Ama (15 page)

She turned to Koranten Péte. “Does she hear Asante?”

He nodded.

“From today your name is Ama,” said Konadu Yaadom, speaking slowly and raising her voice as one does to foreigners. “Ama is a good Asante name. We give it to a girl who is born on Saturday. Today you have been born again as an Asante girl. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, please, Nana,” Nandzi replied.

She thought,
the woman must be deaf; and she thinks I'm stupid and deaf too.

The child had fallen asleep at his mother's breast.

“Esi,” the mother called.

There was no reply and no one came.

“E-si!” she called again.

“Typical Fanti girl,” she said to Koranten Péte, “Lazy, untidy, never there when you need her.”

“Here, Ama,” she said to Nandzi, wrapping the sleeping child in a cloth, “Do you know how to hold a baby?”

“Nana, please: yes,” Nandzi replied again.

“Then take my child and sit with him there on that stool until Esi arrives to show you your duties.”

She turned to Koranten Péte.

“Wofa,” she said, half rising to shake his hand, “thank you for the gift. I hope she turns out as well as you promise. Slaves are so unreliable these days. Just look at Esi. She has probably gone off to the market on some pretext. The real reason will no doubt be to meet her lover.”

Just then a lad burst through the gate, followed by a crowd of younger playmates. He was brandishing a wooden musket.

“Bang, bang,” he cried as he rushed in, aiming his toy gun successively at Konadu Yaadom, Koranten Péte and Nandzi.

“Kwame,” shouted Konadu Yaadom, “Stop that nonsense at once and come and greet Nana properly. Opoku, you too.”

She raised her finger to show the other boys the gate and they fled.

“On, Nana Péte,” said Kwame, putting down his gun and using both his hands to shake Koranten Péte's right, “I didn't see it was you. You are welcome. You are always welcome. How are things in Nsuta and Mampon? Have you been in any more wars lately?”

Without waiting for a reply he took up his gun and took aim at Nandzi. “Bang, bang. Another dead Dagomba,” he said and then noticing that his victim was a stranger, “Hallo, who's this?”

“Kwame Panin!” threatened Konadu Yaadom, “Mind your manners, or you'll know what's what. Now go and play. Opoku, you too. I have matters to discuss with Nana. Wait, where is Amma Sewaa?”

“Looking after the girls,” the boy shouted back as he skipped and jumped on his way out to rejoin his friends.

Konadu Yaadom looked after him and said, “Tchtt! The boy is wild. Wild! Sometimes I have difficulty controlling him. He is forever fighting with his elder sister and bullying my poor little Opoku.”

“He'll settle down,” said Koranten Péte, “Just give him just a few years and he'll be mature enough to start attending Court.”

“That is just the trouble,” replied Konadu Yaadom, “I very much doubt that we have a few years.”

The child slept on Nandzi's lap. She listened to the conversation attentively, but carefully maintained a blank expression on her face.
If my new mistress thinks I am dumb,
she thought,
then I will act dumb
. However, her performance was unnecessary: they talked on as if she did not exist.

“What do you mean?” asked Koranten Péte, carefully putting his beaker of palm wine down beside him. There was a look of concern on his face.

“Nana is ill, seriously ill,” said Konadu Yaadom. “Did you not see him at the adae? He could scarcely walk. I have tried to persuade him to go to Okomfo Tantani for advice, or even to the Muslims, but he refuses. He says it is a small thing and it will pass. I hope he is right, but I fear otherwise.”

She paused.

“I am telling you this in the utmost confidence, do you understand?”

“Of course, of course. I noticed that he was not his old vigorous self, but I must say that it didn't strike me that it was that bad,” said Koranten Péte. “I thought that it was just concern about the news from Akuapem that was troubling him.”

“No doubt that is a factor, but I fear that there is much more to it than that. Wofa, with you of all people, I know I can be quite frank.”

She paused again.

“I don't think Nana has long to live.”

Koranten Péte rose from his seat and took a few steps. He covered his eyes with his hands as he considered the implications. Then he sat down again.

“His death would cause a major crisis,” he said. “The boy is hardly ready to take over.”

