The Good Man
THE WRITER
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SAMUEL COBBY GRANT
THE GOOD MAN
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The Takoradi Market Circle is an amazing place, always bustling with activities. It’s dynamism is felt in the Metropolis as it is at the very center of the City
Six major roads lead to the Market. There’s the one that iead from the Police Post to the Mankessim White House, and on to the Accra station; another leads to the Sikafo Ambantem No. 1 and no. 2.
Another go through UTC and on to Harbour Area; another through to the Old Accra station and goes onwards to PTC Roundabout and another road leads to the Star Hotel area and on to The Cape Coast station. Since the Market Circle itself is a roundabout, it is easily accessible from every part of the Oil City.
Being at the Market at its peak is always a stressful but fascinating experience.
Life begins at the market as early as 3:00 a.m. and it eats late into the night, depending on what one is selling or trading in. Large trucks locally known as ‘wo at) nkyen’ are always seen offloading farm produce of various kinds at dawn much to the discomfort of taxi drivers who also fight for space at the area.
Six major roads lead to the Market. There’s the one that iead from the Police Post to the Mankessim White House, and on to the Accra station; another leads to the Sikafo Ambantem No. 1 and no. 2.
Another go through UTC and on to Harbour Area; another through to the Old Accra station and goes onwards to PTC Roundabout and another road leads to the Star Hotel area and on to The Cape Coast station. Since the Market Circle itself is a roundabout, it is easily accessible from every part of the Oil City.
Being at the Market at its peak is always a stressful but fascinating experience.
Life begins at the market as early as 3:00 a.m. and it eats late into the night, depending on what one is selling or trading in. Large trucks locally known as ‘wo at) nkyen’ are always seen offloading farm produce of various kinds at dawn much to the discomfort of taxi drivers who also fight for space at the area.
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The Police Post also had its fair share of issues emanating from the market… from petty thievery and breaking of market stall locks to traders fighting over selling spaces.
As farmers usually don’t go to their farms on Tuesdays, most of them brought their farm produce to sell instead of dealing with the cheating middlemen.
Ama Joan, a 22 year old Senior Secondary school graduate used to sell her gari in front of the Police Post. So did Aku who sold dzomi palm oil; Abena Tiiwa sold pepper, Mamaga Ethel sold okro, Abrefi sold palm nuts, Tessy sold aphrodisiac and Naakpe sold Alewa.
“I am praying that I sell everything today” Ama Joan said.
“What did you say?” Aku asked.
“Ohh nothing, I’m just wishing that I sell everything today. I can’t carry my gari back to Egauase,” Joan said.
“Yes o, but as for me, I make more sales when it rains. People remember my ‘dindini eduro’ when the weather becomes cold,” Tessy chiped in.
Joan kept quiet as she was the type of girl everyone liked instantly. She was the quiet type and selling gari was to enable her fund her education as she had dreams of entering the university to pursue her dream of becoming a graduate teacher.
In no time, they were all engrossed in selling, using all means to entice or attract buyers. Some cajoled, some begged, some fluttered their eyebrows sexily.
As farmers usually don’t go to their farms on Tuesdays, most of them brought their farm produce to sell instead of dealing with the cheating middlemen.
Ama Joan, a 22 year old Senior Secondary school graduate used to sell her gari in front of the Police Post. So did Aku who sold dzomi palm oil; Abena Tiiwa sold pepper, Mamaga Ethel sold okro, Abrefi sold palm nuts, Tessy sold aphrodisiac and Naakpe sold Alewa.
“I am praying that I sell everything today” Ama Joan said.
“What did you say?” Aku asked.
“Ohh nothing, I’m just wishing that I sell everything today. I can’t carry my gari back to Egauase,” Joan said.
“Yes o, but as for me, I make more sales when it rains. People remember my ‘dindini eduro’ when the weather becomes cold,” Tessy chiped in.
Joan kept quiet as she was the type of girl everyone liked instantly. She was the quiet type and selling gari was to enable her fund her education as she had dreams of entering the university to pursue her dream of becoming a graduate teacher.
In no time, they were all engrossed in selling, using all means to entice or attract buyers. Some cajoled, some begged, some fluttered their eyebrows sexily.
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Some do nothing but gossip while some get jealous when another makes sales… all in the midst of cacophony of noises.
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Kobina Ferguson, a 30 year old Manager of the Paradox Nite Club, was a worried man that Tuesday afternoon. He had sent Kwamena Nkuto, one of the cleaners of the Club to buy fufu and aponkye nkakra from U 84 at the Market Circle but after three hours he hadn’t returned; an errand that ought to have taken just 40 minutes to accomplish.
So he decided to go searching for him as he didn’t want to be blamed should anything bad happened to the chap.
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“How can you go in search of a grown man in this big city?” his friend DJ Mawuli asked, puzzled.
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“Don’t worry, it’s easier than searching for a little kid, and I know exactly how to go about it,” he told Mawuli.
And he set off to look for Nkuto.
He first went to the European Hospital but he wasn’t there; neither was he at the mortuary. He next went to the Harbour Police station but he wasn’t there either. Unperturbed, he went on to the Central Police Station and drew a blank, he then made his way to the Market Circle Police Post and lo and behold, he found Nkuto locked up at the cells.
The officer on duty explained to Kobina that Nkuto had defrauded someone and had been playing hide and seek with him but his victim saw him at the Market and when he attempted to run away, he was apprehended with the help of some law abiding citizens and sent to the police post.
