THERE WAS NO MORE police work for the day. Dawson was tired and wanted to go to his lodgings, but before he did that, he wanted to pay his respects to Auntie Osewa and Uncle Kweku. He asked Gyamfi to show him the way to the house.
The flickering kerosene lanterns of night traders lit up the evening like a constellation. The kiosks and chop bars had electricity, but many homes were still using kerosene lamps as their light source. The air smelled of smoke and the tantalizing aroma of kelewele, fried fish, and red-hot meat stews. The flying termites that always appeared after a rain shower were fluttering around whatever fluorescent lights they could find, irresistibly drawn to them but rendered flightless the instant they made contact with the bulbs.
It was a torturous route to Auntie Osewa’s. Dawson followed Gyamfi through alleys and over gutters and muddy paths. Ketanu had grown and sprawled so much since Dawson had been here that so far nothing was familiar to him, and the darkness did not help.
Suddenly, though, as they walked a little farther, Dawson was struck with déjà vu that raised goose bumps on his skin. He recognized where he was, and yet he didn’t. Houses and huts occupied the space that Dawson had known as trees and bush, and the edge of forest he and Cairo had explored had been pushed far, far back.
“There it is,” Dawson said to Gyamfi. He had spotted Auntie Osewa’s house, but some sixth sense must have enabled him, because although there was a hint of light coming from within, there was practically no illumination of the exterior.
Gyamfi switched on a powerful flashlight and gave it a panoramic sweep. Now Dawson could see the original dwelling had been added on to. There were two small additional single-room houses built around an open-air courtyard strewn with firewood, stone stoves, pots, and pans.
A woman came out of the house with a lantern. Auntie Osewa?
“Who’s there?” she said, squinting into the darkness.
Dawson came close enough to see better by the light of the lantern. It was her.
“Fien na wo, Auntie Osewa,” he greeted her in Ewe.
“Fien,” she replied pleasantly, but Dawson could see the puzzlement still in her expression. “Do I know you?”
“Yes, you do.”
He was giving her a chance, but she still wasn’t making the connection.
“Auntie, it’s me, Darko.”
Her expression changed. “Darko?”
“Yes, Auntie.”
She let out a cry, put down the lantern, and rushed forward to throw her arms around him. Now he towered over her, and the top of her head reached only to his chest. It felt strange because, after all, the last time she had hugged him, years ago, she had had to bend down to his level.
“Woizo, woizo!” She stepped back to gaze at him in disbelief. “Look at how tall you are! Oh, Darko, why did you wait so long to come back?”
“You’re right, Auntie Osewa. It’s been too long and I’m sorry.”
She placed her hand over her chest, and her eyes welled up. “Oh, Darko, my dear. I’ve thought of you so often.”
“Come on,” he said, hugging her again. “No need to shed tears. I’m here now.”
“Yes, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” Her voice still felt like silk after all these years, just at a slightly lower register. “Come, come inside. Uncle Kweku is home. Ei, Constable Gyamfi, is that you?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Come in too, both of you come in. Woizo.”
She led Dawson by the hand. It must have seemed natural to her, but Dawson felt awkward. Inside, the house was lit by a combination of a lantern and one small electric lamp. He knew this was the same place they had eaten Auntie’s masterpiece meal and played oware, yet everything looked different and much smaller.
Auntie Osewa also seemed smaller in stature than he remembered. Whether it was the effect of age on her or his false memory or both, Dawson couldn’t say. For certain, though, she had kept her looks and her smooth, lovely skin. Her eyes were a little less bright, or perhaps it was wisdom Dawson was seeing. In a way, through Auntie Osewa, Dawson had a fair idea of what his mother might have looked like by now.
Uncle Kweku was sitting at a small wooden table carefully writing something in an exercise book.
“Kweku, you will never guess who is here,” Osewa said excitedly.
He looked up over a pair of glasses halfway down his nose. That and the gray-peppered hair made him look like he had aged much more quickly than Auntie Osewa, and he was now a fraction of the size he used to be.
“Don’t say anything yet,” Osewa told Dawson. “Just stand there for a moment. Kweku, who do you think this is?”
He frowned. “I don’t think I know him…”
“Yes, you do. This is Darko, Beatrice’s boy.”
Uncle Kweku’s mouth dropped open, and he took off his glasses and rested them on the table.
“That’s Darko? Ei!” He rose. “I don’t believe it!”
He began to laugh as he pumped Dawson’s hand and then embraced him strongly, which surprised Dawson.
“How long has it been?” he said, looking him up and down. He too was now much shorter than Dawson.
“Twenty-five years.”
Kweku shook his head in disbelief. “It doesn’t even seem possible. Woizo, woizo back to Ketanu. We’re very happy to see you.”
Kweku now noticed Constable Gyamfi hovering in the background.
“Constable!” He chuckled. “Come in, come in, never be shy, sir.”
“Yes, please sit down,” Auntie Osewa said. “Darko, you have to tell us everything about you.”
Uncle Kweku immediately offered Dawson his chair and drew up a stool each for Osewa, Gyamfi, and himself.
“Our son, Alifoe, is not here right now,” she told Dawson, “but he’ll be back soon so you can meet him. You remember we had a son?”
“I do remember,” Dawson said. “I know what a blessing it was to you.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, glancing at Kweku with a smile. “Truly. And Darko, how is Cairo doing?”
