Ama (21 page)

“Do you see why we have to have slaves?” Konadu Yaadom asked Ama as they made their way out of Konadu-krom. “You people of the north like kola too much and we Asante are the only ones who have it. It takes much labour to collect it and send it to Kafaba. Since there are not enough native born Asante to do this work, we need slaves. It is the same with gold mining, as you will soon see. That is why we have to bring your people to help us. We treat you well. No man will point at your children and call them the children of a slave. In just one generation, you will all be Asante yourselves. As for you, Ama, you already speak our language like a native. When we get back to Kumase I shall start looking for a good Asante husband for you. Then you will marry and have children and your children will be Asante.”

Ama looked up at Konadu Yaadom, sitting in relative comfort in her hammock. The Queen Mother was in a good mood. Ama considered exposing the flaws in her argument. No, that would not do. She knew her mistress too well to trust her. She was too proud, too arrogant, too fixed in her way of thinking, too intolerant of the views of anyone not of her own station, to listen to the opinions of a slave.

So she dissembled and replied, “Yes, Nana. Thank you Nana. Nana is very kind.”

Maybe that would solve her problems, she thought: an Asante husband. But that did not take account of the precocious sexual passion of the Asantehene. Until he tired of her, he would not willingly give her up to another man. And, young as he was, he was the King. There could be nothing but trouble ahead.
The longer this excursion lasts
, she thought,
the better.

* * *

Konadu Yaadom's temporary home was one of the few with walls, though they were only of woven grass matting.

It was divided into four, a bathroom, a reception room, a bedroom for the Queen Mother and another where Ama slept with the baby.

One day Ama was feeding Opoku Fofie a fine pulp which she had mashed from the food in her own bowl. He was a slow eater, but Ama had plenty of time. It had been her job to wean Nowu, so she was not without experience.

It was midday. Konadu Yaadom had spent the morning on an inspection of some distant mine workings. She was unused to walking long distances and had returned exhausted and soon fallen asleep in the next room, on the other side of a wall of matting.

Ama heard a whispered conversation outside but she could not make out the words.

Then a male voice called out, “Àgòo!”

Ama thought she recognised the voice but before she could react, Konadu Yaadom replied irritably, “Who is it?”

“Please Nana, my name is Mensa. Nana Koranten Péte has sent me with a message.”

The baby had fallen asleep. Ama laid him down on the mat and then lay down beside him. There was nothing for her to do until Opoku Fofie woke up. She could hear the sounds of Konadu Yaadom preparing to receive the messenger in the next room. Nana would call her if she was needed. She wondered idly what could have brought the musketeer. Her eyelids were heavy. She was about to doze off.

“You may enter,” Ama heard Konadu Yaadom call.

She heard Mensa make the customary greetings.

“Nana there is no bad news. Nana Asantehene is well. Nana's children are all well. No one has died. No one is ill. None of the tributary states has rebelled. There is peace in all the land,” said Mensa.

“Nana Koranten Péte has not sent you all this way to tell me this,” replied Konadu Yaadom.

If he had come straight to the point she would have been outraged at his crassness; yet she was impatient with the niceties of custom.

“Nana is right,” said Mensa, “I have learned Nana Koranten Péte's message by heart and with Nana's permission I will now recite it.”

Konadu Yaadom must have nodded, for he continued, “Firstly I am to convey to Nana, Nana Koranten Péte's respectful greetings. Secondly I am to say that Nana Koranten Péte has received certain intelligence that makes it essential that Nana return to Kumase with the utmost haste.”

Ama pricked up her ears. She raised herself on one elbow, no longer drowsy. Suddenly it struck her that the Queen Mother was almost certainly unaware of her presence. It was too late now to slip away: she would be heard. She decided that it would be best to feign sleep.

“Thirdly,” continued Mensa, “I am to say that the details of the matter are so confidential, that they cannot be entrusted to any messenger. Fourthly, Nana is respectfully requested to advise Nana Koranten Péte of her approach to Kumase so that he can meet Nana and brief Nana fully concerning the matter, before Nana enters the city. Fifthly, Nana is respectfully requested to ensure that the slave girl, Ama, returns with Nana.”

