The VIP Love Story – Supreme Court Bɛtoo Ahenfie
Kojo Akoto Boateng
Copyright Kojo Akoto Boateng 2013
Dedication
This short story is dedicated to Nana Awere Damoah and my online/virtual/real family, DGG.
To Antoinette Abena Atuah, Kwabena Takyi, Awura Abena Agyemang, Kaakyire Eno Amoako, Kofi Yankey and to all Facebook my friends for their comments and inputs.
We did it together!
Setting off
When I got to the VIP Station, my whole body and mind started surveying the premises for that beautiful damsel who would be my journey mate.
Truth is I’ve never traveled on a VIP bus with a cute nice lady beside me. It’s always nursing mothers or that dull guy who only keeps to his smart phone, the movie being shown on the TV screen or a party with his eyes shut.
Therefore I was really bent on landing a pretty damsel who would engage me through the 4 to 5 hour journey from Oseikrom to Accra.
When I saw her at getting the ticket, I quickly jumped the queue to get right behind her hoping to get to sit beside her.
Coca Cola shaped is an understatement if I have to describe her body. It was a breathtaking sight. To compound my excitement, she was wearing a pair of white trousers, I looooove white.
She boarded the bus with the swagger of Beyonce, graciously her feet greeted the metal and her body swung like leaves in the wind.
Like leaves in the wind, I was carried away. I was absorbed immediately and the electrons in my body seemed to want to jump out to meet the protons in hers. The unlike poles immediately were pulling together.
She dropped her bottle of water which I quickly picked up, cleaned and handed over to her with a smile and an immediate introduction.
“Hi, I’m Kojo. Here, this is yours. Hope I’ve wiped it clean,” I said.
“Thanks. That’s so kind of you,” she said but didn’t add her name.
She sat on seat number 13 by the window and I raced into the next seat.
The bus was full in no time but before I could continue from where we left off, a nicer looking guy came up to me and asked that I move to my seat.
“Really?” I quipped.
“Yes, really. I have ticket 14 and you are sitting on seat 14,” he rudely explained. I checked my ticket and it was 18, about two rows back.
Expectations dashed, excitement killed and still with no idea who that pretty damsel was, I got up and made for my seat. I could feel all eyes on the buses staring straight at me.
But before I sat, she looked my way and gave me an apologetic wink. I felt that was to say “don’t worry. I’ll be here for you.”
The bus set off around 5:56 and by then I had started a cool convo with a nice young man by name Koomson of Africa Practice, a research firm.
He made me fill some questionnaires, we exchanged contacts and started a cool boys boys convo.
The bus passed Tech Junction in no time and just when I was telling Koomson how I’d miss Tech for the next few days, I heard an melodic voice call me name.
“Kojo, you left this when you left the seat,” it was the lady bringing my snack pack. I had forgotten to pick it up when I left the previous seat. I took it, thanked her and offered her a can of Rita Soy Milk which she accepted (I had not planned to share my 3 cans of Rita Soy Milk though).
When she left, I offered Koomson a can of my Rita Soy Milk which he declined. But when I reached into the bag for a can for myself, I touched a small piece of paper which I don’t remember putting there.
“Lets chat on whatsapp Kojo, 020#######.”
God had answered my prayers, the lady had left me a note in the pack I unintentionally left at the seat.
I took out my Galaxy Tab hurriedly, tried to get on whatsapp but I had no data.
“Shit!” my voice echoed through the bus.
I had forgotten to buy enough Airtel credit to bundle date and couldn’t use my Vodafone sim because the Tab is configured only for Airtel.
I sent a text instead.
“Hi, this is Kojo. Thanks for dropping the note. May I know your name?”
For 30 minutes I had had no response. I had a feeling she didn’t have credit or she had dozed off.
At that point I gave up cursing my stars for gifting me a nice journey package but denying me the means to enjoy it.
On the road to Accra
Koomson was relaxing then and a nursing mother sitting adjacent to us was busily eating ‘diehuo’.
The scent of the ‘dawadawa’, coupled with the cry of her baby and my earlier disapointment choked me all at once.
“Why didn’t this woman by from the check check seller when she came on the bus to do business? Why would she eat ‘diehuo’ disturbingly on a fully air-conditioned bus? Couldn’t she have used the ‘diehuo’ money to by Ginseng tea from that salesman who won my admiration earlier?.”
The way she ate, coupled with the ‘nunu scent’ and her baby’s cry made me ask myself those questions.
Suddenly, something stole my attention from the nauseating ‘diehuo’ moment.
Lately, I’ve been praising the Ghana Police Service for recruiting pretty ladies. However, this particular spectacular eye boozing sight redefined my beauty perception index.
She was in a green uniform (forgive me if the colour description is wrong but I saw green), well built, chocolate coloured with a smile that can reduce the heart pressure of half of Nigeria’s population.
The Immigration officer had caught my attention but before I could really download more data from what I was seeing into my brain the lights in the bus went off. I could hear tell the man beside her, “honey, call the baby sitter and find out if the kids have been fed.”
