Ama by Manu Herbstein

future of our people.”
    * * *
    It was dark by the time they had cut a ramp up the steep incline, made a small clearing in the undergrowth and fenced it with saplings.
    The canoes were made fast and lashed together. Nana took his bath standing in the raft so made; and the other men followed. Nandzi and two older woman slaves busied themselves cooking a simple meal at the edge of the clearing while the men, freemen and slaves alike, sat round a roaring fire, waiting to be fed.
    The forest enveloped them. A million fireflies danced in its mysterious darkness.
    When the men had all been served, the women continued to hover around them, in case they were needed.
    â€œHere,” laughed Nana Koranten Péte, handing Nandzi a flaming torch, “Go down to the river and take your bath. I know that you are not afraid of the bush in the dark, so you can take the lead.”
    He was in a generous mood, enjoying the change of scene after the boredom of the Yendi court.
    â€œThat is the girl, you know,” Nandzi heard him tell the men, “who ran away from Yendi one night and was found sleeping in a tree, half dead, the next morning, with a leopard on guard below.”
    Vanity conquered Nandzi's fear of the unfamiliar surroundings and, gingerly, she led the other two women down the slope, offering a hand when she had stepped into the nearest canoe. She grabbed a branch with one hand and used the other to ram the end of the torch into the clay bank. Then she removed her cloth and lay back in the canoe, looking up at the flickering shadows in the lower canopy and listening to the sounds of the night. She knew the calls of most of the nocturnal animals of the savannah, but the sounds of the inhabitants of the riverine forest were strange to her.
    â€œAre you going to sleep here tonight?” said one of the women. “Are you not scared of the crocodiles?”
    They were both Asantes. Nandzi raised herself on her elbows. The women had stripped and were rubbing themselves with loofah sponges. Their wet bodies gleamed in the dim light.
    Nandzi struggled to compose a reply.
    â€œI was just resting,” she said, “and listening.”
    * * *
    The elephants still occupied their minds.
    When Nandzi returned to the camp, the man who had been sitting behind her was telling the story of how the elephant came to forsake the forest for the country of the long-grass. He had come to the part where the spider has defeated and killed his giant adversary in a head-butting contest. Two young men had illustrated the episode with an impromptu performance. Now cheers and laughter echoed through the forest as Ananse preened himself over the prostrate body of the elephant.
    â€œThen the family of Elephant came to Ananse and said, ‘Spider, you have defeated the head of our family. We admit it. All we ask is that you do as our custom demands.’
    â€œâ€˜And what, may I ask, is that?’ inquired Ananse.
    â€œâ€˜The victor must provide the family with a coffin; and the coffin must be carved from solid stone, as befits a family head.’
    â€œAnanse thought for some time. He had a cutlass and an adze and a knife. He could make a coffin of wood; but a coffin of stone? He could not see how that could be done. Nevertheless he agreed and told the late elephant's family to come back ‘tomorrow next.’”
    Nandzi squatted on the outside of the circle and watched the faces of the listeners, reddened, it seemed, by the fire, all their attention on the story teller.
    â€œThe next day Ananse cut down a tree with his cutlass. With his adze and his knife he carved the tree trunk into the image of a man with a musket raised to his shoulder, ready to fire. When the carving was finished, he dragged it to the front gate of his compound. He dressed the carving in batakari and trousers. Then he hid in the bush to watch what would happen.
    â€œThe family of Elephant arrived at the appointed time to collect their