Mawufemor, born Nicholas Mawufemor Kwabla Mensah in a little hamlet near Ho in 1988, was born into misfortune. A few days before Mawufemor's birth, his father, a wealthy businessman at the time, had died in prison, having been falsely accused. His mother, affectionately known as Daa Afua, was dispirited and broken, passing away a few minutes after the birth of her first child, Mawufemor.
Nordey Yawa, his maternal grandmother, assumed responsibility for the orphan's upkeep. Mawufemor's grandmother was found dead on the farm one afternoon when he was only two years old, having been hit by lightning. Following this new development, his auntie—the mother's younger sister—arrived to collect him and take him to live with her in Accra.
Mawufemor's first memories of his childhood included being molested by his auntie's husband when he was four years old. The 45-year-old male would use his long and massive reproductive rod to browse the anal cavity of the helpless 4-year-old using Vaseline as a lubricant. This repeated molestation caused Mawufemor to have constant inflammations in the anal region, as well as the related ailments that come with having carnal knowledge of someone through the rear.
When Mawufemor was eight years old, disaster struck once more! This time, the auntie, the husband, and their four children were all burned to ashes in a fire that destroyed their entire building to the ground in the middle of the night. Mawufemor escaped because he hadn't finished washing a pile of clothing he had been instructed to wash—a pattern of cruelty the auntie had been putting him to—and he was told not to come inside the house. He'd spent the night sleeping outside the gated residence on an empty stomach. When he saw his family engulfed in flames, he went out to seek assistance, but it was too late.
Mawufemor was nearly lynched by the community after the incident. They assumed he was the one who set the fire as a form of retaliation for being left out in the cold late at night. His stutter only made things worse.
“Oh, don’t mind these stammerers!” A neighbour had said. “The only time they stammer is when they wish to tell a lie.”
Well, he managed to dodge an immediate lynching, but three days later, when he was observed lurking around the house, a mob assembled and beat him to a pulp. All of them fled the scene when they observed that he had gotten unconscious and was dead or near death.
That evening, it rained, and from the rain, life emerged. Mawufemor regained consciousness and was able to crawl and hobble through the night from the Kasoa suburb to the roadside before sunrise. A good Samaritan stopped his vehicle upon noticing the injured child.
“What happened to you? And where are you going to?”
Mawufemor could only gesticulate as if to say, “Just ahead, please!”
In the car, the suit-wearing, spectacled man handed him some water and a snack. Mawufemor finished eating both in an instant. The man, bewildered, reached for a piece of bread and a can of malt and coke that he had intended to consume at work. Mawufemor grabbed both beverages with both hands, followed by the bread. He gobbled everything within five minutes!
"Are you satisfied? ", the man inquired with care.
As an answer to the inquiry, he belched loudly.
"That's OK.” The man answered as they moved into the heavy traffic. “So, what is your name and where are you from?"
Mawufemor stuttered, unable to utter a word. The man thought he was mute and kept asking questions to prove it. The man became worried.
"What if the police stop me and see this boy with me?" He gave a soliloquy. “Would they not suspect me of hurting or abducting him?
He took a long look at Mawufemor as he slept in the front seat of his car as if to quickly diagnose his issue. Suddenly, he had a brainwave! He would buy food for him at Kwashieman Junction, and then take him to Lapaz before continuing on his journey.
When they arrived at Lapaz, the guy left off Mawufemor and sped away as if he were evading someone.
Mawufemor stood on the side of the road, unsure of what to do or where to go. Everyone in the crowded neighbourhood appeared to be minding their own business. This area was unlike his suburb of Kasoa. Too many cars were travelling between 100 and 120 kilometres per hour on a paved road, unlike the bicycles, he was accustomed to seeing on the dirt roads near their Kasoa home. He sat down on the pavement, and within minutes he fell asleep.
One hour later, he awoke with a startling feeling of emptiness in the pit of his stomach; he was hungry. But life, as it were, had just begun for little Mawufemor.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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