Chapter 14

 

 

MICHAEL PICKED UP HIS briefcase of samples and headed out of the room. He stood at the door for a moment, trying to compose himself before stepping out. He needed to exude confidence he didn’t feel, but any show of doubt could be his undoing.

Esi, who had been preparing breakfast while he got ready, approached. “Will you eat?”

He shook his head. He doubted he could keep anything down right now.

Quietly, she walked beside him until they reached the visitor’s room, where Maame Badu sat waiting for him, before retreating.

His mother came up, holding him in an embrace.

“I don’t know what I’ll tell them,” he confessed.

Maame Badu pulled away. “You’re Opanyin Badu’s son,” she said firmly in her wizened voice. “Remind them who you are.”

Not exactly sure what she meant, he nodded and set off on his way to meet the elders.

 

****

 

The assembly had been seated for over an hour, and things didn’t appear to be going well. After the initial chitchat, Michael launched into his presentation, explaining the uses and benefits of the fertiliser and demonstrating its application. The elders allowed him to speak, none interrupting, as if they wanted him to talk himself into a pit.

Suddenly, he just stopped talking and took his seat. He looked at the group of elders for a moment.

“I miss my father,” he admitted with a sad smile. “He’d have known exactly what I needed to do to prove you can trust me.”

Indeed, if his father had been alive, this issue may not have arisen. He felt his anger and frustration build.

“I am Opanyin Badu’s son.” Dammit. “I travelled and learnt a few things. I may be interested in other aspects of farming, but I’m a farmer, just like any of you.”

Silence met his outburst as a few of the elders exchanged worried looks, perhaps for speaking inappropriately before the king of Ebinom.

“You all knew my father. He used to say good things must be shared. I know this is a good product,” he continued. “I’ve tried it on my own father’s farm because I trust it and I want my family to benefit from it.”

Seeing no signs of real progress, he fell quiet again. He caught Wↄfa Sekyerɛ’s eyes and tried to read something—anything—in them. Nothing.

He heaved a resigned sigh. “Someday, I’ll meet my father again. How could I face him, if I’ve not applied the lessons he taught me?”

Finally, Opanyin Asianowa, whom Michael had spoken to sometime earlier, said, “You’ve spoken well, son of Ebinom. We work hard on the land, but it still yields a disgraceful harvest. Even when the rains don’t fail us, we worry about pests and many other things.”

Some of the other elders agreed, and one added, “The soil itself doesn’t yield as much crop as in the days of old.”

Another murmur of general agreement rose from various members of the assembly, but before anyone could go on, the king cleared his throat, and there was silence.

“Ɔkyeame,” the king called his interpreter. “Tell Yaw Badu that I’ve heard reports of his product’s success on his father’s farm. In the few weeks since his return from the White man’s land, he has shown that his roots are indeed here.”

“Wiɛ,” the ɔkyeame responded and repeated what the king had said to the assembly, since the king didn’t address the public directly.

“After all,” the king continued, “Did he not just marry one of our daughters?”

He paused as another murmur rose from the elders. Michael frowned, unable to determine exactly what was going on. He’d expected to have been kicked out by now. Dare he hope?

“Tell him,” the king said. “I, Nana Kwame Adu Boateng, have laid my hand on his product. The village of Ebinom will use his soil medicine. May Ɔdomankoma heal our land.”

The ɔkyeame related the king’s words, and the other elders congratulated him on a wise decision made.

Michael sat in stunned silence after the king had spoken, wondering what he’d said. All the things he’d presented about Formula F, and it looked as if his angry outburst was what had made the difference. He swallowed, before letting out a breath he had inadvertently been holding.

Finally, he’d done it.

When the meeting ended, he shared a round of palm wine with the elders and distributed sample packs of Formula F. With a promise to go back and prepare for mass application of the fertiliser in a few weeks, he thanked the assembly and left.

All was well with the world again. For now, he decided he wasn’t going to worry about anything. He’d enjoy the day and be thankful for everything he had. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

Arriving home, he heard Serwaa’s laughter. He followed the voices of the women, which led him to the kitchen. He stopped abruptly at the door, taking in the sight in front of him.

Perhaps it had to do with the joy on his mother’s face or the fact that Esi was getting on so well with his family. She checked on a pot cooking on the stove while Serwaa ground some leaves and his mother narrated a story. It was one of Michael’s favourite folktales. Each time she paused or broke into song, the listeners had to respond.

“Ɛniɛ.” Maame Badu’s eyes were alive as she recounted the tale.

“Sisi pe sisi,” the younger women responded, animated.

