She sat under the abrofo nkatie tree in front of her room one such windy afternoon, and the voices wouldn’t stop. She covered her ears to block them, but they wouldn’t go away. She walked and walked till she was in the forest, where the trees broke the wind. Soon, she was in deep and every way she turned was a large tree that looked exactly the same. She had lost the path back to Wofa Sarpong’s house. Then she heard voices—real and present ones—and tried to back up, but her foot crunched on a pile of dry leaves. The voices quieted down. Aminah crouched. The patter of feet grew louder. The feet stopped right in front of her, large, each toe crowned with a corn. When she shifted her gaze up, it fell on Kwesi, Wofa Sarpong’s eldest son. He carried a basket of red kola and a cutlass. He told his friend to keep walking. He looked at her as one would look at a neighbor’s fragrant meal. He grinned and said something as he set down his kola. She hadn’t understood him.
Seconds later, Kwesi was on her with all his weight. His stale sweat filled her nostrils. He was spreading apart his cloth and reaching for her. She had come to an uncomfortable arrangement with Wofa Sarpong and he’d never veered off course, but she realized Kwesi was going to finish what his father couldn’t or didn’t want to. With all the nerve she could muster, she went for his nose, the body part closest to her face, and sank her teeth deep into skin, flesh and cartilage, but she didn’t draw blood. Something about spilling someone else’s blood stopped her. Still, it hurt him, surprised him; he leapt from her.
She ran in the direction his friend had gone. She ran and ran until she appeared at the edge of Wofa Sarpong’s farm. She went into her room and cowered in the corner, the voices in the wind forcing their way in through the cracks in the wall, back to haunt her.
Later that evening, when the wind calmed down, the voices went away, but new, immediate ones mounted. The other girls went to find out why Wofa Sarpong’s wives were making more noise than usual, but Aminah stayed on her mat, already aware of what it was about. She curled her body to block out sound, her skin pocked with goose pimples.
They came back in and, unsolicited, Sahada said: “Kwesi said he caught you trying to run away and you bit him. Kwesi’s mother says you have to go. Wofa Sarpong will take you away in the morning.”
Aminah expected a beating, but that didn’t come. Instead, what came that night was deep sleep, with dreams full of warped reminders of the journey that had brought her to this place. Images of Baba in a room with no windows. Images of fire and hangings and dead little boys. They flitted in and out of her mind and she couldn’t wake up or change the story, no matter how much she tried.
She woke early. The other girls lay like felled logs carelessly left on the forest floor. Sahada’s raspy breathing made her chest rise and fall dramatically. Her arm was flung over another girl’s back. Aminah felt strange about leaving them behind, having grown used to them; they had shared a few moments of laughter when they poked fun at Wofa Sarpong and his family, but each of them had held back and, as if knowing their stays would be temporary, none of them had peeled away their outer layers to share their true selves. Aminah walked out of the room, almost colliding with Wofa Sarpong. His hair was overgrown and uncombed, his eyes bloodshot.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The look on his face told her she wouldn’t be given time to gather her meager belongings. Sacks lay lumped on the ground before his shy donkey—probably the kola Kwesi had been gathering. She helped Wofa Sarpong load them up. He instructed her to cover them with a large red cloth, then they left his home at a brisk pace, as if they were being pursued by an enemy.
After about two hours of traveling, the land grew familiar. The forest was now behind them, the grass grew tall, and baobab and dawadawa trees popped up in bursts. Dawadawa. It was a divisive spice at home. Na’s and Eeyah’s favorite. Hers, too. She missed pounding the caked locust beans into dust, as they unleashed their fermented smell into the air, one that Baba and the twins despised. She found that here her memories were less tinged with sadness. She even smiled at the gnarled baobab branches, now bare of leaves and fruit. Wofa Sarpong seemed to have forgotten his troubles, too, because he sang and whistled and slowed down.
“I was going to marry you,” he said suddenly, looking back at Aminah. “My wives didn’t like it, but give them small time, they understand. Then you try and run away and you bite Kwesi. You work hard, you were respectful. I don’t understand, why you do it.”
