A tale as rich as chocolate, as clever as Ananse…

The meal was already underway when Ananse arrived.

Steam rose from pots set low over the fire. The air carried the smell of roasted groundnuts and cocoa husk, of leaf-wrapped dishes being opened carefully. Laughter moved easily between people who knew each other well.

Ananse slipped onto a stool.

He ate quickly. Appreciatively.

“This is very good,” he said.

No one answered.

Ananse frowned. He tried again.

“Very, very good.”

Still nothing.

An older woman glanced at him and smiled.

“You’re welcome,” she said — not unkindly.

Ananse froze.

He looked down at his bowl. Around him, people passed food, refilled cups, adjusted plates for one another without asking.

Someone pressed fresh cocoa paste into an asanka, grinding slowly, rhythm steady, hands practiced.

Ananse cleared his throat.

“Meda wo ase,” he said quietly. Thank you.

The woman nodded and passed him more.

Gratitude, it seemed, did not announce itself.
It simply made room.

Had Ananse confused enjoyment with appreciation?
Who do we forget to thank once the work is done?
And what changes when gratitude is spoken aloud?

Well… that is a story for another time.

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