Kwei Quartey - Children of the Street

“It was very upsetting, to say the least.”

“Yes, I can see why. As I said, my humble apologies.”

He nodded. “Apology accepted. On reflection, you were doing your job. Interestingly enough, you came to mind this morning.”

“Why is that?”

“I was browsing through my book of Ghanaian proverbs and came across one that seemed apropos of your circumstances. It goes something like ‘If you are on the road to nowhere, find another road.’ Not to deliberately discourage you, but maybe we’re not looking where we should for this killer.”

Dawson noticed the word we . “You could be right in a way,” he said, “but I think it’s more that I haven’t yet understood the message he’s sending us in these murders. If only I could decode the message, I believe I’d be led to him.”

“Yes. If it’s all right with you, Inspector, let me ponder over it some more and call you in about a day with my ideas.”

“That’s fine, thank you. By the way, the book of proverbs you were looking at, is it Three Thousand Six Hundred Ghanaian Proverbs ?”

“Yes. Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes. My brother Cairo sells it in his crafts shop in Osu.”

“It’s a terrific book to amble through, as well as a good resource.”

Dawson stood up. “Thank you for seeing me with such courtesy, Dr. Botswe. It won’t go unrecognized.”

They shook hands. Botswe walked him to the door. Dawson had to give the man credit: he had scrupulous manners.

Daramani was home. He greeted Dawson like a long-lost brother.

“Oh, chaley, how I miss you,” he said. “Why? Why so long you haven’t come to see me?”

“Too busy. You know how it is.”

“Sit down, sit down,” Daramani said, moving some clutter. “Do you want something to drink? I can send someone to get you some Malta.”

“No, thank you, Daramani.”

“So how are you, my brother? You look tired.”

“I am. I’m working a tough case.”

“It’s worrying your head, eh? You need to relax small-small. Because you don’t smoke wee anymore, that’s why you feel tense.”

“Is that so?” Dawson grinned nonchalantly, but his heartbeat picked up with a tinge of excitement.

“Ah, but you yourself know that already,” Daramani said.

“So can you help me?”

Daramani looked hurt. “But of course I can help you. Aren’t you my brother, my friend? Yes , you are!”

He reached under his chair and brought out a small, covered box. He opened it up. There were the fat, neatly rolled joints.

“Here, I give you the biggest one,” Daramani said happily. “Because I love you like my brother.”

Dawson hesitated, wrestling. But it was too late. He was here. He took off his shirt and undershirt, hanging them outside the door so they wouldn’t reek later. Bare-chested, he lit up with Daramani and sat back. He had forgotten how good it was. He had hoped it wouldn’t be. He felt marvelous and loathed himself for it. Why had he come? He closed his eyes. A couple tears squeezed out for no reason he could fathom.

He was floating, very relaxed now. His mind began to free-associate.

If you are on the road to nowhere, find another road .

He laughed at that. It suddenly seemed funny. Daramani joined in his mirth for the hell of it.

But the Sankofa proverb was just as relevant to this mystery he was trying to solve. It is not taboo to go back and fetch what you forgot . Maybe he’d forgotten something in this case that he had to go back and fetch. That venerable bird with his head turned backward, like the one in Dr. Botswe’s foyer. Dawson smiled. Generation after generation of schoolchildren learned about it.

His eyes popped open. Head turned backward .

He shot out of his chair.

“What wrong?” Daramani asked languidly.

“Ebenezer is the Sankofa bird.”

“Oh, yeah,” Daramani muttered.

Grabbing his phone, Dawson speed-dialed Cairo. “I need your help,” he said.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Get out your proverb book. I’m looking for three different proverbs-one referring to the fingers, one to the knees, and one to the tongue. While you’re looking for those, I’ll be on the way down to the shop.”

“Okay, I’ll start right away and see you in a little while.”

Dawson took one last puff of what was left of his joint and then put it between Daramani’s lips. “I’ve got to go.”

“Why you leave me again?”

“No more wee for me,” Dawson said, opening the door. “Never again.”

“Okay.” Daramani laughed. “We’ll see.”

Dawson put his head back in. “Chaley, do you have any chewing gum to freshen my breath?”

Daramani tossed him a packet of P.K. gum.

Cairo was poring over the book when Dawson arrived.

“Have you got anything so far?” Dawson asked.

“Man, there are a lot of proverbs,” Cairo said as his brother sat down beside him. He sniffed. “What’s that smell? Have you been in smoke or something?”

“Yes-tell you another time. Not important right now.”

“Okay, here’s the first one I’ve found. It goes, ‘The knee does not wear the hat when the head is available.’ ”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not absolutely positive. I think it means, don’t assume a role that doesn’t rightfully belong to you.”

“That sounds about right. Give me another copy of the book and I’ll start from the back.”

“Does this have to do with these serial murders you’re investigating? You’re all over the news today, I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, only too aware,” Dawson said sourly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sorry. Carry on.”

“So when this guy kills his victims, he stabs them in the back, mutilates them in some way, and then dumps them in or at some filthy location like the Korle Lagoon. I’ve been trying to figure out the meaning behind the mutilations. One of the victims, Ebenezer, had his head twisted around-”

“Twisted around?” Cairo said. “You mean twisted…”

“One hundred and eighty degrees, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Broke his neck, in other words.”

“Yes.” Dawson paused. This was delicate territory. “Sorry, Cairo.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, dismissing it. “I’m not sensitive about that anymore.”

“So I thought, What is this murderer trying to tell us?” Dawson continued. “What’s the message? He’s not just killing people, he’s displaying them in some way, so is there a lesson or moral he’s trying to impress on us with that twisted head and neck? And then Sankofa hit me. That’s an iconic Ghanaian symbol that represents possibly our most famous proverb. Dr. Botswe has a beautiful one in his house.”

“Do you suspect him?”

“I did, but that’s over. His alibis are established.”

“I understand what you’re saying about proverbs,” Cairo said, “particularly Ghanaian proverbs that carry religious meaning. But why does this murderer have such a need to communicate that with us? What compulsion is driving him?”

“I don’t know,” Dawson said.

“Let’s analyze this,” Cairo said. “If I tell you a proverb, what am I trying to do? To pass on to you some kind of wisdom in a short, clever sentence, right?”

“Yes.” Dawson sat up. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“You said it just now, Cairo. When you state a proverb, you’re trying to pass on to me some kind of wisdom, not someone else. All along I’ve been thinking the killer wants to tell us something, but it’s not us he’s trying to teach the lesson, it’s his victims. ”