The Kelewele Connection(Chapter One)

THE KELEWELE CONNECTION

By: Kwatemaa Tweneboah

CHAPTER ONE 

Afriyie 

There was only one scent in the world that could make me follow kidnappers to my own demise; the scent of kelewele. Instead of luring me into the back of an unmarked van with toffees, the kidnapper would only need to tell me he had kelewele in the back. In the past, my mother claimed she blamed herself for my inexplicable addiction to the Ghanaian delicacy. 

“Akua Afriyie, wo deɛ asɛ yɛde kelewele abɔ wo dua” She looked on in amusement as I munched on my favourite spicy plantain snack. “But I blame myself for this. As you know…” 

“It was the only food you could eat without throwing up when you were pregnant with me” I finished for her with a cheeky grin. 

“So now you know the story more than me eh? You’re not serious” She shook her head with a smile. 

“It’s all love Mummy” I laughed and hugged her. I smiled at the memory.  

Right now, that sweet and spicy scent was pulling me towards one of my favourite joints on the University of Ghana, Legon campus. If I was a cartoon, I’m sure I would be shown floating towards the source of the aroma which would have a hand pulling me along.  

As I got closer my eyes landed on the tall figure I had come to associate with my weekly jaunts to the spot. My heart sped up on cue. There was something about him that put my senses on high alert whenever I saw him. I’d been seeing him a couple of times in the past few weeks since I started going to that kelewele stand. Usually, he would be leaving as I got there but sometimes, I would catch him just as he thanked the seller and took his change from her. 

Stay cool, I told myself as I joined the queue. “Good evening,” I greeted. 

Some of the customers responded but the only voice I heard was his. It was deep and smooth, he sounded like he hadn’t spoken in a few hours, saving his voice to mesmerise unsuspecting women at the kelewele stand.  Our eyes met, and I felt like my heart would fall out of my chest right there, he was so fine. I looked away first and focused intently on the kelewele. 

“Ei, is the kelewele finished?” My eyes searched the glass display box with the wooden corners that usually contained trays of whatever foods were on sale. There was a pile of fried yam, as well as fried chicken and sausage but the tray that usually held kelewele was disturbingly empty. 

“Please there’s more on the fire, it won’t take long to get ready” the seller responded to my query as she dished out fried yam for another customer. 

I sighed in relief. I took my phone out of my pocket and scrolled aimlessly through my social media while I waited. Occasionally, I glanced up to watch the seller expertly dice the plantain as she held it in her hand and then drop them into the bowl of marinade. I could practically taste the ginger, pepper, and whatever blend of special spice she added to top off my favourite food. 

A few minutes later the seller’s assistant who had been tending to the food on the fire brought a basket filled with sizzling, hot kelewele and dumped it into the previously empty basket. I drooled at the sight. 

The kelewele seller proceeded to serve those in the queue before me. I watched in envy as the heap of kelewele slowly reduced. Envy soon turned into panic by the time it got to my secret crush as the heap became barely three handfuls. I looked on with longing as she wrapped up the last portion of the kelewele and handed it to him. 

There were two people still ahead of me and one let out a huff, expressing the frustration I was also feeling. 

“Auntie, I’m also buying kelewele o” I called after the seller who had gone to check on what was on the fire. She merely nodded and proceeded to stir the sizzling contents of the large frying pan on the fire with a long, metallic strainer spoon. 

“Sister, please the batch on the fire will be ready soon” the kelewele seller assured me after returning to her place serving customers at the food stand. 

I stood aside as she served those buying fried yam. I was keenly aware of the tall guy’s presence nearby and attempted a surreptitious look at him only to meet his eyes on me. My stomach did a little flip and I quickly looked away, pretending to attend to a notification on my phone. 

Nana Yaw 

My brazen stare at the cute girl with dimples turned into a meeting of eyes and I felt my pulse quicken. Did she feel that too? I wondered. Before I could think of something witty to keep her attention she looked away.

I’d noticed her the first time she came to buy kelewele and had made it a point to come there for weeks after hoping to see her again. I hadn’t been disappointed; she turned out to be a fellow kelewele lover and was there every Friday night like clockwork.

 I glanced at her again, drinking in the expectant look in her big, beautiful brown eyes that sparkled from the glow of the bobo lamp. Her petite nose was slightly scrunched up as she chewed her lower lip in concentration. I wondered if her lips were as soft as they looked.

 My gaze moved to her long slender neck which was thankfully bare since she had styled her twists in a high bun. What I would give to trail my fingers down that elegant neck.

 I was broken out of my reverie with the arrival of the fresh batch of kelewele which was met with varying sounds of relief and appreciation from those still in the queue. 

I noticed the look of expectancy on my crush’s face turn to dismay. I frowned, wondering why but my unspoken question was soon answered. 

It was her turn to be served but she hesitated. “This kelewele looks soft” she all but wailed. 

“Oh, it’s not that soft” the seller tried to assure her. “It’s not hard like the last one but it’s all the same kelewele.” “It’s not the same!” I exclaimed at the same time Miss Dimples did. 

Our eyes met and I felt a pull that went beyond our mutual love of the sweet snack. “Madam, please how much are you buying?” The kelewele seller asked, pulling Miss Dimples' eyes away from mine.  She hesitated for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. “It’s ok, I won’t be buying some today,” she said sadly.

 The kelewele seller seemed surprised but shrugged and turned to the next customer. Some of the other customers looked on in amusement as Miss Dimples left the queue.

 I looked at the newspaper-wrapped bundle in the small, black plastic bag I was holding and then looked at the cute face of the girl who preferred hard kelewele just as I did. “I wouldn’t mind sharing; would you like to have some?” 

My friend Eli who had joined the queue later gasped in a dramatic fashion. I sent a quick glare his way and turned back to Miss Dimples. 

“Nana Yaw, is this you? No this cannot be the Nana Yaw I know” the idiot spoke in a falsely solemn tone. “For the Nana Yaw I know would never, I repeat, never ever, share his kelewele” 

“Ignore that guy, I don’t even know him,” I told the pretty girl in front of me whose dimples peeked through as she smiled at what my idiot friend had said. 

“Are you sure you’re not offering just to be polite? I have no shame o, I will eat it” she warned. I laughed. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping you will do” “Don’t believe him o!” Eli yelled. 

“My friend, face your front, it’s your turn” I gestured in an attempt to distract him. He turned and I saw my chance to escape his intrusion. 

Without thinking, I said, “Quick let’s go”. I grabbed Miss Dimples’ hand, surprised by the jolt that ran through me at the contact. 

She giggled and followed me as though it was the most natural thing in the world.  

 We got to my car before I thought to ask her name. We exchanged names like they were an afterthought to the bigger conversation of our budding relationship. I tried not to overthink how natural it all felt.

 I opened the passenger side door and gestured in a half bow for her to sit. 

She smiled, hesitated for half a beat and then sat down. Shutting her door I hurried to my side and started the car. Taking a deep breath, I reversed out of my spot at the carpark at the night market.

Read the rest of Afriyie and Nana Yaw’s story; purchase The Kelewele Connection 

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