Act 1 of The Curse of the Unseen Hand

Act 1

The Weight of Begging

The Market’s Endless Dance

You step into the bustling market, the air thick with the scent of roasted yams and sweat, your sandals worn from endless walking. Kofi, that’s you, hauling a sack of goods you’ve poured your soul into crafting—wooden carvings, each one a piece of your heart. The sun beats down, and you call out to buyers, your voice hoarse from trying. But no one stops. You beg with your eyes, your smile, offering lower prices, yet the coins stay in their pockets. It’s been like this for months—effort meeting silence. You wipe your brow, feeling the weight of something you can’t name, a shadow tugging at your steps.

The Workshop’s Silent Victory

Back in your tiny workshop, the walls lined with tools you’ve saved for, you finish a carving—a bird in flight, wings spread wide. You’ve done more than asked, working late into the night, your hands cramped but proud. You imagine selling it, using the money to fix your leaking roof. But when morning comes, the market rejects it again. You stand there, the bird in your hands, and wonder why it’s never enough. The silence screams louder than the market’s noise, and that unseen weight grows heavier.

The Neighbor’s Pity

Your neighbor, Amina, peers over the fence, her eyes soft with concern. She’s seen you haul those goods day after day, seen the empty sack you bring home. “You work too hard, Kofi,” she says, handing you a mango. You nod, thanking her, but inside, you’re begging—for her words to mean change, for something to break this cycle. Her pity stings, a reminder that others see your struggle, yet it persists. You eat the mango, its juice sweet but not enough to lift the shadow.

The Clock’s Cruel Tick

You set a goal—sell enough by week’s end to pay the rent. You carve faster, your fingers bleeding, the clock ticking like a heartbeat in your ears. By Friday, you’ve got a pile of goods, but that need hits—new tools to make them better. You rush to the trader, but he’s closed early. The deadline passes, and the landlord knocks, his face stern. You stand there, sack empty, time stolen, and the weight presses harder, a mystery you can’t solve.

The River’s Reflection

At the river’s edge, you wash your hands, the cool water a brief relief. You look at your reflection—tired eyes, a face lined with effort. You’ve qualified for success, met every mark, but something else is always needed. You skip stones, each one sinking like your hopes. The water mirrors your struggle, and you feel that shadow deepen, a curse you don’t yet name, lurking just out of sight.

The Friend’s Advice

Your friend Kwame sits with you under the baobab tree, sharing a gourd of palm wine. He’s heard your story—weeks of trying, nothing gained. “Keep pushing, Kofi,” he says, clapping your shoulder. You nod, but the advice feels hollow. You’ve pushed, chased that missing piece, and lost more than you’ve won. The wine warms your throat, but not your spirit, and the weight lingers, a silent companion.