Setting: Accra, Greater Accra Region, Ghana
Date: 9 September 2018

Adisa had only been in senior high school for a few days.

She was still getting used to the uniform, the early mornings and what she considered the worst part of school:
Homework.

But that morning, she was sitting beside Uncle Martey, staring at a photograph.
Thirty-seven children.
Thirty-seven faces.
One boy holding a handwritten message:

*PLEASE COUNT ME TOO.*

“Uncle?”
“Yes?”
“Why did he write that?”
Martey looked at the photograph.
“Perhaps he was afraid nobody would notice him.”

Adisa frowned.
“But there are thirty-seven children.”
“Yes.”
“So somebody should have noticed him.”
Martey smiled sadly.
“You would think so.”

*THE NOTEBOOK*
Professor Henderson arrived shortly afterwards with Daniel’s black notebook.
Inside were names, schools, dates and payment figures.
“Two thousand, three hundred and fourteen unverified children,”

Henderson said.
Adisa looked shocked.
“In one school?”
“No. One district.”
She stared at the notebook.

“Where did they go?”
Nobody answered.
Henderson placed Kojo’s photograph beside the notebook.

“He is one of them.”
“What happened to him?”
“He stopped attending school.”
“Why?”
“His mother couldn’t afford transportation.”
Adisa looked puzzled.

“Then why didn’t somebody help them?”
Martey sighed.
“That is another question.”
Adisa studied the photograph.
“If I stopped going to school, Uncle Martey would come looking for me.”
Martey laughed.
“Definitely.”

She looked at Henderson.
“So somebody should have looked for Kojo.”
Henderson nodded.
“Yes.”

*THE SEVEN*
The investigator opened the attendance records.
“There were seven children. They all stopped attending within about three months.”
Adisa looked at the names.
“Did they know each other?”
“No.”
“Same school?”
“No.”
“Same family?”
“No.”
She frowned.
“Then why did they all disappear around the same time?”

Henderson looked at her.
“That is what we are trying to find out.”
Adisa returned to her books.
Then looked up again.
“If they disappeared, why are they still on the payment list?”

Henderson smiled.
“Exactly.”
Martey looked at him.
“Sometimes children ask questions adults have forgotten to ask.”

*THE RED FILE*
Henderson opened the red file:
CHILDREN WHO DISAPPEARED.
Hundreds of photographs.
Beside many was the same notation:
NO LONGER VERIFIED.

Adisa asked:
“What does that mean?”
“It means nobody can confirm the child is still part of the programme.”
She looked at Kojo’s photograph.

“But you know the child existed.”
“Yes.”
“Then why not say the child is missing?”
Henderson paused.
Adisa shook her head.
“That sounds like adult language.”

“What is adult language?”
“The kind that makes bad things sound less bad.”
Silence filled the room.

*THE CAPE COAST* *MEMORY*
Later, Adisa remembered something.
“Uncle, didn’t you tell me about a school in Cape Coast?”
“Yes.”
“I remember seeing a boy there. He was holding a bowl.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No.”
“Was it Kojo?”
“I don’t know.”
Henderson looked at her carefully.
“That’s all right. Don’t guess.”
Adisa nodded.
“I only remember that he kept looking behind him.”
Martey frowned.
“Behind him?”
“Yes.”
She picked up her schoolbag.
“I have homework.”

Martey smiled.
“Good.”
She turned back.
“Uncle?”
“Yes?”
“Find Kojo.”
Martey looked at her.
“We will.”

*THE FIRST CHILD*
That evening, Henderson called.
“We found another name.”
“Who?”
“Kofi Asare.”
“Who is he?”
“A former pupil in Cape Coast. He disappeared in 2015.”

Martey stared at the photograph Henderson sent.
A ten-year-old boy stood beside a classroom, smiling.
Adisa came closer.
“Who is that?”
“Kofi.”
“What happened to him?”
“He disappeared.”
Her face fell.
“Another one?”
Martey nodded.

She noticed a small black circle on the photograph.
“What’s that?”
“We don’t know.”
Henderson examined the photograph.
“The same mark appears on seven files.”
Adisa looked at the photographs.
“They are children, not numbers.”
Martey nodded.
“Exactly.”

*THE COUNTER*
Daniel arrived that night.
He looked frightened.
“You found Kofi.”
Henderson looked at him.
“Why is he important?”
Daniel swallowed.
“Kofi was the first.”
“The first what?”
“The first child whose name continued to be used after he disappeared.”

“For payments?”
Daniel nodded.
“Who controlled them?”
“The Counter.”
“The man with the watch?”
Daniel nodded.
“He never signed anything. He simply told people what would be approved.”

Martey’s face hardened.
“And the children?”
Daniel looked down.
“They became numbers.”

*THE CALL*
At 10:17 p.m., Adisa’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a man’s voice:
“You like asking questions.”

Adisa froze.
“Who are you?”
“You should stop asking about Kojo.”
“How do you know about Kojo?”
A quiet laugh.
“Goodnight, Adisa.”

The line went dead.
She immediately ran to Uncle Martey.
“Someone called me.”
Martey looked at the phone.
“What did he say?”
She told him.
Martey’s expression changed.

“They know about you.”
Henderson nodded.
“The investigation has reached someone who is watching us.”
Martey shook his head.
“They aren’t watching us.”
He looked at Adisa.
“They are watching her.”

*THE FIRST ACCOUNT*
Near midnight, Henderson received a package.
Inside was a file marked:
THE FIRST ACCOUNT.
The first photograph was Kofi Asare.
Then came payment records.
A signature.
A school.
And finally, a handwritten sentence:
THE SYSTEM DID NOT BEGIN WITH KOJO.
Henderson turned the page.
FIND THE FIRST CHILD.

Martey looked at him.
“Whoever started this knows we’re looking backwards.”
Henderson nodded.
“Then we follow Kofi.”
Martey picked up Kojo’s photograph.
“And we find the others.”
Outside, Accra slept.
In her room, Adisa was already asleep, unaware that her simple questions had brought her closer to a dangerous secret.

And somewhere in the city, a man wearing a distinctive watch opened a file.
Inside was one name:
*ADISA*
.
He stared at it.
Then wrote beneath it:

Thanks for reading.
Havillah Consultants
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*Disclaimer*
———————-

The Currency of Conscience is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue, investigative team, documents, events and narrative connections are fictional or fictionalised for literary purposes. The story may draw thematic inspiration from publicly reported issues concerning public-sector accountability, school feeding and the management of public funds. References to real institutions, public figures, reports or allegations, where applicable, should not be interpreted as assertions of criminal conduct. Allegations remain allegations unless established by a competent court. The purpose of this series is to encourage reflection on integrity, accountability and the human cost of corruption.*