was slight in build, with the fingers of a pianist—long, thin, and elegant. Her cocoa-colored skin was unblemished, and fragrant with gardenia-scented soap. She lifted Abeo from the bed, set her on her hip, and carried her into the dining room where she placed the little girl into a chair directly across the table from her father, Wasik Kata.
Wasik was reading the Daily Mirror newspaper. Abeo could see his shiny, creased forehead floating above the top of the page.
“Good morning, Papa!” she sang.
Wasik lowered the paper to reveal a square chin and a wide, flat nose that barely supported his thick black-framed glasses. He flashed a gap-toothed smile. “Is that little Abeo?”
She nodded her head vigorously. “Yes, Papa, it’s me!”
“No, you cannot be Abeo,” he teased. “Abeo is a sleepyhead who never rises this early.”
“It’s me, Papa, it’s me!”
Ismae laughed and placed a loving hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Hurry now, you don’t want to be late.”
The Kata family lived in an affluent section of Port Masi known as the Palm Tree Residential Area. It was a neighborhood comprising expensive homes shaded by the fronds of towering palm trees. They lived in a lovely one-level, mahogany-shingled home with sweeping front and back verandas, tiled floors, and louvered windows. The kitchen was spacious and fitted with all manner of modern conveniences, including a refrigerator that dispensed water from the door and made ice cubes in the freezer.
Wasik and Ismae were from Prama, a rural village located in the Zolta region of Ukemby. Wasik left Prama as a young man, traveling to Port Masi to live with an older brother who, recognizing the intelligence and potential of his younger sibling, eventually sent him off to England to receive a formal education. After graduating from university, Wasik returned to Ukemby and found employment as an accountant in the government’s treasury department. He and Ismae had played together as children, but had not seen each other since he’d left Prama. The next time he laid eyes on her, he was reading the Daily Mirror and there she was in the newspaper, smiling seductively from the passenger seat of a luxury automobile.
He called the paper and they connected him with the talent agency of which Ismae was a client. Three days later, they had dinner. Four months after that, he proposed and she agreed to become his wife.
That was some years ago, and with the arrival of Abeo, Ismae had exchanged her modeling career for that of a primary school teacher. Wasik was concerned that this new domesticated life was too boring and unfulfilling for a woman whose face had graced advertising billboards, fashion magazines, and who was once rumored to be keeping romantic company with an English nobleman.
Whenever he asked, “Do you miss your other life?” Ismae understood this to mean: Are Abeo and I enough for you? Ismae’s response was always the same—she’d take Wasik’s face tenderly in her hands, press a gentle kiss to his lips, and say: “There is nothing to miss. You and Abeo are the life I’ve always dreamed of having.”
This would quell Wasik’s insecurities for the moment. Though for the life of their union, Wasik would continue to raise the question.
They were a privileged family. Wasik drove a silver Mercedes and had his eye on a piece of beachfront property in Tako, where he hoped to build a second home where his family could spend their holidays. Eventually, of course, he and Ismae would retire there, enjoying their golden years by the ocean and spoiling the many grandchildren he imagined they’d have.
They were practicing Catholics, having converted when missionaries came to their village and warned them that they would be damned to hell if they refused to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior.
Wasik’s parents had balked at a religion that only recognized one supreme being and ignored the spirits, ancestors, and minor gods who tended to the sun, river, moon, and animal and plant kingdoms—and so would not allow Wasik to discard his traditional religion for a white god with blond hair and blue eyes. Wasik had to wait until he was out from under his parents’ influence before he could convert. Ismae’s parents, however, bought in hook, line, and crucifix.
2
The summer Ismae’s sister came to visit, Abeo was an impressionable five-year-old. Serafine Vinga was six years younger than Ismae and possessed the same cocoa-colored complexion and lush hair. But unlike Ismae, Serafine was curvy—bottom- and top-heavy. She favored clothing that accentuated those attributes: miniskirts, low-cut blouses, tight jeans, and high heels. Serafine drank and smoked and had a wantonness about her that made other women—including Ismae—uncomfortable. Her years of living in America had imparted in Serafine a twang that made her sound like a buckruh—a white person.
She loved music—Ghanaian highlife, Ukemban pop, American R&B, and disco. That year, she came to Ukemby with a black case full of cassettes which she played one after the other, raising the volume on Wasik’s stereo higher and higher until the sound filled all the rooms of the house and could be heard out on the street. During those times, Serafine would grab Abeo by the hands and the two would dance until their limbs ached.
Abeo was enchanted with her aunt.
“One day, Abeo,” Serafine tweaked her nose and announced, “I am going to send for you to come and spend a vacation with me in America.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh, and I’ll take you to McDonald’s and Burger King—”
“What is that?”
“You don’t know?”
Abeo shook her head.
“Well, they’re wonderful restaurants that make delicious hamburgers and milkshakes!”
Abeo licked her lips.
Ismae snorted. “That food is garbage. It’s American trash and I won’t have my child eating it.”
Serafine and Ismae looked at each other and something passed between them sharp enough to cut the air.Finally, Serafine returned her gaze to Abeo. “So, tell me, do you have a boyfriend?”
Abeo made a face. “Yuck!”
Serafine laughed. “So you don’t like boys?”
Abeo shook her head.
“Don’t worry, one day you will. One day you will love them.”
* * *
Months after Serafine had returned to her life in America, Ismae realized that she was feeling more drained and lethargic than usual. She was severely anemic and the disorder had always played havoc with her menstrual cycle, so she didn’t think anything was wrong—or in this case, right—when two months passed and she still had not seen her period. It was the light-headedness and the nausea that washed over her whenever she smelled cooked meat—that and the unmistakable flutter deep down in the pit of her belly—that finally alerted her.
Ismae had had so many false alarms in the past that she dared not say anything to Wasik before she was 100 percent sure. When Dr. Jozy confirmed that she was indeed with child, she sat blinking and mute for ten whole minutes.
That evening, when she shared the news with Wasik, his face lit up like a candle.
“Are you sure?”
Nodding, Ismae wrapped her arms protectively around her midsection.
Wasik pulled her into him, hugging her tightly. “I can’t believe it.” His words were choked with happiness. “After so many years, finally, God has answered our prayers.”
“I always knew that He had not forsaken us,” Ismae said.
“All in His time,” Wasik whispered into her neck.
Agwe was born in the spring—a round brown boy with pink gums and sparkling eyes. Wasik finally had a son; he could not have been more proud. His family was complete.