Love and Hiplife

Home > Other > Love and Hiplife > Page 1
Love and Hiplife Page 1

by Nana Prah




  First Published in Great Britain in 2020 by

  LOVE AFRICA PRESS

  103 Reaver House, 12 East Street, Epsom KT17 1HX

  www.loveafricapress.com

  Text copyright © Nana Prah, 2020

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  The right of Nana Prah to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9780463277096

  Also available as paperback

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My gratitude overflows to Love Africa Press for believing in the story and publishing it.

  I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a million times more, my editor Zee Monodee is the absolute best!

  I’d like to thank Empi Baryeh and Amaka Azie for your honesty as beta readers.

  Thanks to Estelle Kramo who helped with the Cote d’ Ivoirian French lines in the story and for introducing me to her beautiful country when I went to visit.

  The Arabic lines were initially vetted by my good friend Mario Iseed, who has wanted to be a character in one of my books ever since he learned I was a writer. Maybe one day.

  DEDICATION

  To the late Professor Joseph Kwesi Ogah. He will always be one of my favorite educators.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Climbing Mount Afadjato, the highest mountain in West Africa, wasn’t the grandest objective Lamisi Imoro had ever come up with but at this point, she’d die before she got to the top. If only she could suck in enough air, she’d be able to at least take another step.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God. I … can’t …”

  She planted both hands on her knees so she wouldn’t crumble to the ground in a heap of blubbering sobs. How many people had the young guide seen keel over in their pursuit of the climb? Why the hell did he have so much energy to leap up the incline when taking four steps knocked the wind out of her?

  Her best friend, Precious Kpodo, turned and retracted the few prized paces she’d gained towards the top to return to Lamisi’s side.

  “I told you we should’ve waited until your cold cleared,” Precious said as she her chest rose and fell with her own heavy breaths. “To be honest, with all of that yellow mucus you said you were bringing up last week, I think you have a touch of bronchitis.”

  Now able to stand without pain slashing through her ribs with every inhale, all Lamisi could do was glare at her friend. “You’re a physiotherapist, not a doctor.”

  Precious was right, but Lamisi hated being sick and would go to any length to make sure it didn’t disturb her life. Ignoring it helped it to go away faster.

  She kicked at a stone on the ground. “I swear this mountain has plotted to kill me so it can reign victorious over my downfall.”

  Precious laughed. “You’ll be all right. Take one step at a time and think about dancing on the highest point in Ghana.”

  Her body, now caught up with its much-needed oxygen supply, gained vigour with the desire to accomplish her task. She thrust her shoulders back. “I can do this. I can do anything I set my mind to.”

  She clambered up the near-vertical gradient that should’ve been outlawed for people to climb. Each forward motion turned into a burden that brought fire to her lungs as she breathed in what should’ve been cool forest air.

  Always searching for unique and fun things to do in Ghana, she’d arranged the weekend trip to the Volta Region.

  No more mountain climbing. Ever.

  She tugged her sweat-drenched T-shirt away from her chest as she stopped again, panting with the effort to catch her breath. “We’re almost at the top, right?”

  The guide’s empathy must’ve disappeared after her nonstop complaining because he didn’t look the tiniest bit sorry when he pointed straight up and replied, “We’ve gone a quarter of the way. It gets steeper from here.”

  Earlier, he’d mentioned winning a competition last year amongst all the guides by climbing and descending the mountain the fastest.

  Lamisi released a whimper of anticipated torment.

  “I can’t go on. You two can leave me here. I’ll be fine.” She waved a hand towards the scenery. “I’ll enjoy nature.”

  And inhaling without effort.

  Precious and the boy shared a look. “You know we can’t do that. They told us at the information desk that we had to stay together. If you want us to go back down, we’ll do that. This was your goal, not mine.”

  Damn. Precious knew just how to get to her. Holding in her grumbles of complaint, she trudged forward.

  What had to be an hour later, she paused and glanced at her watch. Only a miserable five minutes had passed.

  Heavy footfalls caught her attention as another group trooped up behind them. She recognized the trio of men led by their own guide—they’d left them at the hotel. How had they climbed so fast?

  She’d never been one to go fan-crazy, but her first sight of Bizzy, ingeniously pronounced Busy, one of the most fascinating hiplife artists to catch her ear, had left her speechless. The musical genre blended Ghanaian culture with hip hop beats.

  Being in the same room with him had had her hands trembling while her heart beat out of sync. Her face had most certainly turned all shades of reddish brown with the effort it had taken not to bounce up and down while screaming.

  Not even seeing him in concert several times through the course of his career had caused such a reaction. Watching his videos captivated her like no other musician ever had. Not that she spent much time gawping at his tall, muscular body as he did things with his hips that had saliva easing out the side her mouth. Once. It had happened just once.

  He’d winked at her when their gazes had caught and held in the hotel lobby. Hadn’t it been enough that her belly had done some kind of crazy flip and she’d gotten dizzy? She’d transformed into a flirtatious, bold woman as her eye had repeated the motion. Never in her thirty years had she winked at a man.

