Dawson knew exactly what Forjoe was facing. It had been the same circumstance with Hosiah. Like Marvelous and her failing kidneys, the medical options available to Hosiah had been so costly, Dawson could never have afforded them without the benevolence of the Cardiothoracic Center. Even Jason Sarbah, a man of much more means, had run up against a monetary wall trying to save his daughter, Angela. Dawson’s, Forjoe’s, and Sarbah’s stories were startling in their similarity, but not coincidental by any means. They pointed to the exploding health crisis in Ghana: modern diagnostics were detecting more and more chronic diseases in both adults and children, but the tottering National Health Insurance Scheme could not possibly pay for their treatment.
Dawson wished he could help Forjoe, but he would need to ask someone in the know when he was back home in Accra-perhaps when he took Hosiah in for a follow-up visit, he could ask a doctor if anything could be done for Marvelous. However, he didn’t want to raise any false hopes by telling Forjoe that. For now, an expression of sympathy was about as far as he could go.
“I’m sorry,” Dawson said. “I pray you will find a solution for your lovely daughter.”
“Thank you, sir.” Forjoe tried to shake himself out of his dark mood. “Everything will be okay. A certain man is trying his best to help me, and God will bless us.”
Dawson stood up. “I’m grateful for your help, Forjoe.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
They traded phone numbers, and as Dawson left with Abraham, he reserved a space in his mind and put Marvelous securely in it. He wasn’t going to forget her.
RETURNING FROM SEKONDI Harbor, they stopped off at Akroma Plaza Hotel for dinner. A visit to Takoradi was incomplete without dining at Akroma’s legendary restaurant, Abraham told Dawson. It had been moved from its old, smaller location into a completely new section of the hotel twice the original size.
It was refreshingly air-conditioned, in contrast to their visit to the harbor. The hostess seated the two men in a nice spot with a view of the street. A quick glance through the seemingly endless menu revealed to Dawson that Asian, European, and American dishes were much more costly than Ghanaian ones. He and Abraham had a hankering for banku. It was only a matter of what to eat it with.
Dawson liked both banku and fufu, but some people were vehemently aligned with one and not the other. Both were presented as soft, pillow-smooth ovals, but their respective tastes could not have been more different.
