Seventy-Two Hours in Ghana E-Book

Veleta Hayles

• Herausgeber: novum pro Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 684

Beschreibung

In the rural terrain of Côte d'Ivoire, several people are trying to carve out a life in an unforgiving landscape. Eze, a member of the Akan tribe, becomes a village chieftain and is popular with the villagers. However, life as village leader proves to be complex as Eze struggles to maintain his authority over the unrelenting villagers, who scrutinise his actions and his flaws. Eze becomes involved with Jose, a slave ship owner, who is enticing villagers to travel to South Carolina on the promise of a better life, a promise which may not be all that it appears. Meanwhile, a love triangle develops between Ben, who is suspected to be Eze's son, Carla, Jose's sister, and Jira, Eze's stoical housekeeper. The lives of all will be irrevocably intertwined by the conclusion of this evocative tale.

Leseprobe

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2024 novum publishing

ISBN print edition:978-3-99131-717-3

ISBN e-book: 978-3-99131-718-0

Editor:Atarah Yarach, DipEdit

Cover images:Stefan P.

Cover design, layout & typesetting: novum publishing

www.novum-publishing.co.uk

Synopsis

Eze is an Akan, and he lives in exile in Côte d’Ivoire. It is discovered that he is carrying bad feelings for his Akan tribe in Ghana, which he denies. His move to live in Côte d’Ivoire is greeted with worries, but he isn’t saying what the problem is, and as they do not have anything about Eze, he is accepted by the tribe members and soon he becomes acquainted with all the herdsmen, and he has a following because he is close to the Akan kindred. Never has a chieftain come close to them and thinking that he is a herder. There is a water brook which is frequented by the herders and their cattle. Eze forms a relationship with several and he is known as the strongest and bravest among men close to his age. Eze is staying close to Kujoe because he uses him as a smoke screen against any of the herders and the chieftains from Ghana who are out to get him. His other friends, Kobby, and Ichiro are living with Eze because he persuades them, he can regenerate their lost Akan, but it is difficult because Eze is tempted into doing more than one thing, which hinders his progress and some of the younger men he identifies to become chieftain. Eze is persuasive and he moves quickly with the villagers and takes control, but he is often rejected because he gets caught up with Jose, a slave ship owner half his age and whom Eze knows through his father, also a slave ship owner. Jira is from Ghana and is living as a domestic servant for Eze. She takes a likeness to his corn and soon discovers his skills in crafting. Eze makes several trips to see the chieftains in Ghana and gets away with some profound things. He inspires Ichiro to go to Ghana, who sustains a friendship with a group of men who works at a barn with grains. He almost misses Ben and Carla’s wedding. Eze is proud to be the first to hold a marriage ceremony for a long time. Jose isn’t aware that his sister Carla is getting married to Ben. He’s stranded on the cotton plantation due to a storm. Eze keeps it a secret from Jose. Ben and Carla leave the village and cannot be found. The village women take a likeness to Jira and her skills. She has a soft spot for Ben and when he is paralysed, she cares for him. He is well and hates Eze, and he goes to the mountains where the villains spend time together at night. Jira stumbles on the mountain and a disused house. She finds an ancient Hebrew scroll and is besotted by it and fears she is in trouble for removing it from its sacred place of abode. Jira thinks it’s Eze’s. He says nothing to her, and she does the same. Eze maintains his twofold images and when he is not confusing the villagers, he is out in Ghana in disguise to drain the land dry of slaves, which astonishes the villagers. The chieftain in Ghana hears and calls Eze to stand trial. But he escapes after using his mining expertise to help the villagers to extract gold from the ore. His line of defence, partnering Jose in the slave trade is cut short when Marcus Norman, another slave ship owner, starts his expedition to the Caribbean. He’s Jose’s opponent. Neither have met but are determined to exploit the sugar plantation in Jamaica. Jose takes a chance and lands on the island and is set up by Maroons, Marcus Norman’s ancestry. While he abandons his ship to make friends, when he returns, most of the slaves freed themselves and escaped. Jose believes Marcus Norman is behind the sabotage. Eze drops Jose in his favour, and he bribed Jose, who turns a villain and is ready to go against Eze. He has the elementary school that Jose disbanded, and the villagers are half-hearted about his help. Eze marries Ben, his carpenter, to Carla, whom he barely knows.

Preface

It is with sincere gratitude that I extend my thoughts to those who have written about the historical events in African nations that help in demonstrating culture. These regular natural habits have made a significant impact on readers. I believe the delivery of conscious minds, thoughts, attitudes, and belonging brings the essence of time that embraces much of the content in this book. I feel the importance of Black Indigenous people of African origins is evolving but necessarily changing. The history ignites instincts where there is a beginning, middle, and the ending is absolute and therefore as lasting as traditions themselves. It is a revolving history that we live with, and slavery in Africa has become a living and annoying influence for many. Some have not fully recovered from the sudden impact of slavery, and it took our ancestors many years to show their ways of living before our eyes. The uprooted lives are unforgettable reminders and influences in our lives. Yet, it allows for natural focuses and ownership of unique cultures. I share infallible historical events in this book that I believe have helped me focus my writing to create new spaces in understanding the landscapes of slavery and transitions of history in Africa.

