Shadows out of Africa

By Bianca Aparicio Vinsonneau

Near the end of the eighteenth century, Kofi’s village in a remote part of Africa is brutally attacked and he is captured and sold into slavery. Thanks to an unexpected twist of fate, he is saved from being shipped to the plantations of the New World to instead remain a prisoner of Cape Coast Castle. From there, he risks his life to maintain a secret correspondence with the love of his life.

Two hundred years later, anthropologist Claudia Carpio is sent to what was once known as the Gold Coast. She is immersed in working on the most important publication of her career when she learns of some mysterious letters. Troubled by their abrupt and disconcerting ending, she finds herself compelled to investigate the murky past in order to discover what happened to Kofi and why he stopped writing. What she doesn’t suspect, however, is that you can’t close the book so easily on certain chapters of history, and she soon finds herself entangled in a dangerous game.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Apr 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781547568581

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Shadows out of Africa

Bianca Aparicio Vinsonneau

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Translated by Ana-Melissa Kersten 

Shadows out of Africa

Written By Bianca Aparicio Vinsonneau

Copyright © 2019 Bianca Aparicio Vinsonneau

All rights reserved

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Translated by Ana-Melissa Kersten

Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Author’s Note

For Luis and Kira.

CHAPTER 1

There is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.

Virginia Woolf

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I’m writing these words in an attempt to soothe my soul. The last few months have been a nightmare from which I will never awake. My only hope is that this pen will manage to help me bleed out all the bitterness that has been eating away at me ever since I stepped foot in this accursed place.

My name is Kofi and this is my diary.

CHAPTER 2

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I shut the door behind me and closed my eyes as I pressed my back against the wood. I was panting and trying to regain my composure. I didn’t know it yet, but there was no going back—my life was about to undergo a change much greater than I could ever have dared to imagine.

The department had been deliberating over it for quite a while. I could remember perfectly the day Fermín burst into my office, flushed like a tomato and wearing a smile too big for his face.

What’s going on with you? If you don’t take care of yourself a little, you’ll end up giving yourself a stroke when you least expect it, I scolded, half-joking and half-serious as I raised my eyes from the mountain of books I had on the desk. Besides, that’s no way to come into a room. You’ve distracted me and now I’ve lost my place.

Well, if you’re going to be like that, I won’t bother telling you, he said, acting like he was turning to go and pretending to be offended.

I stared at the old man who had won my affection and ended up being a blend of father, confidant, protector, and friend to me. I gave in and rolled my eyes theatrically, raising my hands in the air.

Well, what could be so important that it can’t wait for lunch? It better be good, because I was studying a very interesting article about the initiation rites of an Amazonian river tribe that—

Darling, you’re not going to believe it, he interrupted impatiently. Which prestigious journal is gaining international acclaim for its monthly anthropology articles?

"The Anthropological Review? I looked at him perplexed, becoming more interested every moment despite myself. What’s going on there?"

It turns out that they’re interested in writing a special anniversary edition to celebrate their tenth year of sales. And after shuffling through different options, weighing the pros and cons, evaluating the possible influences of— Fermín was really enjoying driving me crazy that day.

If you don’t tell me now, I’m going to pull it out of you myself! And I swear you won’t like my methods! I’d stood up from my chair without realizing it and, sour-faced, pointed my index finger at him menacingly.

He burst into laughter with clear peals that made him seem twenty years younger. He slowly came towards me and walked around behind me, gently pressing my shoulders to make me sit back down again. He continued on with feigned calmness as he pretended to give me a relaxing massage.

It turns out that I’ve come from our dear dean’s office where he has just informed me that he’s reached an agreement with the journal. The author of this extra-special issue’s feature article is to be someone from our department, he said, still rubbing my shoulders and waiting for my reaction.

Are you serious? I asked, still somewhat disbelieving.

Of course. From what I’ve seen recently, our international recognition has increased, and the editors have made it clear that they want the author to be someone from this university. But that doesn’t matter either; the important thing is that the article is ours, dear.

I suppose I stared at him like an idiot. He smiled and continued.

But wait, there’s more. It’s no secret that, usually, the most veteran are the ones to enjoy this type of privilege. You know, someone who is moderately well-known by the media.

And it’s logical that they want a popular name at the bottom of their star article, seeing as.... Oh, Fermín! I said, starting to get really excited, because the fog that had been clouding my mind seemed to be dissipating and making way for a new thought to peek through. "Congratulations! That’s marvelous. What better way to retire than by writing for The Anthropological Review?"

