Vol No: 83,
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Business News
Letters to the Editor

Blue watch

Another Story!
By Pearl Ashia
THE advertisement was featured more times on TV and Radio than a car insurance advert. And what was the big fuss? A high school reunion. Not again.

Three years ago it happened and in as much as I had loved to attend I couldn’t because... erhm... yeah... what? Oh give over! The fact of the matter was I didn’t feel as accomplished as expected to stick my head high and show everyone what a big shot I had turned out to be. So I advised myself; “Girl, get a proper career and stop deceiving yourself as a writer whose work is more popular than a cockroach in a gathering fowls”. But three silent years have flashed before my eyes and I am worst off than I first began.

A week prior to the reunion, and of course I had made a decision not to attend, I bumped into kweikor at Rawlings Park. We were like two peas in a pod at SOS High. She had been working in her father’s mall and re-sitting her SSCE at the same time. If my memory was right, girlfriend had sat that exam more times than the world had been to war.

We sat behind two bowls; one with Banku and the second with okra stew and talked about the impending school reunion. I had made up my mind until Kweikor said she had a big plot under her sleeve... Bring on the flashy cars... evening dresses... tuxedos.. cocktails… big deal.

Kweikor and I exchanged glances at each other and smiled mischievously. After we managed to find a parking space for our convertible we stepped out of the car in pomp, clad in well-cut evening dresses. My palms were sweaty. My heart beat as I couldn’t wait to see who had become what. Whew! Who shall I start with? Cathy Boateng? She was the slut of our year...and here on her hand was a gorgeous stockbroker for a husband and a diamond encrusted band to prove it. She might have been academically handicapped, but surely her full-time career as a bonafide hooker had paid off.

“So what do you do now? Married?.. With Children? “Shoot! The questions were directed at me. I was just about to disappear and help myself to a cocktail when Kweikor grabbed me. “You know how modest she can be...go on… tell her.” That was Kweikor who didn’t waste any time in announcing she was a physiotherapist. “I am a dermatologist” I said, smiling nervously. “Wow, the two of you? Therapist? Never? ...So Pearl...I have a very dry skin what do you recommend?” I could swing for the mouthy cow, you know. “Have you ever tried the grease from a chip fryer.”

I said almost aloud.

The evening wasn’t as vibrant as I had thought it to be until Ben Ansah walked through the door. It turned out he was the CEO of Customs. I remember him like yesterday. His geekiness had paved way for a not-so bad looking young man full of confidence and style. He was the proverbial ugly duckling. If he was still a bachelor I was going to waste no time in making a move. I was engaged in a conversation with him when Kweikor snatched me aside with a look of horror in her face.

“Look at the time...”


Shoot! Knocking over one of the waitresses we rushed out of the hall and into our coach before it turned into a pumpkin. The truth of it all was we had less than an hour to hand in the keys at the car rental office or we pay an extra amount. As we sped away, I said to myself that come next reunion, I was going to be a real dermatologist. Maybe...

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