Chapter 3

 

 

A WEEK PASSED QUICKLY, and Michael had still not found her. Last weekend’s drumming and dance festival had been the biggest gathering so far. It was a much-liked celebration, and he remembered, as a child, that practically the whole village attended it. The colourful event had, however, held no interest for him. He had only attended to watch the girls, several of whom were attractive, and a few even spoke English well, but none of them had been Forest Girl.

Feeling inexplicably disappointed, he’d returned home. Yet, he couldn’t give up, not when he felt such a heavy sense of incompleteness that utterly stumped him. He had never believed in soulmates, but he’d begun to give credit to the concept. Otherwise, how could he feel as though something had been missing from his life and he was only now discovering it?

This morning, his mother had insisted he stay at home, explaining that she had something important to discuss with him. His patience wore out steadily as the morning spent into the afternoon and his mother showed no indication of wanting to talk. He’d planned on accompanying Serwaa to the market to keep an eye out for the girls who came to buy food. Hopefully, one of them would be Forest Girl. Too late for that now.

Sitting in the main hall of the house, he unconsciously twiddled his thumbs, the lack of anything better to do fuelling his frustration and disappointment. This was crazy. He was crazy. What would he even tell Forest Girl if they met? When they met, he corrected, as if the optimism would better his chances of finding her.

He heaved a sigh. Maybe this whole thing with Forest Girl—whatever it was—resulted from his being away for so long, and his subconscious had simply used this false sense of love to clue him in. When he returned to Accra, all this folly of being in love would turn out to have been just that. Folly. He might even have a good laugh with his best friend, Osei, or perhaps even with Lena.

When Maame Badu finally came to find him in the main hall, she sat with him in silence for a few minutes, then, choosing her words carefully, she began to speak.

“I’ve sent for your uncle, Sekyerɛ.”

Michael frowned. This had to be a serious matter if his uncle was involved. The extended family system had its benefits, but sometimes, it brought nothing but trouble. And where Wↄfa Sekyerɛ was concerned, trouble came with a capital T.

“Yaw, it has been a very long time since you left us for the White man’s country. You have learnt how to live with strangers. You know many things that we over here don’t know, but you’re still my son; my respectful, obedient son,” she said. “Your father used to worry a lot about your future, you know. That was before he went away.”

Michael listened to her with rapt attention, unable to tell where this was going, yet trying to guess. Knowing her as well as he did, he sensed from the indirect manner in which she approached the issue that they were likely to disagree on it.

“You see,” his mother went on gently. “Ebinom is your home, and no matter what you do, you can’t change your roots, and just like you did now, you’ll always come back.” She paused again, watching him closely. “You’re already old enough to get married, and reports reaching my ears say you’ve taken particular notice of the young women.”

Was that a twinkle in her eye? Reports reaching her ears? Which of his siblings had been talking? He thought he’d succeeded in creating an impression of idle curiosity rather than active interest. Obviously not. He needed to work on his approach.

“Luckily, you don’t have to worry yourself about that,” Maame Badu continued with a smile. “You see, there’s a very lovely young girl on the other side, by the small stream. She caught your father’s eye, and he chose her to be your wife.”

Whoa! He sat up straight, disbelief registering. His mind must have wandered off somewhere, because the last thing he remembered her saying was reports reaching her ears. Had that not been part of the small talk? The dilly-dallying before the real conversation? So how come she was talking about marriage?

Her expression left no room for doubt, however. She was serious. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Suddenly, his mind began to crowd. His mother continued talking, but he wasn’t listening.

“Maame!” The shocked exclamation finally burst forth. “You aren’t honestly suggesting I marry a woman I don’t know, are you? I refuse to even continue this conversation.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me, Yaw,” she cautioned, but her low, strained tone gave the impression of someone speaking with an effort.

“I thought this nonsense about arranged marriages was over. My God, Maame, it’s been ten years. A good decade since I left.” This was too ridiculous for him. “Didn’t you people develop?”

“Are you insulting me, Yaw? Are you disowning your heritage? Your culture?”

“To hell with culture. This is my life.” He had no idea why the noise he made sounded more like a laugh rather than a cry. “Look, Maame, you don’t understand. There is no way I’m marrying some…uncultured village girl.”

The old woman didn’t relent. “Don’t oppose your father’s last wish. Like I just told you, Wↄfa Sekyerɛ will soon be here. He is standing in for your father.”

“I’m not ready for marriage.”

Real panic thrummed through his veins. Why was his mother doing this to him? She, whom he had always counted on to be open-minded. He loved her very much, but he couldn’t allow her to play with his future.

“You’ve already passed thirty and two years now. You work, you have a car. What else are you waiting for? I’m old, and my days are numbered. What account do you want me to give your father and the forefathers when I get there, eh?”

At her words, he froze. He couldn’t bear to hear death and his mother in the same sentence. More than once in the past, he had sworn he’d even kill if it would keep his mother alive; yet, here she was, threatening to die soon. Her words immobilised him. He shook his head, hoping to awaken from this nightmare.

There were things that would never pass away no matter how advanced the world became. Even in America, high regard was given to a person’s dying wish.

Michael sat still and stared at his mother. What about love? Did she care about love? His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar male voice calling out.

“Agoo.”

“Amee,” Maame Badu answered.

