Chapter 2

 

 

MICHAEL SHIFTED HIS WEIGHT from one leg to the other. Clad in just his briefs, he pondered what to wear. Not that there was much to choose from. To his surprise, his heart pounded a nervous beat. It shouldn’t, because today’s activity was one of his reasons for visiting Ebinom at this time.

The past two days had been hectic—visiting his father’s grave, and then greeting relatives and old family friends, all of whom expected him to bring along a gift. Luckily, he hadn’t forgotten the custom of bearing presents when returning from travels. He’d bought some small gift items which would be considered luxuries here.

On Day Two, he had met with the village elders to discuss using Formula F on selected farms as a means of launching the product in Ghana. That had been the first step, and today, he would be taking the second. His brother, Sefah, had agreed to take him to one of their family farms to assess the soil, and hopefully, it would be the land of experiment.

It’s really happening. A smile came to his lips. Maybe things would turn out to be simpler than he had anticipated, although he’d learnt to prepare for the worst rather than make assumptions for the best, no matter how realistic those assumptions were.

He considered himself lucky, though. Things seemed to have happened at the right time, sparing him the worries that overcame others in times of peril. Even the birth of Formula F had been quite simple. It had started when he’d read a publication about the failure of certain fertilisers on tropical farms. He had begun to study peculiarities of the tropical climate, particularly in West Africa, and realised the weather affected the effectiveness of many Western-formulated fertilisers. Not a surprise, but little research had been conducted on region-specific formulae.

He’d started out with the most common local manures and soil preservation techniques in West Africa, favouring products in adequate supply. He’d worked two jobs and saved, using most of his money for research. His work had eventually caught the attention of one of his professors who had linked him with an internship at AgroChem USA, a research company interested in region-specific studies into various agricultural disciplines. They had eventually come to a mutually beneficial agreement where AgroChem USA funded his research.

Michael had made a small fortune from it. With that money, he’d helped set up AgroChem Ghana, a limited liability company, where he was one of four directors. It wasn’t to say the process hadn’t been stressful, even scary at times, but somehow, it had all worked out well. Now here he was, about to see his research bear fruit—so to speak.

 

****

 

A day in the forest suited Esi just fine. The past two days had been Hell, with thoughts of Michael Badu bombarding her mind. Over the years, thoughts of him had become permanent fixtures in her subconscious, but his return had brought them all back to the fore, and she found herself abuzz with anticipation, waiting and hoping to see him.

She’d volunteered to go to the forest today to fetch firewood needed to smoke Kwame’s catch. She hoped he’d get an antelope today. Her mouth watered just thinking about spicy tomato and garden egg soup with antelope meat. She swallowed the excess saliva resulting from the thought. Dead leaves and twigs crunched and cracked beneath her feet while she whistled, all in a bid to push Michael to the back-burner. Birds high up in the trees chirped as if singing harmony to her song, and her mind drifted to her sister.

Abena could sing and drive the driest eye to tears. Thankfully, with only three years between them, she and her sister got along well. Abena wasn’t a nuisance like some younger sisters could be. Of course, they had their share of disputes, but Abena was still the most wonderful sister she could have asked for. Nobody could bully Abena, who never seemed bothered by anything. A quality Esi sometimes wished for. What would her sister do if she were so drawn to a man that she couldn’t even think straight or sleep at night? For the first time in her life, she found herself wishing for the qualities Ɔdomankoma had given her sister.

A grasshopper hopped past her. The story about the lazy grasshopper came to her mind—the one in which the lazy grasshopper ridiculed the ants for storing up food in the summer, only to find himself wanting in the winter. It had been her favourite in primary school. She always disliked the grasshopper’s arrogance in summer, yet couldn’t help feeling pity for it in winter.

Every time her class teacher had told the story, she would reason that the ant must have extended a helping hand in the end, or there would have been no grasshoppers alive today. Whatever the case, switching places with a grasshopper, if only it would bring some repose to her racing heart, was an enticing notion.

Her thoughts wandered and settled firmly on Michael again. She was in the marketplace, wearing her best dress and her hair neatly plaited. She had just bought ingredients for the day’s supper when he walked up to her, surprising her by calling her name. They began chatting like old friends. She filled him in on everything he’d missed since leaving, and he told her about his experiences abroad. Neither of them cared that they had become the centre of attention.

