The coronation had passed with grandeur. Drums echoed through Dunkwa Abankeseso, and the new Denkyirahene, Nana Odeefuo Boa Amponsem IV, had taken his seat upon the royal stool. Cloaked in kente, crowned with gold, he was hailed as the 26th ruler of a kingdom that had once commanded the forest belt of the Gold Coast.
But as the celebrations faded, a letter arrived.
It was hand-delivered by a courier from Cape Coast, addressed to the Denkyira Heritage Foundation, and marked with the seal of the University of Ghana. Inside was a report — authored by Ama Nyarko, archaeologist and cultural historian — detailing the discovery of Denkyira regalia near a sacred tree in Asafura village, just outside Biriwa.
The letter was respectful, but bold.
“This regalia matches the craftsmanship of 17th-century Denkyira ceremonial gold. Oral accounts suggest it was buried by fleeing chiefs after the Battle of Feyiase. The site remains undisturbed. I believe this discovery belongs to the descendants of Denkyira, and I invite the Traditional Council to witness it.”
The elders gathered in silence. Some dismissed the letter as speculative. Others leaned forward, eyes narrowed. The Denkyirahemaa, Nana Ama Ayensua Saara III, held the anklet photograph in her hand for a long time. She whispered:
“This pattern… it was worn by my grandmother’s grandmother. I’ve seen it in dreams.”
The new king said little. He was young, educated abroad, and eager to modernize the kingdom. But he felt something stir — a sense that his coronation had awakened more than tradition. It had awakened memory.
A delegation was formed. Quietly. Without fanfare. The king did not go himself, but sent his most trusted linguist, Okyeame Kwaku Boadu, along with two elders and a cultural archivist. They traveled south, through Twifo, through Assin, and finally to Biriwa.
Ama met them at the edge of the grove.
She did not lead them to the buried site. She simply pointed to the tree — twisted, ancient, sacred. The same tree where Jacob Wilson Sey had tapped palm wine. The same tree where Denkyira chiefs had buried their pride.
The elders stood in silence. One wept.
No gold was taken. No excavation ordered. But the Denkyira delegation returned to Dunkwa with something more valuable: a story. A missing chapter. A bridge between past and present.
The king called for a new stool to be carved — not to replace the Golden Stool, but to honor the Stool of the Silent Chiefs. It would sit in the palace courtyard, beneath a replica of the twisted tree, as a symbol of resilience, exile, and return.
And in Biriwa, the real tree remained untouched.
Because some treasures are not meant to be possessed.
They are meant to be remembered.
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