Children of the Street

by Kwei Quartey

  “Mm-hm. Kind of like bamboo.”

  “Yes. Very attractive.”

  “I agree. It’s my favorite kind of wood.”

  She laughed. “I meant you.” Her eyes raked his torso and his slim, taut hips. “Being a policeman is such a dangerous job. Do you have any intriguing scars?”

  “None that I can show you.” Dawson said. “My wife doesn’t like other women looking at my scars.”

  “I see.” Disappointment came over her features like a pall. “Happily married, then?”

  “Very. You’re not?”

  “Married, just not happily.” Her pretty eyes moistened up. “Were it not for the kids, I would leave. Do you have children?”

  “One boy. Seven.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Hosiah.”

  “Nice. So musical. You must love him very much.”

  “I would kill or die for him,” Dawson said, stepping away from her.

  “I’m looking for an Antwi Boasiako. Socrate says he’s been here before, but that he’s not here today.”

  Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before she answered. “Is he in trouble?”

  “He might be. But more important, he could have some information for me.”

  “I see. I don’t know if and when he’ll return to SCOAR. But if he does, I can let you know.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  There was a knock on the door. Genevieve opened it to find a girl of about ten.

  “Mepaakyεw, madam,” she said, “Mr. Socrate said I should call you and the policeman because he has found Antwi Boasiako hiding.”

  35

  Dawson and Genevieve ran up the stairs, following the girl out to the veranda. Socrate was standing in front of the open storeroom. Antwi was sitting on the ground before him with his head down and his arms wrapped around himself.

  “Inspector, I believe this is the boy you’re searching for,” Socrate said. “I came up here to get something from the storeroom and found him hiding inside.”

  “Antwi!” Genevieve exclaimed. “Why are you hiding?”

  “Apparently he found out the police were looking for him and so he ran up here to conceal himself,” Socrate said.

  Exchanging glances with Dawson, Genevieve kneeled next to the boy and lifted his face. “Antwi, what is going on?” And then she saw that he had fresh abrasions on his forehead. “Oh, what happened to your face?”

  He sniffed and wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand.

  “I saw that too,” Socrate said. “I think he hurt himself in the storeroom. There isn’t much space in there. Antwi, did you hit yourself on the forehead when you were inside?”

  Antwi gave Socrate a look laced with pure hatred.

  Dawson moved closer to the storeroom and peered inside. True, there wasn’t much in the way of space.

  “You were hiding from me?” Dawson asked Antwi.

  The boy sniffed again, wiped his nose, but wouldn’t answer.

  “Do you need to question him?” Genevieve asked Dawson quietly.

  “At CID, not here.”

  “Can we take care of his forehead first, Inspector?” Socrate asked. “I think Nurse has come in.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “He did it,” Antwi said suddenly.

  “Who?” Dawson said. “What?”

  The boy’s head was bent. He spoke to the ground. “Mr. Socrate did it. He told me to hide from you. He put me inside there. And he closed the door and locked it. I couldn’t breathe.”

  Socrate’s mouth dropped. “Ho, Antwi!” He looked at Dawson and then at Genevieve, stunned. “I can’t even believe he’s telling such a lie.”

  “Antwi,” Genevieve said sorrowfully and with heavy rebuke. “What is one of the five rules we teach here? No lying. Not so?” Shaking her head, she stood up. “All right, let’s go and see Nurse. Then you’re going with Inspector Dawson. Oh, Antwi, you’ve made us sad today.”

  Sitting at Dawson’s desk, Antwi looked like a little, trapped animal. He was dusty and ragged. The SCOAR nurse had bandaged his forehead.

  The room was noisy, detectives taking and making reports and coming and going and sometimes almost colliding in the doorway. Dawson gave Antwi a bag of water from his desk. The boy tore a corner of the plastic off with his teeth and thirstily gulped the water down to the last drop. His hand was shaking.

  Dawson sat down opposite him, speaking in Twi. “Are you okay now?”

  He nodded. “Yes, please.”

