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03.05.2016 Feature Article

Story With No Title (Part1)

Story With No Title Part1
03.05.2016 LISTEN

The night was falling; light paved way for the upcoming darkness in which stars surrounded the half-moon like a framework of heavenly order. Peace entered the atmosphere ending a busy, busy week once again filled with anxieties for the future of Africa. The old order started to crumble during the first months of twenty sixteen. Politicians, prominent in every day’s life of Ghanaians, passed on one by one of natural death or were murdered in secret by the hands of ruthless killers.

The air was filled with the spirit of change, what was up, came down and unknown people reached the top of society and business. Christians in their preparation position took the time to study life in the public eye with rich teachings of their Prophet Emmanuel Badu Kobi (Glorious Wave Church Int., Sakumono, Ghana) to be the stars of their families.

He was staring at the three steps covered in light blue thin carpet leading the way to the glass pulpit with its small lighted, transparent photograph.

Hutting the horn the Train from Accra to Tema passed by in fifty meters distance ten minutes to seven at this Friday night. The skinny Choir Leader, young, dynamic, with his face shaped to jump out from him driving him forward constantly, sat meditative at the small Keyboard playing along tranquil melodies inspiring listening hearts to dream away into time and space. He looked up and looked into the face of the old man enjoying his play while from left a much desired for cool breeze entered the Church Auditorium.

The music brought back good old memories when the old man once was a Conference Manager chilling at nights after long, hard hours in Bars of five Star Hotels around the world. Seeing the red wines before his eyes, touching the dark slow tones of the pianos he still remembered so well, forgetting people sitting around him chatting the night away. From the distance he would hear stories from home wherever the guest original came from. His ears in the distance of his inner self heard how marriages, promised to keep forever, ended in hate and misery, children born were the center of Men’s happiness and business problems from all over the world.

His eyes would only, like in trance, turn to the people sitting at the Bar or in comfortable red Armchairs trying to make sense of life and thinking their best to be happy. In this quite chilling moments he would ask himself what reason he had to be alive, what the meaning, the sense of his particular life was, how fragile life is as it can end at any moment, in a second, and why on earth Humans needed to exist on earth in the first place. Would this world not be better off without them, these trouble makers, failures in the eyes of a clear and conscious thinking man?

Sitting back in his red covered chair “Made in China” like most items in Ghana, the old man was dreaming away with the chiseling melodies that shaped his nostalgic mood of times past, events hoped for and mistakes not to be made again, situations not able to change anymore. Each low tone and slow rhythm touched his heart in its inner core bringing down his emotions and slowing his heart beat much as if he would start to sleep. Around him the lights went on line by line dipping the Auditorium with its yellow curtains in a surreal dome of Glory covered all in Gold, giving the two golden Chairs of the Prophet and his Wife Gloria a special meaning in this precious moments in which he was alone with his thoughts and memories.

He unwillingly smiled when thinking about his conviction of never ever to come to Africa, a black continent with nothing to desire for, a place hostile to Whites’ intellect and business ambitions of success in peace, instead finding himself in a constant fighting situation of survival in the darkness of African people’s mind.

The Choir Leader smiled at him thinking the old man smiled at him himself enjoying the music he played while the old man was dreaming himself away into his past. The music got intensified as the Choir Leader felt encouraged to give his very best to please the old White Man.

Unmoved the White Man stared at the Keyboard allowing the swinging melodies to vibrate his heart and cover nervousness in his brain, to fly away into his brain giving him pictures of times past.

Sitting in Ariane Afghane, having taken off from Istanbul Airport hours ago heading to Kabul, he woke up from his sleep feeling it was not right to land yet. He looked out the window, Baku in Azabaishan was the place for a stop-over to refuel the old Russian Airplane. While sitting in the cabin with Air-condition off and the sun rising behind the giant Antonow Aircraft next to them, the passengers started to sweat. Half the seats were taken by them only, the rest covered with Mail Sacks each on one seat. The Crew members entered the Cabin again carrying plastic bags with Caviar and Vodka to sell for much higher prices in Afghanistan or to be used for the special occasions.

The old man smiled with mild understanding while in the Aircraft he was outraged about the negligence of the Afghan Crew having paid a lot of money only to be left sweating in the midday sun with no ventilation. His memories jumped to the invitation he had accepted at his last day in Kabul by Muslim friends and business partners having had him invited for a last banquet in one of their offices located on the road between Kabul Airport and Sheraton Hotel up in the Mountain.

The meal had been delicious but no space in his stomach to take any more food forced with friendly smiles unto him. From behind their back they had lifted a two liter Bottle of Cognac and had been holding it towards him as the guest of honour. He had smiled at them and explained more than a good red wine he would not drink, but the gesture would have been more than welcome. The Bottle of Cognac had disappeared as fast as it had appeared making him understand, they only had used his presence to get drunk as Muslims were not allowed to drink Alcohol unless in the situation having to entertain foreign guest like him. The smile he had on his face when he had left them thinking what had just happened to him, was still very present in his memories.

…to be continued

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