The road began to wind along a large body of water. We were too far inland for the ocean, but the water did not run like a river. A lake then, but ten times larger than the lake in Gbadolite. A bridge stretched across like a salmon leaping from shore to shore. We drove to the center of the bridge and parked to the side.
“We’re here,” Kofi said.
“Where?”
“Mensahkro Dam. I call it one of the seven wonders of modern Africa.”
He moved stiffly when he got down from the car, shuffling instead of striding. I joined him at the bridge railings. Its metal fretwork vaulted above us, the bars finely woven as lace.
“This is one of the largest dams in the world.”
They had blocked the river with a concrete wall. It could only flow through six sluice gates, six artificial waterfalls. They thundered around us, making his voice small.
“My government built this dam to bring electrical power to Bamana and our neighboring countries. Nobody believed that a tiny country like ours could have such an achievement.”
“What was here before?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Before you trapped the river?”
“Before we tamed and harnessed the Volta River, a few villages.”
“Where are they now?”
“We resettled the villagers. Thousands were moved for the good of millions.”
Kofi wanted my approval. Not me. Francis Aggrey through me. Everyone he knew from his old life was either dead, like Thomas Phiri, or distrusted, like Adrian. Only someone who knew Francis could tell Kofi if his life’s work was in vain. Only me.
The villages had been destroyed for Kofi’s ambition. Houses, compounds, farms swept away by a man-made flood. The hubris of my father, to so completely wipe away a civilization, to permanently bury it.
“It’s a waste,” I said.
“Pardon?”
“There are still power cuts in Segu.”
Kofi’s grip tightened on the railings. No one had cared what Anna Graham thought in years. To have even this slight power over such a powerful man: it was intoxicating.
“Why did you come to Bamana?”
“To meet you,” I said.
“No. You came to meet a man in the past. There is a mythical bird we have here, Anna. We call it the sankofa. It flies forward with its head facing back. It’s a poetic image but it cannot work in real life.”
A ferry passed below us. Smoke streamed from its funnel. Passengers crowded the deck, sinking the left side of the hull a few inches deeper than the right. I looked down at the same moment a young girl looked up. She waved. I waved back and a fluttering of palms responded, the gesture widening like a ripple.
“That is the country I created,” Kofi said, when they were out of sight. “I am not proud of every single action I have taken in my life, but I created this country and there is much to be proud of. Come. Let’s go.”
“Wait. I want to sketch you.”
“Pardon?”
“I want to paint you, but first I’d like to make a sketch. Stand still, please.”
“You mentioned you were an artist.”
“Yes. Don’t move. The light.”
I withdrew my sketchbook from my bag and braced myself against the car. It was hot. The sun seeped through the metal and into my skin. I reproduced Kofi in short, quick strokes. He stood like someone used to having his portrait taken, shoulders erect, head thrown back.
“Relax,” I said. “Like you were a moment ago.”
“I can’t relax around you. I never know what accusation you’re going to throw at me.”
But he held himself less stiffly, more conversationally. He was not afraid of our eyes meeting. Despite all he had done, Kofi’s gaze was open, almost innocent. My pencil traced the curve of his lips, the depression of his sockets, the wrinkles like a fine mesh thrown over his face.
“Hurry. We still have far to go.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“For this. This trip.”
“I wanted to show off something I had built. Something Francis the visionary had built, but even this does not meet with your approval. It is the obroni way—to always find African attempts wanting. You said something earlier, that you are not my daughter in the way Afua is my daughter. What did you mean by that?”
“I didn’t know you as a child. I’m not afraid of you.”
“My children are not afraid of me.”
“Are they not?”
He smiled. “Always stirring up trouble. You should have been a revolutionary.”