Free Wheel
The sound of honking cars hit Kofi with the heavy waft of gasoline vapors. He rolled the window back up and shifted behind the steering wheel. Even with the buttons of his khaki uniform undone, he still felt the overwhelming heat trace its way down his neck and steadily form two yellow puddles under each of his armpits. But he dared not touch the blue monitor control panel to turn on the air conditioner. His muscles still tensed when he thought back on the resounding slap from Mr. Korede after he had kept the air conditioner on for too long. “Mr. Kofi,” he had threatened afterwards, “if you care to act like an Alahji, you can start looking for another job.” When he drove out of the compound that day and gave a half-hearted nod to the usual guards at the front gates, he had thought that maybe he would.
