Kwesida
It is Sunday and Sundays are for the past.
Not for any recollection of things gone by but for the remembrance of how my hometown was founded, of the priests who led my ancestors from the interior and the creatures who lurk in the depths of the ocean my hometown is coiled next to.
Sundays are for the retelling of the bond between Mother Ocean and the town. Sundays are for reinforcing lies.
Ebo is talking about Afia’s Island again; he is warning my brother off it. My uncle is the only one in town who talks about the floating isle this way. Everyone else speaks about Mother Ocean’s servants who walk the island with reverence—we call them the Strange Folk—and the treasure they guard.
“Turbulent waters which can crush any ship,” Ebo says in a low voice. He makes a gushing sound and my brother lets out a laugh. “It is the last line of defence. You will stay away, right?” My brother nods vigorously. Fiifi looks like a bobblehead going back and forth like that.
“Last line of defence against what exactly?” I ask, knowing full well Ebo won’t answer. I have asked this question before.
“The other side,” Fiifi says. “All the people who die at sea end up there.”
Ebo raises an eyebrow. “No, where did you hear that?”
When my brother points out it was our father who told him, Ebo lets out a chuckle. “For a fisherman, it’s outstanding how little your father knows of the sea.”
Disappointed that Ebo doesn’t agree with his answer, Fiifi brings up his shell collection. He tends to do that when he is not sure how to react in a given situation. It’s a security blanket which has taken up an entire wall in his bedroom.
“It’s the Strange Folk.” I blurt. My uncle’s lips flatten into a thin line.
“No, it’s not them either.”
“How do you know that?” I am tired of his stories, his lies. There is no ocean spirit and Afia’s Island doesn’t really move around the coast; it’s an optical illusion. All I want to know is why the island disturbs Ebo so much. I am tired of being bullshitted. “No one has ever seen one of them,” I say to him and think: but people say they take the shapes of animals; mostly turtles—it’s why their nests are not disturbed.
Ebo grimaces. Suddenly, he looks almost sixty even though he is forty and his brown skin is shrunken as though he had been wading in water too long.
“The things on that island and the Strange Folk are two different entities. The things on that island have twisted themselves into something unnatural, abominations. They only serve themselves.” There is a hard edge to my uncle’s voice.
“Monsters?” Fiifi asks, his voice trembling.
“They can’t get to you,” Ebo says as he puts an arm around my brother. “Not on my watch.”
I suck my teeth in irritation, lift myself out of the sofa and head outside. I can hear the ocean but it’s too dark to see where the island is. Could there really be monsters wandering its forests? I hate that Ebo is able to do this; that he can pique my interest in his stories despite my best efforts to leave them in my childhood.
#
Benada
It is Tuesday and Tuesdays are for Mother Ocean.
No swimming, no fishing; most people avoid the beach on this day, I am not one of those people. Fiifi is next to me on the hot sand, trying to dig a hole with his feet. We’ve been told to go home several times even though technically we aren’t breaking the taboo.
Tuesdays instil so much fear in my hometown, it’s quite disturbing at times. My university too, stands in a coastal town but it doesn’t come to a standstill because it’s the third day of the week. Tuesdays are for upholding the status quo of my hometown.
The sun sits high in the sky, the fluffiest clouds I’ve ever seen, floating around it. The water is a dark blue, glittering as the waves wash the shore. I watch the things around me, the things allowed on the beach because it’s Mother Ocean’s feast day. The fishermen sing while they mend their nets; it’s their way of honouring her. I spot my father and Ebo amongst them.
My eyes follow Afia’s Island, it looks closer to the coast than it was on Dwowda. I wonder what the monsters are like. Ebo says they have body parts in the wrong place, mouths in armpits, eyeballs for mouths.
“Are you thinking of going to find the treasure?” My brother asks. I turn to look down at him. “If I had the treasure guess what I would do.”
“Buy lots of toffees?”
He flashes me a toothy grin and I chuckle. Eight year olds are so easy to please.
“Can I tell you a secret?” His voice is barely a whisper as he fidgets with the hem of his tee-shirt, curling his toes further into the sand.
