Two Nightfalls

As evening creeps into the city
a mother hurries home; eyes downward as if in shame;
casting fearful glances at shadows -- one hand
gripping her child, the other clutching
money in her bag. for her
death lurks in darkness

Not so far away, a river winds
its way endlessly to the sea. its banks
a luxuriant green of trees and flowers.
Two love-birds sit -- hearts afire and
eyes ablaze with faith that knows no
sorrow, no shame. Oblivious to the other's
flight; lost in sweetness akin to ripe mangoes --
for them, love dwells in darkness

Death the Leveller (J. Shirley, 1596-1666)

THE glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown	5
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;	10
But their strong nerves at last must yield—
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath	15
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow:
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.	20
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.

LOST AND FOUND... AND LOST AGAIN

Dear…Dearest…Darling Akosua,

I don’t know if you’ll even read this mail, ‘cos you’ve not replied my last six letters. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I —

Anidaso dropped the pen and slapped the table. Running his left hand through his hair, Anidaso crumpled the sheet of paper in front of him and threw it at the waste basket. The waste basket stood alone at the corner of the room, surrounded by about five or six more balls of paper. It had been suffering abuse since that morning, when for some strange reason that good-for-nothing Anidaso had got it into his muddled brain that he wanted to write to Akosua.

Who is Akosua? Well, that’s easy. Akosua is… was Anidaso’s girl-friend – had been his girl-friend for two years until they’d broken up a year ago. Why then? You ask. Why is it that after a whole year, Anidaso is writing to Akosua? And not just any letter too, but what looks like a love letter. Especially, since he is the one who broke up with her. I didn’t tell you that, did I? Well, that’s what happened. Anidaso was the one who broke up with Akosua. His reason? Well, we were never able to find out exactly what. But what we’ve been able to gather from what he mumbles in his sleep is — no matter, it’s so scanty and incoherent that we’d not confuse you with it.

Anyway, you were wondering why Anidaso decided to write to Akosua this morning. Actually, he has been writing to her for about a month now. Hmm… perhaps it’s not fair to say he – they have been writing to each other. How did it all start? Happy Birthday. Yes. Just one birthday wish and a floodgate was opened, and in poured desire, affection, emotion… and… well, you know what I mean. Looking at the nature of the correspondence that followed from that first birthday wish, one would have thought that the two of them were going to get back together. But, for some reason, things went bad again. Apparently, the old problem – what led to the break up in the first place – was not gone. It was only lurking beneath the surface waiting to rear it’s… you know. And, boy did it!

So, for the past week, the correspondence has been reduced a one-way flow – I’m sure you can guess the direction. At first he apologized, then he begged, next he threatened, after that he apologized again and the cycle continued – each letter more desperate than the one before. And I’m afraid this is going to be the most desperate one yet. Ah, but while I’ve been talking to you, he’s finished his letter, and he looks pleased with this one. Let’s see if we can read what it says:

Dearest Akosua,

It breaks my heart to send this to you, but you’ve left me no option. I know I was never able to explain, to your satisfaction, why I had to break up with you. To tell you the truth, my explanation, even to my ears, sounded lame. I’m not writing to complain. I’m writing to thank you. To thank you for giving me the best years of my life. My life has been sad and happy, bitter and sweet; but you, you made even the bitter parts sweet and poured happiness into the sad days.

I’m writing to ask you to forgive me. To forgive me for all the pain I caused you. You have suffered greatly because of your love for me, and these past few weeks have shown that you will continue to suffer if things stay the way they are.

So I’m writing to set you free. No longer will you have to think about me. No longer will you have to wonder if I still love you. No longer, no, no longer will you have to suffer my love-fluctuations. Because, by the time you read this, I will be out of your life, and this time… this time, I mean it.

Anidaso

Anidaso folded the letter and placed it in an addressed envelope. He made sure to put the envelope where it was clearly visible. Then he went to bring the stool from his bedroom – he had placed it there last night. Next he got up unto the stool and put the noose around his neck – the other end of the rope was tied, securely, to the crossbeam that supported his roof. But, just to make sure, he pulled at it – strong, not likely to break. He was calm. He breathed in and out twice, deeply.

Brrriiiiinng! The ringing of the phone jarred him so much that he nearly tumbled off the stool prematurely. A small bead of sweat broke out on his fore-head and rolled down slowly, gathering speed until it got soaked into the fibre of the noose. Damn! Why hadn’t he taken that off the hook! It rang again. He stood undecided – a man about to commit suicide does not take time off to answer phones. He’ll wait it out.

