Papa Samo Goes Home: Part V

Kumasi has grown significantly. To most inhabitants, the city limits of the Dusting City- sorry the Garden City covers Konongo to the East, Abuakwa to the West, Ahenema Kokoben to the South, and almost to Mampong to the North. The tropical rain forest with its trees and vegetation have given way to huge, stylistic, and expensive looking homes. Also, there seems to be a population explosion. Traffic is the worse culprit. The Kumasi drivers observe their own secret code of rules and conducts. The driving rudiments have been thrown out of the window, and it?s a free for all culture for drivers. The ones who seem to benefit from this chaos are the taxi drivers. They weave, swerve, and cut across the traffic like the vehicles are made of foam or a very harmless cushion that will bounce off even with a very great impact.

The day I got to Kumasi was even worse. For starters, the city was in a state of ecstasy. The reason?

Football.

Kotoko had just beaten Hearts of Oak by a three (3) goals to one(1) margin. To the Kotoko supporters, the club must as well win the FIFA world cup. Jubilation was in the air. You could see a sea of people in red colors. Almost every driver was honking a horn, and some were even dancing. The pedestrians were also in on the fun. You could see the ?Apio? induced guys and gals trotting to the tune of a song that was being sung. Red handkerchiefs were being waved and hoisted in the air. Then I saw the women! Gone are the days when all they wore were those straight dresses with a rope-like belt tied in their mid-section. In those days, one could not even see the actual or real shape of our women. These days, they wear tight fitted jeans, Shorts or trousers, that really show all their geography. Some have tops on that made them look like half-peeled bananas. After living in the U.S for too long, my eyes have been subjected to the abuse and unpleasant sight of BIG FAT women who look like being seven months into their pregnancies. My Ghanaian sisters were a pleasant sight to behold. This did not go unnoticed on my African American brother. He wanted to get out of the car so bad just to touch ?one of them bras?-his definition of a woman. For the first time in a while, I felt very old.

I felt old because the action of the Kotoko supporters brought me memories of the 1980s, when I was a secondary school student. My school, great KOSS, was not all that great in the athletes department. We really used to suck, so Interco, was not something I looked forward to. However, we used to have very loud ?samanmo? or ?Djama? group of which I was a great part. The only problem was that we could not do well in the athletics competition so we always had to shut up and listen to the other schools. With Interco, h school that did well always got the chance to sing and make the most noise. We had our vengeance when in 1984, we won the regional football competition against all odds. The regional educational minister at the time was a former old student and former headmaster of KOSS, so we danced our way to his office, right by the KTI, to show him our prize. The roadside spectacle by the Kotoko supporters looked just like my school days.

After painfully making our way through the hectic and uncompromising heavy traffic, we drove through the Zongo areas, the Asantehene palace, through CPC to the new neighborhoods that are springing up after the suburb of Suame. The roads within the Kumasi metropolis are very good and passable. The same, however, can not be said of the new places that are being developed. The only way to make roads better in new subdivisions is for us to adapt the American system of development. Here, even before one gets to buy land, the utilities have already been provided by the developer. You have your street, street lights, plumbing, gutters, etc put in place. Of course, chiefs and landowners can do that in advance before they start selling these lots to people to build homes. The prices will definitely increase, but I think it will be a better bargain than living in a neighborhood where people swallow tons of dirt dust each year, break car parts, and get bitten by mosquitoes because of bad or no drainage system in place. To me, adding a few million Cedis to buy a land that will make your life comfortable and healthy is a much better deal than having to live with broken down cars, malaria, and dust and dirt stained cars, upholstery, and clothing.

I got to my home safely. My old lady had, as usual, gone to a funeral in our hometown. The house looked almost like a ghost town. I got the keys from a distant nephew who triples as a housekeeper, part-time bar operator, and occasional chauffer/homeowner. As soon as I opened the door to the main house, I heard the screeching of sound of a car, the eventual ?death? of the engine, the loud banging of the car?s door, and the all too familiar voice.

?Stormy Weather?
?Ofui Stormy, where are you??

Some years back, the name Stormy weather was christened on me. Those were the days that I thought I was a ?guy? and ?copper?, so I took it. It has stuck with me ever since.

