So, this uncle in question lived in one of the rough parts of Tema. One of the communities that I will deliberately not name. the house we lived in was the typical compound house. You know, those simple, rectangular types of building that everyone has their own room, but steps out onto the same compound? Yeah, that’s the place I spent most of my childhood.

So my mother and I were placed in one of the rooms which was adjacent to that of him and his wife and two girls. The two other rooms were occupied by some other relatives. Once we were settled in, the uncle gave my mother some items to start selling roasted plantain.

Yeah, my mother became a ‘Kofi Brokeman’ seller. And a pretty good one at that. Everyone around the hood quickly got hooked on Little Daavi’s roasted plantain, and she slowly became well known for serving up the nicest, softest roasted plantain. Thanks to her, I’m really not a fan of roasted plantain that’s hard in any way. No please, I like my thing soft.

Anyways, I grew up in happier conditions. The adults around were way nicer to me and treated me well. So the little memories I had of getting whipped and blasted by my grandparents quickly faded out. No surprises, though, right? After all, I was very little then.

As I grew, the issue of my father and my grandparents came to mind, and as an inquisitive little boy, I asked my mother. The way she shut those questions down… swift! As far as my father was concerned, she told me he was not worth asking about, and that I should just forget about him. With regard to the grandparents… well, let’s say she had not forgiven them. I got a strong warning to never make mention of them again. It was only in my teens that she sat me down and gave me the proper lowdown on all that happened.

From how she got pregnant with me, to the ugly beatdown that happened that fateful day. She told me everything.

I dunno. Maybe it’s the rancour with which she told the story, or the way she emphasized on the actions of the man supposed to be my father and my grandparents. But with that story, a seed of bitterness was planted in my heart. Its root had already taken a deep part of my mother’s heart. Anger towards my father for simply using her as an outlet for his sexual pleasure and never showing up afterwards.

And anger towards her parents. It was so clear from the way she spoke that she had no intentions of reconciling with them. Ever.

Even though I was angry myself when I heard everything, I still asked if there was any chance of reconciliation. She vehemently, and very aggressively shut it down, saying absolutely no way could anything ever be done about it.

I only ever asked once much later on, before dropping the matter altogether. She clearly was not ready to consider it.

So yeah, from that day onward, I inherited her anger and became a pretty darkened young man. You would have seen me going about life as always in our neighbourhood and assumed all was well. I mean, I was doing the regular. Going to school. Helping out with Little Daavi’s Roasted Plantain every now and then… life seemed good.

But nope, deep down in my heart, I was a bundle of bitterness. I cursed my father on the regular for not even knowing I existed. I cursed my grandparents for being so wicked and callous toward me. And I cursed the world (and more or less God) for bringing me into the world in such disgraceful circumstances.

I was a serious mess, only restrained from breaking out and lashing at the world because of my surroundings. But it was only a matter of time until the volcano erupted.

And somewhere around the age of fifteen, about two years after my mother told me the story… I encountered them.

Castro and Emma.

Two young boys in the hood who did not have the most glowing reputation. All the adults in the house had nothing but words of condemnation for them, claiming they were bad, undisciplined boys who were on the wrong path of life. From the uncle to my mother, I was always warned to steer clear of those boys, for they were nothing but trouble.

Oddly enough, I had never seen them. I had only heard about them. But of course, with all I had heard, and the admonitions rained upon me, I was extremely weary of them. I imagined them to be some two big behemoths that would be shoving people aside and just… I dunno, causing havoc.

So when I encountered them at one of the major ‘yooko gari’ joints (what we now call gob3), I was a bit… disappointed, I guess? I mean, these were two regular-looking boys, about sixteen years old, buying food for themselves. The lady behind me in the queue murmured their names, and I turned and asked if that was them. She seemed pretty surprised that I didn’t know them, but she confirmed it.

Yeah, it felt anticlimactic to see them that normal. I guess my imagination created some crazy caricatures of them. But anyways, I was immediately curious to know about these guys. Stealing glances at them every now and then, I wondered why they got such a bad rap around the hood. Because they certainly didn’t look as bad as I had heard.

Guess what? For whatever reason, I got on their radar too.

