THE VEIL OF DESTINY

CHAPTER TWO

BEYOND THE VEIL OF DESTINY

CHAPTER TWO

The taxi swerved sharply, its tires screeching in protest as the driver expertly avoided a catastrophic collision. Jojo's head jerked forward, his temple connecting with the tinted glass in a brief, painful impact caused by inertia. The sudden movement sent shockwaves through his body, but Akwasi was quick to react, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he seized the opportunity to tease his brother.

"Hey, Jojo, it looks like you're trying to kiss the glass!" Akwasi joked, his laughter echoing through the car until his ribs ached. Jojo rubbed his sore temple, his face flushing with embarrassment. The driver advised Jojo to put on his seatbelt — a valuable lesson learned. But Akwasi was still laughing at him.

Jojo's gentle nature and warm smile made him instantly likable. His light chocolate skin glowed with a soft radiance, complementing his bright brown eyes that sparkled with kindness. As the elder son, Jojo strived to set a good example, shouldering responsibilities with ease. However, Akwasi's mischievous streak often tested his patience, making duties more challenging than necessary. Unlike Akwasi's tough exterior, Jojo's sensitive soul made him more empathetic and compassionate. His youthful energy and flexibility allowed him to navigate life's obstacles with grace, but his emotional vulnerability made him prone to tears at the slightest provocation or prolonged laughter.

Akwasi knew exactly which buttons to press to get a rise out of Jojo, often playfully pushing his brother's limits. Yet, despite Akwasi's teasing, Jojo's remarkable self-control earned him admiration in their neighbourhood. His calm demeanour and patient nature made him a shining example, exemplifying the wisdom of Proverbs 14:29: “People with understanding control their anger, but a hot temper shows great foolishness.” Jojo's ability to keep his emotions in check, even in the face of provocation, demonstrated a maturity beyond his years.

The silence that filled the taxi was finally broken by Akwasi’s voice, his words cutting through the stillness. “Papa driver, please drop us off here,” he requested confidently.

Jojo’s brow furrowed in scepticism. “Akwasi, who told you this is Kejetia?” he challenged, his voice laced with doubt.

Akwasi’s grin appeared quickly. “Eii, Jojo! You don’t even recognize Kejetia, yet you claim to be the champion?” His teasing was playful, but Jojo’s eyes narrowed, his competitive spirit piqued.

This nearly caused a disagreement between the two, but the driver confirmed, “Yes, this place is Kejetia Market, but we must go a little bit further.”

Jojo and Akwasi were dumbfounded and didn’t know what to do. The brothers fell silent, bringing some peace to the car again.

Maa Esi’s eyelids fluttered closed, her gentle snores a testament to her exhaustion. Unbeknownst to her sons, her mind had been racing before she drifted off — consumed by worries about the market. Rising prices and dwindling supplies had made her anxious, and it had been far too long since she last visited. The weight of her responsibilities, coupled with the ache of losing her beloved husband Boakye, threatened to overwhelm her. Desperation had driven her to use her small store as collateral for a loan — a risk that now seemed reckless. Though business had initially flourished, an unexpected setback had shattered her progress, leaving her struggling to stay afloat.

She remembered vividly when Jojo needed a kidney transplant because his father had allowed him to eat too much sugary food. There was no hope at that time unless she used her provision store for a loan. She felt deeply sad about the whole issue and blessed Jojo in her heart.

Maa Esi’s slumber was fleeting, as her subconscious mind conjured up a vivid dream. She found herself navigating the bustling market, the sounds and smells eerily realistic. Suddenly, a familiar face emerged from the crowd — her husband’s estranged brother, presumed dead for years. His piercing gaze sent shivers down her spine, and she felt an unsettling sense of foreboding. “You’re in danger, Maa Esi,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent, before disappearing into thin air. The dream’s intensity left her breathless, her heart racing as she struggled to shake off the feeling of unease.

