The Wages of Sin

By Victor Kwasi Aning

This is a riveting triple murder story shrouded in mystery, suspense and traditional intrigue.

The hero, Ohemeng, was a catechist of the Methodist Church and the headteacher of the local school at Nkwantapon, a town in the Ashanti Region of Ghana. He was married to the queenmother of the town. His bid to develop the town and reform the custom and practices was vehemently opposed by the elders and the fetish priest. The bitter power struggle that ensued culminated in his murder and that of his daughter. The sole witness to Ohemengs murder was also killed.

The story is woven around a labyrinth of cultural practices that are unique to the famous Asante tribe. It probes deeper into the conflict between Christianity and traditional African religion. It reaches its climax with the eventual triumph of Good over Evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 28, 2005
• ISBN: 9781456790875

Victor Kwasi Aning

The author is the son of a traditional ruler in the Ashanti region of Ghana. He possesses in-depth knowledge of chieftaincy matters, cultural practices and the palace procedures of the Asante tribe. The author is also a legal practioner. He is therefore able to give clarity to all legal issues involved in the story.

Book preview

THE WAGES OF SIN

By Victor Kwasi Aning

A riveting triple murder story shrouded in mystery, suspense, and traditional intrigue.

V00_9781463434380_TEXT.pdf

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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2011 Victor Kwasi Aning. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 8/15/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4208-4941-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-9087-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

It was a dull, hazy Good Friday morning. The year was nineteen hundred and thirty seven. Rain had streamed down in heavy torrents the previous night. River Banko, as usual, was overflowed and its stormy waters were beating against her banks with ferocious propensity. The river had burst out of its shallow riverbed and flooded the low land on either side of the river.

A big lorry full of goods and people screeched to a halt a few metres from the edge of the river. The occupants of the lorry were thrown violently forward bumping into each other. Some passengers hurled insults at the driver.

Teacher Ohemeng jumped out of the lorry and walked to the bank of the river. He found to his dismay that the weak bridge had collapsed. A look of disappointment crossed over Ohemeng’s face as he glanced slowly across the vast expanse of water. He remained silent for a moment. He bent to pick a long piece of wood on the ground. Carefully he dipped the stick into the water. The wood was completely submerged but it did not touch the bottom of the riverbed. Ohemeng walked further along the bank and repeated the experiment. The result was the same. There was no way he could wade in the water to the other side of the river. He reasoned it would take a good swimmer to get across the river. Unfortunately he did not know how to swim.

Ohemeng threw the stick away. He turned round and walked slowly towards the lorry. Other travellers who were also stranded had gathered in front of the lorry. Ohemeng come up to an old man who looked at him questioningly.

It’s hopeless, Ohemeng said dourly.

We’re stranded, the old men replied, his voice full of disappointment.

Ohemeng frowned almost visibly at the man’s suggestion. He quickly checked himself and lowered his voice to a confidential tone.

I must get to Nkwantapon, he said.

Nkwantapon what a mouthful!

There is a town by this name, well in the heart of the Ashanti Region of Ghana. It lies about a dozen kilometres off the hills surrounding the notable lake, Bosomtwe. My Ghanaian readers may be conversant with the name. However, for the benefit of all let us do a little philological exercise on its meaning.

‘Nkwanta’ means a junction and the suffix ‘Pon’ is an Ashanti word for great. Nkwantapon is peculiarly sited in the hinterland of the region, presenting a certain degree of difficulty for access from all the three administrative headquarters around it. The town is neither near Konongo, the headquarters of the Ashanti Akim district in which it is situated, nor is it near Ejisu the headquarters of the Ejisu-Juaben District, nor within easy reach of the District Commissioner at Bekwai.

Ohemeng was the head teacher of Nkwantapon’s only primary school. He was also the catechist of the Methodist Church, which happened to be the only Christian sect in the locality. During durbars or whenever any dignitary paid a visit to the town, Ohemeng served as the chief’s interpreter. He also wrote and read letters for the chief and his elders, as well.

Physically, Ohemeng was very attractive and good-looking. He was a tall, handsome man of chocolate complexion, in the prime of his life. He was cheerful and affable. In contrast to his robust physique, Ohemeng was quite unassuming and soft-spoken. Gentle as a lamb he was always too ready to step aside for anybody, not willing to harm a fly. Ohemeng was also very hard to provoke, remaining sober in almost every situation.

He was baptised Ephraim Ohemeng but the local folks, finding his first name hard to pronounce, chose to delete it. To give him the respect befitting his status they called him Teacher Ohemeng. To some he was simply ‘Teacher’.

