: Alex Oduro
: Flames at Midday
: Publishdrive
: 9798895711088
: 1
: CHF 7.80
:
: Historische Romane und Erzählungen
: English
: 240
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

After fifteen years in London, Creole returns to Ghana eager to reconnect with his roots and find a place in a society he once called home. But what he finds is a nation torn between tradition and modernity, suffocated by political decay, and haunted by broken promises.


Set in the charged atmosphere of 1970s West Africa, Flames at Midday is a gripping novel of self-discovery, cultural awakening, and resistance. Against a backdrop of military regimes, Afrobeat rhythms, and shifting identities, Creole must navigate old flames, new loyalties, and a burning desire to create art that speaks truth to power.


Inspired by the life and spirit of Fela Aníkúlápó Kuti, this is a story of passion, betrayal, and the fight to belong in a world where speaking out can cost you everything.

CHAPTER ONE


Echoes of Betrayal and the Struggle for Redemption


 

O

n this particular morning, it was not the alarm clock that shrilled its usual hideous sound to wake Creole, but the escaping light of the sun filtering through the ventilating panels of the window into the bedroom, sprawling and ending in three horizontal lines across him on the bed as he tossed and turned. Somehow, his countenance reflected disbelief rather than surprise as he tried to reconcile his thoughts and visions of the three horizontal sun rays across his bedsheets. He even tried to wipe his eyes to ascertain if this wasn’t just another of his dreams about home—Africa.

 

“God damn, I’m at home at last,” he mused joyfully.

 

He sat up in bed, gazing through the window. Finally, he got up, wrapped the bedsheet around his waist, and walked over to lean against the window, still gazing at the world in the early morning sunshine. He wouldn’t want to go out there just yet—his thoughts, dreams, and realities swirled within him. Barely twenty-four hours had passed since his arrival at 87 Reddington Road, Hampstead, London, after bidding goodbye to England following a decade-and-a-half-long sojourn without setting foot at home. He leaned against the window, still gazing at the horizon, recollecting the memories of an exciting, gay, and exhilarating party that had sent him swiftly home via the speed of a Ghana Airways V.C.10 jetliner, which had touched down at Kotoka International Airport, Accra, at approximately 10:45 PM.

 

The effects of time and climate change were soon telling on Creole. In less than five minutes, he was completely drenched in sweat. The heat had surged into his system, and he was sweating so profusely that his silk light-blue shirt over black trousers clung to his skin, revealing the skinny lines of his ribs.

 

The airport formalities seemed endless. Perhaps his excitement about homecoming would have been short-lived with disappointment had it been cooler. Yet, he remained quite composed, occasionally smiling as he patiently waited for his turn during the immigration and health formalities.

 

“Creole,” he heard someone call his name.

He looked back, and to his amazement, it was his uncle and some friends walking toward him. He jumped out of the queue into the warm embrace of his uncle, followed by his friends and countless handshakes and joyful exchanges.

 

Creole eagerly asked for his mother and was told she was waiting outside. “But why isn’t she here?” he inquired. “She is not allowed here. In fact, this place is out of bounds for visitors. It’s for passengers only,” explained Sammy, “But you are here. How come?” asked Creole.

 

“Boy! This is home, man. You got to know your way,” Sammy said with a smile. “So, you have finally made it home… nic