Page 34 of Possessing the Prince

The priest shakes his head. “I do not traffic women, Abena T’ogbe. I keep the Gods’ slaves safe, fed, and ready to do the Gods’ will.”

“No, you’re running a sex cult that claims religious ties,” Abena growls. “I counted at least 22 pregnant women while here. I doubt they asked for any of that. You are raping women as young as fifteen, and the United Nations will hear about it.”

I place my hand on her knee and reluctantly silence her. The priest relaxes. I know that Abena means well, but I also know not one witness would testify against this man. The entire village would say that all the women are his wives. The women themselves would concur. They're too brainwashed. Abena has not spent enough time in the village to understand the cultural hold this man likely has on every family in this immediate area. But no worries—I have a particular punishment prepared for this man. He will disappear.

“Priest, I will not kill you, and you will meet no harm. That much I will promise you. But nothing else. You will deal with whatever consequences come your way without my aid. That is my offer. Now talk or die where you sit. How is my mother tied to this place?”

The priest takes a sip of water from a nearby gourd and leans his head back in prayer. He is praying in Ewe, so I understand his ramblings, but I do not pay attention. I feel like it would be an intrusion. After a minute, he faces me again with the look of a man who just visited another realm. He looks me straight in the eye, and it feels like no one else is in the room.

“OK, Prince T’ogbe. It is time for you to learn who you really are.”

Discovery

Abena

Iswallow hard as the man continues to burn incense around himself. What is he praying for? Is what he has to reveal about Senya’s mother so bad that he needs his Gods’ rapt attention as he shares her history? For his sake, I hope he does not lie or offend Senya. His mother is a sensitive subject. Finally, the priest begins.

“Your mother, Afefa, was the youngest of nine children. She grew up in the nearby village of Nima. Your mother was precocious and always willing to help around the house. I know this because I was friends with her father…your grandfather, Korsi. He was twenty years my senior when we first met. I was just a boy of sixteen, but we were close. You see, I grew up around the shrine. My father was the priest before me, and his father before him. As you can imagine, we are all trokosi, Gods’ slaves.

Senya interrupts him with a wary look in his eyes. “How did you and my grandfather meet if you grew up here at the shrine? Are you saying that Korsi had something to do with what goes on here?”

The priest nods. “In a way, yes, he did. But not how you think. Let me finish and then you will understand.” He takes a deep breath. “This story is hard for me to tell. For it is one of great sadness, tragedy, and loss.”

Senya runs his hand over his head and exhales. He’s losing his patience, but the priest continues.

“One year there was an awful drought, and we were short on food. The shrine needed the village's help. I was sent as an ambassador to make friends with the people of Nima and bring food back to the shrine. Your grandfather, Korsi, had lots of land and needed a hand. In addition, he had also found a way to water his fields from faraway water sources. He was a very smart man. He saved a lot of lives that year. The village of Nima would have starved without him.

“However, Korsi had a temper. Not unlike you, he could not stand an injustice or an intentional slight toward those he loved. It’s clear you have learned how to harness yours and only unleash it when necessary.”

Senya barks out a sarcastic laugh at the idea. “You don’t know me at all if you think I harness my anger well, priest. Do not take my sparing of your life as a sign of weakness.”

The priest pauses and softly chuckles. “I do not think you’re weak at all. I assure you that I have witnessed the anger you wield. Take a look around. You've slaughtered all my men. Some of these men never even looked upon Abena’s face. They were simply doing what they thought was their duty to God. But your rage sentenced them to death.”

Adom huffs and slams the butt of his rifle on the ground. “No, you wrote their death certificate when you ordered the kidnapping of his wife. And if you don’t hurry up with this dry ass story, your ass will be next. Because unlike my brother Senya here, I really don’t give a fuck.”

The priest gives him a sharp look but says nothing. Like Senya, he can dismiss a man with a look.Must be the Ewe way.The priest continues like he never paused.

“As I said, Korsi had a temper, and he killed a man. The man was sleeping with one of his wives. Not your grandmother, but one of the younger wives. She was young and silly. Korsi was a very wealthy man, resourceful and intelligent as many Ewes are. However, he didn't appreciate another man sleeping with his wife, so he killed him and the wife when he caught them in the fields. In response, the village was upset and wanted justice for the man killed.”

Heated, I interrupt him. “They were only upset about the man’s murder? What of the woman?”

The priest dismisses my objection with a wave of his hand. “The wife was no more than Senya’s grandfather’s property to do with what he wished. I myself do not agree with that assessment. But that's the way villagers thought back then.

“Korsi was tried and sentenced to die for his deed. But your grandfather was my friend and I refused to see him be put to death. I told my father what happened, and he agreed to help. He decided to offer an atonement. This meant we would take one of Korsi’s daughters as settlement with the gods for the sin of murder. His daughter would become trokosi.

“Korsi battled with the decision. I want you to know that because I don't want you to hate him. I want you to understand that he did not want to give your mother to the shrine. But, he also knew if he was executed, his four remaining wives and their children would starve. No one would take them in, and no one would marry them. His children would be scattered across Ghana, so he sacrificed your mother when she was only twelve.

“When she came here, she was groomed to become my companion. From the ages of twelve to eighteen, she did everything she was asked to do. She studied all the rites and rituals. She kept the other girls in line. She worked three times harder than anyone else. I guess that should have been our first tip that escape was in her heart. She was overly compliant and eager to please. But the day she turned eighteen, she ran away. It was the day she was to be given to me.”

The pain in the priest’s eyes is excruciating. It is clear this is a memory he does not visit often. He pauses for a moment. Then he continues.

“Afefa and I were friends. For the entire time she was here, she was never mistreated, and no one touched her. She was a child. She also felt a strong need to be free, and much like your wife…” He turns and nods to me. “…she felt the other things that go on here at the temple were not appropriate. I looked for Afefa for over a year. There was no corner I did not search and no rock I did not overturn. Every piece of Ewe and Ashanti land was searched to no avail.

“Then, one day I found her walking out of class at the University of Ghana. She had made it to university, something she’d said she always wanted to do. I asked her to come back to the shrine with me. I warned her that if we had to come back to get her that she would be punished. But she looked me in my eyes and swore she would never return and called the police over to protect her. That day, I left.

“But I returned the next day. This time she was accompanied by the Ashanti king—the Asantehene. It was clear they were lovers. Not wanting to cause war between the Ashanti and Ewe by killing your father, I let her go. I told my father she died. Before I left, I saw that her belly was swollen. Afefa was sheltered. She did not know the ways of this world or powerful men.

“Your father—the king—was not a good man, but there was nothing I could do. Afefa had made up her mind. That was the life that she wanted and that was the man she loved. She would rather be free from the shrine and struggle in life than to live a safe life here with me.

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