‘One afternoon as I was sewing at the back of the house, my mother-in-law appeared and once again began to insult me. When I refused to respond, she rushed to my room and gathered all my clothes and my children’s clothes together. I begged her on my knees but she just threw the things at me and pushed my sewing machine to the ground, screaming at me to leave her house and that I was a murderer. His sisters, who had come running to see what had happened, soon joined her in attacking me.
‘I tell you, Miss Faye, I was so afraid I didn’t know what to do! I quickly collected the children and our remaining belongings. But, before I could stop them, they seized the heavy stick we used to pound fufu and destroyed my precious sewing machine!
‘Fearing for my life and the safety of my children, we fled from that house and by God’s grace we found a kind lorry driver who took us back to my village. I was so sick about the loss of my machine that I couldn’t eat for several days. Finally, I realised that I had to look for work since my mother and father could not afford to feed all of us. One of Paa Kwesi’s friends who had heard about what happened came to visit me in my mother’s house about a week after we returned. He was very kind and told me that he would contact his brother who was a priest in Accra to see if he could help me find work there – you see, without my machine I could no longer stay at home to work. His brother happened to be the priest at Mrs Asante’s church. Hearing of my situation, she told the priest that she needed someone to help look after the house and her children and asked him to send me to her. So I came here and I have been here now for fourteen good years! So, you see, Miss Faye, I do not have to complain about anything; this family has taken care of me and allowed me to provide for my children. Now they have all grown up and are in good health, thanks to Mrs Asante – God bless her.’
With that, she scooped the chopped spinach into plastic freezer bags and put them into the huge deep freezer. For several minutes Faye sat watching Martha as she deftly went about her business. Hearing about the housekeeper’s experiences had sobered her and she wondered if she would have had the strength to cope in such circumstances. Her own worries now seemed petty in comparison to what Martha must have gone through.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Amma, freshly showered and dressed in a long flowered skirt with a matching short-sleeved top.
‘Oh, there you are Faye,’ she said in breathless relief. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you! We’re going out to dinner with my parents at their friends’ house and Mama said to tell you that we will leave at six o’clock.’
She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall before eyeing Faye’s shorts and top critically. ‘I’m guessing you will want to change before we go – and it’s almost quarter past five,’ she said.
Barely suppressing a smile at Amma’s attempt at tact, Faye thanked Martha for the water and went upstairs to her room to take a shower and change her clothes. By the time she had finished, it was just before six.
Uncle Fred grinned as she walked into the living room where he and Amma were waiting. ‘Ah, it’s our superstar interior designer,’ he teased as she sat down carefully, trying not to crease the knee length lilac linen skirt she was wearing. ‘Although I must say you are looking more like a supermodel this evening – isn’t that right, Amma?’
Amma studied Faye’s outfit appreciatively. The sleeveless silky white Mulberry top with a draped cowl neckline tucked into the fitted skirt showed off Faye’s slender shape.
‘I think Daddy is right, Faye,’ she said. ‘That skirt really suits you. It’s just as well you’re much thinner than me or you would have to leave half your wardrobe behind when you go back to England.’
Pleased and a little embarrassed by the attention, Faye smoothed out the skirt that was already threatening to crease.
‘I hear we’re off to dinner at your friends’ house, Uncle Fred. Do they live nearby?’
‘They live further to the west of the city,’ Uncle Fred replied. ‘It’s a part of town that has historically been an industrial area. But, more recently, there has been a huge expansion in residential housing developments and—’
He broke off and stood up as Auntie Amelia came into the room. She looked stunning in a beautiful outfit made from a dark pink and navy blue traditional print. A piece of the fabric had been twisted into an elaborate turban style headdress that accentuated her high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes.
Kissing his wife gently on the cheek, Uncle Fred twirled her round slowly, letting out an exaggerated wolf whistle as he did so. With an impatient tut, although clearly pleased at her husband’s show of admiration, Auntie Amelia went through to the kitchen to tell Martha they were leaving.
