A FEW MONTHS EARLIER

“Hmmm, this Drill boy really be forkin boy. And you say his real name is what?”

“Laurence Larbi.”

“Laurence Larbi. Ah, ah, ah. This boy paaa…”

From a distance, the old man could hear the conversation between the pregnant girl and the young man with braids. And he was interested for a reason.

Old Emmanuel Atorsah was the typical grumpy old man who most people preferred to avoid. With an evergreen stern disposition and a penchant for keeping to himself, most of the flat’s inhabitants chose to avoid him after accepting how futile their efforts at friendliness toward him were. Ever since his wife’s death, he chose to be by himself, and preferred it that way.

As he watched the duo chat a few meters away from him, he turned his nose up in disgust.

Those two were a pure representation of everything wrong with the world: that boy’s nasty hairstyle, and the girl’s protruding belly. What happened to the days of yore, when men kept their hair short and decent, and girls kept their panties on until marriage?

As he’d always say… these young ones of today.

But there was a deeper reason for his interest.

The mention of that name.

Laurence Larbi.

If he wasn’t mistaken, that was his grandnephew’s name. sure, there were probably a number of Laurence Larbis in the country, but there was this inkling that it just might be the one he knew. And she had mentioned his name a number of times, so this surely couldn’t be something she was pulling out of a hat.

He needed to find out the truth. Was his grandnephew called Drill?

And why Drill? What sort of foolish nickname was that?

***

Sitting on the edge of his worn armchair, a deep frown creased his face as he dialled the number of Abena, his niece. They weren’t exactly on the best of terms – his children had reduced communication with him after their mother’s death – but she always had time to answer his calls.

“She better pick up this time ooo,” he muttered to himself. Na these young people of today… always busy doing nothing.”

Abena Larbi’s voice followed the next beep on the line. “Hello, Uncle. Is everything okay?”

“Do I ever call you when things are okay, Abena?”

A sigh followed. “Good point. What’s the matter this time, Uncle?”

Emmanuel cleared his throat. “Your son. Laurence. Do you know his nickname?”

A pause followed. Abena was obviously caught off guard by that question.

“His nickname? Uh… I think I heard his friends calling him Drill or something like that the other day. Why? What’s going on?”

Emmanuel snorted loudly, his disapproval as loud as could be through the phone. “Drill. Mtchew. What kind of stupid nickname is that? These young people of today with their nonsense nicknames. Drill? What’s he drilling? Holes in his future? Anaa holes in his brain?”

“Uncle, please, what’s all this about? Why are you asking about Laurence and his nickname?”

Emmanuel leaned forward, his voice dropping to a stern tone. “I’ll tell you why. I was sitting on my verandah, minding my own business, when I heard some young girl bi—a pregnant one—talking to her friend outside. She says Laurence, your Drill, is the father of her child. And that he’s denied it.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Abena’s end of the line. “What? Are you serious?”

“Would I call you to gossip? This is what happens when you let children grow up like they have no home training. This is why I tell you—“

“Uncle! Please! This is the first time I’m hearing of this. Are you sure she said Laurence?”

Emmanuel sardonically chuckled. “Oh, she said it loud and clear. Laurence. Drill. Your son. Pregnant and denying it. Hmph! I don’t have time for maybe-this, maybe-that. What I heard is what I’m telling you. Now listen, you tell him to call me as soon as possible. That boy has some explaining to do, and I want to hear it from him directly. No running, no dodging. And he had better not lie to me. He’s not going to disgrace the family and get away with it. Mtchew.”

Before Abena could say anything else, Emmanuel hung up. He placed the phone down and shook his head.

“Drill. Hah. More like screw. Tweakai!”

***

It was later in the evening, after finishing off his rice and corned beef stew, that he heard his phone ringing. He sauntered over from the dining room to the living room, where it lay. He nodded as he saw Drill’s number flashing on the screen.

“About time,” he muttered as he snatched it up and answered.

Drill’s voice came through the line, flat and disinterested. “Yeah, Grandpa. Momma said you wanted me to call.”

Emmanuel scowled. ““Yeah”? That’s how you greet your grandfather? Is there no respect left in this world or something?”

Drill sighed. “Good evening, Grandpa. Is that better?”

Emmanuel ignored the improved greeting. “Laurence, do you know a girl called Akushika? Akushika Acolatse.”

There was a brief pause on the line. Then Drill’s voice came back, defensive and dismissive. “Akushika Acolatse? Nope. Never heard of her. Sorry.”

Emmanuel’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing colder. He was not convinced by that tone at all. “Don’t you dare lie to me, boy. Think carefully before you speak again.”

“Grandpa, I said I don’t know her! Why would I?”

“Why would you? Because she’s the girl walking around here with a child growing in her belly, saying you’re the father! That’s why!”

Drill sounded super irritated at this point. “Ah, but am I the only Laurence Larbi in the world? What is this? Please, please, please, I said I don’t know her-“

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” Emmanuel raged, cutting him off. “Nonsense! You think I’m one of your friends? Do I sound like someone you can dismiss with your by-heart talk? Don’t be silly over there! Stupid boy!”

