Sankofa(39)

“I’ll go get us something to drink. What would you like?”

“I don’t have money. I haven’t changed any yet.”

“That’s fine. It’s on me.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Coke, please.”

“I’m afraid Coca-Cola is still banned. Thrown out by Adjei.”

“Why?”

“The government said they didn’t pay enough taxes, but I think they refused to pay Adjei a bribe. Pepsi?”

“No, thanks. Water is fine.”

I watched him walk off. His legs looked thin in the wide mouths of his shorts—camel legs, bearing up a broad chest. Not quite my type. Too reedy. He returned with drinks and food. He spread out the roasted fish and plantains on newspapers.

“This was breathing just a few hours ago.”

We ate with our fingers. The fish was covered in a vinegar relish, flaking away from the bone. The plantains were charred on the outside, sweet on the inside.

“They eat like gods here,” Ken said. “Even the poorest can eat like this.”

As if he had overheard, a beggar approached—a young boy, barefoot, with holes in his clothes. He stood at the mouth of our shack, holding out his hands. Ken gave him some coins. I wrapped the last plantain in newspaper.

“Thanks, boss,” the boy said.

“I should have said, almost everyone can eat like this,” Ken said, when the boy was gone. “I have a son about his age.”

“You miss him.”

“Yes. He’s with his mother. She left me for a man who travels less. A GP. You don’t get more earthbound than that,” he said. “What of you? Any children?”

“One. A daughter. We should go into the ocean,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about my family with a stranger.

My swimsuit was under my clothes, a black halter-neck one-piece. The ruching on the torso looked slimming when I bought it, but now it felt frumpy. My middle-aged vanity wanted Ken to think me attractive. I unbuttoned my shirt and slid off my shorts with my back turned.

“Don’t leave your bum bag,” he said. I strapped it over my shoulder.

The sun’s heat was trapped in the sand. It burned underfoot. I ran to the water and waded to my knees.

“Don’t go too far. The current is strong.”

There were others in the ocean, also staying at its edge, facing the sun. An old woman bathed fully dressed. Her white garments ballooned around her. When the tide pulled in, her dress fell, clinging to her like a winding sheet. A boy held on to his father’s leg, the water chest-deep for him. I staggered under a wave.

“Careful,” Ken said. He grasped me by the inner elbow and pulled me upright.

“Thanks,” I said. He held my arm for a moment longer than necessary.

“Saved your life.” He was edging into flirtation.

“I am forever indebted,” I said, matching his tone but pulling away.

“Seriously. People get swept out to their deaths all the time. That’s why I never swim here.”

There were ships on the horizon, large tankers that looked like bath toys from this distance.

“What are they bringing?” I asked.

“Shiny things for rich Bamas. Cars, televisions, sound systems.”

“What else?”

“Food. Rice from India, stockfish from Norway, processed food as basic as tomato puree.”

“They don’t grow tomatoes here?”

“They don’t preserve them.”

The water got colder. The waves grew stronger. My mouth tasted of salt.

“I’m going back to the shack,” I said, and he followed me. We sat facing the ocean, as if we had not just left it. A breeze blew in carrying fine bits of sand.

“Getting chilly. We should go soon. Or huddle for warmth.”

He put his arm over my shoulder. I let it rest there. The weight was not unpleasant.

“So what do you think of the country so far?” he asked.

“Still trying to take it all in. I don’t want to miss anything.”

A seagull flew low and fast, skimming the waves. It circled and repeated the maneuver before flying off.

“What are your plans for the rest of the week?” he said.

“Sightseeing.”

“And?”

“Shopping.”

It was dusk now. A party had started at the far end of the beach. The boom of a bass reached us, slipped into my bloodstream.

“Let’s dance,” I said. I got up and pulled him to his feet. His movements were jerky but he laughed at his own inelegance. We swung between dancing apart and dancing together.

“I hope you’re having a good time,” he said.

“I am.”

On one close orbit, he caught me by the waist and kissed me. I was flattered by this interest from a reasonable prospect of a man. I kissed him back, a fumble of lips and tongues. With one sharp tug, he unraveled the knot of my halter neck.

“People will see,” I said.

“Not if we’re discreet.”

We moved farther into the hut. I stood with my back to him, shielding myself from view. His hand fastened to my breast, teased at my nipple, stretched it this way and that like warm toffee. The music sped up, the beat more urgent. I rubbed against his groin. It was a dance from my youth, a night out at university, simulating sex on the dance floor. I could feel the tip of Ken’s arousal. He pushed forward and I pressed back, our hips moving in a circle, spinning like a top.