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Tehteh

E SAT UP THE STAIRS LIKE A DRUGGED HEIFER WATCHING THE WORLDthrough a fog of stupefaction. The big head thinly haired had long given« L , t f ° m P ! X P r ° c e " e s o f g^ering, analysing, storing, assimilating,and utihsmg data on this unfathomable world. His big head, big stomach,

? 2 * . ' 9 / h e e k s ' w e r e enough data in themselves which remainedin his fog.

Manu, son of Morkor. He was one week short or rather one week beyond his first birthday

h r " * *

?

In the labour ward th7nn j streets of Accra. A passer-by managed to hold her before she hitthe tarmac,labour ward, the pa.n was murderous, horrible! It was sheer torturellhey gave all sorts of reasons why she

African Quarterlyon the ArtsVoLl/N03

Morkor should suffer so - underage, malnutrition, failure toattend ante-natal clinic, etc.

But why should she sufferjust because of a baby shedidn'twant-a useless, worthlessbaby? Her plans to desert thebaby immediately after thechildbirth came to naught onlybecause she felt too weak evento keep her eyes open. By thetime she could sit up on thebed, the nurses had firmlyinflicted her baby on her. Justnot to come into conflict withthe law, she had to live with thebaby.

The cracked stairs led toa couple of similarly crackedrooms which were barely liftedabove the slum compound ofstagnant moss-infected marshand almost carpeted of poultrydroppings. The house itselfseemed to be giving up the willto support itself above suchluckless grounds. But it was ingood company as some twohundred of such humandwellings built of mud bricks,plastered with cement androofed with rusted corrugatediron sheets, spread out uglily inthis old part of the city. Nima.

What was left to be saidabout the slum of Nima?Nothing. What was left to bedone? It was all there on paper.Had been for a couple ofdecades. The big houses toline the arterial road had startedspringing up. But they said thehundred thousand or soinhabitants could not be liftedup above the luckless grounds.They had to be hidden behindthe camouflage mansionsrooted in the market forces.

Far removed from thetraffic-jammed road the dincould still be heard of the trafficand the buying and the sellingof every conceivable thing -bleaching soap and alagbinanalgesic, crab and bales orpieces of calico, plastic buckets

and pocket knives, mosquitonetting and chamber pots,Mexicano jeans and cerelacbaby feed, high densitydiskettes and Michelin tyres,American dollars and icedyoghurt....

The boy sat there onthe stairs holding on to hisquarter ball of kenkey as ifwai t ing for it to betransformed into a crystal ballby all that din.

The fish piece wasgone. He didn't knowwhether he had eaten it orlost it to the predator fowls.Or perhaps he wasn't givenany at all by the mother whowas in too much hurry tocatch the tro-tro vehicle toMakola to hawk her pettyassorted items: razor blades,camphor balls, blue washingpowder, hair plai t ingthreads, et cetera. The kindof items that brought morelosses in net than in grossprofits and got the seller intofights with her creditors.

The fish was gone. Thekenkey remained. That kindof data was sufficiently self-saving so the boy din notneed to make any effort tostore that in his bigkwashiorkor head. PoorManu. But there was nothingpoor little Manu could do.He sat still, balanced betweenaction and inaction. On theStairs.

Kweiki was the littlecousin that was to look afterManu on this occasion. Ittook Morkor many days ofsweet talking to get Kweiki toagree to this repugnant taskof baby-sitting Manu. The lasttime she did Morkor thatfavour, Morkor showed uplate in the night. It was not afavour done without failingsas Manu was againabandoned to thegrandmother who barely had

strength to hold a walking slickKweiki heard from thegrandmother how late Morkorreturned and immediately sheassumed the rightto reprimandMorkor 'If you want to stretchyour back for another baby,please take this one along '

'I won't let you insult meKweiki I am your elder sister.'

Psst With a caricaturelike that baby you can talkabout age But it is a questionof gumption You don't startopening your legs until youare sure that goat won't dareslip through again.' 'I say Iwon't stand here for you toinsult me, Kweiki.'