In spite of the heat, Ama felt suddenly cold when she heard her name.
What can all this mean?
she wondered. She had done nothing wrong. She shivered.
Could it be . . . Osei Kwame?
She dismissed the thought. No one knew of their relationship except Minjendo and Dzimwa. Both were aware of the seriousness of her predicament. She felt sure that neither would have betrayed her secret.

“Finally,” concluded Mensa, “I was instructed to make sure that this message should fall on no one's ears but Nana's.”

Ama's heart was pounding. She lay down, taking care to make no sound. She screwed up her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep.

“I have heard,” replied Konadu Yaadom. “Is that all you know? You have no idea of the meaning of the message?”

“Nana, please, that is all I know.”

“Repeat your message, then. Say it slowly, one sentence at a time.”

Mensa repeated the message, using precisely the same words. Koranten Péte had put his faith in him, Mensa knew. Success in this mission, he knew too, would be generously rewarded: he had been told as much. On the other hand, he had no illusions: if he got one word wrong, he might well be handed over to the Chief Executioner.

“How long did it take you to get here?” asked Konadu Yaadom when he had finished.

“Please, Nana, three days. Nana, I beg your pardon, three and a half days, including today. I ran all the way.”

“You will rest this afternoon and tonight. Have you eaten?”

“Please, Nana, not since last night,” replied Mensa.

“Amaaa!” called Konadu Yaadom.

In his sleep, Opoku Fofie, heard his mother's voice and whimpered. Ama's heart pounded even faster. She said nothing and kept her eyes shut.

“Where is that girl?” she heard the Queen Mother mutter.

Then she heard the sound of the matting being pushed aside.

“Ama,” said Konadu Yaadom sharply, shaking her shoulder.

“Nana?” asked Ama, rubbing her eyes, acting as if she had suddenly awoken from a deep sleep.

“Sleeping? At this time of the day? Have you no work to do? Didn't you hear the messenger come in?”

“Please, Nana. I beg you. I fed the baby and then I just fell asleep.”

“This is . . . what did you say your name was? Yes, Mensa. See that he gets something to eat. And then find him somewhere to sleep tonight. He will be returning to Kumase before dawn tomorrow. Give him some food to take with him. Understood?”

Ama's heart skipped a beat. Her subterfuge had succeeded. She took care not to look at Mensa.

“Please, Nana, yes,” she replied humbly.

“And, Ama. Get everything ready. We shall also be leaving early tomorrow.”

* * *

“Ama,” said Mensa, as she served him, “How are you?”

“Please, sir, I am fine,” she replied meekly.

“Are you sure? What have you been up to?”

“Up to? What do you mean?”

He gripped her lower arm and held it tight while he spoke.

“Promise to forget at once that I ever told you this.”

“Told me what? You are talking in riddles.”

“What I am going to tell you now. But first you must promise.”

“If you say so. I promise.”

He relaxed his grip and looked around to make sure that no one was within hearing distance. He looked her in the eye. She dropped her gaze, apprehensive, wondering what this was all about.

“Ama. I have no idea what mischief you have been up to, but I must warn you: you are in deep trouble. That is all I know. Now forget that I ever told you this. You promised, remember?”

She nodded.

“Now bring me another bowl of palm wine. Or rather bring me the whole calabash. I will serve myself. I am thirsty. This afternoon I am going to get drunk.”

* * *

Ama pushed her way through the undergrowth at the edge of the settlement.

Soon she was inside the high forest and she could move more easily. She stopped and looked back through the dim light to make sure she had not been followed.

“Ama,” she told herself, “Take your bearings. You have not come here to spend the night with the forest dwarfs.”

The sound of distant voices drifted up from the mine camp. All else was still and silent. She moved on and the dry leaves crackled under her bare feet. Around her the trunks of great trees rose up towards the dark green canopy above. She dropped down between two buttresses of a silk cotton tree and tried to think. The thoughts refused to come. Her mind was a confusion of fear and misery. She lay on her back and looked up. The sun was overhead. Its light fell on the roof of the canopy and was absorbed. Dust particles danced in a beam of light. She closed her eyes and tried to think.

