The silence that followed Agyeman’s departure was heavy, hanging in the humid air like the dust settling after a tro-tro passes on a dirt road. The festive atmosphere of the morning had been punctured, deflated by the sharp needle of the shopkeeper’s greed.

Opanyin Dankwa sighed, a long, rattling sound from deep within his chest. He looked down at his half-finished koko, his appetite seemingly gone.

“You gave him too much, Kwesi,” the old man said softly. “Five hundred cedis.”

Kwesi pulled up a plastic chair and sat close to his father, their knees almost touching. “It doesn’t matter, Papa. It is done. I wanted to cut the cord. If I had not given him exactly what he asked, he would have come back tomorrow with a new story about ‘inflation’ or ‘forgotten items’. This way, he has no excuse.”

“He will come back anyway,” Opanyin Dankwa warned, shaking his head. “You have shown him blood. Now he knows you bleed money. In this world, my son, there are two things that attract trouble: poverty and wealth. Poverty brings insults; wealth brings envy. And envy… envy is a spirit that never sleeps.”

Kwesi leaned back, looking at the fadded blue paint of the courtyard walls. “I am not afraid of envy, Papa. I have worked hard. I have earned my place. Let them talk. Let them look. As long as I keep my hands clean and my focus straight, what can they do?”

“It is not what they can do to your face that worries me,” his father replied, tapping his temple. “It is what they do when your back is turned. That Agyeman… he smiles too much. And your cousin Osei… I hear things, Kwesi. I sit here all day, and I hear things. He is bitter. He feels life has cheated him. And he thinks you are the reason why everyone in the family is on him to work on his life. He complains that everyone is using you as a yardstick to measure his life.  when you are successful, he feels it means everyone in the family sees how bad he’s doing  “

“Osei is just lost. I will help him find his way. Once I am settled as Director, I will find him a position. Discipline will do him good.”

Opanyin Dankwa looked at his son with a mixture of pride and pity. Kwesi was strong, intelligent, and capable, but he still possessed the dangerous optimism of youth. He believed that logic and kindness could solve human nature. The old man knew better. He had seen governments rise and fall, seen fortunes made and lost in the blink of an eye in this unforgiving city.

“Listen to me, Kwesi,” Opanyin Dankwa said, his voice firming up. “You are a good man. Like Joseph in the Bible. But remember, it was Joseph’s own brothers who threw him in the pit. Be generous, yes. But keep your eyes open. Do not think that because you are a lion, the snakes will respect you. They will just wait for you to sleep.”

Kwesi nodded, respecting the old man’s wisdom even if he didn’t fully share the paranoia. “I hear you, Papa. I will be careful.” He glanced at his watch. “But enough of gloom. Today is a day for joy. I have to go to Patasi.”

A smile finally broke through the clouds on the old man’s face. “Ah. Abena.”

“Yes. Abena. We have the engagement list to discuss. And… I need to see her.”

“She is a good woman, that one,” Opanyin Dankwa agreed. “She has a strong back and a steady heart. She visited me while you were away. Brought me bread and vegetables. She didn’t have to, but she did.”

“I know, Papa. That is why I am marrying her.”

Kwesi stood up and went into the small room that served as his bedroom whenever he was back in the family house. It was sparse, a single bed, a wooden wardrobe, and a small table, but it was clean. He opened his suitcase and pulled out a fresh outfit. He chose a pale blue polished cotton kaftan, tailored to fit him perfectly. It was modern but respectful of tradition, the uniform of the successful young Ashanti man on a weekend.

As he dressed, splashing cool water on his face from a bucket, he looked at himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. He saw a man on the precipice of everything he had ever wanted. The job, the wife, the ability to care for his father. He traced the line of his jaw. He looked capable. He looked ready.

“How do I look, Papa?” he asked, spreading his arms.

Opanyin Dankwa squinted at him, nodding slowly. “You look like a man who knows where he is going. Go. Go to your woman. But Kwesi…”

“Yes, Papa?”

“Do not stay out too late. The roads are not what they used to be. And remember what I said about Agyeman. And Osei.”

“I will, Papa. Eat well. I will be back before the last tro-tro runs.”

Kwesi walked to the gate, his heart light. He pushed it open, stepping out onto the dusty street. The afternoon heat had mellowed into a warm, golden haze. He didn’t see Agyeman peering out from the darkness of his kiosk down the road, watching him with eyes that narrowed like a lizard’s. He didn’t see the phone in Agyeman’s hand, or the text message being typed out with a thumb stained by palm oil.

He is leaving the house now. Wearing blue. Going to Patasi. Tell the others.

Kwesi just walked on, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, seeing only the beautiful face of Abena waiting for him at the end of the journey.