Chapter 12 — Ayewa Conversations
The late morning air was warm, soft with the scent of palm nut soup wafting from the kitchen. Around 10 o'clock, the mansion buzzed gently—maids moving briskly, trays clattering, bowls steaming.
Breakfast in this house wasn't what Esi was used to. Here, fufu and palm nut soup could appear on the breakfast menu like it was nothing. And today, it did.
Two of the younger maids—Efua and Adwoa—carried the food carefully to the grand dining hall. One brought the water bowls, another held a folded cloth napkin. Esi followed behind, uncertain whether to sit, help, or disappear.
When she tried to lend a hand, one of the maids simply smiled and said kindly, "Please, madam, just sit. This food is for you and master."
She hesitated, then obeyed.
The dining table was long, able to seat a dozen easily, but today, it was just the two of them—Kwabena and Esi. As the food was being arranged, Kwabena suddenly spoke.
"Put mine and hers in the ayewa."
Efua paused. "The ayewa, sir?"
"Yes," he nodded. "I want to eat with her. From one bowl."
Esi blinked, surprised. Eat together? In a traditional clay bowl? He didn't look like the type.
One of the older maids quietly replaced the individual plates with a single black earthenware bowl—smooth, warm, and full of fufu gently swimming in thick palm nut soup.
Esi sat across from Kwabena, unsure how to act. But he gestured for her to come closer. Without a word, she shifted beside him.
She stole a glance at him. "I didn't think someone like you would eat from an aiyuwa."
He chuckled softly. "Why? You think I only eat on gold plates?"
She smirked. "Something like that."
"I grew up eating from ayewa It reminds me of... simpler days."
There was a pause. Then, without warning, he asked, "Which school did you attend?"
Esi wiped her hand nervously. "Ghana Girls' Senior High. I did Visual Arts."
"Visual Arts. That explains your sketchpad," he said, nodding.
Esi's eyes softened. "I haven't drawn in a while. But I used to draw everything... my mum, flowers, faces. I wanted to exhibit my work in galleries. Travel. Inspire people."
Kwabena leaned back slightly, impressed. "That's a gift. A real one."
"Maybe," she shrugged. "But now, I can't do much with it."
Kwabena looked at her closely. "Why not? You're still young.
Esi stared at the soup. Young,married,can't work or I can huh
The air between them thickened. The light-heartedness had melted into something heavier—an unspoken truth neither of them wanted to fully name.
Kwabena shifted, almost as if to change the subject. "So... what's your age?"
Esi raised her brow. "Didn't they tell you?"
"They did," he admitted. "But I wanted to hear it from you."
"I'm twenty-one."
He nodded, then she asked in return, "And you?"
"Thirty."
"Oh wow," she smiled. "You're old."
He laughed gently. "Thanks for the reminder."
Esi leaned back, chewing slowly. "That's why I was in a hurry to chase my dreams. I felt like time would run out."
He grew quiet again. "It's not bad to want more. But sometimes... life places us where we never expected to be."
Esi met his eyes. "And what then?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, they sat in silence, dipping fingers into soup, the sounds of
the world outside muffled by thick mansion walls—and unspoken expectations.