Wife of the Gods (2 page)

The shrine itself was a low mud hut containing a large, brightly
painted wood carving plastered with human and animal figures. The
gods endowed this carved object with magical powers that the priest
could summon whenever needed. That’s why it was often called a
“fetish object” and the priest a “fetish priest,” even though many
of the priests didn’t like the word
fetish
used to describe
them.

Efia remembered entering another hut close to the shrine while
her family stayed outside. It was hotter than a northern desert in
there, smelly and stifling. Efia knelt down in front of Togbe and
two other priests. They poured libation with schnapps and drank up
whatever was left in the bottle. Togbe, sweat dripping off his face
and body, chanted magic words and waved an oxtail fly whisk over
different shrine objects.

Every stitch of Efia’s clothing was removed, and a female elder
inspected her to make sure she was a virgin. As Efia bowed down in
obeisance to the fetish objects, she felt as if she would be choked
to death by the smoky heat and the alcohol breath of the men.

But she didn’t die. She survived. Her family left her in Bedome
and she began her life at the shrine. She never tried to run away.
The gods would punish her for that, and anyway, where would she go?
Once Efia had reached puberty, Togbe Adzima began to have sex with
her. At the age of sixteen, she had her first child, Ama, who was
now fourteen.

Efia had missed her period last month and she could tell she was
pregnant again. She had suffered two miscarriages since Ama was
born. Her second live child, a boy, had died of malaria before he
reached the age of one.

Togbe Adzima would want to eat plantain
fufu
for lunch.
Balancing an empty basket on her head without the aid of her hands,
Efia walked through the thick bush of the forest toward the
plantain grove. Her feet, broad and solid from years of walking,
easily passed over the tricky terrain of low shrubs, dead leaves,
fallen trees, and trailing vines. It had rained a little last
night, and the moist earth was fragrant. Overhead in the trees,
birds filled the crisp air with bright morning song.

As she came level with a palm tree, she caught a glimpse of an
animal on the ground barely a second before she stepped on it.
Snake
. She jumped to the side with natural quickness. But
when she looked now, she saw that it wasn’t a snake. It was a human
foot, toes pointing up.

Efia put down her basket and moved slowly around the palm tree.
She saw a woman lying on her back partially obscured by the
branches of a low shrub. She was fully clothed. Her legs were
together, her arms by her sides.
Sleeping?

“Heh!
” Efia called out. “Hello?”

She came forward two steps, pulled the branches aside, and when
she saw the face, the wide-open eyes and the gaping mouth, she
recoiled and her blood went cold.

No
.

“Gladys?”

In a way, Gladys seemed different, in another way she looked the
same. Efia touched her and was shocked by how cold and rigid she
was. Her eyes were open but unmoving and cloudy white, as though
filled with coconut milk.

“Gladys
.” Efia began to cry.
“Ao
, Gladys, wake up,
wake up.
Gladys!
”

She got to her feet and whirled in a circle shrieking for help,
but no one was close by. She began to run. Her vision darkened, her
hearing deadened, and her feet lost sensation.

♦

She burst out of the bush and spotted a man walking ahead along
the Bedome-Ketanu footpath, and she ran after him screaming. He
stopped and turned around, and as Efia got closer she recognized
him as Isaac Kutu, the local herbalist and healer. His compound was
not far away. She felt a surge of hope.
Healer. Maybe he can do
something
.

“Mr. Kutu.” She was gasping, trying to catch her breath. “Mr.
Kutu, please come.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Gladys Mensah.
Hurry!
”

Efia turned and began to run back. She could hear Mr. Kutu
keeping up behind her. The bush seemed thicker and more tangled now
that her energy was so spent, but she knew the way well and got
there quickly.

The body was still there. Efia stopped, pointed, and then leaned
over with her hands on her knees to get her breath.

Mr. Kutu pulled aside the obscuring bush and drew back at the
sight. He stared for a moment and then knelt down by the body. He
touched it softly and whispered something Efia didn’t catch. He
looked stunned.

Kutu stood up. “Bring me something to cover her.”

Several plantain trees, their leaves long and broad, were only a
few feet away. Efia pulled on a branch and broke it off. Kutu laid
it gently across Gladys’s body. It seemed much better that way, so
much more dignified.

