Ecstatic at having been spared her pet hate of ironing, Faye gave her a warm hug, ignoring the squeals to mind her wet nails.
‘Okay, I’m going up to change. You’ll need to do the head-scarf part for me so I’ll come to your room when I’m ready.’
She flew up the stairs, surreptitiously blowing a kiss at Rocky’s picture, and went into her bathroom for a quick wash before getting dressed.
A few minutes later, she stood admiring herself in the mirror, amazed at her transformation from Western city girl to traditional African woman. The grey boubou had a long wrap-around skirt, with edges scalloped in a delicate silver design reminiscent of a rolling wave. The loose top was cut with a deep square neck and long wide sleeves, with elaborate designs embroidered around the neck and bodice in the same silver thread. The same rolling wave design was embroidered around the edge of the top, which fell loosely around her slim hips.
She slipped on the strappy black and silver sandals she had brought with her from London and thrust a cotton hanky and a tube of lipstick into the sparkly silver bag she had made from a sequinned stole she’d discovered on one of her flea market expeditions. After a final check in the mirror, she picked up the headscarf and headed for Amma’s room.
A muffled ‘Come in’ was the response to her knock and she walked in to find Amma in the process of getting into her own boubou. Faye looked appreciatively at the pretty pale blue outfit. It had a round neck with little insets of lacy white fabric interspersed around the bodice. The embroidery on the fitted skirt was of a matching white thread and she watched admiringly while Amma deftly twisted the fabric for the headdress to tie back her long braids.
‘Wow, you look gorgeous! It’s a shame Edwin can’t see you now; he’d propose on the spot.’
‘If only,’ Amma said dryly, tweaking the ends of her head tie upwards with a flourish. ‘Okay, now let’s see to yours.’
She reached for a newspaper lying on the bed and deftly folded it lengthwise into a strip about three inches wide. She laid the headscarf on the bed and placing the newspaper strip in the centre, she wrapped the fabric around it. Standing behind Faye, she carefully positioned the scarf around the crown of her head and tied the ends at the back. The sculpted headscarf accentuated Faye’s soft high cheekbones and Amma nodded in satisfaction.
‘Great, you look fabulous! Now, we’d better get going before my father has a fit.’
Faye admired Amma’s handiwork in the mirror, then picked up her handbag and followed her out of her room.
As she turned to close the door behind her, she asked, ‘Is Rocky coming to the engagement?’
‘No, he is not,’ said a deep voice behind her, causing her to start violently. She turned around to find herself almost up against the subject of her question. He was wearing shorts and a rather damp T-shirt and held a sports bag in one hand. He stepped back to take a long, hard look at her and she flushed as his eyes raked over her from head to toe.
‘Definitely full of surprises, Faye,’ he said appreciatively. ‘You look like you’ve worn traditional dress all your life. You look stunning.’ He turned to his sister. ‘Amma, you look great too. I take it you’re off to Frieda’s engagement? Well, have a good time.’
‘You’re not coming?’ Still slightly unnerved by his sudden appearance, Faye asked the question in what she hoped was a casual tone. He shook his head with a laugh.
‘No, I’ve just finished a two-hour squash game and I don’t have the energy to watch some poor sucker get a noose tied around his neck.’
Faye bridled. ‘Well, I’m sure no-one’s forcing him to get engaged’ she said in indignation. ‘I think it’s wonderful to see two people who have chosen to make a real commitment to each other.’
Amma tugged at Faye’s arm impatiently. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she said. ‘Don’t even bother trying to get Rocky to understand about commitment; he’s impossible.’ She glared at her unrepentant brother and set off downstairs.
Faye followed her lead, taking the stairs slowly in her heels and fully aware that Rocky was watching. She felt a wave of despondency flow over her and shook herself mentally, refusing to let his words get to her.
Waiting in the living room for Auntie Amelia and Uncle Fred to come down, Faye sat carefully on the edge of the sofa, hoping her outfit wouldn’t crease. Elegant as it was, she was fast learning the limitations the wrap-around skirt placed on moving freely. Amma, more accustomed to the demands of wearing a boubou, relaxed in the armchair checking over her nails critically to make sure the varnish was still intact.
