It means that Maame is looking for you, and she is not pleased, he says, laughing, then tapping me on the head and walking away. You will be fine. With our cousin, I mean. Not with Maame. He laughs again.

…

PUNISHMENT

I am banished

to bed

for the night

without drink

without dinner

by my maame,

who is only silent now

because she plans to wait

to unleash her wrath

on me

when my father,

who is away

mining,

our business,

returns.

GOLD DIGGER

During the rainy season

Papa leaves

before the sun breaks

and works

two full days

panning

for gold

along the banks

of streams,

leading dives

into the rapid river,

and scooping up

shiny pebbles

and golden nuggets

with a shovel

that he invented.

WHEN I WAS SMALLER

before my schooling began,

he would take me

with him,

sit me on the riverbank

while the women

filled their large trays

with sand

and gravel,

and washed it

over and over

till all that was left

were shiny specks

of gold to be dried

in shallow calabash bowls

under the sun.

I would sit there,

captivated

by the sparkling dust,

watching him

paddle in boats

carved from tree trunks,

plunging

in and out

of the water,

swimming like a fish

in Offin.

I would sit there,

quietly staring

at the horizon

wondering

what lay beyond.

WHEN MY FATHER RETURNS

after the next sundown

both my parents scold me

in the worst way

with a never-ending lecture

on discipline

and responsibility

telling me,

It is when you climb

a good tree that we push you.

What does that even mean? I think,

and what does it have to do

with Mr. Goodluck Phillip caning me

for speaking Twi

instead of English?

So I just nod in agreement.

Papa shakes his head

and leaves.

My maame now smiles,

then hands me

an orange-and-red kente cloth.

I got it at market.

You will wear it

on the opening day

of the festival.

Thank you, Maame!

Ei! YOU WILL NOT SPEAK THAT FOREIGN LANGUAGE IN MY HOME.

Medase! I quickly say, showing my gratitude in our Twi, and thinking I cannot win for losing.

Come, I boiled fresh yam for you and Kwasi. You will eat, yes?

Yes, I answer, taking a bite,

looking grateful,

not wanting to hurt

her feelings.

WE PLANTED YAMS

in the dry season

and now the stems

are yellow,

which means

three things:

the yams are finally ripe,

we will celebrate

the harvest of the yams

at Bayere,

the annual Kings Festival,

and for the rest

of the rainy season

I will be eating yams

until I choke.

THE KINGS FESTIVAL

is eight days

of no school

of plays

about Anansi the trickster spider

of kente costumes

and plenty-plenty of tasty food

of loud drumming

and competitions

of lots of bowing

to the Kings

and the Paramount Chiefs

and all the other chiefs

of honoring

the departed

of prayers

for protection

and prosperity

of lengthy speeches