Sitting in almost immobile traffic twenty minutes later, Faye stared out of the window, both fascinated and horrified at the antics of the bus and taxi drivers. One driver in particular, driving a minibus with the words Only God Knows painted on the back, was clearly not enchanted by the idea of being a part of the slow moving line of cars and was suddenly inspired to create a third lane of traffic along the verge of the dual carriageway. Ignoring the outraged protests of his terrified passengers and the startled cries of the weary pedestrians walking home from work, he suddenly swerved onto the dusty track along the side of the tarmac road and sped off, grinning cheerily at his ingenuity.
Uncle Fred shook his head in disgust as an impatient taxi driver, impressed by the manoeuvre, followed his new role model and sped off in the wake of the van. Another bus, this one christened In God We Trust, hooted furiously and took off in hot pursuit of the taxi. The faint shouts of its alarmed occupants could be heard, echoed by vigorous cursing from the almost stationary queue of drivers, the sides of whose cars barely escaped being scraped.
Ten minutes later, they reached the junction of a huge six-exit roundabout. Uncle Fred burst into laughter, unable to restrain himself at the sight of the intrepid bus driver and his followers trying to pacify an angry policeman. An overturned police motorcycle at the side of the road told its own story while the jeering passengers, still trapped inside the two buses, hurled abuse at the sheepish drivers.
Faye joined in the general laughter at the drivers’ comeuppance.
‘You can just imagine that conversation,’ she chuckled. ‘When the policeman asks the driver “why were you driving like that?” what are the chances he’ll reply “Only God Knows!”’
Uncle Fred drove carefully along the busy road, neatly dodging potholes. ‘One can only hope that they take their driving licences away.’
‘In God We Trust,’ Amma said solemnly, throwing them all into another fit of giggles.
Darkness was falling as they turned into a wide road that led to a pair of high wide gates manned by three security men. Stopping his car at the barrier in front of the gates, Uncle Fred waved at one of the men, who smiled broadly, raised the metal barrier and waved him through.
‘Faye, now I think of it, our friends Mr and Mrs Debrah are also old friends of your father.’ Uncle Fred turned his head slightly towards the back seat where Faye was attempting to smooth out the creases forming in her skirt.
She looked up in surprise, momentarily distracted from her task. ‘Oh, really?’ She frowned doubtfully. ‘I don’t think I remember hearing their names before.’
Auntie Amelia turned back to look at Faye, nodding her head in emphasis as she spoke. ‘Oh yes, my dear, they used to be very close friends when your father lived in Ghana. In fact, Akosua Debrah comes from the same home town as your mother.’
Faye absorbed this new piece of information, marvelling at how little she knew about her father and his life in Ghana with her mother. It was as though the death of his wife had caused him to seal off the first part of his life. Although he had made a point of trying to educate his children about their ancestry, he rarely made reference to specific events or friends from his earlier life in Ghana, as though it was all too painful to relate. Since her mother’s death, despite the fact that he was an attractive an
d highly sought after widower, her father had showed no interest in finding romance again and had never brought another woman home. Instead, he focused his considerable energy on his work and, when he was at home, on his children.
The housing development they were now driving through reminded Faye of the new-build developments in England. Unlike the walled-off detached houses she had grown used to seeing in Accra, these houses were of a uniform design and set back at regular intervals from straight paved roads. Pristine, well-maintained green lawns fronted each dwelling and gleaming luxury vehicles could be seen parked in driveways.
Uncle Fred stopped in front of a particularly large house and they piled out of the car and walked up the paved pathway to the front door. Auntie Amelia rang the doorbell and straightened her headdress, while Faye made a last attempt to smooth out the creases in her skirt. A few moments later the door was opened by a short, cheerful looking man who stood back and welcomed them in.
Amma and Faye hung back as the older couple entered first and hugged their friend warmly. Coming into the house, they walked through into a large living room. Faye looked around curiously, her eyes widening at the sight of several carved wooden stools placed along one side of the room. Hearing her name, she turned to find her host smiling, one hand extended towards her.
