Bob put Akua on his back and I followed them down eroded alleys between adobe walls.
Bob’s house was a simple single-story building arranged around a square open courtyard. The entrance door was open.
“Akua Maame, we are here,” Bob called, putting his daughter down.
Yaa came out into the courtyard, wiping her hands on a cloth, and curtsied. She must have been pulling my leg, doing that. I put out my hand and she took it.
“My name’s Crash,” I said.
She smiled. A warm genuine smile which suggested to me that she had worked through her outrage and anger. Guiltily, I recalled my dreams of her.
A table had been laid in the shade.
Maansa, who turned out to be Yaa’s younger sister, brought us water to drink and then a basin with soap and a slice of lemon to wash our hands. Bob invited her