Maa Esi’s eyes snapped open, her dream’s unsettling atmosphere lingering. She met the concerned gazes of Akwasi and Jojo, their silence a testament to their awareness of her struggles. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself and addressed the driver, “Let’s stop at Debbie’s stall, please.”

Debbie’s stall was a veritable treasure trove of exquisite fabrics, each one carefully selected to reflect her refined aesthetic. Beautifully arranged bolts of cloth in every hue and texture seemed to dance before Maa Esi’s eyes, inspiring her imagination. As she scanned the vibrant displays, her mind whirled with creative possibilities — elegant dresses, stylish accessories, and vibrant home décor. Debbie’s keen eye for detail and passion for beauty shone through in every carefully curated fold.

The taxi halted, and within a minute, they disembarked onto the bustling market streets. As Maa Esi paid the young driver, her expression softened into a warm smile. “God richly bless you, my son,” she said, her voice infused with genuine kindness. “May you never lack. A wise son brings joy to his father, but a foolish son grieves his mother. May you be a blessing to your father, family, and all those around you.”

Her words, rooted in wisdom and experience, left a lasting impression on the driver, who nodded gratefully and said, “Amen,” before driving away.

As they stepped into the market, the pungent aroma of decaying waste and ripe produce enveloped them, a potent mix that assaulted their senses. The gutters, clogged with trash and stagnant water, emitted a noxious odour that made breathing difficult. Maa Esi’s eyes scanned the surroundings, her expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. “So, when will Ghana be neat and smell good, even just a little?” she murmured, her rhetorical question hanging in the air unanswered.

The sounds of Kejetia Market were a different story altogether — a vibrant tapestry of vendors calling out, horns honking, and the murmur of haggling. The cacophony enveloped them like a warm embrace — a sensory overload that was both overwhelming and exhilarating.

Vendors called out in unison, “Akwaaba!” (Welcome!). Their voices wove in and out of the symphony like a rich tapestry. Horns honked, pots clanged, and the murmur of haggling filled the air, creating melodic chaos that left Akwasi and Jojo breathless. The fragrance of fresh produce wafted through the alleys — juicy pineapples, crisp lettuce, and fragrant herbs like parsley and basil.

Akwasi’s stomach growled with anticipation for savoury local delicacies such as fufu and banku.

To Jojo’s left, the vibrant colours of traditional textiles unfolded before their eyes — kente cloth, Adinkra prints, and brightly dyed fabrics. Weavers sat at wooden looms, their skilled hands shuttling threads into intricate patterns.

As they navigated the narrow alleys, the feel of rough-hewn wood beneath Jojo’s feet gave way to smooth concrete. The air was thick with heat, but the shade of the market’s corrugated iron roof provided respite.

Every step revealed new treasures — gleaming gold jewellery, shiny aluminium pots, and baskets woven from sturdy straw. Akwasi ran his fingers over the rough texture of handmade crafts, feeling the weight of tradition. Suddenly, a burst of laughter erupted from a nearby stall. A group of women, their faces creased with age and wisdom, shared stories and jokes as they arranged pyramids of colourful fruits. One offered Jojo a slice of succulent mango, but he quickly thanked her and refused.

Outside, the sounds of the city — horns, engines, and the wail of sirens — mingled with the market’s din. The Prempeh II Museum loomed nearby, its elegant façade a testament to Ashanti heritage.

Maa Esi and her two sons stopped at a food stall, where the aroma of sizzling kebabs and plantain wafted up, tantalizing their taste buds. The vendor, Auntie Adwoa, smiled as she wrapped a steaming portion in newspaper. “Enjoy, my dear,” she said warmly.

As they savoured the flavours, Akwasi felt Kejetia’s rhythm become his own. This was more than just a market — it was a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the energy of Kumasi.

As they continued their journey, Akwasi exclaimed, “Wow, Maa Esi, Kejetia Market is like a treasure trove!”

Maa Esi chuckled, “And the greatest treasure is the resilience of our people.”

