“Do you know how much this meal cost for two of us?” he asked.
“No.”
“Ten cowries. A man can eat a hearty meal in this country for five cowries, less than two dollars, with fresh, pure ingredients, no genetically modified junk. What do you think about that?
His question had a note of challenge, although I couldn’t see why. I’d never complained to him about the cost, or for that matter the freshness, of Bamanaian food.
“It’s good,” I said.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
He signaled to the waitress. She brought us fresh water in metal bowls and a sliver of soap on a dish. We washed our hands and turned the clear water red.
On the road, Kofi did not play music. The car was sealed off from noise by thick, perhaps bulletproof, windows.
“Tell me about my grandmother,” I said.
“What would you like to know?”
“What was she like?”
“She loved me too much. The Europeans, they’d call it transference. She took the love she had for my father when he died and gave it to me. Of course, as a child I didn’t want it. Nor did I want it when I became a man. It weakens you. I couldn’t have led the resistance if she hadn’t died.”
“What made you take that step?”
“I was young with nothing to lose and I loved my country. The conditions in the diamond mines were so terrible. They were killing our people.”
I remembered the Kinnakro Five but I did not mention them. I didn’t want to anger Kofi. I wanted to know him. There was evil I must overlook if I was ever to become Kofi’s daughter.
“You don’t speak much about your family,” he said.
“My daughter is grown. She works in a large company, travels often. She doesn’t have much need for a mother now.”
“And your husband?”
“We’re separated. Getting a divorce. Maybe.”
“Tell me about your wedding,” he said.
“It was a shotgun wedding.”
“I’m not familiar with the term.”
“I was pregnant.”
“I see.”
“I didn’t marry him because I was pregnant. We just got married sooner than I’d planned. I had to walk down the aisle by myself. My mother didn’t want to do it. She thought it’d make a spectacle.”
I’d made the same choice as my mother, had a child too young and altered the course of my life. I was convinced of our difference and yet our fate was the same. When Rose turned twenty-five, I was relieved that her womb remained peacefully empty.
Outside, the afternoon was fading. Headlamps were switched on. A few drove without illumination, ghost cars on the highway.
“This road runs from the coast to the northern border. My government built it in 1987 and it is still standing. I once had dreams of a trans-African highway stretching from Cairo to Cape Town, but the other African presidents thought I was too ambitious. Who was I, president of tiny Bamana, to dream up a plan for the whole of Africa?”
He was campaigning to me. He wanted my good opinion. We turned off onto a side road and drove for a few miles before veering into the bush. There was no path but the SUV trampled the shrubs and plants that stood in our way. I bounced against my seat belt.
“Where are we going?”
“Almost there now.”
He stopped and switched off the engine.
“Where are we?”
“A good place to make camp.”
“What?”
“Come. We must set up quickly. It will be dark soon.”
He opened the door and got down. It was a natural clearing, perhaps recently razed by fire.
“I’m not dressed for camping.”
There was a tent rolled up in the boot, along with other supplies.
“Is it safe to camp here?”
“As long as we don’t run into any crocodiles. Help me with these poles.”
He was good with his hands. The tent rose quickly. It was lightweight and waterproof. He handed me a small mallet.
“Drive the stakes into the ground. I’m going to gather some brush.”
The soil was firm but not hard. The metal stakes sank into the earth with a few blows from the mallet. A half-moon hung in the sky, casting light and shadows. It was the mystical African bush that obroni went into raptures over.
Kofi came back with dry leaves and twigs.
“Bring me the wood.”
There were logs in the boot, chopped into even pieces and bound with string. He arranged them on the ground and lit a match. It was elemental, the need for fire. Even though the night was warm, I drew closer to the flames.