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The word Trokosi comes from the Ewe words tro meaning
deity or fetish and kosi meaning female slave.
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I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free.
-Charles Dickens
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After
New York City
Summer 2009
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Prologue
Harlem, New York 2009
On the morning of the day she killed him, the sun lay in long,
yellow slats across the sidewalk.
Abebe strolled down 145th Street; the hem of her multi-colored
skirt swept the ground as her flip-flops smacked musically against the
pavement. The large silver-hooped earrings she wore bounced against
her fat cheeks as her wide hips swayed to a rhythm as old as time. On
her shoulder, she carried a gold and purple purse made of straw which
contained four bottles of homemade hair oils, a magazine, a letter from
her aunt Thema, a cell phone, and a rusted screwdriver with a red and
black rubber handle which she carried for protection. In all of the years
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green monstrosity illuminated with red lights. Standing beneath the sign
was Mohammed, an elderly man the color of black sand, with a beard as
white as cotton. His back was bent, but his eyes were effervescent with
life. Mohammed sold roasted peanuts from a silver pushcart, and he and
Abebe were passing acquaintances. Abebe knew that Mohammed was a
widower, had three children and eight grandchildren and that he had
been in these United States for half a century, never once returning to
his homeland of Ghana. He knew that Abebe was married with two
children and that she worked as a braider and had not been back to
Ghana since she arrived in New York in the winter of 2003. Those were
the things they knew about one another and not much else.
When Abebe spotted him, she raised her hand in greeting and in
that moment she realized with great horror that she knew something
else about Mohammed; she knew the man standing beside him and her
heart jumped into her throat and her bladder let go. Urine streamed
down her legs and puddled on the sidewalk at feet.
His name was Duma and shed known him as intimately as a man
of the cloth knew his God - or more appropriately, the way a sinner
knowsAnyen the devil.
Abebe watched, frozen, as Duma tossed a roasted peanut up into
the air, tilted his head, and opened his mouth. The nut bounced off his
lip, fell to the ground, and rolled across the pavement toward Abebe.
When the nut bumped the rounded rubber toe of her flip-flop, she
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uttered a strangled cry and leapt into the air.
Mohammed gave her a curious look and the smile on his lips faded
to a frown when he saw the frightened expression on Abebes face. His
eyes swung to Duma and then back to Abebe who by then was charging
toward them with the screwdriver in her hand, raised high above her
head the rusted tip of the tool glinting brilliantly beneath the morning
sun.
Before
Accra, Ghana
1978 - 1983
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Chapter One
In 1978, Abebe was two years, eight months and 23 days old. Her
first memory was of her waking in her parents bed, a large, mahogany
monster with posts the size of elephant legs. The room was shrouded in
the gray haze of early morning. Outside a car engine roared to life, the
rusty hinges of the wrought iron gate squealed open, and a choir of
roosters began to croon.
Abebe rubbed the sleep from her eyes, searched the room for
signs of her parents, and in her quest, caught sight of her reflection in
the oblong-shaped mirror that hung over the chest of drawers. She had
a button nose and large inquisitive brown eyes. Her small lips formed
the shape of a heart, her skin was the color of night, and her hair was
corn rolled into a peak and secured with a blue, glass bobble.
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Abebe yawned, bringing her hand to her mouth the way shed
seen her mother do, before calling out, Mama! over and over again
until her mother, Lemusi Tsikata, appeared in the doorway.
What is all of this noise, little one, heh? Lemusi pronounced in a
voice that was filled with light. Abebe grinned and raised her arms.
Lemusi was slight in build with a mass of thick hair that she kept
pulled back into a ball. She had the fingers of a pianist - long, thin and
elegant. Her skin was smooth, dark and scented with cocoa butter. She
lifted Abebe from the bed, placed her on her hip, and carried her into
the dining room where she placed Abebe into a chair directly across the
table from her father, Kwasi Tsikata.
Kwasi was reading The Daily Graphic Newspaper. Abebe could see
his shiny, creased forehead floating above the top of the page.
Good morning, Papa! she sang.
Kwasi lowered the paper to reveal a square chin and wide flat
nose that barely supported the thick, black framed glasses he wore. He
smiled his gap-toothed smile and said, Is that little Abebe?
