by Adwoa Badoe
Maa’s sickness has returned. She is so thin. She must have eaten something bad. She always has diarrhea. We went to see a doctor at Korle-bu. He gave her so many different pills but Maa has not improved.
I broke up with Charles. He said Maa has AIDS. Nobody has explained Maa’s sickness. Daa says it is witchcraft. Maybe Dr. Christine can help. Ask her to come and visit. Tell her Maa is very sick.
Effie
P.S. I have found a job at Grace’s Rest House as a caterer. Now I actually earn some money and I can pay for some of Maa’s medicine.
I sat still with the last letter in my hand.
I was filled with horror. My maa was dying. Why had I been too proud to ask someone to read my letters for me?
I knocked on Christine’s door. She was lying on her bed reading.
“Sistah, my maa is sick,” I said. And I showed her the letter. She read it in seconds.
“Oh, Gloria,” she said.
“I just opened the letter. I was waiting to read well first.” Then I burst into tears.
“Ssh, Gloria, don’t cry. I’ll call Accra right away.”
Christine called her mother and I held back my sobs as I heard her make arrangements to have my mother taken to Korle-bu Hospital. Then she made another call to her doctor friend at Korle-bu.
That evening, to take my mind off Maa, JB brought out his photos.
“Gloria, come and see my pictures of London. Who would not want to live here?” he asked.
Christine rolled her eyes at him. I said nothing.
London was old. There were rows of brick houses, narrow roads and people in jackets and scarves.
Where were the tall shiny buildings, I wondered. The houses were small and crowded, not like the large houses in Labone Estates where I had first visited Christine. Only the parks were lovely, and the flower gardens were beautiful.
“My plan is to take you there, so long as Christine comes,” he said, trying to make me laugh.
“Would you take me? Oh, Sistah, please say yes,” I implored.
“Say yes,” said JB.
“Yes, yes,” said Sam, who had no idea what was being said. Superman was in his hand and he was swooping about the room with a piece of cloth tied to his back. Sam had given his affection over to Superman ever since he had watched the cartoons JB brought. Batman with his Batmobile was already out of fashion.
“Oh, all right,” said Christine, and JB engulfed her in his arms.
Sam pleaded, “Me too, me too, me too!”
They allowed him in for a hug.
I watched them from my place by the coffee table, one happy family.
•
The wind rushed over my face as Daddy JB drove Christine’s Corolla to Accra. So much had happened in six months in Kumasi and at last we were returning for a visit. Inside the car Christine passed sandwiches around and we drank our Sprite out of bottles.
Just before Konongo, I recognized the turning into the rest house I had visited with Kwabena Kusi. We did not stop there.
We drove past bush and small scattered villages. There were vendors at the roadside holding up bunches of large mushrooms, the occasional bush rat and buckets of large forest snails. I saw children following their parents into the bush to farm.
JB drove fast. Sam fell asleep. At Nsawam, we stopped to buy huge soft loaves of sugar bread for our relatives in Accra. The vendors pushed boiled eggs at us through the windows.
It was in Nsawam that we fell into the worst traffic. The sun beat down on us hard, making Christine’s air-conditioning useless. We traveled in silence, thankful that Sam continued to sleep. Bit by bit, we approached Accra. We edged past the guards at the police barrier and mingled with the heavy city traffic.
I watched Accra through the rolled-up glass of my window. I had walked my part of it to school and back, playing in the neighborhoods, selling oranges along its streets, shopping in the markets and running errands. I watched Accra with the eyes of a newcomer.
We stopped first at my home in Alajo. Only Maa was home. She had lost weight, her face was weary, her eyes tired and her voice had grown softer. I went to her and hugged her.
“Atuu! It’s so good to see you, Gloria. How you have grown.”
Maa brought us water to drink. She filled three glasses and set them on a tray. I was amused that she treated me like a guest.
Christine and JB stayed for a while. Sam clung to Christine. They asked Maa about her health and looked at her medications. They seemed quite satisfied that Maa was feeling better.
Then JB handed Maa an envelope. “Your Christmas gift, Mama.”
“You shouldn’t have,” said Maa.
“Please,” JB insisted. “We are so lucky to have Gloria.”
Maa took the envelope. At the car, JB gave me some money, too.
“For you and your sister,” he said. “We will see you on Christmas day.”
“Thank you, Daddy JB,” I said. “Is Maa really okay? Will she live?”
“Gloria, I think she is feeling better,” said Christine, and she gave me a hug with her free arm.
“It’s in God’s hands,” said JB.
Nobody wanted to discuss Maa’s illness. It seemed to me that everyone hoped that it would simply go away.
Eno and Asibi were extracting palm oil in a ten-gallon pot. They looked hot and sweaty. James Adama sat in the shade of the mango tree repairing shoes.