  Chikata perched on the edge of the table next to him.

  “What happened, Antwi?” Dawson asked.

  “Please, I was going to the Refuge Room.” He had a boyman’s voice—on the verge of breaking. “Mr. Socrate came and called me and told me some policeman was looking for me. He said he was going to help me, that I should hide until the policeman goes away.”

  “Ei, small boy,” Chikata warned. “Don’t come here and tell lies, you hear?”

  “Please, I’m not telling you any lie. I didn’t want to go inside that room because it’s too small, but Mr. Socrate made me go inside by force. Then he lied to you and told you I was the one rather who went to hide there.”

  Dawson was studying Antwi. His eyes were direct, his voice rock steady. He was telling the truth.

  “Please, maybe you don’t know how he is, that Mr. Socrate,” Antwi continued. “He hates all of us who come to SCOAR. The only person in the world he doesn’t hate is Madam Genevieve. And as for her, she would be a head porter for his shit if he told her to do that. She doesn’t know how mad he really is.”

  “Why do you say he’s mad?” Dawson asked.

  “Some boys, they used to tell me about a storeroom, that Mr. Socrate always used to lock them in that storeroom. They said it was at the top of the building, but me, I never went to see it. One time too, he took one of the boys and put electric shocks on his body with some kind of machine.”

  Dawson and Chikata exchanged surprised glances.

  “Why didn’t you report all this to Madam Genevieve?” Dawson asked.

  “Please, because we fear,” Antwi said, turning his palms up. “We fear too much. Mr. Socrate tells us if we say anything to her, he will sack us from SCOAR, or he tells us he would report us to the police. When we go to SCOAR, we feel somehow happy and free, so if Mr. Socrate tells us we will never come back if we say anything bad about him, do you think we will say anything bad? Of course not. Look at us. We don’t have anything. We don’t have money, we don’t have house to live. Some of us don’t even have shoes.”

  Antwi sighed, deflated and despondent.

  “How old are you?” Dawson asked him.

  “Please, fifteen and a half.”

  “And you’ve been in Accra how long?”

  “Three years.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “To make money.”

  “Where are your mother and father?”

  “My mother, she died. My father, I don’t know where he is. After my mother died, he went away and left me and my brothers with my grandmother and my grandfather. Then my grandfather too, he left.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Please, I don’t know.”

  “So your grandmother was taking care of you.”

  “Yes, please, but when I was about to go to junior secondary school, she got sick, so she couldn’t work. She told me to work on the farm to get money instead of going to school.” Antwi sucked his teeth three times in a row, shaking his head. “But the farm too, you can’t make any money. So, no money, no school, no nothing.”

  “What happened to your grandmother?”

  “Please, she died.”

  “Sorry.”

  “After that, I came to Accra.”

  “Do you like living here?”

  “I make more money than in my village, so I’m happy like that. But life is hard too. At least in my village I know no one would hit me on my head and steal everything from me.”r />
  “Did Tedamm help you get a job when you first came to Accra?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Do you give him part of the money you make?”

  “I used to. Not anymore. But if he needs something, I bring it to him.”

  “Like what?”

  “Akpeteshie, food, anything. He likes to eat rice and shito all the time.” Antwi snorted in momentary amusement but grew quickly serious. “Please, Mr. Dawson, somebody told me you took Tedamm to jail yesterday. Is it true?”

  “Yes. He’s still in jail. What about girls? You bring them to Tedamm?”

  “Please, no one has to bring girls to him. They just come like water.”

  “Did Comfort Mahama come to him?”

  Antwi started visibly. His voice dropped in pitch and volume, dry as a tree’s fallen leaves. “Please, who is Comfort?”

  “You know who she is. You, Ofosu, and Tedamm were with her on Tuesday night.”

  Antwi’s eyes darted back and forth.

  “Someone saw you with her,” Dawson pressed. “What were you doing with her? What happened?”

  “Please, nothing.”

  “Where were you going with her?”

  “Please, we were just talking.”