“Very well at the moment, Auntie, but sometimes life is a struggle for him, you know.”
“Yes, yes,” she said, inclining her head in sympathy. “We often feel for him. And your wife?”
“Christine-she’s fine, thank you. She’s a teacher.”
“Oh, very good. And how many children do you have now?”
“Still just one. Hosiah is six.”
Auntie Osewa was beaming at Dawson with such intensity he had to avert his eyes for a moment.
“Wonderful, wonderful,” she said. She was sticking to Ewe, being much more comfortable with it than English.
“Will you take some beer?” Kweku asked. “I’m sorry, it’s not cold.”
“No, thank you, Uncle Kweku. I don’t drink at all.”
Gyamfi politely said no as well.
“What about some fresh coconut water, then?” Osewa offered.
“Yes, please. That would be nice.”
She went to the nearby kitchen, leaving Dawson, Uncle Kweku, and Constable Gyamfi to talk. Dawson was glad to have Gyamfi there, because he would have felt a little awkward alone with Uncle Kweku. Unlike with his auntie, Dawson had never felt a personal connection with Kweku and had thought him aloof. But he began to relax now as he found Uncle to be much more affable than he’d expected or remembered.
Dawson stole a glance at Auntie Osewa working in the kitchen. She expertly chopped off the top of a coconut with a cutlass. She was still extraordinarily strong, and the muscles of her lean arms had remained well defined. She poured the coconut juice into two glasses and brought them to Dawson and Gyamfi.
“Thank you, madam,” Gyamfi said.
“Oh, come on, Constable,” she said playfully. “You can call me ‘Auntie’ too.”
Gyamfi laughed. “All right, Auntie.”
“If you want more coconut, just tell me and I’ll bring some more.” She sat down next to Dawson at an angle so she could easily make eye contact with him. “So, Darko, what brings you here to see your poor old auntie, eh? The one you’ve neglected for all these years?”
There was laughter all around. She was teasing, of course, but it was still uncomfortable for Dawson, because the truth was he had neglected her, and there was no easy explanation.
“Auntie, it’s not that Cairo and I didn’t often think about you and Uncle Kweku,” he said, deflecting the question a bit. “In fact I was telling him just yesterday how much I regretted our not having come to visit you from time to time. I promise I won’t let it happen again.”
“All right,” she said, smiling. “Constable, you are my witness.”
More laughter all around.
“So how do you know Constable Gyamfi?” Uncle Kweku asked Dawson.
“We’ve just met,” Dawson said. “You know, I’m with the police now. I work for CID in Accra.”
“Oh, is that so?” Uncle Kweku said, looking impressed. “So you’re a big, important man, eh?”
Dawson smiled. “Well, I’m not so sure about that, but thank you.”
“Inspector has come to help us with the investigation of Gladys Mensah’s death,” Gyamfi said.
Uncle Kweku clicked his tongue with regret. “It’s terrible what happened to her. We’ve heard so many rumors. Some people say she fell down in the forest and hit her head, some others are saying she died from witchcraft.”
“I don’t know much about witchcraft,” Dawson said, “but for sure we know now she was murdered.”
“Oh!” Kweku said, shocked. “Who could do something like that? She was such a good person. She came to see us one day, not so, Osewa?”
She nodded. “She did.”
“Really?” Dawson asked with interest.
“Yes,” Auntie Osewa said. “You remember Mr. Kutu?”
“Very well.”
“Maybe you don’t know, but he helped me to bear a child through his herbal medicines. Gladys Mensah, well, she wanted to learn about those kinds of medicines-how she could use them to help more women who could not have children, or something like that. So one day she came with Mr. Kutu to meet us.”
“How did you find Gladys to be as a person?”
“Oh, just a very fine young woman,” Auntie Osewa said. “Very fine. She sat and ate with us, and we talked about many things.”
“How was she with Mr. Kutu?”
“What do you mean?”
“How did they behave with each other?”
Osewa shrugged. “I think everything was okay. What do you think, Kweku?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I saw that they liked each other very well.”
Dawson caught a movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see a young man in the doorway.
“Alifoe!” Osewa said. “Come and greet your cousin.”
Their son was not as tall as Dawson, but his shoulders were much broader. He moved easily and had a bright, spontaneous grin. Dawson stood up, and Alifoe embraced him and then stood back at arm’s length to gaze at him.
“So, finally I get to meet my cousin in the flesh,” he said, smiling.
“Welcome back to Ketanu, Darko,” Alifoe said. “How is Accra?”
“Big and dirty,” Dawson said.
“But you like it?”
Dawson turned his palms up. “It’s home. I complain about it all the time, but I’m not leaving.”
“I want to live there,” Alifoe said. “I like the big city.”
“Alifoe, do you want some coconut?” Osewa said suddenly, and Dawson found the interruption striking.
“No, thank you, Mama,” Alifoe said. He fell silent, Kweku looked away, and Dawson felt tension spring out of nowhere like water from a hidden underground stream.
“Darko, you and Gyamfi must eat with us,” Osewa said, hurriedly filling in the lull.
Darko’s salivary glands squirted into action at the thought of Auntie Osewa’s cooking.
He looked at Gyamfi, who nodded enthusiastically.
“We would love to,” Dawson said. “Thank you, Auntie.”