Kofi Anan

Bosommuru Kofi Anan
Dammirifua due,
Due, due, due
Due ne amanehunu

Yɛwɔ barima, ɛnna yɛwɔ barima
Tweaduampɔn kyɛɛ yɛn Kofi
Ɔde no kyɛɛ yɛn no nso,
Kofi ammɔ yɛn aborɔ
Kofi Kyini de ne nyansa ne nimdeɛ
Kyinkyinii amanhodoɔ so
Pataa ntɔkwa brane a, mmarima
Akantinanwam mpo suro sɛ wɔbɛkɔ ho.
Mente -me-ho ase ne atirimka,
Menasepɔ ne anantitwitwa
Wati-me ne waka me
Ɔtan ne nitan
Sɛ Anan duru hɔ pɛ,
Na ne nyinaa anane.
Barima bɛyɛɛ bi
Na wammɛyɛ ne nyinaa
Kofi due
Anan due
Bosommuru due
Due ne amanehunu.

The girl I never had Pt 23

The headmaster sat in his big chair with five teachers squeezed into the too-small office. The air felt like a cooking pot; everyone was sweating, JK included. He was soaked through and crying like I’d never seen before. Truthfully, seeing that ugly face tear up made me wince — pitiful, but satisfying after what he’d done to me.

There were no chairs for everyone, so I stood with the senior boys’ prefect. I didn’t enjoy being there. The memory of my last trip to that room rolled across my mind like an old film.

“Are you the senior on duty?” the headmaster asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re in JK’s class. Tell me what you know about the theft.”

I swallowed. “Erm, sir—I didn’t see him take it. I was outside with the juniors and only came back when class started. It was during the lesson that the girl said her purse was missing, and later the purse was found in JK’s bag.”

“Do you think he stole it?” the headmaster pressed.

“Sir—well, I don’t know. People steal when times are hard. He could’ve.” I kept my answer vague. He stared for a beat, then dismissed me.

I stayed just outside the door to listen. From inside I heard the headmaster lash out at JK. I stood there, enjoying the sound a little too much, until a teacher’s voice called my name and I ran back to class.

By the time I got there, everyone crowded around me, hungry for details. I told the story, stretching the part about the caning a bit for effect. My mates vowed to make JK pay. The headmaster then walked into our classroom, flanked by the teacher from earlier and JK himself.

“Stay calm,” he told us. “We must finish our investigation.” He warned us not to jeer or call names—any conclusion would wait until the facts were in. I hated it. Why give JK the benefit of the doubt? If it were anyone else—would he be so patient?

The headmaster told JK to sit. He left the class, and tension broke loose. EK shouted, “How can we sit with a thief?” Support rose around him. JK couldn’t stand the insults; he rose and left, weeping.

“Now!” I hissed at my friends. “Teach him a lesson.” They ran out. I was about to follow when someone grabbed my shirt.

“Leave go,” I snapped.

“If you go out, I’ll let the cat out of the bag,” a girl hissed into my ear.

Her words hit me like ice. Had she seen the purse move? Was she the one who planted it? I sat down hard, fear cold in my gut.

The girl I never had Pt 22

Silence fell like a curtain. Nobody could believe JK had a girl’s purse in his bag. The teacher stared at him, stunned. JK screamed and protested at the top of his lungs, denying it all—but when I remembered the lies he spread about me (and the hospital bed), pity evaporated. He’d pushed me too far. Let him taste the fire I’d been saving.

The teacher grabbed JK’s shorts and marched him off to the headmaster’s office. I watched my partners’ faces. Relief flooded them. I shouldn’t have felt relief. I was still shaking from the morning’s inspection—still trying to work out who had moved the purse from under my desk into JK’s bag. I wanted to ask, but the classroom wasn’t the place, so I kept quiet until the break bell.

At break, I cornered the boys. “Which one of you put the purse in JK’s bag?” I asked.

Frank looked at me straight. “How did you do it?” he asked, voice small with suspicion.

“I didn’t,” I said. MA and EK echoed him emphatically: they hadn’t done it either. I wanted to believe them. If none of us had, then who had planted it?

Before we could untangle that knot, the bell rang and we went back in. JK still hadn’t come back from the headmaster. Word of the theft had spread like oil on water — by the time class resumed, the whole school was buzzing. Most teachers trooped to the headmaster’s office, and our classroom turned into a tribunal with JK as the main topic.

People chose sides fast. Some defended him; others accused. One girl swore she’d seen JK take the purse. The way rumours bloom in a small town is beautiful and dangerous all at once.

Then the senior boys’ prefect pushed into the room. Everyone fell silent. He pointed at me. “KD, come with me,” he said.