“I have to go and get Inspector Fiti,” Kutu said. “Can you wait
here for us to come back?”

Efia backed away, shaking her head. “No. I’m afraid to stay with
her by myself.”

She turned and bolted back to Bedome without stopping or looking
back.

♦

Including the shrine, Bedome was a collection of a dozen
scattered thatch-roofed huts. Yesterday’s rain had stained the soil
dark, but once it dried out, it would be the identical monotonous
light brown color of the dwellings.

The normal morning’s activities – sweeping, cooking, collecting
water, the smaller children playing – had begun, but everything
stopped as Efia came running. She collapsed to the ground wheezing
with exhaustion, her face buried in her palms. The trokosi wives
came to her at once, dropping down beside her.
What’s wrong,
what’s the matter?

Efia couldn’t speak. She was paralyzed with shock. Nunana, the
oldest, most experienced wife, her body worn and wiry and her
breasts wrung dry by the toll of six children, pulled Efia up and
led her protectively away.

“What happened?” she said softly. And suddenly more sharply,
“Stop crying and tell me what’s wrong.”

As Efia was sobbing out her answer, Togbe Adzima came out of his
hut shirtless and yelled, “What are you people doing standing
around like cocoa trees?”

He was in his late fifties. He was oily and never looked clean,
and his eyes were red and muddy from drinking.

“Nunana!
”

She came to him quickly.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Please, Togbe. Efia says Gladys Mensah is dead in the
forest.”

“What?
”

“She found her at the plantain grove.”

“When?”

“Just now, Togbe.”

He looked baffled. He beckoned Efia over, and the children of
the shrine fell in behind her, eyes wide with curiosity.

“What are you saying, Efia?”

She repeated what she had told Nunana. Togbe Adzima frowned.
“Are you sure?”

Efia nodded. She tried to wipe her tears away, but they kept
pouring.

Adzima went into his hut and came back out buttoning his shirt.
“I’m going to see for myself. Finish your work. Make sure my
akasa
is ready when I return.”

♦

The Boatengs’ home was a ramshackle house on its last legs. When
Inspector Fiti entered, Mr. Boateng looked wary and his wife was
visibly nervous. She offered Fiti some water, which he dismissed as
if she had suggested poison. Four of the seven children were at
home, all of them in tattered clothing.

“Where is Samuel?” Fiti asked in Ewe.

“Please, Inspector, he went with some friends to somewhere,”
Boateng said.

“Find him,” Fiti said. “I want to talk to him. Right now.”

Boateng’s eight-year-old son went to look for Samuel and came
back with him a few minutes later. Samuel was nineteen, compact and
wiry, the striations of his ropy muscles showing through his faded
shirt.
chale-wate
sandals clung to his muddy feet by
threads. He looked suspiciously from the inspector to his
parents.

“Sit on the floor,” Fiti told him.

Samuel’s face was fluid and mobile. His forehead creased and
relaxed in rapid waves like a physical manifestation of his mind at
work. He sat down looking both wary and defiant. The inspector
moved closer and stood over him.

“Have you seen Gladys Mensah today?”

Samuel’s brow furrowed. “Please, no, sir.”

“What about yesterday? Did you see her?”

“Yesterday? No, sir.”

“Don’t lie, boy. Some farmers saw you with her.”

“No, sir. It wasn’t me.”

“Hello, Inspector?”

Everyone turned in the direction of the voice. Isaac Kutu was
standing at the door.

“Yes?” Fiti saw the grave look on Isaac’s face. “What’s the
matter?”

“You should come, Inspector. Gladys Mensah is dead.”

∨
Wife of the Gods
∧

B
ad news spreads
through any small town like fire through dry savanna bush. Kweku
and Osewa Gedze first heard about Gladys Mensah’s death as they
were working on their cocoa farm. The golden ripe cocoa pods were
particularly beautiful this year. Each was perfectly almond shaped
with sculptured ridges that ended in a point like an erect nipple.
One pod held thirty to forty fleshy seeds that were scooped out,
fermented, and then dried for days before they were ready to be
shoveled into sacks for shipping. It was back-splitting work, and
for all of it Osewa and Kweku would probably never savor a single
mini-square of the final product – chocolate. It all went to fancy
stores in the big cities at prices that they could never dream of
paying.