Chapter One: Precious Unbroken Promises

In the beginning was Kujoe, son of a local herder, one of a few who lived in the desert after his generations died or moved away as slaves. Grudges from his enemies were the reason for him to stay in that part of Africa. It happened as life unfolded. No surprise that he tried and failed to let his enemies see worth in him. Years into their village lives were fights to take and occupy lands for their goats or cows, which he claimed came from a lost generation, but others felt the same. Battles came, and when there was no resolution, Kujoe did the things his father would do. Peace came when Kujoe asked his enemies for it, and it lasted, if they could bear the next man’s weakness. It worked when they said the same thing. But he kept his side where he knew the Akan would stand and not give in when things got him down. A descendant of Akan, he lived for his cows. His ancestry was not far behind. He did not let them know what he was about, fearing they would subject him to humiliation. Shame was worst of all. A truthfulness of his morals and dignity, there was one place to retreat to, which was to his villagers. His rescue was sure, and his defiance praised, for a man rarely came under attack for his principles. A time came when the sons of the Akan tribe were under threat. So was Kujoe. For years, Kujoe went on his own to see what he could do and get his friends to believe him. He could be out of their sights for days, and even though he was close to them, Kujoe wanted the more sizeable portion. It caused disbelief that anyone could do anything as vile. So, they talked, and when he couldn’t convince his friends, Kujoe took some of their lands for himself and said they were his father’s land. They gave up soon afterwards, but only for a brief time. He was believed that it was his, until years later when they asked Kujoe to prove that his father held the land. He couldn’t. And, not the first, he kept on leaving and returning because their hate was getting too much for him to bear. When Kujoe couldn’t speak to anyone, he did something about it and went to places he knew where his father’s mother lived before her death. They left the village too, but they had varied reasons. It was strife that they had and showing it to Kujoe didn’t be effective. Some joked and mocked Kujoe. But he said nothing. It worked by chance, and within days they drew courage from each other. That helped, although limited, whenever anything went wrong with their cows and goats. It would start up again, and Kujoe would be back and take on the burden of making sense of what they were saying. As he thought, they felt that only cowards ran from hostility. Kujoe was the same. He couldn’t be an Akan. If he was, where was his bravery? He ran away rather than standing by them. In all the years, they hadn’t seen anyone as deceptive as Kujoe. It was a coward that ran away – a true Akan would stand and fight. Not long afterwards, when Kujoe was alone, his friends defected to another village to see what they could find. The one which found women was a threat because they did not have allegiance as friends anymore. Kujoe was alone and stood up for what he knew. The change came, which he didn’t see. He was with his friends, but if he had gone away then returned, Kujoe would have seen that they had left the land for him to accept. But because he was with them all the time, Kujoe did as his friends and listened when he said something about the Sahara, their land of origin. The few relatives he met there understood him and when he spoke with them, they knew what he was going through, so they helped Kujoe. He was strong, so he went without his friends knowing, only for them to see him as a changed man when he got back. Kujoe left the village at night because that was a safe time to be in disguise, and no one would see what he was doing.

At other times, Kujoe went southwest and took his cattle with him. He got back without his cattle because friends of friends, and people who said they were his father’s family, took them.

There was one woman. Madge was her name, the sister of Kujoe’s late aunt. Nothing he did afterwards gave the villagers reason to trust Kujoe, who stood by and looked at her. She looked back at him. Her piercing eyes brought tears to Kujoe’s eyes. He let go of the rope that held the goat, and he handed it to her. It was the biggest of the three goats and mothered by five other goats. But she was coming to the end of her breeding life, so Kujoe felt the woman would take care of her more than he could. Kujoe told her that she should let him know when the goat had kids, so he could come and make them well from any sickness. Before he left, she told Kujoe that she cared for him as a baby, and when he was a week old, his mother had had to move from the village because of threats to take him away. Kujoe’s mother fought off her attackers, and they left the town, but they returned, and when they did not see Kujoe and his mother, they began to steal their children and take them into slavery. Kujoe was upset, and he hugged the woman before he went and promised to be back again but not before he invited her to his village. The villagers could not stop Kujoe, and time after time, he got women and children to swear to the rules of the Akan tribe. His friends soon faded like dried roots in the Saharan sun. That didn’t worry Kujoe because there was time to return to himself again and leave the past behind. Although he slipped in and out of the things his father taught, he had to hide it because he was a coward who did that. But why should it bother anyone when they did not know he was not doing things that the Akan tribe wanted him to do? Not unless anyone told the villagers would they know, and he would not tell them for sure. Kujoe would be by himself again if they found out, and it would take years to get back to his usual self. Then he would have plenty of time to know those who were his friends and his foes. If gossiping about him was their choice to deal with anger against him, so let it be. He would be silent and watch them talk themselves into extinction. Kujoe said nothing to his rivals when they teased him and he hardly got their attention, not even to smile at his sad jokes. No wonder because he never gave anything away for them to see into his herds. It was the season when they would be breeding, and the young cows would be out at the pastures. But Kujoe was unlikely to bring out his packs for men to count their numbers. Their jealousy of Kujoe overtook their sense of humour because should it continue, it would only divide them, and they would lose each other forever. So, they groaned, but they held Kujoe with deep hate rather than let him know their secrets, because things could be worse. At least, they knew that he could take so much, and should they urge him to go on, it might be pushing him too far and break Kujoe. Though they were satisfied, the end was coming too soon for them to let go of Kujoe. He had to make haste and become a part of their rowdiness and intolerance or be in isolation. His small herds of cows and goats were meagre, of no comparison to theirs. He would have to push and pull his way out of their dilemma of wanting more but getting less. Although their herds were more than his, it did not stop him from boasting that his packs were durable. No one had to challenge Kujoe about his herds of cows and goats. They only had to be close by for him to boast about his. That was enough; he thought to put them off from getting near him. It worked but only just, and during those times when the others did not have anything else to do. That was the time when Kujoe was dangerous. He had something that he could produce that was entirely his own. Yet, they became a threat to Kujoe. It evaluated his patience every day and was his silent pestilence. Kujoe had come upon similar before, but he brushed his contenders aside. His father was no stranger to things going wrong. Even when he had encountered greater, as people of the north often did, it was a thing that his friends and foes took for granted, atypical of friendship and enemies.

