Kwei Quartey - Wife of the Gods

“Anyway, you’d better solve something before my uncle transfers you to some bush village somewhere,” he said, only half jokingly.

“I’d like to see him try,” Dawson said.

Perhaps he should not have spoken with so much bluster. That afternoon Chief Superintendent Theophilus Lartey called Dawson to his office. Lartey, around fifty-two, was a surprisingly tiny man for the amount of power he wielded. His soft leather armchair and expansive desk dwarfed his proportions, as did the room, which could have held at least three offices the size of Dawson’s. It was luxuriously cool in here, with a powerful air conditioner purring from high up on the wall. The room was completely quiet, insulated from the hum and bustle of the outside world, where the weather was hot and stifling.

“Sit down, Dawson,” Lartey said.

Dawson did so, feeling as he always did-like a pupil in the headmaster’s office. One never went there unless there was trouble.

“You know Ketanu in the Volta Region?” Lartey asked.

“Yes, I’ve been there before.”

“And you speak Ewe?”

“Yes. My mother is Ewe.” He could not refer to her in the past tense. “Why, sir?”

“There’s a situation up there,” Lartey said. “A young woman was found dead in the forest day before yesterday. Suspicious circumstances for sure, so the local police called in a CID detective from Ho.”

Ho was a minuscule city compared with Accra, but as the capital of the Volta Region, it was where small-town Ketanu would look for help in police or other matters.

“All right,” Dawson said. “So CID Ho is investigating-”

“And where do we come in?” Lartey interjected. “The young lady, Gladys Mensah, was in her third year of medical school and was volunteering with the GHS under the Ministry of Health. The minister called me this morning. He insists someone here in headquarters take the case.”

“What’s wrong with the Ho detective?”

“Look, Dawson,” Lartey said irritably, “don’t ask me these questions. I have no idea why the minister doesn’t want the Ho man to take the case. I’m sure it’s something political, but what difference does it make? The bottom line is that I have to send someone there, and that someone is you.”

“Why me, sir?”

“Use your head, Dawson. You’re the only detective here who speaks Ewe and that’s what they speak in the Volta Region, so you have a big advantage. What’s that stupid look on your face?”

“This is a little unexpected, sir-”

“Life is full of surprises.”

“When am I supposed to go, sir?”

“Tomorrow morning. You can take one of the CID cars. The MoH will make the arrangements for a place to stay in Ketanu, but your first port of call will be the Volta River Authority Hospital. The postmortem is being done there tomorrow, and I want you to attend it.”

D ARKO DAWSON’S FIRST VISITto Ketanu had been twenty-five years ago. He was ten and his brother, Cairo, was thirteen when their mother, Beatrice, took them there to visit Auntie Osewa and Uncle Kweku. Papa couldn’t go with them because he couldn’t get any time off from work. That’s what he said, but Darko didn’t believe him. For some reason, Papa wasn’t fond of Mama’s side of the family.

Ketanu was about 160 kilometers away, the farthest Darko had ever traveled, and he was excited about the trip. They boarded a tro-tro at the Nkrumah Circle lorry park, a whirling dust bowl of people coming and going. Darko thought the tro-tro was packed enough to begin with, but the driver made two more stops in the city and the tro-tro conductor, or mate, squeezed in a few more passengers. Darko and Cairo had wanted to sit somewhere up in front, but Mama would not allow it.

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “If there’s an accident, I don’t want you flying through the windscreen. Nor me. We sit in the back.”

Mama was very nervous about traveling in tro-tros. Darko noticed how tense she became, gripping the seat in front of her whenever the vehicle had to brake sharply.

Several cramped and bone-rattling hours later-the ride seemed endless to Darko-they arrived at a transit town called Atimpoku, on the Volta River, where they were to change tro-tros. The Atimpoku stop was a bustling trading place. Market women with trays of merchandise balanced effortlessly on their heads swarmed around arriving vehicles in aggressive attempts at selling sugar-bread and the popular “one-man-thousand,” plastic bags packed tight with tiny crispy-fried fish.

Mama waved the traders off and firmly led Darko and Cairo away from the mayhem. They had a little time before the next tro-tro to Ketanu was to arrive.

“Come, boys,” she said. “Let’s stretch our legs. I’m going to take you to a secret place.”

Darko loved exploring. “Where, Mama?”

“You’ll see. It’s a bit of a walk, so get your legs strong and ready.”

“I have strong legs,” Darko said.

“They’re skinny,” Cairo said. “Just like a girl’s.”

“They’re not .” Darko hit his brother on the arm, and Cairo struck back and almost knocked him over.

“Boys, if you don’t stop, I’m not going to take you there at all,” Mama said sternly.

They managed to behave themselves as she led them away from the depot across the Adomi Bridge spanning the Volta River. The bridge bounced noticeably up and down with passing traffic.

“Why does it do that?” Darko asked.

“Because it’s a suspension bridge,” Mama said.

“What’s a suspension bridge?”

“What we’re walking on,” Cairo said obviously.

“Look up, Darko,” Mama said more kindly. “See all those cables that go up to the top? That’s what’s holding the bridge up-suspending it.”

He gazed upward. “Oh. I see.” After walking a little more, Darko declared, “I like this bridge.”

“It’s the only suspension bridge in Ghana,” Cairo informed them. He knew a lot of things.

They stopped for a moment to look out on the expanse of the Volta, with its lush banks and islands of palm and mango trees. The sun reflected off its surface, silhouetting fishermen in their canoes gliding silently and smoothly over the water like spirits.

“Come along,” Mama said.

At the other side of the bridge they went off the road and were soon going up an incline thick with vegetation. Birds sang, and bees and butterflies flitted from plant to plant.

“Just a little longer,” Mama said over her shoulder.

“I’m thirsty,” Darko said.

“Me too,” Cairo said. “This hill is steep.”

“Here we are,” Mama said, breathing heavily. “We can stop here.”

“Oh, look!” Cairo said. “You can see the whole river even better than on the bridge.”

Darko stood on tiptoes while holding on to his brother.

“Come on, shorty pants,” Cairo said, stooping down. “Get on my shoulders.”

Cairo lifted him up for the full view.

“The Akosombo Dam is up that way,” Mama said, pointing north.

“We learned about it in school,” Darko said. “I’m sure I could swim across the river.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Cairo said.

“Yes, I could!”

“No.”

“I’ll throw you both down this hill in a minute if you don’t shut up,” Mama said crisply.

Darko and Cairo collapsed in the bushes and laughed till their sides hurt.

It was getting late in the day when they alighted at Ketanu’s small bus terminal off the main road and took a footpath in the direction of Auntie Osewa’s house.

“Mama?”

“Yes, Darko.”

“Do Auntie Osewa and Uncle Kweku have any children?”

“No, they have no children.”