Chapter 18: Rent Wahala — Flood Fee Edition
The next morning, I woke up feeling hopeful.
The water had finally reduced. The room was still damp, but at least it didn't look like the Volta River Basin anymore.
I opened my door to let in some sun, stretched like a champion... and bumped straight into the landlord.
He smiled.
Too much smiling in Ghana is always a trap.
He said:
"Samuel, we need to talk."
I froze.
"Talk about what, sir?"
He gestured dramatically at the wet floor and the water stains crawling up the walls like they had rent to pay.
"This whole thing... it spoil the house small. Serious damage. The compound too, e soak."
I nodded slowly, waiting for the punchline.
Then he dropped the bomb:
"So from next month, we go add small maintenance charge to your rent."
I blinked.
"Sir... what?"
He said it again — slowly, as if explaining rocket science to a toddler:
"Maintenance. Small increment. Just GHS 150 more."
I almost passed out.
GHS 150?
For a flood that I didn't cause?
A flood that came from his pipe?
A flood that turned me into a part-time plumber, carpenter, and Olympic swimmer??
I tried to reason with him:
"But... but I scooped the water. I called the plumber. I even gave him gari!"
He nodded like he understood, then added:
"Exactly. You did your part. But I too, I get my part. My part na increase."
At that moment, I realized that this was not a landlord.
This was an undercover politician.
He gave me a friendly pat on the back — soaking my dry shirt with his palm sweat — and walked off like he had just given a TED Talk.
I stood there, mouth open, dreams crushed.
Then my neighbor poked his head out of his room and whispered:
"Welcome to Accra, my guy."
End of Chapter 18