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The time was 7.15pm – Dutch time. I had finished my bath. It was long, and steamy. I did that when I wanted to wake every organ in my body. I needed everybody on board if I was going to have a bloody good time!
I took my time with my make up. Earlier on I had gone to the shops and bought some fresh clothes. A sexy little number. I wore my favorite strappy Kurt Geiger shoes, dabbed my channel chance at my favorite secret places. I winked at myself in the mirror. I looked beautiful even if I said so myself. Thelma, the river goddess!
He picked me up at 8.30 on the dot. That’s what you learn when you hang with these Europeans. They are time conscious, not like my brothers and sisters back home in the land of Africa. By the way just incase you hadn’t been confronted with the truth yet, to the typical outsider and I say ‘outsider’ to mean all those folks who haven’t bothered to leave the comfort of their continent and check us out, the outsiders think we all live in one big house. Nigerians, Kenyans, Ghanaians, Ugandan’s… except for the South Africans of course. Even they don’t consider themselves a part of that household; lets just say they live in the next house? Okay.
We had driven a few streets down from my hotel when Aalt stopped around a bend. He flashed his perfect twenty-two at me and jumped out. He was going to be right back. I stayed back, locked the car and quickly checked if my phone had full network service. I heard in the news a few days ago that a girl was abducted from outside a nightclub in Spain and had never been seen again. The authorities were almost certain it was human trafficking.
I stared at myself in the mirror. If they took me I’ll never stop crying. I mean what was I really good at except the missionary style. Don’t get me wrong I could wriggle and do the doggy and those acrobatics if it came to it but I’m also quite hopeless at it. In fact I had decided a long time ago that I had a defect of the wriggle.
In secondary school I had asked my best friend to teach me how to do it, when the house mistress walked in on us and paraded us in front of the entire school as ‘supis’ I was mortified. It took the urge off of course. So I was all about ‘booby show’. I’d pull one out to compensate for the wriggle. I didn’t have sex until I was in my twenties and the dude was too excited to notice I was on my back the entire event. I am sure he would have cared less if I were asleep.
The noble wolf returned holding an envelope. He sat and looked at me. He had a sexy way about him.
‘Do you smoke?’ he asked in a rather husky voice.
That’s when I smelt it. The unmistakable whiff of ‘ganja’
First time I had one of those I was among good friends and I mean ‘good’ in the sense that these were five girls who had each other’s back. It happened in my tiny apartment, somewhere in East Legon. We had spent Friday night ‘man bashing’. One of the male creatures had tossed my friend away like a penny with a hole in it. As usual we were all grieving with her. We drank several bottles of wine and ate carrot cake. My next-door neighbor was fond of baking silly things; she was a stay at home mum. I hadn’t bothered to open any of the foiled gifts she had sent over until the night of the funeral. My friends and I sang her praises whiles we gobbled down carrot cake and cheap red wine.
Sometime around midnight one brave guy stopped by and brought us ‘weed’. My friends got right into it. I was afraid. My mum always warned me that I’d go mad if I ever tried drugs. She put the fear of insanity in me. But like the good friend I was I had to render support that night. Men were evil; I had to help smoke them out. After a few encouraging puffs from my friends I felt light, weightless and happy. I instantly had a craving for peanut butter and bread. My friend asked me if groundnuts and bread will do, that cracked me up. I couldn’t stop laughing. Our funeral suddenly turned into a party. We danced the night away with Amakye Dede singing ‘ Iron Boy’
‘Yes of course I smoke’ I told Aalt happily.
We joined some friends of his at a party behind some garage on a rooftop by the sea. Breezy, weightless and peanutty; I was in seventh heaven. We danced, sang on top of our voices and told wild stories from back home. Two of the group was from the Caribbean; they were feeling very much at home. They had more of the stuff, in fact they traded in it and so did Aalt apparently. The stuff he had was from Ghana, authentic African herbs he called it. I wondered how he got it across, I made a mental note to ask him but by 2am, I was ready to be traded too. Food, good music, authentic African herbs, great company, Aalt was an amazing guy. I remembered his teeth too much though; I was a sucker for great dental work.
We headed back to my hotel around 3 am. Inside we fondled, smoked more weed on the balcony, kissed more… I had decided I wasn’t going all the way. Things were picking up with an old flame back in Ghana, I didn’t want to jinx it by having a one night stand with noble wolf but kiss we did and then some. We dry humped each other till my dress started to tear and boy did I wriggle. I was the queen of wriggle. At about 5.30am he left. He had asked me earlier to post an envelope for him once I got into D.C so he tucked into my suitcase and kissed me for the last time.
Awww I thought. I will miss his teeth so much.
‘Did you pack these bags yourself ma’am?’
I blinked back to life. I realized at that moment I hadn’t even checked the envelope Aalt put in my suitcase. My entire life was flashing in front of me.
They were leading me away into a room.
It was white and cold. I began to shiver. The lady boss told me to open my suitcase. By this time they were convinced I was hiding something because I was shaking like an authentic African leaf.
My passport was with them. One of them was typing something away on the desktop. That would be my transfer instruction I was almost certain of it. My hands intentionally slid by Aalt’s envelope. I opened the bag containing the kpakpo shito. Next were the dry fish and then the frozen Papaye. Why do they ask us to bring all these to them when we are travelling? I really didn’t care at this moment; I wish I had more Kpakpo shito and none of Aalt’s belongings in my bag.
‘What’s in that?’
The boss was referring to the envelope.
I couldn’t find the words. I mumbled some twi… she looked at me like I was crazy. She took the envelope from the bag and felt it. She held it up. Something was poking on the sides. Something like a knotted clothe. She asked me to open it. My hands at this point was of its own, shaking and destroying every ounce of confidence I had left.
It was a birthday card with a knotted rope hanging in the middle. It was signed ‘To the love of my life… come home soon’ Aalt.
As I made my way to my family who had been waiting at the arrivals for a few hours I made a promise to my mother ‘ never again mama… no more ganja’ because back there, that was worse than insanity.
Oh I threw the card away. Cheat!
“Thelma Louis” is a GhanaCelebrities.Com weekly column with no borders on the speed and distance it will take your imagination, while tackling some of our everyday issues—in reality and in fantasy.
All Thelma Louis’ write up will be filed under her name column-Thelma Louis.
I just cannot get enough of Thelma. next time don’t go smoking weed
That’s funny n interesting
very interesting