Chapter 9

 

 

WHEN MICHAEL WOKE UP at six o’clock the following morning, he thought he had been dreaming, but the throbbing in his head was too painful to be a dream. He looked around him and blinked just to make sure. With a sinking heart, he conceded this was, in fact, reality.

“Oh, brother,” he muttered.

He’d just spent the night in the old primary school. A few unsteady steps confirmed how hung over he was.

“Great,” he mumbled. “This will make the elders really like you.” Idiot!

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d suffered such a hangover, if ever. He sat down awhile before he could trust himself to move. What had he been thinking? Yesterday, he’d hoped sharing a drink with those men would help boost his one-of-us points. He’d counted on them to spread the news of how Opanyin Badu’s son who’d returned from abroad could hold down akpԑtԑshie like a true son of Ebinom.

Now, he hoped they’d got too drunk to remember. How could they have just left him out here? Then again, what a spectacle it would have been to see three drunk men carrying one even more smashed man home. What would his mother think?

Maame. Dammit.

At last, he stood up slowly. He had to go home before anyone discovered him missing or got worried, and he needed to get clean—all this without being seen.

Alas, the gods did not smile down on him. As he made his way home, he met a village elder. There was no escape, for the elder had called him by name. Michael had no choice than to make the best of it. He needed to behave as normally as he could muster while standing far enough for the elder not to catch a whiff of his breath.

If he could have made himself dead, he would have done so without a second thought. He felt a sense of doom descend on him and tried to stand straight. Yet, even as he did this, he knew Opanyin Asianowa would have to be crazy not to notice his condition.

“Where are you coming from?” the old man, who’d been an elder for as long as Michael could remember, asked. “Why are your clothes crumpled?”

“I…uh.” He gave an embarrassed chuckle and said the first thing that came to mind. “Nature’s call. Very urgent.”

The elder frowned, but as Michael hoped, didn’t dwell further on the issue as it wasn’t considered polite talk. “We’re looking forward to hearing from you.”

“Yes,” Michael said. “I had hoped to seek counsel before I approached the elders again.”

“You’re a wise young man.” The elder nodded with approval. “Your father should have been alive to see what you’re doing.”

Michael laughed. If only he were being successful.

“I wish I could help you with questions you have, but I cannot,” the elder said. “I’m one of those already on your side. It is the others you need to convince.”

Michael’s ear piqued at that. One of those? How many were on his side?

“I shouldn’t talk about these things with you, but for your father’s sake, I’m telling you,” Opanyin Asianowa continued in a grave voice. “The weather has been tough on the crops, and I’m willing to try out what you have.”

“I hope to convince all the elders before I return to Accra.”

The older man peered around as though trying to see if they were being watched. He lowered his voice a notch. “Talk to your uncle.”

“Wↄfa Sekyerɛ?” Michael said with a frown. “What has he got to do with it?”

The elder looked at him, surprised. “Why, your uncle suggested to the assembly that your values might have changed abroad.”

“What?” The son-of-a—

Michael’s pulse began to race. His palms grew damp with sweat. Why would his uncle do such a thing?

“You can say or do anything, and the assembly won’t change their minds.” Opanyin Asianowa adjusted his cloth as he spoke. “If your own uncle has reason to believe you’re here to exploit the people of Ebinom…” He sighed, shaking his head. “He is the only one who can redeem you.”

Michael’s head began to spin, and many things started to make sense. No wonder Wↄfa Sekyerɛ seemed so involved. He had started the problem. Now, it made perfect sense that his uncle claimed to know the solution. Like the medicine man who spread a disease because he was the only one with a cure.

“I have said enough,” Opanyin Asianowa stated quickly. With that, he left a confused Michael staring after him, his anger steadily building.

 

****

 

An old man sat in front of Wↄfa Sekyerɛ’s compound. No one knew his real name anymore, for he’d been referred to as ‘the mad one’ for as long as Michael could remember. He moved from house to house, and people no longer cared, for he had become as natural as the blue sky.

Michael passed him without a word, and the old man, apparently offended, hurled insults at him, but he took no notice. As he approached the house, Wↄfa Sekyerɛ came out wearing a pair of patched-up togas and tattered slippers. He looked at Michael in surprise and grunted. Michael didn’t offer any greetings to his uncle, either.

“What have I done to you?” he said instead. “Why are you doing everything to make my life miserable?”

Wↄfa Sekyerɛ regarded Michael awhile before answering. “Yaw, why are you here at this time of the day when I’ve not even fed my goats, addressing me in such a disrespectful tone?”

Michael clenched his fist, as though he needed to physically restrain himself from hurting the man. “I know you’re the one who suggested to the assembly that I wasn’t to be trusted.”

Again, Wↄfa Sekyerɛ simply gave Michael a long, questioning look, perhaps wondering how Michael had found out, and then sighed.

“Yes, I did, Yaw, but I had my reasons,” he said. “Now, I need to feed my goats.”

Without further explanation, he handed the bucket in his grasp over to Michael, picked up another, and made his way to the back of the house where he kept his livestock.

Exasperated, Michael followed. His options were down to one, for to leave now meant to lose, but to stay meant playing by his uncle’s rules. For the first time, he began to realise the impact the ten years abroad had had on him. He expected emergencies to be treated as such and opportunities to be grabbed by the horns as he’d become used to. But here he was, back in a world where the triteness of daily life appeared to supersede urgent situations.

