He is right, Addo. A history unknown will replay itself, Nana Mosi says to his son, my father, giving up on his nap. We must tell the boy what he needs to know, Addo.

You cannot protect me forever, I say to both of them.

My father sighs heavily,

juts his head forward,

stares at me

with a half-smile

that vanishes

when he turns

to Nana Mosi

and nods.

What lies beneath? Nana Mosi asks, gazing at the water.

Fish, of course. And gold, I answer. Is that what you mean?

A HISTORY

All along the Offin River,

our people traded gold

for sheep and cattle,

and land, he continues.

Soon, we had land

as far as the eye

could see,

and enough meat

to feed us all.

Our neighbors

near the Coast

told us

of new traders

from other lands,

with new things

to barter: sacred texts,

tobacco, alcohol, and

a wonder weapon

that could rapidly spit out

small, round, deadly pellets

of lead.

Our Kings became

spellbound by the wonderful

new traders

and their rum,

and their smoking pipes

and their strange prayers.

Before long,

gold became

the God

of these foreign trespassers

with magical guns,

so they built large, gated castles

along the Coast

to protect

their religion.

But it was not enough.

These wonderfuls wanted more.

They wanted bone.

And blood.

Ours.

What do you mean, they wanted our bone? To eat? I do not understand.

Perhaps when you are older you will.

That is enough for one day, Papa says. Your nana is tired. The rest for another time, yes?

Yes, Papa.

Are you ready to go?

Home?

No, again to the rock and back. And this time, remember to raise your shoulders, and use this, he says, pushing on my stomach, not just your arms. Head stable, improve your kick. That is the only way you will prevail, he says.

Okay… Thank you, I say, turning to Nana Mosi, for being on my side, for telling me.

I am only on the side of what is right. And you are welcome and deserving. Remember to think of a proper gift for your born day that your nana can grant you… Now go be an arrow!

Yes, please, I offer, hugging him, diving into my destiny, my mind distracted by sacred texts and blood and bones.

RED RED STEW

When we return to

our compound

the tangy smell

of the red palm oil

and ripe plantain

plus the spice

of the bean stew

hits me like a gust

of goodness.

Maame

usually makes

a separate, smaller pot

for me

and only me

since Red Red

is my favorite food,

and Kwasi is known

to take third

and fourth helpings

before I have finished one.

But tonight,

we all fill our bowls

from the same, large pot,

because my weary brother

is still absent.

DURING RECESS

Ebo tells me that

Awo told him

that Jojo told her

that my cousin

has been going

to the river