She had a home to go to, but her new stepfather, who had beaten her up three days ago, had told her to stay away unless she could bring back money.“Useless girl,” he had called her as he threw her out. “Kwasea.”The little bit of money she had made today was gone. Not because she had spent it, but because it had been stolen from her. Two men had roughed her up, searched her, and taken her money. On top of that, they tried to rape her. Another man who had been coming along raised the alarm and Akosua escaped.Now she was wandering around Nkrumah Circle unsure what to do. It looked as if she would have to stay out tonight and get some kind of job in the morning. Had Musa been alive, she could have gone to him. They had killed the boy she loved with all her heart. Musa had once said to her, “Never, never sell your body.” She had promised him it was something she would never do.But that was then.Right now, it was a different story. She was hungry and tired. She wanted to sleep in her own bed, even if it was just a folded-over cloth.