  During the brief interaction, she’d wanted to run to him and gush about his music and then ask for a picture with him, of him, near him.

  It hadn’t happened. She’d taken the coward’s way and swiped the smile off her face and endeavoured to put on an aloof air with her head high and shoulders thrust back. So what if that move had made her breasts lead her out the door and his eyes had fallen to them?

  It wasn’t the Ghanaian way to throw oneself all over stars.

  First of all, it created way bigger egos than they needed. Second, she wasn’t a groupie trying to get into his bed. Although thinking about what those hips could do made her want to reconsider the stupidity of not introducing herself to him. Who didn’t like having fans?

  Not that she’d know. Her life revolved around teaching languages and doing research for her PhD. No fandom there.

  The tall, broad-shouldered man possessing brown eyes with the clarity of a Malta Guinness glass bottle caught her attention while still a few feet below her. His decadently full lips rose at the corners, revealing white teeth that contrasted with the richness of his russet-brown skin. Judging by how his eyes narrowed as his cheeks pushed them up, his smile must be genuine.

  She couldn’t breathe for a different reason other than climbing the wretched mountain.

  Lamisi pivoted to face her nemesis and trudged upward. To relieve her mind from her
inability to take in full breaths, she counted each step. Maybe by the time she got to a hundred, they would’ve reached the top. Wishful thinking.

  She’d made it to twenty before grabbing onto the backpack she’d thrust at Precious when things had started to get rough. If the woman could drag her to the top, everything would be fine, but Precious swatted her hand away.

  “I’m not a cart donkey, Lamisi. I’m barely able to get through this ordeal myself.”

  Lamisi had trouble believing the words. Precious’ skin glistened while Lamisi had gone through three face towels—one of them Precious’—and removed the bandana she’d used as a headband to cover her twisted natural hair in order to dry her face.

  Precious continued up the pathway, and just as Lamisi was about to do the same, the second party walked up behind her. Having lost the competitive edge to make it to the top before them ten steps ago, she did nothing but shift to the side as they proceeded.

  They didn’t pass. Bizzy himself stopped next to her.

  “Good morning,” he greeted in an ultra-sexy voice.

  Maybe the exertion of scaling this beast of a mountain wasn’t so bad if it could make his voice a bit huskier and breathier than his singing voice. Not a huge difference, but her ears caught and wanted more.

  “Are you all right?”

  Lamisi tore her gaze away in an attempt to not stare like some silly school girl with a crush on the most captivating man she’d ever encountered. “I’m fine. Just taking a breather.”

  Before he could respond, one of his companions spoke in Hausa, a language of some people from northern Ghana. Individuals from ethnic groups in the middle and southern areas of the country didn’t tend to speak it. He obviously presumed neither she nor Precious understood.

  Lamisi looked down at her chest and crossed her arms over her breasts. Crap. Exercise plus cool mountain air equalled nipples which could double as headlights through her T-shirt. Why hadn’t she thought to wear a padded bra?

  Bizzy chastised the guys in Hausa about their rude behaviour and warned them to cut it out.

  The giggling men continued to gossip about her, but she was happy he’d tried to stop them.

  She sucked in a lungful of the cool air before speaking her next words in Hausa.

  “I would appreciate it if you would stop talking about my breasts as if it isn’t a natural phenomenon for them to react to the cold.” She felt a moment of pride over having pulled out the equivalent of a word in a language that wasn’t her first, or even her sixth. “As your friend pointed out, it’s rude to talk about people in a language you presume they don’t understand.” She thrust a finger into the air. “It’s impolite to talk about people in any language.”

  She hoped bird poop would land in their gaping mouths as she turned her back to them and climbed with the renewed intention of reaching the top.

  The run-in had ignited her temper and reminded her that she was a strong woman. She might not be able to control every aspect of her body or her life, but her mind was another matter. Where her thoughts went, her body would follow. Right then and there, she mentally catapulted herself to the peak. Nothing would stop her now.

  ***

  Blaise Zemar Ayoma, known to the world—or at least the hiplife-listening crowd of Ghana—as Bizzy, snapped his mouth closed and stared at the retreating back of the curvaceous woman. Her facial features and accent when she’d spoken to him in English had delineated her as someone who wasn’t from his ethnic group or at least hadn’t grown up among them. Yet, she’d understood and spoken Hausa fluently.

  He whipped around to his friends and spoke in English. “How many times have I warned you about discussing people in front of them in Hausa? Now you’ve upset her.”

  Their raucous guffaws bounced off the trees.

  Abdul, his oldest friend and trusted bodyguard when the need arose, cupped his hands a few inches from his chest. “But her nipples within her perfect breasts were pointed straight at you. Didn’t you notice?”

