by Arthur Japin
19 November 1849
Will I ever be granted peace of mind? Wherever I turn I see nothing but tragedy. Today was no exception. Oh God, it was dreadful.
Yesterday morning van der Eb came to my room. I absented myself from assembly a week ago, for reasons of ill health. He enquired after the nature of my ailment, and I told him frankly that I lacked the strength to rise from my bed. He sent for some broth, helped me wash and dress, and held my arm as he took me for a stroll round the courtyard. I could see the troops staring at me from the gallery. I went back to bed as soon as I could get away. But in the evening I went down to the dining room, which pleased the governor. This morning he proposed a fresh task to keep me occupied. I was to convey a message to the English commander at Fort Coenraadsburg. Van der Eb is a good man, but so transparent.
It was a long time since I had ventured past the drawbridge. When I returned from my mission in the late afternoon I decided to take a walk along the shore as I used to when I first arrived here. The weather was oppressive. The briny air was heavy with mist. Leaving behind the last cluster of dwellings I took the path over the rocks in the hope of being alone. I had hardly sat down when I caught sight of a figure emerging from the misty blur: a man wearing a loin-cloth, covered in grime, stooping as he shuffled along. He was evidently looking for something on the ground, for he stopped in his tracks from time to time, picked up a pebble or a shell, turned it this way and that for inspection, shook his head and threw it away. I did not recognize him as Joa until he was in front of me. I went towards him and laid my hand on his shoulder. He raised his head and smiled.
“I am looking for precious stones,” he said, “but I cannot find any.” His hair was long and covered in dust.
“You might have to dig a bit deeper to find precious stones,” I offered, with a little laugh. I thought he was joking, but the way his eyes bored into mine told me otherwise.
“Sometimes they sparkle. Even in the dark. There are some very pretty ones. The only problem is how to smuggle them past the guards.”
“I’m sure you deserve a rest from your labours,” I said gently, trying to take his arm, but he shrugged me off and bent over to resume his search.
“I have promised my love a pretty gift.”
“I see,” I said, reproaching myself bitterly for not having troubled to visit him earlier. “Shall I help you then?” I sank on to my haunches and stirred the pebbles, as he was doing. Suddenly he drew himself to his full height, suspicious that I was mocking him.
“If the burden were the same for everyone, nobody would mind!”
I did not know what to say, and when he trudged off muttering to himself, I did not stop him. And yet, in a rush of selfish emotion, I envied my friend. In his befuddled state he still hoped to find beauty. As for me, I returned to the fort, empty-handed.
6 December 1849
Had we been kept on a leash and openly maltreated we would have put up a fight. We would have summoned our strength. We would undoubtedly have lost, but we have lost anyway. We were tolerated. And that is unforgivable. If you cannot accept a man wholeheartedly, then you should have the fortitude to repudiate him.
Waking up in the night I had a vision of extraordinary clarity . . . suddenly I was staring into the eyes of that poor soldier who jumped off the tower when we were here together as boys, soon after our arrival at the fort. In the limbo between waking and sleeping I saw him spread-eagled on the rocks, exactly as we had found him, but now he was convulsed with laughter.
“Indeed sir,” I told him, “they want to press-gang you into life, but you have given them the slip!” I could not conceive of a more radical rebellion against the Christian tradition.
“You are right,” he exclaimed. “True liberty lies beyond the gravest of sins!”
Then I swung an axe and cut off his head, which is, as you are aware, the Ashanti punishment for taking one’s own life, and I began to realize that it was all a dream. Suddenly I was wide awake, and greatly agitated. I got out of bed, drank some water and shook off the gloom.
Have no fears on my account. These are merely fancies that steal into the night. And it is getting light already. “To advance is to die. To retreat is to die. Better then to advance and die in the jaws of battle!” After all, that is the Ashanti way.