Predictably, it ended upin a fight. It wasn't the first norwould it be the last. As always,it was Morkor who took theinitiative to patch up. Sheneeded to borrow money fromthe relatively better-off Kweiki.Just enough money to get heronto a tro-tro van for her ritualpetty hawking.

'You better carry yourown baby, Morkor.'

'I beg you Kweiki. Justthis once. I've got to see AuntiDora today and she's ten milesaway. And I have to walk. Idon't have money '

'Tie him onto your back.You always do.' She did thateven as she hawked. Lookingother slight physique, it was awonder she had enoughstrength to carry anotherhuman being even if under-weighted like Manu. She hadto tie him to her lean back andrun and dodge as the city taskforce men appear suddenly todrive hawkers like her off thestreet.

Naturally, Morkor waslighter and a shade taller thanthe average woman. Her longface and thick lips meant shehad to work hard to attractmen. She hadn't done too

badly by her expectationsThe only thing was the onefatherless child Manu. It wasa name she picked for him indefiance of tradition andcustomary practice Manuwas a common Akan nameand she was insisting thefather wasAkan If she wouldbe absolutely honest withherself (which she never was),she picked that name becausethat was the name of therichest man who ever sleptwith her He rode a brandnew Honda bike and heworked with a courier service.Unfortunately, he was onlyinterested in a one-time sceneThe curtains fell and he alwayszoomed past Morkor as if shewas a litter bin. But he etchedthe name Manu indelibly onher lusty mind.

'Why don't you everdo me this favour Kweiki. Ialways ask and you alwaysrefuse.'

'You wanted a babyand you have it. Wanted thisugly thing.'

'You know damn well Ididn't want him '

'I never believe you.How can a serious abortionfail, eh?'

'Must I repeat mycurse? This boy here is adevil. I used all the herbs. Idoubled the coffee. I almostki l led myself with thechloroquine overdose. Thisbaby stuck to my womb like amistletoe.' She gave Manu aknock on the head to makeher point. Kweiki liked that. Ifa baby wasn' t wantedantenatally it wasn't wantedpost-natally. She deliberatelyteased Morkor about thefailed abortion to make herbeat the baby. She had amysterious satisfaction ofseeing the baby beaten.Perhaps it was theunconscious fear that it could

African Quarterlyon the Am

Velll NO 3 03ORA r«vl«w

also hqppen to her. To her,babies like Manu had nobusiness messing up withyoung girls like her.

That was not to say they

had no business in the

pleasures of making babies.

No, no. How else could they

eat and perm their hair and

wear their second-hand

clothing and second-hand

shoes and go to watch the

latest films and be a little better-

off than Kweiki? It was their

life - the only kind they knew.

Grow up to thirteen, just past

or even right in the thick of

puberty, drop out of school

and drop under a new kind of

tutelage - the business of

handling men. You got fruiting

buds on your chest to show for

this kind of fortuitous age, you

got the well-rounded and

unruly arse to support yourself.

Parents would give up. Some

would even nudge you on.

You had a whole range of

men. You got to be smart and

know how to milk wel l .

Carpenters, drivers, masons,

just call them artisans. Of

course some office staff too -

salaried workers shifting files

redundantly in public offices.

Or even good 'should-have-

been-responsible' men - the

type they called senior staff

with office desk and chairs for

visitors. It was like climbing a

ladder. The bottom rungs were

there to step on first - the

apprentices in trade such as

the drivers' mates. You learnt

fast that way; learning to do

things in back seats of vehicles

in which the apprentices had

to sleep against thievery. Or

simply taking appropriate

positions in dark corners. You

got for the troubles enough to

buy a couple of meals of

kenkey and fish the following

days. There was always the

urge to go for something better

and something b igger.

Especially watching the good

life adverts on beers. That kind

of ambition had no space to

hold a baby. Every baby got

toknowthat. It was what made

you smart to get around two or

three permanent men to raise

the income. All the time you

refined the lies if they should

get jealous. More importantly

you had by then graduated

way above apprentices. The

masters invariably were even

handing over to their betters.

Already, the hair was permed

and the lip-stick was riotously

red and thick; and the second-

hand clothing had adequately

brought out the teenage

resources avai lable, and

everybody heard this girl in

that neighbourhood had

grown up into such a juicy

one. You were open to all

categories of men upwards.

