My Doom Day Of Luck

Regret was written in capital letters on my face. Boiled eggs with hot red pepper were the pencils that wrote that expression. If only I exercised a little restraint when I saw those enticing evils.

A few minutes ago, seated by the window at the back seat of the Madina-bound trotro at the LaPaz Main Station, I couldn’t help but fill my belly with three of those magical white balls. The aroma of my tempestuous inclinations drew me in and weakened all my defenses.

When the bus set off, the devil started mocking me for my greed. His laughter manifested in reverberating grumblings of my stomach. But the grumbles were the least of my problems that afternoon. The yoke of the eggs I ate were too heavy for my fragile stomach to bear. A volcanic eruption of fecal matter was imminent.

This was an obvious “Awurade me di nkwasiasem” moment. Except this time, Kofas Media was not available to end the production.

Nature, indeed, has a funny way of dealing with greedy bastards like myself. How on earth was I going to ask the driver to stop on the motorway for me to answer nature’s call? Who does that on such a short journey? I had only two options, to keep my pride and suffer in silence, or plead for mercy and still keep my pride, considering what could happen if holding doesn’t hold any longer!

I closed my eyes to say a prayer, with no idea at all what to ask of God. My mind was clogged with thoughts of possible scenarios of how disgraceful it would be if I could not prevent the unstoppable.

“Mate bus stop! ” I was so loud the mate didn’t need to repeat my request. The driver pulled up and I slowly got off.

We were at Dzowulu Junction. Frankly, I did not know why I ordered the bus to stop at that particular place. My sphincter ani was doing all the thinking and sending impulses to the other parts of my body.

I cast my eyes around the vicinity to see where my salvation will come from. Have you ever got to that point where you want to let out gas, and yet are afraid something else might follow? Well, that was where I was.

The Ghana Petroleum Commission was to my right and the Fiesta Royale Hotel was to my left. Given where I was standing, I would reach the Petroleum Commission faster but I felt in my spirit that the chances I would get in there was low. I never pay heed to these promptings but for once I did. Fiesta Royale it was.

But there was a problem. I had to get across the street. This time, my bowels understood that I needed enough energy to carry my legs and backside which now felt as heavy as a bag of Dangote cement. They, therefore, relieved me of some of the pain and pressure I was feeling.

“Sister, where are you going?” a security man at the entrance of Fiesta Royale called.

“Shit”, I murmured under my breathe when I realized that my dressing could be a hindrance to entering the throne room of grace. My “apuskeleke” pair of jeans trousers and sleeveless shirt were definitely going to get me a red card from this security man.

 “Are you looking for somebody?” the man asked again and walked towards me.

This guy is sent from the devil, I thought. I did not have the strength to open my mouth to give him an answer. I crouched and held my stomach. It was close.

“She’s with me”, another voice called from behind the security man. I lifted my head with a surprise look on my face. The security man was surprised too but who was he to challenge a customer of the hotel. He returned to his post.

“Boss, please, I need to go to the toilet urgently”.

I was shameless. No need for niceties. I was almost there. The man simply chuckled and asked me to follow him. He led me through the compound through the lounge straight to a door labelled ladies. People bowed and doors opened before me as if I was a queen. My bowels loved the attention for it also calmed down. Perhaps it was because they knew they would be released into a more comfortable to pit.

Sigh!

I could not believe my luck as I sat on the toilet seat and let out the first angry soldier. A streak of tear fell off from my eyes. I am indeed one lucky lady, I said to myself.

The goodwill of that day did not end in the ladies. When I walked out of the holy place with beads of sweat decorating my face, the angel who helped me into the hotel was still there waiting for me. He had a smile on his face.

“Thank you”, I said reciprocating his smile with an even broader one while I wiped the sweat off my face.

“Thank me with a drink”, he replied, pointing to the bar.

“What? Who is paying?” I sized myself up to give him the impression that I was not capable of paying for drink in that place and anywhere else for that matter.

“Don’t worry. Come on”. Still wearing that smile.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is how I met my husband. You can never tell how kind or otherwise a person is until you have tasted their heart!

Epilogue: My savior angel and I had drinks and talked for over an hour. I totally forgot I was supposed to go give money to my little sister at the University of Ghana. While my boo drove out of the hotel, with me sitting comfortably in the front seat of the car, the security man came to salute us and bid us farewell. I did not fail to give him one long mtchew for what he almost cost me.

There is love in SHARING

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