He muttered something I did not hear. He came out after a few minutes wearing shorts and his traditional slippers, the ‘ahenema’. He had his black traditional cloth in his hands. He opened it and wore it the customary way. I enjoyed seeing him wear the cloth. At a point he waves it high up, hurls it, then it flies before it settles on one side of his arm.

My father was ready. He had called a guy to come drive the car because I can’t drive. I thought it was because he was not feeling well. Unbeknownst to me, we were first going to Abossey Okai, the haven for all things automobile, to fix his wind screen. It was my first time going there. At Abossey Okai, you can get any car part you need and any service you desire.  We got there around 9am with the driver, Senyo. When we arrived, we were offered seats. Our seats faced the car. The cracked windscreen reminded me of the day we had the accident.

It was a Saturday night. We had closed from work. My dad was a Susu collector and I helped him sometimes. Susu collectors are like mobile bankers. They take deposits and repay without interest. One time at school, I was asked the work my father did and I said he was a bank manager. A teacher who knew my parents, made fun of me and my colleagues laughed but my childhood brain felt I was right. I didn’t know the difference then, the sin of semantics.

As I was saying, we had closed and we were all very tired. There was another worker with us and were having a lazy discussion. We got to a junction and my dad who was driving at the time turned left. He made a sharp turn into a petrol station and then I heard it.

A very loud bang and the car shook. My dad screamed, “Jesus!!!”. I had no idea what we hit. It was as if it fell from the sky. One minute we were talking, the next minute we were trying to make sense of what had happened. Two boys were on the floor. There was a motorcycle lying right beside them, with it's wheels still spinning. One seriously injured and bleeding and the other, had bruises on his elbow and knee. He couldn’t walk straight and seemed to be in serious pain. We put them in a taxi and hurried out of the place.

Why were we in a hurry? My dad was driving an unlicensed car. A cream Nissan cube. He always talked about registering it but procrastination got the better part of him. If the police came to the scene, it would not have been a good situation. In fact, an attendant at the petrol station advised us to leave and very fast. We left.

We were on our way home when a taxi crossed us. It was the same taxi my dad had put the boys in. We had made a mistake. We hadn’t told them about our special situation.