Kujoe was not short of courage. His quickness to forgive was unpopular with his friends. He saw that their reluctance neither got in his way nor denied his taught customs from his father. Kujoe ignored everything they threw at him and denied that he saw or heard anything that did not resemble the things he grew to know. He took courage; so, did his rejection of their habits. His bravery was his big heart, but he was at their mercy, and a slight stumble would make him crumble and face his enemies.

Kujoe’s heart was still humble. He was right not to give in. Not to be weak. But to be strong when he knew no one, he must trust himself. He would only triumph over his foes when they believed in him. Kujoe hid his pride so that the other herders would not know his bad qualities. None who knew that he was spending his time at the water brook saw any change in him, a frown or anger. Even a smile was rare. At twenty-four, he saw it pointless to annoy another from his tribe. He was alive; that mattered to him more than anything else, and when it was peaceful, he was everybody’s friend. He had to be grateful for life because a bow and arrow or spear could have hit him from someone who was too angry to control their temper. He counted himself fortunate that he was breathing; it could be worse. His silence helped to reduce raised tantrums and intense arguments. His face shone brighter than those around him, but only if they knew he had something to replace those he lost. His bare smile discovered their patience and raised laughter. It happened repeatedly. They were in a dangerous state, and they had habits that were not easy to break off, not like the older villagers who had left after years of having little to eat and drink. It was sad to see grown men fuss and fight; they did not know their right from their left when crunch times came. Kujoe need not be hard on himself, as he was not at fault. The other men had to carry the burden of his guilt. Plenty was going around, as no one felt comfortable trusting the other. It was common for strangers to keep themselves at a comfortable distance, especially when everyone had to get to know the other person. It was never as simple as them going to the brook to feed the cows and goats on fresh, springy grass. They had something in common and each other’s laughter took them out of their misery. Kujoe had to learn fast from the other herders. His understanding of the Akans was meagre in comparison to theirs. Their tempting cornfields were hard to pass by without Kujoe going there and helping himself to some corn. His love for corn was no secret, and anywhere he went, he carried grains. They did not come from farmers’ fields – he knew then that would not be so bad. But they were from his enemy’s fields. He hadn’t been, and it wouldn’t be late to find out that Kojo had been stealing their corn. He cleaned his mouth of the crumbs from the cereal. The tiny grains that were between his teeth, he nibbled at until they were too small for his teeth to grip on them. He then dusted his curved molars, which had not changed since he was a child. They had been the same since. His upper gum imaged his thumb, which he had not stopped sucking even as a man in his late thirties. Mockeries had not teased Kujoe to change his habits. Kujoe’s strands of grey hair on his head made him look older than his friends. A substantial portion slipped from underneath his bulky turban and dragged into his face, where it stuck with streaks of sweat dripping from his forehead. He wished he had stayed where he would have been happy. Time went by. But he wanted to go back from the erratic pulling he had been doing. The logs he spent the entire morning trying to stand vertical fell. Flat into the ground was the second pole destined to be the central beam of his new house. He was to go into the chieftain, but boys that went into the chieftain were born into the family. Their fathers knew about his father, Kobby. The only time Kujoe came close to politics was at the elementary school, in its thirtieth year. He was not as bold as the other boys and girls in his class. But when it came to speaking up, he told solid and fearless. He was not as fearsome in geography because as near as he was to Milan, he did not know where it was on the map of the world. Among the forty children, each spent a fraction of the lesson learning about their neighbours. All heard about Ghana and that it was not from the elementary school in Côte d’Ivoire. That Kujoe knew, and the teacher left the shaded portion clear for when it was Kujoe’s turn to speak about Ghana. He was ready days before with his homework to share with his class. The teacher used the stool in the corner to let the shorter children stand on to reach the top of the blackboard. Kujoe was one pupil who didn’t keep his balance when he stood on the stool. The teacher stood behind Kujoe while he held the base of the seat to stop Kujoe from falling. In his hands were pieces of orange rinds, leaves, pieces of coconut and shells from the crabs that Kujoe collected the night before. The bare bones were hollow, and Kujoe hit them. Then he turned the surfaces upside down and shook the hollow, bare shells, but they were empty. Then the teacher called another pupil after Kujoe. She was not sure she could be as good as Kujoe was and refused because she did not have any fruits, not even fish bones, to show that the fishes belonged in the nearby river.

Chapter 2: So is a father to a Son

Years rolled on, and Kobby was desperate for Kujoe to take over from him. Age matured his voice to bear whisper occasionally. Time was against men of his age. Kujoe could’ve gone on and done nothing because Kobby hadn’t been one to fuss about anything. The villagers knew Kobby well and were forever talking about him, his three daughters and Kujoe. Things would work, but only if he didn’t go near the villagers because it would only worsen matters between them and the villagers who weren’t on their side. If Kujoe wanted to become a chieftain, Kobby needn’t ask Kujoe. He had friends from the village who would tell Kobby whether Kujoe felt the chieftain was for him. But knowing Kobby, he’d not take their answers because they wanted to discourage Kujoe because he had a brighter future than they.