I decided to rest then and the driver also decided to tune off the radio and play some reggae music. The channel was one of the local ones and they were seriously debating the Supreme Court proceedings.
The last comprehensible statement I heard from the chaotic debate was “Supreme Court b3too Ahenfie”, to wit “before the Supreme Court, there was the Chief’s palace.”
I slept around 7:30pm.
We got to Linda Dor at 8:55pm. The bus stopped for 10 minutes for passengers to stretch, get some food and visit nature’s call if need be. That was went i realized the immigration officer had ‘ASS’ets worthy of descriptive praise which would need a whole dedicated post. Koomson was in dream land then, his eyes missed the feast of the decade.
When passengers started re-boarding, I had the rare opportunity of getting to see the other 22 or so people I had been sharing the past 3 hours and would share about an hour more of my precious life with.
There was this pretty face girl with the tummy of a beer guzzler whose dressing left her ‘ASS’ets as unprotected as Ghana’s natural resources. Right when I started feeling sorry for her for exposing her ass, I saw Jet Li look alike, a Chinese boarding. He looked just like the legendary Chinese actor. He sat right in front of me and open his package.
Shocker! It was fried yam and gizzard, my favorite. I nearly engaged him in a chat, a chat I hoped would earn me an invitation to his meal. Nanso na mef3re, ‘I was shy’. I sat back and imagined myself munching on those slices of fried yam.
The bus was on the road again and the notepad application notified me that the maximum number of characters had been reached.
I then decided to wrap myself in my Pierre Cardin jacket. But before that, I saw a wood worker’s shed by the roadside, well lit with two men busily sawing lumber.
All I murmured to myself was ‘we still have some very had working Ghanaians’.
More Sights and Sounds
I decided to sleep again because I needed energy for the following day’s activities and one mo
re hour of sleep on the bus could do me some more good.
But four conflicting sounds made me struggle to shut my tired eyes. The first was a faint Kennedy Agyapong-like voice on Oman FM shouting ‘Ghana de3, ns3mfo saa…’ on a radio one passenger was listening to. The second was a man updating his wife on the journey; ‘Akua, ya fili Linda Dor s3sia. Ma ringi wo nua nti )b3 shia me w) circle. Passport no de3 whieebey me nsa b3ka no kyena’. The man was just telling his wife by all means he would get a pasport tomorrow.
But why does everything has to be in Accra after attempts to decentralize. That reminded me of the Ken Agyapong like voice and the statement ‘Ghana de3 ns3mfoo saa’.
I struggled to concentrate on the third sound, the smooth reggae playing through the bus’ speakers. ‘Night nurse’ finally helped me to sleep around 9:25, but before shutting those tired eyes of mine I set my alarm to 10pm so that I could wake up before we reach Nsawam. I needed to call my good friend KT to meet me at Achimota when I got to Nsawam
I couldn’t place the full stop after the last sentence because I had reached maximum letters again and I was just to lazy to open a new document.
I slept again.
Nsawam without tsofi is like the energy sector without crude oil.
We got to Nsawam around 10:20pm after the driver carefully caressed the Suhum Nsawan road. I say caress because there was not a jolt to wake me from my sleep on that dreaded stretch of the highway. It was Koomson who woke me up to call KT.
I smiled when I saw the Agya Appiah Bitters factory along the way. The well lit neon signboard reminded of many a fufu bowl I’ve humbled with the legendary Agya Appiah 2, Lime 1 combination.
‘Akua, ya dulu Akla o’, the ‘passport man’ I mentioned earlier excitedly reported to his wife on phone.
Pokuase bus stop! Taifa junction w) mu o!
Gradually, the load on the bus diminished as passengers alighted till I got to Achimota.
At this point, surprisingly, Rocky Dawuni’s ‘in Ghana’ was playing on the stereo. Were the spirits of the nation’s founding fathers sending an encrypted message to the Oseikrom boy who feels Kumasi rocks that Accra is really the place to be?
Agya Appiah was way behind me but I knew my lips would kiss a glass pregnant with that ethereal brew before I left the ‘land where chiefs and royal families had no land and were preparing to sell the sea’.
I noticed reggae music instead of the usual Ghanaian movies had taken us through the journey. The antipiracy laws were at work and buses were no longer showing Kumawood and Ghallywood movies.
KT picked me up at the Achimota Total Station. He wanted us to get some food from a joint at circle but I declined. “What better food could be at circle at this time,” I asked?
We hit the N1 highway in a bid to get to Ashale Botwe.
The N1 Highway is beautiful and sexually fast. Yes! Every engine would love to have her pistons go up and down swiftly and crazilly in her on the N1.
We went past the Accra Mall and soon Haatso, Atomic and the adjoining areas were beautifully spread out ahead of us. Indeed, the site was beautiful from afar but far from beautiful at close range.
Then thing som
We got home, I settled down and immediately remembered I had totally forgotten about the lady who wouldn’t give me a name but a number. I tried to get internet but to no avail. KT offered to share the wireless form his phone but that was to last only three minutes.
“Did I just make a fool out of myself? Did I just miss an opportunity to impress a pretty lady. Kojo why you fool so?” I blamed myself for not being able to chat with the lady.
