Before she realized it, she was at the village center, where they used to gather. And there was the tree. The one Papa would stand beneath as he led his people. The tree was black and twisted, dead like the rest of the village and the people who’d lived in it. Nature had overrun the husk of the village, but it couldn’t entirely hide the destruction or the ghosts that still roamed here.
She stopped at the base of the blackened tree. There she opened the box holding Ofori’s ashes. She’d been robbed of the chance to bury Papa and the twins, Wisdom and Josiah. She’d never seen her auntie again after she’d left her in their kitchen. But Nena had brought the last male Asym home, where Ofori belonged.
She removed the bag and opened it. A light breeze began to rise. It was warm and dry, like a hug against her skin. The leaves of nearby trees started to rustle, sounding like rice cascading into an empty pan. The long, fingerlike grass swayed. She heard a soft beat. Then a distant thrumming. She thought maybe drummers in another village. She knelt, hesitating only a second before upending the bag and watching as Ofori’s ashes tumbled out.
“Akwaaba, Ofori. Akwaaba, efie.” She welcomed him back home.
The wind increased, catching the ashes and making them swirl. Her brother danced on the wind away from her. The thrumming she’d heard earlier increased, sounded closer now. The sun beat on her shoulders, through the thin cotton of her T-shirt, as the wind strengthened. She looked at the horizon spread before her. The sun’s rays wavered like rising heat. All to the beat of thrumming.
She blinked, unsure if what she was seeing in the distance was truly there or if she was in the throes of heatstroke. Because as the wind increased and the heat shimmered and the sweat beaded on her forehead, Nena saw people standing before her. Rows and rows of them. Her people, as she last remembered them.
She sat back on her haunches, scared she’d lost her mind. But her fear eased into wonder when she saw they were smiling at her, waving. They were happy, not angry, not haunted or sad. And in front of them stood Papa. Wisdom. Josiah. And Mama. Nena swallowed a cry. She wiped at her face, and her hand came away wet.
It had to be a mirage. But she’d swear the wind carried the scents of Olay and Hugo Boss, and finally a sob did escape her. She watched as a man appeared from the edge of the clearing, walking toward her family and the villagers behind them. He paused, glancing over his shoulder and nodding to her, and she saw he was Ofori as she’d known him the night he’d taken his last breath. He resumed approaching their family, and they looked at him with nothing but love in their eyes. They welcomed him, their arms open and accepting their son, their brother, back into the fold as if he had never left.
“Me ba barima. Me ba baa.” My son. My daughter, Papa said, a whisper in the wind.
Ofori continued walking, and as he did, his height began to shorten. His chiseled muscles retracted and thinned. Nena watched the years shed from him, and his pace quickened until he was running toward them.
“Due. Due.” He apologized over and over, nearing them with arms outstretched, becoming younger and younger until he was the child they last remembered. He ran into their arms, and they encircled him, obscuring him from Nena’s vision. But she could hear him still begging for forgiveness.
His apologies were unnecessary. Ofori had been forgiven the moment Paul had forced him to choose between himself and his family. He had never been blamed, and Nena had eventually come to learn she’d never been blamed either. She’d realized her guilt was self-imposed and needless.
She got to her knees, tried to stand using the tree for support. She wanted that too. To be with them, with the family taken from her too soon. She, too, wanted to be fourteen again forever.
“Mereba!” she yelled, stretching her arm toward them. I’m coming. “Tw?n me.” Wait for me.
Papa broke away from the group, stepping toward her, the distance still too wide.
“Aninyeh.” His voice was as she remembered. “Y?b?hyia bio.” Until we meet again.
She wanted to cry out, Daabi. No. Not to leave her behind. But as they looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity, she understood. It was not her time. Yes, this place was her home, would always be her home. But she had a new home, another family, and a life to live. And her work was not yet done.
Papa raised his hand. Then, two by two, they all did, waving at her. Ofori was the last, moving to stand with their father, looking so much like him that Nena’s heart broke and swelled simultaneously.
Ofori said, “Medaase, me nua baa.” Thank you, my sister. His body began to flicker in and out. “Medaase s? wode me aba efie.” Thank you for bringing me home.