Not again, I thought. What now? Had someone named me as an accomplice? Or had whoever moved the purse into JK’s bag been seen?

We walked to the headmaster’s office and knocked. When we went in, JK was on his knees, hands up, eyes raw from crying. The sight hit all the air out of me. This was no longer a trick played in whispers. It had become a public unmasking.

THE GIRL I NEVERHAD, PART 21

When the girl announced her purse — money and all — missing, the whole class erupted. Voices rose, fingers pointed, and everyone suddenly remembered nothing. My friends joined the chorus of shock and denial. I stayed silent, drenched in sweat even though the classroom felt cool.

The teacher stood at the front and studied our faces like he was trying to read a map. Finally, he spoke. “If anyone took the purse, or saw someone take it, speak now. Confess and you’ll face no punishment. If I find out later you lied, the punishment will be severe.”

His words sent ice down my spine. I was trembling. Frank noticed me and tried to calm me with a look. He had no idea. If he’d stood in my shoes for even three seconds, he’d have crumpled. The purse lay hidden under my desk; my hand would not go near it. I’d never felt so trapped.

The search began. Pockets, bags, shoes—everywhere. My mind raced through desperate, stupid plans: slip the purse into my pocket, beg to be excused, drop it outside. No teacher would grant that. Throw it to another desk? I wasn’t Superman. The teacher was getting closer.

My legs felt unmanned. I almost wet myself. The teacher searched Frank thoroughly—nothing. Then he pointed at me. “Stand up.”

I rose, hands up like a criminal. He searched me, then my bag. Nothing. I breathed—briefly. “Not so fast,” he said. “Under your desk, too.”

My heart lurched. This was it. The trap was closing. I had built the trap; now I was about to be eaten by it. I decided to do the only brave thing left: confess.

“Erm, please sir—” I started.

“Stop wasting my time!” he barked.

He checked under my desk. Nothing. I stared at the empty floor, numb. The teacher told me to sit. JK would be the last to be searched.

He took JK’s bag, rifled through it—and then froze. He held up the purse. The class went silent as if someone had pressed pause on the world. How did the purse end up in JK’s bag?

I felt the air leave my lungs.

The girl I never had Pt 20

“You can’t use bare feet to search for thorns you saw in daylight.” I knew going back to Lucy’s house that evening would be risky, so I stayed away. Life’s cheap thrills weren’t worth a coffin. I went to church and prayed—about our plan, about Lucy, and even about that mischievous JK.

Afterwards I swung by Frank’s place to remind him we still had to execute the revenge. The sermon about forgiveness did not change my mind. I was still set on action. Loving Lucy didn’t make me less dangerous; if anything, it made me more determined. As the elders say, if you lie on the floor and beg people to walk over you, some will still say you’re not lying flat enough.

At 7:00 p.m. under the mango tree we—THE MEGA BRAINS—held our meeting. I sat in the leader’s chair while the others stood. We agreed to strike on Monday. If everything went well, JK would at least earn a week’s suspension. We broke, I walked them partway home, and then came back to polish the plan in my head.

Monday came. I was at the gate before it opened—a senior on duty, giving me the perfect view of the playground. EK and MA arrived; Frank showed up as our lookout. Everything had to be surgical.

When class started our target walked in. MA struck first: he made small talk and led her out of the room. EK moved in, grabbed her bag, rifled through it and pulled out her purse. He handed it to me like we were passing a baton. Frank kept watch at the gate.

Half the job was done. The hard part was still ahead: slipping that purse into JK’s bag before the girl discovered it.

IK (it’s JK, not IK—just keeping naming consistent) showed up late—unusual for him—and my chest started to tighten. The teacher began the lesson, and I sat with the purse hidden under my desk. Every minute felt like a drumbeat. What if she noticed? What if she screamed? What if a search started and my palms gave me away?

I kept stealing glances at her. Her face suddenly changed; the colour dropped out of it like someone had punched the air from her lungs. She started to cry. My mouth went dry. The teacher paused and asked what was wrong.

“She said her money’s been stolen,” the girl managed through tears.

The classroom froze.

THE GIRL I NEVER HAD PART 25

I was shocked when she suggested it. It felt like being asked to lance a boil between a woman’s thighs without her husband around — dangerous, painful, and downright wrong. A kiss? Behind a toilet? How could I? I told her flatly I wouldn’t do it.

She pouted, spun around, and started walking away. I panicked. With everything she knew about me, letting her slip off like that would be suicide. I grabbed her hand and pulled her back. For a second, my lips wanted to betray me, but I stopped. Sense kicked in. What nonsense was this? Kissing behind a toilet? Was I born for disgrace?