More was to come Kujoe’s way. But it would be slow, much to Kobby’s dislike. Kobby had to find a way for Kujoe. Speaking up for him wasn’t an option. But it was tough getting beyond the first year. Kobby shouldn’t have felt guilty about trying to get where no Akan from his family got with his son. Kobby’s pride would suffer more than anything because the other fathers would see him as a waste of time to build up their hopes, only to see their efforts go to waste after several months of challenging work. Kobby talked and talked. It was a good thing he liked to say something. But it broke the boredom that came with village life. If their wives were about and she had an interest in the tribal clan, she would speak up for the women in the village until others joined her. It was rare for Kobby to forget the women in all that was going on, because he could’ve got some to join him in his fight to get Kujoe with the Akan. It was that the men of Kobby’s age did something to make the girls feel part of what was going on. Several men dropped out when Kobby stood against them for not supporting Kujoe’s bid for Akan chieftain. It went beyond the time when girls should’ve left the kitchen where they had been for so long and be with Kujoe. Kobby left the firewood on the ground for them to see after his long trip in the woodland, which sometimes took him to the river where he fished and caught mullet and bream. The others heard of Kobby’s new thing to catch fish in the river and stopped by and joined him. Kobby was in a situation where his family wasn’t following into their clans. He turned to listen to what the fathers had to say, but they had gone back to their houses, which were not close. But they wouldn’t return, and they told Kobby so before they left.

Jose’s father was on the scene again after years of absence. He didn’t need Kobby, his wife, and his children to get to where he wanted to go. He had ideas to take the villagers back to America as slaves. But that was a thought, and Kobby didn’t believe it was true even though he knew it was the reason for the men leaving his village, and their disapproval to support Kujoe to be trained as a young chieftain. Jose’s father wouldn’t need Kobby or his wife. His promises for life in America and Europe and his ship filled with other girls as slaves were the first things on his mind, and he wouldn’t let Kobby talk him out of it. Kobby was slow again. But the other men in the village knew that if they told Kobby of the slave ship and the girls leaving the town, he would not believe them. Kobby got Kujoe to stand by him, and together they watched the girls day and night and watched the slave ship that waited in the nearby river. After years, Kobby gave up thinking Kujoe wouldn’t become a chieftain. It promised security in life and luxury. His friends would envy him, but Kujoe had no friends that were close to him. They had gone to other cities or had left the country entirely. If it were their separation from each other, then it would be understood because lost friends were hard to come back to once they grew away from each other. Rarely did they get to know strangers, much less to make friendships. Anyone that Kujoe saw would start life afresh as he did, and it cost nothing except forgiveness of the past then respect for each other. Just like when they went to the water brook. Time after time, they came upon new herders who stopped at the water brook to rest their cattle, drink water, and eat grass. It was time to lay down their burdens and cast them in the waters and let them swim for miles and out of sight. There was no time to be enemies anymore. Anyone caught breaking the truce would not return to the water brook with their cattle. Kujoe felt it had to be so if loyalty to the Akan were to remain. But Kujoe would have to work hard to bring back those times. And they would take years for every man who occupied the water brook, making it their territory that would last for a long time. Despite that, they didn’t see any reason to reconcile their differences. Kobby had had few words, spoke softly and convincingly when he opened his mouth. It was a pity Kujoe did not listen when he had the chance; he could’ve been far into being the chieftain. But like the other Ivorians, Kujoe talked his father into believing he could survive the pressures of following the tradition he had grown to hate to simmer that much longer. Time was not on Kujoe’s side to help make up his mind. The herders were near with their livestock. Agile Kujoe was in his prime and defended the villagers at the herdsmen’s expense. But he didn’t know where to begin when they weren’t around, and Kujoe became alarmed that the villages wanted him to be a future chieftain for those reasons. He was not up to it. Not like Kobby, who came through brimstone for not exposing Jose’s father and allowing him to gain in the village. He was forever burning with hate; already, he’d done the most he could and tried to take on something that might ruin him. Although the past and present were still evident in Kujoe’s mind, carrying anything else was a problem going too far. Reasoning with Kujoe couldn’t be at a better time, and nothing was attractive to dazzle him. He could say no, and his father wouldn’t mind because Kujoe had rejected the chieftain before. A second time might be worth trying, but it would be a chance that could go wrong. The gap was widening because of the emergence of the new captain of the slave trade. It was a growing band. They wanted to be there when it all happened. Kujoe’sheart was beating fast as his future began to disrupt his habitual pains. He had had the condition before, and it did not bother him, but the fearsome beat against Kujoe’s chest make him worry. It might hold out for time’s sake as it did when he was blamed for taking Eze’s moss at the brook. A little after that it became a distraction as herders became desperate to find out who owned the water brook. But it was between who would survive accusations of claiming something that could relate to them, or it might have a completely different owner. Some believed it was Eze’s, the upcoming chieftain from the Saharan region because it was his land that the water brook flowed through.

