A left-pointing arrow indicated the final turn into Ezile Bay, a grassy pathway worn down by vehicle traffic. The two vehicles bounced over the remaining few meters and parked. Several small thatch-roofed, sandstone-colored chalets were scattered over a wide area, nestled among coconut palms, ferns, and trailing bougainvillea plants. Directly ahead, the aqua sea stretched to the horizon, rolling onto the off-white sand with soft wave breaks. Fishing canoes in the distance with their signature flags were clear silhouettes against a cloudless sky.
Hosiah hopped up and down with anticipation as everyone alighted. “Daddy, can we go in the water now?”
“Let’s go to the edge and then Uncle Abe will go in with you later.”
Sly walked alongside Hosiah, who skipped in the sand as he tugged and swung on his father’s hand. He had no fear of the sea, whereas Dawson eyed the waves with some unease. He couldn’t let his sons sense that, however. They went as far as the dissolving trail of the receding waves. Dawson guessed that the tide was low. Gleefully, Hosiah splattered the wet sand with his bare feet. Sly, who hailed from landlocked northern Ghana and was unaccustomed to beaches, was more restrained.
Dawson realized that this was the most serene setting he had ever experienced. Accra was hell, and Ezile was paradise. This place had no crowds or blaring horns, only a young white woman and a Ghanaian man having fun in the water. He was laughing as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and her legs around his waist, pressing her crotch into his. Dawson shifted his gaze eastward about 500 meters to a village that was subdivided into two sections by a lagoon formed by the meeting of the Ezile River and the sea. He had done his homework and knew this was the village of Akwidaa.
“Okay,” he said to the boys. “Let’s go back.”
They returned up the slight incline, and Hosiah scooped up a little sand and let it flow from his hand in the breeze.
“Daddy, did you catch the bad man yet?” he asked unexpectedly. “The man who cuts off people’s heads?”
“No, not yet. Are you still scared he’ll hurt Daddy?”
Hosiah’s response was an uncertain shake and nod of the head-no, and yes.
“Anyway, Daddy can beat that man in a fight,” Sly declared, executing a left jab and right uppercut. The boy still had the ways of the street in him.
Thanks for the confidence, Dawson thought with some amusement. “I’m only going to catch him,” he said, putting an arm around Sly’s shoulders, “not fight with him.”