  “What did Tedamm do to her?”

  Antwi bravely met his gaze. “He didn’t do anything.”

  Dawson got up and walked to the door, hands thrust in his pockets, head down. Antwi’s eyes followed him there and back as he returned.

  Dawson stopped at his side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “If you don’t help me and tell me what happened, they will send you to jail and I won’t be able to stop them. You want to meet Tedamm in jail?”

  Antwi was chewing his bottom lip as if it were food, blinking rapidly to stop tears. He sniffed.

  “Tedamm doesn’t care about you,” Dawson said. “He never cared about you. If you died today, he would forget about you by tomorrow.”

  Antwi began to cry, trying to wipe the tears away like a dog pawing for a bone.

  “What did Tedamm do to Comfort?” Dawson asked gently.

  “Please, we were drinking akpeteshie with her at Tudu Road. Then Tedamm was touching her …” Antwi circled his hand over his chest.

  “Breasts.”

  “Yes. And then he told us to take off her clothes and then … then me and Ofosu held her and Tedamm started to fock her by force.”

  “You did it too?”

  Antwi shook his head. “Please, no. I ran away. Ofosu too.”

  “You left Tedamm with Comfort?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you come back?”

  “Please, no, I didn’t.”

  “Did you see Comfort again that night?”

  “No, I never saw her again, please.”

  “What about Tedamm?”

  “I was hiding from him because I knew he would beat me for leaving him like that.”

  “Why did you run away and leave Tedamm?”

  “Someone was coming.”

  “Who?”

  “In a car. It stopped and shined the lights on us. I thought it was the police, so I ran away.”

  “You didn’t see who was in the car?”

  “Please, no, because the light was in our eyes.”

  “Could you tell what kind of car it was?”

  “No, please.”

  “I see.” Dawson paused. “You know Comfort was killed on Tuesday night, don’t you?”

  “Please, yes, I know.” He looked down.

  “Did you kill her?”

  “Please, no.”

  “But what you did was still wrong,” Dawson said. “You helped Tedamm rape Comfort. That’s wrong. Never forget that, understand?”

  Antwi’s chin was quivering. New tears began. “Please, yes,” he whispered.

  “Do you think Tedamm killed Comfort?”

  Antwi rested his forehead in his palm. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I just wish I never met him. Don’t let him go. Please, don’t let him go.”

  “I won’t,” Dawson said. “And what about you? What are you going to do with your life?”

  Antwi was downcast. “I don’t know. Me and Ofosu, we want to do something together to become better and leave this shit life. Ofosu is the only one I trust.”

  “He’s your best friend?”

  “In all the world.”

  Dawson smiled. “What about school? You said you were about to enter junior secondary before you came to Accra. Why don’t you let SCOAR help you?”

  Antwi shook his head so hard it might have come off. “Please, if Socrate is there, I’ll never go back.”

  “I’m going to do something about that,” Dawson said.

  Antwi gave him a quizzical smile.

  “I would like to meet Ofosu,” Dawson said. “Do you know where he is?”

  “Sometimes we used to go to Kaneshie Market together,” Antwi said. “Maybe he’s there now.”

  Kaneshie Market is massive. Dawson and Antwi went to several areas where street kids hung around and where Ofosu might be found, like the video game kiosks. These key spots all had nicknames like Frytol, Roadside, Gold Store. Their last stop, called Dora, was where Ofosu was. He was joking around with three boys his age, while two others were washing a black Altima under the watchful eye of its owner.

  When Ofosu saw Antwi approaching, a smile burst on his face and he broke away from the others and came to meet his friend. Ofosu, a year or two younger than Antwi, was wearing a faded orange T-shirt and jeans. With a heart-shaped face, he had some of the most beautiful features Dawson had ever seen on a boy.

  “Ei, Antwi!” Ofosu exclaimed. “Where have you been?”

  Speaking in Twi, they playfully jostled each other and held hands for a moment. Ofosu was easily the more effervescent of the two, constantly smiling and laughing about something.

