The Two Hearts of Kwasi Boachi: A Novel (8 page)

On 19 February at two o’clock Verveer received word that
Kwaku Dua I was on his way. The members of the band
arranged themselves in a semicircle and launched into the so-called “March for the King of Ashanti.” The retainers of H.H.
were so numerous that most of them were obliged to remain
outside. Only Kwame Poku, the king’s nephew and heir to the
throne, and his son Kwasi Boachi, were admitted, along with
nine young girls belonging to the royal family. The king and
his courtiers were heavily laden with gold; the former was literally bowed down by the weight. A porcelain jug of palm
wine was brought and two golden-eared calabashes. When
H.H. took a draught of wine, his trusted slaves held a bowl
under his chin into which he deliberately spilled some liquid
from his mouth: this spillage was eagerly drunk by them.
When H.H. spat on the ground, we saw his bodyguards take
up the royal fluid and rub it into their skins. We presented
H.H. with portraits of our own royal family and a camera
obscura.

The negotiations were now underway and proceeded during the following days with varying degrees of success, but at
this time Verveer fell ill. His condition declined by the day. He
su fered greatly and we began to understand why these regions
are known as “the white man’s grave.”

On 26 February we took a stroll in the night and I tripped
over some obstacle in my path. The orderlies escorting us lowered their lanterns and to our horror we saw three freshly severed heads of young negroes lying before me. It was the great
feast day of the fetish named Ady, on which occasion it is customary for all to shake hands with the king and his grandees.
Preceded by our musicians we made haste to join the ceremony, but could barely reach H.H. through the dense crowd. A
large number of people were sacrificed on the graves of the
royal family that day. This ceremony was performed once each
month.
¹

Although Kwame and I were informed of the progress of the negotiations, we were indifferent to their nature. We amused ourselves with the gifts and enjoyed the attention that was lavished on us. The Dutch dagger, given to me by Verveer, was my very first weapon. Kwame and I took turns to wear it. Our delight pleased my father. This gift in particular softened him towards the Hollanders, who understood that they had succeeded in influencing the Asantehene’s mood through his son. From then on there was an unspoken connection between me and the negotiations.

The governor-general’s illness lasted for two weeks. This was taken to be a sign that our gods were not in favour of his mission. Nevertheless van Drunen and the other officers succeeded in bringing the affair to a satisfactory conclusion. A contract was drawn up: in exchange for firearms the Asantehene promised to supply the Dutch agent Huydecoper with one thousand male slaves/recruits annually. (Slaves
slash
recruits, a script notation that would earn the Dutch much international notoriety and an official complaint, served against them by England, for infracting the law against slave trading.)

As a token of goodwill, Kwaku Dua was promptly issued with 2000 rifles, valued at 32,500 guilders, and 812½ ounces of gold. He was left in no doubt as to the expectation that, prior to the delegation’s departure, a similar token of goodwill would come from him. My father acceded to this and promised to reflect on a suitable collateral for his side of the contract.

Not until 13 March was Verveer’s health sufficiently restored for him to sign his name to the terms of agreement. My father put a cross on the document. Now that their mission had been accomplished, the Hollanders were anxious to return as soon as possible. My father invited them to stay another forty days. Verveer declined the offer with as much civility as he could muster, and the date of their return was set for seven days later.

During that final week Kwame and I spent most of our time with the delegation. Each day we presented ourselves at the guests’ quarters, where we were entertained with games. We were, for instance, given brightly coloured playing cards with pictures of Holland and taught to play Snap. In the darkened officers’ tent we were regaled with magic-lantern shows. Wolves and giants loomed inexplicably on the canvas. The moving figures and their adventures became just as dear to us as our own tales of Spider Anansi.

