Adnan reached into a pocket on his smock.
“Do we have milk?” he said.
“I’ll go and get some,” said Aminah, relieved.
He handed her cowries, then said, “Grind this into a fine powder. Add it to the milk and leave it outside my door, on the left side. Don’t tell anyone about it.”
He opened up a piece of calico and in it was a gray mass. Aminah had no idea what it was and didn’t dare ask what it was for. Happy that his request, strange as it was, had nothing to do with her, she picked up Wumpini, laid his warm body against her back, wrapped a cloth around him and strapped him to her body. She went to the wide spread of green grass where Ahmed the Fulani let his cows graze and sold sour milk. She liked going to buy from Ahmed because his language was close to hers.
She procured the milk, returned home, pounded the unidentifiable object and set it before Wurche and Adnan’s room as instructed.
Every ten days or so, Adnan would bring Aminah something to grind and ask her to set it in front of his room. There were dried leaves, rock-like objects, tree barks—almost always things she couldn’t identify but which she could easily grind with a smooth rock and slab of stone. Then one day he brought her a dried lizard, preserved in a state of permanent shock.
After getting the milk, she returned to the palace, which was still under the spell of afternoon sleep. She rested the fossilized creature on a big slab of stone, the same one she used to grind onions to pulp. There was no other choice; a man of the house had given her an order. She tried to crush the lizard, but it was as dry and hard as ever. She reached for the mortar, knowing very well she shouldn’t pound; it was sure to wake someone, but she couldn’t do it at any other time if no one was to see what she was doing. Wurche sometimes yelled at her—Can’t you think? was her favorite phrase when Aminah, lost in her thoughts, forgot to quench the fire, for instance. For the most part, though, the hospitality she met on the first day was still there, so Aminah had started to grow comfortable. So much so that she did things against her better judgment. Things she would do if she were back in Botu’s valleys and fertile soils. Even things she only did when she was in the room she’d shared with Eeyah. She set Wumpini on the mat and gave her back a good stretch, letting out a loud fart.
She dropped the stiff and stony lizard in the mortar’s depths and began to feebly pound it, holding in her disgust. She still didn’t know what Adnan used his concoctions for. Perhaps a sacrifice? In Botu, the only times dead animals showed up like that was when the boys were playing tricks on the girls or when a sacrifice had to be made, but it was Obado who did the parli. Women were not allowed to touch anything related to the sacrifice. Aminah heard movement. She stopped, looked around. No one emerged. She pounded again a few times.
“Why are you making so much noise?” said Wurche.
Aminah started, then apologized while trying to cook up an excuse. Wurche, not satisfied, edged closer and stood directly over the mortar. While most of the lizard was broken in bits, its ugly head was unground, looking as gnarled as before. Wurche shrieked. Aminah swallowed. Where was Adnan?
“Are you trying to poison us?” Wurche’s voice rose.
“Please, Sister,” started Aminah.
“Mma, come and see.”
Mma shuffled out of her hut, fixing her white veil over her head. She trudged forward, tying her cloth around her chest. She peered into the mortar when Wurche pointed at it.
“Wo yo!” Mma said, covering her mouth.
“Is that what you eat where you’re from?” asked Wurche. “You’re missing where you come from?”
Aminah shook her head. The lizard, mortar and pestle all grew wavy watery edges. Adnan came out of his room, saw them gathered around the mortar, and left the compound as if it didn’t concern him at all.
“Wurche, your father has us grind all sorts of potions for him,” said Mma. “This is nothing. I’ve cooked and ground up a whole monitor lizard into soup to make his men unafraid. Aminah, wash the mortar well when you’re done.”
Wurche picked up Wumpini and made for her room, wiping his mouth as if Aminah had offered him some of the offending creature. Aminah felt ashamed and wanted to kick the mortar, throw away the whole thing, but she kept pounding. She did this both to maintain her dignity and to release the frustration Adnan had made her feel. When it was ground to powder, she added it to the bowl of sour milk and set it on the side of the step that led into Wurche’s room. When Adnan returned, he would see what a coward he was and feel ashamed for it.
