Kwei Quartey

Wife of the Gods

The first book in the Darko Dawson series, 2009

AUTHOR’S NOTES

Glossary

Because of the rich collection of Ghanaian names, expressions, and locales in this work, a glossary is provided at the back of the book to enhance the reader’s experience of the story.

Witchcraft

Although it may seem a fanciful notion to many Western readers, witchcraft still holds importance in Ghana, where belief in magical powers coexists with acceptance of modern science and medicine. For many people, concepts of ancestral influence and the spirit world are important in everyday life.

Trokosi

This controversial custom is found in isolated areas of Ghana ’s Volta Region and in neighboring Togo, with strongly opposed views on either side of the issue. Even the English translation of the word is debated (wife of the gods, slave of the gods, child of a divinity, and so on). Traditionalists, such as the Afrikania organization in Accra, are in favor of the tradition and deny that slavery is involved. The Ghanaian government and NGOs such as the Christian organization International Needs decry the practice. Some of these opposing views are presented in the novel.

PROLOGUE

THE FOREST WAS BLACK and Darko was afraid to enter. The trees, covered from apex to root with dry, sloughing scales, beckoned him with their crackling, stunted branches. The forest floor erupted in a charcoal-colored cloud of dust as the gnarled, ragged tree roots burst from the earth and turned into massive, thrashing limbs. Swaying, the trees began to lumber toward Darko. He wanted to escape, but terror paralyzed him. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came.

“Don’t be frightened, Darko.”

He recognized his mother’s voice at once. Relief swept through him and rendered him light and free. Joy swelled in his chest and knotted in his throat as he saw Mama emerge from the shadows. She walked toward him as if floating, her head held high in the assurance that she would allow nothing to harm her boy.

She held out her hand. “Come along. It’s all right.”

Her palm softly and completely cocooned his. He looked up. She smiled down at him, her eyes deep and warm and liquid. She was strong and beautiful. He loved the touch of her hand and the scent of her skin.

And she took him into the musty forest of putrefying trees that walked. The forest floor was carpeted with ashen, lifeless leaves and brittle twigs that snapped underfoot. For a moment, the trees stopped moving and allowed Darko and his mother to pass through silent as ghosts.

“You see?” she said. “They can’t trouble us because we’re not afraid of them.”

One of the trees moaned loudly-a hoarse, wrenching sound full of the pain of approaching death. Roots flailing, its bulbous trunk took on the distorted likeness of a face, eyes cruel and mouth bitter as quinine. Darko shied away, but Mama held him fast.

“No, Darko, you can’t go back now. I’ve led you here to find the truth.”

“I’m scared to go on, Mama.”

“Why, Darko?”

“What if the truth is more terrible than the forest?”

At that very instant, his hand slipped from hers. She faded away, and in the void she left, there was no answer. The tree with the face, suddenly luminous in the darkness, floundered in the soil as it lurched closer.

“Mama?”

His reaching hand touched empty space.

“Mama, where are you?”

Darko turned in circles, straining his eyes to see, but Mama had vanished. The trees grunted, scrabbling at the ground to gain traction as they closed in.

Darko Dawson the boy cried out. “Mama!”

Darko Dawson the man cried out. Gasping, soaked in sweat, he sat bolt upright in bed. “Mama?”

The room flooded with light and he cringed. He felt arms wrapping around him and he tried to fight them off.

“The trees,” he said.

“No trees,” Christine said. “No trees. Just me. In the bedroom, here with you.”

Dawson looked at his wife, startled for an instant before he recognized her. He sighed deeply and let the tension go as he leaned against her. She held him and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“The dream was different from before,” he whispered.

“Was it?”

He nodded. “This time, Mama was in the forest with me. I think she’s calling for me, Christine-no, I’m certain she is. She’s ready for me now. She may have disappeared, but she isn’t gone, and now she wants me to find her.”

1

INSPECTOR MAX FITI had great significance in a place that had little. He was the head of police in Ketanu, a small town in the Adaklu-Anyigbe District of Ghana’s Volta Region. All he had was a small police station as ragged as a stray dog, two constables, and an old police vehicle that ran erratically, but when there was trouble, people turned to Fiti.

Case in point: Charles Mensah, a fortyish man with a painfully thin body and a bulbous head like a soldier termite, had just come into his office this morning to report his sister missing.

“When did you last see Gladys?” Fiti asked.

“Yesterday afternoon, around three,” Charles said. “Just before she left for Bedome.”

“She went to Bedome? To do what?”

“You know she’s a volunteer with the Ghana Health Service AIDS outreach. She goes to different villages to teach and so on.”

“Aha, yes.”

The village of Bedome was east of Ketanu on the other side of the forest.

“When she didn’t come back home yesterday evening,” Charles continued, “I thought it was strange, so I rang her mobile and left a message. She never called back and I started to get worried, so then I rang Timothy Sowah, the director of the AIDS program, and he said he too had been unable to reach her on the mobile.”

“Maybe she went to another village where the reception is poor?” Fiti suggested.

“Mr. Sowah told me Bedome was the only place she was scheduled to visit,” Charles replied.

“Are you sure she actually got to Bedome? I mean, not that I’m saying something bad happened on the way, but-”

“I understand what you mean, Inspector. I got up early this morning-I couldn’t sleep anyway-and I went to Bedome to check. Everyone told me yes, that Gladys had been there yesterday and she had left some time before sunset to go back to Ketanu.”

True, less than twenty-four hours had passed, Fiti reflected, but he agreed this was all very troubling. Gladys Mensah was a serious girl-reliable, solid, and smart. And beautiful. Very, very lovely indeed. So, yes, Fiti took this seriously. He jotted some notes on a legal pad, sitting slightly sideways because his rotund belly prevented him from pulling up close to his desk. Fiti was approaching the half-century mark in age, and most of the weight he had recently been gaining had gone to his midsection.

“Something else I want to tell you,” Charles said. “Maybe it’s nothing, but while I was on my way to Bedome this morning, I spoke to some farmers who have their plots near the forest. They told me that while they were working yesterday evening, they saw Samuel Boateng talking to Gladys as she was on her way back to Ketanu.”