‘Don’t let Rocky upset you,’ she said suddenly, looking across at Faye. ‘He’s not as hard as he makes himself out to be.’
Faye sighed, not bothering to pretend she didn’t know what Amma was referring to.
‘Why is he so anti-commitment, anyway? Is it because of what happened with Clarissa?’
Amma shook her head vehemently and her long braids swung from side to side.
‘No! I don’t think Rocky was ever in love with Clarissa,’ she scoffed. ‘Actually, although he’s never spoken very much about it, I think he fell for someone when he was in America doing his Masters a few years ago.’
Faye was surprised. ‘Oh, I didn’t know he used to live in the States. So you think someone out there let him down?’ She made no effort to hide her curiosity.
‘That’s what Mama and I think, anyway,’ Amma said sagely. ‘He used to talk a lot about this American girl he was seeing – her name was Celine. But by the time he finished his MBA, instead of staying on in the States for a year or two to work as he had planned, he wrote and said he was coming home. When we asked him about Celine, he just said he wasn’t seeing her anymore and didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t date anyone for ages and then, about a year ago, he started seeing Clarissa.’
Faye digested the information in silence. The arrival of the older Asantes put an end to her introspection. They were wearing matching milky-coffee-coloured boubous and looked magnificent. Uncle Fred’s outfit was made up of a long embroidered tunic over loose trousers with a round embroidered cap perched on his grey locks. Auntie Amelia’s boubou had a wrap-around skirt similar to Faye’s with tiny glass beads highlighting the delicate stitching of the embroidery around the neck and sleeves of the matching top.
She exclaimed at the sight of the two girls. ‘Faye, your father would be thrilled to see how beautiful you look in traditional dress. Fred, quickly, bring the camera and let’s take a picture of her for Kwame!’
She pushed her husband gently towards the door. Uncle Fred went off and came back a few minutes later holding an expensive-looking camera.
‘Amelia, I couldn’t find our camera and we don’t have time to look for it, so I’ve borrowed Rocky’s,’ he said, fiddling with the settings. ‘Ah, there we are,’ he said finally. ‘Okay, everybody, stand together and smile!’
After taking a couple of shots, he looked up.
‘Now, let me take a special one of our supermodel here.’ He winked solemnly at Faye.
She was still laughing when he took the shot, her head thrown back and her long lashes almost covering her almond-shaped eyes.
‘All right, let’s go before we arrive late,’ Auntie Amelia fussed, picking up her handbag and shooing them all out of the room. Uncle Fred left the camera on the table in the hallway and picked up the car keys.
The Ansah family lived close to the airport in a part of Accra that housed many of the city’s wealthier citizens. As it was a Saturday morning, there was relatively little traffic and they arrived at the house about twenty minutes later.
The long line of cars parked outside the Ansahs’ gate made it clear that something special was taking place. Uncle Fred let the women out of the car and drove further down the road to find a parking spot. While they stood waiting for him, Faye looked admiringly at the sleek saloon cars and luxury vehicles lined up along the street.
‘I can’t get over the contrasts in this country. One minut
e it’s open gutters and desperately poor people and the next, it’s shopping malls, fast food restaurants, big houses and expensive cars like these!’
Auntie Amelia sighed in agreement. ‘You’re quite right. But Faye, this country is so blessed with natural resources that quite honestly no one should be poor. You know we are one of the biggest producers of cocoa and gold in the world and we produce some very valuable and sought-after minerals. Unfortunately, we have had a series of unstable governments, which has led to terrible corruption and mismanagement of our assets. And because we rely so much on our main exports, we are also vulnerable when the world prices for these commodities drop. You should talk to Auntie Akosua about it next weekend when you go to Ntriso. She’s a professor of History and Political Science at the University.’
Uncle Fred joined them and led the way inside. The house was an elegant white building with stately columns; pink and white ribbons and balloons decorated the front of the house and the double front doors were wide open. The grounds were spacious and the lawn in front of the house looked freshly mown.