Another favourite haunt of ours was the building site by the palace gate, where the Hollanders had made a clearing in a forest in readiness for the construction of a vast Greek temple. Eight Corinthian columns were erected on five tall steps. The richly ornamented altar, four giant urns, and capitals adorned with open-work acanthus leaves all gave the impression of weight and solidity. We offered our help and surprised the other children in the family by lifting great chunks of marble above our heads. In reality the entire structure was made of wood, painted to resemble marble, and had been transported all the way from Holland in sections ready for assembly. The wood, which had got wet during the passage across the marshland, was becoming warped in the dry air of Kumasi, and the Hollanders had great difficulty fitting the sections together.

Among our new toys there was one that held a particular fascination for me: a shiny board with carved figurines of ivory and ebony. Van Drunen took it upon himself to teach us the game, which I found more appealing than our
wari
, at which I nearly always lost to Kwame. As we did not yet speak a common language and the interpreter was needed elsewhere, this good man sat himself down on the ground with us and explained the rules and skills of the game by means of hand-signals. While we were thus engaged he acquired his first knowledge of Twi by imitating the words we spoke, and we in turn learnt our first halting words of Dutch. The guttural pronunciation of the Dutch terms for the chess game sounded especially hilarious to our ears.

Kwame was drawn primarily to the carved figurines themselves. He gave names to them and, in contravention of all the rules, pretended that they kissed each other and gave birth to infant pawns. As for me, I was filled with a passionate desire to comprehend van Drunen’s moves, to learn how to predict them and surpass him in mental prowess.

Van Drunen also devoted an entire afternoon to exciting our interest in another use of the chessboard. With a few words and many gestures he demonstrated to us the wondrous multiplication of a grain of wheat. On the first black square he laid a single grain, on the white square next to it two grains, on the following squares four and sixteen grains respectively. While he was counting out the two hundred and fifty-six for the fifth square, Kwame’s interest flagged and he wandered off in search of someone to tell him a story with the magic lantern. But I wanted van Drunen to go on. When he saw that the principle was dawning on me, he traced what were to me then incomprehensible ciphers in the sand, and enthusiastically poured two handfuls of grain on the board, thereby flooding all the squares. Then he brushed off all the grains, pointed to the heap of wheat and the ciphers in the sand by turns, and then stabbed his finger meaningfully at the sixth square. I jumped up, took the sack of wheat from him and emptied the contents over the chessboard. Van Drunen slapped his thighs and roared with laughter, shook my hand and called some sergeants to tell them what I had done. Then I brushed the grains away again and stared at the many squares which still needed filling, racking my brains to understand the mystery I had just been demonstrated. Although I could not find an explanation nor the words to express what I had observed, I had been stirred by intimations of a world existing outside the one I knew. I felt the same excitement as during our initiation rites with the fetish priests. When I raised my eyes I saw the soldiers grinning at my emotion. Their amusement embarrassed me deeply. I realized that this was familiar ground to them, and that I was looking in from the outside. This was not the only secret knowledge they shared, and they were tickled as much by my exclusion as by their power either to reveal or withhold a subsequent secret.

I gave up on the chessboard and grains and ran away to find Kwame by the magic lantern. My mind was reeling with my discovery, but I kept it to myself. I snuggled up to my friend and watched the story in pictures of one Struwelpeter, who was only a child but whose fingers and nose were snipped off as punishment for no other crime than failing to keep spotlessly clean.

One morning in that last week van Drunen instructed a few soldiers to entertain us with hand puppets. Half hidden behind a cloth, arms aloft, they played a wooden husband and wife who kept beating each other about the head with sticks. Kwame and I were rolling over the ground laughing, when I suddenly noticed my father’s presence. His arrival had not been announced, and he was without his retinue. The look in his eyes was vacant. He stood there for some time, watching us. Finally he gave a nod of assent and left, as if the sight of Kwame and me enjoying ourselves had reassured him.

On the evening before the Hollanders’ departure, Kwame and I were summoned by my father. The Asantehene received us in the throne room, but the council of dignitaries was absent. There were some tribal headmen in attendance, including Badu Bonsu, the king of Ahanta, but after a few kind words they withdrew. My father addressed us through his speaker, as was his custom. They had discussed the matter beforehand. The speaker adopted a formal tone, almost a drone.