Abebe shook her head vigorously up and down. Yes, Papa, it is
me!
No, you cannot be Abebe, he teased. Abebe is a sleepy head
who never rises this early.
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Its me, Papa, its me!
Lemusi laughed and placed a loving hand on her husbands
shoulder. Hurry now, you dont want to be late.
The Tsikata family lived in an affluent area of Accra known as the
Airport Residential district. It was a neighborhood comprised of
expensive homes shaded by the fronds of towering palm trees. They
lived in a lovely one level, mahogany shingle with sweeping front and
back verandahs, hardwood floors, and louvered windows. The kitchen
was spacious and fitted with all manners of modern conveniences,
including a refrigerator that dispensed water from the door and created
ice cubes in the freezer.
Kwasi and Lemusi were from the village known as Pram-Pram,
located in the Volta region of Ghana. Kwasi had been educated in
England and after graduating from university, found employment as an
accountant in the governments treasury department. He drove a silver
Mercedes and had his eye on a piece of beachfront property in Takoradi,
where he hoped to build a family vacation home. Lemusi was a teacher,
but before she was a teacher she was a model and her face had graced
the covers of many West African beauty magazines.
They were practicing Catholics who attended church most
Sundays. The worn leather bible that rested on the nightstand, along
with the demure gold crosses all three family members wore around
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their necks, publicized and punctuated their belief in the one, true God.
Chapter Two
The summer Lemusis sister came to visit, Abebe was an
impressionable, five-year-old. Serwa Zinga was four years younger than
Lemusi and possessed the same cinnamon-colored complexion and
wide-set eyes. But unlike Lemusi, Serwa was curvy; bottom and top
heavy and favored clothing that accentuated those attributes: Mini
skirts, low cut blouses, tight jeans, and high heels. Serwa drank and
smoked and had a wantonness about her that made other women
including Lemusi uncomfortable. Her years of living in America had
imparted Serwa with a twang that made her sound like an Obruni a
white American.
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She loved music, both the popular Ghanaian High-Life and the
American R&B and Disco. She came to Ghana with a black case filled
with music cassettes, which she played one behind the other, raising the
volume on Kwasis stereo higher and higher until the music filled all the
rooms of the house and could be heard out on the street. During those
times, Serwa would grab Abebe by the hands and the two would dance
until they were both drenched in sweat.
Abebe was enchanted with her aunt.
One day, Abebe, Serwa tweaked her nose and announced, I am
going to send for you to come and spend a vacation with me in
America.
Really?
Uh-huh, and Ill take you to McDonalds and Burger King
What is that?
You dont know?
Abebe shook her head no.
Well, theyre wonderful restaurants that make delicious
hamburgers and milk shakes!
Abebe licked her lips.
Lemusi waved her hand. That food is garbage. American trash
and I wont have my child eating it.
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Serwa and Lemusi looked at each other and something passed
between them so heavy that it cut the air and Abebe felt a breeze
against her cheek. The two sisters glared at each other for a moment
before Serwa returned her gaze to Abebe and said, So tell me, do you
have a boyfriend?
Abebe made a face. Yuk!
Serwa laughed. So you dont like boys?
Abebe shook her head no.
Dont worry, one day you will. One day you will love them.
***
Months after Serwa had returned to her life in America, Lemusi
realized that she was feeling more drained and lethargic than usual. She
was a severe anemic and the disorder had always played havoc with her
menstrual cycle, and so she did not think anything was wrong or in this
case, right when two months passed and she still had not seen her
period. It was the light-headiness and the nausea that washed over her
whenever she smelled cooked meat that and the unmistakable flutter
deep down in her belly that finally put her on alert. Lemusi had had so
many false alarms in the past that she dared not say anything to Kwasi
before she was one hundred percent sure. When Dr. Benga confirmed
that she was indeed with child, she broke down and wept in his arms.
That evening she shared the news with Kwasi, and his face lit up like a
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candle.
Are you sure?
Lemusi nodded her head while stroking her husbands hair.
Kwasi lifted Lemusis blouse and gazed at her stomach in wonder.
I cant believe it. His words were choked with happiness. After so
many years, finally...