That surely was the way to the

top. At thirteen.

Still, only you and your

friends knew how very grown

up you were; how very tidily

you handled the messy things

like babies with your own

antedotes which often would

and could not fail. Until curses

like Manu incarnated.

Of course there was a

father - often fathers in fact.

How could there ever be none?

In the case of Manu there

certainly was one. Morkor

chose a father who had two

wives and a fitting workshop.

Forty-three-year old, father of

eight children, tenant of one

chamber and one hall

apartment in a compound

house, drinking often and not

quite able to stay many days

without getting drunk, he

refused flatly that he was the

father.

After Manu's birth

everybody said the baby

resembled him. But his

business was collapsing and

he was loosing his clients to

smarter and more sober

competitors. Even his expertise

in Japanese vehicles was

waning like his youth. He

refused fatherhood to the end

standing on the ground that

he knew three other men who

as he put it, ate in the same

cooking pot with him. How

could he distinguish meat

cooked for him from meat

cooked for the others? Morkor

threatened him with civil action

at the family tribunal. He just

laughed and stuck to his

denia l . He had been

summoned to family tribunals

on countless occasions.

Rumours had it that, his first

wife of thirty-seven who was

invariably the main prop of

his family swore to pack bag

and leave him if he accepted

the child with the sixteen-year-

old whore. He didn't even

need that kind of threat to

make him deny his son to the

very end. As it were, he had

chewed a piece of sugarcane

and he was left with some

bagasse. It was up to him to

decide whether to let it remain

bagasse and discarded, or

gathered for the home for some

good work. That was a simple

decision to make really. Let

bagasse remain bagasse.

But, well, right now it's

very much okay. It's another

plausible index of life of the

suburb in addition to the

others: drop-out rate by end of

second-cycle education, thirty

per cent for boys, sixty per

cent for girls; infant mortality

rate, 120 per thousand births;

teenage pregnancy, fifty per

cent of girls give birth well

inside their teens; average

number of persons inhabiting

a standard ten feet by twelve

feet room, eight. The

additional index of fatherless

children (including those

claimed but with shirked

responsibility), those left for

bagasse, only tidies up on

the figures of demeiit. Sixty

out of every hundred!

It was like... Morkor

dumped him up the stairs,

thrust the quarter kenkey in

his hand and waved

goodbye. Manu was crying,

Kweiki was app ly ing

bleaching soap to the face

with a broken mirror. She

was chewing stick. She took

outthe stick, spat and shouted

at Manu to stop sneezing

bad luck into her day.

'Shut up there! Devil.

You said you wanted to be

born. You've been born.

What again? Your mother is

gone. Even if she were here

I could still beat you at will.

Shut up!' As if Manu was a

grown up, not a year-plus-or-

minus-old baby incapable of

handling data about his living

world, Kweiki went up the

stairs to put her bleaching

face close to Manu's

kwashiorkor face. 'Alright,

don't stop crying, okay. Cry

all the tears and fill the Volta

up. Maybe it will reduce your

kwashiorkor head.' Kweiki

pulled the ear sharply to make

Manu give a yelp.

'Tears will not bring

back you r mother. As for your

father, whoever he is, he is

as good as dead. Nobody

cares one hoot about you.

Why don't you just die?

Nobody will even notice

when you stop crying. So is

this world and you chose to

African Quarterlyon the AmVoLllNOi

come in. You've g£t to sufferfor it. Hei, I say stop sneezingbad luck into my day, devil!'She gave the baby a whackalmost dislodging the kenkeyfrom his hand before turningto dance away from him, ashe seemed to choke on histears. Oh how good she feltwhen she saw this devil insuch anguish! That wouldteach all babies to think twicebefore pul l ing tricks onunsuspecting girls. Stupidbabies! Agents of witchcraft!

In real good spirits, shelifted up her broken mirrorand turned to her face-bleaching.

Kweiki was a pretty girl.

