Living the gangster life: The Story of Kwesi
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| Credit: Freepiks |
Kwesi felt the heat of the Accra sun on his back as he made his way through Jamestown's narrow streets. His brow was drenched with sweat, reflecting the glittering gold chain around his neck. It was more than just a decoration; it was a sign of deference and an indication of the authority he possessed on these busy streets. Kwesi was moulded by crime; he was not born into it. He was orphaned at a young age and worked his way up from small-time robbery to the infamous Black Star gang as a lieutenant.
His dominance was in Accra's oldest community, Jamestown. The crumbling colonial structures, once magnificent, are now war-wounded reminders of the fierce turf battles that took place here. The persistent smell of desperation and decay was too strong to be covered up by the salty smell of the Atlantic Ocean. Still, there was life in the pandemonium. There was music resonating from packed pubs, street vendors running among the crowds, and kids running after pigeons in the squares, completely unaware of the danger.
Not just his enforcers, the wild young men whose eyes were as cold as the Atlantic steel they used, respected Kwesi. With grudging respect, the local businesses paid their "taxes," which are slang for protection money. In his own weird way, Kwesi made sure that there was some order in this uncontrolled area. He was not a monster, but he was also not Robin Hood. He would not cross that boundary; there was an ember of compassion beneath the tough façade.
But the tension in the air this evening crackled. The new Scorpion gang was challenging the Black Stars' monopoly in the lucrative scrap metal trade. Kwesi had heard rumours about their brutal leader, Viper, who gained notoriety via violence instead of intimidation. There would be no more negotiations; the traditional method would be used to settle it tonight.
Kwesi rallied his soldiers in a disused warehouse as nightfall bathed the sky in flaming hues. Sweat, stale beer, and tense expectancy weighed heavily in the air. The tension was broken by the deep rumbling of Kwesi's voice. He talked about defending their territory and home rather than wealth or glory. His remarks kindled a fire in his men's eyes because they were filled with harsh reality. Though they were not military, they belonged to a pack and had developed a strong bond through street fires.
The stillness of the early morning was broken by the rumble of approaching cars. Through the dusty mist, headlights pierced and revealed a convoy of battered vans filled to the brim with Scorpion gangs. Behind improvised barriers made of scrap metal, Kwesi and his men stood ready. There was violence all night long. The Molotov cocktails broke and flames danced, the metallic aftertaste of blood blending with the sharp smoke. A terrifying symphony of urban warfare resounded through the small streets, filled with grunts and screams.
Kwesi battled with the untamed ferocity of a trapped beast. Though not the largest, his years of living on the streets had sharpened his intuition. With a swift kick, he disarmed a scorpion with deadly simplicity, making the blade shine like a blur in the wavering light. However, the Scorpions did not back down, and before long, Kwesi was encircled.
A thunderous bang tore through the air, just as despair was about to overwhelm him. A truck that had gotten free and lost control due to the steep slope sent it speeding towards the centre of the battle. As both sides scurried for shelter, chaos broke out. After the truck crashed into a van, there was a momentary shock that left everyone stunned.
The night was silent as the dust settled. With their wounded in tow, the Scorpions disappeared down the narrow streets. Kwesi, beaten and battered, looked around. Triumph, but at great expense. A few of his men lay still on the harsh streets of Accra, their ambitions forever shattered.
More than any scrap metal Kwesi had ever pulled, the weight of the loss rested on his shoulders. Beside a fallen friend, he knelt. Kwesi wondered about his path as he stared into the lifeless eyes, the appeal of power eroding in the face of the harsh truth of death. Kwesi knew this victory tasted like ash when the first light of morning shed an unearthly glow over the neighbourhoods devastated by the fighting.
© 2024, Kandey Alhassan. All rights reserved.
(Property of Between The Lines)
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