Sankofa(12)

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“I don’t know if I have the words. I’ve never felt that way before. I don’t feel that way now.”

The urge to confide in someone presses. I would rather Rose or even Robert were here, but this kind stranger is all I have.

“I found a diary that belonged to my father among my mother’s things,” I say. “She died six months back, if you remember. Francis, my father, returned to West Africa before I was born. I don’t think he knew about the pregnancy. He may not even be alive.”

“Are you sure it’s his diary? Your mother never mentioned it?”

“I’m sure, and for whatever reason—maybe a good one—she kept it from me.”

I do not want her to think ill of my mother. Already I feel I have shared too much.

“Did you like what you read in his diary?” Katherine asks.

“Yes. I liked his writing voice very much.”

“You’ll want to find out more, then.”

Of course. I may not be able to go to Bamana immediately, but some of the dramatis personae may be somewhere in London this very moment: Thomas Phiri, Blessing, perhaps even Menelik, if he ever got out of jail. Katherine’s suggestion is sound.

“What do you do?” I ask her.

“Full-time home manager or housewife, according to the census. I worked in banking until my third child. I hung on for as long as I could.”

“I was an architect. Gave it up not long after I married. A mistake,” I say.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“You believe that?”

“Yes. During the crisis, my husband, Simon, lost his job in the City and he couldn’t find work for two years.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No need,” she says. “That’s when we started going to church. Before then we were always playing keep-up, always one step behind someone. We sold our boat. We didn’t need one. I’m scared of the open sea.”

I don’t know how to respond to this edited version of life. In a few years I might be sitting across from a stranger, telling of how my husband cheated, and of how my mother died, and it might be the best thing that happened to me.

“I should leave you to get some rest,” she says. “Call me if you need anything.”

After she is gone, I take out my phone. Robert has returned my call and left a message.

“Hi, Anna. Sorry I was out. Everything all right? I hope it’s not the boiler. Sometimes the start button can get a bit fiddly. Do you remember when we first bought the house and the heating broke down in winter and we all slept in the same bed? Anyway, I can come and have a look if you want . . . Rose texted me she’s in Mumbai. We always wanted to go to India, didn’t we—?”

I cut the line and go upstairs. The second book from my mother’s box is in better condition than Francis Aggrey’s diary. The spine is smooth. The cardboard cover is dark green, almost black. I open it. My mother’s hand has glued a press clipping to the first page, a short piece from The Times.


“MASTERMIND” IN MION KIDNAPS IS EX–UNIVERSITY OF LONDON STUDENT

Police in the Diamond Coast are seeking the whereabouts of Kofi Adjei, who is suspected of planning the kidnap of three English mine owners in Mion. Two years ago, Adjei (formerly known as Francis Aggrey) was a student at University College London, although he did not succeed in taking a degree. A former lecturer described Adjei as “quiet and reserved.” The mine owners were released last Friday after a ransom of ￡30,000 was paid. [March 12, 1971]



The articles got longer, the headlines more alarming


KOFI ADJEI ESTABLISHES DIAMOND COAST LIBERATION GROUP FROM HIDING [June 4, 1971]


MION POLICE STATION ATTACK CLAIMED BY DIAMOND COAST LIBERATION GROUP [September 16, 1971]


MION MINE OWNER SHOT AND IN CRITICAL CONDITION [December 3, 1971]



My father was a terrorist and he had been radicalized in England by Menelik.


INSIDE THE BARBARISM OF THE DCLG [February 2, 1972]


KOFI ADJEI, DCLG LEADER, ARRESTED [August 17, 1972]



For the first time there was a photograph accompanying one of the articles. It was Francis Aggrey, unrecognizable from the dandy in London. They had stripped him to the waist, and he was seated on the ground with his legs stretched before him. He was thin and unshaven, his hair wild and uncombed.

They tried the “Terror of Mion,” on January 13, 1973, two days after my third birthday. In April 1973 they sentenced him to twenty years in prison.

They had planned it all in Menelik’s flat and here it was: the liberation of Africa, Francis Aggrey brought low, sitting in the dust. Did his old friends read of it? Did Thomas and Blessing Phiri sitting in some suburb in London see him in the news? The clippings continued.

In September 1975, Amnesty International protested my father’s inhumane treatment in jail. The following year, peace talks began with the Diamond Coast Liberation Group. The turnaround was swift. My father was released in 1977 after serving five years of his sentence. Elections were scheduled. By November 1977 Kofi Adjei was the front-runner.


KOFI ADJEI SWEEPS TO VICTORY IN DIAMOND COAST

On Tuesday morning more than three hundred thousand Diamond Coasters went peacefully to the polls, and yesterday night the results were announced. Kofi Adjei, once the Terror of Mion, has won the first general election in the Diamond Coast and shall become the first prime minister. In June he will be sworn in as leader of a new country: Bamana. [January 11, 1978]