I am eating now. It is soup made of moringa leaves scooped on top of white rice. Ameria has sniffed that I am eating, has come, and stands by. Yesterday she almost bit one of Kwansema’s children.
Kwansema has begun running a butchery under the tree in her house. Sister Adoma sent Sarkodie and me to buy meat from her. Katakyie, her husband, was busy chopping meat on a log. Small bits of meat were scattered all over the floor, and Ameria was happily picking them up. We asked him to cut one pound of the beef for us. We watched the sharp machete descend repeatedly on the beef on the log.
Soon we heard Ameria barking outside the gate and I raced out, searching between houses and shouting, “Ameria…Ameria…Ameria!”
I saw her staring, growling, and doing everything that precedes a fight, at Sintim.
“Ameria…Ameria…Ameria…why are you shouting?”
“Talk to her! I am playing and she wants to bite me,” Sintim reported.
“Liar!” I wagged a finger at him, “Liar! I have been watching you. Any time you see her you play rough with her. One day she will bite you, you will see!”
“Your head is not correct!” he exploded. “Is this your house? If you like let her bite you and we will see, I swear! Everyone in your house will join your mother in prison! I swear!”
“You will do your head! What has my mother done to you? Are you mad? Your mother’s genital!” I raised and lowered my thumb at him.
“Me, my mother’s genital? Your mother won’t come back!”
Sarkodie spoke to Sister Adoma and told her everything.
She exploded like a gun, and gave me a serious look. “If you like, let me hear you utter such filth in your life again. Haven’t I told you to stop fighting with people? Do you want to bring me trouble? Why is it that anything I tell you, you don’t take it?”
Then she turned to Sarkodie, “And you, didn’t you see him when he was fooling? Are you not the oldest? Can’t you control him when he does something silly? One day I shall find a place to go and stay and have my peace of mind and you people will know my value in this house!”
In those days, we each had our own cane and whenever we did something wrong, like insulting, fighting, or stealing fish from the stew, we would be sent to collect our cane and be flogged with it.
But the canes are not used nowadays because my father is rarely seen. Every evening he would arrive home between five thirty and six o’clock, greet our neighbours, remove his shoes, fall into the chair and call us to send water to the bathroom so he could shower. He would fall asleep only to be woken up with a serving of food. After eating dinner, he would climb straight into bed.
Alternatively, he would bring out a Bible and flip through the pages and his eyes would be moving over the words. Or sigh and set the Bible aside and close his eyes. As he does several times a day, he would bow his head in prayer; hoping faith would lead the way. Or he would sit in his armchair all night, thinking aloud. More often than not, he arrived late in the evening, deep into the night, when I was often dreaming of girls.
He was an assistant engineer for City & City Construction Company. He always came home in a yellow vest, helmet, and boots. He has knocked on doors, visited government agency offices and filled out forms. He has made phone calls and pleaded for help. He regularly sent our mother things she would need at least twice a month because it is said prison officials routinely steal money provided for prisoners’ food.
My father is making his way to Accra for the appeal due to begin tomorrow – with his brother and a Catholic priest and several other people.
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