They ate their food at the joint, so by the time it got to my turn to buy the food, they could see me. For some reason, they were looking at me with this keen intent. Like, really looking at me. Almost as if they were studying me with their eyes.

Creepy or coincidental? I was leaning more toward the latter.

I left without going to see them, but I knew that somehow, a connection had been established, and that we’d meet again.

Well… I was right.

The very next day, I saw them once again. On my way to school.

And once again, they stared intently at me for a few seconds.

Before I could say a word, though, the taller of the two smiled.

“Chale, wassup?”

Slowly, I shook his hand as he introduced himself as Castro, and the other as Emma, and explained why they had been eyeing me so much the previous day. Apparently, when they saw me, there was something about me that just caught their attention. Something they just couldn’t place their finger on, so they kept watching me, trying to figure it out.

I was just standing there, super curious. What in the world was this ‘something about me’ they were talking about?

Then Emma asked a question. “So your popee dey house?”

I shook my head and stuttered, “Uh, my-my popee no dey… I mean, I dunno my popee.”

Dunno why I let out that statement to them. It’s like it just slipped out.

Castro slapped his hands together and looked at Emma in surprise. “I knew it! This is the something we’ve been feeling. So you too?”

That caught my attention. I looked at them curiously. “Uh… you mean…”

“Yeah. We too, wana popies no dey. Them chop finish, wey them boot.”

I dunno how it happened, but instead of heading for school, I ended up following these two boys to some corner where they told me the stories of how their fathers had abandoned their mothers. They went on, bemoaning how their dads’ absence had badly affected them and how angry they were at the men who brought them into this world.

To this day, I still think those guys must have used the influence of familiar spirits. Because they got me and got me good. They spoke my language, and I could understand them loud and clear. I mean, I was still as bitter as could be at my father, and to find these two boys who felt the same way… it made me feel I wasn’t alone.

So by the time I was done with them that day, I thought to myself, maybe Castro and Emma are just some misunderstood young guys. Maybe they’re not so bad after all.

From that day onward, I started looking out for them. Chatting to them whenever I had the opportunity. Bonding with them.

And for a while, it seemed like a cool thing. They seemed really pleasant and friendly and nice to be around. A far cry from what I constantly heard from everybody else. Of course, all of this was done as secretly as possible; the last thing I needed was for my grand-uncle or mother to find out I was even on cool terms with those ‘bad boys’, because they would flip out for sure.

It all went well for a while. I’d meet up with them after school hours, we’d chat for a while about all sorts of things, then I’d go home. It was that simple, really.

It all changed when one day, Castro and Emma suggested we go and check out this nice area on the other side of town. It’s an area we the ‘ghetto youth’ had christened ‘Heaven Kitiwa’. He said we should just go and look at the houses, and as harmless as it sounded, I was up for it.

So we went. We took a walk around that hood, happily admiring the lovely houses over there. Nicely painted bungalows, with fancy gates, walls and lighting systems. The kind of homes we could only dream about. We simply gallivanted about the place, claiming we’d one day come to own those kind of homes.

Then as we walked down one lonely road, where there stood more lovely bungalows, we stopped at one. This one had a normal-sized gate, but the walls were really low. We saw two young boys kicking a ball on the compound, enjoying themselves.

Then, on the wall near the gate, we saw two iPhones lying there.

Whoever the owner was had probably forgotten himself or herself and placed it there without taking it back.

Castro and Emma looked at each other, then looked at me, and smirked.

I looked pretty confused. “Uh…”

Before I could say anything, Castro had darted to the wall, snatched the phones, and was already speeding away, with Emma behind him.

“Mawuli, check fast then come!” they yelled at me.

Not that I needed to be told twice; I had already taken to my heels.

We got back to the hood, where Castro and Emma took me to some dealer of theirs who apparently specialized in unlocking stolen phones. He immediately got it done, gave us some money, and we were off to chill.

As we enjoyed some fried rice and downed bottles of beer (that was my first time drinking alcohol), there was this… intoxicating rush unlike anything I had ever felt before. The allure of the forbidden, the thrill of outsmarting the system, and the sheer audacity of our actions… they made me feel good.

It was crystal clear: this was the outlet I needed.

And the world was about to be inflicted with my ‘payback’…

Mmmm… so this is where it all went downhill for Mawuli…