Sankofa(64)

“Yes. I did,” I said. “How can you tell?”

“It’s for tourists. I’ll take you where you can buy proper Bama clothes.”

“You can’t take her anywhere. She’s leaving tomorrow,” Kweku said.

“Oh, so soon. You must visit us again. You are the best-looking of Uncle Kofi’s children.”

“Araba, you are drunk. Go away, please, before she thinks there is madness in our family.”

He waved her away and she returned to the other smokers.

“Do you ever come to London? Maybe we could have a meal together,” I said.

“I visit. My daughter is there.”

“How old is she? I have a daughter too.”

“Eighteen. A youthful indiscretion that Papa almost killed me for. I’m only thirty-seven, you see. If only I’d known about you.”

“Was he strict?” I asked.

“Very. I’m not sure you missed out on much.”

“I think I offended him in Gbadolite.”

“How?”

“I told him Francis Aggrey would be disappointed in the man Kofi Adjei has become.”

“You’re braver than you look,” he said.

“I was a little drunk.”

“Papa doesn’t like to be criticized. In fact, for a long time, you couldn’t criticize him in this country. He will get over it or he won’t. What does it matter? You’re leaving, unlike the rest of us.”

“Kweku,” a woman called from indoors.

“I’d better return to my guests.”

“Yes, before someone thinks I’m your mistress.”

“A wit. I thought I was the only Adjei wit. It’s been lonely.”

He got up with difficulty.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Anna. Sule will keep us in touch. He runs everything in our family.”

I sat alone by the pool for a few moments. Ash drifted on its surface like the scattering from a cremation. A breeze blew in from the ocean, setting off hidden wind chimes. I should have gone to the beach more often. I should have seen more of Bamana. Except for my brief evening with Marcellina I had viewed the country through too narrow a lens. Perhaps I might come back with Rose.

“I thought it was you.”

I looked up and saw Ken. His face was so familiar in this crowd of strangers that I felt a brief flutter of relief. We were almost friends.

“You again,” I said.

“How do you know Kweku?”

“It’s a small country. You?”

“Kweku always throws a good party.”

It seemed true.

“So, who’s here?” I asked.

“The bright young things of Bamana: artists, entrepreneurs. That’s one of the biggest film stars, Julia Hammond. Next to her is the vice president’s son. Drug addict, apparently. A few diplomats, embassy staff, some expats from Kweku’s company.”

“His company?”

“He’s the CEO of Shore Petroleum,” he said. “You didn’t know. How do you know the Adjeis? They’re an interesting family.”

“I met them in passing. You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m a spy.”

“You’re too chatty to be a spy,” I said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“You’ll be missed. Look, some people are going down to the beach. We should join them.”

He was a man who would always try his luck.

“I’m married,” I said. It was still true.

“We’re just walking on the beach. No vows. How’s your father? He’s the one you came to visit.”

“He’s fine. We’re not close.”

“Wasn’t close to mine either.”

The sand was cold without the sun. A bonfire was lit and Kweku’s guests streamed towards the flames. Someone had brought a guitar. People began to dance, in pairs and groups. They moved near the fire, close enough for their sequins and silks to be singed. I stepped away from Ken and swayed to the music on my own.





26


The departure hall was full of people who were not traveling. They drifted around offering unwanted services, swarming anyone who looked indecisive. Sule cut through the crowd, wheeling my suitcase behind him. When we were alone, he seemed mild, almost vacant. Now he moved fiercely, purposefully. I followed him like the fish that trail behind sharks, gaining their protection, eating their parasites.

At the check-in desk we walked to the front of the Priority queue.

“Oga, Sule, welcome.”

“Checking in. One bag.”

“Traveling to London?”

“Yes,” Sule answered for me. He walked me to the security gate.

“This is where we part,” he said.

“Thank you. You’ve been so helpful.”

“I hope you enjoyed your stay in Bamana.”

“Please thank my father.”

“I will pass on your greetings to Sir Kofi. You have my e-mail address and phone number, should you require anything.”

“Yes.”

We shook hands and then I embraced him. It embarrassed us both but I did not regret the gesture.



I kept one cowry note back when I went shopping in duty-free, one with an image of Kofi. It was my only likeness of him. I spent the rest of my money buying a wooden statue for Katherine and a bead necklace for Rose, three times what I would have paid in the market. I thought briefly about a gift for Robert, but the only thing he really wanted from me was our marriage back. There were a few restaurants, a bookstall, a charging station with passengers tethered to their phones. I roamed around, settling nowhere until a woman announced over the PA system: “Passengers on Flight 232 to London Heathrow should go to Gate Seventeen, where boarding has begun.”