"No, my girl, you’re wrong. Congratulations to you," he murmured in my ear as he walked back in front of me to see the perplexed expression on my face.

To me? What do you mean by that, if I may ask?

"Claudia, you are going to author the feature article of the journal’s tenth anniversary edition."

The room started to spin around me. I couldn’t even hear the rest of the explanations my old friend and colleague gave me. He continued talking about how he met with the dean and explained to him why I was the best choice: a promising young woman with great aptitude and a brilliant future in the field of social anthropology. But my mind was already very far away from that office, flying many feet above the earth. A warm feeling rose gently from my feet to my ears, making me feel euphoric and sick at the same time. The sensation evaporated abruptly when a thought settled into my head: What if I wasn’t capable? What if I wasn’t good enough? I was invaded by a panicky feeling which stole my breath away and forced me to cling onto the chair’s armrests hard enough that my knuckles turned white from lack of circulation. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe in slowly through my nose and out through my mouth, hoping in that way to regain control over myself.

At that moment, Fermín, who hadn’t stopped talking for one second as he paced, or rather, ran about back and forth in my office, gesticulating as he spoke, realized that I was on the edge of a panic attack and cut himself short. He returned to my side and took my hand in his, speaking soothing words to me which soon managed to slow my breathing down to normal and make me feel somewhat calmer.

Fermín, I can’t do it, I managed to pronounce, still struggling. I don’t have what it takes.

Don’t even think about going that way, missy, he scolded, adopting a fatherly pose. You’re a great professional, capable of this and so much more. Don’t you say something stupid like that again or I’ll offer the job to the new intern who, in her immense ignorance, will consider herself more capable than the rest of the department combined.

With that last comment he managed to get a smile out of me. In the end, I asked myself, why wouldn’t I be able to write the article? I had already written a few for some more modest publications that received very good reviews from experts in the subject. I wasn’t a novice. Far from it. I had already taken my first baby steps, but it was clear that this was going to be something else.

But, what about you? Why don’t you write it? You’re more than well-known in this world, practically an institution in and of yourself. Surely the editors would be delighted to have your name grace the end of the article.

Claudia, he sighed, slowly easing himself down next to me, I’m not going to deny that that was the first thing the dean suggested when we started talking about it. But I’m too old for these things now.

I tried to protest those words, which seemed practically sacrilegious to me, but he stilled my protests by raising his hand and looking me seriously in the eye.

I have had the pleasure of participating in many research projects throughout the course of my career. Some of them have been very celebrated successes and others more discrete, but they’ve enabled me to learn and enjoy much. He stopped there a moment. I thought it looked like he was unsure about carrying on with his speech. You know that I’m going to retire before long, and honestly, I’m worried for you, my girl.

Come on, Fermín, don’t start with that again, I begged.

Don’t interrupt me. I’m being serious for once, and I want you to listen to me. Even though we don’t share the same blood, you’re like a daughter to me and I want the best for you. We’ve worked together a few years now, but my retirement is just around the corner, as they say. I’ve tried to teach you everything I know and I have to say you’ve been a wonderful student. You could almost say the pupil has surpassed the teacher. But, when I think about you, what worries me isn’t your professional ability, which is excellent without question, but your personal life. Yes, I know you don’t have time for flings or anything like that because you’ve been working to make it to where you are today, and that’s worthy of admiration, but the years are going by, my dear, and I don’t want you to look back someday and discover that you spent them with only books and notes for company, and that you missed out on the best part of life.

But I enjoy what I do; I love my job, I replied, annoyed because I felt like he was sticking his nose into my business even more than was normal for him. Of course I was aware that the years were going by faster and faster, and that my mental list of things to do was pretty much unchanged, but what could I do?

I don’t doubt that, although sometimes I think that you’re not looking beyond these four walls. You get here early every day with a coffee in hand, and almost always go home at the tail end of the day, when it’s already night, and without even stopping to eat.

That’s not true. Sure, I don’t always go down to the cafeteria, but I call and order food brought up.

Fermín looked at me, irritated by my continuous interruptions and excuses, so I prudently decided to shut up and let him finish to see where exactly he was going.

"See? You admit I’m right. You barely spend time with other people and you don’t even have time for any hobbies because you’re always tied up with a new Master’s, new research, or a new study which completely consumes you. I want you to know that I admire you for all the effort you put in to advance your career, to create a good future for yourself, but there is so much more to life and I don’t want you to let it pass you by.

