Chapter 8: Chapter 8

“This is very bad; certainly lousy. You cannot keep me waiting for close to four hours, whilst you knew you will not come. Why Ama?” Jobson Martinson fumed. “But I said I am sorry, Job. It will not happen again.” Ama said softly. These words from Ama infuriated Jobson the more. “Please cut the crap. Will sorry heal the hurt, the agony and mental torture, your actions put me through yesterday? I think I deserve better answers from you to reassure me of any future occurrences.” Jobson held Ama by her hair and looked deep into her eyes: eyeball to eyeball. Ama faintly said. “Job, please, you are hurting me. Leave my hair.” Martinson let go her hair. They stood there looking at each other sheepishly. Ama raised her head to look at him and began to smile without uttering a word. Jobson felt confused and embarrassed and wondered why she was smiling. He decided to probe her for more details. “What is the matter with you?” Ama quickly organised herself and said. “Nothing, why? I am just ad-miring your posture when you are angry.” Jobson started laughing with Ama’s answer. “Ama, do you know some-thing? You have a special gift of turning serious matters into entertainments of which you used to cool my temper. Maybe that is the reason why I love you so dearly. But I cannot bring myself to understand why you do not want us to take our relationship to the next plane.” “Next plane, next plane! What do you mean by that?” Ama said swiftly. Jobson held Ama by the right hand as they walked across the road in front of the office of the Manciple Organisation, which manages the domestic concerns, supervises other servants, collects the rents or income, keeps accounts and performs other ancillary services for the University, and entered the green belt that separates the large campus of the National University of Ghana from the rest of the city. The love-birds meandered their way through the thick foliage of shrubs and woodlands, until they got to the main Madina-Tetteh Quarshie Highway.

They stopped an approaching yellow and white paint-ed Taxi cab. This was a roving cab plying on the route with no definite destinations. At that juncture there were no other passengers in the cab. Ama started negotiating with the driver while Jobson looked on. Indeed, whatever negotiations they had to do must be done in haste since where the taxi stopped was not an approved stopping point. That explained why other road users begun to hoot and toot their horns to express their disgust and disapproval of the taxi driver. One could hear invective: ‘bush driver’, ‘hey driver, you are a whole village!’, ‘stupid man’ and ‘driver banza’. Ama ignored all these abuses and continued to engage the taxi driver. “..Please, driver twenty Ghana cedis is too much from campus to Oyarifa.’ Ama pleaded. “My sister, twenty cedis is good for the destination. There is too much traffic on that route. Besides, there is no guarantee that when l go to Oyarifa, I will get passengers back.” The taxi driver argued forcefully. “Oh so, are you charging us in and out fares? That is not fair.” Ama protested and the taxi driver retorted. “No matter how you look at it, the taxi business is going down each blessed day through no fault of ours. Nowadays, we find it very difficult to make our daily sales. But, half a load is better than none. If we stay at home, we sit on our poverty. That is why we are managing it small, small. The system is not favourable at all.” Ama resigned to her fate. “Job, get in and let us go. There is no point standing here arguing.” Ama joined Jobson to sit at the back seats of the ‘troxi’. The driver sped off towards the towering ABSA Bank office block. He negotiated the roundabout to enter Oyarifa highway amidst loud tooting and heavy violations from other road users. Nonetheless, the taxi driver paid no heed to any of the insults going on around and just screeched off. Certainly, many of these taxi drivers abused road safety regulations, of which we expected Officers of the Motor Transport Traffic Unit of the Police Service and National Road Safety Commission to be up and doing in putting sanity on the roads to avoid carnage.

No wonder bystanders and road users alike were both angry and expressed their highest displeasure of lawlessness in the system. The behaviour of some of these taxi cabs amounted to indiscipline of the highest order, thus rendering the work of the Motor Transport Traffic Unit (MTTU) of the Ghana Police Service very difficult. When these recalcitrant drivers got arrested, they pleaded for leniency; when they are arraigned before the courts of the land, they said the Police are wicked and sometimes offered to bribe the Police officers. In spite of the difficult stance of these law enforcers to make sure that the right thing is done, these road users still glossed over simple driving rules.

Within ten to fifteen minutes, the taxi hit the Abokobi-Oyarifa laterite road. It slowed down to manage the gaping manholes on the road in order to prevent any breakages to the already worn out vehicle. Come to think of the types of cars plying on Abokobi-Oyarifa road, one wondered whether those cars had passed the mandatory half yearly roadworthy test. Yet there were as many MTTU staff on the road to check roadworthy certificates of all vehicles plying on that road

The taxi cab pulled a stop along the Methodist Church of Ghana Park at Oyarifa. Jobson handed a twenty Ghana Cedis note to Ama to be passed on to the driver. The lovers alighted from the taxi and headed towards a brown gate opposite. Ama pressed the doorbell and the two were ushered into the frontage of the two bedroom semi-detached swish wooden house by a bearded handsome late fifty something year old man, wearing white knickers and white T-Shirt with brownish ‘Horseman’ leather slippers to match. Ama jumped to greet her dad. “Hi, Daddy! You are very happy to see me, after a long school session.” Greg Donkor tried to play gallery to her daughter’s pranks. “Don not be silly, my dear! Indeed, you have missed home.” Ama continued to joke with her father. “Yes, it is true I missed you guys, but it does not change the fact that you are happy to see me.” “Okay, my love, you have won. I am very happy to see you. Now come in.” Greg Donkor beckoned his daughter and friend to enter. “But, Daddy, hang on!” Ama surprisingly stopped her father. She attempted to introduce Jobson to her father, who was looking at Jobson with keen attention.