* * *
—
Aminah was about to enter the sweet place just before sleep takes over, that point when you repeat the pleasant images from your day against the silky pink under your eyelids. Her day hadn’t been pleasant, but the moment was still sweet. She imagined herself in the green grass where Ahmed’s cows grazed, and was about to drift off when Mma came into her room, veil wrapped around her head.
“It wasn’t for you, was it?” she said. At first Aminah was disoriented. “The lizard was a man’s doing, wasn’t it? Look at me. When I say the right name, blink twice.”
Mma drew closer and Aminah could feel her breath. Another thing old people had in common: stale breath that whispered that death was close by. “Was it Etuto?”
Aminah did nothing.
“Sulemana?” Her voice had risen in disbelief.
Still, Aminah did nothing. Mma went through a list of Etuto’s soldiers. Then she was quiet.
“Ah, Adnan.”
Aminah blinked twice.
Mma burst out laughing and mumbled “Wo yo” to herself. “I’m sure you know what it’s for,” she said.
Aminah shook her head.
“Some say it’s for making a love potion. Some say it’s for sexual stamina. They say a man with stamina will get his woman to do anything he wants.”
He’d been using the potions for weeks, and from the look of things, Wurche was talking less to Adnan and more to Sulemana. It made Aminah feel sorry for Adnan.
“Mma, please don’t tell him I told you.”
Mma assured Aminah she’d only asked because she was curious. Then she paused, her eyes—gray with age—searching Aminah’s, as if looking into her would reveal something. Her voice dropped a notch. “You’re a good girl. One can tell these things. Treat us well and you’ll be fine here.”
* * *
—
Wumpini turned one and his father ordered a large sheep to be slaughtered. The boy still refused to walk so Aminah carried him all morning while frying bowl after bowl of mutton for the guests coming to celebrate the milestone. Two big pots of millet beer sat in the kitchen, acrid vapor rising from them. She couldn’t understand why anyone drank such foul-smelling stuff. Skins were spread out before Etuto’s and Wurche’s huts, and visitors dropped in all morning.
That morning, one of the busiest days Aminah had experienced there so far, Sulemana came over, plucked a piece of meat and asked her where her people were from.
“Botu,” said Aminah, but before the conversation went anywhere, a group of men wearing netted talismans, tall riding boots and guns on their shoulders marched in and settled by Etuto’s hut. Sulemana joined them, to Aminah’s relief. She couldn’t carry on a light conversation while focusing on both the food and Wumpini.
Etuto came out and everyone prostrated themselves on the ground before him. This never failed to surprise Aminah. Whether the ground was dusty or muddy, people lay down when they met the Kpembewura. Etuto wore embroidered riding boots, the kind Baba had started making. As if he’d seen her looking at him, Etuto flung his right arm into the air and shouted, “Beer!”
Aminah laid several calabashes on a tray, poured the nauseating liquid into them, and hurried over to Etuto’s party. She lowered the tray to Adnan’s level. He declined, but thanked her earnestly. Since the lizard incident, the mere sight of
his face was enough to annoy Aminah. And then she’d feel bad for being annoyed. It was a curse, the way she easily felt for people.
When she arrived before Etuto, he lifted his calabash and said, “Thank you, to the most beautiful Aminah.” His eyes lingered on her face, moved down her chest. Her heart raced. Everyone laughed as if he’d cracked a joke.
More people came in, and Aminah was struck by the sight of two men lingering outside the courtyard, paler than fresh shea butter. They seemed drained of all blood. If Na thought Issa-Na looked uncooked, Aminah was not sure how she would have described these men. So it was a person like that who had bought Husseina at the big water. The new arrivals spoke to Etuto and he commanded his battalion up and out of the compound.
“More beer, Aminah,” ordered Etuto.
She went for more calabashes and rushed back to keep up with Etuto. In addition to the pale men was a black man dressed just like them in a shirt and shorts, similar to the inspector who had come to Wofa Sarpong’s farm. Etuto led the guests into the compound, where Mma, Wurche, and other Kpembe women were now seated on the skins before Wurche’s hut.