Far prettier than Morkor her

cousin and younger by a

couple of months. She was

black (a complexion she

hated). W i t h persistent

bleaching she had browned

in the face, neck and on the

arms. She had a supple body,

and apart from the round,

pretty, smart face, men

couldn't easily tear their gaze

from the flourishing busts that

rolled under her blouse when

she walked. She knew this too

well and she missed no chance

to use them as her prime

weapons in her war on men.

The arse and the thighs could

only have been fashioned for

her to immobilise her victims.

Altogether she hadn't

done badly in the

neighbourhood and beyond.

She had graduated into

working the streets by night.

At circle, she made good

bargains to come home with

some thousands of good cedis.

She'd begun dreaming of night

clubs. But that would come

with time. She's got to have

the right spots, the right

connections to join the 'old

women' (her own term)

working there. With thatvisionary goal why should shecondescend to a life withbabies? Indeed she wouldforever remain in raptures tosee nuisances coming in thename of babies placed inphysical hell. To her, Manuwas the personification of allthe hateful babies rolled intoone.

So, as soon as somefriends called and the talkwas serious enough to exciteher (on ly talks about men wereserious talk), she rushed off toclothe herself and leavegiggling with her friends.Manu was totally forgotten.Even if she had remembered,would she throw a chance tomeet a new man for a baby?Madness!

He was king of the

house which was empty but

for the livestock - rebellious

chicken, goats, cats and dogs

and...well the houseflies.

There were grandmas and

grandpas and many other

adults but they were gone to

their multifarious businesses.

The grandma and grandpa

had a funeral to attend. The

aunties and uncles had this

and that to do to snatch a

square meal for the day. This

was life in the city; life in the

margins. There were cousins

of all ages scattered onto

various trajectories from the

house. Manu was the only

one left of a house inhabited

by at least fifty human beings

- old people, middle-aged

people, young people like

Morkor and Kweiki, children

and babies younger than

Manu . It sometimes

happened. By day, the whole

house was deserted. In the

night it filled up for the filthy

compound to become

sleeping places to the

immense joy of mosquitoes.

What was the use ofcrying? Kweiki was right. Whocared? The tears stoppedautomatically. The eyes wereleft clear to stare at a blankworld of emptiness. When thesenses connected the blankimages there remained thisfog of stupefaction. It was akind of fog which made itimpossible for his kind of brainto distinguish between a realworld and an unreal world. Inany case what was his pointof reference? That kind of fogpermitted no access to anybaseline data even if he couldassemble, analyse, store,retrieve, disseminate, handlesuch data like any functionalneural system.

He sat on his stair stillclinging to his kenkey as if itwas his only reality. The flieswere also reality enough. Theywere doing their concertoeson the kenkey and on hisstupefied hairless head andall over his kwashiorkor body.For he had soiled himself. Thesun was also exacting its ownpenance in a snow-ballingreality. The rays hit him likebullets of AK47. The hairlesshead, the parched skin, therunning nose and tear-driedeyes felt like skewed meatthrust onto an open fire.

Because of that he

decided to descend. His

crawling even at his first

birthday showed very little

confidence. Healthy children

walked. He was careful and

hesitant. He debated how to

do it with the kenkey in hand.

He was still debating when

his grip on it failed and he

saw the kenkey roll down the

stairs. He watched it with an

involuntary gape. The

rebellious chicken met it half

way on its fall and preyed on

it. The dogs jumped on them

to snap it away. That was the

end of a kenkey meant moreas a companion than a meansof meeting the need for food.

Manu waited as ifruminating on this bit aboutthe end of his kenkey beforefinally continuing his descentEverything for him wasuncertain. Where was hegoing? Why was he goinc;where he was going? Whatwas the objective? What werethe chances? What were theoptions? What principles,what ethics, what rights wereinvolved? Probably by acosmic intuition he wouldknow that such abstract things- ethics, rights, etc. - existed.But how would he def i ne themwith reference to his reality?It was all a tumble ofstrangeness. For the din of thecapital city life was reachinghim, the life of traffic andcommerce and... generallysociety. Right around him, inspite of his fog, there was theburning sun and flies, and hisown excreta and desertion ofevery human being.

He fell on the last but

one stair which would have

brought him into shade and

into more flies and a filthy

marsh and the stench of

putrefying things. He didn't

even have the will to cry

although he felt some kind of

pain somewhere in his body.

