2013.07.09 - Home

In south-eastern Ghana is a small village, primitive in many ways compared to the developed world, and yet oddly advanced compared to third-world nations. Almost everything there is still accomplished by hand, including farming and the procurement of wares on the marketplace. However, technology touches the village in small ways, ranging from the sparse, overhead wires that provide electricity, telephone, and limited internet access, to the worn out and barely functional trucks and jeeps used to ferry people to and from the village at the utmost need.

Children run to and fro, healthy and well fed thanks to the efforts of the American Red Cross and Christian ministries who visit the area from around the globe. They are far more educated than their parents, thanks to the donation of books and educational materials from aforementioned ministries. It is a good place in Ghana, and it shows the promise of a better future.

A man native to this village walks from one end of the marketplace to the other, dressed in the bright colors of traditional African attire. He smiles at the vendors and exchanges occasional bits of conversation in the native Dangme language, though he never shares with them his real name. He is but a traveler, passing through the village on his way to Accra, where he intends to book passage back to the United States using one of his many false identifications.

What they don't realize is that this man is Kwabena Odame, the young boy turned adult who was so viciously banished from this very village, not that many years past.

Kwabena the freak.

There are a number of mixed emotions that come to him as he walks past the young men who once beat him and mocked him so terribly. As he touches the crucifix concealed in his pocket, he considers confronting them, to make amends. To tell them of what he has become. A hero of the X-Men, mutant, defender of the innocent.

But then, his body begins to feel weak. With the absence of Victor Von Doom's nanites, he is now facing the greatest challenge of all. His body twitches, and he is tempted to vomit.

The withdrawal symptoms are coming.

His soul changes then, and as he lets go of the rosary in his pocket, he considers the young men a second time. One might argue that they were to blame for all of the terrible things he has suffered. One might argue that Kwabena would have had every right to burn the entire place to the ground. One might argue that he would be right to serve justice where justice does not exist.

At the centre of the village, the African reaches back into his pocket. He clutches the crucifix and breathes deeply, now but an inch from unleashing the fury of his new found power.

A beat passes, and with the slow exhalation of a breath, he opens his eyes and moves along...

...along, on the roadway to Accra.