4

Mawuli and I sat silent in our bed. Togbe had never told such a sad story before. Now, finally, I understood why our lives were the way they were. I hardly knew what to say, but there was one thing I needed to know.

“Togbe”—I broke the silence—“you said there’s a creek here, in Tovime!”

He nodded quietly.

Mawuli and I looked at each other. “So how come you’ve never taken us there?”

“Hmm.” He looked away. “It’s just a shadow of its former self! I’m glad Togbe Nutifafa didn’t live to see it like this.”

“But… where is it?”

“Beyond the farms. I can take you if you like… I guess. It’s not that far.”

“Yes, please!”

“Do people still fish there?” asked Mawuli.

Togbe shrugged. “Some set fish traps in the rainy season, but… When I think of what it used to be! And what it was like where I grew up!” The texture returned to his voice. “We were right on it, the great Volta! I slept and woke to the rush of its current. We farmed too, but fishing was our life! It was hard work, but I loved it. We learned it from our parents, siblings, uncles, even grandparents.”

“Your grandparents fished too?”

“Ay ntɔ! My Togbe was most at home on the water. It kept him strong. He taught me more about it than anyone else!”

“He was the one in the boat that day, wasn’t he? The one who told you about Mami Wata?”

“Yes,” Togbe smiled. “There’s much I’ve forgotten, but my best memories are of him! He took me along on fishing trips sometimes. He’d tell me to pack a few things and we’d head out, just the two of us for a whole week, moving along the river from creek to creek!”

“That sounds amazing!”

“Where did you sleep?” asked Mawuli.

“In the boat! We’d pull it up onto the bank and lay our mats in the bottom. Sometimes we’d camp on islands in the river!” Togbe’s eyes were far away again. “You should have seen the stars at night! I’ll never forget how they looked from there.”

“How?” I wanted to know.

“So much bigger and brighter than I’d ever imagined they could be! And so many more than I had ever realized there were! They lit up a stretch of sky from the inside, like a path of light. And the fireflies were dancing dots of light, like stars falling around us. Stars above, stars below, stars all around! I’ll never forget it!”

“Weren’t you afraid? Out there in the dark?” asked Mawuli.

“By my Togbe’s side? Never! He made a fire by rubbing sticks together. He taught me how to do it too, out there. We grilled fish we’d caught, the best I ever ate! And then he told me stories as we lay back on our mats, watching the stars.”

I thought a lot about those two, out there on their river islands with stars above, below, and all around. That weekend when we were on the farm, I asked Togbe to take me to the creek. Klenam and Mawuli had already gone home because Ma was making soap that day. I’d worked extra fast so we’d finish early.

We walked for a while on a rough path that became increasingly shaded by bamboo groves. They towered overhead, arching together in vast canopies. The light filtered through, a shaded green, and the sound of water wended its way imperceptibly into our consciousness. We were not so far from home, but it seemed as though we were in a different world. The foliage cleared, and there, at the bottom of a narrow gorge, was a thin stream of water.

“Look!” said Togbe. “Emoɔ! Fish traps!”

He pulled one from the water’s edge. It was an oval basket, woven with an interior funnel into which a hapless river prawn had swum.

“Can’t it just get out the same way it came in?”

“They never even try! Once they’re in, they’re in.” Togbe turned it over. “Nice weaving!” He placed it carefully back into the water. “Never mess with another’s catch! That’s one of the rules of fishing.”

He seemed so at home here. I flattened a clump of tall grass and sat myself down, patting the ground next to me.

“We can’t stay long.” He lowered himself gingerly.

“I know.” I looked at the trickle of water in its oversize bed and imagined it brimming and rushing with a full current. “But let’s come again, soon!”

On our way back we met our neighbors the Adjoyis, whose farms were next to ours. They were homeward bound too, with baskets on their heads full of foodstuffs, the son carrying the heaviest. Togbe smiled silent approval as, without prompting, I offered to assist Mr. Adjoyi Sr.

“Thank you, child, you’re a good boy, but if this old rascal can carry his”—he pointed at Togbe—“then me too, I’ll carry mine!”

“But yours is heavier!” I said as everyone laughed.

“Because I’m stronger!” He flexed his right arm, slapping at his biceps.

“You sure about that?” Togbe affected a scoff.

“Don’t mind him, Sena!” said Adjoyi Jr. with a grin. “Mtch, these old men! Turning down a good offer like that! Go on, Da, hand it over!”

Adjoyi Sr. smiled with mock resignation and beckoned me. “See how they order me around?”

I grasped one edge of the basket, and we lowered it to the ground. I emptied its contents into mine, stacked one inside the other, swung them onto my head, and off we went.

We stopped at the Adjoyis’ to deposit their things, then headed home. As we approached, we heard singing. Klenam was in the outdoor kitchen ladling soup into bowls, and Mawuli was washing the pans and utensils they had used for the soap making. The gospel song was coming from inside. We stowed our farming tools, removed our boots, and chuckled to each other as the voice rose in pitch and volume.

“Church soloist!” hailed Togbe as we entered the house. Auntie Kafui, our next-door neighbor, was sitting on the sofa next to Ma in a TOVIME PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH T-shirt and wrapper cloth, hands raised heavenward, rapture on her face. She broke off as we came in, clapped a hand over her mouth, and giggled like a schoolgirl.

“You two must thank Auntie Kafui for me,” Ma said. “She came over to help us with the soap, and she’s agreed to stay for supper!”

