10

Cultural Relationships

The fly in the ointment of a perfect Thursday afternoon was literally buzzing around Faye’s head as she tried to take a short nap out on the cool veranda. After a heavy lunch, Amma had disappeared to her room leaving Faye to stretch out undisturbed on the chintz covered wicker lounger. Undisturbed, that is, except for a persistently friendly fly. Finally convinced that a conspiracy had been hatched by the animal and insect kingdoms to deprive her of sleep, Faye sat up in exasperation, ready for battle. Reaching for her magazine, she rolled it into a tight wad and swiped ferociously at the hapless fly as it came back to visit.

‘Damn!’ She cursed as the fly shot away in panic, finally accepting that it was not on friendly terrain. Unrolling the magazine, she lay back on the lounger and skimmed carelessly through the pages. Tips on how to keep your skin supple in winter and where to shop for the best bargains in boots held little attraction on a warm afternoon in the tropics. Lounging in only a pair of cotton shorts and a thin strappy top, she tried and failed to imagine the cold weather she had left behind.

It’s hard to believe I’ve only been here for five days, she mused. She thought back over the events since her arrival in Ghana on Saturday evening, and for what must have been the hundredth time, mentally thanked Wesley for being the catalyst that had finally brought her here.

I must get William to come out to Ghana, she thought drowsily. She dropped the magazine on the side table and lay back on the lounger, closing her eyes as the cool breeze wafted over her. I’m sure he and Rocky would get on like a house on fire.

The thought of Rocky had the same effect on her nap as the earlier unsolicited visits by the fly. Jolted out of her semi-somnolent state, she pondered over her inexplicable reactions to him. Since Sonny’s phone call, Rocky had been pleasant but distant whenever their paths happened to cross. The offer to take her out had not been repeated and it appeared that the brief glimpse she had seen of the relaxed charming host had been closed off, leaving only a polite stranger in view.

Where someone like Lucinda would have taken the initiative in this situation, two years with Michael, not to mention the memory of his predecessors, had left Faye sorely lacking in confidence when it came to the opposite sex. It didn’t help that while she couldn’t deny the electric effect Rocky had on her, she was not at all sure what, if anything, to do about it. It was abundantly clear that Rocky was an extremely eligible bachelor who could have his pick of the most beautiful girls in town. In the short time she had been in Accra, she had seen enough leggy beauties around to realise that even with Clarissa out of the way, there was no shortage of women available to console the handsome young banker.

She giggled as she remembered Baaba’s visit to the house the previous evening, ostensibly to return a magazine Amma had lent her. After asking where Rocky was in what she thought was a casual tone, Baaba had stayed for hours, obviously hoping to bump into him. It was only after Amma had nodded off on the sofa that she had finally taken the hint that it was time to leave. Reluctantly wishing them a good night, she had swayed out of the house in tight black skinny jeans that defied all the laws of science in their ability to accommodate her hips. A scowling Togo, who had been taking a nap outside the gate, had stomped off grumbling under his breath at being forced to wake up and find her a taxi. Still muttering angrily on his return, he barely allowed the vehicle to drive out through the gates before slamming them shut. Rocky had appeared ten minutes later; but aside from a brief hello, he had little to say to anyone and went up to his room shortly afterwards.

But if Rocky was proving to be Mr Elusive, Sonny, on the other hand, was in serious contention for a medal in the field of persistence. He had phoned every day since the beach trip and made no secret of his attraction to her. While she dismissed his increasingly passionate claims to have fallen madly in love with her, she had to admit that his sense of humour and charming good looks were a pretty potent combination. After Michael’s serious approach to everything in life, it was fun to talk to Sonny, who took nothing seriously and whose idea of literature was the cartoon strip in the national daily.

As Rocky had said nothing more about the jazz club, she had finally agreed to go out with Sonny on Friday, although she had insisted on lunch rather than dinner.