He was just content to lie flat

on his thin back and swivelled

buttocks and look up to the

roof which was rusted and

peeling away. As he looked,

he did not miss the ubiquitous

brightness of the sun and it

sent him squinting with tears.

A dog came to lick his

ear.

The children who came

to the house to find him

prostrated thus were oj^their

normal truancy from school.

African Quarterlyon the Arts

VolllNOi

School was such a pain in the

throat. They didn't need an

excuse to run from it. What

they needed was the will.

Fortunately, the fathers and

the mothers who had to

obstruct their truancy from

school were partly on their

own manner of thinking that,

school was such a pain in the

throat- a pain stuck somewhere

internally, where one simply

could not reach with the hand

and excise.

Back from school they

would hunt in every corner of

the house and if necessary

break into locked containers.

If there were mon ies, they were

the lucky ones. The aunties

and the uncles would come

and scream, shout ar.J curse

and threaten lightening by the

power of voodoo and other

principalities, the monies

would remain stolen.

That day, the childrenwere frustrated. There was notacedi anywhere. ItwasManuwho had to suffer for it. Comingdown the stairs they saw himlying there with his faithfulflies. One child suggested hishead gave the best promise ofa goal-kick. Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he l l ! He liked creatinglaughter. And, he also likeddoing things to show howtough he was. So, he took histime to march down the stairsand took a footballer positionbehind Manu's head. Ha-ha-ha-he-he-he!!!

It as his toes which borethe brunt of the kick. It sprainedand he squealed so cowardlythe others laughed andlaughed. Manu was cryingand as he struggled to getonto his wasted buttocks, thechildren thought at least eachof them should try finding thebesttechnique to kick his headwithout a pain to himself. Onepushed the struggling Manu's

head down, the other tookposition and kicked. As thebaby shrieked, the childrensquealed with laughter. Ohwhat fun!

It was thegrandparents .who came tosave him and drive thedangerous gang away. Thegrandma picked the baby,raining insults on the motherfor leaving the helpless thingto fend for itself. When shenoticed she would have todo some work on Manu,clean him of his excreta, shesnorted at Manu and turnedher scolding on him. 'Sillybaby! always shitting andsoiling himself! I have neverpicked you clean withoutstench. It's jinx on you Manu,shame!!' She screamed athim to shut up as she foundsome cold water and threw itat him.

The grandpa went upthe stairs grumbling that thewife was not minding herown business. If Morkorcouldnot look after her own child,who was she an old hen totake over that job? DidMorkor ever give them amorsel to eat knowing thatonce in the house they couldbe of some use? He stood upthe stairs berating his oldwife. It was the exact positionwhere Manu sat a while agowielding a piece of kenkeylike a talisman. The old ladyclimbed up after her husbandholding the crying Manu likean abominable package notbothering to wipe the wateroff him.

Because the babycried, the stranger whoentered the house had toraise his voice several timesto announce his presence.Grandma came out to invitehim into the room where theysat. It was a very spare roomindeed. There was a hard

bed which sometimes doubledas a seat for both of them. Theyhad a couple of stools and asmall table. Even if they neededmore than these furniture,where was the money to buysome more? Through andthrough, they had grown veryused to this room and itsmeagre furnishing.

The arabic dressing, thestaff on which the big luggagehung gave the identity of thestranger away. Here was aforeigner fortune teller comingto visit them. Grandpa openlygrumbled that his peace wasbeing disturbed. He shoutedat Manu to at least shut up forsome peace! Grandmastruggled with a dilemma. Shedid not like these foreigners.They always begged for alms.Yet, they had the gift of lookinginto the future and she had thisdeep crave for peeping intothe future to see what lay instore for her before she died.This man could tell a goodfortune for them. She ignoredher husband's grumblings andinvited the stranger into theirroom.

The fortune-teller askedfor his palm to be crossed.Those who looked into thefuture of others needed themark of approval. Moreover,one could not see fortunes withdry eyes. Tears of gratitudeneeded to glaze these psychiceyes to make them see better.They were waiting for a kindniece to come and give themfood. The fortune teller still heldout his hand for the crossingand the woman untied from acorner of her cloth, her last onecedi note which even herhusband did not know she hadand put it in the hand of thestranger.

