Archive for the ‘Short Fiction’ Category

Cocaine Couriers, Pito and a Beautiful Woman

Thursday, July 12th, 2018

Kwame Mainu from Warwick University in England had come to Kumasi University in Ghana in 1996 to help run a short course on processing for little ventures. The connection between the two colleges had been tormented by a Kumasi-based medications cartel exploiting Ghanaian scholastics traveling to the UK to enroll messengers. Kwame trusted that with assistance from his offended spouse, Comfort, as yet living in Kumasi, the cartel’s activities had ceased, yet they dreaded a recovery. Doubts were stirred when an undertaking called Sika Ye Na (Money is Scarce) connected to go to the short course. Sika Ye Na was known to have contacts with Hanabis, the Lebanese organization behind the medications cartel. So a covert specialist, Tam Gordon, had been sent from Britain, acting like a colleague.

Cap was an old Ghana hand and talked the neighborhood tongue, Twi. He was upbeat to go with Kwame to Comfort’s home and appreciate Ghanaian sustenance and drink. They expected to inquire as to whether she knew anything about Cecilia Obeng-Mensah, the proprietor of Sika Ye Na Enterprise. Solace respected her guests and approached what she could improve the situation them, and Tam’s first demand was for a glass of Grunshie pito, a lager fermented in Navrongo in the Upper East Region in the most distant north of Ghana.

Solace came back with Tam’s glass filled to the overflow and snickered as he attempted to bring down the level without causing a spill. ‘What comes to on two?’ she asked in Twi. ‘Furthermore, we need to inquire as to whether you know a lady called Cecilia Obeng-Mensah?’

‘Cessie!’ cried Comfort, ‘I’ve known her for quite a while.’

‘Is she associated with the Lebanese?’ Kwame inquired.

‘She was Suleiman Hannah’s better half for a long time; she even indications the undertaking isn’t finished. She’s extremely wonderful.’

‘What does she do?’ asked Tam.

‘She has her own business, I think.’

‘What kind of business?’

‘I don’t know, I never asked her – she’s not in shoes.’

For the following half hour the transfer of the fufu supper came first. It was the point at which they were sitting and processing with appropriately fortifying drinks that Comfort’s interest could never again be obliged and she asked, ‘What has Cessie done to energize so much intrigue?’

‘She connected to go ahead our instructional class,’ Kwame said.

‘Be that as it may, she’s not an architect; to the extent I know.’

‘No this course is on mechanized bookkeeping and employment costing.’

‘So she’s on your course – she should be mainstream with the men!’

‘No, she didn’t enroll on Sunday with the others and we haven’t seen her since.’

‘Do you happen to recognize what Cecilia’s dad does?’ Tam asked Comfort. ‘Truly, he’s a minister,’ she answered, ‘We used to joke about a minister’s little girl being a Muslim man’s paramour.’

‘Is the dad with the Pentecostal church?’

‘Truly, I trust so; Afriyie disclosed to me she had met him once in Coventry.’

‘At that point it looks as though the entirety of our hypotheses are right,’ said Tam, taking another long swig on his cherished pito.