Incompatible…
AARON ANSAH-AGYEMAN
INCOMPATIBLE
A ChrisEffe Thriller
CHAPTER 3
Chris loved Effe with all his heart and wanted to marry her as soon as possible, but she kept saying it was too soon; she needed them to work for a few years more, and sort out the disagreements between their families first.
Effe was an extremely beautiful lady, and Chris knew a lot of men wanted to make her theirs. She loved going out to parties and programmes and fun places. Chris, however, preferred a quiet life, and that was one area of incompatibility between them.
Chris had tried several times to keep his jealousies at bay, but to no avail. He loved her to bits, and could not stand her going around with other males although he knew perfectly well she indeed never got intimate with any of them.
She had promised him she would go to her wedding night a virgin, but it still did not assure him of his place in her heart.
Chris Bawa sighed and tossed in bed miserably, missing her so much and tortured by the fact that she was angry with him.
Finally, getting to the early parts of the dawn, he fell into a troubled sleep.
***
His father woke him up very early in the morning.
Brand Bawa had already taken his bath and dressed and prepared toast bread and Quaker Oats for his son.
Chris sat up and regarded his handsome father with raised eyebrows.
“Pops, where are you going to this early?” he asked gently. “Certainly not to the shop because you’re wearing your best suit.”
“Have you forgotten?” Brand Bawa asked as he knotted his tie. “It is the first Saturday of the third month, and your grandfather is having his family meeting. You should come with me this time, Chris, please.”
Chris sighed and regarded his father’s worried face.
“You know I hate what those people do to you, Pops,” he said quietly.
Brand’s kind eyes flashed with instant disapproval.
“Those people? Did you say those people?” he asked, displeased. “They’re your family, Chris! Your mother’s parents and her siblings and your cousins! They’re your family, my son, and I don’t like the way you’ve taken up arms against them!”
“Pops, they treat you bad!” Chris said, exasperated. “My grandparents have never accepted you simply because they were against your marriage to their daughter! Now, in the long run, that daughter left you and got herself another husband, the man they chose for her! Why? She did it so that grandfather would fund her political ambitions! And they didn’t care that you went through so much pain! Surely, Pops, you don’t expect me to forget that easily, do you?”
Chris turned away, and his father reached out desperately and held his arm.
“Son, remember I am a poor man!” he said tremulously. “I am a carpenter, and I’ve not been able to put up any inheritance for you, simply because I’m poor! Your grandfather has money, and you know that if we keep away from him he will follow up on his threats to cut you out of his Will.”
“To hell with his riches, Pops!” Chris cried passionately. “I will create my own wealth! I don’t need one pesewa of their money! Pops, I love you, and I’m not ashamed of you, and I respect the work that you do. If you’re going to his meeting because of his threat to cut me out of the inheritance, then forget it!”
Brand Bawa was hurt, but he took a step back bravely and looked at his young son.
“Get ready, son,” he said in a frosted voice. “You’re coming with me!”
***
The YEBOAH HEAVEN, as the name hugely depicted in the stone aperture above the golden gate proclaimed, was a beautiful place.
It was a huge piece of land on which Mr. Stan Yeboah, Chris’ grandfather, had built five stunning houses. It had a large cemented compound completed with a fitness gym, lawn tennis court, a lovely swimming pool and other little perks that bore testimony to the wealth of its owner.
There were two houses on the western wing, for his two daughters and their husbands, and two houses on the eastern wing, for his two sons and their wives.
The main house was on the northern wing, for Stan Yeboah and his wife Esther.
Behind the main house was the huge, air-conditioned conference centre where Stan Yeboah met his family every first Saturday of every third month, at nine o’clock in the morning.
Taxis were not allowed inside the gigantic house, and so Chris and his father alighted at the entrance of the gates and walked the rest of the way to the family conference room.
Many sleek cars were parked at vantage points on the estate, belonging to the members of the family.