After what seemed like hours, the answering mechanism on the phone kicked in. What happened next could have been a scene from the Twilight Zone. Akosua’s slightly apologetic voice split the tension-laden air: Anidaso, I’m sorry for not replying your mail. I moved out of my apartment just last week and… anyway, I’ll explain when we meet again. Call me back and we’ll fix a date – the sooner, the better. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.

It took some time for Anidaso to process this information. Akosua was not angry with him? Akosua wanted to see him? And, more astonishing of all, Akosua had missed him! Oh my God!

In his haste to return the call, in his haste to get to the phone, he forgot the precarious position in which he was. He forgot the stool, he forgot the rope, but, most importantly, he forgot that part of the rope that was tied around his neck.

The stool wobbled. Anidaso slipped. His hands grasped frantically at the rope, but the noose tightened around his neck – slowly, cruelly choking his new found will to live out of him. Tears welled in his eyes and rolled down. As it dawned on him that he was actually dying, an ironic smile formed on his face. His feet kicked out with less and less strength, until, with a final twitch, they stilled. A familiar smell pervaded the room – the odour of excreta.

THE DREAM

“Aristo, pop, belike the shoddy de cry,” Sammy nudged his friend. Kojo, alias Aristo, was standing with his back to the main entrance of Legon Hall, so he had to turn round to see what his friend was talking about. He had no difficulty spotting the girl Sammy was referring to; apart from the fact that tears were streaming down her face, she was walking hurriedly, virtually running towards the road in front of the Hall.

She looked familiar to Aristo and he was still trying to place her when he noticed something far more urgent. The girl, not paying attention to where she was going, had walked directly into the path of an oncoming vehicle. He screamed and made to move towards the girl, but realised it was too late. He cringed as speeding metal met flesh and bone with a sickening thud.

* * *

Her mother had always said that children were not like a comb or a box of matches, so you could tell someone that sεbi, I misplaced your child but I have one at home, if you don’t mind let’s go and I’ll give it to you. No, children were special; one in a million, or 2.4 billion, if figures on world population were to be believed.

For Dela, this statement was especially significant. She was an only child. Her parents had been married 13 years before she’d been born. She didn’t know why, of all her mother’s favourite statements, her mind had drifted to that particular one. Perhaps it had something to do with the dream; but since she couldn’t recollect its details, she didn’t pursue that line of thought.

She had woken up feeling uncharacteristically exuberant. But underneath that feeling lurked something darker and more sinister – something she couldn’t quite describe. She felt it had something to do with the dream, but try as she did, she couldn’t remember what she’d dreamt about. So, in her rush to make it to her date on time, she’d thrust the dream to the back of her mind.

Dela wasn’t one to get too excited about anything – not even a guy. So the fact that she felt the way she did about Opoku was, in itself, a mystery. The amazing thing was that they were so different; for instance, Opoku just couldn’t stop talking, while she used words as if she had to pay for each one that left her lips. In fact, on one occasion, he had remarked that she was the quietest woman he knew. But then, as they say, opposites attract. And, my, were they attracted to each other!

She felt a twinge of guilt as her conscience reminded her that the guy she was thinking so tenderly of was another girl’s boyfriend. But she brushed the feeling off, rationalizing that technically Opoku and Kesiwaa were no longer in a relationship. In fact, that – among other things – was what she suspected Opoku was going to tell her in about two minutes – if he arrived on time.

As if on cue, Opoku entered the dining hall. Of above-average height and build, and dressed in the “uniform” of guys on campus – sneakers, jeans trousers and a T-shirt – Opoku was nothing if not handsome. And the effect was increased when he flashed his infectious smile; as, indeed, he did now in response to a greeting from an acquaintance. Needless to say, he was quite a popular guy.

Dela smiled shyly as Opoku sat opposite her. It was amazing; just by looking at her, he made her feel like a small volcano had erupted in her heart and, for the next five minutes, the molten lava burnt its path downwards until it settled in the pit of her stomach.

After they had exchanged pleasantries, Opoku launched into the reason why he had asked to meet her. Dela, tingling with anticipation, leaned forward so she could catch every word.

Five minutes later, she grabbed her hand bag and, evading Opoku’s grab, rushed out – almost colliding with someone. Her mind was in turmoil – leading her on? Having fun? Sorry? In love with his girl? Each word was a barb that pierced her heart.

Blinded with tears and half-walking, half-running, she didn’t see the car – didn’t even know she was in the road. It was the scream that made her turn around and, even then, seeing a car bearing down on her, her feeling was one of mild surprise.

At the moment of impact, the elusive dream came back to her. There were people, lots of people – her aunties and uncles, her cousins, her friends, her grandmother and her parents. Her mother was crying, clinging to her father. There was a box in front of them. A coffin. The face in it was hers.