19 December 1849
I have come up with an interesting way of banishing my sombre thoughts. By now I am familiar with every inch of my stone walls, every yard of the fort and every hut in the settlement. The same mist gathers over the sea every day. The only difference from one day to the next is the size of the fishermen’s catch, which subject is hotly debated on the beach. I dare say there is more to their conversation than that, but I have lost the desire to engage with their lives. My favourite pastime nowadays is to take a walk along the salt pans in the midday heat and let myself be blinded by the shimmer of the sun reflecting on the crystals. It is a thrilling sensation. First I stare wide-eyed into the glare. Then I fix my eyes on the dark green forest at the far end of the salt flats. The effect is initially of blindness. Then everything resolves into a negative image, so to speak: a fringe of white trees hovering beyond a black plain. After a while the vision fades. In the same way I am able to see patches dancing before my eyes, in which I can make out certain configurations. Geometrical figures. Sometimes there are human shapes, too. I follow them with my eyes as if they were silvery-black butterflies, pointing the way ahead. They flutter this way and that as in a dream. These are nothing but fata morganas, I realize that, but at least they are always different. After twenty minutes or so my eyesight is restored and the figures melt into the trees, after which I start all over again. It is addictive. I often linger there until the flats take on the colour of the evening sky. Then I retrace my steps to Fort Elmina. The solitude of my cubicle is easier to bear when I am reminded that there is life outside.
24 December 1849
Today Joa presented himself at the gate. He asked to see me. He is a little better, it seems, and wishes to return to his native village to recover from his unrequited love. He is free to do so.
There is nothing left for him here. His workshop has closed down. The men who used to work for him have started their own businesses. Joa does not bear any grudges. He has lost all interest in profit-making. He asked me what he should do with my hand-loom. I told him to sell it. The money will stand him in good stead for his travels. I gave him my wages for this month. The journey is hazardous. Both of us smiled as we said goodbye, but his departure saddened me.
This will be my third Christmas in Elmina. The men’s spirits are high. They are to return home next week. The new regiment has already reached Accra. So once again I am to witness the changing of the guard. Van der Eb tried to persuade me to go back to Holland with the returning troops. He did not spare my feelings.
“You are intelligent,” he said, “well educated, well read, blessed with multiple talents. Why waste your aptitude on a nation that disdains the skills you have mastered? Be a man!”
I replied that I could not imagine anything more manly than hoping for the impossible. He grabbed me by the shoulders.
“You are deluding yourself. Why not face the facts? You are rushing headlong towards the precipice.”
I thanked him for his concern. I can see the hopelessness of my situation quite clearly. When he saw the sadness in my eyes he regretted his words and changed the subject. The men were planning a tableau vivant of the nativity; they already had an ox and an ass, and van der Eb suggested I might be interested in taking the role of the black king. An excellent occasion to wear my kente cloth, he concluded. I replied that the only role I have is that of Black Peter.
1 January 1850
A fate such as mine, my dear Kwasi, is only to be found in the classics. I am rereading them, and am finding that they contain the last words that still strike a chord in me. Ah well, so many people have known tragedy in their lives.
4 January 1850
What joy!
I have seen my mother again. What sorrow . . . Last night, as I was taking my evening stroll along the parapet, I caught sight of a shadowy figure by the gate. I thought—you must forgive me—she was a village girl come to tryst with a soldier. I motioned for her to go away, or she would be noticed. Then she called my name: “Kwame Poku.” And again. I could not believe my ears. That voice! “Kwame Poku.” I rushed outside barefoot, but there was no one at the gate. For a moment I thought I had taken leave of my senses. Then I found her sitting under a tree. She was weeping at first, but did not wish me to see her tears. She composed herself, dried her cheeks, and only then did she let me embrace her.
Her face looked barely a day older, but she had to study me from head to toe to convince herself that I was truly her child. Her fingertips on my unshaven cheek! She poured her heart out, but I could not understand what she was saying. It did not matter. I understood her meaning. I told her what was uppermost in my mind, and in my agitation the phrases that I had prepared for precisely this occasion came out garbled. She nodded as though she could read my thoughts and smiled at me moist-eyed.
