Chapter 19 – The Wave
Author: Prudent
last update2025-08-11 06:31:26

The night air in Dansoman was thick with something you could almost touch — not just heat, but anticipation. It rolled down the streets, over the rooftops, and into the lungs of every soul packed into the block. The chatter was low but restless, like waves building before a storm.

It had been months since the MMs had taken a stage. Months since their name was whispered with the same awe it used to command. People thought the fire had died, that the last gun smoke and betrayal had buried them for good. But Dansoman wasn’t ready for the graveyard yet.

Neither was Tero.

He stood behind the makeshift stage, a black hoodie over his head, face half-shadowed. The hum of the generators mixed with the deep thump of bass speakers doing their sound checks. O Don was pacing, eyes darting to the crowd, while Lovelone scrolled on his phone like nothing big was about to happen. Problem sat on a speaker case, rolling his shoulders, and Biggie leaned against a wall, arms folded like a bodyguard who wa
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  • Chapter 28 — Problem’s Bloodline

    Dansoman, years back. The sun was just beginning to sink, turning the air thick with that red, dusty glow the streets knew so well. A skinny boy no older than ten, barefoot, shirt ripped at the collar, darted between tro-tros and street hawkers. His name then wasn’t “Problem.” He was simply Kwame Mensah, the boy everyone said was “too stubborn to be tamed.”He wasn’t born bad. He was born hungry.His mother, Mama Akos, sold tomatoes at the market. She woke up at 4 a.m. every morning, pushing her basin on her head, humming old gospel songs while her children still slept. Problem had a younger brother, Kojo, frail and always coughing, and a baby sister who didn’t live past her first year. Their father was a ghost — some said he left, others whispered prison. Either way, it didn’t matter.By age twelve, Problem had dropped out of school. His teachers gave up on him; books were never his thing . He started hustling—carrying loads for market women, selling sachet water, and sometimes

  • Chapter 26 – The Weight of the Spotlight

    The morning after the show felt like another planet.Tero had barely shut his eyes before the buzzing of his phone dragged him back to consciousness. It wasn’t one or two messages—it was an avalanche. Missed calls stacked like bricks, WhatsApp notifications refusing to stop, emails flooding in from names he didn’t even recognize. He rubbed his face, still half-dreaming, and reached for the phone.The first thing he saw was his name on Twitter. #TeroLive was trending across Ghana, and not just Ghana—he scrolled and saw Nigerian blogs, South African culture pages, even UK-based Afrobeat channels posting clips from the show.Someone had captioned one video: “The streets just raised a prophet through music. Witness Tero, witness the future.”He sat up in bed, staring at that line. Prophet? That word hit different. He dropped the phone on the mattress like it had burned him.THE FRENZY By noon, the MMs were all gathered at their base, still riding the adrenaline of the night before.

  • Chapter 26 - Prophecy’s From The Past

    While the media frenzy and Jay’s shadow war heat up, Tero starts hearing whispers he doesn’t want to hear.One night after the comeback show, he slips away from the party and finds himself walking through a quieter part of Johannesburg. Street preachers are gathered at a corner, small crowd listening. He almost ignores them, but one old prophet—eyes blazing—locks onto him.“You,” the man points, his voice cutting the night.Tero stops, annoyed. “Me? Nah, bruh, you got the wrong guy.”The preacher shakes his head slowly. “You’re running, son. But you won’t run forever. You’re not called just for the stage—you’re called for the altar. God will use your voice to heal nations.”The crowd murmurs. Ruby, standing behind Tero, looks stunned. Problem laughs it off, “Ei, pastor, this one be superstar, not preacher.”But the prophet keeps staring. “You’ll see. Fame fades. Spirit lasts. He has marked you.”Tero brushes it off, laughing, but inside, his chest is tight. He hates how the words

  • Chapter 25 – Shadows After Glory

    The after-party glittered like gold, but beneath the lights, I felt the shadows creeping. We had just made history on the stage, but in the corner of my eye, Killer Jay’s smile still burned.Back at the hotel, the suite was chaos. Journalists swarmed outside, labels sent champagne, and promoters begged for meetings. Problem bragged loud, O Don was already calculating numbers, Biggie stuffed his face with wings, and Lovelone sat with his guitar, humming new melodies. Ruby floated in the room like a quiet queen, but I could see the worry in her eyes. She hadn’t missed Killer Jay either.“Terrell,” she whispered when the noise dipped, “what aren’t you telling me?”I froze. For a second, I wanted to lie. But her stare pinned me.“He’s back.”Her face paled. “Killer Jay?”I nodded. “Saw him in the crowd tonight. Same eyes, same grin. He wants me to know he ain’t done.”Before she could answer, the door banged open. Security pushed in a man in a dark suit, slick voice, fake smile. Corpor

  • Chapter 24 - Fire on the Stage

    The air felt different when we touched down in Johannesburg. Thick with heat, noise, and something else—anticipation. The Pan-African Music Festival wasn’t just another gig. It was the stage. The place where legends were either born or buried.As soon as we walked out of O.R. Tambo International, the flashes started. Cameras popped like gunfire. Reporters yelled over each other, shoving microphones in our faces.“Terrell, is this your global breakthrough?”“Is MMS ready for the world?”“What do you say to critics who still tie you to your gang past?”I kept my head low, shades on, the Ghana flag stitched on my jacket catching the sun. Ruby walked beside me, calm as ever, her hand brushing against mine. She was no longer just my girl; she was my balance. Every time the crowd got too loud, she steadied me with a look.Behind us, Problem was laughing, eating up the attention. O Don had his hood up, sizing up the scene like it was enemy turf. Lovelone, always quiet, kept his earph

  • Chapter 23 – Drums Before the Storm

    Days before the Pan-African Music Festival? Man, they just zipped by for Tero.Mornings? Rehearsal sweat and yelling over drum loops. Afternoons?Meetings, phone calls, label drama. Nights? Flat on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling, his brain spinning through setlists, verse changes, and the freakin’ pressure of representing Ghana to the whole damn continent. This wasn’t some regular gig. Nah.This was Ghana’s pulse, on a stage big enough for the world to tune in.Lagos, Nairobi, Joburg, Dakar—everyone with a screen or a radio was gonna be watching.The stakes? Sky-high. One misstep, one botched hook, and it’s not just his pride on the line—it’s the whole crew, the whole rep.MMs’ rehearsal space reeked of hard work—sweat, sawdust, and that weird bite of old microphones. The boys were deep in the zone.Problem hunched over his MPC, twisting knobs, making the beat smack so hard the budget studio windows rattled. O Don pacing around, muttering lyrics under his breath like he was tryi

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