Tripping on a root outcrop jolted her back to reality.

She’d just entered the forest.

A quick inspection of herself made her grimace. Wearing her father’s old pair of native slippers several sizes too big, she looked a far cry from her fantasy. Her faded loincloth had now acquired a perpetual dirty look and was ripped in many places, but she’d managed to tie it in such a way that it looked acceptable. Her T-shirt, which used to belong to her brother, had oil stains in it. She had been wearing it for three days now, since it didn’t smell.

Her hair was decidedly messy, and after walking over forty minutes in the hot and humid weather Ɔdomankoma had bestowed upon Ebinom today, she’d worked up a sheen of perspiration. She shrugged. Who cared how she looked in the forest? Surely not the birds.

A giggle broke out from her.

She reached a clearing in the middle of which stood a stump, the only evidence that there had once been a big tree there. She began cutting different branches and collecting some lying on the ground, then she made a rope out of the soft stems of a creeping plant. Then, she assessed her load.

I can carry more. The more she could take today, the longer they would have firewood at home. She ventured further into the forest, wandering off the footpath, and came along a fine-looking log. It was tough and dry—exactly what she needed. She picked it up and began to retrace her steps to the clearing. Her foot caught in a root outcrop, and she landed on the ground with a thud. What was with her and tripping today? Two times! Three would be a bad omen. She stood, a bit annoyed, but grateful she wasn’t hurt. She spent a moment rubbing her sore toe before picking up the log again.

Back at the clearing, she cut a Y-shaped stick and planted it in front of the stump, so she could place one end of the log in it. Her next task was to break the log into smaller pieces, which would make it easier to add to her bundle. She lifted the axe in both hands and swung it down with all her might. Its sharp edge scratched the log and sank into the stump.

She cursed and tried again. This time, the axe peeled off a little piece. She mopped her forehead with the tip of her cloth.

Several attempts later, she’d only managed to slice off a few small pieces. For someone who had spent most of her life in a village, she was hopeless when it came to things like this. She struggled to free the axe.

“Here, let me give you a hand.”

A man’s voice startled her from behind.

She turned immediately and froze as her eyes met with his.

Michael Badu!

Even after ten years, one look from him sent her heart into palpitations. He hadn’t changed. His skin was still the rich dark-chocolate she remembered. From the tight curls of his low-cut, black hair to the soles of his brown, leather moccasins, he oozed an air of distinctive charm. Maturity had enhanced his looks.

His beautiful black eyes bore into hers like X-rays, and she felt as if he could read her very soul. She held her breath, waiting for him to say something…to remember her.

He didn’t.

Heat suffused her face as she recalled her manners. Staring was rude. She dropped her gaze. When he held her aside, she feared she might faint if he let go, yet when he released her, she didn’t faint. Instead, she felt glued to the ground, as if he had imparted some of his strength into her, allowing her to continue standing. She watched him pull out the axe as gracefully as one dancing.

He studied the stump awhile, and she couldn’t help noticing the V-shaped marks she’d inadvertently made in it. Oh! Some of the indentations were so big. What must he think of her? The heat on her face spread across her neck and chest.

She kept her eyes downcast as a sign of respect, all the while wishing they were friends, because as his friend, she’d be able to gaze into his eyes to her heart’s content.

In a matter of seconds, he had broken the log into pieces of manageable sizes. He held the axe out to her. As she collected it, their hands touched. A shiver ran up her spine, and she sucked in her breath.

Thank you, she wanted to say, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, refusing to move. Helplessly, she watched him walk away until the forest had engulfed him. Her heart raced. What would Mansa think? Strange how he hadn’t said a word more to her after having startled her. She would have loved to bask in the beautiful sound of his deep voice.

She stooped to gather all the pieces of wood, and together with her tools, she tied them up, all this while trying to fight away thoughts imposing themselves upon her mind. She gathered some leaves, folded them into a kehyire—padding for her head—and placed it on her head. A tap on her shoulder made her jump with fright.

“Sorry,” Sefah Badu said.

