Assault At No. 45B.

The year was 1992.

I had a great job in a marketing company. Life was good. My wife had just given birth to our third daughter. We lived in a posh neighborhood in Accra, Ghana. My address was 45B Kwame Osei Street. My neighbor at 45A was a man I rarely saw. It appeared he lived outside the country, only visiting occasionally.

The house had twin duplexes separated by a low fence.

For some strange reason which I still cannot explain to this day, I had a hunch that I should possess a gun. I grew up with guns around me even though I had never held one in my hands. My father was a police officer.

One day, I told my wife that I had a surprise for her. We got in the car, and we drove to a Licensed gun seller in Accra city center. She looked at me strangely. “What in the world are we doing here?” I replied, I would like us to purchase three guns for all three adults in the house. At the time, my younger brother also lived with us. She reluctantly agreed, nodding her head in agreement. We were unable to take immediate possession of the guns. The rules were clear. First, we had to get police clearance, and then obtain a license. The dealer was going to help us through the entire process.

Weeks later, our licenses were approved, but we still needed to go through basic training on gun safety and handling. We signed up for classes in their shooting range. After weeks of training, we were allowed to go home with our guns.

As the months went by, we would visit the shooting range occasionally to update our skills. My wife who was initially very reluctant for us to possess guns was now beginning to love it. She would always be the one to remind me for us to go shooting at the range every now and then.

One fateful day, about 7 months after we got our guns, trouble came looking for us.

My wife, and I were at work all day on Thursday. After I closed, I went to pick her up from her job which was down the street from mine, and we drove through the usual Accra traffic, getting home pretty late. The children were already asleep most times, by the time we arrived from work. As a result, we always made sure to devote weekends to keeping company with them, and attending to their needs.

We had dinner and went to bed as usual. There was nothing to tell that anything unusual was about to happen.

At about 2:00 am, we heard a bang on our front door. I was not expecting any guests at 2:00 am. Who could it be? I turned on the lights casually and went downstairs. I was not suspecting anything, and so, I did not take any precautions. I got to the door and asked aloud—“who’s there?” The voice on the other side replied, “Just bring out all the money we delivered to your house in the afternoon and we will leave quietly.”

I quickly ran back upstairs with shots ringing through the door. Fortunately, there was a wall to protect me. My wife, and my younger brother had heard the shots. They quickly mobilized to pull out the guns as my wife handed me mine, fully loaded. I did not know whether to smile or cry but I could see the determination in her eyes. She had three daughters to protect. The mother-hen in her took over. I had never seen a more assured and confident woman. We crouched carefully down the stairs noiselessly, just as we had been taught. We said a quick prayer.

As we got downstairs, I screamed at the door already riddled with bullet holes. “You must be mistaken. I did not bring any huge amount of money to the house today. You must have the wrong address. This is 45B. The voice from the other side was menacing. “Bring out the money now or we will come in and get it.”

Shots rang out again.

This time, I replied with rapid fire.
They were taken unawares. I heard a scream. One of them had been hit.

There was silence. We continued to lay low even though we thought they may have left.

Suddenly, the bullets rang out again, ratatatatatata!!!! We fired back and we went back and forth for 2 hours until about 5am. We hunkered down. We waited until the crack of dawn before we ventured to open the door. There was a streak of blood in front of the main door, and around the garage area. They had gone with their wounded.

My neighbor returned from Kumasi the next day to see the horror of the assault. The robbers meant the visit for him. Not me. The previous day, he had come home with police escort with a load of cash that he immediately despatched to Kumasi that same afternoon. It was the same group of policemen who escorted him to the house that returned later that night to get it from him. They came to the wrong house.

God had prepared us for their visit long before they came.

It’s good to be alive to tell the story.

Kwame Gaga writes from Accra

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3 thoughts on “Assault At No. 45B.

  1. I thank God for that family. I have always advocated for the possession of guns by eligible persons in the country. It will help reduce home invasion and robbery by the bad guys.

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