She hastily shook hands and smiled shyly as Auntie Amelia introduced her. The next moment she was seized in a suffocating embrace as the older man realised who she was.
‘Ey, ey, ey! But this is wonderful!’ he exclaimed. He released her from his grip and scrutinised her face.
‘My goodness, she looks like Annie, eh?’ He addressed his question to the Asantes, who smiled indulgently at Faye like the proud parents of a child prodigy. Auntie Amelia introduced their host as Mr Charles Debrah, but whom everybody called ‘Uncle Charlie’.
‘Well I know Faye is the novelty today, but I’m also here, Uncle Charlie!’ Amma laughed and stepped forward to be hugged in turn. With one arm around her, he motioned them all into the living area and invited them to take a seat. They had barely sat down when his wife hurried in and they rose again to exchange hugs. Auntie Akosua was the same height as her husband and had a broad face with an equally cheerful expression. Her short, naturally styled hair was liberally sprinkled with grey and her wide smile displayed strong white teeth.
She had clearly been expecting Faye, for after greeting the Asantes she took Faye’s hands in hers and subjected her to a few moments of intense scrutiny. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she released Faye’s hands and folded her into a warm hug that seemed to last for ever.
‘I am so happy that you have come home again, Faye,’ she said as she reluctantly let her go. ‘I was afraid that you had completely forgotten about us.’
Faye’s smile held more than a tinge of guilt since that was a pretty fair reflection of the truth. Luckily, Auntie Akosua didn’t wait for an answer and instead urged her back into her seat and bustled round organising drinks for her guests.
Faye gazed appreciatively around the cool living room and sipped on a cold fruit punch. She had finally given up on her skirt, which had now creased into horizontal pleats and risen up above her knees. At each corner of the room, six-feet-high chrome lamps cast a pale golden glow against the walls. The stools along the wall ranged in size; the smallest being so small that it could be held in the palm of a hand. The long curtains were of translucent white linen and hung from black metal curtain rods, the ends of which twisted into metal knots.
‘So what do you think of the design then, Ms. Faye?’ Uncle Fred had been watching her survey the living room and his eyes twinkled with unconcealed amusement. She squirmed in embarrassment as everyone waited for her to speak. Taking pity on her, Uncle Fred turned to his friends.
‘This young lady is very talented, you know. She’s turned Amelia’s shop into a very trendy boutique – you should see it now.’
Auntie Akosua, who was perched on one of the stools, exclaimed in delight.
‘Why, that’s wonderful! Is that what you do in London, Faye?’
Faye shook her head in denial. ‘No, I’m afraid I’m just a secretary. I enjoy doing up places, that’s all.’
Auntie Akosua studied her thoughtfully and then nodded her head slowly. She turned to Auntie Amelia who met her gaze and smiled ruefully in silent acknowledgement.
‘You know, Faye, your mother was also very talented in design,’ Auntie Akosua said slowly. ‘We come from the same home town and went to school together. When we were young, Annie often used to make our clothes when we were going out, and some of her designs were really unusual.’
She smiled broadly, displaying her sparkling white teeth. ‘I remember one particular time when we were about seventeen. We had been invited to a party – Amelia, do you remember Esi Brew?’
Auntie Amelia nodded but didn’t interrupt and Auntie Akosua continued. ‘Esi was at our school and had very rich parents. For her seventeenth birthday, they arranged to have a huge party for her at one of the big hotels in Kumasi. It was to be a really grand affair with a live band. Well, Annie and I were invited and she was determined to make her own outfit for the party. Her father – your grandfather – was very strict and was always complaining about the way she dressed.
‘Anyway, the night of the party came. My father had offered to take the two of us to the hotel and pick us up again at the end of the evening. When we arrived at your grandfather’s house to collect her, Annie was still getting ready. I remember I was wearing a white dress with long sleeves and a full skirt – very ladylike, for once!’ She chuckled softly before returning to her story.