What was with the Badu boys and creeping up behind her?

“Sefah, you scared me.”

He looked apologetic. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you heard me approaching.”

“Can you help me lift the firewood?”

He assisted her to raise the load onto her kehyire-padded head.

“Have you by any chance seen my brother pass by? We’re on our way to the farm, but I lost him.”

Esi pointed in the direction Michael had gone, and Sefah thanked her before going after his brother. She took a last look at the tree stump.

He can still do these things. Immediately, she felt silly for even considering that he might have forgotten all manner of manual work. An electrifying wet feeling pooled between her legs as she thought about the man in jeans and a light-blue T-shirt and who owned her whole heart without even knowing it.

Her heart twisted, and her eyes prickled with unexpected tears. He hadn’t even looked at her. All he’d done was chop the wood and walk away. The let-down hurt a lot more than it had ten years ago. What was she going to do?

 

****

 

That evening as Michael lay in bed, indistinct images of the morning haunted him. Tension mounted as he forced himself to focus on getting a clearer recollection of her. The oversized T-shirt had failed to hide the pair of full breasts underneath, and even behind the badly tied cloth, he could tell there had been a beautiful work of creation. Her beauty, hidden beneath the unkempt hair and the unflattering outfit, hadn’t seized his attention right away.

No. As he’d studied the stump, assessing the best way to go about the task and not come off as a man who had lost his cultural bearings, he had wished his plans to send over some modern equipment would materialise soon, so people like her would have things easier.

His idiocy now stared him in the face, throwing accusations at him, because thoughts of her had somehow remained with him all day, until he felt himself enslaved by the need to just remember her.

He rolled over and sat up, wishing an opportunity to meet her would present itself. Soon.

What about Lena, his mind tossed in yet another accusation.

“Shit,” he muttered.

All this while, he hadn’t factored her in the equation, but there was no question about it. Once he found his mystery woman, he’d have to break things off with Lena.

With that settled in his mind, his thoughts drifted back to the young woman in the forest who had so captured his mind and heart—if it were possible—that he could hardly focus on anything constructive, except her eyes. In those short-lived seconds their gazes had collided, he’d glimpsed her eyes—too briefly to register much before she’d looked away. Something had flashed within their depths in those short seconds, stunning him; something he couldn’t quite place or understand.

The rest of the time, she had kept her eyes downcast—a sign of respect, he knew. Though touched by the gesture, he now wished she had looked at him. Why hadn’t he talked to her? Why hadn’t he, at least, asked her to look up so he could see her face? It would have been discourteous to request it, but he’d have been saved from kicking himself this evening.

He released a heavy breath. There’d been so many indescribable emotions encompassed in those beautiful brown eyes. How could a person with such a basic life contain all those emotions? What did she know about feelings? Surely nothing more than he had before being liberated from here. But her eyes…

His breath caught.

They’d hinted at promises he’d never thought he could yearn for. Now, he realised he wanted to find her again, be with her, hold her in his arms and protect her forever.

Love. The singular word popped into his mind without warning, and he knew immediately and instinctively—unbelievable as it seemed—that he’d fallen for her. If real love existed, this had to be it. Alas, he didn’t as much as know her name, let alone where to find her.

Forest Girl.

That was what he’d call her, he decided. Giving her a name made her tangible. Was she real, or was she like those mermaids his grandmother used to talk about so many years ago? He remembered the stories she told every night about mermaids from the big river who fell in love with men from the dry land.

With their magical powers, the mermaids took on human form in order to approach the men. Some had stayed and died soon afterwards while others had succeeded in taking their men away. The men were lost to the river forever.

As Michael grew up, he’d realised they were not true stories, but he had learnt the moral behind them. People from two different worlds were not supposed to mix.

The mermaids were said to have the most beautiful eyes, which they used to draw men into their webs. He thought about Forest Girl. He’d never had the chance to look at her face—only her eyes. Could it be?

No. He chided himself. Those stories were fairy tales—myths—but here he was, a full-grown man, considering the possibility that they could be true. Her eyes glowed, yes, not with seduction, but a different kind of radiance, equally enchanting.

She was real, he decided. His hand had touched hers and felt the warmth. She had to be real.