“You can tell me anything.”
“They want to throw Uncle Ebo out. I heard them talking about it, Mama says he is cursed.”
I sigh. Not this shit again. What happened is almost a decade old. It wasn’t Ebo’s fault people followed his foolish precedent in breaking the taboo. It is not his fault for some reason Mother Ocean did not claim him. They have to stop blaming him for the things that don’t go right in our family.
“Uncle is not cursed.”
“But Mama said—”
“It will be fine. He won’t go anywhere, too stubborn for that.”
Seemingly satisfied our uncle won’t be evicted Fiifi demands to know what I will do with the treasure. I want to think I will do practical things with sacks of gold: buy treasure bills, get stocks, invest in startups; anything to bring me more money.
“Get a ship,” I extend my arms forward as though they are on the wheel of a ship and put on my best imitation of a pirate. “Pillage the nearby islands for more gold,” I lower my head towards my brother’s ears. “And meet some ladies.”
That makes him laugh.
“We can sail the world, go to all the places in my encyclopaedia. We will be the Pirate Brothers, think of all the adventures we could have,” Fiifi says as he jumps to his feet, swishes an arm in front of himself as if he is in a sword fight then brings his face level with mine. “Then you don’t have to go back to uni.”
“Sure it will be.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I do, but I have to go back to school. I will always come back to spend time with you. We will be the Pirate Brothers when I am here.”
My brother looks at me as if he is pondering whether to accept my response or throw a tantrum. “Alright then, when you are here we can go swimming and eat so many toffees our teeth fall out.”
“Would any self-respecting pirate have teeth?” Fiifi shakes his head, laughing and I let out a chuckle.
We decide to build a sandcastle before the tide comes in; since we can’t get water from the ocean, we buy a bag of sachet water from one of the few open kiosks, so many sachets are sacrificed in the name of a moat and two towers. The castle even has a gate made of pieces of a twig. It’s a shame it will be gone in a few hours. We take a picture of us next to it.
“Look,” my brother exclaims, pointing to something near the shore. A conch, a big white one, half buried in the sand. “I don’t have anything like it. It will probably take up half a shelf. I am going to get it.”
“You will do no such thing.” My voice is harsher than I intend. “It will be here tomorrow with some luck.”
“But what if it’s not here?”
“Better luck next time?” I reply with a shrug.
“The water is not even touching. I won’t be breaking the rule.” Fiifi whines.
“Yes it is. Let’s head home.”
Fiifi ignores me. He sprints towards the conch. A chill descends upon me. My chest hurts. I am not going to have a brother soon. I scream for him to turn back as I chase him down. Fiifi picks up the conch, turns it over in his hands and lets out a laugh of delight. I stare in horror. Fiifi is ankle deep in the water.
His peals of laughter slowly morph into cries for help as the calm waters suddenly turn violent, crashing against the shore and spitting wood on the beach. I watch as the waves engulf my brother’s body. Thunder booms in the skies and lightning strikes beach sand into sculptures. The fishermen’s songs of reverence are barely audible. My mouth is full of bile and the rain is coming down in torrents.
My brother belongs to the ocean now.
I stare at the conch lying in the sand. The fisherfolk are scurrying towards safety from the tumbling trees. My uncle and father are trying to drag me along with them. The conch is mocking me. A better brother would have tried to save Fiifi but that’s not me. I am only a coward.
“Kwame,” Ebo grabs me by the shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
“Fiifi…Fiifi…”
“Don’t tell me he is in the… oh gods!” Ebo’s eyes narrow into a pained stare. Come on, you have to get to safety. Fiifi will be fine. I promise.”
My father is screaming at me for not taking better care of my brother. Does he think I don’t know this? Fiifi is dead and it’s all my fault. I was the one who brought him to the beach. Something breaks inside me; my brother might be dead but the ocean cannot have his body. I will not allow it. Fiifi deserves a proper burial and a tombstone I can visit; a place I can tell him of our many adventures as the Pirate Brothers. I break free of my uncle’s hold and dive into the raging ocean.
