Somebody's Heart Is Burning by Tanya Shaffer Page A

disappeared again and returned with a plate of
kenke
and
shitoh. Kenke
was another Ghanaian staple, made from fermented cornmeal. It had a grainy texture, which was much more palatable to me than
fufu
’s odd plasticity, and a flavor that reminded me of sourdough bread.
Shitoh
was a sweet, dark paste, like plum sauce with a bite.
    Minessi handed me the plate and gestured that I should eat, while Yao reached out his arms to me and gurgled in his throat like a dove. After I’d eaten, I swung him onto my lap. He looked up with a smile of pure delight, then stuck his fingers in my mouth and coughed. Minessi stood watching, not saying a word.
    “Minessi?” I said at last. “You wanted some money for medicine?”
    She glanced over at Amoah, who was playing with his children and seemed not to hear.
    “Yes,” she said softly.
    “How much do you need?” I asked.
    Silence.
    “Please tell me, Minessi. I want to help. I want to help Yao.”
    “Please, you give 1,000 cedis,” she blurted.
    I looked at her for a moment in astonishment, then exhaled a short sigh of relief. Less than two dollars stood between my darling and his medicine.
    “That’s fine, Minessi. No problem at all.”
    I reached beneath the waistband of my cotton skirt for my money belt and pulled out a small, sweaty wad. Minessi stared as I peeled off two 500-cedi notes, then watched my hands as I replaced the rest. She dropped her eyes.
    “Thank you,” she said, not looking up.
    A week later, our time in Afranguah was coming to an end, and Yao’s breathing was no better. It scraped and croaked. I asked Minessi whether she’d gotten the medicine, and she nodded. I told Yao to get with the program and shape up. I hugged Yao and Minessi and Amoah and Amoah’s three children. Everyone squirmed and laughed uncomfortably in my embrace. I told them I’d be back to see them after my next project.

    Back in Afranguah after a month’s dusty labor in the Eastern Region, I couldn’t wait to see Yao. I wedged myself into a packed
tro-tro
for the bumpy ride from Saltpond Junction to Afranguah. In Afranguah a cadre of children greeted me with enthusiastic shouts. They accompanied me as I dumped my luggage in the cinderblock house belonging to the town minister, Billy Akwah Graham (his father met the American preacher in person once and was deeply impressed), and ran down the hill to Minessi’s mud hut with its corrugated tin roof.
    Minessi was in the courtyard, pounding
fufu
with a long wooden pestle. She laughed when she saw me with my entourage and shouted, “Eh! Sistah Korkor! You are welcome!” I ran to hug her. Yao was on her back, and I covered his little head with kisses. Minessi leaned the long stick against the scooped-out wooden bowl and unwound the cloth that held Yao to her back. She handed him to me.
    I looked deep into his soulful eyes and was shocked to find them glassy. Then Yao coughed: a wrenching, guttural cough that sent a shudder through his whole body. I looked up at Minessi in alarm. She started at my expression, taking a step backward.
    “Yao is worse, Minessi, he’s worse.” A shrill panic came into my voice. “What happened to the medicine?” I asked.
    “It is finished,” she said. “Every day, one spoon.”
    She went into the hut and brought out a bottle, empty and carefully washed, with the label still on it. Examining it, I saw that it was a kind of drugstore cough syrup, cherry flavored for children.
    “Oh, Minessi, who gave you this?”
    “Saltpond Junction. I tell him Yao is sick. He says it is the best. From England.”
    “Minessi,” I took her hand. “I want to take Yao to see a doctor. There’s a hospital in Saltpond, right?”
    She shrugged and looked at the ground.
    “I’ll pay for it, okay? Whatever he needs. But let’s get him there as soon as we can. Can you go today?”
    “I must tell my husband.”
    I’d forgotten she had a husband. Where was he all day? I didn’t remember ever seeing him. There were so