I wake up from meditation around 9 am today only to see 28 missed calls on my yam and 32 missed calls on my android phone. That’s 60 missed calls in all, brothers and sisters. Of course, I get terribly worried.

I check, and all the 60 missed calls are from one person: Kwame Darko.

My mind begins to wander to the various emergency scenarios that would warrant such persistent buzzing of my phone – Had he forced his girlfriend to do an abortion that was making the girl bleed badly? No, that boy is as single as the number 1. Had he slipped and broken a bone in the bathroom? Surely, his roommates must be around to help with that. Or he was being kidnapped? This one made me laugh.

Kumasi criminals CANNOT kidnap a live human being. Maybe a corpse, fine, but a live man? No. I know what I’m talking about.

One Kumasi robber met me one night and said I should either give him money or he takes my life. I told him that I had given my life to Christ so I couldn’t give him my life. I also told him boldly that I didn’t have any money on me because I had used my last 2 cedis to buy oranges and bananas. Can you believe this robber took the fruits? And ran away with them? Imagine that: a gun-wielding robber running away with fruits. Lmao! Jon niggas. How can fruit-robbing criminals kidnap a live, breathing human being? Lmao! Now, back to the case.

So I call Kwame.

Me: Hey, you alright? Saw your missed calls. What’s wrong?

Kwame: Yeah, I wanted to ask whether the waakye seller opposite your hostel had come. And whether she had wélé.

So this boy called me 60 times and gave me a high BP just to ask about waakye? And wélé? W.A.A.K.Y.E.? W.É.L.É.?

I give up on humanity.


Photo credit: @aftradvillagekitchen

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