Wↄfa Sekyerɛ opened the gate to the pen where he kept his livestock. They began their job by sweeping out the pen and proceeded to feeding. Michael couldn’t help but notice how healthy his uncle’s flock looked. He remembered vaguely that in the past, his uncle had claimed to have a secret recipe. Michael doubted there existed any secret feed. As far as he could tell now, their feed was nothing out of the ordinary, but what else could explain how healthy the animals looked?

He remembered clearly that Wↄfa had never allowed him or Sefah to assist in feeding the animals no matter how much they’d begged. Eventually, disappointment had turned into resentment. Today, even though they didn’t hate their uncle, he wasn’t their favourite person.

Michael began to fill the manger when something strange occurred—Wↄfa Sekyerɛ was talking to his animals, each in turn, as though they could understand him. He turned around and stared at his uncle in total surprise.

“What are you doing?”

Wↄfa Sekyerɛ looked at Michael as if he’d forgotten that the latter was there. “They’re not as stupid as everyone thinks they are.”

Michael wondered how many people were aware his uncle spoke to his goats as though they were human. Had his uncle always done so or was a result of old age? He doubted anybody knew, for in this society, animals were not pets, and treating them remotely superior to the way animals were to be treated would cost one a lot of respect. Wↄfa Sekyerɛ had risked a lot by being careless.

The two men regarded each other with mixed feelings. They’d never been close, and it didn’t look like that was going to change—not even now with this secret exposed.

Suddenly, something dawned on Michael. “This is why you didn’t want Sefah and me to help you feed the animals.”

“Children’s mouths are like a fountain,” Wↄfa Sekyerɛ replied. “Their words pour out without restraint.”

“You know, that really hurt us,” he said although he suspected it meant nothing to his uncle. “Why did you let me find out?”

“I’m old,” his uncle replied and said no more as he returned to feeding his goats.

Clearly, the older man had said his bit and wouldn’t speak another word until his job was done. Michael thought about his uncle’s reply. What did he mean by he was old? Was he ill? Why did the idea of his uncle being ill leave him feeling disconcerted? Did his uncle need someone to pass the mantle on to? Why me? It didn’t make sense.

They completed the work in silence, Wↄfa Sekyerɛ interjecting every now and then with his ‘secret recipe,’ and Michael trying to figure out what else could be wrong with his uncle.

When they were done, they returned to the main house where one of Wↄfa Sekyerɛ’s children had brought him his morning meal. He invited his nephew to eat with him, and Michael accepted the offer for here, one didn’t invite a visitor for a meal out of love, but out of duty. It was just the way things were done. He would have declined, but it would have meant leaving without the answers he sought, or sitting and watching his uncle eat. The first wasn’t an option, and the latter would have been construed as disrespect. Wↄfa Sekyerɛ fetched a gourd of palm wine, and they sat down to eat.

The meal, a large casserole of boiled plantain and yam with smoked fish and kontomire stew, was eaten in silence. Michael’s stomach rumbled in appreciation as soon as the first morsel of food went down. It was a good meal, and he instantly knew which of his uncle’s wives had prepared it. They simply called her Eno—another word for mother. He remembered as a child, he and his siblings would visit her under the pretext of doing some odd jobs for her, but it had always been the food they were after. The memory brought a smile to his lips.

After the meal, they finished the palm wine and sat for a while, waiting for the food to digest—the worst time to talk was right after a meal. Wↄfa Sekyerɛ, finally satisfied with the silence, looked squarely at Michael.

“Yaw, I suggested to the elders that perhaps you weren’t to be trusted,” he confessed.

Michael suppressed his anger when he caught the look in Wↄfa Sekyerɛ’s eyes. For the first time, his uncle was talking to him, not at him.

Wↄfa Sekyerɛ looked away from Michael and sighed. “I had to say something, you see. I’m a new elder, not even confirmed, and I must make my mark.”

“By thrashing me?”

“It was inevitable. In any case, I didn’t think it would be taken this seriously.”

“Why would you make such an accusation and hope they wouldn’t take you seriously?”

Wↄfa Sekyerɛ gave a snort. “They rarely take anything I say.”

Though he was by no means ready to forgive his uncle, Michael’s anger abated. Faced with circumstances where he didn’t measure up to his peers, he’d probably also try to make desperate contributions in hopes of affirming his place among them, but not at someone else’s expense, so he wouldn’t feel sorry for his uncle.

“Can’t you change their minds?”

His uncle’s shoulder slumped as he sighed. “No. It’s now a case for the elders.”

“What are you telling me?” Michael frowned, his anger returning. “You put me on the spot, and now, you can’t even get me out of it? Why?”

“Yaw,” Wↄfa Sekyerɛ said gravely. “You see, I needed to know.”

“What did you need to know?” Michael retorted incredulously. “Whether or not I was trustworthy? Why didn’t you just ask me?”

His uncle smiled sadly. “Would you have given me the chance?”

Michael considered the question. His uncle was being unfair. He’d turned his personal vendetta into a scandal, which had gone out of his control.

“And now?” he said, not sure himself exactly what he meant.

Wↄfa Sekyerɛ remained silent for a full minute before he spoke again. “As you know, your grandparents had many children, but only three boys.”

His uncle had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was looking at Michael without really seeing him.

Michael frowned. What next? He started to say something when his uncle raised a hand, stopping him.

“Let me speak.”