It’s not as dark under the sea as it is above. It looks like it is illuminated by hundreds of lightbulbs. It takes a while before I catch a glimpse of Fiifi. His eyes are shut, limbs akimbo and surrounded by turtles.
Turtles? The Strange Folk?
I swim closer, trying not to bump into any of the turtles. Gathering my brother into my arms I make my way towards the surface. I am running out of air faster than expected.
There is a hissing sound. Out of the seabed tentacles rush at me, jabbing and prodding till they pry Fiifi out of my hands. Another tentacle wraps itself around my neck and holds on tight. It is sticky and slimy, and I am one coil away from being strangled. It grows quiet for a moment, even the schools of fish darting about seem to still, then the seabed opens its eyes.
Sixteen. It has sixteen red eyes and they are all focused on me. Its voice is reminiscent of an orchestra. It is speaking Fante.
“He belongs to me,” the seabed says. “So do you, but for now you may go.”
That means what exactly?
The tentacle around my neck loosens its grip and I swim towards my brother. Another tentacle stops me. My air is almost depleted. I can barely keep my eyes open . My throat feels swollen and my chest is caving in on itself.
Something is swimming towards me. Something mostly human. There are flippers where feet should be and fins along its arms. I know I am seeing things because of the lack of air. The thing is glowing neon yellow. My mind is slipping. I couldn’t save my brother. We are both going to die in the clutches of Mother Ocean.
Why does the creature have my uncle’s face?
#
People in town claim before you die there are two options available: end up as an ancestor or return to your family home to negotiate with your ancestors for a longer life. This is not what happens to me. I see Mother Ocean’s eyes. I see masses of flesh with teeth and hair growing out of them. Masses of flesh with too many limbs, all in the wrong place, crawling across the beach sand, ensnaring sailors with sultry voices. I see Afia’s Island for what it truly is.
When I open my eyes, I am in more pain than I remember ever being in. My father is looking down at me, a sneer mars his face. I try to talk, but my throat hurts. Next to me is Fiifi; looking at him is hard, his skin is discoloured, his lips cracked. He looks vacant.
I did it? I did it.
“Is he… is he okay?” This time I manage to get my words out.
“No. He is barely alive, but he will be gone soon enough,” my father says.
“Ignore him,” Ebo says, shooting a glare in my father’s direction. His clothes are drenched, but there is a joking tone to his voice as though two people didn’t almost just die. “That was a brave thing you did. Always knew the taboo was rubbish.”
“Rubbish?” my father barks. “Things are ordered in a certain way for a reason. He brought back a curse.”
“Oh, shut up! One would think you would be happy your children aren’t dead.”
“It would be better if they died. The only reason he thought this was sensible was because of you. I should never have let you stay with us. Useless man.”
“Blame me if that will help you cope better, but useless? You would be at the bottom of the ocean if it wasn’t for me,” I have never seen my uncle fight back. He always brushes his brother’s insults aside with a joke or a smile. It’s unsettling. “Or did you forget who I broke the taboo for?”
My father’s lips flatten into a thin line. “That was a long time ago.” I look between them. Ebo is cracking his knuckles. How have I never heard this part of the story before?
The ocean is calm again and it’s silent between us. I think we all believe Fiifi is dead. It’s probably why they didn’t bother to take him to a hospital. I want to believe my brother will wake up. Miracles like that always happen in Ebo’s stories.
And Fiifi does wake up. But when he does, I don’t think it’s a miracle, I think I am hallucinating. His eyes are open but they are looking at nothing in particular. His eyes are glassy. My brother looks incredibly frail.
“Please don’t ever leave me. I am not ready to be an only child again.”
#
Memenda
It is Saturday, and Saturdays are for the wind.
The nets of all the fishermen in my hometown have come up empty since Tuesday. They blame my father and have punched holes in his canoe. My uncle isn’t allowed in our house anymore.
And on Fida, the baby turtles began their journey towards the ocean. On that Friday, Fiifi threw out his shell collection.
Saturdays are for the unknown. If you want to talk to god speak to the wind and they will speak back. Saturdays are for dealing with the supernatural.