Kweku wiped the sweat off his face and watched his wife for a
moment. She was on her knees deftly slashing the pods open with a
cutlass. Fifty-one years old and nine years his junior, she was
strong and skilled with powerful hands that wielded a cutlass or
shovel better than most men.

They looked up at the sound of running footsteps, and Alifoe,
their twenty-three-year-old son, burst into view. He was tall and
beautifully built, with the deepest black skin possible, glossy and
silky with its natural oils.

“Have you heard?” he said breathlessly.

“Heard what?”

“You know the Mensah girl who was going to be a doctor?”

“Yes, what about her?” Kweku said.

“They found her dead early this morning.”

“Oh, no.” Osewa dropped her cutlass and stood up. “Where?”

“In the forest not far from here. Everyone is going there. I’m
going too.”

He turned and started out.

“Wait for me,” Kweku called out. “Osewa, we’ll be back
soon.”

♦

Moving quickly with Isaac Kutu, Inspector Fiti made a call on
his mobile to his constable.

“Gyamfi,” he snapped, “where are you – at the station? Eh-heh,
good. Stop everything. Gladys Mensah has been found dead in the
forest…Yes, that’s what I said, are you deaf or what? Go there now
and secure the place…You’ll know where it is because everyone is
going there. That’s why you need to hurry before they destroy the
scene. You hear?
Go!
”

He pocketed his phone and took a few trotting steps to keep up
with Isaac, who moved as swiftly and easily as a river over its
bed. The police station was closer to the scene than the two of
them were at the moment, so Gyamfi would get there first. The
forest was on the eastern edge of Ketanu. To reach it, Inspector
Fiti and Isaac had to cross the breadth of the town. Its dwellings
and shops sprawled along either side of the busy road to Ho, the
capital of the Volta Region, twenty kilometers due northeast. In
his time, Inspector Fiti had seen three new roads built in Ketanu
as it had mushroomed in size, and many of the mango, banana, and
palm trees in which the town had once nestled had gone the way of
chopped wood and compost.

Bedome village was in turn on the east side of the forest, a
wellbeaten footpath connecting it to Ketanu. Fiti had been right –
scores of people were breaking off into the forest from the
footpath. As the inspector closely followed Isaac, he shouted at
people to get out of the way, which they did. Everyone was familiar
with Inspector Fiti’s rough, gravelly voice. He was not a
particularly patient man.

Gyamfi had already arrived by the time Isaac Kutu and Inspector
Fiti made it there, and he had managed to mark off a wide perimeter
using a length of rope wrapped around the trunks of plantain trees.
Now he stood guard at the edge of the cordoned-off area looking as
fierce as he could to keep away a gathering cluster of spectators.
People sometimes teased him and called him Boy Constable Gyamfi,
because even though he was twenty-four, he looked nineteen and
still had no serious facial hair.

“Who is it there?” Fiti asked Gyamfi as they came up to him. “Is
it really Gladys Mensah?”

The constable nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s her.”

Fiti lifted the rope and ducked under. Isaac was about to
follow, but Gyamfi put a gentle restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Please, when we’re ready for you, we will call you.”

Isaac stepped back, looking a little insulted.

“Where is she?” Fiti asked Gyamfi.

Gyamfi pointed to just beyond a palm tree and led the way. He
pulled aside the bush, and the inspector looked.

“Oh,” he said softly, shock in his voice. “Oh.”

It was midmorning by now. The sun was already scorching and the
first of the bluebottle flies had begun to buzz around
frenetically, but Fiti didn’t see a wound of any kind on Gladys’s
body. She was missing a shoe, though. The left one.

“Is this how she was when you first came here?” he asked his
constable.

“Yes, sir.”

“With the plantain leaves on her body?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you find something else?”

“Yes, sir.” He moved away about five meters. “Here, sir. Her
shoe.”

It was a russet-colored, open-toed shoe with a back strap and
low heel. Why was it here and Gladys over
there?