I looked at the shabby compound, the broken chairs on the veranda, the crooked aluminum shack we called a bathroom with the bath water draining slowly in the cement-lined gutter. The little children playing in the yard were dirty, their clothes too big or just absent. Their toys were broken pieces of other people’s garbage. Even when they cried, the sound was different than I heard from Sam — coarse, tight and wretched.
Effie came home carrying a plastic bag in each hand. She was in her white caterer’s dress, with wide lapels and white buttons running down the front and two large pockets.
She dropped her bags and ran to me and squeezed me in a big hug. She was looking older. She had deep blue eyeshadow wide around her eyes, black kohl eyeliner thickly spread on the edges of her lids and a deep purple lipstick.
Then we were back in the same room we had shared. The room seemed smaller. I put my bags on the floor by the wall and we sat on the bed just as we’d always done. Effie and I broke chunks off the sugar bread to eat.
“Blue Band?” she asked, pointing to the can of margarine on the table.
I shook my head. I was used to the more pleasant taste of Planta margarine.
“You’re looking different,” I said.
“It’s my hair. I permed it.”
“And you’ve got on a lot of make-up. How does Daa feel about that?”
“I guess he realized I was no longer a child. After all, I bring home the money,” she said with a chuckle.
“Effie!”
“It’s the truth,” she insisted. “Gloria, I’m so glad you’re back. You only wrote once, so you must boss me everything.”
I told her about Christine, Sam and JB. I told her about Bea, Simon, Dr. Joe and Julie. I told her about F Block and Nu Life. I told her about Pastor Brown and about the theft.
“Oh, Gloria, that girl Bea is bad,” said Effie.
“She’s not all bad. She just wants nice things, too.” For the first time I told someone about Kwabena Kusi and how he had lied to me.
“Ah, Gloria, you’re a big girl now. I wish you were not so far away,” said Effie. “Then I could watch out for you.”
She told me how she had broken up with Charles. She also told me about Mr. Otoo, the rich man who had a wife.
“Effie, you must break up with him,” I said. “It’s wrong. He’s lying to you and besides, we have to be so careful about AIDS.”
I told her about Dr. Julie’s talk.
She shrugged. “You’re lucky. Someone takes care of you. I have to take care of Maa and Daa, and my job is just not enough.”
I told Effie I would try to help more. I would send her all the money I got.
“Effie, things will change. I may be moving to England with Sam and Christine to join JB next year,” I whispered.
She screamed with delight. “If you get there, work hard and send me a ticket, too.”
“Of course,” I said.
I heard Maa cough in the other room.
“Effie, do you think Maa has AIDS?” I whispered. “Maa has to take the test.”
“No. She’s feeling better now that she is taking medicine. She’ll soon be her old self again.”
Once I had heard on the radio about a woman who had been abandoned by her family because she had AIDS. We were all too ashamed of AIDS to even talk about it. If Maa had AIDS, what about Daa?
Daa came home later with the sunset. He looked the same as before. He was very happy to see me and he asked all sorts of questions about living in Kumasi. But he didn’t talk about Maa’s illness.
Daa was lucky. He could push away his worries.
• TWENTY-ONE •
Christmas day was hot and dry and spilling over with joy. On the streets, wave after wave of masquerades were performed, frightening the little children. I wondered what masks, costumes and drums had to do with Christmas. Daa said it was the way non-Christians celebrated Christmas.
Our church was full to overflowing. Even people who never went to church attended services on Christmas day, and we spent the entire morning singing praise songs in Ga, Twi and English. We heard the Christmas story again. We raised a hearty collection, dancing through the aisles to deliver our gifts to God. The band rocked and I couldn’t stop dancing and waving my white handkerchief.
Then, after the service, we shared cake and soft drinks and cookies. We were all so happy.
The children made long necklaces of Huntley and Palmers gem biscuits. When I was younger I would eat those biscuits one at a time until my piece of thread was bare. Never mind that the biscuits hung around my sweaty neck all day.
After church we rode in Auntie Ruby’s taxi, all of us jammed in tight, all the way to the house in Labone where I had first met Christine. The party lasted all day long with music and dancing and tables laden with dishes of rice, fufu, soups and stews. Sam was king, and much too excited to sit down. I met Christine’s family and their friends.
Christine and JB had a gift for me.
While Effie watched, I peeled off the sticky tape. If I was careful I could use the shiny wrapper again.
Here was the surprise beyond my dreams: a three-piece outfit in blue and silver with shoes to match. I tried on the jacket. Effie’s eyes were bright with happiness.
“Gloria, you are so lucky,” she said.
•
We returned to Kumasi a little sad, with JB gone. I promised Effie that I would write her whether I had the right spellings for my words or not. I didn’t hide my tears.
“I’ll come and visit you in Kumasi,” she said. “I promise.”
