The Jailbird Episode 9 and 10

by Aaron Ansah-Agyeman

Chris sits down and quickly signs the spaces Joshua points out to him. Effe feels the emotions building up uncontrollably within her as Chris’ hand flies over the sheets as he appends his signature quickly. This is it then, finally. He is signing the divorce papers, cutting off the ties, and collapsing the bonds of their marriage. She has signed her portion with anger and resolute determination five years previously.

But now, watching him and realizing that it is all over between them, she is filled with a pain she has not expected. She notices that as he signs the final page his hand shakes, and his jaws are clenched tightly.

She knows these signs because she knows him that well. It tells her that he is greatly in pain, and as he puts the pen down and stands up, a single teardrop from his eye splatters on the divorce papers. Effe almost gasps with the acute pain she feels, because that teardrop reminded her uncannily of a wax seal, indicating that finally, the ties are severed completely.

He turns away from her as he throws up his head sharply in an attempt to stop his tears from spilling down his face. Effe is not so lucky; although her lips are solidly shut, her tears slowly roll down her face. Seeing him in torment still has the ability to bring out the strongest emotions from her untrustworthy heart.

Chris heads for the door without a word. Joshua speaks then, his voice calm.

“Listen, Chris. There’s the question of alimony to address. Seeing you’re currently unemployed, you’re entitled to a little money from Effe.”

Chris pauses at the door and speaks without turning.

“I don’t want anything from her,” he says coldly.

He opens the door, and Effe moves suddenly and touches his arm. He flinches sharply from her, as if her hands are burning coals, and for a moment as he looks at her, she sees a dislike so strong, a hatred so putrid, that she freezes with complete shock.

“I don’t want us to be enemies, Chris, please. You know I tried, and gave you my all, my soul and my very breath. You hurt me as I’ve never been hurt before, and you gave me love as I’ve never been loved before…and you’re the father of my son. I don’t want hatred between us.”

Slowly the hatred fades from the depths of his eyes, and what creeps into his eyes is the little-boy-lost expression she knows so well, and which mostly had been cured, in the past, by holding his hand and leading him to bed, holding him gently and speaking tenderly to him as she made sweet love to him.

“My things. My clothes. If they’re still in the house, I’m going to need them,” he says softly. Effe hesitates, and for a tick, she wishes he has not asked her that, of all things. She wishes she does not have to answer him. She wishes there was a way to minimise the pain because she knows her answer will deeply hurt him.

“I packed them, Chris, everything that belonged to you, and I took them to your new house at Haatso.”

“I see. The new house I built. You knew I was jailed for ten years and you took my stuff to an unoccupied house?  That’s quite a statement, Effe, quite a statement.”

She reaches out blindly to take his hand, but he takes a step back from her. She hesitates for an instant and slowly drops her hand.

“I’m sorry, Chris, but you must understand that I was furious and very hurt then. I was shattered by your betrayal, Chris, and I reacted with that pain.” 

“Okay. At least you didn’t dump them outside. And the house, you still have the keys?”

Effe hangs her head and takes a deep breath. Once again, she wishes she can spare him the pain, and resents the sudden feeling of acute guilt assailing her.

He is making her feel like a heartless bitter wife, and she hates that so much. He just cannot absolve himself from blame. He has to understand how it is for her, the bitterness she had had to endure. She speaks harshly with tears in her eyes.

“Oh for God’s sake, Chris! Stop judging me! How do you think I felt dealing with so many of your atrocities at the same time? You raped my best friend, someone I considered a sister! You beat a poor old man almost to the point of death! You sniffed your damn cocaine and almost killed an innocent little girl when you hit her with your car! She lost a leg, Chris! I was at the crest of my career, making a name for myself in a prestigious law firm! And suddenly my name is all over television, the wife of the crazy GojuFist coach! My career suffered, my life suffered, your son suffered! Do you think it was a bed of roses for me, damn you?”

Chris stares at her without moving. He just nods and runs a hand through his hair.

“I just asked for the keys to my house, Effe. I have nowhere else to go.”

She wraps her hands around her upper arms and takes a deep shuddering breath.

Yes, the keys to his house, a house he had built with every cedi he had earned as a coach for the professionals of the deadly kickboxing sport known as GojuFist.