We sat there for an hour, perhaps two, until we were all raw inside. “Have you come to take me home?” I asked, but I had already seen the answer in her eyes. Kwaku Dua is unrelenting. Then she held me against her breast. My God, how I have grown! In this awkward pose she rocked me in her arms. With my cheek against her shawl I suddenly noticed that the pattern was the same as that of the cloth I wove some time ago . . . I jumped up, rejoicing at the resemblance, and made to run inside to fetch my cloth so that I might show her my handiwork, but she would not let me go. We lapsed into silence, without this being painful. Finally she started singing. I recognized the melody. It was our morning prayer of the day of the Ady. I understood the words!
Oh spirit of the Earth, you grieve
Oh spirit of the Earth, you su fer
Oh Earth and the dust within you
As long as I am dead
I will be at your mercy
Oh Earth, as long as I live
I will put my trust in you
Oh Earth, which will receive my body
We appeal to you and you will understand
We appeal to you and you will understand
I rested my head on her lap. I am not ashamed of that. I must have drifted off. When I awoke in the morning she was gone. I asked everywhere, but no one had noticed an Ashanti woman. Not in the village, not in the fort and even the night guard maintains that he did not see anyone in my company. No matter. I know what I know.
15 January 1850
I should know better than to hope for another glimpse of her, but I do. I keep my ears and eyes wide open every night. Once I saw someone walking along the surf. I called out, but there was no reply. I know she cannot still be here. Her absence from Kumasi is bound to attract undue attention, so she must have hurried back. I shall try to get some sleep tonight.
4 February 1850
I returned today from an extended walk in the forest, where I spent two nights. I did not go equipped for an expedition. I slept on the ground, ate the fruits of the trees and bathed in the river. It was not my intention to disappear for good. I was roaming the salt flats and was drawn ever closer to that wall of green. Once I reached the edge of the forest it was as though something beckoned me from the deep, shadowy interior.
My absence without leave angered van der Eb. Upon my return he berated me, saying I must not forget that I am still in the service of the Dutch army. I retorted that I had been promised promotion by that same army, and that so long as this advancement was withheld I was under no obligation. His reaction was to strip me of all my privileges for the time being. I am to join the common soldiers in all their duties and exercises. But he is a good man at heart. He must have been worried about me, just as a father would be.
Perhaps I was drawn by the memory of the adventures you and I used to have in the forest. Climbing trees, building shelters with leaves, eating wild berries, hiding out in a secret world of our own where we would survive without any help. This was not easy, as it turned out. I am no longer a boy.
I was carrying my chopping knife, but had great difficulty making headway on the ground. So I climbed up to the next level, above the thick undergrowth, as Kofi taught us, and clambered from branch to branch. In this manner I left the sunlight behind and advanced into the canopied gloom. I made little progress. I stumbled and grazed both my legs. I was bitten by mosquitoes, and my uniform was so scratchy that I had to take it off. I bumped my head and had to bandage the wound against parasites. I attempted to get rid of the leeches clinging to my thighs with a flame, but was unable to strike a spark owing to the moisture. When I picked the swollen bodies off with my knife, they left holes in my skin. Despite discomfort, weariness and frustration at my slow pace I pressed on, until I noticed a suspicious-looking thicket, which I took for a snakes’ nest. In order to overcome this obstacle I grabbed a liana and took a flying leap to the other side. My swing creaked ominously under my weight and snapped, dropping me into the very thicket I was trying to avoid. There was not a snake in sight, and as I lay there I imagined that you could see me making a spectacle of myself like the clowns we saw at the circus in The Hague. I could still laugh at my plight, thank goodness. I was too exhausted from my backbreaking tour to go on, and decided to rest during the night. I picked berries, gathered some dry branches to make a fire, and slept through the din of the jungle.