Ten years, Lemusi said.
God has finally answered our prayers.
I always knew that he had not forsaken us, Lemusi said.
All in his time, Kwasi whispered through his tears as he leaned
in and kissed the warm flesh of Lemusis belly.
Mawuli was born in the spring - a round, brown boy with pink
gums and sparkling eyes. Kwasi finally had a son; he could not have
been more proud. His family was finally complete.
Abebe spent all of her free time staring at Mawuli. He was the
most wondrous thing that she had ever seen. She rocked, fed and
changed him and never tired of combing her fingers through the wispy
hairs on his head. I love you more than crisps, she whispered in
Mawulis ear. That said a lot because crisps were Abebes absolute
favorite treat.
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Chapter Three
It was dinnertime when the call came from a cousin in Pram-Pram
whod walked ten miles from his village to a pay phone. Thunder
boomed a town away, the air was suddenly thick with the scent of rain,
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and an angry, evening wind began to whip the palm trees just as Kwasi
pressed the phone to his ear and said, Hello?
Your papa has passed away, the cousin announced thinly.
Kwasi dropped the phone, stumbled to the couch and fell down
into the cushions.
The next day he packed his family into the car and drove to Pram-
Pram. The trip took four hours, and when they arrived, the vehicle was
covered in red dust. When they entered the village, a group of children -
the boys indistinguishable from the girls - began running alongside the
car, tapping the windows and waving. Kwasis mother was seated
outside of her hut, a gourd bowl filled with dried peas rested on her lap;
her fleshy hips spilled over the sides of the stool she sat on. Kwasi leapt
from the car and bounded over to her. Lemusi followed and the two
threw their arms around her shoulders and kissed her cheeks.
Abebe had only been to Pram-Pram a few times. Those visits had
been a time of sheer delight for her as she swam naked in the lagoon,
chased chickens, hugged goats, and squealed when her grandmother
aimed the cows utter at her face and squeezed the milk into her open
and waiting mouth.
Abebe climbed from the car clutching her Walkman protectively to
her chest. The circle of children closed in around her, pointing and
chanting, What is that? Can I have it, sister? What is that?
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Abebes grandmother reeked of sweat, grilled meat and
melancholy. The old woman squeezed Abebe, kissed her cheeks, patted
her backside, told her that she was too thin, offered her a mango, looked
at the silver and black contraption that Abebe held in her hands, and
shook her head in dismay.
The grandmothers home was a three-room thatched roof mud
hut. The front room held two metal chairs with tattered, green cushions
and one short square table made of wood. An aged, yellowed, calendar
depicting the deceased Ghanaian president, Kwame Nkrumah, hung on
the wall near the door. The back rooms were furnished with twin-sized
beds, grass sleeping mats, and nothing else. The cooking area was
located behind the house and was comprised of three piles of stones
beneath an awning made of grass. There was no indoor plumbing, just a
standpipe located in the middle of the village where the women lined up
daily, to fill their buckets with water for cooking, drinking and bathing.
They washed their clothes in the lagoon. The toilet was a concrete box
with a wooden door. On the floor of the structure was a hole, which one
would squat over to relieve themselves. It was shared by four other
families.
Abebe and her family remained in the village for one week,
making many trips into town to be fitted for the special funeral
garments. Kwasi fought long and hard with his brothers about the color
and pattern before they finally agreed on red and gold Bubus.
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An art coffin was constructed from walnut wood and carved with
intricately detailed images that reflected the senior Tsikatas life as a
husband, father and farmer. The cost was a staggering 3000Cedi. Kwasi
said he didnt care if it was 30,000Cedi; his father deserved the best.
The nights in Pram-Pram were long, black and filled with sinister
sounds. In Abebes mind, mating cats became feuding lions, the patter
of feet - a charging elephant. She pressed her trembling body against
the bulk of her grandmothers and was eventually lullabied to sleep by
the music of the old womans beating heart.
On the day of the funeral, large black and red tents were erected
at the graveyard. Vendors sold handkerchiefs and beer to the mourners.