“I greet you,” Wↄfa Sekyerɛ said, and they responded.

Michael offered him a seat and brought him water to drink, as custom demanded, presently feeling only disdain for any tradition.

After he’d drunk the water, Wↄfa Sekyerɛ and Maame Badu exchanged further greetings, asking about each other’s family.

“Yaw, ask your uncle about his journey and what brought him to us today.”

Michael did as he was told, all the while resisting the temptation to remind her that they already knew the reason for his uncle’s visit. This tradition thing was getting to him.

“I received a message from you,” Wↄfa Sekyerɛ began. “You wished to see me on the issue concerning our son, Yaw, and of course, I’m also here to see how you’re doing.”

Michael glared at his uncle. Our son? He bit back a retort. Traditionally, a sibling’s children were taken as one’s own children and could be referred to as such. By the same token, a man could affectionately refer to his brother’s wife as his own wife and vice versa. As young children, they’d had to call Wↄfa Sekyerɛ their junior father. So why did it grate to hear his uncle call him ‘son’?

“You’re welcome.” Maame Badu and Wↄfa Sekyerɛ shook hands. “In fact, you have come at the right time. I have just informed Yaw about the marriage. Since you are next of kin to Badu, I implore you to stand in his stead, so I can fulfil my promise to him. As for me, I only thank Ɔdomankoma for keeping me alive to see this day.”

A moment of silence followed.

“I have heard you, old woman, and I cannot refuse to do what I know will appease the spirit of my brother, may he rest in peace. He spoke to me of this before the ancestors chose to take him away from us.” He paused. “It is Afriyie’s older daughter, am I right?”

“Indeed, you are.”

“Look,” Michael interrupted. He could no longer sit by and marvel at their customary balderdash. They were discussing his life and condemning him. “I told you, Maame, I’m not marrying any girl, and I don’t care whether she is Afriyie or Owusu’s daughter. Besides, what am I going tell Lena?”

Despite his question, he knew Lena wasn’t the woman for him. He wanted Forest Girl. It would be awkward breaking things off with Lena considering they worked together, but she was a big girl. She would understand. Eventually.

“Ei, you mean you’ve picked up someone from a foreign land, eh?” Wↄfa Sekyerɛ demanded, mouth agape. “Yaw!”

“Yes, Uncle.” If Cape Coast in the Central Region, less than three hundred kilometres from Ebinom, could be considered a foreign land. “If I ought to marry, it should be her.”

He hated himself for saying that. Lena had made it clear often enough that she wasn’t interested in marriage, not in this society where the roles of women stood in direct conflict with her sense of independence, which suited him fine since he harboured no illusions of marriage.

“No,” his uncle opposed with determination. “You’re bringing no stranger into the family. You will marry the girl your father chose for you.”

“Yaw,” his mother spoke calmly, her voice echoing with old age wisdom. “This girl you’re talking about, who is she? Where does she come from? What do you know about her family?”

Michael sighed. Now the voice of reason. “Her name is Lena Brown-Ankrah. I met her in the States, and she works with me. She’s from Cape Coast.”

“Look here, young man, we can’t allow you to marry her,” Wↄfa Sekyerɛ said impatiently. “If her people could send her abroad, then they are too rich. Girls who are rich and highly educated do not make good wives.”

“Wↄfa, you know that opinion is outmoded.”

“In the second place,” his uncle continued, clearly determined not to be defeated. “She’s Fante. Those people do not understand our ways; building castles in their stomachs. No! You can’t marry her.”

“Yaw, did you hear your junior father?” his mother shocked him by saying. “Unless you can go to the dead and tell your father that you want to disobey him, you have to marry the girl he chose, and I’ll die in peace.”

The casual mention of death paralysed his tongue. Sweat broke loose on his forehead, in silent acknowledgement that his well-placed world had begun crumbling down on him. Why was his mother being so unreasonable? He shook his head again in a bid to ensure this wasn’t a bad dream, but he saw no alternative other than to allow her this moment of victory.

This girl in question would be a good cook, sure. She would execute housework with ease and expertise—old African ideals. Perfect for his maid…but a wife? His wife had to be beautiful and intelligent. She had to be physically attractive to him, funny, determined…a partner.

His uncle’s presence seemed to have muddied the waters. When Wↄfa Sekyerɛ left, Michael would talk to his mother, he decided. She had always understood him.

“Yaw…” His mother’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Esi is the best wife any sensible man can wish for, and you’ll not regret marrying her. She was in your secondary school on scholarship, finished her A-levels there. She’s intelligent. She speaks English, like you, and she’s very beautiful.”

“She’s humble, too,” Wↄfa Sekyerɛ added, obviously enjoying this part of the conversation. “She’s hard-working, and I hear she cooks like a princess. She even learnt how to cook foreign dishes in school.”

“Her family history, too, is good.”

Thus went the biography of a faceless woman.

His thoughts drifted to Forest Girl. For her, he’d move the world. Maybe he could find her and convince his mother she was the one he wanted to be with. Would she be willing to exchange one local girl for another? Nah—he dismissed the thought. Miracles like that never happened.

He didn’t hear the rest of the bio of his future wife. Wife? Hah! If he ever found himself married to this girl, she wouldn’t be happy. He would make sure of it. When she got tired, she would leave. At least, that way, his mother wouldn’t be able to blame him.