He grunted andmurmured blessings barelywithin comprehension. He toldtheir fortune. He told them ofthe unlimited wealth waiting to

pour from above into theirlaps They were not meant todie so poor; why should theGood Allah keep them livingthis long? They were goodpeople and in their hearts hesaw whiteness which Allahhimself would reward fromabove. But, it was not justwitchcrafts holding back therains, so to speak, it was theirown inaction. Grandpa wasforced to abandon hiscynicism, and pull a stool towhere grandma sat with thestranger Together they gaveall their ears.

The stranger mentionedas an afterthought, a womanwho needed a child. Was itpossible they could help?

'She wants to take amaid?'

'Whatever . M a i d ,houseboy, babies....'

Babies?'

'Yes, babies.'

Is she barren?'

'Yes. She wants a childto have as her very own. Infact she prefers a child justabout a year - just walking.'

They looked at eachother and being marred forso long, forty-eightyears, theirminds worked as one. 'Theone we have here is barely ayear. Probably a year.Nobody knows. But he is notwalking Not even crawlingproperly - dullest of babies.'

'That's even better,' thefortune teller said through hiscola-nutted teeth. 'If you arewilling....'

'Well , the mother is not

here....'

'If you have to bring inthe mother then forget it. Shenever deals with mothers. Itwas a terrible and recklessway to approach a dangerousdeal as this one. But thestranger had used it often andhe knew it worked Perfectly.

African Quarterlyan the ArtsVol.11 NO 5

The grounds for its successwere prepared during thefortune-telling. The whitenesshe foretold in their hearts werepure whiteness of greed.

Then she has boughtbabies before', the old manshot back at him. It was quitea surprise that the oldmancould match his daring andbring it all in the open as ifthey were discussing thetapping of a palm tree.

'Well...okay, yes shehas bought babies before.'He looked directly into theeyes of the oldman, exposedthe redness in his gums andteeth and added impersonally,'but they are all dead.'

Would the oldman dareto continue along the path oftruth? It was a challenge hewaited for him to take.

The silence whichdiscended was a replica ofthe grave's. 'They are alldead.. .all dead.. .dead' It wasthe key thing they needed toknow before coming to thedecision. The fortune tellerwaited, happy and he hadpassed on the burden to them.Some of their likes were socunning they would leave youwith the burden of guilt thoughstrictly speaking they madeall the decisions and madethe deal possible. The oldcouple looked at each otherand then at Manu lyingforlonly on a torn mat in acorner of the room, sobbing.Each waited for the other tospeak.

'How much?' asked theold man. He was the man, hewould play his manly role.'You quote your price', thestranger spat out cola mucus.

They mentioned theirprice. Sky-high, enough torepair their leaking roof andto leave some cash for squaremeals for sometime. They weresurprised the stranger did notflinch. Nor did he ask for anyreduction. He immediately

reached into his luggage tocount the money. They wereso surprised they kept gapingand letting flies into theirmouths freely. That was thekind of scenario which metKweiki as she entered theroom.

Occasional ly shebrought her men to the house.This one did not appear toneed much time. She had topass by the old couple's roombefore getting to her door.She saw their door openedand she knew that they hadcome from the funeral. Whenshe entered, sighted themoney, and sighted thestranger, she knew somethingwas amiss. Ifshe wasted time,if she played dull, ifshe misseda false step, she would miss achance to take a good cut ofthe deal.

Fortunately, she hadheard the rumours that theseforeigners had been buyingbabies. She didn't believegrandpa and grandma couldbe up to that sort of thing. Butall that dealing with men hadmade her discover thingsabout the unpredictability ofman.

She went straight towhere the stranger wascounting and picked twobundles. 'That's my share ofthe Manu's fortune' theoldman jumped at her. 'Youput that money down.'

'I could put itdown...here. See, you have itback. I'm going to the police.'The old woman jumped up toblock her way, pleading.

That was how she gother suspicions sealed. Shewent on to force the truth outof the oldwoman who knewfor a fact that Kweiki wouldbe all for the deal. If nothingat all, they would all be rid ofthe dullest baby on earth -Manu.

