“Just doing my job, Mr. Agyeman,” Kwesi said, keeping his voice polite but cool. “I hope business is good.”
“Business is hard, my friend. Very hard,” Agyeman sighed, his gaze drifting to the stack of yams in the corner. “Prices are going up every day. People buy on credit and forget to pay. It is not easy for a simple shopkeeper.”
He let the words hang in the air, a heavy, meaningful pause. Kwesi saw his father shift uncomfortably in his chair. He knew exactly what Agyeman was doing. It was a dance, a crude, unspoken negotiation.
“I was just telling Papa,” Kwesi said, stepping into the space between the two men, “that we need to settle our accounts. I don’t like debts hanging over my family.”
Agyeman’s eyes lit up, a predatory gleam flashing for a second before he masked it with a feigned look of surprise. “Oh, debts? Small matters, Kwesi. Neighbours help neighbours, isn’t it? Your father is a good man. I told him, ‘Opanyin, don’t worry, take what you need.’ But…” He shrugged, a gesture of helpless practicality. “…money is money. If you insist…”
“I do insist,” Kwesi said. “How much is it?”
Agyeman scratched his chin, pretending to calculate, though Kwesi knew the figure was burned into his brain. “Let me see… with the rice, the oil, the tin mackerel… and you know, interest rates these days are high… let’s say… five hundred cedis.”
Opanyin Dankwa gasped. “Five hundred? Agyeman! It was not more than two hundred last month!”
“Interest, Opanyin, interest!” Agyeman spread his hands. “The cedi depreciates, prices rise. I have to eat too.”
Kwesi placed a hand on his father’s shoulder to calm him. He pulled out his wallet. The leather was soft and expensive, a stark contrast to Agyeman’s greasy rag. He counted out five crisp one-hundred cedi notes.
“Here,” Kwesi said, holding them out. “Five hundred. We are clear?”
Agyeman snatched the notes with a speed that belied his bulk. He counted them quickly, wetting his thumb with his tongue. “Clear as crystal, my brother. Clear as crystal.” He stuffed the money into his pocket, his smile now wide and oily. “You are a good son, Kwesi. A very good son. But tell me…” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “…is it true what they say? That you are now the big man at the harbour? That you control who ships and who doesn’t?”
“I am a logistics manager, Agyeman. I don’t control the harbour.”
“Of course, of course,” Agyeman winked. “But a man in your position… he hears things. He knows things. Maybe you can help a poor shopkeeper import some goods? Rice, sugar… without the… you know… the heavy duties?”
Kwesi’s expression hardened. So this was it. Not just greed for the debt, but greed for access. “I follow the rules, Agyeman. That is how I got where I am.”
Agyeman laughed, a dry, dismissive sound. “Rules. Yes, yes. We all follow rules. Until we don’t.” He patted his pocket where the money lay. “Well, I must go. Business calls. Opanyin, enjoy your koko. It smells rich.”
As Agyeman waddled out, Kwesi watched him go. The man was a leech, a petty tyrant of his little corner of Bantama. And Kwesi had a feeling that five hundred cedis wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him for long.
“You see?” Opanyin Dankwa whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “The flies are already here.”
