The Boy who Spat in Sargrenti's Eye

By Manu Herbstein

Sargrenti is the name by which Major General Sir Garnet Wolseley, KCMG (1833 – 1913) is still known in the West African state of Ghana.

Kofi Gyan, the 15-year old boy who spits in Sargrenti’s eye, is the nephew of the chief of Elmina, a town on the Atlantic coast of Ghana. On Christmas Day, 1871, Kofi’s godfather gives him a diary as a Christmas present and charges him with the task of keeping a personal record of the momentous events through which they are living. This novel is a transcription of Kofi’s diary.

Elmina town has a long-standing relationship with the Castelo de São Jorge da Mina, known today as Elmina Castle, built by the Portuguese in 1482 and captured from them by the Dutch in 1637. In April, 1872, the Dutch hand over the unprofitable castle to the British. The people of Elmina have not been consulted and resist the change. On June 13, 1873 British forces punish them by bombarding the town and destroying it. (It has never been rebuilt. The flat open ground where it once stood serves as a constant reminder of the savage power of Imperial Britain.)

After the destruction of Elmina, Kofi moves to his mother’s family home in nearby Cape Coast, seat of the British colonial government, where Sargrenti is preparing to march inland and attack the independent Asante state. There, Melton Prior, war artist of the London weekly news magazine, The Illustrated London News, offers Kofi a job as his assistant. This gives the lad an opportunity to observe at close quarters not only Prior but also the other war correspondents, Henry Morton Stanley and G. A. Henty. Kofi witnesses and experiences the trauma of a brutal war, a run-up to the formal colonialism which would be realized ten years later at the 1885 Berlin conference, where European powers drew lines on the map of Africa, dividing the territory up amongst themselves.

On February 6, 1874, Sargrenti’s troops loot the palace of the Asante king, Kofi Karikari, and then blow up the stone building and set the city of Kumase on fire, razing it to the ground.

Kofi’s story culminates in his angry response to the British auction of their loot in Cape Coast Castle. The loot includes the solid gold mask shown on the front cover of the novel. That mask continues to reside in the Wallace Collection in London.

The invasion of Asante met with the enthusiastic approval of the British public, which elevated Wolseley to the status of a national hero. All the war correspondents and several military officers hastened to cash in on public sentiment by publishing books telling the story of their victory. In all of these, without exception, the coastal Fante feature as feckless and cowardly and the Asante as ruthless savages.

The Boy who Spat in Sargrenti’s Eye tells the story of these momentous events for the first time from an African point of view. It is told with irony and with occasional flashes of humor. The novel is illustrated with scans of seventy engravings first published in The Illustrated London News.

This book won a Burt Award for African Literature which included the donation by the Ghana Book Trust of 3000 copies to school libraries in Ghana. In 2016, at the annual conference of the African Literature Association held in Atlanta, GA, it received the ALA’s Creative Book of the Year Award.

Manu Herbstein has done what the best cultural historians of Africa should do: that is, read between the lines of the colonial archives to imagine what it was like to be an African alive at that time, witnessing and interpreting events. Prof. Stephanie Newell, Yale University

Manu Herbstein’s The Boy who Spat in Sargrenti’s Eye is a masterwork of historical fiction. Trevor R. Getz, Ph.D. San Francisco State University

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manu Herbstein
• Release date: Jan 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781508040163

Book preview

The Boy who Spat in Sargrenti’s Eye

Manu Herbstein

¶

PRONOUN

Thank you for reading. 

All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

Copyright © 2016 by Manu Herbstein

Interior design by Pronoun

Edited by Kari Dako

ISBN: 9781508040163

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Author’s note

Kofi Gyan’s Introduction

SKETCH MAP

CHAPTER 1

Cape Coast, Saturday, 6 December 1873

CHAPTER 2

Elmina, New Year’s Day, Monday, 1 January 1872.

CHAPTER 3

Elmina, New Year’s Day, Monday, 1 January 1872.

Elmina, Sunday, 10 March 1872.

Elmina, Friday, 15 March 1872.

Elmina, Saturday, 25 March 1872.

Elmina, Wednesday, 3 April 1872.

Elmina, Saturday, 6 April 1872.

Elmina, Wednesday, 17 April 1872.

Elmina, Friday, 26 April 1872.

Elmina, Saturday, 27 April 1872.