Yet, contrary to theirexpectations, she declined

picking her share of the money.When the stranger looked ather, she smiled and told him,'I think we can have a littlechat together. You tell fortune,don't you? Come into my roomnext door. No, not right away.There is a man with me. Inabout five minutes, I'll call you.Come tell my fortune.' Sheeyed the stranger's money bagand gave him a lipstick smile.

Grandpa and grandmawondered what tricks thisshameless tart had up hersleeves. The stranger knewwhat it was all about and hewas happy1 ""ne preparedfor everything.

'Tell me my fortune first.'

'You must cross mypalm'

'You are going to cross,really cross, my palm.' Shewas happy to place theemphasis where it ought tobe. She was extremely happy.'This is fortune telling. Veryspiritual. Ican'tseeany fortuneif my palm is not crossed.'

Kweiki gave in andpulled a two-hundred-cedi notefrom what her man had givenher. She made a mental noteto be sure she demanded thatspecific cedi note back inaddition to whatever she tookfrom the man. She placed it inthe hand of the stranger. Theyboth seemed to take it allseriously as if her lifedepended on it. She listenedto the prayer and blessing.She spread out her palm andlistened keenly to the fortunetold. 'You are the tigressincarnated set to devour thefeeble in the jungle. You mustknow your catchment of thecosmic force is greater thanyou can contain. Don'tdestroyyourself by riding roughshodinto the heart of tornadoes.You will succeed anyhow andno force can hinder you exceptyour own.'

There was a sense ofmystery and fatality and it

made it all the more believableand feasible for her. She wassatisfied. Her fortune had beentold. She was a tigress andshe deserved to devour allbabies. The truth rang in hersoul. Death to all babies.Death to all babies!

When it came to hermentioning her price (for herpalm to be -rojsed), thestranger was surprised sheacted out exactly her tigresspart. She insisted on threetimes what her grandpa andgrandma took. As soon as thestranger paid, she led her outand personally went andpicked up the dozing Manuand handed him to him. Thistime she held Manu tenderlyfor he had brought her a summore than all the men in herlife had ever done. She couldalso afford to be tender sinceit was the last time she wasseeing him.

When the stranger wasgone with the baby druggedinto his luggage (he kept abottle of chloroform on him),Kweiki remembered Morkor.She ran up to the old couplewho had immediately lockedthemselves up to recount theirmoney.

Kweiki laughed at thempouring scorn on them 'atyour age, what do you wantthat kind of money for? Yougive me my cut, right now.'

'But didn't the strangerpay you?' asked grandmaincredulously.

'I only invited him tocome into my room and tellmy fortune.'Grandma lookeddubiously at her. Grandpafelt like running after thestranger and asking him. Heknew his grandchild was asgreedy as a hyena.

'So how much do youwant?' asked the grandma,grandpa looking at Kweikiwith distaste.

'I like my bundle. What

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I picked.pnd grandpa wantedto eat me up.' It carried thehighest denominations and shewas taking more than half themoney. Grandpa wanted toprotest, grandma not wantingtrouble with Kweiki personallypicked the money and handedit to her.

'That's very good.You've done the right thingnow. But look let's look-ahead,right. Sit down grandpa, andyou grandma sit down. I'll sithere.'

'What else do you want,Kweiki?' Sheer loathing fortheir grandchild was makingtheir skin twitch.

'Softly, softly, grandpa.Walls have ears. See, whatdo we do to Morkor?' It wasclear they hadn't seriouslythought of the question.

'No th ing , ' saidgrandpa furtively.

'You mean Morkor willcome back home here andwhen she asks for her Manu,each of us will look into herface saying rothing. Doingnothing?'

'We'll tell her the babyis lost,' said grandma trying tosettle the matter convincingly.And she wouldn't ask how

the baby got lost? Who carriedhim the last time? Where thebaby was lost? I mean not thatMorkor is that intelligent but amother is a mother. She hasrights where her baby isconcerned. You know that.'

'She did hate givingbirth to the baby.'

'Right on target,grandma. So, we take it fromthere. We act on that basis.That is our best defence. Ourbest hope. We don't hideanything.'