The old women of the village beat their breasts and wailed. Tables
draped in red cloth were placed to the right of the coffin, where people
could place their offerings of money, food and liquor. The funeral
attendants handed out laminated programs that pictured the deceased
Tsikata. Abebe stared down at photograph of her grandfather; his black
eyes watched her from beneath his furrowed brow. Her memory of him
was as faint as a dream. Bored, she bounced the card against her knee
until Lemusi took it from her and placed it in her purse.
After the ceremony, the body was interned, which signaled the
end of the mourning period and the beginning of the celebration.
Agboba drums accompanied byAxatses rang through the air as people
gathered around the large tables laden with a variety of traditional
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Ghanaian food and piled high their plates with red-red, fufu, fried fish,
pepper stew, breads, and fresh fruits. Libations were opened, spilled in
honor of the deceased and then consumed.
Abebe and her cousins ran circles around the mud huts and
played hide-and-seek in the brush as the adults flung their hands into
the air, stomped their feet, and swung their hips in a fit of joyful dance.
The merriment went on until the darkness seeped from the sky and the
suns yellow head peeked over the horizon. The sun was a high yellow
ball in the sky when Lemusi and Kwasi finally crawled onto the tiny bed
and wrapped their arms around one another. Kwasis breath was sweet
with Schnapps, his words thick with sleep when he announced, I will
bring Mama to stay with us for a little while.
Lemusi tightened her arms around his neck and planted a tender
kiss on his lips. Of course, Kwasi. Whatever you think is best.
Chapter Four
To Grandmother, Accra smelled of smoke, steel and shit. She
thought her sons house was too grand and reminded Kwasi that he was
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nota king or a chief, so all of the rooms were unnecessary, especially for
a family with just two children. The grandmother had raised eight
children in her modest hut.
And why is the food cooked inside the house? she asked.
Kwasi shrugged his shoulders, Thats just the way its done here,
he said.
In an effort to appease her, Kwasi went out and purchased a
television, which he placed on the small wooden chest in the
grandmothers bedroom. Grandmother eyed it suspiciously. The last
time she watched television was a decade earlier when she went to visit
the family of her daughter-in-law. It was a small black and white Zenith,
with a dial. The antenna was a wire hanger wrapped in foil. Kwasi
proudly handed her a remote control. She looked at the white, oblong
object, folded her hands defiantly across her breasts, and said, What
am I to do with that? And so the next day, Kwasi bought her a radio.
Grandmother spent her days roaming the house, examining the
knick-knack souvenirs that friends had purchased abroad and given as
gifts to the Tsikatas: A white man on a surfboard, a pointed tower, a
grand clock. The words stamped on the souvenirs - Hawaii, Paris, London
meant nothing to Grandmother because her language was Ewe and
her English was limited to hello and good-bye. She spoke some Twi,
but not much.
Grandmother went into Abebes room, picked up and then tossed
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down the stuffed animals that were neatly arranged across her bed. She
reached for the snow globe on the nightstand, shook it, and watched the
bits of white plastic swirl and settle on a tiny castle. She pressed her
fists into her hips and stared at the poster of a galloping pink horse with
a spike jutting from the center of his forehead. Such frivolity, the
grandmother thought and then sucked her teeth in disgust.
In the evenings, Grandmother enjoyed hiding behind the curtains
of her bedroom window, eavesdropping on conversations of the
unsuspecting neighbors. During the day, she sat on the front verandah
in a folding chair and gazed down at the people dressed in their western
clothing who moved up and down the sidewalks. She complained that
the cook, a young girl called Abba, did not know what she was doing.
Lemusi and Kwasi smiled and listened respectfully to the old womans
grievances, but did nothing to change the situation, and so one day
Grandmother changed it for them.
Kwasi was at work, Abebe was at school, and Lemusi had taken
the baby for a visit with a friend. When Grandmother heard Abba set the
large, metal pot onto the stove, she emerged from her room like a crow
and flew into the kitchen squawking demands. Show me how to work
this stove. Fill this pot with water! Chop thiscut that!
A flustered Abba complied without question.
When Lemusi returned home, Grandmother was standing over the
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stove, stirring a pot of stew and Abba was cowering in the corner.
Mama, what are you doing? Lemusi asked. We have Abba to do
that.
Her food tastes like pig slop. Anyway, what am I to do, sit in that
room all day listening to the radio and staring at the picture box?
