The Legend of Kwadu Banana Explained — an autobiography (1)
Chapter 1
Before I begin with this variant of my grandfather’s account, do grab yourself a chair and a glass of sparking water perhaps (if you’re into such a thing), because as true as this story is, it still sounds like fiction.
If you’ve ever lived in Cantonments, along the odd border between Labone and where it suddenly becomes Cantonments, you would have heard the loud wails of the Imam Baharutu, when he calls all his kind to worship before morning’s first light. The central mosque where Baharatu chants out his prayer calls, is as old as Cantonments itself, isolated behind the old Military cemetery.
You’d also likely have heard another wail, an echo of a sorts, which, would without fail repeat with remarkable precision the Imam’s calls. That unmistakably is Kwadu Banana.
Cantonment is replete with variations of Kwadu’s history, as diverse as the patterns of the clouds, yet a common theme runs through each narration of how Kwadu Banana became Kwadu Banana and then nothing: his demise. Some versions even have it that Kwadu Banana was not always Kwadu Banana. That he had been known most parts of his growing up as Amponsah, or sometimes as Konadu. Nonetheless, they refer to the same person.
This version of Kwadu Banana that I will tell was narrated to me by my grandfather, who claims that he was very much a part of what happened when it happened to Kwadu banana. He argues passionately how that his version may be the only true version. It’s a sad tale, with a hint of humour, and all so true.
It’s mid-April.
Kwadu Banana wakes up quite early. It’s still dark outside. He lies in his bed thinking. He’s disturbed. There’s this thing he has to tell Mama about but she’ll never agree to it. She’s old stock and the kind that believes too much in the system. “Go to school and get a degree”, she says, “you’ll be better off”.
Kwadu was in his second year of senior high school, and had just about had it with these teachers, and classes, and everything else. He hated it. He just wanted to be cool and rich and comfortable. His family was quite rich and frankly he didn’t think he’d ever require a job to survive.
If only he can muster the courage to tell his mother that life holds no meaning now. And that he contemplates just leaving home and living it out as a hustler. But that scares him more. Hustlers have no money.
One day Kwadu meets this guy during lunch-break. He would not have ever met this guy if he hadn’t been late to the canteen. Now he must go to the school market for a bite. This guy is sitting on his own, and Kwadu wonders why he doesn’t recognize him. The guy has a blazer on, the type that all final year seniors wear for no apparent reason. Kwadu is cool with all the seniors so he says hello.
“yo, watsup”
The guy nods calmly without batting an eyelid, his head is down and he’s staring at Kwadu’s feet.
“I haven’t seen you around ooo, what class are you in?”
“3 business” he mutters coolly.
The market woman had served Kwadu’s beef roll and Coca Cola by now, and Kwadu sat across from the senior. The boy had long socks that were not school colours, and extremely dark hair. Kwadu noticed that either he didn’t smoke, or he used a lot of Konshon (the lip bleach thing that was popular among highschoolers) because his lips were quite pink.
“Abeg what be your name?” Kwadu asked.
The boy’s weirdness intrigued him. Kwadu had always been confident about himself because he was always amongst the rich and cool kids in school, but the airs about the boy was different.
“why you wan know?”
“Oh nothing, abi school we dey, so ago fi paddy you”
“cool. I’m Alex… Anyway, what are you doing tonight?” the strange guy inquired.
“Nothing” Alex then hands over a piece of paper to Kwadu, from his pocket, and requests Kwadu’s number. He promised to call Kwadu for a special meeting.
That evening when Kwadu got home. He got a call from Alex, requesting him to meet him at the old mosque area. Kwadu would have let his driver drop him off, but he decided maybe Alex wanted a secretive kind of thing, judging from his mannerisms; plus, he was just too glad to be doing something that took his mind off school.
When Kwadu got there, a bunch of guys noticeable all seniors from school were huddled about the back of the mosque. Their backs leaning on the west wall of the entrance.
These boys didn’t smoke. They didn’t drink. They didn’t chase girls. Nothing vile they did, but they were secretive. And Kwadu was officially in bad company.
Alex was like the defacto leader, because he showed Kwadu to all the others, and made the introductions. Kwadu kinda liked their vibe. There was Ponty, Kwame, Junior, Tress and Forson. Of course, some of these names were nicknames, and Kwadu knew this.
“So, what you guys dey do… what’s the plan here”
“School dey vex mehn, so we come here to read”, Ponty said, and handed Kwadu a little green book.
About the size of a lady’s coin purse. It could not have been any bigger.
Kwadu felt at home instantly. He bonded with anything anti-school.
“So chaley anytime we make stressed we come here to read mehn” Ponty continued.
“You’re welcome anytime” Kwame voiced in.
The guys all pulled out similar books from their pockets and opened to the middle page, their faces suddenly turning serious. Kwadu did same.
In the book were a bunch of letters and symbols. And a few English words. It was almost last light, and Kwadu strained to see the letters. He was about to reach for his phone, so he could use the torch when the guys started a chant-like hum.
Kwadu felt light and his vision clouded.
‘EI, what you guys dey do ridee..” He would not finish his sentence when he found himself on his bed in his room. His shirt was drenched with sweat -His school shirt that he had long taken off. He stood and oriented himself. What had happened? He turned on his room light.
Across the table lay his phone and the green book. The same green book. He was convinced now that he hadn’t just dreamt what had happened.
Mama called from downstairs, “Kwadu wake up and come eat. How long will you sleep, ahhba!”