Aminah ignored him. He continued whistling. His good mood seeped through her skin and infected her. Even though what lay ahead was uncertain, she felt calmer than she had in months. When they passed a cowherd who looked like her mischievous neighbor Motaaba, she waved at him.
Wofa Sarpong tried his luck again. “Aminah, you’re like my mother. She was the beauty of the village. She come from far away. And then she ran away, to go back. She leave me behind.”
Aminah held on to her silence, but that didn’t deter him. “Enh, imagine, you leave behind your five-year-old son. Do you do that? Enh?” He went on: “Because you are beautiful and you remind me of my mother, I treat you well. That’s not something you can tell people about Wofa Sarpong, that I beat you. I treat you the best.”
Up ahead, women in pinks and yellows and greens waded in a wide, muddy river. It reminded Aminah of the water she’d crossed to get to Kintampo, when Hassana had almost been drowned by a panicky girl. Only this was not menacing. They drew nearer. Some women were bent over basins brimming with fish. Others were smoking their catch and the smell went straight through Aminah’s nostrils and constricted her belly. She hadn’t eaten since the incident with Kwesi. Wofa Sarpong bought two pieces of fish and gave her one. They went along the stream for about ten heartbeats and came to a shallow part of the river guarded by a man on a stool. Wofa Sarpong paid the toll and made Aminah get down. He led the donkey and cart across. As they crossed, Aminah thought of throwing herself into the waters of the river and letting it carry her wherever it wanted to. She gave weight to the thought and swung her body forward, madly rippling the water around her shins. But by the time she’d convinced herself that she could do it they were already on the other shore.
Being back in open space felt good to her spirit. She began to feel as if she’d only just woken up after a long nightmare. She had an existence again. Miyema, they would call it in Botu. Her spirit having a home. And although she didn’t know how far away home was, or if home still existed, something about this place was pleasing to her being. Meanwhile, dust whirled around them and Wofa Sarpong had covered his mouth with a rag. Aminah was pleased that it didn’t carry voices this time. It was dry and light, the way the harmattan winds were supposed to be. She was sure they were closer to Botu than ever before.
They traveled for hours. The sun began its descent, painting the sky with wide strokes in pinks, oranges and purples. Wofa Sarpong unwrapped his cloth and threw it back over his shoulder. He couldn’t stop fidgeting.
“This take too long,” he said, as the sky grew dark.
They made quick stops to water the donkey and rest. She imagined that if their stops lasted any longer, Wofa Sarpong would want to continue their dance, only this time his wives weren’t around so nothing would stop him from finishing the act. She slept on top of the kola and, at dawn, Wofa Sarpong yelled, waking her. “Things change. No look right.”
They had been traveling for two days and still they plodded on. The donkey cart dipped down an incline, and the silhouettes of houses came into view.
“Ah, at last,” said Wofa Sarpong. “But things change too much. This is a ghost town.”
As they closed in on the village, the sun crept higher. It was the biggest village Aminah had ever seen, despite what Wofa Sarpong was mumbling. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of buildings, many broken down and covered with soot, huge trees surrounding them. The minarets of a mosque rose as high as the trees. A flock of guinea fowl flew by, making he
r ache badly for Botu.
“Ah, but these people destroy Salaga,” said Wofa Sarpong as they went down into the valley, flinging his hand in the air, as if the town were his creation.
This was Salaga? From Baba’s stories, Aminah had dreamt of towers and colorful buildings and thousands of people coming and going.
They squeezed through a narrow road the color of a red kola nut, while a dog with swollen teats grazing the ground strolled by. The muezzin’s call rang out, and soon chatter, clanging metal and crowing cocks took over. They wove through even narrower streets, which Aminah wasn’t convinced could fit a donkey cart, but they plowed through. They passed a dry, red flat where men and women were spreading brown squares of cloth on the crusty earth, and they stopped in front of a rectangular building. It had two entrances and two windows in front, with steps leading up to the bigger entrance. Wofa Sarpong got down and helped Aminah off the cart. He looked at her with longing and sadness.
