He dabbed his forehead with a fresh handkerchief. He was careful of his person, still in some ways the dandy Francis Aggrey had been. I was ragged next to him with my crumpled cotton dress, stained with sweat.
“You asked me some questions in Segu, and now I would like to ask you a few also,” he said. “Why did you come to find me?”
“It was the diary. I recognized the voice and I felt like that man, Francis Aggrey, would recognize me, too. He was an outsider, wasn’t he?”
“And Kofi Adjei, how does he compare to Francis Aggrey?”
“He is different.”
“How so?”
I considered my answer. I did not want to offend but I did not want to lie.
“He is in the center of things now,” I said. “He is used to being worshipped.”
“The villagers do not worship me.”
“What of the congress? Daasebre?”
“The pronunciation is poor. But, yes, I am that to them. It is a title to show their appreciation. Almost every road in Bamana, I built. Almost every school. Do not be deceived by colonial propaganda. The British left almost no infrastructure. I have brought wealth to this country.”
“But they are poor.”
“Is that what you see? They are not poor. They are just not flooded with cheap foreign goods. They make their own clothes. They eat the food they have grown. They are healthy. Their children are literate. Where is the poverty?”
“Bamana has diamonds,” I said. “It should look like Sweden.”
“We do not own the diamonds. They are in the hands of European companies. When you are outside government it is easy to say, ‘I will nationalize everything,’ but once you get into power, you realize the whites stick together. Nationalize one of their companies and none of the rest will do business with you.”
His Rolex gleamed on his wrist, its diamond-studded face catching the sun.
“But Marcellina said . . .”
“Who is Marcellina?”
“No one,” I said. “I heard about a girl in the village. She was chained in a hut because her uncle thought she was a witch.”
“Who told you this?”
“Just someone I spoke to at the congress. She’s been rescued now, but I was shocked by the story.”
“Yes. That is regrettable. The villagers still hold on to some of the old harmful beliefs. I do not approve, of course, but it is hard to stamp them out. Even with legislation.”
“Why not just arrest people for tying children up?”
“We have prosecuted some of these cases, but how many can you arrest? I believe in education, changing minds then changing actions, which is why I led one of the widest education programs in Africa. In a generation or so, those beliefs will be gone. They are already on their way out.”
“Not fast enough for this girl,” I said.
“Perhaps not. But fast enough for her daughter. You must understand, I cannot force change. Only guide it. It is part of why the people respect me. I recognize the limits of my power. Like your British queen.”
It always came back to the mighty Daasebre. We were at the center of the lake now and I could see to the opposite bank. A man looked out to us, naked except for a loincloth. His skin was covered in white chalk.
“That is a woyo,” Kofi said. “The whites would have called him a witch doctor, but he is a powerful healer. His knowledge of herbs is as extensive as any pharmaceutical company’s. He also understands the deeper psychological and spiritual roots of ailments.”
“Why is he here?”
“To gather plants, or perhaps just to pray. There is a gate to the lake on the other side. A security risk, but we cannot completely stop the use of the lake. We can only regulate it.”
The woyo scooped water in his hand and then let it trickle through his fingers.
“What is he doing?” I said.
“Pouring the sacred waters over our lives.”
Kofi put his hand in the lake and repeated the gesture.
“Give him your blessing too.”
I blessed the woyo and then I blessed Rose. The water ran through my fingers twice, flashing in the air before returning to the lake. We let the boat drift after that. There was nothing to bump into for miles.
At dinner, Afua and I sat facing each other in an empty banquet hall. Afua wore a black sequin blouse and white silk trousers. I looked shabby in comparison. She dabbed at her mouth after each bite. Lipstick bruises formed on her napkin. She was too prim, too proper. I imagined growing up in a household with the Daasebre, marked by the force of that character, perhaps bent by it.