My encounter with this man had become too complicated than i expected. I once heard that my next door neighbour, Kojo Bonsu had been beaten by Osa, another neighbour. Initially, I couldn’t comprehend how a ‘macho’ man like Kojo would fall prey to a dwarf like Osa. It was when alarm blew that Kojo had had his way with Osa’s girlfriend that I suddenly understood the former’s cowardice. Ten years ago, Kojo’s story sounded ‘awam’ but now, my experience is an entire equation.
To make sense of my encounter , I needed answers from the preacher I met that morning. Inasmuch as my encounter with him earlier wasn’t a pleasant one, I couldn’t be bothered.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialled his number, at least for the benefit of, if not the experience. After a handful of rings the man answered. I said “hello pastor” in a sheepish voice. Nervousness be what. I continued, “Man of God, you asked me to call you. We met in a trotro en route to Lapaz this morning”. He asked: “Is that the only reason you are calling me this late”
I paused for a while to reflect on a befitting answer. Cos if I said yes, my quivering voice was going to expose my dishonesty and saying no was sure to attract his fury. My brain was firing on only half its cylinders and it wasn’t funny at all.
As I struggled to make up my mind about my answer, the man spoke. “Gentleman, you are quiet because you are thinking of the perfect lie to tell me. What is the real reason for which you called me?” My stomach did a little Kpanlogo number.
The man has asked me a question paaa o! I needed to tell him how worried I was. But all the things I had in mind were one way or the other nonfa. For example, I couldn’t tell him I binned the phone number he gave me. I couldn’t also ask him to explain how a paper I binned returned to my room.
Encounter ay3 basaa!
Politely, I confessed: “Sir, I binned your phone number only to find it in my bag this evening”. He laughed, which caused my heart to skip a beat. Then he paused to ask why I thought he had a hand in that. I narrated everything to him and slowly the pressure in my chest eased.
“Have you thought of the fact that what you shoved into the water-closet could be money” he questioned. I quickly grabbed my wallet from my backpack to inspect its content. Actually, one of the GHS 50 notes was nowhere to be found. I was suddenly breathless. Fifty Mahama Cedis gone down the drain? Shieeee!
After exchanging pleasantries with the prophet or whatever he’s called, I ended the call to mourn my GH 50. Now, I’m back to square one—humiliated in the trosky, forced to give an outrageous offering and now GHS 50 ‘poorer’.
Awurade me di nkwasia sem (in Kalybos’ voice)!
He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day…..Bob Nester Marley
THE END
Ghanaian Encounter Stories
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