Ohemeng was returning from the chief’s errand. He had been sent by the chief to go to Konongo, the previous day, to inform the District Commissioner about the poor state of the bridge. Ohemeng arrived at Konongo early in the morning but it was just before closing time when he had the chance to see the white colonial master. The latter promised ‘to look into the matter’. As it was already too late to return to Nkwantapon, Ohemeng decided to spend the night at the mission house at Konongo.

The old man looked curiously at Ohemeng.

Why do you insist on getting to Nkwantapon? he asked, his voice taking a fatherly tone.

I’ve got to conduct the Good Friday service

The old man stared indignantly, his lips tightening.

Can’t someone take your place?

No, I’m the catechist

The old man shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

Ohemeng was so much engrossed in his thinking that he did not notice another man was coming up to him.

‘Teacher, you’re a lucky man!" the man said.

Ohemeng was startled by the unexpected intrusion. He turned quickly to face the man.

Mensa, I thought you were in town, Ohemeng said, completely taken aback by the man’s presence.

Mensa exchanged meaningful looks with Ohemeng.

No. I’ve come to ferry people across on my raft, the man said, a mischievous smile coming over his face.

Ohemeng stared incredulously at the man. Something told him Mensa was lying. He was well acquainted with Kofi Mensa. Mensa was the fetish priest of the Banko river-god. River Banko was worshipped as a deity by the inhabitants of the towns and villages along its banks, Nkwantapon not excluded.

River Banko takes its source from a huge mountainous range seated in the heart of a thick forest near Dakabunso, a town about twenty kilometres from Nkwantapon. Jet streams of water jut out from the top of the plateau and flow down a rift valley into a rocky bowl in the shape of a coffin. The water, which overflows from the ‘coffin’, forms the nucleus of River Banko.

The river begins its long journey encircling Lake Bosomtwe, but it does not flow into it. Small rivers and streams enlarge it along the way and it flows tangential to the lake as a big river full of crocodiles, turtles, pythons, and big fishes. The mysterious nature of its source had made the river all the more revered by the people in the locality.

Mensah’s deep-set and bile-shot eyes flicked up at Ohemeng, a faint smile crossing his thick lips. His large nose and thick fleshy mouth gave him the appearance of a fierce bird of prey. Mensa was a thin but sturdy man. He had hoodwinked the people into submission with tricks and brutal tactics. To him people like Ohemeng, who had embraced a foreign religion, posed a threat to his very existence. He had always wished for a chance to bring Ohemeng back to his ‘roots’.

I can ferry you across the river on my raft, Mensa said, his voice seemed to hang in the air.

Ohemeng looked at him, his face troubled. He remained silent for a moment.

I said, I can ferry you across the river on my raft, Mensa repeated.

This time Ohemeng did not wait for him to speak again. The answer came without hesitation.

Let me think about it.

I haven’t got all day

Mensa stood there with his hands on his hips, waiting for Ohemeng to make up his mind.

Give me a little more time, Ohemeng pleaded.

I’ll be back in a moment, Mensa replied, his voice now quite conciliatory.

Mensa walked towards his raft, which he had tethered to a big tree at the bank of the river.

Another vehicle pulled up at the bank of the river and among its passengers was Nana Akyaa, the queenmother of Nkwantapon.

Nana Yaa Akyaa was beautiful for her age. Though she was well into her fifties she appeared to be about ten or fifteen years younger. She was plump and well nourished. Tiny patches of grey hair added more dignity to her regal appearance. There was a solitary tribal mark on her left cheek, which made her beautiful face easily recognisable. Her well-kept hair was nicely trimmed and held together by a piece of headband, which barely concealed her prominent forehead.

Nana Akyaa walked up to Ohemeng.

Good morning, Teacher, she said softly.

Good morning, Nana, Ohemeng responded, bowing courteously before her.

What’s the problem? She asked worriedly.

Nana, the bridge has finally given way.

Nana Akyaa’s face became tense, drawn and pale.

What shall we do? She asked.

Ohemeng looked at the queenmother. Her eyes were dark and filled with fear.

I don’t know, Nana Ohemeng said feebly. He seemed helpless and said it more to himself than to anyone.

We must do something about it, Nana Akyaa said, her eyes suddenly looking into his.

Ohemeng turned and pointed at Mensa.

He says he can get people across the river on his raft.

Nana Akyaa’s eyes went past Ohemeng’s shoulders.

Who? She asked.

Kofi Mensa.

Nana Akyaa beckoned to Mensa and he rushed to her. He bowed as he greeted her.

Can you ferry the two of us across on your raft?

Mensa’s voice was now warm and comforting,

Yes Nana, I’ve been trying to tell Teacher but……………….

