20/05/2025
WHISPERS OF THE ANKASA RAIN
Long before the first tree was felled or a path cut through the forest, the Ankasa was a living god — a breathing shrine of spirits, beasts, and the unspoken balance of nature. The elders of the Nzulezo village, just beyond its borders, knew to listen to the forest’s whispers. But time had grown louder than wisdom.
Efua Mensah, a 35-year-old Ghanaian botanist raised in Nzulezo but educated abroad. She returns to Ankasa after a decade in the U.S. to research medicinal plants.
Efua’s return is not just scientific — it's spiritual. Her mother, once the village herbalist, vanished in the forest twenty years ago. Efua has always believed the forest held the truth.
The villagers warn her: “Ankasa does not forget. Or forgive.”
But Efua’s eyes are trained on the soil, not the spirits. She sets up her camp at the forest edge with her assistant, Kojo Adu, a witty but superstitious biology graduate.
Efua documents rare orchids and bark used in traditional medicine. She’s excited but disturbed — animals are behaving strangely, and certain species seem to vanish overnight. Kojo speaks of Nkyinkyim, forest spirits that twist paths and time.
One morning, Efua finds symbols carved into the bark of a nyamedua tree — her mother’s old forest sign for healing. But the tree is split open, blackened inside.
That night, something moves outside their tent. A glowing pair of eyes vanishes into the dark.
Back in the village, tension brews. A foreign mining company has offered to build a road through Ankasa, bringing jobs and wealth. The village chief is tempted, but the old priestess, Nana Yaaba, warns that the forest spirits have already been angered.
Efua tries to intervene, urging conservation. But she is seen as an outsider. Only Kwaku, a quiet young boy with a stutter who often draws the forest, seems to understand her.
He gives her a drawing — a woman surrounded by vines, with the eyes of an owl. “She watches,” he whispers.
Efua is shaken. The woman in the drawing is her mother.
Efua and Kojo venture deeper into the forest, guided by ancient notes her mother left hidden in an old calabash. They find a hidden grove filled with rare flora. But time feels wrong there — the sun lingers longer, birds do not sing.
That night, Kojo vanishes.
Efua searches frantically and finds him delirious by a fallen silk-cotton tree. He speaks of hearing whispers, seeing a woman of vines, and a voice that asked, “Why do they forget?”
Efua follows signs — her mother’s marks — and finds a cave hidden beneath the roots of a massive tree. Inside are dried herbs, scrolls, and a carved stool. And a body — wrapped in vines but preserved, as if the forest held her in time.
Her mother.
Suddenly, the cave trembles. Trees groan above. Efua hears the forest speak in rustling leaves and wind: “Restore what was taken.”
She returns to the village with a pouch of seeds and a message: halt the mining, protect the grove, or lose the spirit of Ankasa forever.
EPILOGUE
A year later, Efua leads a conservation center in Ankasa. The mining project was halted after a strange fire consumed the machines overnight. No cause was found.
The villagers now bring their children to learn the old ways. Kojo teaches biology with reverence. Kwaku’s drawings are framed on the walls.
And deep in the forest, a woman of vines walks quietly beneath the canopy — her eyes watching, her whispers carried by the wind.