In the middle of the night I was startled out of my sleep by a shrill cry unlike the other animal sounds. I heard something scurrying about quite near. I made a noise to frighten the creature off, but then I heard the distinct sound of whimpering. I took a piece of burning wood from the fire to light my path and soon found a young monkey in the undergrowth. I recoiled, fearing that its parents would not be far off. But the leaves did not stir and the whimpers went unanswered, so I dared to take a better look. The monkey was of the species that is held sacred by the Boabeng and Fiema. He was in a sorry state: one leg dragged behind him and his tail was broken, probably from a fight with rivals or an attack by a predator. His injuries would have made him a liability to his clan, and consequently an outcast.
The poor creature was very thin, but nature had not yet completed her work. The terror in his eyes was so great that I was at a loss as to what action to take. I was afraid his heart might stop if I reached out to pick him up. Yet he did not run away, for he knew: whether I go forwards or backwards, I am lost.
I cleaved a coconut and mashed some fruit on a banana leaf, which I placed on the ground in front of the monkey, away from the fire. I sat down and waited at a short distance. The poor creature cowered in fright, keeping his eyes fixed on me. But his nose twitched at the scent of the food. In the end he gained confidence and ate in my presence. I left him alone for the night, and when I rose in the morning I pretended not to notice him peering at me from the undergrowth.
He trailed after me for the rest of the day, although he was very feeble. I advanced slowly, so as not to let him fall behind. I was beginning to enjoy my outing—it was the first time in a long while that I was not thinking about myself.
Towards afternoon I succeeded in luring the animal to my side with an offer of some food. He sat down to gobble up the fruit. He kept his eyes fixed on me, but the fear had left them. On account of his big eyes and the tufts of hair around his chin I named him Willem Alexander, for his looks reminded me of our new king.
By the end of the day I had won his confidence: he no longer followed behind, but stayed by my side, sometimes even limping ahead. If I lagged behind he would stop and look over his shoulder until I caught up.
The second night I did not get any sleep at all. I was kept awake by my small companion. There were predators about. I discovered large, fresh tracks, but had lost the ability to identify them. I kept the fire going and persuaded Willem to stay close to me. At one point a large beast passed by, which I could not see. I made a lot of noise and brandis
hed a burning stick. That evidently did the trick. When the danger had subsided I noticed that Willem was crouching behind me. Rather than being frightened by my shouting, he had felt protected.
It was time to bring my expedition to a close. I had undertaken it on the spur of the moment, and had persevered out of sheer stubbornness. My muscles, skin and head cried out for a bath, for soothing ointment, clean clothes, soft pillows and cool bed-linen. In the years I was away I idealized nature as the love of my life. But the truth is that I am a stranger to her, a mere pinprick on her skin, a foreign body to be assaulted and repudiated.
I decided to retrace my steps in the morning, but what was I to do with Willem III? As if he could guess my thoughts he crept closer to me than ever. He posted himself at arm’s length, a wizened child with his head to one side and an imploring look in his eyes. I imagined him keeping me company in my room. Van der Eb would surely not begrudge me this diversion. The little fellow would be out of danger, he would survive despite his lame leg. But he would never set eyes on his natural environment again, and thus would resemble me. I offered him some food and clapped my hands a few times, after which he kept his distance for the remainder of the night.
I started working my way back at daybreak. After an hour I discovered a salty residue on the leaves and by midmorning I reached the salt flats. In those two days I had probably covered a distance of little more than a few hundred yards. I looked over my shoulder and, seeing my companion close behind, I turned and rushed at him. I gave him a few well-aimed kicks, whereupon he bared his teeth, and when I continued, he bit me viciously. I swung my knife and made to attack him. He cringed and cackled with fear, and still the dumb creature did not flee. I became frenzied, and flung a stone at him which grazed his bad leg. He scrambled up a tree. I took my belt and lashed out at him, striking him on the flank. To my relief he got the message. Screaming piteously, the king vanished among the trees.