‘That’s fine with me,’ was his reaction. ‘I’ll take you to a proper Ghanaian chop bar – they’re our local restaurants – so you can eat real Ghanaian food. Not like those expensive bourgeois restaurants Amma always goes to!’

JB had also phoned several times since the afternoon on the beach. Although he always called Amma’s mobile, he would then insist on speaking to Faye. Each time they spoke, his accent seemed even more incomprehensible and she was forced to ask him to repeat almost everything. Peppering every sentence with ‘You know what I’m sayin’?’ when she truly didn’t, made phone conversations with him almost as undesirable as having him nose to nose in front of her.

In reality, the whole experience of being pursued by men was something of a novelty. The seven years she had spent at a Hampstead girls’ school for the elite had offered precious few opportunities to meet men of her ethnic background, and working at an old-fashioned family firm like Fiske, Fiske & Partners made it even less likely that she would come into contact with African or Caribbean men. While the few black men she had come across were more than happy to date white girls, the type of middle and upper class white men she usually ended up meeting were rarely in the market for a black girlfriend. With them, she was usually treated more as one of the boys or the channel to approach one of her girlfriends rather than as a potential mate. The few exceptions she had come across to this rule had been looking for what she had once described to Caroline as ‘an exotic rebellion’ and only asked her out because she was black. Finding Michael had been like stumbling across an oasis when she had given up hope of seeing anything more than miles of endless desert.

Having Michael as a boyfriend had been the proof that she so badly needed that she was indeed attractive – which made it particularly ironic that his constant criticisms of her clothes, her hair or what he termed as her cultural inadequacies, had ultimately only deepened her lack of self-esteem.

Now back in her cultural home and with two suitors within five days – even if, she conceded, one did sound like a strangled canary – she was beginning to feel more confident about herself than she had for years.

She pushed the puzzle of Rocky’s attitude to the back of her mind and wandered off to the kitchen in search of a cold drink. Martha was sitting at the table chopping the fresh spinach leaves she had bought from the market that morning, and looked up as Faye bounded in.

‘Can I get something for you, Miss Faye?’ she asked. Although normally soft spoken, Faye knew from the exchanges she had overheard between Martha and Togo from her bedroom window that Martha’s voice could be extremely loud when she chose. Today her soft curves were encased in a straight dark blue polyester dress with a frilled white collar. The warmth in her dark eyes diluted the severity of the hospital matron look.

‘Martha, please can I get some cold water?’ Faye pleaded, flapping the hem of her tiny top to cool herself down. She flopped down at the table directly under the whirring ceiling fan while Martha wiped her hands on a clean cloth and placed a glass and a large bottle of iced water on the table, chuckling as Faye speedily gulped down three full glasses of water.

‘You remind me of my son.’ Martha shook her head in amusement. ‘He also drinks water like a tortoise that has sat in the sun for too long.’

Faye almost choked on her last gulp, never having been compared to a sun-drenched tortoise before. Wiping her mouth unceremoniously with the back of her hand, she looked at Martha curiously.

‘I didn’t realise you had a son, Martha. Where is he?’

The older woman picked up the glass and the almost empty bottle and carried them over to the sink.

‘Oh, he lives in my village with my mother and his three sisters,’ Martha replied as she washed the used glass. The humour left her voice and a note of sadness crept in to take its place.

‘You must miss them very much,’ Faye said sympathetically. ‘What about your husband – where is he?’

Martha gave no reply and for a moment Faye was afraid that she had offended her. Martha turned round with a sigh and came back to the table. She pulled out her chair and sat down, her face sombre and without her usual smile.

‘He’s dead, Miss Faye,’ she said quietly. ‘It will be fifteen years at Christmas time since he was killed in a road accident.’

She shook her head as Faye tried to apologise for raising the subject. ‘No, no, Miss Faye, it all happened a long time ago. These things are the will of God and we must accept them,’ she said with a resigned shrug.