When she awoke, the sun had sunk towards the horizon. For a moment she panicked: Opoku Fofie might have woken in her absence. Then she remembered: Konadu Yaadom had said she would look after him this afternoon while Ama made preparations for the journey back to Kumase.

She sat on her knees, her back upright. Taking up the small calabash of palm wine which she had brought with her, she spoke aloud.

“Itsho. Spirit of my dearly beloved Itsho. It is I, Nandzi, whom they now call Ama. Itsho, you gave your life trying to save mine. Itsho, if you are there in the world of the spirits, hear me, I beg you. Dzimwa says I have been neglecting to bring you food and drink. He is right. I beg your forgiveness. Only, it is difficult. I have nothing of my own. Even this palm wine which I bring you now, I had to steal.

“Itsho, I am in trouble. I know it is so. What Mensa told me has only confirmed it. I know it is my fault. I should never have started this thing with the boy. But I was tempted. I pitied him. I had no intention. He is just a boy. It is true that I am fond of him, but I cannot love him, even though he is the King. My love is reserved for you, Itsho. All my life I will never forget you.”

She saw him. For the first time in many months she saw his face. He was smiling; there was laughter in his eyes. Ama began to sob. She sobbed with joy.

“Oh, Itsho. You have heard me. I knew you would not forsake me. You know everything. I know you will help me in my trouble. Tell me what to do.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes and he was gone. But she was at peace now.

* * *

Koranten Péte was waiting for them at the first village beyond the city gate.

The bearers lowered Konadu Yaadom's hammock. She stood up and stretched. The Queen Mother and the Regent exchanged greetings. Then they went into the house of the village chief.

Ama played hide and seek with Opoku Fofie, who shrieked with joy when he discovered her behind her fingers. She was calm. The fear of death, of cruel torture, had left her. Whatever was in store for her she knew that Itsho would be by her side.

She had considered trying to escape, but the logistical problems had defeated her. Which way would she go? How would she avoid capture? Where would she get food? Where would she sleep? It would be better, she had decided, just to take things as they came.

She picked the little boy up and swung him gently round and round.

Konadu Yaadom came out of the house. She neither looked at Ama nor spoke to her. She mounted her hammock and the party moved on into the city and to the palace.

* * *

Esi was the only person in Konadu Yaadom's courtyard. She took the baby from Ama. The child babbled away at her.

“Esi, I want you to go to the market. Put Opoku Fofie on your back and take him with you.”

Konadu Yaadom gave her her instructions.

“Nana, please, shall I go too?” Ama asked.

“No. Stay here,” was the abrupt reply.

Ama went to her room. She was washing away the dust of the journey when she heard voices in the courtyard.

“Ama,” she heard Konadu Yaadom call.

“Nana, please I am bathing. I will come in a minute,” she called back.

The High Sheriff was waiting for her.

“You are called Ama?” he asked her.

“Yes, please,” she replied.

“I have orders to search you and your room. Nana, with your permission.”

Let them search
, thought Ama as she waited.
What could they find amongst our paltry possessions?

The High Sheriff stood chatting politely to Konadu Yaadom as his men conducted the search.

“What is this all about?” Konadu Yaadom asked him, knowing that Ama would hear.

“Nana, we have information that a quantity of gold has been stolen.”

The policemen emerged, one of them triumphantly holding a small leather bag in the air. He gave it to his master, who handed it to Ama.

“Open it,” the Chief said to her.

“I have never seen this bag before. It is not mine,” protested Ama.

“Open it,” he ordered again.

She untied the leather thong.

“Look inside,” he told her.

“Please, it is full of gold dust,” she said.

“You are under arrest. My orders are to take you straight to the Asantehene's court. You had better take your things with you. You may be away for a long time. Nana, with your permission?”

Konadu Yaadom nodded. Ama tried to catch her eye, but she looked away.

“Do as the man says,” was all she said.

* * *