Sankofa(57)

I was no longer at ease in Kofi’s wonderland. During the day I drove in a golf cart, joining the traffic of tourists and holidaymakers that came to visit the zoo, the water park, and the different museums.

A cable car circled the entire property. I went up with a family of four. The mother would not open her eyes, even when our glass egg cut through a flock of birds and scattered their formation.

At night I slept fitfully. I woke up drenched in sweat, the air-conditioning blasting cold air. I locked the door and heard noises in the dark. The young men of Kinnakro. Five ghosts to haunt the corridors of Gbadolite, see-through specters passing through walls, seeking revenge.

Marcellina texted me. She had rescued Abena. I felt relieved, and then ashamed of my relief. I should have found Kofi, wherever he was holed up in this palace, and demanded that Abena be freed. I should have done more.

Or perhaps it was better in the end that Marcellina engineered her rescue and not me, with my clumsy attempt of playing the obroni savior. I remembered with embarrassment trying to dig the stake out of the ground, a mistake that would have endangered Abena even further.

I thought of calling Rose but I did not really feel like speaking to my daughter. Her voice did not belong here. My life in England was one world, and my life here was another, two planets that must not collide.

I watched the rain from the library. It drummed on the roof and windowpanes. The water ran into concealed drains and did not settle in pools. Kofi had achieved here what he could not achieve in Segu. Gbadolite was the dream of urban planners, a city built from scratch, humans added after the fact, sidestepping the warrens and hovels they erected spontaneously.

“So, this is where you are hiding.”

The woman who walked in was tall and dark-skinned like Kofi. Gold earrings dangled from her ears, brushing her shoulders. I rose to greet her.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” I said.

“I know who you are.”

“Kofi told you about me?”

“Kofi? He’s your age mate.”

You could tell she was Bamanaian but her accent was glossed with something British, something clipped and slightly braying. It was strange to hear that voice here.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Anna Bain.”

“Very good. Anna Bain, you will pack your things and leave Gbadolite this afternoon. I don’t know what sort of adventurer you are. I can see from your looks that you are foreign. Wherever you came from, you must go back there and never come within a hundred miles of my father. Have I made myself clear?”

“I am Kofi’s guest,” I said. I would not be intimidated by her bluster. I had learned from dealing with Kofi.

“A guest? The latest whore is wagging her mouth.”

“Is that what you think this is?”

“A woman your age with my father. What else can it be?”

“I see,” I said. “It’s best for you to speak to him in private.”

“The only thing I’m going to do is personally escort you to your room so you can pack your belongings. Your bags will be searched before you leave.”

“I think you should speak to him first.”

My half sister had not expected to find me reasonable. I was pleased by my calm. I was becoming used to the unexpected in Bamana. I dialed Sule.

“I’m in the library with Kofi’s daughter,” I said. “Please tell him we’re waiting. Thank you.”

“How long have you been here?”

“He’ll explain everything.”

The rain had stopped, and the room was quiet except for our breathing. My half sister was breathing like air had been trapped in her lungs for hours, like a whale surfacing. I turned my back to her and took a book down from a shelf, a hardback copy of Great Expectations. Its pages sprang open, swollen with moisture, like ticks with blood. Mold grew over the frontispiece, mottling the “i” and “n” in Dickens. I put it back in its place.

Kofi arrived at a stroll. I imagined him pausing at the door, willing himself to appear relaxed. Over his career, he had mastered entrances and exits.

“Afua, I see you and Anna have met,” he said.

“Who is she?”

“No greeting for your father?”

“I will not greet you. This is a disgrace. How can you bring her here at this crucial moment?”

“You are forgetting yourself, Afua,” he said, lowering his voice. The effect on my half sister was immediate. She hung her head.

“I’m sorry, Papa, but you are here with this . . . this woman who is young enough to be your daughter.”

“She is my daughter,” he said.

Afua’s eyes twitched between Kofi and me.

“What are you saying?”

“Afua, this is your sister Anna. Your older sister.”

“Papa, what are you saying?” She looked ready to charge but I was not sure who she would rather trample first.

“I know. It came as a shock for me, too,” he said. There was mockery in his voice. He was enjoying her discomfort. “Sit down if you need to.”

“But she is a half-caste,” Afua said.

“What a keen eye you have. Her mother was white. We met when I was a student in London.”

“How long have you known? How long?”