That’s why I didn’t hesitate. I decided to kindly decline the offer from the dean and proposed you take my place. You can look at it as a pre-retirement present for me, if you want, he added, unable to resist jabbing me a little. Besides, everything you know you learned from me, so it’ll be almost like I wrote it myself, but without having to do all the work.

I propelled myself up with one motion and gave him a tight hug. I was going to miss him very much once he was no longer in the department with me. We’d been sharing an office for five years, and what had begun initially as a cordial relationship between colleagues had ended up being much more.

Fermín’s small body housed a giant heart. He was very short, slight of frame, and the little hair he had left was completely gray, but he was tremendously cheerful. Despite his fragile appearance, he had an energy that many people half his age would envy. And he always had a ready smile to help me forget any problem.

Not long after we first started working together I had arrived home one night to discover the only boyfriend I had ever had had left me, leaving our shared closet bereft of all his things with no explanation. I remember feeling so lost that I couldn’t think of anything else to do other than go straight back to the university. I intended to spend the night alone at my table, drying my tears and feeling sorry for myself until I either fell asleep or night turned to day. But when I opened the door Fermín was there, still hunched over his papers, the only light a desk lamp that faintly illuminated the office. When he raised his eyes, something inside of me broke and I began to cry uncontrollably. I still don’t know very well how it happened, but we ended up sitting on the carpet of the office eating three-jewel rice and sweet and sour chicken at two in the morning, laughing at the extraordinary stories he told me of love and heartbreak from when he was young, and not so young.

It turned out that my from-then-on-inseparable companion had discovered his homosexuality in an era where it was still rather frowned upon and, as such, he suffered unending harassment and scorn from people who thought they were better than him just because they slept with women—or tried to anyway. After several incidents, ranging from being beaten and raped, which put his life in serious danger, to being rejected and humiliated by relatives, which became completely unbearable, his father decided to send him abroad to live under the care of some distant uncle.

He ended up spending his youth and the larger part of the dictatorship not in Spain, his native land, but in France, where he ended up feeling something close to happiness for the first time—because if sleeping with someone of the same sex wasn’t exactly looked on well there, at least he wasn’t constantly abused for it. He was quite the romantic, and this led him to having many relationships with all kinds of men. He had multiple serious loves, but even those were full of affairs, breakups worthy of soap operas with clothes flying from the balcony, vases smashing against walls and, above all, lots of tears.

Eventually, after Franco’s death, Fermín decided to return to his homeland, where he chose to dedicate himself to his other passion: anthropology. He graduated with honors from the University of Madrid and ended up becoming a leader in the field. He was a great professional, true, but what I admired most about him was his character. Those who had poured their own frustration out in every blow they inflicted upon him so many years ago lacked that virtue.

When I released Fermín from my embrace I noticed that his eyes were damp with emotion, though he tried to hide it by standing up quickly and smoothing his pants with sudden and energetic movements.

Oh, come on, it’s not anything we have to get so sentimental about at this stage of the game. Where were we?

Hold on, Fermín. A question had been forming this whole time without me being aware of it, but I could suddenly see it clearly. A strange feeling of uneasiness came over me as I said, You still haven’t told me what this famous article is going to be about.

Yes, well, that’s exactly the best part and that’s why I saved it for last, he said, lowering his voice until it was the barest whisper of contained excitement. Pack your bags, because your plane takes off in a month. You’re going to Africa.

CHAPTER 3

Is not freedom the greatest possession and the first need of mankind?

F. R. de Chateaubriand

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Night after night I am assaulted by the memory of that ill-fated day. The sun shone brightly that cool, fresh morning. Nothing foreshadowed the tragedy that was to befall us. The women were busy tending the fires and the children, still sleepy-eyed and half-naked, were beginning to run about from house to house. The early hours of the morning were the best for fishing, so we men said our goodbyes and started the walk down to the lake, burdened with the gear necessary for our labor.

As the temperature rose it evaporated the dew off the ferns, creating a fog which shrouded the path in mystery and magic. We could hear the familiar sounds of home for a long while, even the voices of the village’s youngest, but slowly they were left behind. I was lost in my own thoughts that day. While the others in my group roared with laughter at some silly joke, my heart beat happy for a different reason: my beloved wife was pregnant.

It was big news which had kept me awake most the night. The gods had blessed our union with two wonderful girls, but this time my chest swelled with the hope it might be a boy—one who would grow healthy and strong and who I could teach to fish, just like my father taught me, and my father’s father taught him. As soon as I got back to the village I was going to make an offering to the spirits so they might take my side in the matter.

