Chapter 4
ESI SHIFTED IN SEAT as her best friend combed out a tuft of her hair. She tried not to wince at the pain, but for some unknown reason, she didn’t complain. In fact, she welcomed the hurting, as it took her mind off Michael and their encounter in the forest.
It didn’t help much, since Mansa insisted on talking about him.
“You should have seen him, Esi. He looked so fresh and out of here,” her friend was saying. “He and Sefah had everyone’s attention. Ɔdomankoma has really blessed their family.”
“Mansa, please hurry up and finish this. We’ve already spent too much time on my hair,” Esi said, knowing the evening meal would soon have to be prepared, but more because she hoped to end the imagery being painted in her mind by her friend’s words.
“Relax,” Mansa said. “I’m almost finished. Anyway, guess who I saw at the village square today.”
“Who?”
“Amoah.”
“Oh, Mansa. Isn’t he dead news?” Esi laughed, welcoming the new topic. “What did he say this time?”
“As usual, he asked about you, then he began telling me a long story about the problems he’s facing with Afia Kakraba as if I asked him to marry her. I was so bored.”
The tension eased off Esi’s shoulders as she laughed with Mansa. Amoah was a safe topic. At least now that he had given up the idea of marrying her.
“I’m surprised you even gave him the chance to say all that.”
“It would have been rude to walk past him without a greeting, and you know Amoah doesn’t need an invitation to talk.”
Esi sighed, conceding the point.
Amoah was a proud and boastful man on the wrong side of forty. With two big crop farms in the forest and the largest poultry farm in Ebinom, he was one of the wealthiest young men in the village. Having been raised by relatives after his parents had perished in a bush fire, he was constantly commended for persevering despite the tragedy. He had gained the elders’ favour with occasional gifts of some the finest produce from his farms, demanding nothing in return. It was, however, no secret that he hoped to join that circle of distinguished leaders someday.
Soon after Esi had completed secondary school, he had turned up at her house and asked for her hand in marriage. At the time, he had been exactly twice her age.
Appalled, Esi had turned him down. She could never live with a man as stingy as he was, for despite his wealth and his gift-giving to the elders, Amoah was not a kind man. Afia Kakraba, who had been an attractive girl, now looked rather gaunt and unhappy. The occasional bruising on her arms and legs, a fact that everyone seemed to ignore, were signs that her marriage wasn’t an easy or enviable one.
“Turn this way,” Mansa ordered as she started another plait. “Esi, you are very lucky that your father did not accept Amoah’s proposal.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Okay,” Mansa’s reply came eagerly. “When was the last time you saw Yaw?”
Esi gulped, her mind rushing to fetch the image of him in the forest. Fresh, as Mansa had put it, was exactly right. Seeing him the other day had only intensified her yearning for him.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
A moment of silence ensued before Mansa finally asked, “You still want to marry him, don’t you?”
Esi flinched, her pulse taking off. “Is it so obvious?”
“To me, yes, but I don’t think others can tell.”
Mansa could always read her, so it came as no surprise that her friend had zeroed in on the issue. Having her best friend to confide in made the load of her unrequited love easier to bear.
“Oh, Mansa. What am I going to do?”
“Forget about him, Esi. He’s so different now. Besides, he never noticed us in those days. What makes you think he will now?”
To her own surprise, she smiled. “We’re not little girls anymore, and there’s no White woman strapped to his arm.”
They laughed, and Esi sighed. “Maybe you’re right, but getting him out of my mind is going to be hard.”
“We’ve been friends all our lives, and if there’s one thing I know about you, it is that you can do anything you put your mind to.” Mansa’s smile was sorrowful. “Except marry him.”
The words pierced her heart, but she forced a smile on her face.
“Did I tell you about the first day he spoke directly to me?”
“Many times, but it is a good story, so tell me again.”
Her mind drifted back to her days in secondary school. Six years her senior, he’d already made a name for himself by the time she arrived on the same government scholarship that had sponsored him.
