The Adventures of Fast Joe (9)
Joe arrived at Kenyasi in the evening. The journey had been long, arduous and dusty. The wooden Bedford truck with the wooden bench seats had been uncomfortable in the extreme. The seats had no foam covering them, meaning that the passengers were forced to sit on the wooden benches. The sides had no windows, meaning that the passengers had to contend with the dust of the untarred road as the vehicle rolled along. The passengers, who knew no better, took the discomfort in stride cheerfully, with tales of how their ancestors used to walk these distances a few years past.
Joe kept quiet, thinking of events back home and what would happen now that he had left so unceremoniously. He wondered if Corporal Asamoah would learn that it was he who had been sleeping with his wife. He wondered if Ama would sleep with her husband or find a new lover, and he was jealous. Thinking about Ama, he vowed that he would go back to Wenchi as soon as his mother sent a message that things were alright. He would not allow another man to have her, particularly if she was not going back to her husband.
He did not know the conversation that had taken place between his mother and her brother Nana Somuah. He only knew that he needed to leave Wenchi fast.
Before he left, his mother had told him that she would send a telegram ahead of him to his uncle Somuah, and that Joe was to proceed very quickly to the Post Office upon arrival, where he had been told that his uncle would make some kind of arrangement to meet him.
Out of the vehicle, taking his bag and asking for directions to the Post Office, he was delighted to discover that the post office was just adjacent to the lorry station. He went there quickly, but found that it was closed for the day, since t was already past five pm.
Several women were selling different kinds of cooked food nearby, and he wondered if he should approach them to find out if any of them knew his uncle. Just as he was approaching one of the women, a rice seller, however, somebody took his arm, and he turned to find himself looking into the face of a young woman, who looked to be about his age, but shorter and broader and with big breasts pushing out her dress.
For a moment, they stood looking at each other. In the evening light, Joe found himself looking into soft brown pupils set in large white eyes, thick, lustrous lashes in a wide black face with a pudgy round nose under which was a large, wide, reddish brown mouth.
Her hair was recently braided in the modern fashion in several thick coils which were all gathered at the top of her head and gathered together. She was not very tall, with her head reaching only to his shoulders, forcing her to look up into his face. She was beautiful. She resembled his his mother.
She saw a very tall young man, with a narrow head, narrow face, wide mouth and black pupils. His clothes were dusty from the journey, and looked well used. He looked strong, but very slim and bony. He was not in trousers, but his knickers reached to his knees and his shirt was open at the neck. His hands in the short-sleeved shirt looked ropy but very strong.
She asked, “Are you Kwame Donkor?”
Joe swallowed, “Yes please. Who are you?”
“My name is Salome. My father said I should come and wait for you, and to bring you home.”
Joe dimly remembered that his uncle had a daughter called Salome and that they had met about eight years ago at a funeral. Then she had been a short, impudent little girl who had kept trying to make his clothes dirty at the least opportunity. Could this be her?”
“Are you the one who was trying to make my clothes dirty when we came for the funeral?” Joe asked rudely.
“You have not changed,” she replied just as rudely. “You pulled my hair. Follow me.”
So it was her, and she remembered. Joe picked up his bag and started after her. She had already set off at a brisk walk, and he loped to catch up with her.
As they walked, they conversed.
“Why have you grown so tall?” she asked.
“You have also grown quite a bit. You are now a woman,” he said frankly.
“Yes. I am even about to get married,” she said.
“Hmm, I see. How old are you now?” he asked.
“Seventeen. And you?”
“I am almost sixteen,” he lied. He was only fifteen, but told many people that he was older. They expected him to be older, because of his height.
“Sixteen!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “You are too tall. What does Auntie Afua feed you?”
Joe laughed and refused to answer. He looked about him. The dusty streets were full of people and activity. Along the streets, many women were selling cooked food and people, men, women and children were busy buying. Kenyasi, like Wenchi at the time, was a small village which, due to its centrality and a market, was quickly developing into a small town. There were no tarred roads, and little children and many small dogs were playing in the streets.
The air was smoky from the many kerosene lamps the women were using to light their wares on short tables. Once in a while, they passed young boys and girls carrying bottles of kerosene in tin bowls, hawking their wares with loud cries of ‘kerosene, kerosene’. The scene was very similar to life at Wenchi in the evenings, only more active.
They were rapidly leaving the centre of town in the one-street town, and soon they turned down a path and approached a house, a one-row house facing a large, earth compound, where a man was standing, waiting for them.
“Eeei! Kwame Donkor! Is that you? You have grown even taller than me!” shouted the man.
Joe laughed, “Wofa Somuah, is that you?”
They embraced, and the man called, “Yaa, Yaa, come out and see your son!”
His wife came racing out of a room on the right, and soon Joe found himself amidts a gaggling set of man, woman and children, all laughing and chattering at the same time.
Amidts all the loud laugher and welcome, he noted that Salome was standing off, looking at him with an odd expression on her plaintive face.
To be con’t.