“Kwasi, Nana has taken an important decision, a most fortunate one for you,” the speaker intoned, eyeing me.
Nana
means papa. It was the customary term of address for the sovereign, but coming from the lips of the speaker it always made me feel slightly cheated.

“. . . important for your future. Nana has decided on a great mission. He has heard numerous encouraging accounts of the riches of Europe, of the knowledge of the white men. You shall go to gather them on our behalf.”

“Just as they have come to us, so we shall go to them.” It was my father himself who was speaking now. He did not look at me, but kept his eyes fixed ahead as if he were addressing a crowd.

His speaker added: “Nana has organized it thus. The Hollanders will feed you and teach you all they know. Nana will miss you, but finds comfort in knowing that you understand what this means to our people.”

I understood nothing. I glanced at Kwame, and when he did not react, at my father.

“Tell him about the son of Adusei Kra,” he told the speaker.

“Nana, in his great wisdom, has understood that you, Kwame Poku, are still in need of solace after the loss of your father. So he does not wish to separate you from your friend.”

My father lost his patience. “That is not the only reason,” he broke in. “Kwame is the son of my sister.”

“Nana lets it be known that you are his special concern, since you are the son of his beloved sister. If the gods are willing, you will one day succeed Nana. So in your case a knowledge of Europe may be of even greater consequence.”

“But Nana,” I asked, “where are we to go?”

“Overseas,” the speaker replied.

“Far away?”

“Yes, far,” concluded my father. He dismissed the speaker, telling him to take Kwame with him. Once my father and I were alone his attitude changed. He rose, held me tight and kissed me, but I did not have the strength to hug him in return. I was like the dead at the hour of their own funeral, astounded by the truth, but no longer capable of taking any action.

“Kwasi, Kwasi . . .” he murmured again and again, rocking me in his arms, “. . . we will love you when you return. As we do now. More even. You will be an important man. More important than I. Kwasi . . .” At this point he was called away to attend to the Dutch envoys.

From van Drunen’s report:

When the palace gates were opened, the men who had escorted
us into the inner courtyard fled: they are forbidden to see the
king’s women, on pain of death. The Asantehene, thronged by
hundreds of his women, came to us, not walking, but dancing!
He shook hands with each of us, whereupon we occupied the
seats that were assigned to us. Before us sat a score of eunuchs.
H.H. took a seat among his most prized wives. Most of them
wore white paint on their torsos and faces, and had shaven
heads. But others had let their hair grow in certain places to form
a pattern of crescent moons, snakes, rosettes, and so on. They
took turns to perform a dance, and sang fitting songs. When
H.H. himself began to dance once more, all his women showed
their approval: they ran towards him, whirled around him and
tried to mop the perspiration on his head with their cloths. Subsequently they sang some songs of their own composition. The
king’s sister arrived a little later; she was dressed in an embroidered yellow silken shift and lace veil. She was accompanied by
fifty female slaves, all of whom filed past us, dancing and striking all manner of contorted poses. The proceedings as a whole
were impressive in their exotic splendour, and the grandeur of
the occasion was the more marked for never having been witnessed previously by either Europeans or natives.

After the meal the king went to the palisade of his palace,
where he was completely taken by surprise in the gloom of the
night by the spectacle which we had mounted for him with considerable e fort and expenditure. Suddenly, the white frontage of
our temple, topped by the Dutch flag, was flooded with light as if
by magic. The illumination was achieved employing the most
modern techniques. Within the Greek façade stood a statue,
which was lit up from behind by means of mirrors. The columns
were lit from below with focused light beams. With the aid of
lenses from the magic lantern, moving images of rippling water,
a burst of flames and passing clouds were projected. Beyond the
façade stood urns with Bengal fire. Above them hung a blazing
sun with rotating rays. On either side of the temple preparations
had been made for an elaborate display of fireworks by way of a
grand finale.