Three weeks into Kwesi’s sentence, the Ofori household was a place of hushed voices and heavy hearts. Abena sat at the kitchen table, a single official-looking envelope lying before her like a ticking bomb. She had spent the last year in a state of professional limbo, a trained nurse whose skills were gathering dust because of a government embargo on public sector recruitment, a condition of the latest IMF programme.

She had prayed for a miracle, and it had arrived in the form of a letter from the Ghana Health Authority. It was an appointment to the Tema Children’s Hospital.

“Tema?” her mother asked, placing a hand on Abena’s shoulder. “That is so far, my daughter. Eight hours by bus.”

“It is a job, Maa,” Abena said, her voice trembling. “A real posting. If I don’t take it now, who knows when the portal will open again? But how can I leave him?”

The dilemma was a physical pain. If she stayed in Kumasi, she could visit Kwesi every week, send him home-cooked food, and be the anchor he needed to survive this storm. If she went to Tema, she would be pursuing a life that felt like a betrayal of their shared dream.

“You must go,” her father said, entering the kitchen with his spectacles perched on his nose. “Kwesi is a man who values progress. He would not want his misfortune to be the chains that hold you back. You are a nurse, Abena. There are children in Tema who need the care you were born to give.”

Two days later, Abena sat in the visitation room of the ACP. A thick pane of scratched plexiglass separated her from Kwesi. He looked worse than he had a week ago; his skin had a sallow, greyish tint, and his eyes were sunken. When he saw her, a flicker of light returned to his face, but it was quickly shadowed by the sight of her tear-streaked cheeks.

“I got a posting, Kwesi,” she whispered into the handset. “Tema Children’s Hospital.”

Kwesi was silent for a long moment. He looked at his hands, calloused and dirty from the hard labour of the prison yard. He thought of the seven thousand days ahead of him. He looked at the woman he love, vibrant, intelligent, and destined for better than the waiting room of a prison.

“You have to take it, Abena,” he said, his voice cracking.

“I can’t leave you here alone,” she sobbed, pressing her palm against the glass.

“You aren’t leaving me,” he urged, leaning forward until his forehead touched the plexiglass. “You are building the life we talked about. If you stay here and waste your talent, I will be the one who failed you. Go to Tema. Be the nurse you studied so hard to be.”

“I will visit you every month,” she promised, her voice a desperate vow. “On the first Saturday of every month, I will be here. I don’t care if it takes all night on an STC bus. I will never let you forget who you are.”

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you more,” she replied.

As she walked out of the prison gates that afternoon, the weight of the decision felt like a physical burden. She was leaving Kumasi, leaving the heart of her sorrow, but she was also leaving the man who held her heart.

By the time she arrived home, Abena felt drained of all emotion. She had barely settled into the living room when the front gate creaked. It was Osei. Since the arrest, he had made a habit of stopping by to ‘check up’ on her and her parents, playing the role of the devoted cousin to perfection.

“Abena, I saw you coming back from the station,” Osei said, sitting on the edge of the sofa with a look of practised sympathy. “You look exhausted. How is our brother?”

“He is as well as can be expected,” Abena sighed, clutching her handbag. “But Osei, I have news. I won’t be in Kumasi much longer. The Ghana Health Authority has posted me to the Children’s Hospital in Tema.”

Osei blinked, a momentary silence hanging between them. A sharp, calculating light flickered in his eyes, not of shock, but of opportunity. He leaned forward, his voice low and comforting. “Tema? That is a big move, Abena. It will be hard to be so far from Kwesi, but you must think of your future. I will pray for you.”

As he walked away from the Ofori house later that evening, Osei’s mind was already spinning with new plans. He knew now that his path to her was moving from the narrow streets of Bantama to the industrial shores of Tema.

The following morning, Osei didn’t head for the taxi station. Instead, he made his way to the Ashanti Cocoa Buying Company. He walked through the gates with a new swagger, ignoring the curious looks of the clerks who remembered him as the ‘troubled cousin.’ He didn’t stop until he reached the Regional Director’s office, the office that now belonged to Kojo Danso.

Kojo was buried in paperwork, his new suit looking stiff and expensive. He looked up as Osei entered without knocking, a flash of irritation crossing his face before he smoothed it into a mask of professional cool.

“Osei,” Kojo said, leaning back. “I was expecting you. I hear you’ve been doing a lot of ‘visiting’ lately.”

“A man has to look after his family, Director,” Osei said, the title tasting sweet on his tongue. He pulled up a chair. “But I’m not here for family business. I’m here for what we discussed in Kejetia. I want my desk. I want my AC office.”

Kojo sighed, tapping a gold-plated pen against the desk. “I haven’t forgotten. I have a position for you here in the Kumasi office. Senior Administrative Clerk. It’s quiet, it’s comfortable, and it pays well.”

Osei leaned forward, his expression hardening. “I heard from Abena yesterday. She’s being posted to the Children’s Hospital in Tema.”

Kojo raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I don’t want the Kumasi job,” Osei stated flatly. “I want a post in Tema. Surely the Regional Director of Ashanti Cocoa has friends at the Tema office? A vacancy in the Tema logistics office? Something that puts me near the coast.”

Kojo stared at him, his mind working quickly. Having Osei in the Kumasi office was a risk he had been forced to take. Sending him to Tema was a gift; it put three hundred kilometres of road between Osei and the secrets buried in Kumasi. It kept the ‘dirty work’ at a safe, industrial distance.

“Tema,” Kojo mused, a slow, relieved smile touching his lips. “It’s a busy office. High pressure.”

I can handle pressure,” Osei replied.

“Very well.” Kojo picked up his desk phone, his voice suddenly authoritative. “Let me make a few calls. A few minutes later, he covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand, turned to Osei and said, “We have a vacancy in the transport coordination unit at the Tema harbour. It’s an office job, with full air-conditioning and your own desk. Do you want it?” Osei nodded his head vigorously to indicate his acceptance.

Osei watched as Kojo barked orders into the phone, demonstrating the power they had bought with Kwesi’s life. Ten minutes later, Kojo hung up.

“It’s done,” Kojo said. “Report to the Tema Regional office next Monday. I’ll send the transfer papers through this afternoon.”

As Osei stood up to leave, he felt a surge of cold triumph. He had everything he wanted: the money from the envelope, the prestige of a corporate job, and now, a front-row seat to Abena’s new life. He walked out of the building, the hot Kumasi sun feeling like a spotlight on his success. He was no longer the useless cousin; he was a man of the coast. And as far as he was concerned, the industrial shores of Tema were about to become the grounds upon which he builds personal kingdom.