“His company?”
“He’s the CEO of Shore Petroleum,” he said. “You didn’t know. How do you know the Adjeis? They’re an interesting family.”
“I met them in passing. You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m a spy.”
“You’re too chatty to be a spy,” I said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“You’ll be missed. Look, some people are going down to the beach. We should join them.”
He was a man who would always try his luck.
“I’m married,” I said. It was still true.
“We’re just walking on the beach. No vows. How’s your father? He’s the one you came to visit.”
“He’s fine. We’re not close.”
“Wasn’t close to mine either.”
The sand was cold without the sun. A bonfire was lit and Kweku’s guests streamed towards the flames. Someone had brought a guitar. People began to dance, in pairs and groups. They moved near the fire, close enough for their sequins and silks to be singed. I stepped away from Ken and swayed to the music on my own.
26
The departure hall was full of people who were not traveling. They drifted around offering unwanted services, swarming anyone who looked indecisive. Sule cut through the crowd, wheeling my suitcase behind him. When we were alone, he seemed mild, almost vacant. Now he moved fiercely, purposefully. I followed him like the fish that trail behind sharks, gaining their protection, eating their parasites.
At the check-in desk we walked to the front of the Priority queue.
“Oga, Sule, welcome.”
“Checking in. One bag.”
“Traveling to London?”
“Yes,” Sule answered for me. He walked me to the security gate.
“This is where we part,” he said.
“Thank you. You’ve been so helpful.”
“I hope you enjoyed your stay in Bamana.”
“Please thank my father.”
“I will pass on your greetings to Sir Kofi. You have my e-mail address and phone number, should you require anything.”
“Yes.”
We shook hands and then I embraced him. It embarrassed us both but I did not regret the gesture.
I kept one cowry note back when I went shopping in duty-free, one with an image of Kofi. It was my only likeness of him. I spent the rest of my money buying a wooden statue for Katherine and a bead necklace for Rose, three times what I would have paid in the market. I thought briefly about a gift for Robert, but the only thing he really wanted from me was our marriage back. There were a few restaurants, a bookstall, a charging station with passengers tethered to their phones. I roamed around, settling nowhere until a woman announced over the PA system: “Passengers on Flight 232 to London Heathrow should go to Gate Seventeen, where boarding has begun.”
I could see the plane from the gate, a sleek Boeing model with the hump of an upper level. A queue shuffled forward for one last check. At the desk I handed over my ticket and passport. The attendant was well groomed, hair styled in a slick cut that looked held in place by spit or gel.
“Madam, it says here that you will be traveling under a Bamanaian passport.”
“It’s a mistake. I’m British.”
“But do you have a Bamanaian passport?”
“Yes, I do.”
“May I see it?”
I had almost packed it away in my suitcase. It was as much a souvenir of my time here as my market dress. I gave her the navy passport embossed with the Bamanaian coat of arms, a lion rearing under a palm tree.
“Madam, please step to the side.”
“Why?”
“A routine check. Don’t be alarmed. Please take a seat.”
The other passengers filed past. Business types dressed for meetings in London, families with children dashing ahead, the elderly in wheelchairs, pushed to the front of the queue like VIPs. I returned to the desk.
“I don’t want to miss my flight. What’s this about?”
“Please exercise patience. You will be attended to shortly.”
Two security agents approached with a gun and a dog between them, wafting menace into the sleepy terminal. The dog, a gaunt German shepherd, was hunting for drugs or explosives or its next meal. When they stopped in front of me, I lowered my bag. The dog sniffed and lost interest.
“Please come with us.”
“Pardon?” I said.
“You are on a no-fly list of Bamanaians.”
“There has been a mistake.”
“You are Anna Graham?”