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KAYA
I'd beento Ghana before when I was six or seven and loved it. The sights, smells, and sounds held such familiarity for me. Mum had always talked about going back and I’d loved the idea of it, but we never made it.
Mum had always said she had things that needed doing. But as far as I could tell, she was always working survival jobs. So I’d wondered what was so damn important that she couldn't go home. Now I knew.
My mother had been part of this whole world I didn't understand. All these people had an interest in her survival. But nobody, not one person seemed like they were trying to help her. I’d compartmentalized everything Gabe had said until I'd gotten on the plane. And I'd had seven hours from London to Accra to really mull it over.
When we stepped onto the tarmac, a man was waiting for us in a soldier's uniform. His skin was onyx, his brows full. And then he beamed a welcoming smile to me. "Welcome home."
I blinked up at him in surprise. "Um, thank you."
"We like to say, Akwaaba." He shook hands with Saint. "Follow me. I'll walk you through customs. It'll be faster." His voice was deep and booming and heavily accented, but there wassomething so soothing about it. He was also enormous. Even taller than Saint. Broader, too.
Customs was fairly easy. Standard. We had to get emergency visas. That was also taken care of. And then we grabbed our overnight bags and walked out of the airport. That was when the chaos began. Chaos. It was a funny word. I'd spent years trying to avoid it, trying to avoid complications. But my whole life had become one giant complication, and there was no going back.
There was a sea of people. They were shouting behind the barricade, trying to get our attention. Lots of hackers selling mosquito netting and repellant, selling some chips, and then there were taxi drivers. Very insistent with their shouts of, “Madam, madam. Sir, sir.”
I didn't know which way to look, and I was completely overwhelmed.
It wasn't until we were escorted to a waiting car that I breathed a sigh of relief.
Ah, dear God, there were so many people, all in bright colors, just out here working. On their hustle. It was intriguing but exhausting.
The driver we'd been assigned took us out of the airport, and fascinated, I stared out of the window like a tourist. My eyes were wide, trying to drink it all in. The smell was familiar. If heat had an aroma, this would be it. It smelled like warmth and dust and distant cooking food. Something delicious was in the air, and my mouth watered. In the distance, I could hear drums and music and the constant honking of horns. I relaxed just a little. This was familiar.
Within twenty minutes we were at our hotel, and I frowned at Saint. "We're not going to the house?"
"It would probably be better if we do that tomorrow. We've had a long trip. Besides, we want time to look around. If it gets dark and there's no electricity on, it's going to be a problem."
"Oh, right. Good point."
In the morning, Saint rented a car from a rental place right next to the hotel, and we drove out in the middle of Accra traffic, which was an adventure all in itself. When we approached the house, we saw the keypad and I frowned. There was no climbing over the walls because there was razor wire surrounding the property. Saint had a decryption device, and he was quick to put it up to the lock, but I shooed him away and typed in my birthday. Sure enough, the gate opened.
He frowned at me. "I thought you said you'd never been here before."
"I haven't. But I don't know. I just figured I'd try, I guess."
"Okay."
How was I supposed to explain to him that I justknew. Inside the walls, there was a wide-open courtyard. To the right was the larger gate opening for the car and a roundabout where the cars could park. Nobody came out to greet us, but it was clear that somebody took care of the property. Plants were in full bloom, and none of them were dead. The grass was cut low, and it was very, very green. Which meant it was watered frequently. Somebody had been taking care of this place. But who?
I called out. "Hello, is anyone here?"
No one answered. We walked across the courtyard, our shoes making a shuffling sound over the pavers. Again, another code at the door. This time, I used my mother's birthday. I wasn't sure how I knew to do that, but I just did.
Saint just observed me and said, "Looks like she expected you to remember something."
"And I do, I guess."
He stepped aside, letting me walk in the house first. And there was a familiar scent in the air. Jasmine and vanilla and hibiscus. I wanted to lean into that scent. I wanted to let it waft around me. It was so familiar. It was the smell of my mother.Had she been here? Was this like Zagreb were she'd anticipated me returning?
A search of the house yielded nothing until I got to the main bedroom.
In the bottom drawer of the night stand, I found a photo of me as a kid with my mum in the garden we’d had at a house in Calet. I must have been about five or so. We were sitting on the ground trying to build a treasure box for my most precious items.
I was young, but I remembered that day with a startlingly sharp clarity. We’d moved again the next day. The swell of emotions came on hard and fast, and I was unprepared for the pang of loss. I missed her. Fiercely.
Beneath the framed photo was a metal case. I pulled it out, and inside I found an intricately carved wooden box. It was about the size of a loaf of bread and cut into a funky geometric pattern. It looked like Lego blocks that had been stacked together trying to build something. Saint found me sitting on the bed and staring at the box.
