## Part One
By the age of nine, Kyei Kitiwa had learned that secrets were more useful when they were not shouted
Shouted secrets brought beatings.
Kept secrets brought jollof.
That was how he came to eat three full plates at the Presbyterian harvest festival without paying one pesewa, while other children stood in line licking stew from their fingers and pretending not to be hungry.
All Kyei had done was stand beside the vestry door, look up at Osofo with his small sharp face, and say, “Maame Araba’s blue scarf is still behind the rainwater barrel.”
Osofo froze.
Kyei smiled.
A minute later, he had jollof, chicken, extra shito, and a bottle of Fanta so cold it sweated in his hand.
That was the beginning of his greatness.
---
In Kwabeng, everyone called the Presbyterian minister Osofo.
On Sundays, he was Reverend Samuel Asiedu, man of God, thunderer against sin, corrector of short skirts, enemy of drunkenness, and defender of holy marriage.
Behind the vestry, after evening Bible study, he was something else.
Kyei discovered this by accident the first time.
By habit the second.
By profession the third.
He had gone to retrieve a kite from the mango tree behind the church when he saw
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