THIRTY-FOUR

Bruno was sweating when he got to Kweku Ponsu’s compound in Shukura past 5 p.m. In one hand he carried a sack containing two bound, squawking chickens. He was late because traffic everywhere in the city was worse than normal due to diversions and street closures for the international conference.

Bruno walked along a narrow alley, which branched to the left and ended in a courtyard with a single-room house along each of three sides. A muddy enclosure with two gigantic cows made up the fourth. The smell of cow dung hung in the air. A group of men sat in front of one house drinking mint tea, an Arab tradition. They were undoubtedly from Northern Ghana where the majority Muslim peoples were nomadic cattle raisers by custom—hence the cows.

One of the men asked Bruno what he wanted.

“Please, I’m looking for Kweku Ponsu.”

“He’s not here.”

“Please, when will he come?”

“I don’t know the time. You can wait for him.” The guy got up and dragged an extra chair over. “Maybe you can call him too,” he suggested.

“Thank you,” Bruno said, putting down the sack. It shifted around each time the hens made a pointless attempt to break free.

Bruno sat and tried Kweku’s number, but it went unanswered. He browsed through Instagram and Facebook for a while until his battery started to get low, at which point he switched off his phone.

The men played checkers in the gathering gloom until finally one of them switched on a bare bulb over the front door of the house. The time was almost 6:20 p.m. Bruno was wondering if he should wait any longer when one of the board game players received a text from Kweku saying he was almost there. In Ghanaian time, that could mean another hour, but fortunately he appeared after only thirty minutes.

In real life, Kweku was smaller than he had seemed to Bruno when he had seen him on YouTube. He walked quickly and his carriage was so erect as to appear angled slightly backward.

He glanced around the compound and spotted his guest. “Are you Bruno?”

Bruno stood up. “Yes please.”

“You brought the hens?”

Bruno pointed at the sack.

“Okay,” Kweku said. “You can leave them there. Come with me.” Bruno followed as Kweku unlocked the door of the house.

“One moment,” Kweku said. “Let me turn on the light.”

The naked bulb revealed a single room with a bed, an old chest of drawers, and in the corner, a battered chair to which Kweku pointed. “Have a seat.”

With legs crossed, Kweku sat on the floor opposite Bruno and reached left to a pile of objects.

He held up one of them. “Do you know what this is?”

It was dull tan in color and shaped like a hammer with a short handle and rounded head.

“No please,” Bruno said.

“It’s the thigh bone of a child,” Kweku told him. “We do many things with it.”

Bruno hesitated. “Please, how do you get it? The bone, I mean.”

“From the hospital morgue.” Kweku’s diction was languid, quite unlike his rigid physical bearing. “We know people there. If we ask them for something, they bring it to us.”

Bruno nodded. “I see.”

Next, Kweku showed him another item, which was obviously the well-worn skull of some kind of bird.

“It’s a hen’s head from one of our sacrifices,” Kweku said. “Like what you brought today.” He put that down. “We also have special beads and cowry shells. Later, you will know what we use them for.”

“Yes please.”

“I know your friend Nii Kwei very well,” the priest went on. “It’s good you are here, but what is your mission? What do you want?”

Bruno cleared his throat. “I want to be powerful and get plenty Internet money.”

“Have you started doing the Internet thing?”

“Not yet. I have been training with Nii.”

“Good,” Kweku said, scrutinizing Bruno. “You want to be rich?”

“Yes please. I want Range Rover and Bentley and three houses.”

Kweku nodded. “Then you will have to be very good at what you do. You must believe and be strong. You see, some of the things I do, if you don’t take care, the power you get will be too much and it will take you down. Like the sea is a friend to a fisherman, but if the sea becomes rough, it can also overwhelm him. You get me? You must believe completely. If you have any fear—any fear at all—inside, you will fail.”

“Yes please.”

“And what again do you want?”

“Women. Plenty.”

“Everybody want that. That one be tough. For that one, you need this.” He leaned over and reached under the bed, dragging out a huge skull that startled Bruno.

“This one,” Kweku said, “is from a crocodile. If you wear this around your neck for one month, you will get women. In fact, you will be famous, and everyone will want to be with you.”

“Wow,” Bruno said, impressed. “How did you get this big crocodile head?”

“We go to the Pra or Ankobra River,” Kweku said, sliding the skull back under the bed. “We catch a baby one after it comes out of the egg and then we grow it here.”

“Grow it here?” Bruno echoed, glancing around as if a live crocodile might be in the room.

Kweku smiled. “We have one outside. You want to see it?”

Bruno suppressed a flinch and nodded, already remembering the admonishment against fear. He followed Kweku outside around the cow enclosure to a sheltered cubbyhole full of trash, scrap metal, and a rusty bathtub. Kweku removed the rectangular plank and metal pan sitting on top of it, revealing a grate resting on the rim of the tub. With his phone, Kweku illuminated the reptile within. It was dark gray with a waxy hide and muscular legs pressed against its sides by the tub, which was altogether too small. A black, oozing fluid partially covered the beast’s legs. For a moment, the crocodile didn’t move, but all of a sudden it raised its snout, opened its jagged mouth and hissed. Bruno’s hairs stood on end, but he didn’t step back because he knew Ponsu was observing him for his reaction.

“It’s big,” Bruno said.

“This is nothing,” Kweku boasted. “It will grow even more. We call him Frankie.”

“Then you will have to find a bigger container for it. What do you give it to eat?”

“Chickens.”

“Okay.”

“Can you face this crocodile?”

“What do you mean ‘face it?’” Bruno asked, looking at Kweku.

“For the best powers and the most success, you should wear the crocodile skull, but it has to be a crocodile you have killed. So, you will have to be the one to do it.”

Bruno licked his lips nervously. “How?”

“I drag him by the tail on the ground, then when I tell you, you cut the neck with a cutlass. One strike only.”

Bruno nodded, his heart pounding. “Okay.”

A one-sided smile played at Kweku’s lips. “Are you sure? When I brought Nii Kwei to see the crocodile, he ran away.”

Bruno joined Kweku in laughter. He could just picture the scene. “Please, I want to ask you something, Mr. Ponsu.”

“Yes?” Kweku’s phone beam was dying, so he switched it off. Now they were in almost complete darkness.

“Let’s say,” Bruno began, “me and you, we kill the crocodile.”

“Eh-heh? Go on.”

“If that be the case, then can I meet Godfather?”

Kweku released a small gasp, switched the phone light back on and trained it on Bruno’s face. “Heh! Who told you to ask me that?” Kweku grasped Bruno’s bottom jaw. “Who told you?”

Bruno shook his head. “No one,” he tried to say. Kweku released him. “You want to meet Godfather?”

“Yes please.”

Kweku snorted. “You small boys, you think everything is so easy, eh? Even after you kill the crocodile se’f, you won’t be ready.”

“Then when, please?”

“You have to prove yourself,” Kweku said irritably. “You have to be better than all the rest in order to see Godfather. Most of the sakawa boys are not good enough. Only those who make a lot of money or can do all the rituals.”

“Okay, then I will do that.”

Kweku turned away with a grunt. “You think it’s so easy. But it’s not.”