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Kobina Ferguson, a 30 year old Manager of the Paradox Nite Club, was a worried man that Tuesday afternoon. He had sent Kwamena Nkuto, one of the cleaners of the Club to buy fufu and aponkye nkakra from U 84 at the Market Circle but after three hours he hadn’t returned; an errand that ought to have taken just 40 minutes to accomplish.
So he decided to go searching for him as he didn’t want to be blamed should anything bad happened to the chap.
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“How can you go in search of a grown man in this big city?” his friend DJ Mawuli asked, puzzled.
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“Don’t worry, it’s easier than searching for a little kid, and I know exactly how to go about it,” he told Mawuli.
And he set off to look for Nkuto.
He first went to the European Hospital but he wasn’t there; neither was he at the mortuary. He next went to the Harbour Police station but he wasn’t there either. Unperturbed, he went on to the Central Police Station and drew a blank, he then made his way to the Market Circle Police Post and lo and behold, he found Nkuto locked up at the cells.
The officer on duty explained to Kobina that Nkuto had defrauded someone and had been playing hide and seek with him but his victim saw him at the Market and when he attempted to run away, he was apprehended with the help of some law abiding citizens and sent to the police post.
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“What exactly did he do” Ferguson asked the kind police officer.
“He sold a faulty TV to a friend and later took it away for repairs but wasn’t seen again by the victim.”
“Eeeii, Nkuto, is that how you are?”
“Mr Ferguson it’s not my fault o, I sent it to the repairer but he said it was irreparable.”
“Then why didn’t you return his money to him?” Kobina asked Nkuto.
Kobina Ferguson had no option than to post bail for the cleaner after promising to call the complainant to settle things with him, otherwise the case was to be sent to court. He was also asked to report to the police station twice a week till the matter was disposed off.
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As they walked out of the place, Nkuto stumbled on a pavement block, and in trying to stay on his feet, he crashed into Aku’s small table, scattering all the bottles of dzomi to the ground, and breaking most of the bottles in the process.
Aku had by then fallen to the floor from the force of Kwamena Nkuto’s momentum. Compassionately, Kobina tried to help Aku up but Nkuto in trying to get up, slipped and crashed into Kobina Ferguson and he, unbalanced, crashed into the aluminium basin full of Ama Joan’s gari, scattering all of it to the ground.
“What exactly did he do” Ferguson asked the kind police officer.
“He sold a faulty TV to a friend and later took it away for repairs but wasn’t seen again by the victim.”
“Eeeii, Nkuto, is that how you are?”
“Mr Ferguson it’s not my fault o, I sent it to the repairer but he said it was irreparable.”
“Then why didn’t you return his money to him?” Kobina asked Nkuto.
Kobina Ferguson had no option than to post bail for the cleaner after promising to call the complainant to settle things with him, otherwise the case was to be sent to court. He was also asked to report to the police station twice a week till the matter was disposed off.
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As they walked out of the place, Nkuto stumbled on a pavement block, and in trying to stay on his feet, he crashed into Aku’s small table, scattering all the bottles of dzomi to the ground, and breaking most of the bottles in the process.
Aku had by then fallen to the floor from the force of Kwamena Nkuto’s momentum. Compassionately, Kobina tried to help Aku up but Nkuto in trying to get up, slipped and crashed into Kobina Ferguson and he, unbalanced, crashed into the aluminium basin full of Ama Joan’s gari, scattering all of it to the ground.
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“Now all we need is cooked beans,” Naakpe, the alewa seller said, causing laughter from bystanders
“As for you and your silly comments, one day erh,” Abena Tiiwa said.
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“Please ewuraba, have I called you?”
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“You can’t, you wouldn’t dare, all you can do is to sell Alewa.”
“I won’t even mind you. I don’t have your time,” Naakpe said angrily.
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Meanwhile, the market women and passers by were cheering and gossiping about the funny but serious situation. Both Nkuto and Ferguson had their attires smeared with gari and palm oil. But Joan who wasn’t touched by any of the palm oil, was the one crying ostensibly, by the loss of the gari.
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So Ferguson, feeling shy for being the centre of attention, asked for the full cost of both the gari and dzomi, promptly paid and left hurriedly with Nkuto.
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“How I wish I were near Aku with my Alewa.”
“Now all we need is cooked beans,” Naakpe, the alewa seller said, causing laughter from bystanders
“As for you and your silly comments, one day erh,” Abena Tiiwa said.
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“Please ewuraba, have I called you?”
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“You can’t, you wouldn’t dare, all you can do is to sell Alewa.”
“I won’t even mind you. I don’t have your time,” Naakpe said angrily.
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Meanwhile, the market women and passers by were cheering and gossiping about the funny but serious situation. Both Nkuto and Ferguson had their attires smeared with gari and palm oil. But Joan who wasn’t touched by any of the palm oil, was the one crying ostensibly, by the loss of the gari.
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So Ferguson, feeling shy for being the centre of attention, asked for the full cost of both the gari and dzomi, promptly paid and left hurriedly with Nkuto.
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“How I wish I were near Aku with my Alewa.”
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The Writer
Samuel Cobby Grant is the name, Trained in Electrical Installation (Intermediate) at Takoradi Polytechnic.
Works as a Security Supervisor in a Logistics Company.
A widower with two children.
A proud resident of Takoradi.
Love reading, swimming and now writing after completing the REWA Writing Course by The Klever Magg. He started with THE TRUCK DRIVER and THE BITTER ENEMY, and now brings his third story, THE GOOD MAN.
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