Elmina, Sunday, 28 April 1872.

Elmina, Tuesday, 30 April 1872.

Elmina, Wednesday, 8 May 1872.

Elmina, Friday, 10 May 1872.

Elmina, Wednesday, 29 May 1872.

Elmina, Friday, 28 June 1872.

Elmina, Monday, 15 July 1872.

Elmina, Sunday, 21 July 1872.

Elmina, Monday, 22 July 1872.

Elmina, Tuesday, 23 July 1872.

Elmina, Monday, 28 October, 1872.

Elmina, Thursday, 12 December, 1872.

Elmina, Tuesday, 11 March 1873.

Elmina, Wednesday, 12 March 1873

Elmina, Thursday, 24 April 1873

Elmina, Sunday, 8 June 1873.

Sanka, Monday, 9 June 1873.

Elmina, Friday, 13 June 1873.

Sanka, Saturday, 14 June 1873.

Sanka, Sunday, 15 June, 1873.

CHAPTER 4

Cape Coast, Monday 8 December 1873.

CHAPTER 5

Cape Coast, Tuesday, 9 December 1873.

Elmina, Wednesday, 9 December 1873.

Elmina, Thursday, 11 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Friday, 12 December 1873.

CHAPTER 6

Cape Coast, Friday, 12 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Saturday, 13 December 1873.

CHAPTER 7

Cape Coast, Sunday, 14 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Monday, 15 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Tuesday, 16 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Wednesday, 17 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Thursday, 18 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Friday, 19 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Saturday, 20 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Sunday, 21 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Monday, 22 December 1873.

Cape Coast, Tuesday, 23 December 1873.

CHAPTER 8

Inquabim, Wednesday, 24 December 1873.

Asebu, Thursday, 25 December 1873

Akroful, Thursday, 26 December 1873

Fante Nyankomase, Saturday, 27 December 1873.

Manso, Sunday, 28 December 1873.

Nsuta, Monday, 29 December 1873.

Assin Nyankomase, Tuesday, 30 December 1873

Prasu, Wednesday, 31 December 1873.

CHAPTER 9

Prasu, Thursday, 1 January 1874.

Prasu, Friday, 2 January 1874.

Prasu, Saturday, 3 January 1874.

Prasu, Sunday, 4 January 1874.

Prasu, Monday, 5 January 1874.

Onyame Bekyere, 6 January, 1874.

Kumase, Friday, 9 January 1874.

Prasu, Monday, 12 January 1874.

Prasu, Wednesday, 15 January, 1874.

CHAPTER 10

Esamano, Tuesday, 20 January 1874.

Akrofumu, Wednesday, 21 January 1874.

Moinsi, Thursday, 22 January 1874.

Fomena, Friday, 23 January 1874.

Fomena, Saturday, 24 January 1874.

Fomena, Sunday, 25 January 1874.

Kiang Bossu, Monday, 26 January 1874.

Kiang Bossu, Thursday, 29 January 1874.

Prasu, Tuesday, 10 February 1874.

CHAPTER 11

Cape Coast, Sunday, 15 February 1874.

Cape Coast, Monday, 16 February 1874.

Cape Coast, Thursday, 19 February 1874.

Cape Coast, Monday, 23 February 1874.

Cape Coast, Tuesday, 24 February 1874.

Cape Coast Wednesday 25 February 1874

Cape Coast, Saturday, 28 February 1874.

Cape Coast, Wednesday, 4 March 1874.

Cape Coast, Thursday, 12 March 1874.

Cape Coast, Saturday, 28 March 1874.

EPILOGUE

Cape Coast, Christmas Day, 25 December, 1895.

AUTHOR’S AFTERWORD

CHARACTERS

GLOSSARY

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

PICTURE CREDITS

BY THE SAME AUTHOR: Ama: a Story of the Atlantic Slave Trade

Author’s note

I FOUND KOFI GYAN’S handwritten manuscript in an old wooden chest in the loft of one of those big old houses in Cape Coast. It must have lain there untouched for over a hundred years. The wooden chest had a rusty iron padlock which I had to break open so that I could lift the lid off the chest, as the hinges had also rusted away.

Since Cape Coast is at the coast, it is very humid and as a result the document had suffered from all those years of high humidity. The paper was yellowed and fragile and the ink faded. The copies of the 1873 and 1874 Illustrated London News which occupied most of the space in the box were in only slightly better condition.