“Why you bite Kwesi?”
Aminah was sure her answer didn’t matter.
A tall man with the darkest skin she’d ever seen walked by, trailed by a group of men and women tied together. Aminah shuddered as she remembered the horsemen who’d abducted her. The man stopped next to the building they were standing by. He smiled at Wofa Sarpong and Aminah, and went in with his brood through the larger door.
“Ah, this man paaa,” said Wofa Sarpong querulously. “He not see I get here first?”
But Wofa Sarpong didn’t shift a foot. He stayed by the donkey cart until the tall man exited without his people. As they were heading in, the tall man paused to whisper to Wofa Sarpong and his eyes met Aminah’s. She broke the gaze. She could tell he pitied her. Wofa Sarpong nodded slowly at first, then rapidly. A smile spread across his face and he stepped aside for the tall man to re-enter the building. The man came back out, shook hands with Wofa Sarpong, looked at Aminah warmly, and then went on.
Inside the building, the room was dark and cool. Cowskins were spread on the floor and a man sat on a brown hide, placing cowry shells on the balancing plate of a pair of scales.
“Ah, Wofa Sarpong,” said the man. At the other end of the room, a cloth covered a doorway. Four windows framed the front and sides of the room, and not much else filled the space. The man spoke in Hausa. “I’m happy you’ve come. Why has it been so long?”
“Ah, these plenty wars your people do. It’s not safe. And if they know I’m Asante man, I can lose my head.”
“But we pay more for your kola up here,” said the man, pulling up the sleeves of his white robe. “This is the beauty our friend is getting.”
“Your friend,” said Wofa Sarpong. “I just meet him. Outside. Now now now.”
“Why are you selling such a precious gem?”
“Long story. I need the money.”
“You don’t waste time at all. Well, he said he would pay me, so I’ll buy her from you and he’ll pay me later.”
“He mention a good price,” said Wofa Sarpong. “You trust him? He seem like good man. Somebody else would make deal with me, cut you landlord out.”
“Yes, I’ve known him a long time. Always pays me my dues. Let me take her to the back,” said the man, standing up. He was just as short as Wofa Sarpong. Aminah wondered how much she was worth, but the man, perhaps sensing her desire to know this, shoved her through the cloth into a room that smelled of fermenting millet dough. On sacks and on the floor were the people the tall man had herded in. Before them was a small clay pot of water. They looked like she had when she first arrived in Kintampo: dehydrated and dusty. She nodded at them and found a small space of the floor to settle on. She strained to hear the rest of the conversation, but Wofa Sarpong and his friend’s voices were muted.
So the tall man was buying her. And the rest of these people? Aminah counted eight. One old lady, four girls, two men, one boy. Where were they going to end up? Wofa Sarpong stuck his head through the doorway and waved at her.
“Why you want to run away?” he asked again.
“I wasn’t running away. Your son wanted to finish what you started.”
He cocked his head to the side, then retreated. She felt slight panic when he disappeared. As unhappy as she had been, his place had been stable, better than when she had traveled with the horsemen. Her fingernails found her teeth. The skin at the tip of her fingers grew raw.
Throughout the day, the man in the white robe, Maigida—as Aminah had heard people address him—came in and took people out. Some returned, others didn’t. Late in the afternoon, he took those remaining to relieve themselves behind his house, where a few trees were clustered and a wild bush was blossoming despite the dryness.
Soon they were down to three: Aminah, the old woman and another girl.
The old woman, curled up in a corner, didn’t say a word. Aminah was surprised the horsemen had not left her behind. The girl bounded over to Aminah as soon as she realized the front room was quiet.
“You’re beautiful,” said the girl. Her language sounded like Aminah’s, but where Aminah used an “l” the girl used an “r.” When Aminah thanked her, the girl was shocked, then said she was happy they could understand each other. At first Aminah strained to make meaning of her sentences, but soon adjusted. The girl was called Khadija.