Grandmother stated without looking up from her task.
Of course we dont expect that. But youre here to rest, not work.
Take a walk. The streets are safe, very safe. No harm will come to you.
There are eyes everywhere. Our neighbors know who you are.
Grandmother dropped a pinch of salt into the stew and swirled the
wooden spoon around the concoction a few times before bringing the
spoon to her lips for a sample. Satisfied, she nodded her head and then
looked at Lemusi and said flatly,
You should have left me to die in Pram-Pram. This place is hell.
Later on, in the privacy of their bedroom, Lemusi gently massaged
the arch of her husbands back. Kwasi was tense, but not for the reasons
Lemusi suspected. Having his mother there had not been easy for any of
them. Grandmothers adjustment to city living had been slow and
painful and was at times a weight on the family but that was not the
source of the knot of tension in his back.
Itll get better, Lemusi whispered. Everything is new to her. Its
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just going to take more time than we thought.
Kwasi nodded his head; his mother was the very least of his
worries. What was paramount in his mind was the allegation that had
come down from the director of the treasury accusing Kwasis manager
Ota Nweli - of diverting government money into his secret, personal
account. Otas passport had been seized and he had been placed under
house arrest while the police investigated the charges.
Kwasi had been summoned to the directors office and questioned
about the matter.
I had no idea, Kwasi said and shoved his trembling hands into
the pockets of his pants. He did not understand why he was so nervous
because he was in no way involved and knew nothing of the theft. But
still, perspiration gathered in beads across his forehead, and his tongue
turned to sand paper.
Really? None at all? the director said in a gruff voice. You were
his right hand man, and you didnt notice that these funds were missing
from the account?
No, sir, I did not. Those particular books were not put in my
charge.
The director eyed him warily. The truth will be revealed. He
dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
Did you hear me, Kwasi? Lemusi had brought her lips close to
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his ear. Her warm breath fanned across his cheek. Kwasi turned and
looked into her eyes.
Im sorry, Lemusi, he said as he placed his palm on her cheek. I
was thinking about something. What did you say?
Lemusi grinned. I said, stop worrying yourself about your mother.
Everything is going to be just fine.
Kwasi nodded his head. Of course it will.
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Chapter Five
When Lemusi came wobbling into the house supported by her
husband and a pair of crutches, Grandmother tilted her nose into the air
and said, That is what happens when you wear those awful high-heeled
shoes.
Lemusi ignored her comment. It was the silliest thing. I go up and
down those steps at least once a week. How I missed the last step, I
dont know. Thank God I wasnt carrying Mawuli!
Kwasi helped Lemusi down onto the couch, turned to his mother
who had followed them into the living room, and announced, The
doctor said shell be in the cast for about six weeks.
Six weeks? Grandmother retorted with a huff. With that thing
on her leg?
Yes.
Grandmother shrugged her shoulders, turned and went back into
the kitchen where she seemed to spend most of her time now. Lemusi
could hear her through the wall mumbling about high-heeled shoes and
tight skirts.
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During the second week of Lemusis convalescence, Kwasi came
home in the middle of the afternoon. His face was limp with worry.
They have suspended me, he said as he walked to the cabinet, pulled
the bottle of Schnapps from the shelf, and poured himself a drink.
Suspended? But why? asked Lemusi.
They think I have something to do with the money that was
stolen.
By that time, Lemusi had already known about the theft, because
news of it had reached the newspapers. Even as the reports gained
momentum, Kwasi had kept the fact that he was being investigated a
secret from Lemusi. But now all of that had changed.
Thats ridiculous. Youve been working at the treasury
department for ten years, and not a cent has ever gone unaccounted
for.
Kwasi drained his glass and poured another. Lemusi watched
quietly as he drank. When hed drained the second shot, he looked down
into the empty glass as if his life had fallen down into it.
Lemusi asked, How long will you be suspended?
Until the investigation is complete and they find me innocent.
And how long will that take? Now a slither of panic could be
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heard in her voice.
I dont know, Kwasi announced dryly.
What will we do for money?
Kwasi sighed. I will still be receiving some of my salary.
Some?
Half.
Half? We cant live on half!
