Chapter 22: The Choir Trip That Forgot Me at the Gas Station
After the gym tragedy, I thought:
"Kelvin, maybe group activities are your destiny. You need community."
So I joined the church choir's trip to a music festival in another city.
Everyone was excited.
Matching T-shirts.
Guitars.
Bottles of malt flying everywhere.
We packed into a big, yellow bus — the kind that looks like it retired from active service 10 years ago but still has dreams.
I chose a seat by the window and planned my strategy:
Sleep. Wake up. Arrive. No drama.
Simple.
Halfway into the trip, we stopped at a gas station for snacks and bathroom breaks.
Naturally, I went hunting for meat pies.
Because, Bestie, a true Ghanaian never jokes with meat pies.
I found the juiciest, biggest pie at the back of the shop.
I took my time — even argued with the seller over 1 cedi change.
By the time I strolled outside munching happily,
I saw...
NOTHING.
No bus.
No choir members.
Just open road...
...and one lonely chicken crossing it.
I called the choir leader.
He answered, panicked:
"KELVIN WHERE ARE YOU?! We thought you were sleeping at the back!"
They had driven off with my bag, my wallet, my dignity — everything.
I sat on a stone by the roadside, holding my meat pie like a rejected orphan.
It took them 45 minutes to realize I was seriously missing and turn around.
When they picked me up, everyone clapped — but it wasn't a happy clap.
It was that "this boy will kill us" kind of clap.
I didn't even sing at the festival.
I just ate meat pies at the back and tried not to get abandoned again.