“The way you’re beautiful,” she said, “I’m sure you’re expensive, not like me. I’ll stay here for a week before they sell me. My father used to say I was so ugly that if I went to hell, even Sheitan would turn me away.” She smiled and her eyes crinkled. Aminah found her pleasant. Her eyes were large and set a wide distance from each other. Three parallel diagonal marks scarred either cheek. Her nose and mouth were small. Maybe that was the problem, that her features were too small on her face; they should have been more pronounced. But Aminah didn’t think she was ugly. “You’ll be out of here in less than a day. I’m sure he’s saving you for someone with a lot of money.”
“I’ve already been sold,” said Aminah.
“I told you!” beamed Khadija.
Aminah thought about the man who’d bought her. She had no idea what she was going to do for him, but his look had reassured her. She asked Khadija how long she’d been a captive. She couldn’t bring herself to use the word “slave” because it would apply to her, too. She didn’t think of herself as a slave.
“Three years ago my father gave me up to pay a debt. It was fine, because it was to a friend of his, and I knew his children. I was like one of the family. I was even going to marry one of his sons.” Khadija yawned, and Aminah followed. Khadija roared in amusement. “Imagine, ugly me, married! I was very happy. And then that raider came and set fire to the farm. Ah, I’m tired!”
“The tall one?” asked Aminah. He’d seemed so kind.
She nodded and stretched. “It’s nice to be sleeping in a room again. But you are so beautiful. It’s not fair.”
Aminah admired whatever it was that made Khadija upbeat. She’d lost as much as Aminah had, could have suffered more, but she did not wear her pain. She didn’t dwell. Aminah couldn’t be as cheerful and she didn’t feel beautiful, hadn’t in a long time. Moreover, she had never known how to respond when people said she was beautiful. Otienu had carved her body. He could have chosen a tree for her spirit. She didn’t pick her body or create her beauty, so it felt almost dishonest to thank people for something she didn’t do. She said as much to Khadija.
“Let’s exchange our bodies, then,” said Khadija, slapping her thighs and laughing.
The curtain parted and Maigida set a large calabash before them. Khadija and Aminah called out to the old woman, and when she ignored them, the two girls made for the bowl like hyenas and grabbed mounds of tuo coated in the slime of ayoyo-leaf soup. Aminah had missed eating real tuo, made of millet, not Wofa Sarpong’s green plantain tuo. Wofa Sarpong’s family also ate cocoyam leaves, which she’d found bland, with none of ayo
yo’s stretch and earthiness. Khadija sucked on her knuckles when she was done. They left a third of the tuo for the old woman and pushed it towards her. In the outer room, they heard Maigida talking to people. One of the voices was high-pitched.
“Ah, I’m so pleased you have kola now,” said the voice.
“We got in a fresh supply from Kintampo,” said Maigida.
“Thanks be to Allah. I was going to have to continue on to Kete–Krachi if I didn’t get some here.”
Khadija looked content.
When Aminah asked Khadija about her fiancé, she smiled so brightly Aminah felt like the world was all right. Her intended, as Khadija called him, was born to two very tall parents, but he came out squat. And she was convinced that that was why they liked each other: because their families made them feel like outsiders. Khadija was tasked with making sure the babies in the house slept, but when they saw her, all they wanted to do was play. One day, it was too hot in the house, so she took them to the big tree outside. They were irritable and didn’t want to sleep, and she was frustrated to the point that she considered leaving them and running back to her parents’ village. Then, she heard a voice singing. The children did too. They sat up, quieted down, and one by one, they fell asleep. When the last one was sleeping, the singer showed his face. Khadija hugged him and from that day, they became best friends. Just before the raiders came, he asked her to be his wife.
Aminah wanted to ask Khadija if he had survived the raid, but wondered if it was an insensitive question, so she said, “Did he come with you?”
“I am so thankful to Allah that he had gone to my parents’ village to present the dowry,” she said. “No matter where I go, he’ll find me or I’ll find him.”
The old lady snorted. Aminah wondered if the timing was coincidental or if she’d been listening to them. She had seemed ignorant of their language. And she hadn’t shifted from her fetal position.
The Hundred Wells of Salaga Page 11