Art of the heart

Besides the loud barking of a German shepherd and the blaring sound of Mr. Noah’s radio from his tailoring shop, an unusual quiet had settled over Aluguitugui Street.
The leaves of the towering nim tree that shaded part of the wide dirt road rustled softly in the cool breeze, shedding a few leaves as if in anticipation of the coming rainy season.
Though every shop stood open, there wasn’t a single soul in sight.
Even Lebene, the ever-present agbeli kaklo seller, was missing from her spot beneath the tree. Adjoa’s high-pitched calls to buy ice water were strangely absent, too.
The scene struck Gina as odd as she hurried down the red dirt road toward her African décor and flower shop.
She usually parked her small army-green Hyundai outside her friend Leticia’s house, a good 600 meters away, to avoid the dust that would otherwise coat the car.
A few times she had parked closer, but every time, the alarm blared incessantly—always the work of the local kids.
Their tiny handprints on the car’s windows were dead giveaways.
As Gina walked, she made a mental note to ask Auntie Kabuki what was going on.
The older woman’s grocery shop, right in front of her house, sat at the turn that led to the dead end where Gina’s store was. Auntie Kabuki had her pulse on the street; she always knew everything.
But when Gina rounded the corner, her stomach flipped. Auntie Kabuki wasn’t in her usual spot under the Telco umbrella.
Instead, a small crowd had gathered outside Gina’s shop. Relief washed over her—everyone was there—but only for a fleeting moment.
They were huddled around something on the ground, murmuring and gesturing.
Panic prickled the back of her neck. Had her store been robbed? She immediately dismissed the thought; her security measures were solid.
“What’s going on? Thieves could break into your shops while you’re all standing here,” Gina called out, scanning their faces for clues.
At the sound of her voice, most of the crowd dispersed, guilt flickering in their eyes. Only Mr. Noah and Auntie Kabuki stayed behind.
“Madam Gina,” Mr. Noah said in his usual, no-nonsense tone, “do you know this man?”
Gina followed his gaze to where the others had been staring. Lying on the ground in front of her shop was a man, perhaps mid-thirties, with a build that hinted at strength despite his unconscious state.
His skin was light, suggesting mixed heritage, and his clothes were neat. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his eyes remained closed, as if he were merely asleep.
“No, I don’t know him. Who is he?” Gina’s voice wavered between concern and confusion.
“Kabuki found him here and came to get me,” Mr. Noah replied, nodding toward Auntie Kabuki, who was fidgeting with her “Duku”. “Then the rest just gathered.”
“Did you try to wake him? He seems okay to me,” Gina said, kneeling beside the man for a closer look. He was, in fact, quite striking—his strong jawline and high cheekbones adding an unexpected grace to his peaceful expression.
“We called to him, but he didn’t respond,” Auntie Kabuki finally chimed in, her usual confidence tinged with uncertainty. “He just… lies there.”
Gina hesitated. There was no sign of injury, no indication that he was in distress, yet something about the situation felt… off.
“Do you think we should call an ambulance?” she asked, looking between Mr. Noah and Auntie Kabuki.
Before either of them could answer, the man stirred. His eyelids fluttered, and he groaned softly as if awakening from a deep sleep.
Gina quickly backed away, startled, while Mr. Noah crossed his arms and watched with narrowed eyes.

By Nelly Dela Mensah