is dreadfully real.

CHAPTER SIX

THE STORY OF THE INITIATION

Our people have always believed that there is a journey the spirit takes… It begins at birth… takes you to manhood… to womanhood… then marriage… and ancestorship… We call these transitions of the mind, body, and soul rites of passage… It is a coming of age into your identity… your belonging… But this is not an easy transition… There is much work to be done… much training before one can cross over to the next stage of life… There was even a time where it was said that if you failed one phase, the elders would determine if you were worthy to begin again… or not… Kofi, you are soon to cross the bridge from boy to man… Do not listen to the myths—that you will have to cut off your own finger and eat it… or kill a big boar with a leaf… those are childish tales from embattled boys with wild imaginations… No, that is not real… But what is real is that your initiation will be harsh… your hair will be shaved… your body will be marked with ancient symbols… you will be prepared… to protect the women and the children… to uphold what is just… to fight what is wrong… and your will, your commitment to faith… will be tested by the elders in vicious trials… where you suffer… and wish to die… Only then will you become a man of strength and honor…

THUNDER

My hands bound together

by twine,

a tall, dark shadow

holding a machete

yanks me

through the storm

by the same rope

I hung by.

It is too dim and rainy

to recognize the gated village

where they have taken me,

or make out

any of my captors’ faces.

But I can hear fine,

and while the sound of rain

thumping the earth

is familiar,

the burst of frightening cries

coming from

the chamber

they lead me into

is not.

GROUNDED

They push me

onto a damp spot

next to five other boys,

each looking

as terrified

as me.

They shackle

one of my legs

to a plank

dug in the center.

One of the boys,

very small,

bobs his head

to and fro,

weakly whimpering

like a mournful wind.

The small-small has been crying since we got here, chale, one of the others, a large, burly boy says, looking at me. They told him they will cut his tongue out if they hear him again, he adds.

Where are we? I ask, but he puts his finger up to his lips.

Shhhhh! They say no talking, one of the other five says to us.

…

DETAINED

I try to place

the faces of the men

who marched me here

through forest

and marsh

never uttering

a single word,

and that is when I realize

that none of them

were familiar,

that Kwasi, who is probably

back at home

losing Oware

to Nana Mosi again

or eating all the Red Red,