He shook his head.

……………………..he doesn’t have any confidence in me.

Ohemeng quickly cut in, It’s not so, Nana.

Then what’s the problem? Mensa snapped.

Ohemeng pretended not to have noticed the bitter note in Mensa’s voice. He turned to the queenmother.

Nana, I think it’s too risky to travel on that contraption.

Mensa looked angrily at Ohemeng. He turned to the queenmother and exchanged quick looks with her.

Nana, I swear by the god of the river, it’s very safe! Mensa affirmed loudly, the veins standing out prominently on his neck as he shouted.

Nana Akyaa was swayed by Mensa’s assurances. She turned to Ohemeng.

Teacher I’ll go with him. He can come back later for my maids.

Ohemeng stared at her, not believing his ears.

Mensa quickly turned to Ohemeng.

What about you?

Ohemeng took in a deep breath.

I need more time to think it over, he said tightly.

Mensa was getting impatient.

You can please yourself! One of the maids will take your place.

Mensa turned to the queenmother.

Nana, I’ve to pour libation to the gods before we proceed.

Go ahead.

Mensa quickly disappeared into a bushy enclave nearby.

Nana Akyaa gazed at the vast open water ahead.

If only the old bridge had been repaired in time………. She sighed.

She turned to Ohemeng. Her eyes glanced up and caught his.

Teacher, give it a try

Nana, I don’t know how to swim

It won’t come to that, Nana Akyaa tried to assure him. Her voice was a whisper in his ears.

"How can you be so sure?’

Mensa is the priest of the river-god………………….

Their dialogue was cut short by a sudden rustle of leaves behind them. Ohemeng quickly turned and saw Mensa emerging from the bush. Mensa went up to the queenmother.

I’ve finished the libation, Nana, he said, preening visibly, we’ll have a safe passage across the river.

Nana Akyaa turned and looked inquiringly at Ohemeng.

Are you coming with us?

After an indeterminate length of time Ohemeng replied, Yes.

Ohemeng watched the queenmother as her eyes changed subtly. They were now bright and elated. She looked at Mensa and the brightness quickly vanished from her face. Mensa was looking very disturbed.

What’s wrong? she asked.

Nana, I didn’t include Teacher in the libation…. Mensa replied in a grim voice.

………….I only prayed for the two of us and one of your maids, he continued dourly.

Ohemeng waved a placating hand.

Don’t worry about me, he said, God will take care of me"

Ohemeng turned to look at Mensa and observed a derisive smile on his face.

I don’t want the chief to blame me for losing his beloved scribe, Mensa teased.

Ohemeng now had a serious countenance on his face.

Like I said, I’ll be in safe hands, he muttered.

Mensa twisted his face mockingly.

Well, let’s begin

They all jumped onto the raft and began to cross the river. Strangely enough the river looked very calm and the journey began smoothly.

Nana, look! The river-god has caused the water to be still, Mensa boasted, beaming with smiles.

I’m sure your libation did the trick, the queenmother complimented.

Ohemeng kept quiet and listened as their voices floated to him in a lazy breeze.

He squirmed a little as Nana Akyaa asked, Why did the river-god allow the bridge to collapse?

Mensa coughed out a lump in his throat and began, Nana, the river-god has not taken kindly to the bridge since it was constructed. Lorries and cars disturb her children when they sunbathe in the road. She has kept quiet because of the big sacrifices the chief made to her……..

He paused before continuing, ………..but now she’s fed up.

Why? Nana Akyaa asked, looking very anxious.

Because of the sins of the people, Mensa answered without hesitation.

How come? Nana Akyaa persisted.

Mensa began slowly, People indulge in all the prohibitions imposed by the river-god. They bring bundles of firewood to town, they carry pineapples with the tops attached to them, and more seriously, albinos, people with hunchbacks, and even women in their menstrual period bathe in the river…………………..

Oh I see………………. Nana Akyaa conceded.

The river-god hate all these, Mensa continued, The destruction of the bridge is her way of getting back at us.

Ohemeng had now almost come to the end of his tether. He felt he had to set the records straight. He looked at Mensa but the latter seemed to be too busy with the rowing. He turned to the queenmother. He knew he had in her a willing listener.

Nana, Ohemeng began, It beats my imagination to see people worshipping this river.

Nana Akyaa quickly replied, Teacher, don’t say that. The river-god has been our help from time immemorial

It’s an ordinary collection of water. There’s nothing mysterious about it.

Teacher, don’t blaspheme, she warned in her familiar friendly voice.

This time the magic in her voice was gone and her warning had no effect on Ohemeng who was determined to challenge the ‘powers that be’.

