<intro>

Before you read this…. Here’s a few things about this story:

It was first drafted in 1998. I was supposed to be submitting it for the Accra Academy students’ magazine but I was too lazy to complete it. As one of the things I wanted to give Marian for her birthday, I thought I’d dig this up and finish it. No one had read it before until I gave it to her.

Normally I finish writing a story before I name it but this is the same title I wrote down from ’98. Though it does not really fit the way the story ends, it gives an impression of a sinister story and hopefully put the reader off-track…. cool.

 

I called the main character Charles. This was the first time I named a character after someone I knew. This is Charles Essandoh I named him after. Maybe it’s because it’s a first character I did that isn’t *good*

I called the girl Sandra cos well… I can’t tell u… but Charles knows. Mail him @ bowsac@hotmail.com and ask him… he wont reply but ask him anyway.

</intro>

 

Finally, this story is set in Ghana. Precisely on Mellow Street, Dansoman Estates, Accra. Actually it starts out there but I don’t know about any cul-de-sacs near there…. I had to make that up. If you know mellow street…. Stand in front of Number 5 after reading the story…. You’ll see the view I used for this story. I lived there before.

If something looks out of place it’s probably because u never been to Ghana and don’t know how things work there.

 <short-story>

THE NIGHT PROWLER

Charles steadily inched his way to the wall. His coming in on the first day was somehow difficult but no sharp, bloodthirsty glass shards will be impeding his going out today. Most people nowadays with their want of security in their homes-- and not enough money to spend on that want – broke bottles and stuck the pieces on their walls with the help of a bit of mortar. This, although crude in some way, gave people like Charles a helluva fight. He had succeeded in clearing a small portion of the top of the wall of the little devils. Now he could easily scale the wall any more delayed time. 

Quick, with cat-like reflexes, he was on top of the wall he turned to the left, right and finally to the left. He looked across the street. No one. Mellon Street, from his few visits is very busy in the day but surprisingly quiet in the night. He checked around again. Still no one. The gentle breeze which was a moment ago lulling him to sleep now seemed somehow…eerie. He checked around once more. This time inside the house too before finally jumping. 

Even as he jumped he muttered under his breath, “Oh shit!!”, but it was too late. Unless by some unknown magic he was able to reverse what had happened in that fraction of a second, the consequences may be unbearable. 

The same moment that he jumped two distinct shapes emerged from the corner. Joggers. Both men. He unfortunately forgot the house was the last on the lane and that there was another road that run down to the left. He forgot to check that whether anyone was approaching or not. He’d forgotten for three days and nothing had happened, but today wasn’t yesterday and truly not the day before yesterday. 

Before he could stumble and regain his footing the much-expected “Awioo, Awioo” had sounded three times. He was surprised to notice that he was still muttering, “Shit, shit, shit” rather like a mantra and foolishly enough… still standing. He wasn’t a thief but once caught, there’ll be no time for explanation. He wouldn’t be given the chance to say one word. Even as he was thinking of all the slaps, kicks and the humiliation that he will be put through, he saw the joggers – now turned pursuers – increase their speed. The last time he checked the time it was 4:45am. By now many people will be up which he tried not to believe because that will spell his almost impending doom No sooner had the thought flashed through his mind than two gates opened, almost simultaneously. 

Above the sounds of the shrieking metal gates, he still heard the “joggers” shouting their monotony and the distant sounds of two other gates opening. Now if caught he was dead for sure. He didn’t turn to see how many people were chasing him now, but instead tried to increase his speed. It didn’t work. This was partly because of what he had done tonight and the fear that gripped him like a clamp. All the same, he had a head start and planned to capitalise on that. 

Virtually feeling the breath of his pursuers, Charles run with all his might in the hope of getting home in one piece. Images of the past three days flooded to him unwillingly. This was a very bad time to reminisce.

 

++++++++++++

 

Just last week, at a party, his girlfriend had told him about her parents planned vacation. Sandra’s parents were going away for a week and she wanted them to have their own good time. Charles was to come three days from thence (the day after her parents left)… and then from then on, everyday at 6pm pronto. That was six days ago – Saturday. Today, a Friday, his last night with Sandra in her house had rather turned out to be a bad one…though it had started good. 

Although he was recollecting the events that had led to this, his mind was still on the need to escape his pursuers. He went back to thinking about the past three nights.

 It was decided that he would scale the wall instead of using the gate when coming in so that in case a nosy neighbor saw him and asked questions… she would say it was a burglar. But now here he was… the plan had crashed around them – or rather around him. 

He manoeuvred a bend and caught the glimpse of the throng following him. Even in this state of mind he was able to drift to a scene from a movie he’d watched sometime ago. He’d forgotten the title, but it was an explorer who happened to find himself on an island inhabited by cannibals. 

In his mind traveling, he did not see the stump. He stumbled to the left, tried to balance but staggered awkwardly in the same direction and fell like timber, with a loud thud. He gathered himself up quickly and dared to take a quick glance at his pursuers. They were nearer now, about 30 meters from him and the cursed stump. With the agility of a bush-cat, he got up just in time to avoid the stone that hit the ground where his hand was a moment ago. They were throwing missiles which was goddamned worse than ever. You can outrun people but not stones hurtling through the air at speeds far from that which any world record holding sprinter could ever run. 

Another stone hit the ground right in front of him just as he was on his way. He barely took his second stride when a missile, which in his pain thought was as big as mount Afadjato, hit the back of his head. He staggered but refused to fall this time. If they were gonna get him with stones, they better go for the whole of Everest and Fujimori to stop him. 

Another one whizzed past him… so close to his ear that he thought twice about Everest and co. His pursuers had grown in number since the joggers shouted the alarm. He saw another turn in the road on his right and he yearned to reach it before the next stone knocked him out or something worse. With his head slightly ducked, he turned the corner sighed with some bit of relief. At least now he can increase his speed to but some distance between him and the “cannibals” before they rounded the corner. 

In his haste to escape and the thought of stones flying in the air behind him, Charles failed to see that he had run into a dead end. His first impulse was to turn back but before another second had passed the pursuers with their shouts of “Awioo… mo ‘nkyi no” emerged. His next thought was to go ahead and jump the wall. A second glance at the wall and he knew all was lost. It was twice as tall as he was. He was doomed. All the same, on some weird impulse, he ran to the wall… half-expecting to find an opening in it. Finally he resigned himself to fate and crouched against the wall. Waiting. Waiting for the first blow. 

++++++++++++++ 

He woke up in a hospital. Standing at the side of the bed were his parents who before his beatings thought he was in the boarding house. At school…. learning. The pain he felt in his bones and the headache made him vow to himself to be the 18 year-old innocent boy his parents hitherto thought he was. But that is Charles for you.

</short-story>

[HELP FOR NON TWI READERS]

"Awioo" -- Translates to to "Thief". In Ghana... if you get caught stealing, u'd be lucky to get away without being beaten. You're lucky if a policeman chances by soon enough. Which they dont a lot of the time.

"Mo 'nkyi no" -- Translates to "Catch him". U don't need anymore help here

[copyright info]

This is the sole property of blah blah .. yeah suckers. I wrote this shit. Now if u wonna print it off and read later? fine.  Wonna send it to someone? fine. Wonna pass it off as yours? Fuck you.

http://faf.ghanaba.net show this link if you print it please

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