“What is more,” added the Queen Mother, dropping her voice, “I have intelligence that the Bremanhene, Ntoo Boroko, has got wind of Nana's illness. Immediately Nana dies, so my informants tell me, he plans to use force to enstool Kyei Kwame, the Kokofu king, as Nana's successor. The sudden death of our young Kwame Panin, I am told, is a key element in his plan.”

“I had no idea,” said Koranten Péte, shaking his head. “How long have you known this?”

“Not long. If you hadn't sent me a message that you were coming to see me today, I would have sent for you.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“I want you to smuggle Kwame out of Kumase. Take him back to Mampon. Brief Nana Mamponhene thoroughly about the situation. Let him make discreet preparations to march on Kumase at any time at short notice, bringing Kwame with him. I will keep him informed of the condition of Nana's health and warn him at once if there is any sign of a sudden decline.”

“Who will look after Kwame in Mampon?”

“Definitely not, I repeat not, his natural mother, my dear elder sister, Akyaamah. She has already done enough harm to Asante. In fact, Kwame's presence in Mampon must be concealed from her. It is not beyond her to side with the Kokofus against her own son, just to spite Nana. But I leave that decision to your own best judgement. Kwame will accept whatever you decide. The boy worships the very ground you walk on, you know. He has done, ever since your great victory in the north.”

“Well, I am fond of the boy. I believe that he will make a great ruler of Asante one day.”

“Your good wife, Abena Saka, Nana Mamponhemaa, might be the best person to take charge of the boy. I know that she would not tolerate any nonsense from him. But of that you must be the best judge.”

“Mama, mama.”

Kwame Panin came running in at the gate.

“Nana is coming. Get ready, get ready!”

Nandzi thought,
every one around here seems to be called Nana
. Could this really be the King coming to pay such an informal visit?

It was indeed Nana Osei Kwadwo, fourth Asantehene, descended on his mother's side from Opoku Ware, second Asantehene and on his father's side from Osei Tutu himself, the founder of the Asante nation. He walked slowly and with a stick. Several attendants hovered behind him but he brushed them off impatiently as he passed through the gate, allowing only one to accompany him.

“
Àgòo
,” he called, giving notice of his arrival.

Konadu Yaadom and Koranten Péte rose to their feet and Nandzi followed suit. As she did so, the baby pissed, wetting himself, his cloth and Nandzi's too. Then he woke and began to cry. Her child's cries threw Konadu Yaadom into a state of confusion. She tried to get a stool for the King, to welcome him, to help him to the stool and to deal with the baby all at once. Osei Kwadwo waved her away; Koranten Péte went to get the stool and Konadu Yaadom took the baby from Nandzi, giving her a look which said it was all her fault. As soon as the King had taken his seat, she sat too and gave the child her breast.

“Nana,” she said, “You are welcome. Please excuse this fellow's bad manners.”

Koranten Péte had remained standing.

Osei Kwadwo motioned him to a stool.

“Nana, I have already presumed on Nana Asantehemaa's hospitality too long. May I ask your permission to leave?”

Nandzi was still standing. She felt that she could hardly sit down uninvited in the presence of the King. She felt acutely embarrassed standing there in her wet cloth, an uninvited guest. The King's attendant looked at her with undisguised curiosity, but no one else seemed to notice her so she remained where she was, wishing she could make herself invisible.

“Sit down, my son,” said the King, “Why should you attempt to leave just as I come in? How is your wife? And Nana Mamponhene?”

He turned to Konadu Yaadom.

“Nana Asantehemaa,” he said with a smile, “I need a drink. That short walk from my quarters has left me thirsty.”

“Nana, of course,” she replied.

The child had gone back to sleep. She handed him to Nandzi, who took that as a signal to sit down again.

“What will you take? I have some fresh palm wine. Cool and refreshing in this hot weather.”

“My child, I am old enough to be your father, and then some. Stop mothering me. Give me some European liquor.”

“Nana, are you sure you should . . .?”

He cut her inquiry dead with one look and she went to bring the drink.

“E-si!” she called, but Esi had not yet returned.

When Konadu Yaadom came back with a bottle and two glasses on a silver tray, Osei Kwadwo was on his hobbyhorse.

