Free Ama by Manu Herbstein Page B

expect a parent tree to be surrounded by its children, but it was clearly not so. She could find no answer to that question and there was no one to ask for an explanation: the few words of Asante she had acquired were not adequate for such a complex inquiry.
    Her mind turned to Itsho. Dear, dead Itsho. If only he could be sitting here with her in this canoe. He had often promised to take her on a trip like this down the Oti, to where it meets the great river she had heard talk of but had never seen. She looked up into the trees and there in the shadows she thought she could see his likeness. She waved to him.
    The Asante freeman who was sitting behind her followed her gaze.
    â€œWho are you waving to, woman?” he asked.
    She turned round and smiled but she said nothing. She felt suffused with contentment. Not since Itsho's time had she felt so happy. At the back of her mind she knew that this mood could not last. All the more reason to enjoy it while it did. She would live for the present. The past, the past before her capture, held a rich store of memories, good memories, private memories to which she would return for solace in harsher times. As for the future, she refused to contemplate anything different from today's bliss.
    It was late afternoon and the deep red-orange disc of the harmattan sun showed the trees in fantastic silhouette. In the leading canoe, Nana Koranten Péte was searching the banks anxiously for a site to make a bivouac for the night. The current carried his vessel into the first curve of a sharp reverse bend. Without warning, the front paddler thrust his paddle down into the river bed, bringing the vessel to a jolting halt, throwing the passengers forward. Then, almost in unison, they began to yell: “Elephants! Elephants!” The canoe had been swung round by the current and now they paddled furiously upstream, making for a mooring in the thick vegetation which grew along the bank. Nandzi's canoe, the paddlers adequately forewarned, approached slowly, soon followed by the last boat. They sat there, the three canoes alongside each other, tethered to an overhanging branch, catching their breath and watching the spectacle.
    On the inside of the next meander there was a broad sandy beach. On this, and in the river itself, the mighty animals cavorted. They had been alerted by the human noises and a huge bull, with torn and punctured ears and one tusk shorter than the other, stood still, regarding them, head and trunk raised aggressively. The rest of the tribe continued their rolling and splashing in the water.
    â€œNo one knows,” philosophised the man behind her, “no one knows what the elephant ate to make it so big.”
    Nandzi stored the words of the proverb away in her mind. She would consider its meaning later, but right now she was captivated by the sight of the calves at play. She had never seen a live elephant before.
    â€œHow I would love to have one of those babies,” she said excitedly.
    Nana Koranten Péte, who was nearby, turned and smiled at her enthusiastic foolishness. There was something about this young woman that intrigued him.
    â€œThe tail of the elephant may be short,” he mused, recalling another proverb, “but it can still keep the flies away.”
    â€œTo work, to work,” he said aloud. “Soon it will be dark. You and you, bring cutlasses and cut a way so that we can climb the bank. We cannot pass by the elephants and we cannot wait until they decide to leave. We shall have to stop here for the night.”
    â€œNana, shall I take the bull?” begged one of the Asante guards, raising his flintlock.
    â€œNo way, young man!” replied his senior sternly. “Do you not know our customs at all? Only a foolhardy hunter starts an elephant hunt without making the proper ritual preparations.”
    He shook his head wearily and said, to no one in particular, “The ignorance of our youth today! It makes me worry for the