Story Story: The Maid’s Desire (Part 2)

Serwaa’s desperation was like a gloomy aura floating over her every thought, blocking out reason and drowning her in a sea of hopelessness.

She had loved Agyekum for as long as she could remember, but he had always been just out of reach.

His affections seemingly reserved for others; his heart walled off from her longing gaze. She had tried everything to win him over: smiles, small gifts, even changing her appearance. But nothing worked. The idea of life without him, of watching him with someone else, was unbearable.

So, when her friend told her about a powerful juju man on the outskirts of Accra, one who could turn the tides of love in her favour, she didn’t think twice.

The journey to the shrine was long and treacherous. Serwaa had to maneuver winding, unmarked paths, cutting through dense forests that seemed to close in on her with every step. The air was thick, humid, and humming with the sounds of unseen creatures. By the time she reached the shrine, the sun was setting, casting an eerie orange glow on the old, weathered structure. The juju man, a figure cloaked in shadows, sat cross-legged in the center of the dimly lit room, surrounded by symbols and artefacts that whispered of ancient, untamed power.

His eyes, pale and cloudy with age, fixed on Serwaa the moment she stepped inside. It was as if he could see straight into her soul, peeling back layers of pretense and doubt to lay bare her deepest desires. He didn’t ask why she had come; he already knew. Instead, he simply listened, his expression unreadable, as she poured out her heart. When she finished, he reached into a dusty, cracked cabinet and pulled out a small, dark bottle, its surface glistening as if it held liquid night. He handed it to her with a warning that chilled her to the bone.

“This potion,” he began, his voice gravelly and ancient, “is powerful, more powerful than you can imagine. But it comes with a price. Pour a few drops into Agyekum’s food every evening, and his heart will turn to you. But remember, you must return with your thanksgiving, or: nananom abosom “will demand something far greater from you.”

Serwaa nodded, too afraid to ask what the consequences might be. She took the bottle, its weight feeling far heavier than its size, and left the shrine, her mind a whirlwind of fear and anticipation.

Back home, the bottle rarely left her grasp. She carried it everywhere, even in her sleep, as if it were her last lifeline to the future she so desperately wanted. The first night, she added the potion to Agyekum’s soup, her hands trembling as she stirred it in, watching as the dark liquid disappeared into the rich, “Abenkwan”.

She served it to him with a smile that barely masked her anxiety, her eyes never leaving his face as he took the first sip.

At first, nothing changed. Agyekum ate his soup with the same casual indifference as always, chatting with others in the room, barely acknowledging her presence.

But as the days passed, Serwaa began to notice subtle shifts. Agyekum’s eyes, once indifferent, now lingered on her, his gaze softening in a way that made her heart race. He began to seek her out, asking for her opinion on matters he once ignored, complimenting her cooking, her appearance, even her laugh.

But with every passing day, a nagging feeling grew in Serwaa’s chest. A gnawing sense of dread that refused to be silenced. The potion was working, yes, but at what cost?

One night, after Agyekum had gone to bed, Serwaa found herself staring at the bottle, now half-empty, the liquid inside sloshing ominously.

The juju man’s warning echoed in her mind, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something strange was coming. She had gotten what she wanted, but the unease that had settled in her soul was unclear.

Eunice noticed the subtle shift, but she dismissed it as stress from work.

However, as days passed, the tension in the house grew unbearable.

Watch out for Part 3

By Nana Ama Asantewaa Kwarko

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nana Ama Asantewaa Kwarko offers a wide range of writing services, including:

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