They walked through the paved concrete slab land-scape to the corridor, where they were offered seats. Greg sat close to Jobson, whilst Ama went inside. Within a couple of minutes she reappeared to serve soft drinks to father and visitor, who received it with open arms. Ama left the two gentlemen at the corridor. Immediately Ama left, Greg initiated the conversation. “Yes Mister, what did you say your name was?” “Jobson!” he replied without looking at him. Jobson continued to sip his drink. Indeed he was feeling uneasy and was wondering where the outcome of all these conversations will lead to. “My name is Jobson Martinson.” He clarified. “Huh, I see; a Ghanaian from where?” Greg inquired, but Jobson opened up to tell him about himself. He shyly started.

“I came to National University of Ghana four years ago. I am now in my final year pursuing Bachelor of Science degree in Marketing. I was born and bred in Vevey, a village near Montreux in the Canton of Vaud in Switzerland. Indeed, I came to Ghana to look for my father but I must admit that four years down the lane, I have not made any inroads. However, I could console myself with the fact that I am graduating this summer. At least l can have a certificate to show to my people that my journey had not been fruitless.” Greg who had been nodding consistently feigned much interest in the visitor’s story. “So in Ghana, how do you cope with your commitments, particularly finances?” Greg insisted to know. “Well Mister,” Greg interrupted. “Call me Greg or Donkor.” Jobson accepted and continued. “Mr. Donkor, I am on scholarship from the Swiss government. So my stay in Ghana has been very enjoyable.” “I see jobson. Am I right with the pronunciation of your name?” “Yes, yes, that is correct.” “Okay then. Tell me a little bit about your family tree, particularly, your father. Have you managed to trace him in Ghana here as you claimed?” Greg demanded, but Jobson replied in the negative. “Mister Donkor, I just tried my best but so far no positive results. I am happy with Ama, your daughter. Indeed she had managed to fill the void in my life, of which I came to look for in this country. For now she is the only person I can refer to as my very good friend.” These words startled Greg and decided to probe for more explanation. “My friend, what kind of friend are you talking about? Is Ama your course mate at the University? Anyway, this is just by the way. I believe, we will have another time to talk more.” Ama joined them. “Daddy, we have to leave. I hope you have had the opportunity to know each other for now. We shall come another time for dinner. For now we are off. See you later.” After Ama and Jobson had left the main gate, Greg called Ama.

There was a saying that the family you wished to have been born into was the one you married from. The Donkors were the first family Jobson had visited since he came to Ghana. Why was he so attracted to Ama Donkor? Why did he feel so comfortable with Ama and her family? Whether the Donkors would accept him the way he was, would be another matter for tomorrow. To Jobson the real hassle was whether Ama also loved him much as he did. If his guessed was true, will the close relationship between Ama and Koryo too have any brunt on theirs? Actually, from his fractured childhood days in Vevey, he has had high degree of wound, anger and hurt in his heart; which he would try to suppress in his relationship with Ama. Maybe, just maybe time and destiny will tell. Now his first encounter with his potential father-in-law was modest and purely civil. The issues they discussed were really turned on by curiosity: an acquaintance where there was not enough love, but one party craving more for acceptance. On the contrary, if Greg failed to show love and acceptance, the impact of their relationship would trigger a momentum between the two, which oftentimes would embody the worst hostility between potential father-in-law and potential son-in-law. As Greg and his daughter were having serious tete à tete, the above thoughts raced through Jobson’s mind.

Indeed, Jobson was in a dilemma of two most important distinctions: that was the difference between an attraction of deprivation and that of inspiration. All men had these two different circuitry inside of them. An attraction of deprivation was when someone expressed deeper feelings for another individual: but try as the person tried, he or she never got the love or respect back. That was when one got tricked and exclaimed, 'Oh my god, I am finally going to get someone to love me!' But that love went on forever and almost never came into fruition.

An attraction of inspiration, on the other hand was really the path to happiness such that someone, in a basic way, inspired someone to be the kind of person he or she ought to be. So therefore, if someone found another person with a daddy-like stuff, he or she was exuding an attraction of inspiration. Jobson Martinson was magnetised into the Donkors through the conduit of Ama because blood was thicker than water; the adage goes.

Greg Donkor asked her daughter. “Ama, my little an-gel, who is this guy to you: a mere course mate or boyfriend or a lover? I have never seen you with a boy of such nature before. Just open up and tell me everything.” Ama was taken aback with these words from her dad. She attempted to dodge the question with the plain excuse of pushing them to another day, but daddy was insistent at least to put his mind at rest or calmed his nerves. “But, daddy, suffice it to say that Jobson is my friend. Is it out of the blue for a twenty year old university girl to befriend a man?” Ama queried. “No, there is nothing wrong with a girl of your age to crack her own nuts. I just found something weird about this young man of which I cannot put my fingers on. In any case, you said you are in hurry. We shall revisit this story some other day. Meanwhile do not say anything about our discussion to him. Let water find its own level. Just be careful with him, Alright! Go.” Greg gently smacked Ama’s shoulder blade as she ran to catch up with Jobson.