DUSTY SAPPHIRES

chapter 1/

  The lazy hues that smoldered  into a delicious array of colours had spread  through the sky in the late evening, Mirroring the beauty in diversity of Nigerians,  cozy whirl winds blew running east to west in open nostrils signifying the beginning of the end of the years highly anticipated harmattan breeze. 
 It was a season of exceedingly maximised hustle and bustle till soles wore away. Versions ranged from. boisterous Market traders screaming  their lungs out to the nonchalant and uninterested passersby for patronage to flying of chickens in the air for slaughter and the consistency  of a deliciously spicy atmosphere unlike the lifestyles of we the Ghanians. Ghana too is a country filled with excitement and buzz but as a small country still developing on her  resources, the everyday struggle for the survival of the fittest was nothing compared to that of the Nigerians.

  As I lay my head on a rocky soft pillow outside of the veranda, the chilly harmattan breeze swept across my face fueling all of my hormones
 with cheesy nostalgic feelings. Little invisible tears rolled down my cheeks as thoughts of how far away from home I was came running in.  I came
  from one of the smallest villages in Ghana, Bekwai with a population the number of a Sunday school service we lived in peace and harmony but with a major obstacle ‘poverty’. Being born into a family of 9 with no financial
 backup whatsoever pressed on the obstacle to an alarming greater height as I watched all of my younger ones  grow in shining dirt and mud with nothing to hope for a brighter future but we were all okay with it because
  our mother always told us ‘No matter how the peels of the yam tuber may itch, it would never itch till the dawn kisses the surface of the Earth’.

    Little had been known that  worst was yet to come. we had harvested all off what was left to harvest even   before the time of harvest came to fill
 up our starved  bellies. In fact, we revolved in a constant cycle of poverty with no trace of even a temporary diversion, so I took it up   on me to make efforts, no matter how the steps were, I had seen some youths my age hawk Nkatie from dusk till dawn,   and they made enviable profits afterwards. Sometimes I even
 followed them about, jumping from Bush to Bush to avoid being tagged as a spy or worse still, a monitoring agent. they walked like tireless Jackie with swift feet and stamina,   think their tray pan reeked of sparse.
  Sometimes I wondered if they were ever tempted to eat all of their Nkatie and drown it with a bottle of palms.
  I smiled at what a Pure Bliss that would have been but quickly snapped out of it because I knew that was just as good as a fictional dream.
   Completely aware of how penniless I was, I volunteered to sweep the compounds of our dear neighbours in exchange for a few Pesewas as other
   available jobs were purely  dependent on one's knowledge of hunting , hunting for bush rats to be precise. I usually calculated my total earnings at the end of the week which
   most often than not summed up to 50 Pesewas and by the end of the month I had made a total of two Cedis, and that was a massive plus to my initial Status. Meanwhile, mother had
  squeezed out of me the mediums I took to generate money and so she assembled my eight younger ones and sent them to the neighbouring villages to sweep the compounds of inhabitants.

   Although, the idea of sending all eight of us out was quite disturbing to me at first but as we summed up a total of 16 Ghana Cedi by the end of
  the month,  I warmed up to it except from the youngest Kofi, who was never in support of the idea of sending us out in the cold to sweep compounds of neighbouring villages
  As he claimed that the risks of encountering snakes and other wild animals were high but being the last child, he was never paid attention to,   as everyone including myself attributed his fears to laziness and fear of taking responsibility. Until one fateful day Kofi did not come back.

    Usually when we came back, we would gather around under a mature almond tree until we were complete and then shared whatever edibles we
  pulled up on our way back to serve as breakfast. We had waited for Kofi
  so long that we were tempted to dig in, as our belly worms were running out of patience.
  Deciding to carry on without Kofi,  we spared a few for him and munched on it until we could no more ,we did scan the surroundings
 every now and then with hints of worries etched only under our eyelids and knotted brows but our panic
  arose from the pit of our stomach when the moon in her glory rose and shone brightly In the darkness of night and Kofi was yet to return.
  Mother collapsed when we arrived home without Kofi and had to be rushed to the nearest herbalist, who lived at the other side of the village.  
 A few hours later, Mother was covered in special balms and ointments. Baba looked at us and told us in a very calm tone, perhaps to
  comfort our visible anxiety, that Mother would be ok, but she needed to rest for a long time.