I am on the beach, knees tucked under my chin. I’ve always liked the ocean but now there is something constantly beckoning me towards the water. Sometimes, I hear Mother Ocean when I am in the shower, I stand with eyes closed and let the water run down my body till someone—usually my mother—bangs on the bathroom door to tell me to stop wasting water. Mother Ocean keeps pestering me to visit. Other times, I hear snarls and low growls. I know they are from Afia’s Island.
The baby turtles are still making their journey. I want to join them and never leave the ocean, but for now, it’s enough for the seawater to wash my feet.
Ebo is the only one who doesn’t question me coming out here. He tends to come along with me. I think about telling Ebo about the noises I keep hearing, but I am not sure whether or not he is the creature I saw. I look at him, laying with his head on the sand, sunglasses over his eyes. He hasn’t uttered a word in two hours.
“What happened when you broke the taboo?” I ask.
He sits up. “What did she show you?”
It is unnerving hearing all those disembodied voices and screeches, but it is comforting in an odd way to know the experience is not unique to me.
“Masses of flesh,” I reply. “Some of them look like regular people but I can tell there is something off about them. And now I keep hearing all these voices around town.”
Ebo’s lips flatten into a thin line. “You will learn to ignore the voices. I didn’t see bodies. Just blood, the town drenched in blood.”
“So, what I saw is what exists on Afia’s Island?”
“Yes, though next time your vision of the island won’t be in your head, you will be standing on it.”
I drop my head into my hands. “Why?”
“I swear you never listen when I speak,” Ebo says. “The island keeps floating towards the coast for a reason. Mother Ocean can barely hold it back at this point. She’s a lot weaker than she was in the past.”
I look out to the ocean and realize Afia’s Island is closer than it has been my entire life, soon enough there won’t be a need for a canoe to get to it.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I am getting to it,” Ebo replies. “Sometimes, when people break the taboo Mother Ocean creates bonds between those people like she has with the town. The people who belong to her are meant to help keep Afia’s Island at bay.”
“It’s an island,” My frustration leaks into my voice. “How is anything we do going to affect it?”
“Well, it involves a bit of lunar magic and sailing out to the island to slaughter a few monsters.”
“This has to be one of your tales.”
“It’s not a lie just because it’s a story.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I didn’t ask to be a part of it. Who cares what the island does?”
My uncle pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. “The story of how we came from the interior that gets told around town is not complete. There was a civil war not long after, some of the elders wanted to turn Mother Ocean into a weapon and they went to great lengths to attain it,”
My toes curl in the sand.
“Blood magic has terrible consequences and you saw what became of them,” Ebo says, his voice flat. “They were thrown on the island which used to be so far out you couldn’t see it from the shore. Afia’s Island is a corruption of the island’s original name, you know? The town used to call it Efiase. Do you know what that means?”
My eyes widen. All his warnings keep making more and more sense.
“Prison,” The word tastes bitter on my tongue. “So, the thing down there with the tentacles? That is Mother Ocean?”
Ebo nods.
“She looks like the monsters you’ve been describing.”
“The ocean spirit didn’t always look like that. Whatever blood magic was used misshaped her too.”
“And the things on the island are the Strange Folk?”
Ebo lets out a laugh before rising then dives into the ocean. It takes a moment before his head shoots above the waves. “Come on in,”
“No,”
“The worst thing that could possibly happen has already occurred.”
A part of me knows nothing terrible will happen. Ebo won’t let it happen but I am wary of touching the seabed. It seems disrespectful. I find the creature from Tuesday swimming around when I dive beneath the waves. I didn’t hallucinate it. It does have Ebo’s face.
“Uncle?” I ask, before clamping a hand over my mouth. That’s when I realise I can breathe properly.
I look down at my body. It looks like Ebo’s except my fins and scales are a gleaming orange. What am I? Panicking, I swim towards the surface and hurl myself onto the hot sand.
“No, no,” I scream. I pull my legs into my chest, so glad to see them return. “What did you do to me? Why is this happening to me?”
“Calm down, you were going to find out eventually. Your brother will take this better than you are taking it, and he is a child.”
Those words only serve to escalate my fear. “Fiifi is like this? What even is this?”
“We are the Strange Folk.”