All your gods have no power. They are lifeless and useless, he asserted.

Ohemeng’s tirade had now attracted Mensa’s attention. He stopped rowing and turned to Ohemeng.

You think your so-called God is better that our powerful gods? he sneered.

A strange look began to come over Mensa’a face. For a moment Ohemeng did not know what it was. Then he recognised it. It was pure hatred. The look of hatred was clearly painted on Mensa’s face.

Ohemeng was quick to overcome the fear.

Yes, he calmly replied, And more than a million times better.

Don’t let me invoke the river-god’s oath on you, Mensa threatened, looking very agitated.

Ohemeng felt the blood rush to his face. He took in a deep breath. Gradually he felt his self-control returning. He forced a smile.

I don’t fear your gods he asserted with a wave of hand. It’s only the feeble-minded and the ignorant who condescend to kow-tow or revere such objects.

Mensa was now very infuriated. He did not bother to take the oars and continue rowing. Rather he turned to the queenmother.

Nana, warn him! Otherwise……………….

Mensa did not finish his threats as strong eddy currents whirled over them and caused the raft to be drawn towards its centre.

River Banko save us!, Mensa and Nana Akyaa cried simultaneously.

Ohemeng managed to remain calm. He began reciting, The Lord is my shepherd……….

The raft did an incredible somersault and threw its occupants into the now boisterous river. Ohemeng hit the water and his momentum carried him down. He felt helpless. There seemed to be an explosion in the water near him. His lungs were burning as he struggled to come out of the water. It seemed like forever before he broke the surface, gasping for air. He threw his hands about and his left hand hit something floating in the river. He turned his head quickly and saw the raft floating behind him. He quickly reached out his hand and caught hold of it. He held on to it firmly and managed to climb onto it. He lay helpless on the raft as the currents swept it to the bank of the river.

Ohemeng stood up and rubbed his face. The sun was shining brightly in the sky. He had almost forgotten about the sun’s existence. He perceived some hazy figures across the horizon. He blinked his eyes rapidly to clear his vision. He saw Mensa struggling to save the queenmother. Her head was twisted in a peculiar manner as she struggled to keep herself from drowning. Mensa was holding onto her cloth and was trying to pull her to safety. The problem was that Nana Akyaa was too heavy for Mensa. Then all of a sudden a gust of violent current swept her away, leaving shreds of cloth in Mensa’s hands. Ohemeng fainted.

Ohemeng raised his head slowly. A flicker of a smile appeared on his face. The smile became broader and gradually his whole face began to brighten. Slowly power returned into his limbs. He got up and sat in the sand, still smiling.

Realisation slowly dawned on Ohemeng and the smile quickly vanished giving way to anxiety. He began to search for his ‘companions’. He found them under the canopy of a coconut tree. The queenmother was lying sprawled, face up, on the ground. She was almost naked. Mensa was sitting on top of her and was pressing his hands on her stomach. Ohemeng watched as Mensa ran his fingers along the contours of her body, his fingers stroking her gently. This awakened the fires inside Ohemeng and he quickly closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again Ohemeng saw Mensa was still caressing Nana Akyaa. His hands were now on the foliage of her pubic.

Don’t take advantage of her! Ohemeng shouted.

What do you mean?

Mensa got up. For a moment they stood there, facing each other. Ohemeng turned to look at the queenmother. There was a check of breath, followed by more rapid breathing. Ohemeng’s pulse beat very fast, his heart thumping painfully. His lips began to tremble and his whole body became very rigid. He broke out in a cold sweat.

Ohemeng gazed into the eyes of the queenmother. What he saw chilled him to the marrow. There was no sign of life in her eyes. Ohemeng bent down and pulled her cloth to cover the lower part of her body. As he did so his hand touched her flesh. Her body was stiff and cold. He felt for her pulse but there was none.

Ohemeng got up and looked beseechingly at Mensa.

What shall we do? he asked

Nothing. Mensa replied grimly, She’s dead.

CHAPTER TWO

Nana Sikansua II, the chief of Nkwantapon, walked into his living room with a slight stoop. He had a commanding personality and his steady, large eyes portrayed a man whose privilege it had ever been to be in the driver’s seat, to command and to be obeyed. His manner and general appearance were lively, giving a wrong impression about his age.

Nana curled up his lips, giving out a semblance of a pout.

Adu, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting

No problem, Adu replied.

The handsome monarch sat down in an armchair facing Adu Poku, the head of the Agona Royal Family.

The family is the smallest independent unit in the Ashanti social set up. The members of a particular family are said to be bound together by having a ‘common blood’, which is thought to be passed from women to their children, not father’s to children. The elders are the heads of the families