The family was already seated for morning devotion when Chris and Brand Bawa entered. The conference room was air-conditioned. There was a gigantic rectangular glass-topped table around which were arranged stuffed chairs. At the head of the table sat Chris’ grandparents. They were both gracefully aged, and they were dressed in white clothing made from the same material.
Around the table were their children and their spouses, and other family members. Some of them did not live in the house, but no one ever wanted to miss the rich man’s family meetings. Everybody wanted to be in the good books of Stan Yeboah.
Other chairs were spread around the room for those who couldn’t get a place around the table. There was a huge glass-framed picture on the wall behind the grandparents, and it depicted them sitting on golden stools.
Around the walls were framed photographs of other members of the family.
Chris’ father walked forward and sat on one of the chairs, but Chris sat down on a chair near the main entrance, and there was no one around him. He noticed his mother sitting on the right side of his grandparents, and beside her was her new husband, Ato McBaiden. Their children were sitting next to them. One was a twenty-year-old girl called Suzzy, and an eighteen-year-old boy called Stephen.
There was another door to the right of the conference room that led to a huge dining room. Every time the meeting ended the whole family would retire to that room and have breakfast together.
Stan Yeboah was preaching when Chris and his father entered, and he looked up briefly to notice their entry, and then he resumed speaking. After his sermon, his elder daughter, Grace Yeboah, led a short prayer session, which was crowned by Chris’ mother giving an inspired prayer.
Chris sat through it all, reclining backward with his head leaning against the wall, barely participating in anything. When the prayer session was over, Stan Yeboah picked up a glass of water and drank to moisten his throat. He had a shock of grey hair, grey eyebrows, and nicely-trimmed grey beard and moustache.
He pulled a yellow folder towards him, opened it, and spoke.
“Now, let’s turn our attention to some of our family matters,” he said with a little smile. “First of all, to my great grand-daughter, Suzzy, who came out tops in a nationwide maths quiz. Congratulations, Suzzy! You’ve made the Yeboah name proud!”
There was a round of great applause from the family members, especially Ato McBaiden, who cast disdainful glances at Chris and his father as he applauded and hooted.
Stan Yeboah went through his list on the agenda, tackling achievements, problems and other plans, bent over his folder with his glasses perched on his nose.
Finally, he looked up, leaned back and removed his glasses.
“You all know my dearest daughter Lois is the sitting Member of Parliament of this Constituency,” he said with a proud smile. “Next year is an election year again. I’ve already approved two million Ghana Cedis into her Campaign Fund, and that figure will be increased as and when she needs more.”
There was rapturous applause again, and Lois stood up, preened and danced for a couple of minutes, and then she embraced and thanked her father.
When the furore died down, Stan Yeboah turned sudden cold eyes on Chris’ father.
“And now, to a matter that pains my heart,” he said into the microphone. “You all know that the Kedems have been great friends of the Yeboah family for a long time. I’ve watched with much pain as they engaged in this tedious court case over the plot of land near their house with Brand Bawa.
Now, Ken Kedem came to see me yesterday and we had a long chat. Well, enough is enough, and I want this nonsense stopped. I want the court case dropped, Brand, do you hear me? I will pay you twice the amount you paid for the land. At the next court hearing, I want you to concede and give the land to Ken Kedem. I will not allow you to continue worrying the Kedems anymore. Do you understand?”
His hard eyes drilled into Brand Bawa, and suddenly a sad expression crossed the face of Chris’ father, and tears gleamed in his eyes.
He looked so dejected that Chris felt the compassion rising heavily in his breast. The conference room was hushed into silence. Chris’ grandmother was staring balefully at Brand Bawa, her lips pressed tightly together with anger.
“Good,” Stan Yeboah said and licked his lips. “I’ll instruct my accountant to bring you the cheque later today, Brand. Now to –”
“He’s not selling the land,” Chris said and sat forward slowly.
There was an electric shock in the room.
No one ever dared interrupt Stan Yeboah or counteracted him when he spoke.
All eyes swung to Chris with sudden venom.
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