One other of the herders was older than most, but he was still strong for his age. He walked ahead of them while Kujoe and the others talked about life away from their families. Others made demeaning remarks of those that left their families sometimes with nothing to eat or drink. So, they turned to the men they met for help to feed their families. None could help the other and they looked over their shoulders for answers which didn’t come. But they couldn’t leave them hungry. That would be unkind of a brother, to see someone suffering and leave them to die at their feet. A time might come when things went wrong with them, and they needed help. Only a wicked person would leave a villager in sorrow. Before leaving a person like that, one thing was necessary: they must find out which village they came from and let others know that they were suffering. The man went with Kujoe and led the way from the water brook while Kujoe followed and talked with him. So, they walked underneath trees; their legs brushed the shrubs as they left the water brook in the distance. Kujoe and the stranger had a reason to be at the water brook. So, he said it wasn’t that he wanted to be there at the time but that the creek near to there had something to do with his late father. That was it. Kujoe thought as much. Someone was watching the water brook apart from himself and trying to get the moss, a nutritional medicine growing there. He was a step behind Kujoe. But he didn’t like being last in everything, so the man hurried and stretched his legs, half the size of Kujoe’s, before his footsteps crushed the dried leaves and drowned out what Kujoe was saying to him. Kujoe and the brook’s ancestral past meant nothing to him or his late grandfather than what the man claimed. It meant more to Kujoe if he changed the conversation and spoke about his wife and children instead. Since the death of his son, the man’s wife and daughter hadn’t been eating and sleeping well. But that was as much as Kujoe knew, and he couldn’t go against what the man told him because neighbours must love and show their condolences in death. The Akan tribe did so. Kujoe did not need to try to find a different reason to think that the man would tell him a lie about his son. If he didn’t have a son, Kujoe should know, because he had been around the men long enough to know when someone was telling a lie against their family or telling the truth. But Kujoe wasn’t dissuaded, as both of his eyes became his set targets. His thoughts of the villager’s son gone missing and could not be found? It was unheard of and too far from reality to be believed in villagers where people were each other’s friends, bore their cries and wiped their tears. As no one in any village had gone missing without no one knowing before now, not even Kujoe or Kobby, because he would have told the herders who went to the water brook with their herds. If anyone would know, they would. Neither would groan or mourn from the cattle in the village that would not go unseen, much less the man’s son. So where could the man’s son have gone? Straightaway, Kujoe wiped death from his mind and thought to put back things as they were before he met the stranger. Then they set foot in the village with the man, still a way off from Kujoe. It was still until Kujoe stepped through the door. His unexpected presence drew a hush from the four other men his age of twenty-seven or close. He walked over to the elder among them, and as he slumped onto his hard stool, the huge groan from one of its legs drew their attention. If he sat a little further, he’d fall, with his six-foot-frame scattered in front of them.

“Woo,” Kobby said. Peace, which means to upset you the least.

His outstretched and printed veins, raised above his skin, ran up his arms and finished at his shoulders. Kujoe staggered back in obedience to his elder.

“It’s the brook. Do you know anything about it?” asked Kujoe.

“Rivalry over the brook and the land go far into the past. Your father and I are still quarrelling about the creek. Not now. Let’s leave it alone. Next thing it will be Eze’s turn to claim a piece of land and a brook that’s not his. Then it goes on until it gets to Samori True our ancient ruler,” he said. Kujoe’s slight deafness was worsening, and the older man, his friend, couldn’t put up with his annoyance for much longer. He didn’t believe Kujoe, so he spoke to him as if he weren’t deaf. But Kujoe’s deafness got worse. It baffled the older man how Kujoe came to be deaf, because he knew that unless it were hereditary or a terrible blow to his ear, it would be impossible to be deaf. But he wasn’t Kujoe and knowing how he was feeling to lose his hearing. But it was faint less than his failing eyesight. Kujoe’s long eyelashes curved around his eyes and blocked the older man’s penetrating vision. Kujoe held his head back. His eyes were straight and looking at the older man without suspecting his motives. When people who were deaf didn’t give a signal, and their eyes would not focus, something was wrong. But not so with Kujoe; he had a twinkle in his eyes. Kujoe didn’t know the man was trying out his deafness. The older man kept on looking at Kujoe, and as he had done before, a light came from Kujoe’s eyes. The older man saw it, but it wasn’t the weakness in his sight that Kujoe should have if he were deaf. Hours afterwards, Kujoe was making the most of the older man’s anger. It became a burden to him, and he was close to giving up. Then he showed the man his ears and told him of the sounds that he could hear around him. At last, Kujoe discovered a fault in the older man; worse than Kujoe, he was completely deaf in his left ear. It was the older man’s time to be angry, but he wasn’t, and he forgave Kujoe. Months later, villager rivalry teased Kujoe to the brink of moving his family from the village they grew to love-hate while they lived in virtual isolation. Some villagers preferred Kujoe’s rival herders and went into the bushes when they saw Kujoe approaching to avoid him. The villagers disagreed that they had caused Kujoe, and his family hurt and said that Kobby, his father, felt it was the right time to leave the village. Others felt differently and said it was jealousy that drove him away. Kujoe knew it was not so, and none of what the villagers said was true. He said that sometimes it was impossible not to upset someone in the village. But that didn’t save his father and sisters, and inevitably, there were conflicts. Like any family, they were unavoidable. But that wasn’t his reason, which he kept secretly. Kujoe wasn’t short of love. But when the men blamed him, that went too far, and his initial instinct was to defend himself. He almost succeeded in burning their houses had it not been for Kobby, who saw him with a burning stick ready to set the house ablaze. Kobby had tried to wean Kujoe’s anger out of him since he was a boy when his mother died. But he said it came back repeatedly, which Kujoe denied. He told his father that it would be hard to leave the moss at the water brook because someone would steal it, and unless Kobby would go there diligently every day to see to it that no herders who weren’t permitted to have their cows and goats drink water and feed on the grass at the water brook, he wouldn’t leave the village. Kujoe said it was the inheritance of his ancestors, and he wouldn’t see it go to waste or rotten.