He had built it for them, and just when it was completed life had taken a cruel twist, and he had been arrested. Out of pain she had taken all his stuff to that house, locked it up, and given the keys to Chris’ father.

Oh, how she has come to regret that single act! Oh, how she wishes she wasn’t the one to give him the terrible news. His words reverberate in her head over and over again!

I have nowhere else to go, I have nowhere else to go!

How can she tell him about what his father had done when he got the keys and documents to the house? How can she continue to hurt this boy who is suddenly out of prison and facing the hatred of a lot of people?

“I gave the keys to your father, Chris,” she murmurs finally.

He just looks at her for almost a full minute. He tries to speak, but no sound comes out again. He silently walks out of the door and shuts it behind him. Effe stares at the closed door with a sharp pain in her heart. She puts a hand to her lips and sinks helplessly into a chair. She makes no sound as her tears fall hard, and her shoulders shake.

“It’s okay, Effe, my sweet. It’s okay. It’s over now. He signed the papers. It’s over now,” Joshua says kindly.

Allan Davidson shakes his head sadly and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand as if he has tears in them.

“Is it really over, Josh? Divorces are always nasty. Remember, matters of the heart are always a bitch…sorry for my language, madam,” Allan Davidson says, obviously flustered.

The watch he bought as a birthday gift for his son cost one hundred and fifty cedis, and the taxi driver to Effe’s house took twenty cedis, all paid from the money Rev. Jon Fii gave him. Chris, therefore, has exactly thirty cedis in his pocket. , therefore,

Chris feels very hungry when he walks out of the police station. He has not eaten since leaving prison, and the rumblings in his stomach are now almost impossible to ignore.

He crosses the street and walks along with a heavy heart until he sees a Hausa koko stand. It is a local porridge made with millet, and it goes with fried millet puff loaves. It is a delicious and nutritious meal. 

Chris sits down on the wooden bench and buys three cedis worth of the porridge and puff loaves. He eats slowly and afterwards buys a bottle of mineral water. He joins a commercial bus called tro-tro, and by the time he reaches Haatso, a suburb of Accra where he has his building, he has twenty-three cedis on him.

From the roadside to his house is quite a distance, but he walks. He enjoys the walk and the feel of the free air on his face. He drinks in the clean air and enjoys every step of his long walk.

Life in prison had been a matter of sheer survival. Chief Inspector Dan Curtis ensured that his stay was fraught with danger and pain…yes, a cruel life in prison had been his bane.

This is his first free walk in a while, and the air of freedom is his constant companion and lends a spring to his steps. He is alive, and that is the most important thing now. He remembers a sermon Jon Fii preached once in prison, titled Dom Spiro, Spero. Jon told them the Latin phrase means ‘once I breathe, I hope.’ Chris is breathing now. Life is upside down currently because, without Effe and Junior, life is not worth living. But as long as he is breathing, there is hope for the future.

Finally, he gets to his house. It is a beautiful building. He had wanted his wife and child to have the best, and he had put every cedi he earned from coaching into it. It is a flat house, but it is huge, built with intricate state-of-the-art design and materials.

He stands in front of the house and admires its upper terraces which are visible above the walls. He frowns suddenly when the gate vibrates, and then it slides sideways gently on electronic rails. A dog inside the house lets out a series of furious barking the moment the gate begins to move.

There is a fat, short man in an expensively-cut suit just beyond the gate. His huge, round head is bald, and he is spotting a huge grey moustache. The dog is making a lot of noise now, drawn by Chris’ unknown scent, no doubt. A vaguely familiar middle-aged woman appears behind the fat man, and she walks toward a sleek Toyota V8 Landcruiser parked in the yard.

A fat teenage girl also hops excitedly towards the car and opens its back door. The fat man is startled to see Chris standing just beyond the gate, and he raises his eyebrows with an unsmiling face.

“Hello? Can I help you?” he asks coldly.

Chris looks at him coldly and with a little incomprehension on his handsome face.

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was occupied,” he says calmly.

The fat man frowns darkly with sudden suspicion.

“Didn’t know it was occupied? What’s that supposed to mean, young man?” he asks in a voice filled with a million accusations.

