Pope didn’t go to work the next day. I didn’t want to go out of my room but hunger drove me out.

Pope kept apologizing for not telling me sooner. He kept telling me that it didn’t matter that I wasn’t his biological child. He said he and Asi were my parents, my real parents, not the people who had conceived me. By the third day when he was sure I was okay he went back to work. I stayed in my room for the rest of the week and only went down to eat.

I couldn’t bear to see anyone else, not even Nene and especially not Mantse. It all made sense now. The reason Nyewayo preferred him to me was because he was really her grandson, and I was nothing to her. I asked Pope about my biological mother but he was evasive. He told me to forget about her but I couldn’t. All of a sudden I saw ways in which I didn’t belong to the Puplampu family. I was big-boned and had wide hips; truth be told, I looked more like Naadu than Asi and Nyewayo who were both thin. Nene and Pope were both lighter skinned than I was. I was dark, funny I hadn’t noticed it before. They both had long fingernails, I had very short nails. My hair before I’d relaxed it had been thick, kpenkpeshie hair. Asi had had soft hair. How could I not have seen? How could I not have noticed?

***

Pope wouldn’t tell me about my biological mother but I knew who would. Nyewayo.

It would be easy getting my biological mother’s name from her. She didn’t look thrilled to see me but once I told her what I had come for, she relaxed and was more welcoming.

“You’re doing the right thing going to look for your real mother. Let me tell you the truth. I was against Tei’s marriage to Asi. I told him but he wouldn’t listen. He went ahead and got married and after five years they couldn’t have children. The doctors said the problem was from Asi. I told him to divorce her and take a new wife but would that boy listen? No. He has coal tar in his ears. That one. A nurse told them about a teenage mother who wanted to give her child up for adoption and that’s how they got you. Your mother, your real mother, what was her name koraa? Kai, Kai, Kai something. I’ve forgotten. She never even asked to see you after you were born. Not even once. She went to another school and continued her education. I don’t think your parents ever heard from her again.”

Nyewayo clasped her hands together. “I know it’s hard for you but believe me, Tei and Naadu have both been hurt very deeply and they both deserve some happiness. Did you know Naadu lost her husband and seven-year-old twin boys in a car accident?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t even known she had been married.

The corners of Nyewayo’s mouth went down. I could tell she was enjoying the way things had turned out. “She did. Five years ago. On the Cape Coast road. A fuel truck ran into their car. It was one of those automatic cars. The locking mechanism got jammed and they couldn’t open the doors. They were burnt alive. Now that she has a chance to be happy again, it isn’t right for you to stand in their way. Go, go and find your real mother.” She even took a ten cedi note out of the handkerchief she kept in her bra and gave it to me.

“Klorkai Okai that was her name. She had an English name, one of those uncommon names. People always found it difficult to pronounce. No one even used to call her by it. She just went by Kai. Even in school, Ada Senior High, everyone called her Kai. But if you go to the Post Office and ask for the former postmaster he’ll be able to tell you more. He was an elder in their family or her uncle or something like that.”

Once I got my biological mother’s name from Nyewayo, I walked straight to the Post Office. I was told the postmaster Nyewayo had talked about had retired and relocated to stay with his kids and grandkids in Gbawe. I took a taxi to the Ada Senior High School and went to the administration block. Since all schools were on break there were just two people in the office. A guy who looked like a National Service person was playing solitaire on the computer. An older woman was reading a Mills and Boons novel. I introduced myself and told them I was organizing a surprise birthday party for my mom who had attended their school seventeen years ago. I said I was trying to track down one of her best friends that she constantly mentioned when she mentioned her SHS days.

“How many years ago was this?” the woman asked.

“About seventeen,” I said holding my breath.

The woman was shaking her head before I even finished talking. “The old administration block got burnt ten years ago. We lost all our records. This block was put up eight years ago.”

“Thank you,” I said trying to hide my disappointment and left.