“You were saved by faith in God, who treats us much better than we deserve. This is God’s gift to you, and not anything you have done on your own.”
Ephesians 2:8, Contemporary English Version
That is right! I strongly believe in the above biblical saying. Certain things are just by His grace, not our effort or our intelligence.
Let’s, therefore, give thanks to those two churches—the Evangelical Presbyterian Church and the Methodist Church. You guys made my day.
May God richly bless you.
Honestly, this is not my strength; I’d have failed miserably. It’s just God’s plan that things must work out. All-knowing as He is, He knew what I went through in Part 1 and, in His wisdom, decided to make it easier this time around, through the church.
Thank you, Lord. I appreciate it.
How did it happen?
August is always a busy month in the academic calendar. Many staff retire, so we do a lot of payroll activities. It was Saturday, but still, man for go job.
Paymaster, the payroll system, refused to give someone his off-campus allowance. I did all I could the day before but couldn’t figure out why. I made that my number one agenda the next day.
So at 9 a.m., I picked my bag and, at the corner of the bed, was my Holy Pen—the pen that failed to work in Part 1.
If you’ve not read Part 1, I encourage you to; else you won’t know what this pen is destined to do.
In summary, it’s a big pen with a big mission to accomplish. To me, it’s more than Mission Apollo.
Flashback:
This is the pen I bought at Queens, rushed back to the unnamed hall, only to realise it was the akyɛkyɛ seller, not my beloved Zainab. I got home that terrible day and threw the pen into a corner of the room and slept. I woke up the next morning feeling dizzy—no food, no water, no drink. Not sure I even bathed. Total heartbreak.
That was about a month ago.
But I’ve not given up. I consider that the “first show”. The pen will achieve its purpose when school reopens. But for now, I will use it for normal work, if the need be.
So, I stepped out, and at the Taxi Rank, Tech Junction, I jumped into a taxi and went straight to campus.
Halfway through the journey, I changed my plan.
“I must alight at the hall and buy food. It’s 9 a.m. already!” I said to myself.
So, I alighted at the same hall to get Banku or Kenkey or Gobe. Any will do. No Waakye in my mind this time around because she won’t be around until school resumes.
At the hall, I alighted, got closer, and saw the deceptive glass container again at the exact location I saw it the other time.
“Ha ha ha, here we go again!”
I laughed out loud as I reflected on what happened last month. The akyɛkyɛ lady had shown up again.
What came to my mind instantly was a phrase from the 1999 hit song by the Ivorian Zouglou artists, Magic System. The title is “1er Gaou”.
At that age in 1999, we could only dance to the tune. We never cared about the content.
The title means “First Fool” in Ivorian slang. The song is an autobiographical account of lead singer Salif “A’Salfo” Traoré about his ex-girlfriend who tried to hook up with him again when he became famous.
Source: zakiaafricanmusicproject.blogspot.com
The particular lyric of interest that came to mind instantly was the line that says:
“First fool is not a fool; second fool is the real fool.”
One Zakia did great work translating the entire lyrics into English. For the benefit of the “Indomie generation”, I’m going to reproduce the lyrics on the next page.
It’s when I was down that the girl Antou left me
When I had little
Morning, noon, evening
We were together
At the “Rue Princesse”
At the “Mille Marquis”
Together at the “Santos”
But once the money was gone
Antou changed sides
No more money
And she changed boyfriends
You are crazy, you are crazy
Thank God, for I knew how to sing a little.
I did my demo tape; people saw me on TV.
Morning, noon, evening, it was me singing on radio.
Antou saw that and said the fool made it.
Wait, let me go and take his money.
It is said that the first fool is not a fool;
It’s the second fool who is the real fool.
(Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.)
Sunday morning,
Knock knock—someone’s knocking at my door.
To my great surprise, it’s the girl Antou I see.
Jokingly, I say it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.
She tries to lie to me, saying:
“Darling, I had travelled, but I am back now.
I belong to you; take me as a gift and do what you want with me.”
I say, sweet darling, what do you want to eat?
Without hesitation, she says barbecued chicken.
I say, sweet darling, it’s chicken you want to eat?
But a chicken is too small and won’t satisfy you.
I will give you barbecued caiman instead.
