Kojo swore he’d never walk through Korle Alley again. Back then, it was where small boys became small criminals. Stolen phones, quick snatches, cheap weed behind rusted containers. That’s where he and Yaw ran everything. Yaw was younger, louder, always grinning through cigarette burns that dotted his grey hoodie like constellations. Yaw died during a robbery gone wrong. At least, that’s what everyone said since his body was never found.
Years later, Kojo returned to the neighborhood to visit his sick aunt. He tried to avoid old routes, but shortcuts have a way of calling your name. When he reached the mouth of Korle Alley, he heard a familiar whistle.
“Ei, Kojo. You’ve grown soft.”
He froze. Yaw leaned against the same cracked wall. Same skinny frame, same faded hoodie, same burn holes. Same face, and almost same age. Like time forgot him. Kojo laughed nervously.
“You dey play ghost now?”
Yaw shrugged.
“I never left.”
They talked like nothing changed. Old jobs, old fights, old regrets. But something felt wrong. No one walked through the alley anymore. Windows were shut. Even the stray dogs stayed away.
Later that evening, Kojo mentioned seeing Yaw to the old shop owner near the junction. The woman nearly dropped her change.
“Yaw? That boy died here years ago although his body was never found. Shot while running from a robbery. Right inside that alley.”
Kojo forced a laugh.
“You sure?”
She looked him dead in the eyes.
“People say if guilt lives in you, that alley will show you what you left behind.”
Kojo tried to ignore it until his phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
“Come back. One last job like old times.”
Against his better judgment, he returned that night. The alley felt longer, darker, almost stretching as he walked. Yaw waited at the far end, smiling.
“You ran when things went bad, left me to take the fall.”
Yaw said softly. Kojo’s chest tightened. Memories flooded back. Footsteps, sirens, gunshots and him pushing Yaw forward so he could escape.
“I didn’t mean—”
Kojo started. But the alley shifted. The walls closed in. Footsteps echoed behind him though no one was there. Yaw stepped closer. His smile cracked. Beneath the hoodie were dark stains that never dried.
“No one leaves Korle Alley, not if they still owe something.”
Yaw whispered. While Kojo tried to come clean, Yaw cuts in mid way and said.
“Guilty or not, you still came back. Let’s go far away from here. To a place you can help me change my old ways”
Kojo nodded. And for the first time in years Yaw came out of the korle alley. The lights at the alley’s entrance faded. The street sounds disappeared. By morning, people passing by swore they saw two boys leaning against the wall. One in a burnt hoodie, and another who looked new, scared and unable to leave. And sometimes, if you walk through Korle Alley carrying guilt, they’ll both whistle for you. For in Korle Alley, closure place guilt no matter how heavy it may be.