“Me sii ’mu.”

“Sisi pe sisi.”

“E mekɔ mekɔ, e mekɔ mekɔ, e mekɔ mekɔ,” she sang.

“Sisi pe sisi,” Michael responded, alerting them to his presence.

They stopped immediately, and three pairs of eyes looked at him with expectation. He cleared his throat, trying to control his excitement as he gazed at each of them in turn.

“Well?” his mother said.

“Nana and the elders have approved the project.”

Serwaa responded to his announcement with a scream while Esi clapped and came to his side, relieving him of the briefcase and setting it aside. Maame Badu closed her eyes briefly, mouthing a silent prayer. She then broke into a celebratory song and came to embrace him. When he released his mother, his eyes fell on Esi, and his heart missed a beat. She noticed him looking and smiled.

“Come.” He reached out for her and pulled her to him. When he finally let go of her, she hesitated a moment, looking down when she noticed Serwaa and Maame Badu watching them.

“Where’s Sefah?” he asked.

“We think he’s gone hunting,” Maame Badu said with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Hunting?” Michael frowned. “Today?”

“Not hunting in the forest,” Serwaa said and giggled.

“Oh.” It took a moment for the hidden message to dawn on him. “Oh! Anyone I know?”

“I don’t think he’s found anyone yet,” Serwaa said, still giggling.

“Maybe Papa should have found him a wife, too.”

As soon as the remark came out, he regretted it. However, since his words were met with a round of laughter, he decided not to dwell on it.

When the laughter had subsided, Esi said, “Your food is ready.”

“My food?” He pointed to what they were currently preparing. “What about that?”

“I cooked yours first,” she responded. “I thought you’d be hungry after the meeting. You didn’t eat anything before going.”

Touched by her kindness, he considered the offer for a moment. He was hungry. After their night of passion and their conversation this morning, he hungered for more than food. Plus, he was in the mood for celebrating.

“Bring it to me.”

As he walked away, Serwaa made a comment about why he wanted to eat in the room, and Michael chuckled as he entered the bedroom.

 

****

 

The following day, Joojo, the driver, arrived to pick them up. They loaded the car with their luggage and food items that were hard to come by or too expensive in Accra. At noon, when they were ready to go, family, friends, and neighbours came to bid them goodbye.

Amid the laughing and crying, Maame Akua hugged her daughter, saying, “Esi, you’ve seen how your father and I live. You must remember to do even more than me to make your husband happy.”

“I will, Mama.”

“I know you love him.”

Esi nodded, and they embraced. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Someone else said, “Don’t let me see you until you have spent one year with him.”

And another responded, “At least in Accra, she won’t be able to run home anytime she fights with her husband,” which was met with laughter.

Esi saw Mansa squeeze through the crowd towards her.

“You’re a very lucky girl, Esi. I’m sorry I told you to forget him,” her friend whispered in her ear when they embraced. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“Me, too. I’ll visit soon, but remember what I said about learning more about hairdressing in Kumasi.”

“I will,” Mansa promised.

Esi turned to a bright-eyed Abena. “Be a good girl and take good care of our room.”

After all the goodbyes, they entered the Jeep to begin the journey to Accra. Esi waved until the crowd was out of sight, then she settled back, still looking out the window.

 

****

 

Her hand went to her face several times before Michael noticed she was wiping away tears.

He should have let her cry, allowed her to feel heartbroken enough to change her mind about going with him. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and held her. Just until she calmed down, he told himself, but feeling her skin against his only brought to mind images of her in his arms as they made love.

The journey was far from boring. Once she’d pulled herself together, she asked many questions—what was Accra like; what did he do at AgroChem; what was his favourite food—and brought up many topics for them to talk about. She was good company, he conceded grudgingly. Before long, he’d told her a lot about his life in America and his job in Accra, and he found himself genuinely interested in learning a little more about her.

She’d completed her A-levels almost five years ago in Literature, Home Management, and Typing. They talked about other miscellaneous issues, and it occurred to him that she was very intelligent. As he watched her lips move with each word she spoke, he remembered how they tasted. His mind wandered back to making love to her. It still amazed him that she had known no other man.

He almost felt sorry that he didn’t love her, for she’d given him the best of herself. He reminded himself why he had done it. If anything happened to Maame because of his refusal to marry Esi, he wouldn’t have been able to deal with the guilt. His mother’s face came to mind, and he remembered how she’d looked when she’d fallen ill, how the thought of losing her had left him feeling cold and abandoned.

Yes, it was worth it. Marriage could always be dissolved, but guilt was a lot harder to erase.