The white, fluorescent light of the infirmary ceiling felt like a physical assault on Kwesi’s eyes. He stared upward, watching the slow, rhythmic crawl of

The following morning, the sun rose over the Ashanti Central Prison with an indifferent brightness. Kwesi stood in the visitation line, his heart beating with

Three months later, the preparations for the union were no longer whispers; they were a mechanical inevitability. Osei’s Ford navigated the familiar potholes of the

By the middle of the fifth year, the “Long Wait” had reached a point of brittle exhaustion. In Kumasi, the harmattan dust of several seasons

Pages 95 & 96 While the foundations of Abena’s resolve were crumbling in the salt air of Tema, Kwesi Dankwa was rebuilding himself from the

Gradually, Abena had created a “Social Exile”; she no longer attended social events. It had started with small excuses. If it were a  nursing colleague’s

Pages 87 & 88 By the start of the third year of Kwesi’s sentence, the industrial salt of Tema seemed to have settled into Abena’s

In the quiet village of Ejisu, the afternoon sun filtered through the broad leaves of the plantain trees in Uncle Gyasi’s backyard. Opanyin Dankwa sat

The following Monday, Lawyer Kwarteng made the familiar, soul-crushing trek to the Ashanti Central Prison. The smell of the place always seemed to cling to

By the end of the third month, Jude Asamoah had reached a height that most lawyers spent forty years chasing. In a glittering ballroom at