So it was a Friday and I could almost taste the spices on the freshly fried chicken wings along with that cold, crisp refreshing taste of the eighth wonder of the world many prefer to call “Star Beer”. I had had a long week and I couldn’t wait till the day was over so I could meet the guys over at Honey Suckle.
In effect, I ignored the constant honking of the tro-tro drivers on that junction on my way to work and the buzzing of that mulish fly who was determined to distract my attention from Kojo Oppong Nkrumah’s Super Morning Show. My body was driving the car but my soul was already adrift on that ninth cloud I call “TGIF” (Thank God It’s Friday). Little did I know that the forces of destiny had a different Friday to offer all together.
I got to work exactly at 7.55am only to be told that I was wanted at the Nima Police station. What! Why? Were my exact words. Apparently I was a suspect in a theft that had taken place the night before and by virtue of being the last man to leave the premises I was labeled “suspect”. (Remind me never to go for the best employee award).
So being the law abiding citizen my earlier days as a boys scout had thought me, I proceeded to file my statement at Ghana’s most notorious Police station. Contrary to what I have been made to believe about the said venue, Nima police station was a pot of laughter. In the four hours that I was kept waiting at the charge office I could have been rich for life if only I remembered to bring my camera.
All of a sudden, my predicament did not matter to me any longer. I was hugely engrossed in the events at the station. First, there was that corporal who was brandishing a huge stick around the charge office and upon asking what he was doing I was told it was the morning ritual for rookies. I was a bit perplexed. Why would someone be running around the place carrying a stick for no reason? It was then that I saw the hosts of heaven being unleashed from one corner of the room and everything became clear. “MICE”, the corporal was chasing mice out of the office. With all the other policemen going about the morning normally, I was sure this was no new thing to the department.
Then came the morning complaints. A woman came in around 9.00am to report a case of abuse against her husband. Judging from the looks and the structure of the woman, her husband would have to be a bull to be able to touch a strand of hair on her head.
Her husband was brought in after about half an hour and my was it hilarious. There he stood in all his glory; this gentleman couldn’t weigh 10kg if his life depended on it.
The true version of the story in accordance to the husband’s verbal statement was that, he had been a victim of constant rape and abuse from his loving wife. Even when he said no, his deer wife would play with his (censored) till he was hard then rape him all day. The night before, he could not rise to the occasion despite several tricks. That was when his wife got angry and bit hard into his (censored). Now his wife says he abuses her.
Just as I began recovering from the laughter that had driven me to cry and just before I was granted permission to leave, in walked a goat. It was closely followed by a constable. The case? Theft in a cornfield. Suspect? Mr. Goat. An angry landlord had come to lock up the goat of one of his tenants because it was caught chewing the corn in his cornfield. To add to the already funny situation, the lawyer at the charge office walked right to the goat and asked “how do you plead”. Right then the goat bleated out “mmeeh”. I am sure it was saying not guilty in response.
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