“Yes, I never expected it to be like this,” Jojo added.

As they explored the market, they stumbled upon a group of street children, their faces etched with hardship.

“But Mummy, why are those small children doing that risky and hard job?” Jojo asked, his voice heavy with emotion. “They are too small for that.”

Jojo and Akwasi saw a very young boy, who looked about eight years old, pushing a heavy wooden truck filled with maize.

“It’s because they are greedy for money, that’s all,” Akwasi answered carelessly.

“These children are like the wildflowers in Matthew 6:28–30,” Maa Esi reflected. “They bloom in adversity, yet still exude resilience.”

“These street children have no place to call home,” she continued softly. “Many have good parents, though most don’t understand why they are here. Some were abandoned due to poverty; others followed bad friends who led them astray.”

“I see,” Akwasi said, seeking clarity. “So that’s why they are all moving to and fro here?”

“Mummy, why can’t the government do anything about it?” Jojo added quickly, not waiting for an answer.

“Jojo, please let Mummy answer my question first,” Akwasi insisted. “I’m the one who asked first, please, with all due respect.”

“You asked, and I also added mine,” Jojo retorted. “So wait and let Mummy answer mine first.”

“No, Jojo,” Akwasi said firmly. “I’m not accepting this, and I won’t allow it this time.”

Jojo’s anger flared, but he reined it in. “Hey, young man, try to show some respect; otherwise, you’ll face the music one of these days.”

“Insha’Allah, you cannot do anything to me,” Akwasi shot back. “Age doesn’t matter — muscles and body physique count.”

Maa Esi intervened, her gentle voice cutting through the tension.

“My sons, governments are like a drop in the ocean — not doing enough to help reduce streetism. That’s why you must learn hard, overcome trials, and have your goals established, so your children won’t end up like this. Respect your parents and everyone you meet. We must be the change we wish to see.”

Akwasi vowed to study hard and make a better life for himself. “Mummy, so I won’t end up like these dirty and poor kids here?” he asked proudly.

“And Akwasi,” Maa Esi added gently, “curb your aggression and stubbornness. They won’t serve you well.”

Akwasi’s blue eyes welled up with tears as he imagined himself in the children’s shoes. “So, Mummy, you’ll abandon me like this?” he asked sadly.

“Oh, my son,” she said softly, “how could I ever leave my small, cute boy to live like this? I’m just saying — be respectful and learn hard.”

Akwasi rushed into his mother’s arms, locking eyes with her as he enveloped her in a tight hug. Relief washed over his face.

But Jojo stood frozen, his gaze fixed on something that made his heart sink. His eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. A shiver ran down his spine.

“What is it, Jojo?” Maa Esi asked, concern etched on her face.

Akwasi’s arms tightened around his mother. “Jojo, what’s wrong?” she pressed, her voice tinged with unease, her eyes scanning his frozen expression.

The silence was oppressive, heavy with foreboding, as if the very air thickened with unspoken secrets.

Jojo’s lips parted, but his voice was frozen in his throat. His gaze remained fixed, transfixed by a sight that seemed to drain the vibrant colours and lively energy from the market.

The sounds of vendors calling, pots clanging, and haggling faded into the background as Jojo’s eyes locked onto something that made his heart sink. His breath caught, and a shiver ran down his spine, leaving him paralyzed and speechless.

Akwasi’s grip on his mother tightened. “Jojo, what’s wrong?” she repeated, her voice laced with unease.

The silence hung like a dark cloud, its oppressive weight pressing down on them. Jojo’s silence was a ticking time bomb, poised to unleash a truth that would shatter their fragile peace.

The anticipation was suffocating, each moment stretching like an eternity. Then, in a whisper that sent chills through their veins, Jojo uttered a single, haunting word:

“Look.”

The sound seemed to echo through the market, its significance magnified by the stunned, silent gasp that hung in the air — a harbinger of revelations that would shake the very foundations of their world.