  He certainly had. His semi-aroused state would attest to it, but he’d never admit it. Her smile and wink that morning at the hotel had charmed him. He’d decided to introduce himself when her demeanour had changed. A scowl had contorted her face before she’d huffed out of the place.

  Both women were striking, but in very different ways. The speaker of his native tongue was shorter, the crown of her head reaching the top of his shoulder. Standing at six feet, he’d been born the runt of the family. Even his mother towered over him.

  The woman’s compact body and flawless skin presented as someone who took care of herself. Anyone who understood that natural hair was beautiful was the kind of woman for him. Not that he’d decline someone who used relaxers or wore weaves, wigs, or extensions in their braids, but he had an affinity for the confidence it took for a female to wear her hair in its original state.

  Her bright dark eyes had spoken to him, called him. Unfortunately, his friends had messed it up before anything could get started.

  “You need to apologize,” he ordered.

  Musah ignored him. “Maybe you excited her, and that’s why she was showing them off.”

  He tried again. “I know you heard me. We’ll march up there, and you’ll apologize.”

  Abdul nodded his agreement while Musah mumbled something about women being nothing but temptation.

  “Don’t you even think about making her your third wife, Musah.”

  The man tilted his head and looked to the sky as if contemplating it, and then shook his head. “Kadijah and Hawa would kill me. Besides, the woman isn’t my type. Much too severe and talkative for my liking.”

  More like bold and brave for addressing something that bothered her. Qualities that appealed to Blaise.

  “It makes no difference.” Abdul pointed to his skull. “Her tight, short-sleeved shirt, jeans, and lack of hair covering indicates she doesn’t share our religion. I don’t believe such a woman would be persuaded to become a Muslim.”

  “You know that not all women wear hijab, so she could be Muslim.” Blaise grinned. “If you two apologize, then perhaps I have a chance with her. At least to go out on a date.”

  Both men scoffed. Musah clapped a hand against Blaise’s shoulder.

  “You don’t have a chance, my brother. Don’t forget that you are also a Muslim, although a backsliding one. Besides, that woman would deliver you to an early death with her words alone. My ears are still ringing from the inflection she used in our dialect. And you know she’s not from our area. Imagine what would happen to you if she chastised you in her own language?”

  Abdul shook his head. “My friend, it would deteriorate your manhood. You need a calm woman to suit your laid-back personality. One who will support your career and not put her own above yours. A good Muslim woman like your parents expect you to marry.”

  Blaise’s heart sank. How many times had he heard the same edict about marrying within his religion, his culture if possible, from his mother?

  He longed to push aside his friend’s words, but he knew them to be true. He didn’t need a dramatic woman who would trouble him. Not with the media trying to dig up information on his lifestyle that wasn’t any of their business.

  Although he hadn’t practiced the faith consistently in years, he shivered at the thought of his parents’ reaction to him bringing home a woman who wasn’t Muslim. Their support over the years had been immeasurable. He never wanted to disappoint them. He had a certain image to uphold as the child of a chief. His father had been generous in allowing him to fulfil his passion of becoming a hiplife artist. He wouldn’t push the boundaries. His wife would be a Muslim, with no argument.

  The woman with peaked nipples and the contagious smile had interested him. Not just with her fluency in Hausa, but her initial friendly response to him at the hotel before shutting down. But his friends were right.

  “You still have to apologize,” he reminded them.

  Musah dropped his hand to his side. “Right
ly so. That’s if she doesn’t collapse by the time we reach her.”

  The two men laughed while concern made him want to get to her faster.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lamisi allowed her outrage to carry her battered muscles and tortured lungs to the top of Mt. Afadjato with only one more break. She refused to let the uncouth men catch up with them.

  When they finally reached their destination, she stumbled to the rock formation where the signpost announced the altitude of eight-hundred-eighty-five metres and allowed her legs to buckle.

  Precious snapped a few pictures of Lamisi’s final demise before handing the camera to the tour guide and posing for her own pictures.

  The stunning view left her mesmerized. Had it been worth a near-death episode to experience one of Ghana’s natural wonders? She’d have to ponder it once oxygen had replenished her brain.

  Precious took the camera from the guide and settled next to her. “Now that you can breathe, tell me what happened with those guys.”

  When Precious had asked her on the way up, Lamisi had chosen to focus on placing one foot in front of the other. She now told the story of their rudeness.

  Precious laughed. “I didn’t even notice.”

  Lamisi blew out a gust of air. “It’s not funny. It was embarrassing.”

  “At least you have nice breasts.”

  They glanced down at her chest. She’d placed a couple of tissues over her nipples to keep them hidden.

  “I do.”

  “The guys were cute,” Precious said.

  “For bush men.”

  Lamisi bristled when she noticed them clear the corner to reach the top. Hand slapping ensued among them.

  She gathered the strength to stand. “Time to go.”

  Precious turned her attention to the copse of trees leading to the end of the climb. “Don’t let them spoil your victory of making it up here. Relish it. How about taking pictures where you don’t look as if you’ve passed out?”

 

‹ Prev