One afternoon, while we were winnowing millet, Wofa Sarpong, accompanied by a man I had never seen on the farm, gathered everyone in the courtyard where his children hid sticks and stones and where I was already sitting. The newcomer wore short shorts held up high on his waist by a leather rope. He also wore a white hat and paced up and down as he waited for Wofa Sarpong to organize us. The man went round asking everyone’s names, and I barely listened. I wanted to get back to looking for weevils and stones. I couldn’t stop thinking about Husseina.
Someone poked me in the sides.
The man in the shorts and cap asked me my name.
“Hassana,” I said.
Wofa Sarpong looked at me as if I had stolen the last piece of fish in his soup.
The man asked me again.
“Hassana.” This time I meant it, realizing that when Wofa Sarpong had assembled us earlier, it was to give us new names. He didn’t want to be caught for keeping slaves. Our names gave us up. I told the man I was from Botu, that I was the second daughter of Baba Yero and Aminah-Na.
Wofa Sarpong followed the man, bowing so low it looked like he would scrape the ground and, for the first time since arriving on his farm, I wanted to laugh. I went back to my weevils and stones.
I taught myself to hold my breath underwater when I was seven. No women in Botu could swim, but it was as if I knew that I would have to hold my breath many times. One time, it made me the bravest girl in all of Botu. The girls and I were at the waterhole early in the morning to fetch water. Suddenly, I heard shrieking. One word emerged out of the rush of voices: crocodile. We didn’t have crocodiles at the waterhole. After the girls had rushed out of the water, I held my breath and ducked into the water. At first, silt rose up and clouded the water. I kept my breath contained in my chest as I waited for the mud to settle. The water grew clearer and I saw human legs under the crocodile hide. I lifted my head out of the water. The girls were shouting.
“Hassana, come out!” Somebody’s loud voice floated above the rest.
I watched the crocodile hide approach me, and I looked back, caught eyes with Husseina, who had squeezed her face, ready to burst into tears. Then I returned to the crocodile, which was now right in front of me. We’d see how long this game could go on. The girls’ cries had become a ringing in my ears: “get-out-get-out-get-out”. The sun fried my back. The snout of the grey creature started to move higher. The girls screeched. The crocodile skin floated up, turned sideways, and splashed into the water, revealing Motaaba with his big teeth. He doubled over and laughed as I walked out of the water and took Husseina’s hand. She laid her head on my shoulder and didn’t say anything as we walked back home.
When Wofa Sarpong came back from seeing off the inspector, he was holding the whip he used on his donkey. He dragged me away from my bowl of millet. When he started whipping me I screamed at first, but when I heard the ugly sound of defeat coming out of my mouth, I held my breath. His whacks did nothing to me. If anything, they gave me the push I was looking for. I would no longer stay in this place to be treated like one of his donkeys. I was leaving to find Husseina. Aminah could come if she wanted, but if she wanted to be treated like an animal, she could stay.
But Wofa Sarpong beat me to my plan. Before I could begin to hatch a plot to escape, he’d fitted his donkey to the cart—piled with kola nuts—and ordered Kwesi to carry me on to the cart. Aminah threw me a branch and told me to chew its leaves to put on my body, to help with the soreness from the whipping. For a second, I thought of begging Wofa Sarpong to turn the cart around to let me stay with Aminah. But when I saw how the man’s shoulders were hunched up and how he was furiously hitting the donkey with the same swish that had caned me, shouting, “Ko! Ko!”, part of me was relieved he was taking me away.
The cart rumbled over stones and, a few times, I thought we would topple over. The forest grew denser the more we travelled, and I had to catch my breath. If only I could have fled with Aminah.
We arrived at a small hut in the middle of a palm-tree enclosure. We’d barely stopped when a tall man stooped out of the door.
“Dogo,” said Wofa Sarpong.
“Wofa, you’re here too early,” said the tall man.
“This one’s ears are too hard. She will cause me only problems. Just take her.”
“I have nothing to trade here. Some salt, maybe.”
“I’ll take it.”
Wofa Sarpong got down from the cart, dragging me down by the ears, and I almost fell, but made sure I caught myself and stood tall. I wanted to spit in his face, but he was sure to hit me and my body was too sore. The enclosure smelt like water that had stayed too long in a pot. A hen clucked by the entrance to the hut, trailed by her chicks.
“Give me the chicken, too,” said Wofa Sarpong.
“I need them for eggs.”
“Massa, I bring you good money and you talk about eggs.”
Another chicken came out, a grey and green rooster strutting proudly, unaware it was going to end up in Wofa Sarpong’s evil clutches. I looked at Dogo, the tall man, who also understood this and shrugged before following the birds around. The birds squawked and clucked, and Dogo stood up many times, fruitless, wiping his brow. Meanwhile, Wofa Sarpong went into Dogo’s hut and came out with bales of cloth and some rusted farm tools.
“The cloth is not for me,” said Dogo, palming one hand in the other to beg Wofa Sarpong.
“Tell the person to come to see me,” said Wofa Sarpong, striding like the rooster he was about to take.
“Please,” continued Dogo, but Wofa Sarpong glared at him and the tall man shut up.
I wanted to laugh, marvelling at how such a tall man could quake when small Wofa Sarpong spoke. Dogo was letting Wofa Sarpong do whatever he wanted, which meant either Dogo owed Wofa Sarpong something or the tall man wasn’t very smart.
“Come and take the kola,” said Wofa Sarpong, as if he were talking to one of his children.
The chickens were still roaming.
The man went into his hut and returned with three deep baskets.
“Hey, you,” Wofa Sarpong said.
I didn’t flinch. I took my time and then regarded him. “Hassana.”
“Come and take the kola.”
I took a basket, filling it with pods of kola from the cart. From the corner of my eye, I saw Wofa Sarpong chasing after the rooster. He lunged after it and fell flat. I couldn’t help it. I chortled.
He eventually caught the rooster and hen and put them in the cart with the cloth, farm tools and a bag of salt.
“You still have the chicks,” said Wofa Sarpong. “They will grow and give you eggs. As for this one… who will buy a hard-headed girl like this?”
“The white men in the Volta still take all kinds,” said Dogo. “There is no business in the Gold Coast any more. I go east now.”
“She almost let the inspector have me. Make sure the obroni takes her far far. I’ll see you soon.”
I hadn’t wanted to learn Wofa Sarpong’s language, but without even trying I could understand almost everything he said.
Wofa Sarpong climbed up into his cart and left me with Dogo, at whose feet the motherless chicks were now gathered and shivering.