Chapter Five

The year was 2025. In the heart of Ghana’s Central Region, a young archaeologist named Ama Nyarko stood beneath the twisted tree in Asafura village, notebook in hand, heart pounding. She had read the legends, studied the maps, and traced the oral histories. But now, standing here, she felt something deeper — a presence, a silence that spoke.

Ama wasn’t chasing gold. She was chasing truth.

Her research had led her from dusty colonial archives in Cape Coast to oral interviews in Twifo Praso. She had uncovered fragments: mentions of Denkyira chiefs fleeing south, of sacred burial rituals, of a tree chosen not by chance but by spiritual design. And she had found something else — a letter, yellowed and brittle, written by a schoolteacher named Kwaku Agyeman in 1932.

“The tree still stands. My grandmother said it watches. Beneath it lies the silence of kings.”

Ama had followed that silence.

🧭 The Dig Begins

With permission from local elders, Ama began a small excavation near the tree’s base. She wasn’t expecting treasure. She was looking for pottery shards, regalia fragments, anything that could confirm the Denkyira connection. What she found was more than she hoped.

Buried beneath layers of clay and root was a ceremonial anklet, etched with symbols matching those found in Denkyira regalia. Nearby, a fragment of a clay pot, sealed with resin. No gold — not yet — but proof. Proof that something had been buried here. Something royal.

The elders watched in silence. Some nodded. Others whispered. One old man, nearly blind, touched the anklet and said:

“This is not Sey’s gold. This is the gold of those who ran.”

🔥 The Past Reawakens

Ama’s discovery sparked quiet interest. Historians, cultural custodians, and even descendants of Denkyira chiefs began to speak. Stories long buried resurfaced. The idea that Sey’s fortune was not random, but inherited — not by blood, but by fate — gained traction.

And in Biriwa, the tree remained.

Ama didn’t dig further. She knew some treasures were meant to sleep. Instead, she wrote. She published her findings, blending archaeology with oral tradition, fact with possibility. Her work didn’t just honor Sey — it honored the chiefs who buried their pride, their power, and their hope beneath a tree.