“Court rise!”

Everyone present in the courtroom rose to their feet as Justice Amankwah called it a day, retiring to his chambers. As always, Nana Ayiba took his books and followed him into the chambers, faithfully placing them on his desk before returning back into the courtroom.

As she resumed her seat, she looked over at the court recorder, Lily, who was busily watching something on her phone. She had a huge grin on her face as she paid full attention to whatever it was on her screen.

She was most definitely on TikTok; she had gotten addicted to the app since Nana Ayiba downloaded it for her a few weeks ago.

“Ei, Lily, na what is it that you’re happily watching like that on your phone?” Nana Ayiba asked teasingly.

Lily looked up and grinned. “Nana, sɛ you naaa, you know. It’s this TikTok naa. I’ve found some influencer bi. The way I’m enjoying her videos, eh. Her name is Desiree. Some French lady bi who’s living in Malta. The way her voice dey sweet me.”

Nana Ayiba’s face dimmed a bit at the mention of the country, though she kept the smile plastered. “Oh saa? That’s nice.”

Lily nodded. “Uh-huh. The way she’s packaging the place, eh, it’s nice papa. In fact, God should bless me with money paaa, coz the way I’ll travel around the world, unless God stops me!”

“Ei, Lily nono! Me, I pray God gives you your enjoyment money, coz if you don’t get it diɛɛ, He won’t hear good things from you!”

The Labour Court workers laughed at Maria’s quip for a moment before everyone turned back to their work. The older lady, however, noted the sudden drop in Nana Ayiba’s demeanour. The young lady’s face had grown a few shades darker.

She reached out and touched her hand. Nana Ayiba looked up at her.

Maria mouthed, “Still?”

Nana Ayiba shook her head.

Maria shook her head and sighed. She then patted Nana Ayiba on the back and whispered, “It is well.”

Nana Ayiba didn’t respond, her brain consumed with thoughts of frustration and unhappiness as she channeled her focus on her work.

Nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing…

***

“… so chale, I could understand Fitz just a little bit. Not that he was justified totally, coz chale, he treated Mellie like s**t, no two ways about that. But after that divorce I did, eh, ermm… what’s their name again… the Fitse couple, I came to understand that pain.

“Chale, Kwesi, the guy was in pain. Opana say he do everything just to be intimate, madam say never. No sex for like five years ooo. And the woman too is fine ooo, she check like Quinn for Scandal: cute face, nice ass, everything on point. Opana too dey die give am, but chale, she just didn’t want to open up for him. So yeah, the way Fitz let out his emotions on that one, I could understand. Even though it was very complicated, with Big Jerry raping her and all that stuff.”

“Oh, Shani, I get your point ooo. But me, my issue is this: Fitz was far more willing to give Olivia grace for her mess-ups. She was collecting from Jake, see how Fitz was ready to let it go. But as for your wife who you’ve neglected, you can’t let her get some from the vice. See, when Mellie slapped Fitz and said he doesn’t want her to enjoy anything, the way I was happy, eh. Such nonsense!”

“Oh, say it again, Sarah! See how he virtually cut Mellie out of the picture, focused all his energy on Olivia, eating her basabasa and things. As soon as Mellie went to collect satisfaction somewhere else, you bore like you’re some faithful husband aaama! Meanwhile this woman sacrificed her whole life for you! Mtcheww! Me diɛɛ, na Fitz dey bore me roff. Fine lady like Mellie, see you’re treating her like s**t.”

“That one diɛɛ, no debate. Mellie was a fine lady ooo, chale. Fitz never try give am, that one be fact. That guy needed some blasting every now and then, and my man, Papa Pope, let him have it!”

“Herrrrrrh, Shani, Papa Pope, diɛɛɛ, woboa ooo! The whole series, that’s my favourite scene! You. Are. A. Boy! Rowan dettyed the man ankasa!”

“And he deserved it! Idiot! How do you tell the man you’ve been chopping his daughter like that? You no get sense? Fitz diɛɛ, sankwas guy paa!”

Kwesi sat at his desk, fully attentive to his colleagues as they discussed the TV show ‘Scandal’. He hadn’t watched it before, but had heard a lot about it, and it was pretty interesting listening to them talk about it. It was pretty obvious that Frances and Sarah did not like the Fitz character at all, thanks to his open philandering ways.

While he listened to them, though, a sweet thought reverberated at the back of his mind.

The thought of the beautiful Nana Ayiba.

A few days had passed since he had gotten her number. Many times, he had debated whether or not to call or text her. Out of shyness, he had held back, fearing it would seem slightly inappropriate.

As he sat there that afternoon, however, he had asked himself if he was waiting for the perfect opportunity, remembering what he had heard numerous times from his father about waiting for everything to align before striking.

Kaakyire, see, the perfect opportunity may never come, but the imperfect ones are abundant. Don’t make the mistake of waiting for perfection, take action now and make your own opportunities.