I mumbled shy thanks while Togbe said, “Mama Kafui, God bless you o!”

“Amen!” She raised a hand in acceptance.

“And how are you today?”

“I’m so blessed!” she trilled, her smile as radiant as if the blessings were streaming out of her. It was the only response I’d ever heard her give to that question.

“We are honored by your presence at our humble table, but don’t let us interrupt you!”

“Oh, Togbe Sena!” She fiddled with her white headscarf, dimples creasing and front teeth protruding as she giggled and launched seamlessly back into song, arms upheld, motioning us to join in.

I suspected that if Togbe were ever to announce he was ready to marry again, she’d be first in line.

In school on Monday, I told Bright about the creek, and about the flooding of Togbe’s village. We were walking to the snack corner during morning break, me pretending I didn’t notice as we passed Kekeli and her friends behind the classrooms, getting ready for a game of ampé as usual. We settled on the low wall of the snack corner under the shade of the mango tree, the best vantage point, chewing roasted groundnuts and popcorn and talking above the din of other children sitting on the wall, buying food, running around.

As we talked, I watched the game. Kekeli was leading one of the sides today. She was an expert, jumping higher than all the others, and it was one of my favorite sights in the world. They were playing the elaborate group version in which they lined up in two rows, opposite each other. The leader or “mother” of each row would face her counterpart, ready to start. Then they’d all chant and clap—“Mother Mother, clap clap! Mother Mother, clap clap!” and then the two girls would jump into the air, clapping their hands in rhythm.

On landing, each would stick a foot out. The score depended on which foot alignment either side had preselected—“crooked” or “straight.” If they landed with feet facing each other, “straight” scored. If their feet were at odds, “crooked” won the point. When the leader won a set of points in this manner, she could “give birth to,” or activate, the next member of her team, who would play their counterpart on the other team. As successive team members came into play, they were named for the days of the week. I knew all this because of how keenly I watched whenever Kekeli was playing.

Bright grinned patiently as I interrupted my story to comment on the score. Then he rubbed at a dry scratch mark the rough cement wall had made on his shin and told me, to my surprise, that his family also came from a village that had been flooded for the lake. It was far from Togbe’s, but his grandfather had been a fisherman too, and his grandmother a clam trader. I wished I had asked Togbe those questions long ago. Up till then, football had been the main thing Bright and I talked about. He was captain of the school team now, and football was on his mind most of the time, but even more so today because we were going to have a match that afternoon.

“Yes!” I cheered as Kekeli’s side won, trying to rein in my delight as I watched her jubilate.

“You pahh!” Bright rolled his eyes. “Like it’s World Cup you’re watching!”

Matthew came looking for Bright at break time with maths homework he hadn’t been able to do, but Bright had gone to prepare our football gear for the match, so Matthew tried to hit me up instead. I rolled my eyes as he leafed through his exercise book and tried to show it to me. I bet he never even bothered opening his books at home, and in class he refused to pay attention, so of course he needed help. But you’d never guess it from all the showing off he did.

I pushed the book right back at him. “Me myself I don’t understand the thing o!” I was only half telling the truth because I didn’t have time for Matthew and his nonsense the way Bright did.

“Chale I beg!” countered Matthew. He quickly set the book back on my desk and held it down. “You know what, if you try for me, I’ll tell Jack of Diamonds! He’ll make it worth your while, I swear!”

I wanted to roll my eyes again, but Matthew was looking eagerly at me as if about to award me some great prize. Jack of Diamonds was a sparkly name he had lately been dropping in our midst, of this fanciful character he kept bragging about. I could bet the guy wasn’t even real.

Matthew claimed he was a family friend through one of his uncles—or might even be a distant relative; he himself wasn’t quite clear on the details. In any case, this Jack of Diamonds—if he really existed—had some link with the village but now seemed to live all over the place; Accra, Lagos, and New York were some of the cities Matthew mentioned. He’d made a fortune, apparently, from galamsey mining—diamonds in the Western Region and gold in the Northern Volta, among other things. I wondered how he’d gone about it, since we were always hearing how galamsey was illegal, but no one seemed to care. Everyone was just enthralled by the tales of his riches, especially the fancy cars.

Later, at the football match, Matthew produced—to our collective envy—a new football and a pair of studded boots he said Jack of Diamonds had given him on his last visit. Most of us didn’t even own sports shoes and played football barefoot to save our school shoes. After the game we all crowded round Matthew, and Delali asked him to turn up his feet so we could get a better look. Matthew complied only too willingly.

“Why does this Jack of Diamonds like you so much?” Bright asked irritably, studying the studs on the soles of the coveted shoes.

“Because I’m so cool, of course! He says I’m the same age as his son in America.”

“He has a son in America?”

“With a white woman! And he says he’ll take me there one day to meet him!”

“Wow!”

I knew it wasn’t just me right then wondering what it would be like to be whisked off to that land of plenty we knew from movies. I went off into an involuntary daydream about living there with Ma, Klenam, Mawuli, and Togbe.

We would ride in beautiful cars on smooth roads to shops that sold everything and buy whatever we wanted. There’d be no more farming and toiling, and I’d drive myself in a sports car every day to a high school where students wore whatever they wanted, and talked to teachers however they liked, and fought and sang and shouted and danced in the corridors and flirted and kissed and played sports and never seemed to do any schoolwork.