Who knows what an old secret agent is thinking?
Kwame Mainu and his team from the University of Warwick in England were helping to run a short course for Ghanaian small business owners at the University of Kumasi. However, because a drug cartel had tried to persuade visiting Warwick academics from Kumasi to act as couriers, a British undercover agent, a Ghanaian veteran, Tam Gordon, had been included in Warwick’s team. A company with a representative registered to attend the course, Sika Ye Na, was suspected of being connected to the Lebanese firm Hanabis, which was known to be involved with drug traffickers. Kwame knew that if Sika Ye Na Enterprise was connected to Hanabis, it was likely that the owner, Cecilia, was the ex-girlfriend of one of the Lebanese directors. In this case, Cecilia could have been a contemporary of his ex-wife, Comfort, or known to Comfort through her many contacts in the Kumasi business community. “There’s a good chance Comfort knows if Cecilia is connected to Hanabis,” Kwame told Tam, “let’s pay her a visit when we close this afternoon.”
“Any excuse to see your ex-wife,” Tam said with a wink.
“It’s a serious suggestion that will help our investigation,” Kwame insisted with a smile.
“Combine business with pleasure,” Tam continued along the same lines.
If you don’t stop, I’ll have your fufu rationed.
‘Oh, that’ll stop me!’
Comfort welcomed them with, ‘I’m glad you came, the cook made too much fufu and was going to throw most of it away.’ Kwame and Tam exchanged smiles. “Kwame threatened to ration my fufu today,” Tam told her. ‘Oh, don’t do that, Kwame, we need your full capacity tonight.’
A fierce tropical storm, which often struck at this time of day, prevented them from conversing over drinks in the garden, and the drumming of rain on the roof, walls, and windows prevented conversation inside. ‘Is this storm a phenomenon, or is the rainy season earlier this year?’ Tam yelled in Kwame’s ear. “Whatever it is, we’d better wait quietly until it’s over,” Kwame yelled, – it won’t last long.
They sat in silence sipping their drinks, each lost in their own thoughts. Kwame sensed that he and Comfort shared thoughts in common, but what was Tam thinking? Was he focused narrowly on his current research, anxious only for an early reduction in ambient noise pollution, or was he thinking of past memories of tropical storms long ago heralding cool, passionate nights after long hot days? He looked at Tam, who returned his gaze with an intensity that convinced Kwame that telepathy might not be a myth. He decided to restrict his museum to his own affairs.
After about twenty minutes, normal conversation could be resumed. What can I do for you guys? Comfort asked. ‘First of all, can you please give me another glass of this delicious Grunshie dick,’ said Tam. “It brings back so many good memories,” she added with a pointed look at Kwame.