Before Chris can reply, the woman, obviously the man’s wife, comes to stand beside her husband, her face extremely shocked.

“My God! It’s you really!” she says hoarsely.

The man turns toward his wife with eyebrows raised.

“You know him, sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes. He’s pastor’s youngest son,” she replies, still with that shocked, dazed look on her face. Her words shake up the man, and a startled expression comes to his face.

“Pastor Bawa’s last son?” he asks.

“Yes, dear,” his wife replies.

“His last son? Are you sure, dear? Didn’t I hear he’s in prison?”

The woman digs an elbow into her husband’s side gently to shut him up, and she smiles at Chris, but it is obviously a false smile; her eyes look scared as she continues to gaze at Chris Bawa.

“Chris Bawa, right?” she asks in a small, uneasy voice.

Chris nods without speaking, and the woman laughs shakily.

“Well, I’m Sandra Bediako. This is my husband, Fred. We’re members of your father’s church.”

Chris feels a sudden pain rising up somewhere deep in his chest.  He feels apprehensive suddenly about what is unfolding; he is certain that the news he will receive won’t be pleasant.

“Glad to make your acquaintance. Are you renting the house?” he asks softly, and the fat man gives a hard, angry chuckle.

“Renting? What in the name of hades is that? Look here –”

His wife digs an elbow into his side again, this time a little bit harder, and the man gulps with a little pain, looking at his wife with bitter eyes.

“Cool down, darling,” the woman says with a tight smile. “Actually, Chris owned the house, you remember, don’t you?”

Mr. Bediako glares at Chris for a moment, and then his expression softens a little as the truth slowly dawns on him.

“Look, son, I understand your discomfiture,” he says brusquely. “Well, let me elucidate you, and bring you up to scratch because I can see you’re obviously distraught. Yes, I heard you were in prison, quite unfortunate, quite unfortunate, really. But the truth of the matter is that your father sold this house to me four years ago.”

It hits Chris hard.

For a tick, his legs go weak and he has to steel himself to stay upright on his feet. His breath comes in short wheezes, and he fights hard for control. He stares at them with impotent rage and desperate despair. This is his home, his house, built with his sweat, with every cedi he earned.

Sold! By his own father!

Mrs. Bediako and her husband exchange looks; they look worried.

“I’m very sorry, Chris. But yes, that’s what happened. You can pick up the issue with your father if you want,” the woman says with a tinge of unease in her voice.

Chris breathes hard as he fights for control.

“I see. You’re right, it’s my father I have to confront over this, not you. But, my clothes and other stuff were put in there. At least, that’s what my wife told me. Would you happen to know what happened to them?” he asks tightly.

Once again, they exchange looks, and Chris sees sudden fear on their faces.

The dog in the house lets out a series of deafening barks.

“Susan, shut up that mad dog!” the man shouts over his shoulders.

The plump girl gets out of the car and races out of sight. The woman looks at Chris with a worried expression and speaks in a rush.

“Well, yes, Chris, there were stuff in there, yes. However, two days before we moved in, your Dad brought everything out of the house and put them outside!”

“Gee, sweetheart! Is it necessary to tell him all that?” her husband asks with real discomfiture.

“Yes, honey. He deserves to know,” the woman answers with a rush of adrenaline as her gossipy tongue gets the better of her fear. “The people around came for your things, Chris, when your father dumped them outside. Maybe, he felt you would need new things by the time you came back.”

This time Chris lowers his head. His house is gone, along with all his possessions!

His wife and son are gone. He is free of prison, but he has just entered a more terrible prison and the worst kind of hell. His heart beats with a pain so terrible that he feels faint for a moment.

Wordlessly, he turns from them and walks away, and they watch him go with guilty expressions on their faces.

“Poor boy!” the woman says sadly.

Her husband looks sharply at her.

“Poor boy? According to what I heard, he was quite a little devil, dear!”

“Yes, that’s true. But you must admit he might be deeply shattered by the realization that his own father sold his house and dumped his stuff outside for people to pillage, dear.”

“Frankly, I don’t give two hoots about him. Come, we’re running late for the program. Let’s get out of here,” her husband says.

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