'But,' the old womanwas alarmed. 'How can wetell her?'

'You put her share of

the money in her hands,before you open your mouthwith the truth. I swear, she'llquickly make another babyand give it to you to sell.'

So again grandpa sawtheir money cut down by thehalf of what ever remained.They could not protest. Theycould not talk. They just prayedthat Kweiki would be done,gone out of their room andleave them in peace.

'See how cleverly I'vehandled everything for you?You should cross my palm ingratitude.' At that point,grandpa would have thrownthe money at her and strong ledher. But she was only jokingand she danced, actuallydanced merrily out of theirroom, overjoyed at the birthand sale of Manu.

Morkor returned in thenight pretending to be sorryfor overstaying, Kweiki, madesure she would get her to talkto immediately before anyoneelse. Not that the old couplewere up to the task. 'Why didyou always have to comehome this late, Morkor? Goask the time. It's nine o'clock.'

'I tell you, it's mycustomers. And I couldn't getvehicle.' Morkor tried to makethe lies genuine even as Kweikipretended she was open toconviction.

'You have put me i nto aterrible situation, Morkor. Idon't even know how tobegin.'

'What is it, Kweiki?'

'Aren'tyou going to askof your baby?'

'Oh that!' She made aface and apologised forburdening Kweiki with thatdespicable thing for so long.She was afraid she would getinto a fight with her cousin.'Kweiki, I'm terribly sorry Icame this late. But I managedto make a little extra, so here.I'll pay your loan back and

ton put her shareof the money in herhands, before youopen your mouthwith the truth. I»ueai-, shell quicklymake another babyand give it to you tosett.'

add a little extra. Thanks foryour patience.' 'You put themoney down here, but youmust know I've lost the baby.'

'You've lost Manu?'Morkor 's surprise wascompletely undef inable.Instant shock and instantpleasure! She had the goodsense not to rejoice openly.She was free of the leech.Free. Freedom at last! ButKweiki was smart to notice.She saw that it was safe to goon, 'I took this your stupidbaby out with me. I had aman. He was talking a lot ofmoney!'

'Oh yeah ! ' Kweikicaught the glint of envy in hercousin's eyes. She went on,'he had to take me somewherewhere we could be alone.You know where this rich mantook me?'

'How would I know? Asfor you, you're always luckywith men.' Morkor was happyto be taken into confidence.She was all ears waiting tohear about the good time withthe rich man.

Kweiki told her aboutthe baby instead. 'I left Manuunder a tree.'

'Please tell me aboutyour" richman'

'Please listen to whathappened to your baby first.'

'Forget him, Kweiki'

'I can't forget the poorthing, Morkor. When I cameback, he was gone. I wasconfused. I rushed to my policefriend. The officer. He told meif I should bring the mother tomake a report....'

'Me, Morkor...report?For what?'

'And of course findsome money to bribe theofficer on the job....'

'Idon'thaveapesewal'

'Hoo! You should haverested your soul, Kweiki. Me,go to the police tc report?'Kweiki knew it, she would doanything on earth to stay clearof the police. 'And the bribe.Where am I supposed to getthe money from. If the thiefhad come to me personallyand asked for him, I wouldhave gladly given him thisone....' She continued tospeak the language Kweikiwanted to hear. Thoroughlysatisfied with herself, shedec ided it was time tocelebrate. 'Well, Morkor, I'msorry your baby is lost. But letme tell you of my richman. Gotake your bath, put on yourbest second-hand dress andlet me take you somewherewe can have a beer.'

'You offering me a beer!You real ly d id have arichman!'

'Hurry up Morkor and Itake you to where he took me.If you are lucky, you can geta man. It's time for anotherbaby.'

'Oh no! damn, damnall babies. Damn all babiesforever!'

Each in her own waywas so happy with the fortuneof Manu that they cametogether and danced out,singing a popular hit with anarm wrapped round theother's neck. The people ofthe house saw the two enemiesmysteriously happy and unitedand wondered. Grandpa andgrandma smiled to each otherhappy to know the secret andhappy that their good old agehad given them wisdom totake a chance on a baby,when that chance came theirway. GR

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