Chapter 21: Auntie Akos, Lifestyle Coach
Day two with Auntie Akos began before dawn.
4:42am.
Not 5.
Not 6.
4:42.
She banged a saucepan with a spoon like a town crier announcing judgment day.
> "Samuel! Wake up! Lazy hands make hungry belly!"
I jolted up from sleep like I'd been slapped by an angel.
> "Auntie... is the house on fire?"
> "Fire? No. We're cleaning. You must start your day with purpose!"
Purpose?
At 4:42am?
She handed me a broom and said:
> "Sweep the whole compound. If you see any ant, interrogate it. Ants are messengers of laziness."
I was too tired to argue, so I swept quietly like a prisoner on community service.
Then came breakfast.
I opened my cornflakes, about to enjoy the last bits of peace in my life when she slapped the box from my hands.
> "This one be food? You want to collapse before you marry? Come, let me prepare real breakfast."
She pulled out kontomire, koobi, and two yams from her magical bag like a cooking Dora the Explorer.
Within 30 minutes, she had cooked a full banquet — enough to feed the Black Stars after extra time.
She watched me eat, eyes sharp like a hawk.
> "Chew well. That's GHS 18 worth of kontomire. Don't waste it."
After eating and nearly collapsing from carb overload, I decided to rest.
Bad idea.
She was waiting with her next plan:
a "life talk."
She sat cross-legged, looked me dead in the eye, and said:
> "Samuel, let's talk about your future."
Oh Lord.
> "You need a real job. This your comedy writing... does it come with pension?"
> "Auntie, I'm building my business. It's content creation. Online writing."
She paused.
> "So... you're an internet typist?"
Before I could explain, she continued:
> "And you need a wife. Not these slay queens with eyelashes like ceiling fans. I will introduce you to my pastor's niece. She can cook, clean, and doesn't know what TikTok is."
I almost wept.
She wasn't done:
> "Also, you need to stop wearing these your funeral trousers. Tomorrow, we're going to Madina to buy proper man clothes."
I sighed deeply.
Somewhere in that moment, I realized something:
I no longer owned my room, my food, my sleep, my future, or even my trousers.
---
Should we keep the story rolling into Chapter 22?
(It might just be the day she insists on attending your church — to "inspect" the women!)
Say the magic word: Continue.
End of Chapter 21