Elephant kedjenou of elephant is what you are going to eat.
She is upset and says she is going home.
But if she goes home, horniness is going to kill me [akoa yɛ John].
So I ask for her forgiveness and she accepts.
Then at one point, she messes it all up [wa gyae wo koraa].
She stops asking for chicken and now wants fried plantain [Dɛnniɛma!].
If it’s fried plantain, that’s not complicated.
It’s a banana plantation that you are going to fry.
Instead of a fork that can’t fill you up,
It’s with a rake that you are going to eat.
Though my situation is different, there is a common lesson in that song, for all humanity:
“It is said that the first fool is not a fool; it’s the second fool who is the real fool. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”
That is the piece that came to mind when I saw the little glass container again, sitting on her desk. In short, if this container fools me again to think it’s my beloved Waakye seller, then I’m a genuine udiɔt—and shame on me; a real fool.
I entered the mini market.
As I passed by the banku seller, I flashed a shiny neck behind the akyɛkyɛ container. But closer to that angelic being was another lady selling the akyɛkyɛ. I watched carefully at the food. Eiii, afanɔma, my brothers and sisters, it doesn’t look like akyɛkyɛ oo.
Damn! It’s real Waakye.
“No, just get closer and pretend you are buying Waakye. You will know whether it’s akyɛkyɛ or real Waakye,”
I said to myself.
I got closer, watched it with an eagle eye, and finally got convinced.
IT IS 100% WAAKYE.
Then I looked keenly through the glass to see who owns that angelic neck.
Praise be to God. Masha Allah! Nyame wo din ho nti. Adeɛ a mennyɛɛ da na me nsa aka yi.
SHE IS!!!!
It’s not the akyɛkyɛ seller. It’s the real Waakye seller, and the angelic neck belongs to Lady Zainab. I screamed in my mind, “AFA!” [ɛfa—ɛda mu].
“How much are you buying?” the other lady asked me.
“Waakye, 2 cedis,” I said.
Then my would-be lover turned and looked through the glass and saw me!
Our eyes got in contact—big collision—and that left a black hole in my heart. Then I saw her lips in real time. Not virtual reality or augmented reality lips. It’s a real lip, and it blinks. I swear!!!
As usual, my heart did kum, but I managed to give a confused smile and quickly took my eyes off her charming face.
“Eii, he is my husband, let me serve him.”
Zainab told the other lady to give way so she could serve me—and she did exactly that.
I’ve bought Waakye from her so often that she knows how much I buy. She doesn’t ask again.
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Waakye – GH₵2
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Kaaya (leaves, salad, etc., but no gari) – GH₵1
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Fish – GH₵2
Total cost = GH₵5
Yes! I foolishly rejected almighty gari. I don’t even know why I did that right from my first day of buying from her. I just don’t know. Mma Ramatu son, the year-2000 gari distributor, now I’m pretending I don’t like gari. That sounds like apostasy.
In the early 2000s, my mum used to sell gari. I was the key supplier to the Wamanafo contingent in Dormaa East, Bono Ahafo. Unfortunately, now I’m denying almighty gari because I must appear like a man with dignity before a beautiful lady.
That makes sense though. You can’t be proposing to such a beautiful lady and be buying gari always. Something must be wrong somewhere.
Meanwhile, I have about three olokas of gari in my room, a backup to neutralise hard times. [Outside gentility, home cry.]
A clear sign of a hypocrite.
As Zainab made my Waakye ready, I was just there admiring her natural beauty. Subhanallah, exalted is God.
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The beautiful nose
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The shining eyelids
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The real mouth
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The chocolate colour (the type of complexion my close friend Samad had always wished to have, nanso fofɔeɛ antɔ ata)
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The natural beauty
Eii, no makeup mpo nie ooo.
She is beyond description. Not even Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 on the next page is the best fit.
(Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 — unchanged)
That was how Shakespeare chose to describe the mysterious “Black Lady” he had an affair with.
No! It’s not a good enough description of Zainab. This description is below the belt.
I scanned my mind to see if any other sonnet could come close to describing her. Then I remembered Dante’s:
(Dante’s Sonnet — unchanged)
“Idiot! Look sharp!” my inner soul shouted at me.
