CHAPTER EIGHT
955 Words
CHPTER EIGHT
THE VEIL OF DESTINY.
Jojo turned around, his small hands clutching the straps of his worn-out shirt. The noise of the market pressed in from all sides—women shouting over prices, the clang of pans, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables. But his mother’s voice was nowhere to be heard.
“Mummy!” he called, his voice barely cutting through the commotion. “Akwasi!”
No reply.
He looked around again. The tomato seller, the cloth vendor, the man with the monkey—all strangers now. The faces blurred into a river of unfamiliar expressions. His heartbeat quickened. “Mummy!” he cried louder this time.
A hawker nearby frowned. “Ah, small boy, why are you shouting?”
“I can’t find my mummy,” Jojo stammered.
“Eii, you children. Always running around,” the woman muttered, waving him off.
Jojo felt his chest tighten. The air around him seemed heavier. The bright colors of the market now felt dizzying—red tomatoes, yellow peppers, brown dust—all spinning together. He turned left, then right, unsure which direction he had come from.
The monkey seller looked up briefly but said nothing. Jojo took a shaky breath and began walking, hoping to find the familiar wrapper of his mother or the voice of his brother. But all he saw were strangers haggling, buying, shouting.
Then the realization hit him like a blow: he was lost.
---
Maa Esi’s Panic
“Maa, Jojo is not here!” Akwasi’s voice broke the rhythm of the market.
Maa Esi turned sharply. “What do you mean he’s not here? He was right beside you!”
“I thought he was,” Akwasi said, eyes wide with fear. “But he’s gone.”
Her heart lurched. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. “Jojo! Jojo!” she shouted, her voice slicing through the air.
People turned. Some paused to watch, others whispered.
She pushed through the crowd, calling his name over and over. “Jojo! My son! Jojo!”
Akwasi followed, struggling to keep up. “Mummy, maybe he went back!”
“No, no, no…” she muttered, almost running now. “He never goes far. He never…”
Her breathing quickened. Her hands shook as she clutched her head. The sound of the market faded into a blur of noise and echoes.
“Have you seen a small boy?” she asked frantically at a nearby stall.
The woman shook her head. “No, madam. What color is his shirt?”
“Blue. Blue with a torn collar. He’s small—very small. Please help me!”
A few vendors began murmuring, their eyes darting around. But no one saw him.
The minutes stretched painfully. Each second was another needle in her chest.
“Mummy,” Akwasi whispered, tears streaming down his face, “maybe he’s hiding. Maybe he’s playing.”
She turned to him, her face streaked with sweat and dust. “This is not a game, Akwasi! He’s gone!”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
---
Collapse
She stumbled toward the center of the market, screaming his name now, no longer caring who stared.
“Jojo! My son! Jojo!”
People gathered, whispering. Someone tried to hold her arm, but she shook them off.
“Maa, please, calm down,” a man said gently.
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she cried. “He’s only a boy! My boy—”
Her chest heaved. Her hands trembled violently. The world spun.
“Mummy,” Akwasi sobbed, clutching her waist. “Please stop shouting. People are looking.”
But she didn’t hear him anymore. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and then, suddenly—her knees buckled.
“Mummy!” Akwasi screamed.
She fell, her head striking the dusty ground. The basket spilled beside her—tomatoes rolling, onions scattering, her cloth wrapping around her legs.
“Mummy! Wake up! Mummy, please!” Akwasi cried, shaking her arm. Tears poured down his face, his small hands trembling.
The crowd closed in. Some tried to lift her, others whispered prayers. Someone shouted for water.
But Akwasi only looked around helplessly, screaming his brother’s name. “Jojo! Jojo, where are you?! Please come back!”
The market that had begun so calm that morning was now chaos—people shouting, a woman fainted, a child missing.
Somewhere beyond the noise, far down another lane, the little monkey let out a sharp cry that echoed strangely through the air, as though it, too, sensed loss.
---
Final Scene — Silence After the Storm
The sun had begun to dip behind the rooftops. The once-bustling market slowly quieted as traders packed their goods. The dust hung low in the air, glowing orange in the fading light.
Akwasi sat on the ground beside his mother, clutching her limp hand. Her face was pale, eyes closed, lips trembling faintly as though whispering a prayer even in unconsciousness.
“Mummy,” he whispered, “please wake up. Please. Jojo is gone.”
He wiped his tears with his dirty sleeve, looking around one last time at the endless maze of stalls and strangers.
Somewhere in that maze, Jojo was lost—perhaps crying, perhaps still calling for her.
The wind blew softly through the emptying market, lifting a small piece of cloth that had fallen from Maa Esi’s wrapper. It drifted down the road, fluttering away into the distance.
And as the first evening star appeared in the sky, a quiet stillness settled—a silence that carried both hope and heartbreak.
Maa Esi’s lips moved faintly. “Lord… bring my son back to me…”
Then the night swallowed her words.
-
- Writer
