Sankofa(69)

“I’ll call you when—”

“Bye.”

All it took was a missed flight and she was back on Robert’s side. They’d convened to assess how unhinged I had become. Behind this pose of concern was mere selfishness. I had found a life outside Robert and Rose. They refused to adjust.

There is a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

It is Kofi.

“You are awake,” he says.

“Yes.”

“What will you eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You must eat something.”

I have turned the Daasebre into a nursemaid. He sits by the foot of my bed in an armchair, his hands worrying his knees. It is the first time he has shown me concern. It is the first time I have felt I might matter to him.

“What was my mother like?” I ask. I am suddenly curious to see her through his eyes. She is the missing piece to the puzzle of this trip. I wish she were here to explain my father to me.

“You know better than I do.”

“I don’t.”

“She had a certain quality, a lightness about her spirit. Seeing her could make me smile. And she was a good dancer. Very quick on her feet.”

“I never saw her like that.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he says briskly, shoving aside memories of my mother. “Now you must recover. I’ll ask the maid to bring you something.”

“I forgot to ask you about Aunt Caryl,” I say.

“What about her?”

“You courted two sisters.”

“I did no such thing. Caryl courted me. Your aunt was a woman who knew her mind.”

“When I was a child, I ran after a black man in the streets once because I heard someone call him Francis. I was so sure it was you.”

“Well, here I am at last. Somewhat of a disappointment if I remember our last conversation correctly. You must be tired.”

I overslept on the morning of my wedding. I woke up with a sense of loss, although I could not immediately remember what I was grieving for. I feel that loss now. I may never again feel safe in Bamana.

“Anna,” he says.

“Yes?”

“I’m going now, but we will talk again soon.”

“Off to your campaign?”

“Who told you about that?”

“I have eyes and ears, Daasebre.”

“Don’t be flippant.”

“I am not your daughter in the way Afua is your daughter.”

“You need to rest,” he said.

“I need to go back to London.”

“Soon. Rest now.”

My wedding dress was white even though I was already pregnant with Rose. The sleeves tore when I put it on. My arms had grown plumper. I stood in my underwear while my mother mended the tear. It was the first time I truly realized how fast and how neatly she could sew.





28


There are two trays by my bed the next morning. Supper from last night and now breakfast. I am still not hungry. When Rose stopped eating, the muscles in her legs were the last things to waste away. Even after the rest of her had broken down into glucose, her thick West African calves continued to bulge stubbornly.

I phone Sule. He picks up after one ring.

“Good morning, Anna.”

“I need to go home.”

“We’re working on it.”

“I need to go home this evening. If you can’t fix things, take me to the British Embassy.”

“Your Bamanaian citizenship takes precedence here. If you try to leave the country, by any border, what happened two days ago will only happen again.”

“I’ll give it up, then. I didn’t ask for citizenship. It was Kofi who offered.”

“It’s not so simple in a case like this.”

“My daughter is waiting for me. My husband is waiting for me.”

“I understand, Anna. I’m doing my best.”

My urgency drains away once I end the call. I want to go back to London but only when it’s safe. I remember the prison cell like a dream. The smell of sweat and shit, the indistinct features of the other prisoners, like faces in a nightmare.

For the first time in six weeks I think about my neighbor Katherine. Our quiet life on Hanover Road seems far removed from where I am now. I miss her sensible, practical manner. I call her.

“Hello. It’s Anna.”

“Anna! You’ve been on my mind. Are you still in Africa? Did you meet your father? Was it a success?”

“I’m staying with him for now. How’s the street?”

“Much the same.”

“And church?” I ask.

“Good. I’m setting up a food bank. Simon thinks I just want to be in charge of a bank. But enough of me. How is it?”

“Things haven’t gone to plan.”

I blink back tears. My face is swollen. Rose is angry with me and I still can’t go home. Katherine makes a sympathetic sound.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I only call you when I’m upset.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m glad you called.”

I haven’t spoken freely about Kofi to anyone. The words, when they come, are rushed.