They went through the open doors and walked straight into a large hall where multiple rows of white chairs had been arranged on both sides of the space. The chairs on one side of the room were empty while most of the chairs arranged across the other side of the hall were occupied by guests dressed in a colourful array of traditional clothing.
‘You have to go round and greet everyone individually,’ Amma hissed in her ear as Faye stood smiling vaguely at no one in particular. ‘You should always start greeting people from the side of the room that’s to your right and then work your way round. Follow me,’ she instructed. Dutifully tailing Amma, Faye shook hands with the guests seated in the front row, murmuring ‘Good morning’ to each one in turn. Mr and Mrs Ansah, dressed in matching blue and white boubous, were already seated and they stood and welcomed Faye warmly. One or two of the other guests, having been told who she was by a beaming Auntie Amelia, looked at her curiously. Without warning, one woman jumped up excitedly from her seat and crushed Faye in a warm, scented hug against a very generous bosom.
Having completed the greeting ritual, Faye took a seat between Amma and Auntie Amelia. ‘So where are the couple who are getting engaged?’ she asked quietly, looking around the room.
Auntie Amelia smiled. ‘They won’t come in until the ceremony is almost over. In fact, traditionally, it’s quite possible for a couple to not even be present when an engagement takes place.’
Faye looked at her blankly. Seeing her confusion, her aunt explained. ‘What we refer to as an engagement is, strictly speaking, a customary marriage. Now, although Frieda and her partner will also get married under civil law either in church or at a registry office, in terms of our own culture, it’s not really necessary for them to do so. Once this ceremony today has taken place, they are deemed to be married.’
Uncle Fred, sitting next to his wife, had been listening and chipped in. ‘You see Faye, what you need to realise is that in our traditional culture, a marriage contract is not between two individuals, but actually between two families, which is why the couple themselves are not an essential part of the actual ceremony. According to our tradition, this ceremony is where the negotiations take place between the two families to secure the marriage contract. When they finally agree on the terms, which usually means providing gifts and token sums of money for the bride’s family, the marriage contract is sealed by the groom’s family giving drinks – which are called the tiri nsa – to the bride’s family.’
He stopped speaking as the sound of car horns blaring loudly outside carried into the room. This was soon followed by singing that grew ever louder in volume. A group of women dressed in matching traditional wear burst into the room waving white handkerchiefs and singing lustily. In full voice and with broad smiles on their faces, they filed round the chairs greeting the seated guests. Finally, with a last chorus they took their seats in the previously empty rows opposite Frieda’s parents.
‘They’re the representatives of the groom’s family,’ Amma explained quietly. ‘They usually come as a group.’
A tall man dressed in a majestic white boubou who had been sitting next to Mr and Mrs Ansah stood up and announced that, as a senior member of the bride’s family, he would be acting as the okyeame – or spokesman – for the Ansah family.
Speaking in flawless Twi, which Auntie Amelia swiftly translated for Faye’s benefit, he invited the Ansah family and their friends and supporters to welcome the new arrivals to their home. Immediately everyone on Faye’s side of the room stood up and filed round to shake hands with the newcomers before resuming their seats.
When everyone was settled, the okyeame rose again and formally welcomed them before enquiring about the reason for the visit.
That’s a bit coy given all the ribbons and balloons hanging outside, Faye thought in amusement.
The okyeame for the groom’s family, a pleasantly plump middle-aged woman, launched into a long and colourful explanation to the effect that they meant no offence by their visit. She went on to explain that their son had come to them to tell them that he had seen a particular young woman and that he was of a mind to make her his wife.
This was greeted by loud cheering and further singing from her family members and supporters; the African Chorus, as Faye mentally dubbed them. Waving them down, the okyeame continued. After making enquiries, she said, they discovered that the girl in question came from a good family and so had come to see her people and to ask for her hand in marriage to their son.