‘So here we are, waiting in the sitting room when Annie comes downstairs. She floated into the room looking like a movie star. She had made the most incredible dress – I remember it like it was yesterday. It was made from a sheer silver chiffon fabric wrapped around a fitted cream satin sheath and had tiny straps and a small fishtail. She had found some high-heeled silver sandals from goodness knows where and her hair was piled high on top of her head. She looked breathtaking!
‘I remember your grandfather’s face as she walked into the room. He had just been congratulating me on my nice modest dress when his own daughter walks in looking like a cross between a mermaid and a Hollywood movie star! He was so appalled he nearly choked with anger and shouted at her to go and change immediately. Annie, of course, was outraged and refused to give in. If my father had not intervened, she would have been banned from going at all! Luckily we were able to calm your grandfather down and persuade him that Annie would come to no harm.’
Auntie Akosua paused and smiled at Faye. Her head crooked to one side, she took in the lilac skirt and the multiple multicoloured bracelets Faye was wearing on her bare arms.
‘From the little I see and from what I’ve heard from Fred and Amelia, I think Annie’s talent did not die with her,’ she added gently. She rose to her feet and clapped her hands together lightly.
‘Now, you must all be very hungry, so let me go and see to dinner.’ Just before she left the room, she turned back to Faye. A smile of pure mischief was on her face as she spoke.
‘By the way, we did make sure Annie came to no harm at the party. That was the night she met your father – he took one look at her and fell head over heels in love!’
Never having heard the story of how her parents had met, Faye sat deep in thought, picturing her mother as a beautiful and defiant seventeen-year-old girl and her father as a young medical student losing his heart in an instant, and it was several minutes before she tuned back into the conversation going on around her.
Shortly afterwards Auntie Akosua returned to announce that dinner was served and they all moved into the adjoining dining room and took their places around a long metal-framed dining table. Faye sniffed the spicy aromas appreciatively as dish after dish was laid down on white linen tablemats. She loved the way meals in Ghana often combined so many different dishes. Lottie had learned to cook a number of Ghana
ian dishes and had made sure that Faye and William had the opportunity to eat their traditional food as much as possible. But, nice as they were, they did not compare with the truly home-cooked meals she had come to enjoy so much at the Asante’s.
She helped herself to some of the rich jollof rice made from tender rice cooked with vegetables in a spicy tomato stew. After adding some crisp yam chips, seasoned meatballs and a sweet vegetable salad to her plate, she ate hungrily. Amma, who had abandoned her diet yet again, was for once silent as she gave the food her total attention.
When everyone had eaten to their fill, they leaned back into the comfortably cushioned dining chairs; the men drinking ice cold beer while the women savoured the chilled white wine Auntie Akosua had served. The conversation was lively and centred mostly on politics – a subject that Faye had quickly learned was very dear to the hearts of most Ghanaians.
Auntie Akosua broke off in the middle of a heated debate with Uncle Fred on the merits of the government in power and turned to Auntie Amelia.
‘Before I forget, I’m afraid I won’t be able to come to our Old Girl’s Association meeting next week. I have to go to Ntriso for my uncle’s funeral,’ she explained in apology.
Faye looked up sharply, the reference to her mother’s home town distracting her from the remains of the chicken drumstick she was trying to dissect. Seeing Faye’s reaction, Auntie Amelia made a suggestion.
‘Why don’t you take Faye along with you? It will give her a chance to see where her mother was born and meet some of her extended family.’
‘What a wonderful idea!’ Auntie Akosua beamed at her friend and then at a startled Faye who reluctantly abandoned the drumstick and wiped her fingers on her linen napkin.
‘The funeral will start on Wednesday with the wake-keeping, and the burial is scheduled for the next day,’ Auntie Akosua went on thoughtfully. ‘Unfortunately I won’t be able to go to Ntriso until Friday. But at least we will still be in time for the funeral on Saturday.’
From Pasta to Pigfoot Page 20
