Free The Two Hearts of Kwasi Boachi: A Novel by Arthur Japin Page A

so abruptly, Kwame and I were remarkably composed on our journey to the Dutch fort of Elmina. The past was still too close and the future unconscionable. I do not believe either of us shed a tear. We made up for that later.
    Despite all the romantic notions about travelling, the truth is that it dulls the senses. The traveller is always one step ahead of his feelings. New impressions eclipse concern for what is left behind. While amassing experiences of the world outside, his inner being goes to waste. Such is his state of mind until the next destination.
    On 1 April 1837, around noon, Kwame and I set eyes on the sea. We dismounted quickly and raced across the palm-studded beach. Then we stopped in our tracks, awed by the pounding surf. Never had we seen the waters of the lake of Twi as enraged as this. But when the soldiers and porters, tired of the long hot journey, tore off their clothes and plunged into the waves we overcame our fear and followed their example, albeit gingerly. We took a gulp of water to quench our thirst, but had to spit out the brine at once, much to the amusement of the Dutch soldiers. They cleaved the water like fish. Great white bodies circled around us. Now they were naked we saw their skin was covered in hairs, either fair or dark. We had only seen this on animals.
    The Dutch red, white and blue could be seen flying from the fort that loomed in the hazy distance: Fort Elmina. A salty fog hung low in the sky, with swirls of black smoke. The latter disquieted Verveer. He wished to proceed at once to the fort, without observing the official ceremonies of arrival. There was not even time for the band to play the patriotic tune they had struck up at each village we encountered on our way to the coast. The drums were silent as, at a brisk pace, we made for the Fanti settlement at Elmina.
    There was a smell of burning. Two whole neighbourhoods had burnt to the ground only recently. People fled when they saw us coming; even an old woman lying on the ground, badly burnt, was abandoned by her relatives. The Dutch soldiers laid her on a stretcher, after which we hurried through deserted streets to the harbour. We rode over two drawbridges into the fort. Verveer withdrew at once, followed by his adjutants Tonneboeijer and van Drunen, in order to be briefed by the commander.
    Meanwhile the palanquins were unloaded. The fresh recruits were herded into the slave cellars. There was some confusion as to where to house the panthers. Kwame and I were at a loss in the midst of the commotion. Although the unfamiliar glare of the whitewashed walls made us uneasy, we hardly dared to move. So we just stood there waiting for someone to find us. The salty air deposited crystals on our cheeks. We ran our tongues over our upper lips and it tasted as if we had been crying.
    Van Drunen reappeared at long last; he directed us to a small cubicle with one bed. It was situated in the officers’ quarters, high above the courtyard. That evening we were both assigned to sit at table with the major-general, who—it must be said—treated us properly as princes. He instructed his adjutant Tonneboeijer to satisfy all our wishes, while Peter Welzing, the mulatto interpreter, was charged with keeping us company so that we might learn about the situation in Elmina.
    After supper van Drunen drew our attention to an elegant, sinuous pattern that had been worked into the railing of the balcony. It was the letter W, he explained, and it stood for the initial sound of the name of the king of Holland. He made us say the name again and again until we could pronounce it exactly as he did. After this he took a torch and guided us on our first tour down the dark passages of the fort.
    The old castle dates from 1482. It was built by the Portuguese on a cliff sacred to the inhabitants of Elmina. To appease them, a small sanctuary for the heathen godhead was created in an alcove. Van Drunen showed us the altar and laid an offering there of coconut and