My brother Quacoe, who was walking a little ahead of the group with the more experienced, raised his hand sharply in a gesture which made us all go quiet. At first I didn’t see or hear anything. We were at the top of a hill surrounded by vegetation that prevented us from seeing anything beyond the next curve. Suddenly, a woman’s piercing scream broke the silence and made my hair stand on end. We were all frozen by surprise, but a second shriek made us react. We let our nets, machetes, and the rest of our equipment fall to the ground and ran downhill to aid the woman.

We soon entered an area with greater visibility where we could make out the figure of a terrified young woman being chased by a group of men with the darkest of intentions. We continued to run forward as quickly as our legs allowed. We had barely taken a few more steps when I realized something strange was happening. As we neared the woman, intending to help her, she stopped running and allowed her pursuers to reach her. As soon as they caught up to her, they also stopped inexplicably, watching us.

It’s a trap! howled Quacoe.

But it was too late. We heard a thunderous noise behind us. It was the sound of many feet hurriedly running down the same slope we had just come down. When we turned around, we saw a human avalanche set to reach us in a few brief moments. They were laden with knives and sticks to use against us, now defenseless. We understood too late that we were the victims of an ambush. They had cunningly gotten us to drop everything we could have used to defend ourselves, and they had the added advantage of attacking us from behind.

My mind turned to the stories that had been circulating about Ashanti who trafficked their own brothers and sold them to the Fante people, who dealt directly with the white men who had come from far-off lands and established themselves on the coast. I looked around me, at my friends, my family, my brother, all ready to fight to the death with only their hands for weapons. It would be an unequal battle. There were three times as many of them, and they were armed. My thoughts flew to our village, which would be left unprotected if we died, our women and children at the mercy of those traitors. Desperate, I tried to find a solution to the inevitable tragedy that was rapidly descending on us when my eyes met those of one of the youngest among us. He was alert and daring for his age, although at that moment his face was filled with terror. He held my gaze bravely, but his shaking lower lip gave him away. I had a flash of thought and immediately realized it was the only possible way to save our families. I grabbed the boy by the arm and whispered in his ear.

Ekwon, listen to me. They’ll be on us in just a few seconds. You have to make it back to the village and sound the alarm to everyone there.

I’m not going to abandon you all; I’m fighting with you, he replied in a tremulous voice, trying to feign the courage he was far from feeling. I looked toward the hill. The assailants were nearing and time for chitchat was over.

There is no way we are leaving this battle victorious. We’re all going to die, understand? You need to let them know so they can reach safety before these sons of dogs finish with us and go after them. Think about your mother, your sisters. Are you going to abandon them to their fate? Do you know what will happen to them if they are captured? The urgency I felt for Ekwon to understand and assent burned my throat. The hard words tumbled out of my mouth, and the boy’s eyes filled with tears as he turned his eyes to the ground.

When they reach us it will be all noise and confusion. Make sure to stay over towards the left side, where the vegetation is thickest. It won’t take long for them to surround us, so you need to be fast and slip away among the bushes before that happens. Crawl until you are far enough away to not be seen, and then run. Run as if the spirits were after you, because you have to get to the village before they do. The terrified boy nodded while glancing furtively out of the corner of his eye at the fast arrival of the bandits who were coming down on us at an alarming speed.

As soon as you reach the first houses, I continued, sound the alarm and gather all the women, children, and elderly and take them to your uncle’s village. They’ll be safe there.

I don’t know if I can do it. I’m scared. Ekwon’s lower lip continued to tremble.

You’re a great young man, Ekwon, and I know that our families will be saved thanks to you. Inside, I fervently strove to believe what I was saying. He was our only chance to save everyone: my princesses, my queen, and the new life growing in her womb.

I had hardly finished pronouncing the last syllable when I heard the impact of the clubs falling upon the first heads. Those of us who had stayed on the leftmost side were still removed from the blows being distributed on the opposite side. My attention was split between the fighting and Ekwon, who was agilely making his way over to the bushes he would escape through, as I had instructed. And then someone struck my left shoulder.

I fell with the pain of it, but I pushed myself up with my uninjured arm and charged against the man. I knocked him down and used my good arm to punch him, twice, with all my strength. He was now lying on the ground and seemed unconscious. I looked behind me again, trying to see what had happened to the young boy, when I saw him. He was staring fearfully towards his father, who was being attacked by two men armed to the teeth. I realized that the poor boy was going to go to his aid, adding his death to ours and using up our last chance to save our families. I spun around and swiftly headed towards the man, who was in a serious predicament.