Oh yeah, that’s true!!! I must look sharp!
I’ve never gotten this opportunity. No student around, and instead of Kaunda grabbing the opportunity, here he is foolishly talking about 14th-century poems to describe someone standing right in front of him. [akoa yɛ John]
Now, like an energised Katanga student, I opened my bag with the strength of Samson, removed my diary, pulled out the Holy Pen, and wrote down:
0234 80 90 90
My hand was shaking. This is not a good experience. I prayed she didn’t realise how uncomfortable I was. I tore that part of the diary and looked at it again, just to make sure I got the number right.
Unfortunately, no! I wrote my number wrongly. I threw that piece into the bag and wrote again: 0244 80 90 10. I tore it, looked at it again, and realised that was another mistake. My number is MTN, all right, but it’s not 0244. It is Glo ported to MTN.
“Oh bro, relax. Don’t shake. Relax and write the number. This is a God-given opportunity. Don’t mess up. Chill, bro.”
My inner mind spoke to me again.
Then I took a deep breath and did a quick countdown of 3…2…1.
Then I wrote it for the third time and bingo! I got it right this time around. Khan! (0234 80 90 10)
With that same Samson-like energy, I said to her:
“Use someone’s phone to flash me wai. I know you don’t have a phone. I have some Yam phone; I hope you will be OK with it until you buy the iPhone X you want to use.”
I handed over the piece of paper to her.
“OK, I will,” she said, with an infectious smile.
Then I saw her mouth and teeth—crystal clear.
Oh my God! Then Kaunda froze. [na ma nane]
“Have you checked your results?” I pretended that was something I cared about too. She didn’t answer, but only smiled again.
[Kai, this lady paa deɛ, man for look sharp. Me deɛ na teɛ brɔdeɛ foforo doole-doole.] I said to myself.
Then our conversation continued.
Evil Kaunda: Don’t worry, just try and flash me, ok?
Zainab: Don’t worry, I will call you.
“Have a nice day,” I finally said, and left the scene as if someone was pushing me.
I stepped out of the market, took a deep breath—hmmmm—and with a renewed spirit, I walked gallantly to the office. The Holy Pen had finally achieved its purpose.
Who say man no dey?
Kaunda never says die until the bones are rotten. I’ve finally given my number to her.
Back at the office, I relaxed for a few minutes, drank water, and gave a heavy sigh of relief again. Hmmmmmm.
As I repeated her words to myself—“Eii, he is my husband, let me serve him”—I began to enjoy my Holy Waakye.
Tasty Waakye going through my mouth, and her sweet words echoing through my soul, I remembered God’s message in the Qur’an:
“So which of the favours of your Lord would you deny?”
Ah, what a heavenly world on earth!
But what does she mean by “Eii! He is my husband, let me serve him”?
I began to wonder. I couldn’t think far.
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Just a customer-service care trick?
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She’s making fun of me?
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Or she has realised the Online President is in trouble?
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If then, what will she be thinking now?
-
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Did she see me shaking?
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Did she observe I wrote my number three times before getting it right?
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Does she know what’s in my mind?
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How come she turned to look through the glass—has she recognised my voice?
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Will I ever win her?
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When will I see her breasts?
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How will the feeling be if I see them?
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[Na, asɛm hɔ sɛn?]
These and many stupid thoughts were going through my mind as I enjoyed the Holy Waakye—a very tasty Waakye. Seriously, I’ve never enjoyed such a tasty Waakye in Kumasi. Never.
[KNUST wa sɛ hɔ. Ayigya wa sɛ hɔ. Aboabo wa sɛ hɔ. Tafo wa sɛ hɔ. Ashanti Region wa sɛ hɔ.]
Her Waakye is tastier than any Waakye in the Ashanti Region.
[Me ka me kyerɛ wo.]
Then, all of a sudden, I saw something strange in the Waakye.
Very strange.
I’ve never seen that before. She gave me two fishes for two cedis! I always get one, but today I got two. One is the “hips”, which should cost GH₵2. The other one is the “leg”, which should equally cost GH₵2.
Why did she give me two fishes for GH₵2 instead of the usual one fish for GH₵2?
Could this be love? I asked my stupid self.