The men spoke Gonja, Hausa, and what must have been the pale man’s language. Aminah understood from the Hausa that they were there to strengthen some bond they’d already made. And part of that was by offering gifts. The pale men’s messengers handed strings of beads to Etuto, who bequeathed them to Wurche. Wurche bowed at the visitors and distributed the beads to Mma and the other women, who burst into ululation. The pale men presented bottles of brown liquid. Ahmed strode in with a black and white cow as tall as the entrance and another man came in with a large sack of yams balanced on his head. Ahmed and the man left and Etuto stood up and pointed to his gifts. If Aminah were the one being presented gifts, she would have been happier with Etuto’s offerings.
The men talked for hours, after which the black man dressed like an inspector gave a blue, white and red cloth to Etuto. Later that evening, Mma told Aminah she had just witnessed history being made. By accepting their flag, Etuto had accepted friendship from the British white people. Wurche said the fact that Etuto got up to meet the white people meant that the situation had changed. The white people used to come to him. She said if Etuto had accepted a flag it meant that Salaga was no longer neutral and it was protection, not friendship. Aminah had no clue what they were talking about.
Wurche
While more and more white men penetrated Salaga–Kpembe, each time demanding an audience with Etuto, Wurche’s marriage turned into a nightmare. She had to ask Adnan’s permission for everything and he took full advantage of his power over her. He forbade her from sitting in on Etuto’s meetings, asking what kind of man he would look like if his wife didn’t follow the rules. He made her stop teaching with Jaji. If she wanted to go to Salaga, she had to go with him, like a well-behaved married woman. At first she protested, telling him it went against everything she’d learned. She was allowed to leave home in pursuit of learning. But he said those were subversive ideas. And when she said she would do as she pleased, he hit her. She tried to tell Etuto, but her father was unraveling. He was so absorbed in keeping Salaga under his control that he insisted she hold off until he was sure no one (the people in Kete–Krachi, the Asante, the French or the Germans) was going to take Salaga. Until then they needed Dagbon’s protection. She tried to tell Mma. The old lady, after singing the marriage song for as long as Wurche could remember, suddenly sang a different tune.
“Only after I became a widow did I have peace,” said Mma.
Soon, Wurche tried to stop fighting back. Not because she was letting Adnan kill her spirit; it was about self-preservation. He possessed stores of energy and when she fought back against his increased aggression, she lost. When he busily fondled the nuggets of his prayer beads and stared into space, as he often did, Wurche looked at him, marveling that she’d ever thought him gentle. His face now had all the marks of a violent man. Eyes that had once seemed small and innocent, were shrewd slits. His breathing had always bothered her, but now when he slept it was as if a hungry lion were next to her, taking in deep, ragged breaths, ready to maul her after he was well rested. It was not easy for her to meet his ravenous needs, but she tried.
Instead of fighting back when Adnan hit her, Wurche would wrap Wumpini on her back, pick up an item she valued and move it into Aminah’s room. When the sun peeked out on a morning after Adnan had struck her so badly that big blobs of blood bubbled from her nose, she collected two sacks, picked up Wumpini (sleepy and nearly impossible to carry) and walked out. They had fought over where Wumpini slept. Adnan wanted the baby to start sleeping with Aminah or Mma. Wurche knew what that meant—she would be forced to wholly submit to Adnan. She shook her head, refusing to swallow her feelings. Before she could even say the words, Adnan’s hand was on her face.
Now, Aminah was up, sweeping. Even in doing a mundane task, the girl’s limbs moved elegantly. Wurche watched her, then snapped out of her trance to hand Wumpini and the sacks to her. She returned to her room, where the lion still slept, and wondered, What if I smothered him?
“Sister Wurche,” floated Aminah’s voice. It was too loud. She was enjoying her Adnan-free morning. “Sister, please come see.”
In the courtyard, Wumpini was taking tentative steps. He fell down, but immediately got on all fours and pushed himself up to try again. Wurche rushed to him and hugged him. Then terror clutched at her heart.