Kobby agreed with Kujoe and told him that he couldn’t promise that the water brook and moss would be safe in his hands. Whenever Kujoe came against a rival herder at the water brook, which was rare, they became Kujoe’s enemy. Even if they weren’t, Kujoe forced them to think of him otherwise, and they could not get through to him. Like Kujoe, they stopped speaking to each other, and instead of an exchange of words, they were quick to turn to their bows and arrows to fight each other off. That wasn’t the way to sort out their problems, but it did for a brief time, because they would return to their villagers and feel they had conquered something worthwhile. Later, they would say to their families that they had met Kujoe and how wonderful it had been to humiliate an Akan for the first time. In fact, it was that they were growing further apart from each other. It went on for years, and when they got too old to aim their bows and arrows at each other, they tried to spill their blood instead. Not much, but a graze was sufficient for them to know they were wild, like the boars that they often slay in the wild who ran after their cows and goats and tried to kill them and eat their flesh. A tiny sparkle was all that would stand in their way from it turning into a vast flame, then it would spread to the villagers. It would make them become divided, and clans of tribes turned against another. Every person had peace and tolerance to hold heated hearts back from inner conflict and shared the blame for each other’s faults, as they did so many years ago when their ancestors were alive.

Kujoe’s father was like thunder himself, and the move he frustrated his enemies with, Kujoe grew to adopt from his father and irritated his enemies the same. And he didn’t see himself as one to resolve conflicts; that was why Kobby stepped out on his own, because he had tried in vain to make friends with his enemies at the water brook and it didn’t work. Whether it was frailty, guilt, or anything else, Kobby had gone, and nothing was ahead of him. Things couldn’t remain the same, and although Kobby wasn’t around, the other men could pick up from where he left off and continue as if Kobby hadn’t gone. The successive shift became apparent as arguments flared out of control, nearly dividing them but not close enough to use their spears against each other. That was common for single men in exile, as Kujoe had been for most of his life. He hoped he would find where they were and go to see them, or they heard about him and came to see him. Their coming together rested on each other to know where they were and do something about it. Some time ago, a father figure stood between them, and it wasn’t the same as uniting with a lost cousin, niece, or nephew in their youth. He could laugh aloud with them and tell them stories about the people who once lived in the great Saharan desert. He would start from the simple things and tried to convince them that he was a descendant of the influential houses of the emperors. And he could tell the truth or lie, not knowing which to believe.

Chapter 3: A Long Lost Heritage

Nobodywanted to hear or see any tears from disgruntled people from their countries. Discontent was the breakup of a friendship that turned people against each other, and the outcome was too easy. Afterwards, it would be upon the lands it would take in their present soil and neighbours, those close but too far to make peace. Like Kujoe’s father, many wanted peace, and he would toil with the people and chase the Europeans who came to cause war. The opposite to peace led to far places beyond Ghana. It was not the only stop that Samori made, picking up slaves and trading them with the Portuguese. Not much changed in the village, and old houses remained unconverted for many years. Wild plants blossomed in gutters from the ceiling and straight into the entrance, where channels led to water flow from places. With nothing to do apart from watch them dry in the summer heat, then spring again in the winter, the people left them to be dried and bounce back up again. The herder’s pitiful plea for clemency went unheard. Children knew nowhere else other than their places of birth. Awaiting in the background was Eze, an elder from the Sahara. As the water brook didn’t belong to him, his visits were infrequent, so he took only the pride that it was part of a long-lost ancestry, which others like Eze claimed, whether they had any association with the water brook or not. Eze remained a loner for reasons he hadn’t revealed to Kujoe, if he told someone from Ghana that he was in Sierra Leone. His credential to be a chieftain fitted the village he was staying in, and as the elder chieftain wanted to give up his role, Eze was the convenient choice. He’d heard about Kobby, Kobby’s father, but not much else apart from him and the water book that was in his family for years. Time after time, they begged Eze to lay down the law. He didn’t have much. But the little patience Eze had helped him find favour with the people he met. Those who drank a lot of root beer gave up when they met Eze. Fights and arson weren’t uncommon, and those against Eze set fires on their neighbours’ lands. Eze watched houses burnt to the ground but did nothing. Leaders that had nights out got sober before morning. Eze was winning. He was the first to praise the women for taking the lead to avoid war from escalating. Days and nights went on, and nothing happened. Men on the slave ship of Jose, the Portuguese captain, returned to the village to discover why the elderly chieftain had left. Eze wouldn’t give a reason, and they were angry and refused to accept a chieftain they didn’t know. Eze and his rules weren’t tight enough, and they wanted them changed, or Eze replaced with another chieftain. It had to be soon. Otherwise, the protesting villagers threatened to pack their belongings into small baskets and go on Jose’s next trip to Europe and America. But Eze held firmly to his rules, and he would not give in. As Eze got used to living with the villagers, the people took well to Eze’s freedom. But some wouldn’t and kept their threat to leave the village, despite Eze telling them that things would get better under his leadership. But they did not listen and went on for days packing their clothes, shoes, hats, dried nuts, and grains and waited for Jose to arrive from America. Mali and Ghana were near to Côte d’Ivoire, and he could get other villagers to come and live in the empty houses that were left after the others had gone to South Carolina with Jose. Eze would give their fields with corn, potatoes and their cows and goats to the new villagers. Whether Kujoe went, his cows and goats would be left for the remaining villagers to keep for themselves. But the Akan principle was that cattle that were starving and did not have an owner must go to another villager so long as they fed them, gave them water, and kept them from wild boars that fed on stray cattle at night. Kujoe, like any other, had a choice to swap the village life he knew for gold bangles, chains, rings, expensive pearls, and ivory. Eze reluctantly agreed to accept the captain’s gifts, but he would not go back on his word should the trip to America not go ahead. It was Eze’s words against captain’s and the biggest test of his chieftainship. It was more significant than all the herds of cattle put together. Kujoe listened in earnest; his weakness had gone. Temporarily perhaps, yet it had. He didn’t feel fear as he often and – no timidity of himself. Kujoe didn’t speak immediately, and not for the first time he was pretty when the men were around. The others present reacted badly and turned to walk away when Kujoe made a faint excuse that Eze’s half-brother, with a rope tightly around his neck, made the men pity him. He was six feet tall, had slim shoulders and his coarse Ivorian voice was abrupt and lacked conviction. But the men weren’t alarmed, as Kujoe was a grown man, and he could fabricate the truth if he were willing to. He had himself to blame, and factuality was against him. But they had no time to argue with Kujoe nor dig out the truth from him about what happened.