She had been on her way to the classroom block to study after siesta when she ran into him. The impact had sent her staggering back a few steps, causing her to lose her grip on her school bag. Expecting him to get angry and punish her like his mates were fond of doing to juniors, she’d scrambled for the bag, praying she had done it fast enough to avoid incurring his wrath.
Despite his reputation of being good, he was still a senior—the Boys’ Prefect, no less. Those gave him enough reason to hold her accountable for the offence of not looking where she was going. When she gazed up at him, the smile he gave her made her knees feel rather weak.
“What’s your name?” he asked, not showing any indication of recognition.
“Esi.” Her answer was barely audible. She thought she’d faint.
“Esi,” he repeated so softly, as if it had come out of a love song. “Can I send you back to your dormitory?”
“S—send me?”
“Please?”
Esi nodded eagerly. She’d do anything for him even if he hadn’t asked for it as politely as he had. The errand had been for her to collect a book from the Girls’ Prefect, and for the inconvenience, he offered to take her bag to her classroom for her. When she protested, he insisted, and so with trembling fingers, Esi handed over her bag and hurried to get his book.
Although he seemed to know nothing about her, perhaps not even the fact that she was from Ebinom, she fell more deeply in love with him every passing day. She wanted to be wherever he was…always, for only in those rare moments spent in his presence was she truly happy.
“You were wrong about him not noticing us back then,” Esi said as another memory came to her. “Do you remember the long holiday when we met him and Serwaa in the market?”
A chuckle broke out of Mansa. “I thought you were going to faint when he recognised you and asked about school.”
On the next few occasions that she saw him, she had been with Mansa, and Michael hadn’t even looked in their direction. Each time, she had almost cried. Mansa had simply shrugged it off. That was when she knew her best friend no longer shared the same feelings with her. Mansa had, in her own words, “grown up,” and Esi knew she couldn’t tell her friend that she hadn’t.
She sighed, wrenching her mind from the bittersweet trip down memory lane, and did the only thing she knew to deflect further pain. Change the subject.
“Have you thought of what we talked about the other day?” she asked. “You really can’t stay here doing nothing.”
“I am not doing nothing,” Mansa replied. “I’m doing your hair.”
“Yes, but you refuse to take money.”
“You’re like my sister. You know I cannot accept money from you. After all, you allow me to practice new designs on your head. That is payment enough for me.”
As her parents’ only daughter, Esi knew she was the sister Mansa always wanted. It was a two-way street, though, because she also enjoyed the time they got to spend together.
“I told you, I’m preparing myself for marriage,” Mansa said. “Soon enough, I will find a fine man to marry me and give me children.”
Mansa finished off the braid she had been working on and turned to pick the comb to make a new partitioning. Esi watched her friend. Mansa was attractive, if not beautiful, and her skin, the colour of ebony, glowed, unblemished. Though she hadn’t schooled beyond Class Six, she spoke English well thanks to Esi’s tutoring. When it came to hairstyling, though, no one could beat Mansa. She took the art of braiding to new levels and had won many hairstyling competitions in the village.
However, trying to get her friend to see her talent as more than a hobby always met with resistance, and their discussions about Mansa’s reluctance to pursue hairdressing professionally often ended at an impasse. Today, however, Esi refused to back down.
“You think a fine man will marry a girl who doesn’t do anything?” she said. “These days, men are beginning to look for women who can do more than cooking and cleaning. Besides, your mother will soon expect you to take care of her.”
When Mansa didn’t respond but got busy with the next braid, Esi continued. “What about your relatives in Kumasi? Why not go there and learn more about hairdressing?”
“Kumasi,” Mansa said incredulously. “That is so far. I’d never find my way back.”
“Yaw Badu came back, didn’t he?” Esi articulated her thoughts before she could stop herself.
Thankfully, her best friend didn’t latch on to the topic. Instead, she said, “Besides, they are from my father’s side, and you know by tradition it means they won’t see me as part of their family. I have also not seen them in years. They have probably forgotten about us.”
