A Toyota Corolla came around the bend in the road. It was extremely old, and it was making an awful racket sound as it sped around the curve quite dangerously.

In it were two men. One, the driver, quite old, approaching his seventies was wearing a faded local attire called batakari, and it was quite evident that he was drunk.

In the backseat was another man. He was quite young and was wearing only a singlet and a pair of shorts, with bare feet. He was shivering, his teeth chattering together rather alarmingly.

He was sweating profusely in the heat of the late October afternoon, and it was evident that he was not feeling very well

The road was quite bad. It had been tarred once, but neglect and erosion had ensured that it was now rutted and had several potholes.

The old man raised a gallon that was almost empty to his lips and slugged the local brewed alcoholic drink, ‘akpeteshie’ into his mouth noisily.

 

He dropped the now empty gallon and smacked his lips quite appreciatively.

“Who says man no dey?” the old man says with a smirk. “Abakade! Ogoglo is king over schnapps!”

He worked the gears of the car violently as he went round the bend in the road. The road was bordered on both sides by thick vegetation and huge trees.

The car soon began to zigzag across the road because the old man was dozing at the wheel.

The young man in the back seat was hardly aware of what was going on because his body was suffused with great heat, and his head was really aching him.

He was a very sick young man.

Another bend was coming up in the road, but by this time the old man was soundly asleep behind the wheel of the car, and his foot was pressing down hard on the accelerator.

The car did not make it around the bend.

In actual fact, a rackety truck with a wooden trailer was approaching the bend from the opposite direction, and its driver was blasting on his horn to warn other cars approaching.

Its trailer was filled with bags of dry cocoa beans.

The old man’s Toyota smashed into a pothole and shot into the air.

There was a huge oak tree just ahead in the woods, and the car smashed into it head-on. The back door was thrown open, and the young man was thrown out where he smashed his head into another tree not far from the oak tree.

The young man’s body went limp, and a terrible wound opened up in his skull.

 

Blood began to pump out of his head.

The old man was propelled forward by the impact of the car.

He was not wearing a seatbelt, so he was forced through the broken windshield to smash his head against the oak tree, breaking his neck instantly.

The truck which was coming round the corner came to a shuddering halt, and the driver jumped out. He was followed by other men and some women.

More men dropped from the trailer of the truck, and they all rushed toward the accident scene, shouting and screaming.

They find that the old man was dead, but the young man was moaning softly.

Quickly, they plucked some herbal leaves, crushed them, put them on the wound in the young man’s head, and wrapped it up with some old clothes in the truck.

Then, they carried him to the truck carefully, together with the body of the old man.

And then they began to drive as quickly as they could towards the next village where they hoped to find a medicine man.

When they got to the village, they were told that the only medicine man was Opanyin Nana Amoah, and he was in the next village, Densua, across the river.

 

Some young men in the village accepted some amount of money from the driver of the cocoa truck, and they put the wounded man on a raft and rowed him across the river to Densua.

The driver and two of his mates stood on the edge of the river, in the darkening evening, and watched the raft as it moved across the river.

“I don’t think that man will make it, boss. He’ll surely die!” the driver’s mate said.

The driver shrugged and shook his head sadly.

“May the gods be with him, whoever he is!” the driver stated.

The Medicine Man’s house was one of the most prestigious in the village of Densua.

It was one of the few that had were plastered with cement over the inner clay and it fenced-off with bamboo sticks. The yard is huge.

The house was circular, and it had a large inner yard.

There was a huge dog on a leash giving out quite a bray when the young men entered the yard, carrying the wounded young man on a crude stretcher fashioned from two tree branches connected with cloths and ropes.

The Medicine Man was short and stoutly built. His face was hard and withered, and he had bright little eyes. He had a full head of hair but it was absolutely all white, and his beard and moustache were white too.

He was wearing only a pair of large ‘jokoto’ shorts when the wounded man was brought into his compound.

The medicine man directed them to one of the rooms where they laid him on a mat on the floor. There are several lanterns on in the room, providing light in the otherwise dark interior.

The Medicine Man knelt beside the man and looked at the blood-soaked cloth around the head of the immobile man.

“What happened to him?” Opanyin Amoah asked.

“He was involved in a motor accident, Nana, on the Cherensua road. He was in Old Apakye’s car,” replied one of the young men.

The Medicine Man looked sharply at the young man who had spoken.“And Apakye?”

“He died on the spot, Nana,” the young man stated sadly.

The Medicine Man shook his head sadly, “Apakye, Apakye, Apakye! So sad! He drank too much, ever since his only son died. Hmmm. Is this wounded man from Cherensua then?”

 

“No, Nana. We don’t know him. Nobody does anyway. The cocoa truck was first on the scene of the accident and they brought him to us in Cherensua!”

The Medicine Man nodded and dragged a bag towards him.

“Poor boy. He’s badly wounded and has lost a lot of blood. Okay then, thank you. Go out now and let me attend to him.”

