine years, she decided she would concentrate more on her enterprise instead of wasting time on Zanjy. She would suspend her acting career, much to the disappointment of her agents and fans and concentrate on her children and business that she enjoyed so much.

"Dowbia Zangina! What a name! Fighters, he said it meant! Yet he can’t even fight Mercedes and that’s me! The last time I fished him from Abla’s room, on arrival home, I gave him some dirty slaps when he threatened to hit me and he couldn’t even raise his hand. I later regretted allowing jealousy to overcome me and make me raise a hand on my lover. Zanjy! Oh poor boy! For all my sacrifices, the libidinous bastard will still not appreciate my contributions to his life. He has never brought his salary home, and he has never attempted to part with a pesewa. He is always saying that as prince, he takes care of the expenses of all his people back at Dow.

He likes dressing fashionably, just to attract women. I think I just have to stop with him; otherwise, he will give me gono again. The first time I got it was about two years ago. When the lab report identified I was infected, there was no culprit to question but him, and he readily confessed. Foolish man, and I paid for the penicillin injections. I boycotted him for three months until he swore to me he would never see any woman again, but I always suspected him.

No wonder he of late is not the pole he used to be. The only reason he gives is that my slimes come quickly and he doesn’t get friction. Garbage! And what about the regular tiredness? Are you a labourer on a construction site, Zangina? Anyway, I thank DJ’s ex-lover for hinting me today, otherwise that harlot would have taken you to her house today. Now I know you shall come knocking. Ah Zangina, you hurt me so.

He was the talk of the town when our red sports car was on the road. Thank God, a mechanic testing the car ran into a parapet and damaged the headlights and bonnet. The car is safely parked in his carport now and I am no longer using my money to repair a vehicle that will end up taking women on trips to secret rendezvous. In addition, the same Zanjy grounded my Ascona. Nowadays he goes places in a taxi. Does he have to go places when he has nothing to do at those places? I thought the absence of a car would tie him down. Nonetheless, he still sees those girls secretly. I will also not allow him to use our taxi as private car because of his passengers.

There was the hum of a vehicle approaching her house at Dansoman estates, a quiet suburb of Accra. At 3.20 a.m., she calculated the vehicle to be about a kilometre away. The vehicle stopped exactly in front of her house. Welcome, she said to herself. A door banged and the vehicle moved on. About two minutes later, there was a soft rap on her front door. He has come, she quietly said to herself. The tap was now on her bedroom window, very timidly.

Go away, she said softly, but loud enough for Zangina to hear.

Open! he said authoritatively.

I say go away, I don’t want to see you, never again!

Please Yaa, open the door. I have something very important to tell you. I want you to trust me and open the door. He said soberly. She didn’t say another word. He serenaded for over thirty minutes, pleading, then screaming, pleading again, threatening, and again giving all sorts of excuses for his behaviour and swearing it would never happen again.

All along, he knew very well that her total silence had ended the day, and he was only trying. Zangina tried one last trick. It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to let me in. I just want to let you know that when I was rushing to see you and apologise, some thieves attacked me, beat me up, and took my wallet away and left me by the roadside sick, terribly sick in the head and feeling dizzy. Even if you don’t want to see me, I beg you, pass some of your aspirin to me through the window, I beg you in the name of God.

Mercedes laughed in her pillow and spoke into it, liar, since when have you possessed a wallet, and how did you get money to pay the taxi driver? She heard him bang the window a few more times and there was silence. After twenty minutes, she tiptoed to the window on the veranda and peeped. He was not there. She cautiously opened the rear bedroom window and he was gone.

Zangina had to walk for over a kilometre to be able to get a taxi home. She went to the sitting room, sat silently for over twenty minutes, switched off the sound system and lights, and went to continue reflecting on her bed.

Zanjy flagged a taxi. Adabraka, he gave the address. He then changed his mind and decided to go home at Dzowulu. Discocambo was still active when he suddenly, at Pig Farm, decided to divert to the original address instead of his residence. At Adabraka, he entered a house and knocked on a door.

Who’s it? questioned a feminine voice.

Oooh, ah! Open the door! he angrily ordered.

Tuesday was half-asleep when he came. She was in a light blue negligee. She staggered to the door and opened, at the same time speaking her mind nastily to Zanjy.

ON THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT

Passengers flying Air Afrique were scheduled to report at the airport at 7 o’clock in the evening. The arrangement was that, Zanjy would be at Tuesday’s place at four; they would make love and set off to the airport at five-thirty. Zanjy got to the house at five and insisted on a quick one which was denied him. He appeared hurt. He told Tuesday why he was late: That girl locked my car keys up somewhere when I was washing down, I got angry and came by a taxi. I will deal with her!

Tuesday took a long, wicked glance at him. "Sans blague! TAXI! Did I hear you well say taxi, or did you say shocking? Tu parles! she blurted and was quiet for a while, shocked. Then, look man, if you know you can’t control your métisse girl friend I can! I will no longer tolerate any nonsense from her and believe me there will be no next time because I will do her pasaaa! Ah oui, because of her I shall come back home, c’est ça!" Tuesday had lived part of her adult life in Avignon, no wonder she at times prettified her English with French phrases.

Don’t talk about her in her absence, he protested.

I am talking about you in your presence! Of course, I daren’t say anything about her in your presence. I’ve almost forgotten that whatever she does is tolerable to you. She carries herself as if she is the only actress in Africa, as if she were already your wife!

I say, enough of that! Zangina shouted.

Everybody says she is so domineering wherever she goes, and it is widely circulated that you are completely under her spell. If she has dominated you, she doesn’t have me in her grips. We are all women, so caution her, I’m advising you. Tuesday could not hide the bile in her.

He said nothing. Then, what’s your problem my dear? I’m accompanying you to the airport to go to your fiancé, and I won’t see you again, so let’s part in peace.

Wrong! I belong here and I belong to you (jabbing him hard in the chest with her right forefinger) and she has to compete with me. Oh, I forgot to tell you, our wedding is off for good, so ruled his parents. So I will return, and I will conquer!

The taxi ride to the airport was a silent trip. Even though Zanjy touched certain sensitive parts of her body, Tuesday managed to remain stiff, lest the taxi driver, who was regularly taking a fleeting look in his rear view mirror, got wise to whatever he imagined would happen.

A VISIT TO FESPACO COUNTRY

Hotel Independence, then a three-star hotel in Ouagadougou, was the best in Upper Volta at one time. Built with partial funding from the Government of Ghana, it boasted a swimming pool of international Standard, tennis courts, and very good cuisine. It was here that Zanjy and Mercedes took an executive suite for one week, getting away from the maddening city of Accra.

To mollify her, Zanjy had brought Mercedes to the capital of the Upper Volta to cool your anger, as he told her when they got over their fight. For Mercedes to be calmed Zanjy had to pass through her aunt Lucy who quickly ordered Mercedes to stop that nonsense and accept Zangina’s apology. Two days later, he took ten days leave from work and they both headed out of the country, courtesy her purse of course.

L’Independence was not a strange place to Mercedes, but to her lover, yes. It was in that same hotel she was housed when she was in Ouagadougou some years back to receive the FESPACO prize for being the best actress from among