Kwasi scratched his head. We have our savings, well be fine. I
cant imagine that this investigation will go on for more than a few
weeks.
Lemusi uttered a bitter laugh. Have you forgotten where you
live? This is Ghana. What might take a few weeks in other countries can
take months or even years here.
Lemusi shifted uncomfortably on the couch and then timidly said, I
can go back to work.
Kwasi grunted and pointed a long finger at her cast.
Itll be off soon.
He shook his head. No, you need to be here with the baby. I said
not to worry. We are fine.
***
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Days later, Mawuli fell ill. His body raged with fever and boils the
size of eggs broke out on his skin. Kwasi took him to the doctor, who
prescribed ointment and antibiotics.
Grandmother did not trust westerners or their medicine and so she
sent Abba to the market for herbs, which she then pounded into a paste,
placed in a pot of water, and set to the boil. The concoction made a
stench so strong it could be smelled for blocks. After a few minutes,
Lemusi appeared at the doorway of the kitchen with her hand pressed
over her mouth and spoke through the slats of her fingers, What is
that?
Medicine for the child.
Bush medicine?
What else would it be?
Lemusi wobbled over and peered into the pot.
Is he to drink that?
No, it is for him to wash in.
Lemusi backed away from the bubbling mixture. She removed her
hand from her face and inhaled. The scent was so caustic it made her
cough even though it seemed to have no effect on Grandmother at all.
I I, Lemusi began respectfully, I dont think that this is a good
idea. The medicine that the doctor prescribed will start to work very
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soon, so Her words dropped away under Grandmothers icy gaze.
You trust the white mans medicine over that of your own kind?
Lemusi was flustered. Well its not about trust...I just think that...
Grandmother slammed the spoon down onto the stove. What do
you think? Tell me.
Lemusi face turned scarlet, her lips continued to flap, but no
words emanated from her mouth. Finally, embarrassed and ashamed,
Lemusi retreated to her bedroom.
Hours later, she woke to Mawulis terrified screams. Grandmother
had poured the mixture into the tub and had set Mawuli down into.
Mawulis cries echoed through the house, pulling Lemusi from her
afternoon nap. For a few moments, Lemusi floundered helplessly
between sleep and wake, unable to decipher whether or not she was
dreaming. When it was clear that Mawuli was in peril, Lemusi jumped
from the bed and landed on her wounded ankle. Pain exploded behind
her eyes, and she went crashing down to the floor where she lay
moaning as she cradled her foot.
When the pain ebbed to a throbbing ache, she crawled from the
bedroom, down the hall, and into the bathroom where Mawulis cries
bounced off the tiled walls like balls.
Mama! Mama, what are you doing? Lemusi screamed as she
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dragged herself into the bathroom.
Grandmother had one meaty arm wrapped tight around Mawuli,
holding his squirming, naked body down in the water. With her free
hand, she dunked a sea sponge into the pot of the concoction shed
boiled and then raked the sponge across Mawulis skin, dispersing the
green liquid over his flesh, rupturing the boils. The infection had seeped
out and was floating atop the water like yokes. Mawulis face was red
and wet with tears, and his mouth was stretched wide open as a fresh
scream climbed his throat.
Lemusi struggled to right herself and dragged her injured foot the
last few feet until she was standing, unsteadily before Grandmother. The
old woman looked up in surprise, but it was too late, Lemusi already had
her by the wrist, pulling her arm back until Grandmother fell off the stool
and hit the floor with a thump. Lemusi then snatched Mawuli from the
water, and did not even glance at Grandmother as she hobbled from the
bathroom, back down the hallway, and into her bedroom.
When Kwasi arrived from his hearing at the treasury department,
Grandmother was seated on the verandah, solemnly plucking the
feathers from the body of a decapitated fowl.
Mama, Kwasis tone was tired. Ive asked you a hundred times
not to do this on the front verandah. If you must buy and kill live fowl,
you can do so in the backyard.
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Grandmother raised her head. Her lips were pressed into a thin
angry line.
Whats wrong? Whats happened?
Your wife hit me.
Kwasi was sure hed heard wrong. He set his briefcase down,
loosened the knot in his tie, shoved his hands deep into the pockets of
the gray slacks he wore, and said, What did you say?