When the African Chorus had died down again, the Ansah family’s okyeame rose. Clearing his throat apologetically, he explained that while his family were happy to welcome them as guests to their home, they had spent many years caring for their daughter and were not keen on losing her. However, having consulted the parents, he was agreeable to hearing what they had to say.
The drama continued with what was essentially good-natured haggling as one side stressed the value of their daughter while the other side hinted at what they could offer to alleviate the family’s pain at losing such a jewel.
‘They’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t they?’ Faye whispered to Amma at this point.
‘I’ll say,’ Amma hissed back. ‘Frieda’s mother has been on at her for ages to get married!’
Eventually, some of the Chorus members left the house and returned a few minutes later in full voice. Between them, they carried a large aluminium bowl, which they laid on the ground while some young men followed carting several crates of drinks. The okyeame rose to her feet again. She earnestly described the very modest contribution they could offer to the Ansahs to salve the pain of losing their cherished daughter. Apart from copious drinks, including a bottle of aromatic schnapps, the ‘modest contribution’ included several pieces of beautiful fabric, a set of gold jewellery consisting of a delicate necklace, earrings and a bracelet, rolls of printed dress fabric for the mother of the bride and a white bible for the bride. Last, but definitely not least, she proffered a small red box containing a magnificent diamond engagement ring.
The African Chorus could not contain itself at this point and the women burst into song for several minutes before being hushed to hear the Ansah family’s reaction. The Ansahs’ okyeame took a few moments to confer with Frieda’s parents before standing up. He acknowledged the gifts on offer with gratitude but warned them that their daughter was not for sale. However, he added, given the enthusiasm and sincerity with which they had come for her, he was happy to report that the girl’s parents had given their consent to the marriage.
The African Chorus lost all restraint at this stage and launched into a medley of songs that went on for a good ten minutes. When they were eventually calmed down by their okyeame, they sat shifting in their seats, smiling happily. One of the leading Choristers leaned over and whispered something to the okyeame, who nodded vigorously.
Rising to her feet, she thanked the Ansah family for their gener
osity in agreeing to the marriage and promised that they would take good care of their daughter and treat her as one of their own. Faye’s thoughts suddenly flashed back to her conversation with Martha and her troubled relationship with her late husband’s family, and she could only hope that it was something that Frieda would never experience.
The okyeame then asked to see the girl they had come for, to assure themselves that they were all speaking about the same person. After a token show of indignation that there could be any doubt about the matter, the Ansahs’ spokesman directed that the bride should be brought in to meet her new family.
‘This is like watching a play,’ Faye whispered to Amma, enjoying herself hugely at this ages-old enactment of her people’s customs.
‘Wait and see what happens now,’ Amma giggled. ‘Frieda has two sisters and they’re going to send them in one after the other before she finally appears.’
As Amma had predicted, the first girl that came in was greeted by disappointed shouts from the African Chorus.
‘No. No! This is not the girl we came for,’ they cried indignantly. Giggling shyly, Frieda’s sister left the room and another young woman was brought in, a cloth covering her face. When she was ‘unveiled’, the African Chorus broke into a fresh round of ‘No. No. No!’ until she was also led away.
At that point, a few of the women on the bride’s side of the room stood up and hastened out of the hall. They returned shortly afterwards, singing loudly and ushering in a pretty girl in her twenties dressed in a beautiful snow-white boubou embroidered with gold thread. As they approached, the African Chorus exploded into an ecstatic burst of very loud singing, clapping and cheering. Auntie Amelia and Uncle Fred were also on their feet clapping and Faye and Amma joined in enthusiastically.
When everyone eventually calmed down, the bride was led over to stand by her parents. Her mother’s face was wet with tears of joy and the okyeame called for silence and stood up again. His voice grew sober as he explained to Frieda that the Koranteng family had come to ask for her and that, despite her family’s sorrow at the prospect of losing her – he pointedly avoided looking at the ecstatic expression on Mrs Ansah’s face – her family had agreed to let her go. However, he wanted to be sure that she was agreeable to the marriage and it was now up to her to say whether or not she wished to go with them.
From Pasta to Pigfoot Page 24