Kujoe was so tall that he could see over the other men’s heads, and he became a threat to them just by seeing them without him doing or saying a rude word. Kujoe had a rival tribe he had been fighting, and he didn’t tell Eze they had gone to the mountains and were going to the village at night when everyone was asleep. They were in Kujoe’s sights, and of all the men, Kujoe was the only one who knew their whereabouts. Eze’s searches to locate the men were in vain because Kujoe knew, but he didn’t tell them where they were. It was unlike Kujoe, a friend from a long time ago when Eze was a youth. He was a few years older, making them friends when others left and went their ways. His belief in Kujoe went on, and although people spoke against him, Eze stood by his friend. But he had no one and became a target when he took pity on his friend, and Eze learnt from his mistakes, but it fell short, and he went over them, but taking the risk was paying off the bad and setting him free to do the same again: it paid off. They were laughing, jokers whom villagers picked on too quickly and argued with soon. No wonder Eze dismissed them as pitiful and worthless of his efforts. He had no time for them, and they could burn each other’s houses down and when they were satisfied to hate each other. But they had to go whichever place Jose chose for them, the cotton plantation in South Carolina or the Caribbean, his newest route. He had been there once, and he promised not to sail the Atlantic Ocean again. But he mightn’t bother, because of Eze’s mood; he wanted to see them all leave his village. It mattered not whether children, pregnant mothers, or under-aged fathers, whether they had farms, herds, or were owners of moss.

“May God send Jose soon and remove the insane villagers from the land,” said Eze. And let Eze and his revised Akan laws continue without them. Eze was upset about them going, and he soon changed his mind when he heard that Kujoe wasn’t going with the rest of the slaves. In the few days that Eze didn’t see the villagers, they looked afresh and had no problems, which confirmed that the worrying times he had had were gone, and the villagers would be settled and not ask him any more about Jose. He used the time to catch up on some of the Akan rules that the last chieftain had practised with the villagers. One that came to him, and he was going to change, was the intermarriages, because women had been unhappy and wished their husbands were for themselves alone for a long time. There was fairness in what they were saying, but he grew up with men having several wives. He came from a family where the men married in their youth and had several wives until they ran out of dowry to keep them. It was a sad time for Eze because fear was all he could see. His cousins and nephews could be living in the same village as him, and he didn’t know them, and they didn’t know him. Eze put down the bundle of papers he had in his hands one by one and laid them out on the table in order of priority. In that short space of time, Ghana came to his mind; the times he used to walk along the hilly sides, one peak near the mountain couldn’t go away. His eyes came back into force at the seven hundred villagers he had no way of escaping. Mixed with religious habits, he wasn’t one to intervene in their beliefs and stop them from doing what he liked doing. Living in exile was different. But there was one thing he must be grateful for, and that should be his freedom. Nothing could be a better life, and to have your freedom taken away, it might have been better if you were dead rather than alive, men telling you to get up from there and sit here. Wear these clothes today and do not wear bright, colourful clothes. Dull ones signified gloom and dug deeply into the inner parts of a man’s emotions. That was leaving a man condemned, even of himself, hating himself and he could never forgive himself of the crime he did to be confined, restrained. Then he strolled out of his house and went to see where Kujoe was, but he had not yet returned to the village.

Eze had a little time left to do once he pulled and put things into corners. Under the bed had more space than anywhere else in the house, and when the villagers came in to see Eze resolve their disputes, they wouldn’t have seen anything, not unless he had put a book away, some food he had; maize was likely to be spare and being dried he could hand it out to them. The only thing was that they could not get bulk because others would starve when there was not enough left over to give to large families. It was for that exact reason the last chieftain left. Some said it was forced upon him to leave because he was giving more maize to villagers he knew rather than rationing their portions out of necessity.