Grandmother flung her arm out at Kwasi, revealing the
impressions of Lemusis fingers pressed black and blue into the flesh of
her wrist. Kwasi stared in quiet astonishment.
Lemusi did this? he asked unbelievingly.
To Kwasi, it seemed that his life was unraveling as quickly as a
ball of yarn. The officials at the treasury department claimed to have
incrementing evidence as well as an eyewitness who could confirm
Kwasis involvement in the theft. When Kwasi asked to see the evidence,
and for the name of the eyewitness, the officials had stammered and
stuttered, and in the end had not granted either request. Instead, theyd
thrust an affidavit under Kwasis nose and urged him to sign it. We can
make this go away for you, Tsikata. No prosecution and no jail time, just
dismissal.
Kwasi quickly understood that they didnt have anything on him,
but were looking for a scapegoat to take the fall. The Ghanaian
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newspapers were demanding that the treasury department bring the
coconspirators to justice and criticized the snail-like progression in which
the investigation was progressing.
Some of those articles had been reprinted in European and
Chinese newspapers, which painted Ghana in a less than favorable light
on the worlds stage.
Kwasi refused to sign the affidavit and instead had gone straight
to an attorney whom he paid a ten thousand Cedi retainer. That had
taken little over half of what was left of their savings. And now hed
come home to find that his wife had attacked his mother.
Kwasi left his mother on the verandah and marched into the house
to his bedroom. The door was closed and locked. Kwasi knocked and
when Lemusi did not immediately respond his temper boiled over and
shouted, Lemusi, open this door now!
The lock clicked open and Kwasi barged in. Lemusi was seated on
the edge of the bed; her hair was flayed about her head like that of
madwoman and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Mawuli was
beside her, fast asleep.
What have you done?
What have I done? What have I done? With each question,
Lemusis voice climbed to a hysterical level. Your mother went against
my wishes and bathed our child in bark, and weeds and Lord knows
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what else, so I did what I had to do!
Kwasi opened his mouth to speak, but Lemusi wasnt done yet.
Look, look at your sons skin. Look at it!
Kwasi gazed down at the gaping purple craters on Mawulis body
and then he turned back to his wife and said, They look like theyre
healing. Isnt this what we wanted?
Lemusi was up and in his face before he could utter another word.
The slap was sudden and harsh, temporarily blinding him.
L-Lemusi! Kwasi cried as he caught her by her small shoulders,
whipped her around, and then slammed her against the wall. The mirror
shook and slipped off of the wall and crashed loudly to the floor. Have
you taken leave of your senses?
I want her out of this house. Today, right now! Take her back to
Pram-Pram! Lemusi screamed hysterically.
Have you gone mad? Stop it! Kwasi yelled as he shook her.
Lemusi kept screaming and Kwasi kept shaking her. But Lemusi
would not stop screaming, and Kwasi finally unfurled his fingers from her
shoulders and stepped back. They glared at each until he mumbled an
apology. Lemusi did not respond; she hobbled shakily away from him,
and fled to Abebes room where she remained until Abebe came home
from school.
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That evening, the family ate dinner in silence. The tension hung in
the air like syrup. Abebe longed to escape it and so hurried through her
meal and then asked if she could be excused.
Sometime during the night, Abebe woke to use the bathroom and
heard the hushed voices of her father and grandmother. They were
conversing in Ewe, a language that Abebe was not quite familiar with
and so she was only able to make out a few words. Her name was
mentioned a number of times along with that of her mother and her
aunt Serwa. The grandmother made a remark about bad luck, which was
followed by a million words, Abebe did not understand.
There was urgency in her grandmothers tone, but her fathers
responses sounded unsure.
I hope youve enjoyed this excerpt of My Name is Butterfly.
For a limited time only you can purchase the ebook for .99cents on
Amazon, B&N and Smashwords.
Other books by Bernice L. McFadden
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37/37
Gathering of Waters
Glorious
Nowhere is a Place
Camilllas RosesLoving Donovan
This Bitter Earth
The Warmest December
Sugar
Visite the author at: www.bernicemcfadden.com
http://www.bernicemcfadden.com/http://www.bernicemcfadden.com/