Hmmm, as Alukube will say, “Time will tell.”
My brothers and sisters, then I realised something more interesting—something that rings a bell. Something with much deeper meaning than the two fishes I had. The leg of the fish she gave me is curved to the right when holding it vertically. I watched it keenly for some seconds. It’s like the shape of the letter “L”.
What does that mean?
That represents the first letter of LOVE. It’s real “L” fish.
I concluded.
That means she has given me LOVE. It’s symbolic. You must be smart to realise that. Kai, this lady loves me brutally. Who said Kaunda is udiɔt?
Once upon a time, a lady told me that some guys are not smart in reading love signs from ladies. Naa, Kaunda is not part of those udiɔts. I have discovered my sign—the 13th Zodiac sign. Thus, the “L” represents LOVE.
Zainab is in love with me too.
[Baabiara awu—everywhere has died.]
Today is definitely the day nature set aside for things to work out. Everything makes perfect sense. You may even ask why she cooked Waakye when school has not opened yet. Isn’t that strange?
Yes, I found that strange too. But that wasn’t my mission. At that critical moment, I needed to grab the opportunity first and discuss anything else later. Giving my number to her was enough! Anything else, at that material moment, was secondary.
I believe it’s because of those church programmes organised by the Methodist Church and the Evangelical Presbyterian Church.
Many people were on campus. Both seemed like national events, and many sellers brought items to sell. It therefore made perfect sense for her to come and cash in some $$$. That was why I thanked those two churches right at the very beginning of this chapter. They helped me achieve my MAIN OBJECTIVE.
Had it not been for their programme, she wouldn’t have come. Once again, may God bless those two churches.
NOW, waiting mood activated!
Now is the time. It’s time to expect her call.
Every minute, I checked my phone. I was ready to call back any flash—ANY! Even messages from MTN shortcodes, I would try to call back. I didn’t want any if or but. I even extended the backlight time to the maximum so nothing would go unnoticed.
As I waited for the Holy Call, I struggled to do something meaningful at work. I kept visualising that angelic neck. Her thoughts were all over me. I was just wasting time.
Around 2 p.m., I said enough is enough! I disappeared from work without even telling my boss, Mr Evans, the Head of Payroll. That staff can go to hell. What is off-campus allowance when I’m having angelic visions?
[“Come on, yɛ ka Waakye love a, wo se off-campus deɛn deɛn? Masa, forget it.”]
I sneaked out.
The first impression counts, so I needed a quiet environment to communicate with her if she called. I couldn’t do it at the workplace. I had to go home immediately.
Needless to say, as I walked back home, those church youths were also doing incredible things. Many of them walked in pairs like parallel poles, taking selfies and hugging each other. Some had forgotten their purpose on campus and their presence before God. I saw some in compromising positions and wondered which Word of God they were sharing.
I envied them, but I had faith in God—the God who brought Moses and his people from the terrible land of Egypt across the Red Sea; the God who gave Samson his enviable strength; the God who made Jonah spend three days in the belly of the fish; the God who made me pick my Holy Pen that morning. I had faith in that God, the God of Abraham and Isaac. I knew one day I would also walk in this park with my dream Waakye seller. [In shaa Allah.]
One by one, I passed by those fellowship-turned-couples.
I got to Paa Joe Park, picked a trotro to Tech Junction, and then surantan, I went home. I spent the whole day and night waiting for my golden flash.
Nothing came.
The next morning, same thing. No call. No flash. Eiii!!!
Around 10 a.m., I rushed to town to get a few items for the upcoming Sallah. I couldn’t check my phone often until I got back into a trotro, heading home.
While in the car, I pulled my Samsung GT-E1205Y Yam phone [boys abrɛ], and guess what!!!
My brother, guess what?
My sister, guess what?
Mr Reader, guess what?
Haajala, like Funny Face would say:
“Oh my God!”
You know what?
I had a simple SMS message from an unknown number. The message was:
“Hello.”
Just that—“Hello”.
Then Kaunda smiled. “This will be a happy Sallah,” I said to myself.
