The taxi, a yellow and blue coloured Opel Astra, made its way towards Bantama. The air conditioning was a distant memory, replaced by the hot wind rushing through the open windows, carrying with it the symphony of Kumasi: the blare of horns, the shouts of mates calling out destinations—”Kejetia! Kejetia! Sofoline!”—and the rhythmic thud of highlife music blasting from a roadside speaker.
Kwesi leaned back against the cracked leather seat, letting the chaos wash over him. Usually, the traffic at this hour would frustrate him, a logistical inefficiency to be solved. But today, the gridlock felt almost celebratory, a vibrant parade in his honour. He watched the hawkers weaving through the stalled cars, selling everything from plantain chips to phone credit. Their resilience always humbled him. It was the same spirit he tried to bring to his work, the refusal to be stopped by obstacles, the constant push forward.
His mind drifted to Abena. He could already picture her reaction when he told her the news. Her eyes would light up, that specific way they did when she was truly happy, crinkling at the corners. They had waited so long for this. The customary marriage ceremony was just days away, and now, he could go to her father not just as a promising young man, but as a Regional Director. It changed everything. It meant security. It meant they could finally look for a plot of land, maybe out towards Tanoso or Ejisu, and build something of their own.
“Driver, small patience, eh?” Kwesi said as the taxi driver swerved aggressively to cut off a tro-tro. “We will all get there.”
The driver grunted an apology but slowed down slightly. As the taxi crawled past the Cultural Centre, Kwesi’s gaze was drawn to a group of young men sitting under a tree near the entrance, arguing animatedly over a game of draughts. Among them, a figure stood out—not for his activity, but for his stillness.
It was Osei.
His cousin was leaning against the trunk of a Neem tree, a bottle of Star beer in hand, though it was barely past four in the afternoon. He wore a faded polo shirt that had once been bright blue, and his face was set in a brooding frown as he watched the traffic. Osei had always been the handsome one in the family, charming and quick-witted, but lately, that charm had curdled into something sour. He had lost his third job in two years last month, something about “disrespectful management, and had been spending more and more time at the local drinking spots.
Kwesi felt a pang of guilt mixed with affection. They had grown up like brothers in the same compound house in Bantama. He tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Pull over for a second, please.”
He rolled down the window fully and called out. “Osei! Osei!”
Osei looked up, squinting against the sun. Recognition dawned slowly, followed by a complex shift in expression, then a flash of that same unreadable look Kwesi had seen on Kojo’s face earlier, before settling into a lopsided grin. He sauntered over to the taxi.
