ETERNAL TIES

Chapter one (1)

The rising sun bathed the dusty town of Adwenepa in a golden hue. Aku Sika darted along the narrow path leading to her school, her worn sandals kicking up clouds of red earth. Her small satchel bobbed on her back, and beads of sweat trickled down her temples. She had been up since dawn, helping her mother prepare kenkey for the morning market.
Her long legs carried her swiftly into the school compound. As she approached the classroom, her pace slowed. The muffled hum of students reciting lessons leaked from the open windows, and a pang of guilt
pricked her chest. She hated being late.
Sliding the door open, she stepped inside.
“Good morning, Madam Esi,” Aku Sika greeted, her voice steady but her posture humble. She clasped her
right palm into her left and bent slightly at the waist, just as the Akan custom demanded.
Madam Esi, perched at her desk with a pair of glasses resting on the tip of her nose, regarded Aku Sika with a sharp gaze. “Good morning, Sika. You’re late again,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind.
Aku Sika offered a shy smile, her head bowed. “I’m sorry, Madam. It won’t happen again.”
“Take your seat,” Madam Esi instructed, her voice softening. “And take out The Weight of Lies by Rebecca Bekoe Nadège. We’re having a test on it in 30 minutes. I hope you read it as I asked.”
“Yes, Madam. I did,” Aku Sika replied, her voice tinged with quiet confidence.

Good,” Madam Esi said, nodding.

Aku Sika was a lovely, beautiful, and humble girl with dark skin. At 14, she was tall, with long legs that
carried her effortlessly, and she had short, curly black hair. She was a junior high school student at Sua na Hu Junior High School in the quiet town of Adwenepa.
Aku Sika was intelligent, respectful, and grounded in her values. She always remembered to say "please,"
"thank you," "excuse me," and "sorry," even to younger children. Her decency and demeanor made her a role model in the community. Mothers in Adwenepa often urged their daughters to emulate Aku Sika’s
good manners, discipline, and humility.
“Books away!” Madam Esi announced, slapping her cane on the desk for emphasis. The sharp sound startled the students into hurried obedience.
Aku Sika straightened in her seat, her pen poised above her exercise book. She glanced at the questions
scrawled on the board and let out a small sigh of relief. They were exactly what she had expected.
Michael, the boy seated beside her, craned his neck in her direction. “Psst. Let me see number three,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Aku Sika shook her head, a faint smile on her lips.
“Mr. Giraffe, retrieve your neck!” Madam Esi’s voice boomed from the front of the class. The students burst into laughter as Michael quickly straightened up, his face burning with embarrassment.
Aku Sika focused on her paper, her pen gliding across the page. She had spent hours preparing for this test, sacrificing precious sleep after a long day of hawking plantains in the market. As she finished the last
question, a sense of satisfaction filled her.

The bell for the next class rang just as she set down her pen. Obenewa, the class prefect, began collecting the papers. Michael tried to scribble a few more answers, but Obenewa snatched his book. “If you don’t hand it over now, you’ll deal with Madam Esi yourself,” she said sharply.
The final bell of the day was like music to the students’ ears. The school compound erupted into chaos as children spilled out of classrooms, their laughter echoing across the dusty grounds.
Aku Sika tucked her exercise book into her satchel and made her way toward the gate. Her crisp white shirt was still neatly tucked into her skirt, a stark contrast to the disheveled appearance of her classmates.
“Sika, wait for me!” Mary called, weaving through the throng of students.
Aku Sika turned, her steps slowing. “I’m sorry, Mary. I can’t wait. I need to get home.”
Mary’s face fell. “You’re always rushing home. Don’t you ever want to have fun?”
Aku hesitated. The truth was, she did. But fun had a price she couldn’t afford. “Next time,” she promised, though they both knew it was unlikely.
Mary sighed and waved her off. “Fine, go. But you’re no fun, Sika!”
Aku smiled faintly as she continued down the path leading to her home. The dusty streets of Adwenepa
were alive with the chatter of traders and the distant sound of a radio playing highlife music.
As she approached her modest house, she could hear her mother’s voice calling out to a neighbor. Ante Kate was a woman of strength, her back bent by years of labor but her spirit unyielding. Aku Sika quickened her pace. There were chores to be done and plantains to hawk before the evening set in.
"Good evening, Mama," Sika greeted, bending her waist respectfully as she stepped into the yard.
Kudiimin," Ante Kate responded with a warm smile.
"Good evening, Mama, not kudiimin," Sika teased, her tone playful.
"Enh… you understood what I meant, didn’t you?" Ante Kate laughed, shaking her head as she adjusted the plantains on the silver tray. She had divided them into neat groups, each separated by small sticks she had broken into pieces.
“Hurry and change your clothes,” Ante Kate said, her voice soft but urgent. “There’s a bowl of boiled plantain withgroundkontomire waiting for you. Eat quickly and set off.”
Sika didn’t need to be told twice. She darted into the small room she shared with her mother, quickly changed out of her school uniform, and sat on a stool by the table. The aroma of the ampesi filled the room, simple yet comforting. She devoured the meal in minutes, washing it down with a cup of water fetched from the barrel in the corner.
“Thank you, Mama,” she said, wiping her mouth and reaching for her 'aboso' (apron) hanging behind the door.
Ante Kate smiled, taking the tray from Sika and helping her balance the plantains neatly atop her head.
“Nyame ɛma wo gua o!” (God bless you with good sales)she called as Sika stepped off into the warm evening.
“Amen, Mama!” Sika replied, steadying the tray with one hand as she disappeared down the narrow, dusty path.