“Come, let’s sit down. You shouldn’t be standing for too long.”
We sit on one of the kafa sofas. They are overstuffed and hard.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“I’d rather not.”
“I’ve been arrested before,” he says.
“Why?”
“I crashed one car too many the year I turned eighteen. Papa had me put in jail for a week. To cool my heels, he said.” Kweku smiles at the memory.
“What did your mother do?”
“She tried to stop him, of course. That’s the problem when your husband is head of the house and head of the country. You don’t know who’s punishing your son. The president or the father of your child. It wasn’t so bad. I had the cell to myself.”
“So did I.”
“Yes. Papa’s name still carries enough weight to get you a good jail cell.”
He jokes often about our father, but the humor is black. It is not easy being Kofi Adjei’s eldest son.
“I heard he’s running in the next election,” I say.
“Is he? Who knows with Papa? I told Benita and Kwabena about you. Your other siblings.”
“What did they say?”
“We’ve always thought it couldn’t just be the four of us. It’s unusual for a man of Papa’s status to have only one wife . . . but we didn’t expect it to be an older sibling.”
“What are they like?”
“Benita, I think you would get on with. She speaks her mind. She’s an artist. I have a few of her pieces—twisted wire and paint splattered on canvas. I don’t understand it myself but it’s very popular in Sweden. Kwabena is our human rights UN advocate. Too self-righteous for us all, even Benita. Papa’s children that can stand him live in Bamana, and those that can’t live abroad.”
He leans back into the chair. He is the right size for the room, built to the same scale as some of the other objects.
“So did you apologize to him?” he asked.
“To who?”
“Papa.”
“For what?” I said.
“Telling him Francis Aggrey would be disappointed in him.”
“Should I?”
“It’s up to you. Me, if I offend Papa, I apologize. I live off him. Can’t afford to be proud.”
“The oil company belongs to him,” I said.
“So you do know something about our affairs. It’s his. It’s Bamana’s. Whatever. I wouldn’t have my job if I wasn’t Kofi Adjei’s son.”
“Do you feel guilty about it?”
“What? His stupendous wealth? Kwabena does. And Benita, too, sometimes. Maybe that explains the twisted metal. Afua is in denial. She believes all that Gbadolite-belongs-to-Bamana crap. Me, I am pragmatic. Papa is better than most of the African leaders of his generation. He did more for the people. They still love him till now. Remember, he was not ousted. He stepped down.”
He is not as willfully blind as Afua but he still views Kofi through a falsely flattering lens. I am tired of the Adjeis and their gilding.
“I just want to go back to England,” I say.
“You will. Papa will arrange it. He takes care of his children.”
Kweku begins to stand up. It is like watching a turtle flip itself off its back. It will not be long before his weight prevents him from walking.
“Pathetic, aren’t I?”
Finally, he is on his feet.
“I have to go. I have meetings. I just came to see that you were all right after Sule told me what happened. Do you need anything?”
“Clothes . . . and a toothbrush.”
“I’ll make sure it’s sorted.”
“And canvases.”
“Pardon?”
“Canvases for painting. I want to paint.”
“You’re an artist.”
“I used to be. And brushes. I need brushes and oil paints.”
“It can be arranged.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention. What are siblings for?”
“Half siblings.”
“We don’t have that in Africa.”
Afua was my next guest. She came two days later.
“Kweku said you were here.”
She was not as tall as I remembered. I checked the wall clock. It had just gone past noon.
“Good afternoon.”
I was sitting in a dress that Kweku had sent me, a bright print with short sleeves and a sequin-embellished neckline. I had gone out that morning, walked through the front gate and made it to the end of the street before turning back. I flinched when a pedestrian brushed against me. I cowered at every passing car. I felt safest in my room and so I returned there. The canvases and oil paints had still not arrived. When Afua knocked, I thought it might be their delivery.