I cleared my throat and told her instead, “Let’s meet in the evening. We can talk… and maybe kiss.”

“Meet you where? I don’t have time, please. What will I tell my parents? That I need permission to go and kiss my classmate?” she shot back.

Her sarcasm nearly killed me with laughter, but I swallowed it and gave her a place and time. She promised she’d show up. We parted ways, though I knew deep down she was dragging me into another trap.

Back in class, my friends had left. I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed home, drowning in questions.

“All because of a girl — Lucy. Is she even worth this headache? Is this love, or lust, or just infatuation wearing church shoes? How do I escape this dirty game without ruining my reputation? Or is it that I don’t even understand love at all?”

The questions circled like mosquitoes around my ears, but no answers came.

By the time I got home, I was drained. I showered, ate, and collapsed on my bed. Sleep came quickly, but guilt came quicker. I remembered the promise I’d made to Lucy’s mum — to find out the guy Lucy was dating. I had even promised to visit her on Sunday. But Sunday came, and I didn’t. I sighed. Maybe instead of sneaking to meet my new “CID partner,” I should go make things right with Lucy’s mum. That thought rocked me to sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, it was 9:35 p.m. My heart sank. I had planned to meet her at 8:00. I was one hour and thirty-five minutes late. Could she still be waiting? I needed to find out.

I slipped into fresh clothes and tiptoed to the living room, but the door was locked. Mum had the keys. Worse, she was in her room. If she wasn’t asleep, my mission was dead on arrival. I searched everywhere like a burglar in my own house, but the keys had vanished. Defeated, I dragged myself back to bed.

The next morning, I overslept again but rushed to school. As a senior on duty, I needed to be there early to supervise the juniors. The first face I saw at the gate nearly froze me: my CID partner. She had been waiting.

The moment her eyes caught mine, her face turned into thunder. Trouble had come. I frowned too, out of defence, and brushed past her.

“Eh KD, didn’t you see me?” she snapped.

“Do I have business with you?” I shot back, pretending I was late for a UN summit.

She tilted her head, smirk sharp as a knife. “Maybe not with me. But you have business with a woman. She’s been here thirty minutes… waiting for you.”

A woman? My heart thudded. Which woman?

THE GIRL I NEVER HAD, PART 19

I was guided by a quote that evening: “Never go to bed angry. Stay awake and plot your revenge!” And that’s exactly what I planned to do. JK needed to know where power lay. I was furious, but I forced myself to stay calm. I didn’t want a repeat of what happened the last time I let anger lead me into trouble.

By then, my mum had returned from the funeral. She wanted to know how my day went. I was so tempted to confess everything—to pour out the mess I had dropped myself into. But I stopped. She already had her share of problems. Why add mine to her burden? So when she asked, I said, “It was fine.” She looked at me for a long time, clearly not convinced, but I stuck to my lie.

Later in my room, I picked up the envelope that had fallen from JK’s pocket. Curiosity was boiling in me. I tried to open it, but the guilt hit me—what if it was private? It felt wrong. I tossed it beside my pillow and tried to sleep.

At exactly 3:00 a.m., I woke up. My sleep had vanished, stolen by invisible hands. The envelope was still lying there, staring at me like it was daring me to open it. Before I could change my mind, I tore it open.

Inside was a neatly folded white sheet of paper. A sweet perfume oozed out as I unfolded it. A love letter.

But for whom?

I placed it on the bed, stepped out to urinate, then returned and finally sat down to read it. I know you’re dying to see the whole thing, but I’ll spare you the mushy parts. Let me just share the line that burned me the most:

“I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for you, looking at how stubborn KD is. Please, my love, give me some time to deal with KD, after which we can continue enjoying our love. Hey, please stop getting so emotionally attached to my sister. She is not the target, but KD. I have my eyes on you. If you make any wrong move, I will spill the beans. Take care, my sweetheart, and I hope to see you at our usual place. Love you. Bye.”

My head spun. Trouble was looming, and I was right in the middle of it. I had been caged in a dirty conspiracy, and their target was me. But why? What “beans” was she threatening to spill if JK slipped? What was really going on?

At 6:00 a.m., I bathed, ironed my shirt, and polished my shoes. My mum was shocked to see me so ready for church that early. I explained I’d pass by Frank’s place first before heading to church. She gave me money, and I set off.

I got to Frank’s house, but he had been sent on an errand by his mum. With nothing else to do, I continued to church. On the way, I met Lucy’s mum in her posh car. She said she had just returned from Accra and invited me over to her house that evening.

I accepted. Maybe this was my chance to show her the letter. But a chilling thought crossed my mind: what if I told her the truth and she put me under house arrest too?