I got rid of the first assailant with a sharp blow to his ribs. Feeling the bones of another person cracking under my fists would have made me vomit under any other circumstance, but at that moment I was desperate to win a few seconds for Ekwon and I was surprised to find that I was eager to deliver the next blow, which landed on the nose of the man who was now tying together the wrists of the boy’s father. The pain made him drop his knife and cover his face with his hands, between which blood began to flow abundantly. I used that brief moment to search out Ekwon with my eyes, and I managed to just catch the moment he slipped away between the branches of a dense bush nearby.

Relieved, and praying to all the spirits that he would achieve his objective, I turned back to the battle to see that the circle of men was closing. We were practically surrounded. I looked for my brother and saw him some ways away, struggling against a man who wore a ferocious expression on his face. I tried to reach him to go to his aid, but suddenly I heard a dull sound, something broke inside of me, and everything went black. I collapsed on the ground while around my head formed a great puddle of my own blood.

Once I regained consciousness, the scene laid out before my eyes was the most heartbreaking one I had ever seen. More than half of us were lying on the floor dead or severely injured. Those of us in better, although still pitiable condition, had been tied hand and foot. We were grouped together, some sitting, and others, like me, thrown whichever way on the ground. The ropes were thick and cut off our circulation. I couldn’t feel my extremities and a terrible pain was drilling into my head. I tried to recognize Quacoe among the battered and swollen faces and heaved a sigh of relief when I saw he was still alive, though in very bad shape. It comforted me to see other friends and family still breathing, but my heart lurched with pain as my eyes fell upon the bodies strewn across the ground and I recognized so many people that I would never see again.

The ones who had laid such a dirty trap for us were Ashanti Africans, from our same tribe. Brothers, blood of my blood. They sold us for a handful of coins and a few firearms. They took those of us still alive and joined us together by the necks with wooden boards and ropes so coarse they seemed to be made of thorns. The dead they pushed until they rolled off the path down an embankment. There was no place for respect anymore, not for anyone. They took us on a days-long forced march off-trail. We traversed through the dense jungle, completely disoriented. And, although we tried to match the pace our captors imposed upon us, our severe injuries and the ropes greatly hampered our ability to walk. Our suffering mattered little to our traitor brothers. If someone fell behind due to a misstep or from pure exhaustion, the rain of blows which quickly fell upon him either forced him to continue on or snatched away the little life he had remaining.

We were horrified. Never before had we witnessed such cruelty towards another human being and, though in the beginning we begged for mercy, it didn’t take long for us to realize it was completely useless. They turned their eyes away when ours desperately sought compassion, guilt kept their lips glued shut when ours begged for a rest, and their hands inflicted the hardest blows when ours were raised in a plea for freedom. Their shame fed an immeasurable fury which spilled over onto our hurting bodies and defeated souls. Our destiny was set. We wondered what had become of our families and, although none of us dared to voice it out loud, the same question thundered within each of our hearts: Were they still alive?

Assin Manso was a grisly place. We arrived at the river exhausted, our feet raw from dragging them step after step, and our hopes shredded by the whips. We were made to halt under the dense foliage that grew on the banks and waited there under the watch of the fierce guards. No one complained; the rest was practically well-received. During our miserable journey we’d had to witness several among us who, unable to find the necessary strength, succumbed to their wounds or to sadness. The spirits carried their souls away, leaving us survivors even more devastated. In those tragic days, the question about what had happened to my family had become my only thought, an obsession which poisoned me from the inside out. Every second, my mind flew to our village and I despaired, unable to know the answer to that question which caused me such anguish. My brother’s company was a balm. If it were not for his presence, I am convinced I would have joined the dead.

Idiots! One of the Fante, who was the size of a giant, addressed the Ashanti leader. I ask for men, and you bring me these? There are barely fifteen of them and they’re disgusting! I don’t think even half of them will make it. You’re good for nothing, Kobina.

That’s not fair, Akan, he protested pitifully. They were many and they put up a fight.

You are pathetic. There were at least three times as many of you and obviously they were going to put up a fight. Or did you really expect them to give themselves to you meekly? His roar of laughter was blood-freezing and stopped as suddenly as it had started. What is clear is that I don’t plan on paying you anything for the scum you brought.

You’ll have more soon. My men went back last night for the ones still in the village, and you’ll have them here before nightfall. Kobina’s words made my blood turn cold.

I hope so. If you want to keep working with me, you’d better keep your promises, he threatened. Then he softened