I have carefully transcribed Kofi Gyan’s story and scanned pictures from better preserved copies of the ILN. Apart from this, my editorial input has been minimal. Sadly, Kofi’s original diaries were not in the box and have yet to be discovered.

Kofi Gyan’s Introduction

DO YOU KNOW WHO Sargrenti was? That was the name I gave to Major General Sir Garnet Wolseley, KCMG , Commander of the British Queen Victoria’s army which invaded Asante and sacked its capital, Kumase, in 1874, 21 years ago. Here he is, with his waxed moustache and his medals.

Sargrenti (Major-General Sir Garnet Wolseley)

As for me, I am Kofi Gyan of Elmina. In 1874 I was still a boy, just 15 years old. It was I who gave Sargrenti his name, and it was I who spat in Sargrenti’s eye. Yes, I was that boy who spat in Sargrenti’s eye.

This is my story. If you like it, sing my praises. If you don’t like it, I challenge you to tell a better one.

Before I start, I invite you to join me as I follow our time-hallowed custom and pour libation to our gods and to our ancestors.

Odomankoma nsa.

Asase Yaa nsa.

Nsaman pa nsa.

Yeda mo ase.

Nananom, I greet you with this true story.

Dearly beloved and deeply respected Nana Kobena Gyan, Ohin of Elmina, senior brother of my father, whom the British exiled to Freetown in 1873 and only permitted to return to Elmina after 21 years in exile, and whose mortal remains we buried this last March: I greet you.

Kwaku Tawia, Yaw Kasi and Kwamina Fosu whom the British executed by hanging, Kwaku Tawia before my very eyes, on 28 June, 1872, I greet you.

We the living ask you to give the rulers of Elmina honesty, courage, determination, ability and good sense to rule.

Asafo companies of Elmina, Wombir, Ankobea, Akyem, Nkodwo, Abese, Alatabanfo, Enyampa, Brofonkowa, Maworafu, we ask for prosperity.

Nana Bosom Ampenyi, you are the owner of this town.

I call upon you, your elders and the seventy-seven gods to come and take this drink.

Give us peace and tranquillity.

We ask you for prosperity for Elmina and all other states.

Help all occupants of stools. Give them wisdom and insight into all things.

We ask you for long life for both adults and children.

We ask you to protect our memory of the past that it may strengthen us as we move into an uncertain future.

Drink.

Drink.

Drink.

SKETCH MAP

SHOWING THE ROUTE TAKEN BY SARGRENTI’S ARMY FROM CAPE COAST TO KUMASE

CHAPTER 1

Cape Coast, Saturday, 6 December 1873

Cape Coast 1873

I was on the beach with Yaw. I go there when my school work is finished. When there are no fishermen’s nets to pull in, we swim and surf on wooden boards. Sometimes we draw a line in the sand and see who can jump the farthest; and sometimes we have a spitting contest with watermelon seeds. Yaw usually wins the jumping but I’m the champion spitter.

British troops landing

This morning the beach was busy, with one canoe after another coming ashore to discharge its load of British soldiers.

Two British officers landing

By noon they had all made their way up to the Castle. But in the early afternoon one more canoe landed with two officers.

Once they had left, we had the beach to ourselves.

The tide had risen and the breakers were pounding the shore. Swimming was no longer fun. It was time to go home.

Then we saw the canoe Sika Nti leaving the ship called Volta with just one white passenger. We went and sat in the shade of a beached canoe to watch the show. Sika Nti belongs to the man I used to call Uncle George. Its captain is notorious. He stops just beyond the breakers and demands dash. If any passenger bargains or gives him less than his price he teaches them all a good lesson. Sometimes that gives us a chance to earn some dash ourselves.

Yaw and I sat there shivering, looking at the white men’s ships anchored out there in the sea, colourful flags flying from their masts.

The rising wind captured the plume of smoke from the Volta’s funnel.

My teeth were chattering.

Without warning, Yaw attacked me.

We rolled over and over, our damp bodies wrestling in the sand.

‘Oburoni,’ Yaw taunted me.

I brushed the white sand from my face, my arms, my body.

Yaw did the same.

We were black again.

‘Obibini,’ I laughed, pointing at my chest.