The young men thanked the old man and went out of the room.

Soon the Medicine Man was seen spreading herbs,  knives, needles and other accoutrements on the mat.

The flap of the room opened and a young woman came in. She was Kuukuwaa Amoah, the Medicine Man’s only daughter.

He had two children. One son with his first wife, and one daughter with his second wife. His first wife was alive, but his second wife was dead.

Kuukuwaa was a very beautiful girl. She was dark with skin as smooth as silk.

She had taken her mother’s classic beauty, and even at twenty-four, she was simply the most beautiful girl in Densua.

She was well-formed and graceful. Her figure belonged to a dream, and her facial features were finely-chiselled as if by a master craftsman.

Her hair was plaited into long upright strands on her head, and her huge eyes were filled with compassion when she entered and saw the inert form of the young man on the mat.

“Papa. Do you need help?” she asked.

 

The medicine man looked up at his daughter and smiled fondly.

“Ah, my Jewel. I thought you were asleep. Where is your brother?”

Kuukuwaa dropped to her knees and sat back, her wide innocent eyes never leaving the face of the wounded man.

“I haven’t seen him this evening, Papa. Maybe he’s still out.”

“Yes, and still filling his distended belly with palm wine, no doubt. Alright, dear. Please boil some water to sterilize these needles and the knives. This poor fellow has lost a lot of blood and has quite a nasty split in his head. I’m afraid he might not survive, but let us try, okay?”

“Yes, Papa. I’ll go and boil water at once!” she said and scurried out quickly.

The Medicine Man sighed and began to hum a song as he pulled two of the lanterns near and began to peel the sodden cloth from around the head of the wounded man.

And, deep into the night, father and daughter cut, stitched and bandaged the strange young man who had been in the car of Opanyin Apakye, the late drunkard of Cherensua.

Finally, the Medicine Man and his daughter shifted the man gently to the other side of the room where there was a freshly-made low bed.

The old man stretched his body and neck to get the kinks out of them, and then he bent and started to wash his hands with soap.

“Will he make it, Papa?” Kuukuwaa asked in an unsteady voice.

For a moment, the man made no response as he rinsed his hands in clean water and picked up a neatly-folded towel from the mat.

“We’ve done our best, my Jewel. The rest is up to the ancestors and his family gods. I’m tired. I’ll turn in now. Goodnight, my precious.”

The young woman was standing by the side of the bed gazing down at the stranger.

“Sleep well, Papa.”

 

Later, she folded up the mats and cloths on the floor and used warm water to mop traces of blood off the floor, and then she mopped with a locally-made disinfectant.

Afterwards, she took a bath and returned to the room where the wounded man was lying.

She draped a huge cloth around her, and acting on impulse, she sat down by the side of the bed and pulled the cover cloth up over the man.

She noticed how the soft light from the lanterns dance off his face. She saw that he was indeed a very handsome young man. He was tall and finely built with a broad chest and a ripped torso which were covered with fine hair. His face was incredibly handsome, and there were hints of dimples on his cheeks.  His eyebrows were thick, his eyelashes full and almost feminine.

Kuukuwaa had never been one to pay much attention to males. She was old enough to know that they courted her fiercely just for what she had as a woman and that her physical beauty was their motivation.

She had never been fascinated by any of the men in the village, not even the prince, who had always been after her.

Kuukuwaa was a Christian, and she believed that at the right time God will definitely make her fall in love, but presently she was not interested in love, especially in opening her thighs for any man to occupy but that night she stayed for a long time in the ward of the wounded man, wondering who he was, and where he came from.

 

Finally, when she heard the ruckus her brother was making in the yard, she stood up and looked down at the gentle face of the man.

“Good night, stranger. Please, do get well. I’ll pray for you tonight for God to heal you,” she whispered and went outside, quickly making her way towards her room which was three doors away from the ward.

Her brother, short and stout like their father, suddenly made a beeline move toward her and blocked her path, fighting to stand straight.

He was moving from side to side, barely managing to keep standing.

Kuukuwaa wrinkled her nose with distaste when he smelt the alcohol on her step-brother, Kobby.

“Hey, sis, you have to save me!” he says drunkenly. “I’m so terribly hungry. I can feel my stomach almost beginning to burst into flames!”

“I served your food in the kitchen, Kobby. The soup might be very cold by now. Wait, I’ll rekindle the fire and warm it for you.”

Kobby burst into laughter and turned away drunkenly from his sister, stumbling along as he walked on his hands and knees for a while. And then he reached out and held a pillar for support as he dragged himself upright.

“Don’t worry about heating the food, sis. My hunger is the perfect seasoning, and I can’t wait!”

Kuukuwaa sighed, shook her head, and continued to her room.

In her room, she got on her knees, said her night prayers and then lay in bed for the next hour just tossing restlessly. And then, quite suddenly, a scream shattered the night.

 

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