I knew for sure this “Hello” was from her. She speaks softly, and if you look at the word “Hello”, it looks gentle. It begins with a capital “H”, which is high-key. The rest are small letters—low-key. Women have smart ways of initiating conversation. They don’t text lengthy stuff. [Ahwɛne pa nkasa.]
[Ɛyɛ fine paa!!]
Now that God has opened the sea for Moses to pass through, let me do small guy-guy first. Let me pretend I have no idea where the message is coming from.
“Hello, good afternoon. Who is this pls?”
I texted back and quickly saved the number with the same name as the message—“Hello”.
At equal intervals of five minutes, I checked for further particulars. I needed more pink sheets from that number.
I kept checking till I alighted from the trotro. I got home and said to myself:
“Pray, bath, eat, relax, and call her.”
And that was exactly what I did.
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I prayed
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I bathed
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I ate
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I relaxed on my 2-by-4 bed
Then I pulled my Yam phone again. Still no reply.
[Eii, asɛm bɛn nie?]
I tried to call, but my inner soul said:
“Udiɔt, first check—maybe she used a WhatsApp phone to text you. Maybe you’ll see her beautiful picture.”
Oh yeah! That made sense.
My main number wasn’t on a smartphone, so I swapped SIMs.
I put my main SIM in the smartphone, turned on data, launched WhatsApp, went to Contacts, and searched by typing “He”.
And there it was. Truly, I say unto you, that number is on WhatsApp—but no profile picture.
“Oh yeah, that makes sense,” I convinced myself.
She’s the shy type, and so will her friends be (assuming she used a friend’s phone). They wouldn’t like to expose their beauty. Some udiɔts will worry them—especially those Prempeh guys who walk on KNUST campus as if they are graduate assistants. They’ll bring iPhone X and cause trouble.
Note: I’m not saying Zainab is a gold digger or a slay queen—no, far from that. If such a beautiful lady can live for a year without a phone, then she’s reliable.
But trust no one [wiase yɛ hu], especially in a world where you have both Snazzy and Bandah GH existing in it. The best advice is Safety First. So I agree—they shouldn’t put their pictures on their profile. [na nipa nyɛ]
Either way, whether it’s her phone or not, it’s not my business. What matters is to initiate communication.
Period.
So on WhatsApp, I typed:
“Helloooo, good afternoon. How are you doing, my dear?”
I hope you’ve taken note of the “Helloooo”. It has four o’s. The same number of letters as LOVE. The same number as FISH. Mr Reader, can you now see the connection?
Even the cosmos bears witness. The stars are aligned. My ducks are in a row. My brothers and sisters, we are not joking!
As usual, my heart started beating as I waited for her response.
Five minutes… ten… fifteen… twenty… twenty-five… thirty… still no reply.
Before I could check again at thirty-five minutes, I slept—and dreamt about her.
In the dream, I went to her house and approached her parents. In that same dream, we got married and walked in the park. In that same dream, she continued her education and became a health professional. In that same dream, we did loobiloobi, she got pregnant, and delivered twins—one boy, one girl. They were very brilliant.
[Masha Allah]
The girl said, “Daddy, I will be a doctor in the future, God willing.”
The boy said, “Daddy, I will be a computer scientist.”
“Good, but take note—I tried that and failed. That’s why I’m into comedy now. So you must sit up. [wo ntumi mfa saa 10 over 100 no nkɔyɛ computer science],” I told him.
The next day in the dream, our beloved twins had grown and were already in Class 6, KNUST Primary. On and on, they graduated from KNUST. Zainab and I attended the graduation ceremony—all on that same second day of the dream.
While inside the Great Hall, we saw Katanga featuring Conti coming from afar, chanting:
“Another challenge ooo, another challenge oo, it’s a small challenge ooo.”
Suddenly, they were metres away, and the chant changed:
“Bibii bɛsi, bibii bɛsi, bibiii bɛsi!”
“Apuu! For where?” I looked sharp!
I put the two graduating guys in my pocket and put my beloved wife in my handbag.
“Bhumm! Okwaduo me kɔ.”
I hopped out!
Suddenly, I woke up. It was all a dream.
I quickly checked my phone to see if there was a reply.
Indeed, there was:
“Good evening Uncle, it’s me Mujahid. Can you please send me GH₵30 to buy kambuu this Sallah?”