The long trip from the villagers was another reason. Eze had to be careful, though, and not knowing faces was terrible enough so, who he thought were his people weren’t, and that problem would grow and become his burden and downfall if he allowed it to get out of control. Several things were on his mind, and he couldn’t allow them to continue. So Eze needed to find a quick solution. He could turn his sights to Ridgegate, the Portuguese elementary school up the road. Not really five miles from Eze’s house was a stone’s throw for him because he’d walked miles, and a practise walk to get there was his daily routine. Near to the mountain but at a shallow plain where the eighteenth-century brick-and-stone building stood, half the size of the earliest one, built for five hundred pupils.

The figure could be more, and an exaggeration could not be far off because, at that time, history wouldn’t lie in saying that some came from Ghana to the school. But they were late and had missed half a day of the lessons. The ones that rode on horseback were a little sooner to arrive but not by much. Five hours out of their studies for the day was a chunk to miss but the faithful never gave up hopes of learning to read and write. Becoming a chieftain or a chieftain’s wife was no reason for their parents’ enthusiasm. Instead, Jose instilled in them the education they needed before their brains became adults and ceased and couldn’t learn any more. Better than nothing at all. Trickery more than academia made Eze the prominent figure at the elementary school. Attendance was less after the closure and reopening. Teachers were scant, with many unsure whether to remain permanently. But they became less of a necessity, as their presence was less demanding. Eze used his new wisdom in case it arose; more teachers needed to be there to not take away Eze’s role as a pacifier of disputes but to teach humanitarianism, peace, and harmony. Many had forsaken that and went to elementary school. Eze had another thing coming his way: either he has in when he was confronted later about the slowness of the pupils engaging and not making the most of the school.

Time and Eze didn’t agree in emergency situations,and Eze wasted no time in exploring the villages and what they meant for him. Empty as it was from Akan, he couldn’t convince himself that approaching the older men in the town was worthwhile. For pride. So, Eze held his belief that he could do it and if he made a mistake and upset a few villagers, then what was wrong with that? People could be upset, and the perpetrator got away with it. So, why not him? He was none the lesser, and unless he allowed his feelings to overcome his desires, a hit would surely happen. Many before him got by living on predictions and got away with it. Chances he would too. Eze walked past dusty houses, some half-finished and needed a builder rather than an amateur. No need: he pretended he could do better than his predecessor, who had tried but failed to get the men to walk down to the riverbank and collect the stones and gravel for the mortar to repair the houses. Before sunset was asking too much, he presumed. But it shouldn’t be. He walked in the silence of the peace that there was no guarantee would last. And as they stared at Eze, he returned the compliment half-heartedly. His stiff lips shut tighter than usual; he reflected on what life was for the villagers and whether they would endure it if he thought they would.

His was guessing, but theirs might be more severe and demanded his intervention. The mist before daybreak wasn’t Eze’s problem. He walked on the tip of his toe to avoid letting his trousers get wet, and when that wasn’t working, he returned to balancing on his heels. Eze and his fiancée left West Africa shortly after the girl went to the market. Her father held her accountable for the unknown that might come from her acquaintance with Eze. His suspicious manner caught him unaware and gave him little room but to think the worst. It turned out to be a big decision and precise as to the uncertain future for his daughter. Days after the marketplace fiasco, the girl’s father spoke with her about Eze. Once they begged for pardon and were granted a clemency, close, Eze lacked customary Akan etiquette, contrary to a daughter of a noble Ghanaian and would-be son-in-law. He was a man that disliked any marriage which was not Ashanti. Eze was an opposing Akan.

Her father was making his mark on the marriage that was out of his traditional ideal. It was either her having to ignore her father and go it alone with Eze without him giving his blessing. He was out of town when he heard that the girl’s father, relatives, and males on his family side had rejected her. There were heated proceeding arguments about cross-cultural marriage, and worst of all, they were captured and were in the hands of the Akans, who were their enemies. It had leaked that Eze was not only a young chieftain and was in the household of the emperors, but he had known Jose’s father. That made things worse. The girl’s father became a hero for letting them know that their enemies were nearby. Their girls had threatened to divide their tightly knit villagers. It was ignored because of the chief, the senior, who disagreed with conflicts on marriage grounds. So, he called those held to be breaking up the villagers and the nation that had begun its unison of inter-tribal marriage.

There weren’t many accusers present, and it felt like the girl had fled the village because of that. An alarm was sounded to bring her back to the town, and an apology was made to her for the disgraceful treatment that she had endured at the hands of her villagers. It went on for days. Night came, and nothing happened. There was no trace of the men that had put out the girl, and she was not known to be with Eze. At first light on the day afterwards, he heard that he was sought after but refused to believe the threats of danger to return to the Ashanti village where he belonged. He was too scared to go back into the town to meet the girl.

Eze had not met her father, so it did not matter either way that he was present or the instigator of the conflict that had arisen two weeks before and was entering the third. It caused alarm to rise when the girl’s father didn’t attend a ceremony of the passing of the elder chieftain. Days earlier, he’d fallen ill and had died the second week after he condemned his villagers for chasing Eze from the village and threatening him with death. Many had thought that the elderly chieftain had died of a broken heart over Eze. But others who knew the elderly chieftain refuted the suggestion that it was anything as remote as that. He was in good health, and his sleep was not in question, which would be a significant worry. Its cause was more sinister, and the village was in turmoil, as the clash between the two warring factions became a worry.