Drill went quiet. If there was anything the Larbi family despised, it was getting on the end of these rants by Emmanuel. They could be fierce and traumatizing.

“Look at him, coming to shout on me like I’m his mate! Foolish boy! Do you think in my days, I’d be able to talk to my elders like that? Do you know how much we feared our parents and elders? Don’t bring that disrespect to my doorstep! Silly boy!”

Drill, humbled by the lashing, mumbled, “I-I’m sorry, Grandpa.”

“Sorry for yourself! Disrespectful fool. Now listen to me, and listen well. If you lie to me one more time, I swear on your grandmother’s grave, I’ll write you out of my will. And not just that—I’ll leave curses there for you! Every cedi you try to spend in your lifetime will bring untold misery upon your head, and everything you consider a blessing will turn into a burden! Now, tell me the truth. Do you know Akushika, yes or no?

A long pause followed, the young man obviously shaken by these threats.

Then a timid “Y-yes” followed.

Emmanuel snorted. “Uh-huh. And?”

“And… I-I… I got her pregnant.“

“Of course, you did! I knew it! But instead of being a man and admitting your mistake, you prefer to hide like a rat! A coward! Is that how I raised your mother? Huh? You go and collect disgrace for this family with your recklessness, and then you disgrace it even further by denying your responsibility! If you think I’ll allow that, you are a big joker! Do you hear me? A big joker!”

Drill was too shaken at this point to give any cheeky responses; his granduncle had struck the fear of God in him.

“Now listen to me, young man. At this point, she’s in good hands, so that’s settled. But from now onwards, I’m going to be updating you on how far along she gets, up to the point of delivery. And when the day of delivery arrives, I expect you to bring your sorry behind to Kumasi, come and see her, and reclaim that child you wanted to ignore. Apologize to her. Support her. Take responsibility for your actions. Na if I hear that you’ve failed in this, eh… you will wish to God you had never been born. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Grandpa,” Drill replied in a weak, shaken voice.

“Nonsense. You kids of today and misusing the beauty of sex! Mtcheww! Make sure you acknowledge every update oo! If you like, ignore and see what will happen!”

The line went dead.

***

As the STC bus sped down the Accra-Kumasi highway, Drill, sat by the window, his hoodie pulled low over his face. He scowled at the passing landscape, his jaw clenched as tightly as the fists resting on his knees.

The wailing of a baby somewhere on the bus grated on his nerves, adding to his foul mood. He muttered under his breath. “Oh, great. Just what I needed. More crying. Mtcheww!”

His eyes might have been focused on the trees the bus raced past, but his thoughts were far from serene admiration of the flora. They were all on the infuriating humiliations of the past few months.

First, there was Emmanuel, his irritating granduncle. The old man’s fiery words had cut him down to size, leaving no room for excuses. He never liked the old man, and that rollicking was one of the reasons why. Always complaining about the youth of today and their shenanigans. An irritating geriatric on all fronts.

Then came his parents, their disappointment thick in the air like a suffocating cloud. His mother’s teary eyes and his father’s shaking head replayed in his mind on a loop.

“The way they were acting like I had planned this all along. Rubbish! As if I wanted to ruin my life over some stupid mistake,” he muttered angrily to himself.

And as for Akushika’s parents… they hadn’t even bothered to meet him or his parents. All they did was write some stuffy little letter about acceding power over Akushika to him.

That was it. No phone call. No request to meet. Nothing. It was almost as if they considered themselves too important to grant him any kind of audience.

“Arrogant people,” he continued as they came to mind. “Behaving like you’re some high and mighty folks. Meanwhile too, nothing give them. Kwasiafuo!”

And Akushika herself? Well, they hadn’t spoken since that day he sacked her from his doorstep. And until this, he had been very satisfied with that. Now that it had popped up, he was super pissed.

Whether she told him or not, he had no idea. But he was well and truly mad that she had come back to haunt him with this irritant of a pregnancy.

He didn’t want the child. He hadn’t asked for any of this. Fatherhood? It sounded like a prison sentence, shackling him to a life of responsibilities he had no interest in. He wanted his freedom. The ability to do whatever pleased him at whatever time.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat, trying to block it all out. The only thing keeping him from turning the bus around and heading back to Accra was his grandfather’s will. Emmanuel Atorsah was an old man with a lot of property, and he knew he didn’t have much time left. Being a beneficiary meant playing along, at least for now. Once the old man joined his ancestors and he got his inheritance, he’d toss Akushika and the baby aside.

Drill nodded. “Chale, I’m only doing this for my inheritance. If not for that, can I be bothered? I don’t have time for that stupid girl and her baby. I don’t! I’m only going to do things to make Grandpa happy. Make it look like I’m going to stay with her and the baby and all. But once he’s gone, I can move on. No kid. No Akushika. Just my life. Na when I see her, eh, the way I’ll give it to her! Kwasia girl! Coming to spoil my life with this nonsense…”

Now who would have thought that the grumpy old man had any relationship with Drill? That is wild!!