The Patriot

by Samuel Cobby Grant

EPISODE 9

Issah Musah was well fed by his captors.

They even served him with his favourite dishes but he refused to overindulge himself. He stuck to the Spartan fare he was accustomed to. He ate only the bread and just a cup of tea even when fried eggs and salads were added to his breakfast. His lunches were either emo tuo or ampesi and he ate just enough to keep himself going, and despite the large number of meat he was always served, he touched none of it. This was baffling to his captors as he wasn’t a vegetarian, but he did have the occasional boiled egg when served with it. He also refused outright to touch his suppers no matter how sumptuous or appetizing it was.

He tried as much as he could to exercise in the crappy bunk he was in.

He psyched himself up for the interrogation he knew was sure to come. It was something he knew, just that they were waiting for the right time.

He knew from the dossier he had on Klaus Kinski that the Germans were bent on being the world’s leaders once again, and were bent on removing Ghana as the most developed country in all spheres of fields, in commerce, finance and science.

He knew at once that it was game time when he was served with more than his usual portion of breakfast one morning. He didn’t touch it at all. He braced himself for what was coming, regretting the removal of the cyanide from his mouth which robbed him of the chance to take his own life when possible. He knew from the stillness and shape of the bunker in which he was that the submarine was a miniature one.

The interrogation commenced in a way he found boring. First, his hands and legs were tied up and the man who arrived to conduct the interrogation, though looked tough enough, was nervous.

“Please state your name, rank and age,” he said in a heavily accented voice.

“I am Issah Musah and you are Peter Schmidt, a Captain of the Bundiswehr, court marshalled for raping  prisoners under your care,” he shot back at his interrogator who with shock stared at him uncertain of what to do or say next.

“Are you married?” he asked, trying to regain control,

“Yes, I am married. You were married too but your wife disappeared after you suspected her of cheating on you with your brother,” he shot back reprimanding him.

“Shut your damn mouth,” Peter Schmidt screamed at him in fear and anger, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.

Klaus Kinski who obviously was listening to them from the adjoining room entered and glanced at his compatriot with disdain. It was quite clear that Issah had revealed a secret about Schmidt none of them knew about.

They left and another man entered three hours later to continue with the questioning.

“Ahh, Otto Labadia, the Butcher of Mainz,” Issah Musah said with a sneer.

Otto stared at him bleakly and lit a foul scented cigarette. He smoked, pulling on it deeply, saying nothing. He flicked the resultant hot ash unto the bare arm of Issah.

“Thanks. You are so kind,” he said sarcastically.

Otto smiled at him, revealing yellowish teeth. He pulled an ugly looking jack-knife from the side of his boots and began to slap it against his own palm creating a rhythm of some heinous nature as he walked around like a predator on the prowl.

“Hahaha. I am so scared that I am shaking.” Issah Musah said, taunting him, “Isn’t this the very knife you used in butchering the patrons of the nite club in Mainz?”

Otto said nothing though it was obvious that he was trying very hard to keep his composure.

“Otto, is this the same knife you used in torturing little cats  and dogs when you were a kid, or is this what you used to kill Kutz’s daughter when she refused to give you anal sex?”

“Shut up your stinking foul mouth,” Otto screamed at him and put the sharp pointed tip of the jackknife on the neck of the Ghanaian, his breathing shallow.

Issah Musah smiled crazily at Otto Schmidt and in a quick movement, which caught him unawares,  pushed his exposed neck against the knife injuring himself. Otto jumped back quickly, alarmed and the knife clattered to the ground as blood trickled down the man’s neck.

Shocked, he crouched down on the ground, his hands covering his ears and bawling hard in a pitiful manner, sputum rolling out of his open mouth.

Klaus Kinski rushed into the room and gave the crying man two heavy slaps that rocked his whole frame and pushed him out of the room.

***

On the day of the long-heralded demonstration, Kweku Olasty and his cohorts gathered at the Holy Gardens to start the planned demonstration. They were just a handful as most people, notably salaried workers, had pulled out due to the increase in the minimum wage and other considerations.

It went on nevertheless. With brass band music offering the needed boost, it went on smoothly but the looks of disgust and disdain and sometimes boos from observers and bystanders had a lot to say about their decision to embark on the demonstration. Still, they went ahead with it holding placards that to some, were so ridiculous that they left a sour taste in some mouths.

Some placards read;  ‘Bring Back Tro Tro’, ‘I miss Smelling Ampits’, ‘I miss Nima Borla’, ‘I miss Yesteryears’, ‘I miss Kasoa Traffic’, ‘I miss the Good Old Days’, and others.

The demo was truth be told, a total flop. It lacked vibrancy and it lacked reason. The Government of the day was doing exceedingly well and it was almost incomprehensible that anyone could dare cry for the times of misery and hardship.

For once, opposition politicians disassociated themselves from the demonstrators and its resultant press briefing.

With the abysmal show put up by Kweku Olasty’s group, the New Ghanaian Organization, sought to grasp the chance to make a name for themselves as they had more than enough funds to ensure that they maintained relevancy.

They made a lot of noise, and accusations flew in left, right and centre, with radio talk shows that sought to put immense pressure on the Government but it all seemed to be an exercise in futility. Nothing they did made any positive impression on discerning Ghanaians. But what they were able to do was to be at loggerheads with Olasty’s group with them accusing each other of being in cahoots with the Government. It got so bad that they clashed several times on their weekend’s keep fit exercises and on breakfast shows. The resources given to them to ensure proper governance was used to fight each other in courts and on shows.

***

David Muller was in love. He was so much in love with Ataa Adjoa that he was prepared to go to all lengths to keep her to himself.

After that night of frenzy lovemaking, and her admitting to him that she found him sexually attractive, he had spared himself no time to always be by her side.

He knew quite well that his country was in a sort of cold war with hers, and also he, beinga member of the diplomatic community needed to tread carefully, especially, with the fact that she worked at the highest office on the land but he didn’t give a damn.

He recollected about when he had impulsively gathered her up in his arms that wonderful night, and she had wrapped her arms around his neck and had drawn up her face to him for a kiss, he knew that he was in for a wonderful night. And what a wonderful night it was. For the first time in his life, he had found a woman who desired him as much as he desired her. Even in all their orgasms that night, they had had it at the same time and when after they succumbed to exhaustion and she was sleeping in his arms,  her velvety skin alone was enough to keep him desirous of her. Her moans were like an aphrodisiac for him. Her dreamy eyes were just enough to make him yearn for her touch, and even the way she stretched her unclad body was enough to get him up and ready. He believed she was as much into him as he was into her.

“Now that you have gotten what you have been yearning for, what is going to be of me?” she had asked half-joking

He hadn’t answered. He just kissed her deeply and that alone explained his honourable intentions towards her.

She looked at him long and hard, her gaze never wavering.

“I am going to keep you for the long haul,” he said then.

“Then you will have to cut away the extra skin on your manhood,” she had said and laughed

“The extra skin tickles you more, am sure,” he said and winked at her. She threw a pillow at him and he grabbed her, which resulted in another round of explosive sex.

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