Then Yaw cried, ‘Hwe!’

Sika Nti lay beyond the breakers, waiting its chance.

At the captain’s shouted signal, ten pairs of brawny biceps drove their paddles down into the foam.

The breaking wave captured the canoe, driving it towards us. The paddlers raised their paddles to the sky.

Then, just before they reached the shore, we heard the captain shout again. The paddles went in, forward on the left, backward on the right, turning the vessel broadside to the next wave. The canoe capsized, tipping the crew and the white man and his three wooden boxes into the sea. The passenger’s eyes had been fixed on the beach ahead. He’d had no warning. Even if he’d heard the captain’s order he wouldn’t have understood what was said.

Two of the crew took hold of him and pulled him safely ashore leaving him standing there, dripping. By that time Yaw and I were in the water. Each box had two rope handles. Using the power of the waves, we dragged the first one ashore and then went back for the other two. The crew turned the canoe right side up and dragged it up onto the dry sand, beyond the reach of the waves.

The captain cried out, ‘White man, sorry-oh!’ and then, switching to Fante to address his crew, ‘That will teach the mean bastard. Maybe next time he’ll agree to pay the right price.’

Melton Prior

They laughed and sang his praises.

The white man’s khaki suit was soaked. He had a bald head, small eyes and side-whiskers. He was struggling to wipe his spectacles with a wet handkerchief.

Somehow he had managed to save his hat. He shook the water out of it and put it on, then stroked his suit to let the water run down onto the sand. As the sun came out between the clouds, he looked up and saw us standing in front of his boxes.

‘Ah, good boys,’ he said. ‘Thank you. Thank you. You’ve saved my life. Without my luggage I’d be lost. You deserve a reward.’

That’s what I’d been waiting to hear.

Then his attention was distracted by the arrival of an officer from the Castle. It was the one called Maurice. (I’ve made it my business to learn to spell all the officers’ strange names and their ranks.)

As they exchanged greetings I had a chance to slip a word to Yaw.

‘He said we deserve a reward,’ I whispered to him in Fante.

Then Lieutenant Maurice spoke to us.

‘You boys, do you understand English?’

I stood up straight and replied, ‘Please sir. Yes sir!’

‘Do you know Mr. Christian’s house?’ he asked, ‘On Dawson Hill?’

I gave him the same answer. I didn’t tell him that Mr. Christian is my grandfather, my mother’s father.

‘Good. This is Mr. Prior. Show him the way.’

Then he spoke to the newcomer.

‘Ask for Mr. George Henty, correspondent of The Standard. And if he’s not in, ask for Mr. Henry Morton Stanley, correspondent of the New York Herald. They should be able to advise you about accommodation.’

I knew those two white men by sight but this was the first time I’d heard their names. They were not soldiers so I wasn’t too interested in them. But ‘Henty’? I’d heard or seen that name before, but where, and when?

Lieutenant Maurice called some men to carry the boxes on their heads, three men to each box. After some bargaining, they agreed to take sixpence each. The newcomer seemed to have forgotten about our reward.

He turned to me and asked, ‘Boy, what is your name?’

‘Please sir. Kofi Gyan, sir,’ I told him.

He unbuttoned his front pocket and took out a leather pouch. From this he took a small notebook and a pencil. The pouch had kept the notebook dry.

‘Can you read?’ he asked.

‘Please sir. Yes sir.’

‘You don’t have to say please sir every time you answer,’ he said. ‘Yes sir’ will do.’

If a Fante man asks me something and I reply without saying, ‘Me pa wo kyew’ first, I might get a slap.

‘Please sir. Yes sir,’ I told him again; and then, ‘I mean Yes sir.’

‘What did you say your name was?’ he asked me.

On a blank page he wrote, ‘‘Coffee John’’ and showed it to me.

‘Is that how you write it?’ he asked.

I told him, ‘Yes sir.’

Then he turned to a new page and wrote, ‘Mr. Melton Prior, Special Correspondent of The London Illustrated News,’ and showed it to me.

‘Can you read that?’ he asked.

‘Yes sir.’

‘What does it say?’

I guessed that he was testing me. I read it for him.

‘Clever boy,’ he said. ‘That’s me. That’s my name.’

He tore the page out and gave it to me.

‘So you don’t forget,’ he said.

CHAPTER 2

Elmina,