“Keep the news to yourself,” Wurche said.
“But this is good news, Sister,” said a confused Aminah.
“Keep carrying him. Don’t let anyone see him walk.”
Wurche had to buy herself time, as much as she wanted to share the news with Mma and Etuto. But if either of them were told, Adnan would find out too, and they would be off to Dagbon. It was time to do what she hadn’t willed herself to do four years before. But first, she had to make sure Aminah was ready.
She asked Aminah to bring Wumpini and a cloth. She saddled and mounted Baki, swaddled the toddler in front with the cloth, and set off, signaling Aminah to follow. They were too close to the palace for her to be seen riding Wurche’s horse. Wurche trod down the tree-lined road to Salaga, then turned off a narrow path to the right, stopped the horse, and asked Aminah to climb on. Aminah hesitated and Wurche swore under her breath. Aminah stared and stared. When she decided to act, she put a foot in the right stirrup, but couldn’t get the other foot up.
“Give me your right hand,” said Wurche.
Aminah did, but still wouldn’t lift her left foot.
“Aminah, lift your foot.”
“Sorry, Sister.”
Aminah stepped aside and Wurche let go of her hand, got off the horse and tied Wumpini on her back. She slotted Aminah’s foot back in the stirrup and pushed her bottom till Aminah was high enough to clamber up. Wurche got back on the horse, muttering, “Ay, Allah! My life is shortened when a commoner rides a horse, not Baki’s.”
Wumpini laughed giddily as they bumped down the path. They got to the forest of her childhood, the place where she learned to shoot with Sulemana, where she and Fatima had played, where she’d dreamed wildly. She got down first, helped Aminah off, and tied Baki to a tree. The trees, taller now, were arranged in straight lines—Mma said she and her friends had planted them as girls. She looked up at the canopy of the trees and remembered Fatima’s enthusiastic claps whenever Wurche finished a speech. Wurche wondered where her childhood friend had ended up and what she’d have said if she learned that Wurche was no closer to getting the things she wanted.
“At home, always carry him on your back. I don’t want to see him walking in the house. Here, he can walk freely,” said Wurche, untying Wumpini and letting him slide down her back. As much as she didn’t want Adnan to find this out, she also wanted Wumpini to become independent fast. He wobbled, took a step and fell. Wurche clapped. The boy got up again and took more steps. S
he pointed to a tree a short distance away, about ten steps for Wumpini. “Aminah, go there. Yes, Wumpini, go to Aminah.”
As Wumpini wobbled over, Wurche watched Aminah. Her cheeks had filled out and she wore her hair neatly braided. Wurche understood why all the men were enamored with her. Aminah. She had lived with them for over a year and kept to herself; she did her work, didn’t complain. Moro’s girl. Every single man in the house was entranced by her, so she had no doubt that Moro, too, was bewitched. It wasn’t just Aminah’s arresting physical appearance, but something quiet and rested in the girl, which had attracted Wurche, too. Hers wasn’t Wurche’s lost and restless energy, it wasn’t Mma’s worrisome nature, Sulemana’s earnestness, nor Etuto’s covetousness. One wanted to keep staring at her. Or become her. Or devour her. Wurche shoved these thoughts out of her head. She needed to stay focused.
For a week, Wurche made Aminah pack the items she’d stored in her room into sacks, and the three of them took trips into the forest to allow Wumpini to walk and for Aminah to get used to Baki. They might be traveling soon, she told Aminah, so she had to learn to mount Baki with speed.
Two days later, Etuto summoned Wurche to his quarters. He looked swollen. The skin under his eyes sagged with the lack of sleep, and his lips were bloated with alcohol.
“Those Kete–Krachi princes must be dealt with,” he slurred. “I’m sending Sulemana to the Gold Coast because those princes want to destroy Salaga.”
Now that he was friends with the British, he wanted them to help him take military action. The Kete–Krachi people had even begun to poach his best soldiers. He sucked from his wineskin.
“Will you go with them? Having a woman in the delegation might soften the governor’s heart.”
The Hundred Wells of Salaga Page 14