  “This is my friend Dawson,” Antwi told him. “Chaley, he beat Tedamm, oh!”

  “Serious?” Ofosu looked at Dawson in admiration. “Where is Tedamm now?”

  “In jail,” Dawson said.

  Ofosu and Antwi looked at each other with eyes shining, as though they had secretly wanted this for a long time.

  “Dawson works at CID,” Antwi said. “When something bad happens, then he investigates.”

  “Not policeman?”

  “Ah, chaley, no. This one, they call it ‘detective.’ Better than policeman. He wants to know about what happened that night we were with Comfort.”

  Ofosu nodded, looking uncomfortable.

  “But he already knows everything,” Antwi warned him. “Tedamm told him, and me too, I told him. So when he asks you some question, don’t tell any lie. He’ll catch you at once.”

  Dawson looked at Antwi with new respect. The boy was doing a masterful job.

  Antwi gave Ofosu another good-natured shove and then left him alone with Dawson to join his other friends.

  “Ofosu, εte sεn?”

  “Mepaakyεw, εyε.”

  “You’re happy Tedamm is in jail?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Did he rape that girl Comfort?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “What about you? Did you rape her too?”

  “No, please.”

  “You know what is rape?”

  “Please, yes, I know.”

  “What is it?”

  “Please, when the man make sex on the woman by force.”

  “Yes. Is it wrong?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You know it’s wrong, but you and Antwi helped Tedamm do it.”

  “Because we fear him.”

  “Listen to me. I said, you know it’s wrong, but you helped Tedamm do it.”

  Ofosu bowed his head.

  “So that means you did wrong too,” Dawson said.

  “Please. Yes.”

  “Did Tedamm kill Comfort?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t know.”

  “When you ran away with Antwi, did you go back to
Tedamm?”

  “No, please.”

  “Did you see Comfort again?”

  “No, please.”

  “Do you know anyone who wanted to kill her?”

  “No, please. Not at all.”

  “What about Ebenezer Sarpong? Do you think Tedamm killed him?”

  “Please, I don’t know.”

  Ofosu was beginning to squirm visibly with discomfort.

  “Okay,” Dawson said. “That’s all. Be good. You and Antwi should try to go to school, you know?”

  “Yes, please.” He smiled, showing all his flawless teeth. “I want to do that.”

  Dawson walked with Ofosu to the rest of the group. They launched into boisterous teasing and joking around, occasionally punching one another to peals of mirth. Dawson turned away with a smile. Boys will be boys. And it takes them such a long time to grow up.

  36

  In the evening when Dawson came home, a flour-dusted, spatula-wielding Hosiah greeted him excitedly.

  “Daddy, we’re making pizza!”

  “So I see.” Dawson swept his son up onto one shoulder. “And looks like you were rolling around in the pizza dough. Are you going to be in the pizza?”

  “No, Daddy!” Hosiah giggled. “How could I be in the pizza?”

  “I don’t know, but if I find a foot in there, I’m not eating it.”

  Hosiah went weak with hysterics. Dawson carried him into the kitchen, where there were two surprises waiting. The first was a pleasant one—Cairo and Audrey.

  Dawson rumpled Cairo’s hair. He hugged Audrey. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  She was sweet, with dimples and a smile that had hooked Cairo and reeled him in the first instant he laid eyes on her.

  Christine, who was at the side counter rolling out pizza dough, said, “Dark, Mama brought you something you really like.”

  That was the other surprise, much less pleasing: Christine’s mother, Gifty. She was sitting at the table with her legs demurely crossed.

  “Really,” Dawson said. “What would that be?”

  As always, Gifty was beautifully turned out, this time in a glamorous short bob hairstyle from her vast collection of wigs, a slim-fitted turquoise top, black slacks, and stilettos to match the blouse. Ironically, her stylishness made it easier for Dawson to dislike her. Almost to his regret, though, his wife was physically very much her mother’s daughter. The older and the younger, each of them was lovely, but there the similarity ended.