Applying it to the current situation, it made a lot of sense. Taking advantage of one of the abundant ‘imperfect opportunities’ would be far more beneficial. There was nothing wrong with hitting up a clerk, right? As far as ethics went, there was nothing to fear? It wasn’t like he had any intentions of using her to gain some advantage in the ongoing case; it was her he wanted to get close to.

Yeah, chale, I’ll do it. I’ll hit her up tonight. Because this ‘perfect opportunity I’m waiting for, I don’t even know what it looks like. It’ll come, and I’ll miss it. Chale, let’s do this tonight…

***

It was evening when Nana Ayiba stepped through the front door of her home, the weariness of the day etched on her face. The familiar scent of home and palaver sauce enveloped her and filled her with a sense of relief. Nothing like the comforts of home giving you some much-needed respite from the demands of the outside world.

As she walked into the living room, her mother, seated on the sofa, looked up from her book and offered a warm smile.

“Ah, my daughter, welcome home ooo. How was work today?” she inquired.

Nana Ayiba returned the smile, albeit hers having tints of exhaustion in it. “It was busy as usual, Mama. The cases keep coming, you know how it is.”

Her mother nodded in understanding, “Oh yeah. Of course. Take your time to relax, then come help me out with the yam.”

“No problem, Mama. I’ll change and relax for a few minutes, then I’ll come and help you.”

With that, Nana Ayiba made her way to her bedroom and tossed her bag on the floor, ready to carry out her usual routine of changing out of her court attire into more comfortable clothes. As she tossed her phone on the bed, though, it buzzed.

Immediately, a sense of anticipation and hope began to gnaw at her.

She quickly picked it up and unlocked it before navigating to WhatsApp, hoping to find a response. Please… even if it’s a hi kraaa, I’ll be happy. Just let me get a response. It’s been more than a week now…

WhatsApp opened up.

No new messages from the expected source. It was a message from one of her group chats.

She let out a growl of frustration.

Anthony, where are you? Eh? Why won’t you just answer me? she thought, a mix of irritation and longing lingering in her mind.

She scrolled to his chat and slowly went through their chat history, noting with irritation the sporadic nature of their conversations.

Two years ago, Anthony, her dear boyfriend had left Ghana for Malta for studies, promising to keep in touch regularly.

However, the reality had been quite different. For about a year now, messages from him were infrequent, and the time between their exchanges seemed to stretch endlessly. Sending a message in a day and receiving a reply had become like a miracle to give a testimony in church for.

In the privacy of her thoughts, Nana’s frustration bubbled to the surface. He left, but it feels like he’s left me hanging, too. How hard is it to send a message?

The emotional distance created by the physical miles between them had widened into an emotional gulf. She missed the connection they once had, the laughter and shared moments that now felt like distant memories.

Nana Ayiba sighed, closing the WhatsApp with a heavy heart. The unanswered messages and the silence on the other end weighed on her, leaving her feeling both hurt and exasperated.

“As usual. As usual,” she muttered to herself. “Well, let me change and relax a bit before I help Mama out.”

***

After dinner and a bit of TV with her mother, Nana Ayiba returned to her room, ready to unwind and take her rest for the next day.

As she settled onto her bed, she glanced at her phone, which she had left in the room throughout, and noticed a WhatsApp message notification. Once again, she opened it quickly, hoping it was from Anthony.

It was from an unfamiliar number.

Frowning, she opened the message, her curiosity piqued.

“Hey there! It’s Kwesi, the lawyer you gave your contact to a few days ago. Just wanted to check in and see how your day went!”

Nana Ayiba’s frown deepened. Uhhh, who is this?

As far as giving her number to lawyers went, she gave them out to a number of them, so she wasn’t exactly sure who this person was.

Wait, let me check the profile better.

She then opened the profile picture. Confusion then turned into a bit of a bemused smile as she recognised the picture of the gentleman in the picture. It was indeed Kwesi, the lawyer in the TransGlobal case.

A very unexpected message. But, for some reason, it brought a spark of interest and amusement. She usually didn’t find these sort of issues amusing; lawyers who texted or called her were supposed to keep it formal. But she found a certain charm in Kwesi’s effort to initiate a conversation with her.

In any event, the man she wanted to talk to was barely paying her any mind. So why not indulge this guy?

She typed out a response. “Hi Counsel! Just finished having dinner with my mom. How about you? How was your day?”

A response followed.

“Oh, it was normal. The usual. And btw, no need to call me Counsel. We’re not in court.”

A smile slowly spread across Nana Ayiba’s face.

Mmm, this should be interesting…

She responded.

“Yes, please, Mr. Amamfi.”

A response followed.

“I beg you, Kwesi is fine. Mr. Amamfi makes me feel like I’m my father’s age.”

Nana Ayiba laughed out loud. She then typed. “Sorry, let me correct it: Yes please, Kwesi.”

Without fail, a response followed.

“That’s better 😄😄”

Wow. We might be in for a bit of a complicated ride here, with this new piece of information…