The remnants of the fufu had been cleared, and the evening breeze rustled the mango leaves in the courtyard. Kwesi sat back, watching Abena. The declaration of “next month” hung in the air, a promise of a future that felt both close and agonisingly distant.

“Next month is perfect,” Abena said softly, tracing the pattern on the tablecloth. “It gives us time to prepare. My mother will need to organise the kente, and your father…”

“Yes, next month for the customary marriage,” Kwesi interrupted gently, his expression intensifying. “But Abena, a month is a long time in the corporate world. With the Board meeting next week and the promotion… I want to enter that room as a man who has already secured his home. I don’t want to wait a month to make our intentions official.”

Abena looked up, puzzled. “So what are you saying?”

“I want to do the ‘Knocking’—the Kokooko—this coming Saturday.”

“This Saturday?” Abena’s eyes widened. “Just three days away?”

“Yes. It’s simple, it’s traditional, and it seals the doorway,” Kwesi urged, his voice filled with a persuasive energy. “We present the schnapps, we state our intentions, your family accepts. It stops the whispers. It tells everyone, especially the likes of Osei and any man who has interest that you are taken. Then we can take our time planning the full customary marriage for next month.”

Abena smiled, the logic and the romance of it appealing to her. “You are in a hurry, Director Dankwa.”

“I have waited years, Abena. I am done waiting.” He stood up. “Let’s go and tell your parents now. If they agree, I will inform my father tonight.”

They moved from the courtyard into the brightly lit living room where Abena’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Ofori, were relaxing. Mr. Ofori, a retired headmaster who peered over his spectacles with perpetual scrutiny, lowered the newspaper he was reading.

“Kwesi,” he said, his tone measuring the young man. “We heard you were back.”

“Good evening, Papa. Good evening, Maa,” Kwesi bowed respectfully. “I have come to greet you, and to ask for a specific favour.”

He explained his plan: the promotion next week, the customary marriage next month, but the urgent desire to perform the Kokooko this Saturday. Mrs. Ofori beamed, clearly delighted at the prospect of a formal event, while Mr. Ofori asked a few sharp questions about his readiness.

“The knocking is the first step,” Mr. Ofori stated, folding his newspaper. “If your family is ready to knock, we are ready to open the door. Saturday is acceptable.”

Kwesi left the house in Patasi with a spring in his step. He caught a taxi back to Bantama, the city lights blurring past him. He felt invincible. He had the job (almost), he had the girl (officially), and soon, he would have the respect he craved.

When he arrived at the family compound, he found Opanyin Dankwa still awake, sitting on the porch with his radio tuned to a late-night Akan drama.

“Papa,” Kwesi called out, sitting beside him. “Prepare your best cloth. We are going to Patasi on Saturday.”

“Patasi?” The old man turned down the volume. “For what? Is there a funeral?”

“No, Papa. A celebration. The Oforis have agreed. We are going to perform the Knocking ceremony for Abena.”

Opanyin Dankwa’s face lit up, the wrinkles deepening into a smile of pure joy. “This Saturday? Kokooko?”

“Yes. I told Abena we will do the customary marriage next month, but I want the knocking done now. Before the big appointment at work.”

“Wise,” Opanyin Dankwa nodded vigorously. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. If you have caught the antelope, you don’t leave it in the forest overnight.” He struggled to his feet, energised by the news. “I must call your Uncle Gyasi and Auntie Yaa in Ejisu. We cannot go with empty hands. We must show the Oforis that the Dankwas may be humble, but we know tradition.”

“I will provide everything needed, Papa. The schnapps, the money, the transport.”

“You provide the items,” Opanyin Dankwa said, placing a trembling hand on Kwesi’s shoulder. “I will provide the voice. Saturday will be a glorious day.”

Kwesi helped his father inside, then went to his own room. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, playing out the future in his mind. He saw the ceremony, the Board meeting, the new office, the life with Abena. It was a perfect sequence of events.

He drifted off to sleep, unaware that the sequence was already being rewritten. In the dark corners of Kumasi, envy does not sleep, and while Kwesi dreamed of knocking on a door of opportunity, others were building a trapdoor right beneath his feet.