Christine told my daa that she had opened an account for me and was paying me monthly, although I was only allowed a small allowance to spend. Daa protested hard that he had given me as a sister, not as a worker, but he wasn’t able to dissuade Christine.
I was glad. I would be able to send some money home.
Christine started the car and off we sped out of the big city. Effie waved hard until we were out of sight.
It was quiet in the car. Sam slept and I thought about Maa, Daa and Effie — my family. Christine must have been thinking of JB.
“Sistah?”
“Yes?”
I was speaking to the back of her head as she focused on the road ahead.
“I’ll take my JSS exams again, as you suggested.”
“Smart girl,” she said. “It’s not the only way forward in life, but it is the best way forward.”
Christine turned the knob on the radio and Nana Tuffuor’s soulful tenor told of the hardships of life abroad, broken dreams and broken families. The sound of the guitar reminded me of Simon. I couldn’t wait to go back to Nu Life practices.
We stopped at the Block D carport just as it turned dark.
The trunk was full of food: yams, plantains, tinned milk, sugar, sardines and corned beef. Christine’s mother had done a lot of shopping for us. It was almost as if there was no food in Kumasi. I grabbed our travel bags first, and with one in each hand, I began up the stairs to our home.
I was making tea and arranging biscuits on a plate when the doorbell rang. I smiled. Julie and Mimi would have seen the lights on in our apartment.
I was right. It was Julie at the door. But instead of a shout of welcome, she looked at me for a long moment as if she was going to cry. Then she reached for me and hugged me tight.
“Oh, Gloria, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Haven’t you heard?”
I shook my head, panic starting in my chest.
“It’s Bea.”
•
We attended Bea’s funeral after the first week of the New Year. Nu Life sang at the funeral. I still could not believe that I would never again see Bea walk up the driveway to the clubhouse, or share a taxi from the market.
Sister Janet Dartey’s eyes were red from weeping, and those who stood close to her supported her on either side. Dr. Kotoh stood with his head bowed the whole time. His pretty wife, Mrs. Kotoh, the tennis player, stood by him, holding his hand. Even their three boys were there in church. Bea had never mentioned her half-brothers. There were several doctors and nurses and staff from the hospital. Even the clubhouse staff were there, and Bea’s friends and teachers from school.
Bea had died from a botched abortion. People said how sad it was, since her father was a doctor and her mother a nurse.
“Too bad,” they said over and over.
“Children — these days there is no controlling them,” I heard one of Bea’s teachers murmur. “They are crazy for the fast life.”
“It’s all those TV shows from America,” a man said. “Too much sex and quick fix wealth.”
I looked at Simon. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
But it wasn’t really Bea’s fault, I wanted to say. Her dad never cared about her, never listened to her or even provided for her. Bea was smart, she was fearless. She wanted to be a doctor.
I thought of Bea bearing the burden of a pregnancy by herself. I would have been so scared. Only Bea was bold enough to take all those tough decisions by herself to try to end the pregnancy. She had chosen a cheap quack in order to keep it secret.
The quack had disappeared and the police had not yet found him. Bea had been failed by so many people yet she alone was blamed for her death. Poor Bea.
But I said nothing. No adult was interested in what I thought.
In their eyes I was a Nobody.
Christine came round to my side. She put her arm around me and squeezed me.
“Gloria,” she whispered. “No more secrets from now on, okay?”
Tears sprang to my eyes. One day I would tell her about Kwabena Kusi.
“No more secrets,” I said. And I put my face into her shoulder and wept.
• EPILOGUE •
I am walking down the Bantama Road and the wind is pushing me along. It is the last day of school, JSS3, and my cream and brown uniform has a bit more style than usual because I have pinched the waist a little and shortened my sleeves.
I am walking with a bounce in my step because I have just received the results of the exams. I have passed everything. Everything! I laugh out loud.
As I cross the road into the junior doctors’ complex, someone honks and I turn around. A car passes by. It is a red Passat.
“Tschew!” He’s not worth my spit on the ground.
I see Sam waiting on the balcony. I see him first but I wait until he sees me, so he can shout, “Glo-glo!” He has returned from day nursery, where he is being taught the alphabet. Sam knows everything. He watches Sesame Street on video.
“Hi, Sam,” I shout.
He is speaking quite well in Twi and beginning to speak in English.
“Hi, Glo.”
He expects us to keep shouting greetings until I can pick him up and swing him around and around. He is still the cutest and most popular baby in the complex.
Ellen is my best friend and we have helped each other study. Simon has been very busy with his final school exams so Nu Life has been suspended for a while. Effie and I write to each other all the time. She says Maa’s health has improved on special new drugs, and Daa is still searching for a job. Christine says she is not ready to move to the UK yet, and JB calls all the time. He will be coming home this summer and has promised to bring me a gift.
I can’t wait. Oh, I can’t wait!
• GLOSSARY •
