My phone rings

The mobile phone is a wonderful tool. It means more than the moon

landing. Because it means more to more people. It has expanded the

boundaries of democracy and eased

human contact beyond horizons never previously imagined.

But the mobile phone can sometimes be an aching pain in the

hind cheek.

My phone rings. Once. I ignore it.

My phone rings again. Once again. I ignore it. Again.

My phone rings again. Twice this time. It's the same number calling.

Should I take it? …. Naaah, if it's that important he/she’ll invest at

least a

minute rather than flash me.

My phone rings again. Three times. The line cuts the moment I hit the

answer button.

This is getting irritating. I’m drumming on the pillow with my finger

tips. Trying

to calm down, and….

….My phone rings again. Just once. Again. Same number.

Maybe it’s one of my cousins at Akropong. Maybe

something’s happened to myfather. He’s 83.

Maybe my mum is… maybe armed ro… I banish the thought before

it fully forms.

If there’s been an event of a really urgent nature and a complete

stranger has chanced upon it and has found my number,

I’m sure he/she would be kind enough to call me quickly and

ask me to call back. Besides…



….My phone rings… Once. Allllright!!! I’ll return the call.

This is the sixth time. It has to be important.



His/Her phone rings….

"Hello." It’s a..a…a... man! There’s no urgency in his voice. There’s loud

music in the background … "I wan to sheee you my fada…I wan to shee you my

……

"Yes, hello! Good evening, sir.

"Eh? Eh? I can’t hear you well," bellows the fellow down the line.

"Sorry, but you called my number."

"Eh? Speak up! I can’t hear!" He is shouting at me now. It’s as if it’s my

fault that he is at a drinking spot, and worse still that it’s my burden that

he’s seated inside the loud-speaker!

"Y..o..u c..a..l..l..e..d m..y p..h..o..n..e!" I said.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?!"

"I say who are you?!!"

"No, who are you? You called my phone!

"Me I don’t call your phone. Never! What is your name?"

"Could you please take a look at your call register. Maybe you mistook my number for

someone else’s."

"It’s not possible. Never!

Click.

Five minutes later….

My phone rings…. It’s the fellow. He’s flashing me. Again!

I decide to turn off the phone…. But then…

My phone rings….again and again and again and again and again and again. He’s

not flashing me this time. Maybe he’s discovered who it is he called. Maybe we

know each other.

"Hello, again!" I answer.

To the accompaniment of Batman’s 'Se obi do wo a…’….."Yea, charley, I want

Awushie, Awushie! Make you call Awushie for me eh! Awushie!"

I’m thinking Agushi, agushi! Agushi is what you want, motherf….. I’m thinking

it but I’m not quite dishing it. "I’m sorry, I don’t know Awushie."

"Oh, why Awushie no be your sis?"

"No!"

"Don’t you live at Agbogba, near the gutter?!"

Click.

I take in a deep breath to avoid smashing my own phone against the wall in utter fury.

I check the time on the phone before switching it off.

It’s 2.42 a.m.

I’m drenched in adrenalin.

I lay awake till daybreak.