I made a quick dash for the fridge in a bid to get a shot of anything intoxicating. KT didn’t know why I was being a dummy at that time. He managed to calm me down and got me to explain the how I was gifted a fine b3b3 (b3b3 is for lady: borrowed from some very creative friends called DGG).
He looked at the note and started laughing hysterically.
“Kojo, w’agyimi o. If you couldn’t whatsapp her, if she couldn’t reply your text because she didn’t have credit, you could have called her! She’s on Vodafone and you have Supreme value! W’ab)n paa,” KT said.
I quickly grabbed the phone and dialed the number.
….Puuu Puuuu Puuuu …..
“Hello, Mabel here. Please who is this,” she responded.
“Hi, this is Kojo, we met on the ……” before I could complete my statement I heard “her Mabel her, saa boy na you met on the bus is the one calling you no eh. I saw the two of you. Na mo we we. Wo y3 foo paa.”
I assumed that was the guy who ejected me from the seat next to Mabel’s.
“Akwasi, you should stop this your attitude. Can’t I make friends because we are dating,” that was Mabel. She had forgotten the call was still active.
After some seconds of heated exchanges, I heard “Pa Pa Pa!!!”, three resounding slaps in a roll and an accompanying scream that had the tendency to raise the dead.
Mabel seem to have dropped the phone on the floor but I kept listening.
Minutes later Akwasi’s voice came through with a warning;
“Masa, you can’t have my woman. Kwasia, wo nim br3 a m’abr3? You think you can rap a woman on a VIP eh? Next time k)fa L3L33L3 bus, saa girls no na 3y3 wo size. Aboa.”
The line went dead. I was vibrating with rage but what could I do? Seconds turned to hours that night. I just couldn’t think straight or go to sleep. I stayed on Facebook and read people’s posts.
Around 2am, my phone rang and it was Mabel’s number. I couldn’t answer and I couldn’t back.
I didn’t know whether Akwasi was the one calling or she was the one calling in a bid to get us to continue our chat.
I could have been smarter. If I had data earlier, it would have prevented all the drama and set in motion a conversation that would have produced a fine ‘happily ever after’ style L3L33L3 story.
Time with Abena
I met her in a Hotel on the Spintex Road on Friday afternoon. I was at the poolside with a friend from Oseikrom and I saw her looking around for us.
I got up and strode towards her. My movement was lightening quick! I was finally seeing her again. She was all smiles. I didn’t know what to do first; a handshake or a healthy hug?
I got a mia (a very warm hug).
She’s very pretty and she was looking fabulously sexy. She personifies beauty and grace.
I had a Goddess right in sight but I didn’t burn to death.
The Ghanalized Aphrodite, Asaase Yaa’s own daughter!
That warmth in her smile could easily have dried up the pool if she had kept it up for about 5 minutes more. She was more than breathtaking, she stirred my loins.
She ordered two plates (or was it bowls) of chips, orange juice and cocktail. I had already gulped down a large green bottle and had had a heavy lunch so I abstained from food and drinks.
We talked about lots of things and she dropped a bomb. She said I looked thin and malnourished. She advised me to eat well and get my swag on.
“Who are you seeing,” she asked.
“Oh! I’m seeing some friends at the mall later and we’ll hit town later in the night,” I responded.
“No! I meant the person you are dating,” she replied.
“Oh, hehe, I’m still single o,” I said.
I explained how I’ve been in and out of flings. I really didn’t know how to describe what I’ve been through the past couple of months any better.
“You know, after breaking up with my woman, I’ve not really found that woman I’d like to love like I did her. The ones I met were a bit too suffocating or demanding and the cool ones seem to have either been taken or adjourning their feelings (Supreme Court style),” I explained.
“There are other girls I admire too but our relationships have grown beyond romantic,” I kept on.
She looked at me with a smile and said “My dear Kojo, don’t befriend and be-sister the good ones and date the bad ones.” r />
That immediately reminded me of one lady who would have the singular honor of signing me off when I finally meet the ONE.
She’s Manuela. I’ll tell you more about her later.
So we went on and on. She glowed brighter by the second and my loins had been stirred into an even mixture. My endocrine system was fully activated for take-off and I was surprisingly calmer than usual.
I didn’t know what was happening. There was so much happening under my skin but I was cool on the outside.
…..and Mabel called again.
I didn’t answer the call because I wasn’t sure whether it was Mabel or Akwasi. She called thrice and I still didn’t answer. Minutes later an unknown number called me and I still didn’t answer because I still wasn’t sure who might be at the other end of the call.
The sweet lady sitting across the table asked me to answer my calls but I was hesitant. She repeated her call that I find me a woman.
“…if you can’t be with the one you love, it’s alright, Go ahead and love the one, love the one, love the one you are with.
“turn your heartache into joy, she’s a girl and you are a boy, get together, make it tonight, you ain’t gonna need no more advice,” those are lyrics of Luther Vandross.
I was humming the tune of “Love the one you are with” while she tried to convince me to find one. I doubt she picked a cue from that.
To cut a long story short, we had a good time. Close to two hours of pure peace and nervous loins.