It was the most Esi had got out of her friend. Perhaps she’d managed to crack the wall of Mansa’s resistance. She decided not to push her luck, though at the back of her mind, it always bothered her that her friend appeared so comfortable with the simple village life.
This life had been good for their mothers, but the world was fast changing.
She, for one, wanted to have some other skill that set her apart. She wanted more than Ebinom had to offer. She had already planned it. She would start off teaching at the primary school, save money, and go to a catering school in Kumasi or Accra.
Her dreams of becoming a caterer had begun in boarding school. Every second Saturday of the month had been a free exeat day for students, and those who lived in and around Kumasi would go for some home-cooked meals. Since Ebinom had been too far for her to travel for a day and back, she’d used her exeats to help the Home Management/Cookery teacher who ran a small catering business.
Other times, she’d visit restaurants in town, and when she got lucky, some of the cooks would allow her to watch them or share a few of their recipes with her. Those had been some of the happiest times of Esi’s school days, and she yearned to bring them back, in a more permanent way now.
As she thought about her plans, she realised her best friend had been right. She needed to forget about Michael. She may have missed the message in her youth, but her encounter with him in the forest had confirmed what she should have accepted already. She wasn’t the woman for him.
****
Michael lay in bed feeling numb. It had been two days now since his mother had thrown him into bondage; two days during which he’d stayed locked up in his room, surviving on only water, having refused to eat or see anyone. With any luck, they would forget about him, and he’d just wake up at the end of one week and return to Accra without being held back. His plan must have been working because, today, no one had bothered him yet.
However, he had begun to feel hungry. Getting up, he put on some clothes, combed his hair, and went to the kitchen. He got himself two mangoes and began to peel them.
“Ayefro-o-o, ayefro-o-o,” Sefah sang the popular wedding song as he entered the kitchen. “Yaw, you’re a very lucky man.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked without looking at Sefah.
His clipped tone didn’t appear to deter his brother.
“Look at all you’ve achieved, and now, Esi Afriyie is to be your wife.”
Michael kept on peeling the mangoes without talking.
“But Maame says you’re telling her stories about not wanting to marry Esi.”
“Sefah, I don’t want to talk about this.”
“That girl’s father refused a proposal from Amoah even though the marriage would have made him a rich man. You’d think he was saving her for you.”
“Sefah, I really don’t want to listen to this.”
His brother’s smile faded, a frown taking over his countenance. “If you don’t stop this silliness, I’ll marry her myself.”
“You can have her.”
“I don’t understand you. That girl is—”
“I don’t want to talk about this, Sefah. Don’t you have brains?” He knew he was being harsh, but right now, he couldn’t care less. They’d all treated him the same way, dictating the course of his life and expecting him to happily kowtow to their demands. “Don’t ever mention her again.”
“But, brother—” Sefah began, then stopped, as if knowing that any reasoning would be futile.
Michael released a breath, glad his brother had relented. He didn’t like being brash with him, but this topic was a no-go area.
As Sefah made to leave, he turned back. “I don’t understand. I thought you were smart.”
Michael grimaced, biting his tongue and bracing himself for what was coming. Clearly, his tough love hadn’t worked, and the disappointed look in his brother’s eyes stole the winds out of his sails.
“What has the White man done to you? I thought you would, at least, agree to meet her. If you did, you would know that Esi is a beautiful woman who would make a good wife for any man. If Papa had chosen a woman like Esi for me, I would have wasted no time in making her my wife.”
He shook his head. It looked like the woman had pulled the wool over his entire family’s eyes. Well, she hadn’t met him yet.
****
When the time arrived for Michael to leave, he couldn’t have been more relieved. He knew he hadn’t heard the last of the marriage issue from his mother, but while he was away in Accra, they couldn’t do much. Actually, they could, because they didn’t need his presence in order to acquire him a wife. However, he felt confident this wouldn’t happen. He reckoned the only reason his mother hadn’t already made the arrangements was because she wanted his okay, which he didn’t intend to give.
For now, however, he’d run far away from it. Hopefully, when he returned in a few weeks, he’d have gathered enough ammunition for Round Two.