That was the voice of a childhood and long time friend, Akwasi. We all grew up together at the Kwadaso Estates suburb of Kumasi. Akwasi is your typical Kumasi guy who believes in hard work, and making money. His car was at the shop, so he had borrowed a car from a female companion. Before he finished telling me his mobility status, two ladies walked majestically towards my front porch. Akwasi pointed to the taller of the two and said;

?This is Lydia, she is kind enough to lend me her car today. Lydia is a business woman who ply between Ghana and Dubai?

?Hi Lydia? I said.

?Hello Bro. Kwaku? She said

I liked the tone at which she said ?Bro. Kwaku? Maybe something good might?..never mind.

As I opened the door, Akwasi went on to introduce Ama, the second lady of his entourage. We exchanged pleasantries after which I introduced Damian (D), my African American guest, to the group. That was the beginning of some headache for me. For one thing, D could not really get the words that came out of the mouths of many Ghanaians. Not even Akwasi who went to Legon, and stayed in London for sometime. The Ghanaians could not make a head or a tail of what D said either. You see, D is a typical country (village) boy from the Southern Georgian town of Augusta. As with Alabama, Mississippi, and the rest of the deep southern U.S.A, the phonetics of most of the inhabitants is very difficult to grasp. D is no exception, so I had to serve as a host, and an interpreter. D indicated to me that he really likes Ama. Of course, D always really likes all skinny fine females. I conveyed the message to Ama, who pretended to be shy, tilted her hair towards the south-east direction, and said in Twi;

?Oh Bro. Kwaku stop teasing me?

I said in English.

?Hey D, didn?t you say you really like this girl??

?Yep. I really like her? then he addressed Ama

?Pretty thang, what?s your name?

Ama chuckled and turned to me in Twi.

?Why is calling me ?Thang??

I replied. He means THING. He just pronounces as THANG, but he means T-H-I-N-G

?Oh. Ok. My name is Ama?

?Nice to meet you?

?Nice to meet you?

For the rest of the day, and his duration, D always made sure he was by Ama?s side anytime the two happened to be together alone or in a group. Akwasi, who acts like part of my family started ordering my distant nephew and nieces around to buy Guinness, Coke, plantain, ingredient for soup, and also, wash his borrowed car. I asked him to take me to a FOREX bureau or the Ash Town area for me to change some currency. He seemed offended by it.

?Has anyone asked you for money? We live in this country, and have the currency. Keep your money. We will take care of you the visitors. By the way, get ready. We are going to Caf? Maserati to welcome you, besides, Agya Sei, wants to meet you.?

Agya Sei, is the owner of the club by the sports stadium. He used to live in the U.S, and is a very close buddy. My younger brother, Papa Yaw, a.k.a, Boostie Collins, also called Eddie Boy used to work with him. My brother had given me some clothing and personal effects to be given to Agya, and besides, I just wanted to have some nice time. I took a shower, a nap, and then ate a very heavy meal, and headed off to the steamy hot, dusty, and enticing Kumasi night life.

Akwasi offered to be the designated driver, but I decided to stay put just in case he gets drunk. Akwasi loves life, and enjoys getting drunk. That night was not going to be any different. As a party animal, he knows the basics of ?saving? money so he advised it would be better for us to do the BYOB-Bring Your Own Booze, put them in an ice chest full of ice, and sit the whole contraband in the trunk (boot) of the car. I ask why, and he said you will know later. We got to the caf? at around 11 PM. It was a special night, and because Kotoko had beaten its nemesis, Hearts, many were those who had decided to celebrate. The place was a total chaos. The three bouncers at the gate had their tee-shirts drenched in salty sweat. ?An Care?, the chief bouncer recognized me, yelled like he had seen Lazarus return from the dead, shoved the crowd aside, and pushed my entourage and myself through the gates. There were seven of us. Akwasi had picked up his on again off again girlfriend, and my younger brother?s wife had joined D, the two ladies, and myself.

I think our number may have angered the manager of the club. They charge 40,000 Cedis per head to enter. That means that if each of us paid, the club would have reaped in 280,000 Cedis. The manager, who obviously did not know me did the right thing to stop us, but ?An Care? asked him to be patient. Now folks, to all the Papa and Maame Samos, the next time some people tell you they are facing hardship in Ghana, query them a little bit. The place was packed to the fullest capacity, and if each of these guys and gals paid the 40,000 Cedis, that tell me they are rich. The booze costs twice as much the price outside. Guinness, for instance, sold at 8,000 Cedis per bottle outside, yet it was 18,000 Cedis at the club, and people were buying like crazy. I finally understood why Akwasi insisted we do the BYOB.