And just like that, at 4am, the pitter patter of the rain on the roofs turns gentle dreams into weather-forecasts: Accra’s official annual rain parade had already begun. In this city, every rainy day is a mix of drops and dreams, of stories waiting to be told.

By sunrise, children are already plotting their routes dodging puddles deeper than their backpacks, hoping their uniforms stay dry enough to pass for morning inspection in school. For many others, the rain means classes under trees are cancelled or sometimes soggy textbooks that do not stand a chance against nature.

Meanwhile, “Amelia” the ever cheerful “Hausa Koko” seller stands under her tiny umbrella eyes on the empty streets.

The rain has kept her usual customers, mostly school children at home, leaving her pots full and her earnings uncertain.  She worries about how she will feed her children tonight, glancing down the road for any sign of business as the rain continues.

Not far away, the rain writes a different tale for Kwame. Water drips steadily from the patched roof of his single-room self-contain, landing in a battered plastic bucket. 

The sound mixes with distant traffic and the occasional shout from neighbours braving the rains in search of their daily meal. Kwame sits on his mattress, watching the water creep closer to his last dry spot. 

His phone buzzes, a message flashes on his phone from the landlord: “Your rent is due, pay me or move out.”  There is no mention of the leak, just the same demand.  Kwame sighs, shoulders slumped, as the smell of dampness fills the room.  He wonders how much longer he can keep patching both his roof and his hope.

A few miles away from Kwame’s leaking room, traffic on the motorway has ground to a halt.  Inside a ‘Trotro,’ passengers sit quietly, soaked from the rain, the air is thick with frustration. A dispute breaks out over one cedi change, with the mate explaining there Is no small notes.  Some passengers urge patience; others join the demand for change.  As the rain continues, frustration grows, echoing the city’s everyday struggles when it rains.

 And who am I? I am just a tale bearer observing a city that is blurred by drops of heavy rain. So, as the rain falls, remember: Accra is always alive with drops and dreams, each one a story waiting.

Until we meet again,

Eyram, the tale bearer.

By the time he returned to Ghana, David had gained solid financial muscle. With his wife as project director, he established Plant Warehouse, a company which rented out equipment to construc­tion and mining companies.

The head office was in Accra, but most of their equipment were based in Kumasi and Tarkwa. With solid links with firms in Germany, he had no difficulty mobilising equip­ment, and clients were pleasantly surprised at the range of machines available, and the quality of ser­vice.

Although he had become quite wealthy, he kept a low profile, spending most of his free time with his wife and two daughters. In addition to taking good care of his parents and numerous relatives, he did quite a few charitable works in his hometown, Aboso and other parts without drawing attention to himself.

He donated computers and a pick-up truck to the Aboso Senior High School. And of course, he do­nated books and audio-visual ma­terials for the study of French. He insisted that no publicity whatso­ever be given to these donations, apart from the formal handing over to the Regional Education Director.

His two daughters, Abrefi and Adaawa, had more than compen­sated for the treachery he suffered at the hands of Gladys, the woman with whom he had had that unfor­tunate false start in life.

Regrettable as that episode was, it had given him the momentum to relaunch his career. He had closed that chapter, as his parents had advised.

Once in a while he was tempted to reflect on the daughter that was quite clearly his, but he stood on the declaration made by his father, that if she was truly his, God would take care of her and she would return to him. So far, there was no sign of her. Well…

After the company was fully established, Adoma stopped partic­ipating in management to concen­trate on managing the home, and providing effective support to the children.

But she established good rapport with the company’s drivers, techni­cians and other technical workers. Very often, she would go to the offices to support her husband.

As they were retiring to bed one evening, Adoma raised the issue of their past at Aboso.

‘I sometimes wonder what would have happened to me if you and Gladys had enjoyed a peaceful marriage’.

‘A very handsome young man would have met you, taken you to Germany, raised some capital and returned with you to start a com­pany, and a family. And you would have enjoyed a very peaceful marriage’.

‘And who would that man be’.

‘He would have been called Da­vid’. She collapsed with laughter’.

‘I used to wonder whether I did right by leaking information about Gladys to you’.

‘I would certainly have gotten to know. You know the kind of revul­sion people feel when a recently married person gets involved in a scandal, especially in a small com­munity like Aboso.

Some of our colleagues knew, and were about to tell me anyway. I would certainly have gotten to know. And I would have taken the same action I took. I certainly didn’t deserve to be treated like that. And as to whether I should have attempted to take Sarah away from her, that woman would have done anything to make my life miserable.

She could have moved her from place to place to prevent me find­ing her, and she would have refused to cooperate with any agency we reported her to my parents’ advise was the best’.

‘I wonder, though, whether we should make some effort to find out about how she is doing. After all, she is your child. Of course, we should do this very carefully. I don’t think she has forgiven you for leaving her’.

‘I’m sure she hasn’t, but she did it to herself, didn’t she? What was the guarantee that she wouldn’t be see­ing him later in our marriage? That kind of behaviour is often repeated. I don’t regret the decision I took, at all.

I would do the same thing today, given the same situation. And don’t forget, you and I were destined to be together as man and wife. It should have happened earlier, but it still happened. Thank you very much for marrying me’.

‘I’m also grateful to you for marry­ing me. But before you fall asleep, shall we take some careful steps to find out about Sarah?’

‘Yes. You know, I’ve been receiv­ing snippets of information every now and then, but I’ve forgotten to update you. You already know that she’s in JHS three in a school at Koforidua, Research Basic and Junior High.

It’s quite a good school, run by the research institutions in the Eastern Region. She’s doing quite well in class, from what I hear, so hopefully she will qualify for uni­versity.

Gladys and Simon are still mar­ried, and they have two children, so Sarah will be growing in some kind of decent family situation. I hear though, that all is not going well with Simon’s job, and the marriage is not a very strong one. I hope they are at least managing to take good care of their kids.

I will certainly make a direct effort to contact Sarah after she’s completed JHS. She would be old enough to make a decent choice, and I hope that in spite of whatever feelings she has against me, Gladys will realise the financial advantage of allowing me to take my child’.

‘I’m happy she’s doing well in school. But I hope we can get some inside information on her emotional status. Unstable marriages often have a significant effect on kids, especially stepchildren’.

‘You are right. From what I have learnt, Gladys is the one who runs the show in the house, so I don’t think Simon will get the opportunity to mistreat Sarah. But as I said, I will start sniffing for more informa­tion’.

‘We do have to start preparing for the possibility of her joining us here, sooner or later. I’m not talking about material stuff. We can certainly take care of her. But she needs to blend well with her siblings. I’m glad we’ve already told them about her’.

‘Many thanks for that. We should have another discussion with them quite soon. I’m sure we can inte­grate her smoothly. There may be difficulties, but we will overcome them’.

‘One very final thing, David. Shouldn’t we speak to Lawyer Ache­ampong, just in case one or two legal issues arise?’

‘Yes! Of course! How come I never thought of that? I will call him first thing tomorrow. I don’t think any such issues may arise, but it will be wise not to take precautions. Thank you, sweetheart’.

By Ekow de Heer