“The walls will be of stone: I have people searching the kingdom for a good source. It is not easy to find. The stone must be strong but the pieces must not be too heavy to carry. Then the roof. These our thatched roofs leak too much. What I plan to do is to bring plenty of brass pans from the coast and have them beaten flat. I will make a framework of carved elephant tusks and lay the brass sheets over them with a good slope so that the rain water runs off. I shall have the doors and windows sheathed in gold, like my niece's there upstairs.”

He pointed up to Konadu Yaadom's first floor window.

“And that is not all. When the house is finished, I shall mark the occasion by giving each of my ministers a large loan to improve his own house. I want Kumase to be the finest city in the world.”

Konadu Yaadom had heard all this before, not once but many times. She changed the subject.

“Nana, do you see what Wofa brought me?”

She indicated Nandzi.

The King peered at her and then beckoned.

“Does she understand Asante?”

“A little,” said Koranten Péte. “That is one reason why I chose her for Nana. Less trouble to train.”

Nandzi approached, overtaken with embarrassment and confusion. She felt weak at the knees as she stood before the King and she was afraid she would drop the child. She sank to her knees and bowed her head.

Osei Kwadwo chucked her under the chin and raised her head so that he could look at her face.

“A pretty girl,” he said. “A few years ago, I might have taken her as a wife. I still have half a mind . . . What is your name?”

“Please, Nana, they call me . . .”

She paused, caught her own name at her lips, and said, “Ama.”

She was aware of Konadu Yaadom's nodded approval.

The Queen Mother said, “All right, Ama, you can go back to your seat.”

“Wait,” said the King, “Let me look at the child.”

“Opoku Fofie,” the child's mother said, in case the King had forgotten his name.

“A handsome boy. One day he will surely occupy the Golden Stool,” said the King.

“By the grace of God,” replied Konadu Yaadom.

“It is this child I have come to talk to you about,” said the King.

“The child?” asked Konadu Yaadom, puzzled, as Nandzi made her way back to her seat, still trembling.

“Yes, the child.”

He made an attempt to stand up. The lad hastened to help him but Koranten Péte intervened.

“Nana, let me,” he said, taking the bottle of Dutch schnapps from the King and pouring a silent libation to the ancestors.

“The child,” repeated the King. “It is not good that he should grow up without a father. Every boy, especially a future Asantehene, needs a father to look up to, to train him in manly ways. And a young woman like you needs a good man. I want you to marry again.”

“But, Nana, it is barely a month since Adu Twum Kaakyire died. I am still in mourning.”

“Nana Konadu, do you remember what I told you six years ago when I fetched you from Mampon and had you enstooled as Asantehemaa on your own new stool? We royals are not like common people. Our noble birth imposes certain obligations upon us. This is one of those obligations.”

“Does Nana have some one in mind?” asked Koranten Péte.

“Yes,” replied the King. “My son, Owusu Ansa. It is time he settled down. Otherwise he might get himself into trouble. You see,” he continued with a twinkle in his eye, “I know the nature of young men. It is not all that many years since I was one myself.”

They knew that he was referring to the adulterous relations he had had with not one but four of the wives of his predecessor, Kusi Obodum. It had only been his royal uncle's indulgence and the brave sacrifice of his own life by the harem-keeper (what was his name now?) that had saved Osei Kwadwo's skin.

“Is that settled then?” he asked.

“If Nana says so,” replied Konadu Yaadom.

“Not ‘If Nana says so,'“ said the King. “Rather, ‘Nana, I should be happy to marry Owusu Ansa.'”

“Nana, I should be happy to marry Owusu Ansa.”

“Now that's better.”

He took a deep draught of the alcohol.

As Osei Kwadwo licked his lips, Kwame Panin rushed in. Seeing the King, he came to a sudden halt and then proceeded to walk forward with a measured pace.

“Ah, Kwame, my boy, come and greet me,” said the King.

When the customary pleasantries had been exchanged, he introduced the boy to his attendant.

“This is Opoku, Opoku Frede-Frede I call him. He is a fine boy. Take him away and get to know him. In future he may serve you well.”

“Who is the lad, Nana?” Koranten Péte asked when the two youngsters had retired.