Is this true? You think you can outswim Kofi Katari, envy of little boys, leader of others, future King of the Asante?

KOFI! KOFI! KOFI! his mates chant again.

Kofi darts through the water like an arrow, Ebo continues, making it worse.

My cousin walks back

toward me

wagging his finger

in that way I hate

with a smile

that I fear.

Little Kofi Offin wants to race me in the river, he says, knocking the nuts out of my hand, and crushing them with his big, ashen feet, then, water boy, we will race. In seven days… We. Will. Race.

CONVERSATION WITH EBO

WHY DID YOU DO THAT?

Because you would not.

I was waiting for the right time, Ebo.

Time lost is lost forever.

I am furious.

That is good. We will use it for inspiration.

I will use it to pop you on the head.

You must start standing up for yourself, speaking your truth.

My truth? What are you, a sage now?

I am only saying that you must find your confidence and wear it proudly, chale.

Do not call me friend.

This is what you wanted, no?

Yes, but—

Then we will train every day. You will own the river. He will go down!

…

Say something.

But there is nothing to say

because the wrestling is beginning.

The men are being presented

for battle

and once again

Ebo has made a bed

that I will have to sleep in.

UGH!

THE PROCESSION

The fighters stand

in a small circle,

twelve young men—six from Upper,

six from Lower—looking outward

at the crowd,

rubbing palm oil

over their arms

and shaven heads,

across their chests.

Women and men

from both villages cheer

on opposite sides of the circle,

eat nuts,

guzzle beer

from large gourds,

and shout foul insults

like they loathe

each other.

The drums sound

and the first opponents,

chosen by the Kings

of each village,

begin circling each other

slowly, then faster

like hawks hunting

for prey.

LEGEND

Bonsu, the big fighter

from Lower Kwanta,

who won

the last two Bayere wrestling contests

by flattening

each of his opponents

on the first approach,

knocking others unconscious,

and leaving the unlucky rest

maimed

for life,

is the contest favorite

and a callous giant

with hands even bigger

than his rival’s head.

While he swaggers around

pumping his fists

in the air,

hyping up the spectators,

his smaller opponent,

in an effort to capitalize

on this seeming distraction,

runs toward Bonsu

with all the speed

he can summon

and rams his head

into Bonsu’s stomach,

then tries to grab his leg,

lift him up,

and throw him

to the ground.

But none of this works.

He bounces off Bonsu

like a flea.

The giant towers over him,

kicks him repeatedly

in the ribs,

all the while taunting him.

Then when he is tired

of mocking,

Bonsu bends down,

takes hold

of the tiny wrestler’s neck,

hoists him up,

locks his head