After a brief silence, Faye spoke again. ‘So how old is your water-swigging son?’

Martha chuckled. ‘He is now twenty-four – at the time his father passed away he was only nine years old. He is my oldest, but I also have three daughters. When Paa Kwesi died, the girls were seven, five and two years old.’

Faye was horrified. ‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘How awful for you! How on earth did you cope all alone with four children?’

Martha shrugged her plump shoulders philosophically. ‘Sometimes I wonder myself. But with help of my family and some good friends, I was able to survive.’

Faye continued to eye her curiously and Martha laughed good-humouredly.

‘My husband, Paa Kwesi, and I came from neighbouring villages and our fathers knew each other well,’ she said. ‘I finished school when I was fifteen but Paa Kwesi continued until he completed his secondary education. His family was quite rich – at least compared to most of the people in our village – so he was lucky to be able to go to school for so long. Most of the time, children were not allowed to stay in school because they had to help their families on their farms. Many also ran away to the cities to find work.’

Picking up her knife, she continued to chop the spinach into thin strips as she spoke. Faye listened intently, not interrupting once.

‘Paa Kwesi’s family liked me because I was humble and very hard working,’ she went on. ‘So when he finished his training to be a mechanic, his people came to ask my parents for me. Of course my family agreed and, at eighteen years old, we were finally married.

‘My mother was one of those women who wanted to make sure that all her daughters had some skills and so after I left school, she arranged for me to work with the village dressmaker and learn how to sew. My dream was to be able to buy a sewing machine and set up my own dressmaking business one day. After Paa Kwesi and I married, his family helped him to start on his own as a mechanic and he was soon doing well. As our tradition demanded, I moved into his family house and helped his mother and his sisters with the household chores. But I still carried on working at the local dressmaker’s shop, sewing for other people on her old machine. I knew that in time, if I worked hard, I would earn enough money to buy my own sewing machine.

‘Eh, Miss Faye, if I were to tell you how I worked, you wouldn’t believe me! Even when my children started coming, I didn’t stop sewing until the day I gave birth. As soon as I was strong enough after each child, I would start my sewing again. Because I had to add most of the little money I made to the chop money Paa Kwesi gave me, it took a good few years before I had enough money to make my dream come true.

‘At last the day came when I had saved enough money to buy my sewing machine. I was so excited that for the whole night before, I did not sleep! I remember the day when I went into town to buy the machine like it was yesterday. I brought it back to the house and, I tell you, almost everyone in the village came to admire it. It was so shiny and beautiful and new. I was so proud of that machine – no one was allowed to even touch it!

‘But it was after my machine came that our problems started. My mother-in-law began to complain to my husband that I was no longer respectful towards her and that now that I had my own machine, I had become too proud. At the time my husband’s business was not doing well and he had started spending more and more time at the village drinking spot. The more his mother complained, the more he became angry with me. Soon every time he came home he would start abusing me for the smallest thing.’

She stopped chopping for several moments and then shook her head with a small sigh and went on.

‘Ah well, it was not all his fault, Miss Faye. It’s true, I was very proud and I suppose it was not too comfortable for him to see me busy with my customers and my new machine when he was struggling to keep his business. His other brothers had left the village. One went to Agege – that is what we called Nigeria – and the others left to go and find work in the city. So Paa Kwesi was the only man left to take care of all of us. But I won’t lie to you – his mother was very difficult to live with. She would shout at him as though he were a child and not a grown man. Then she was always accusing him of neglecting her and his sisters and caring only for his wife and children. As for me, even though I was working night and day to make some money for the household, she just hated me more and more.

‘One morning as I was finishing a dress for one of my customers, one of Paa Kwesi’s friends came running to the house. He was weeping and as soon as I saw his face, I knew something terrible had happened! He told us that my husband had been killed by a timber driver, who had lost control of his overloaded truck and driven straight into him. Eh, Miss Faye, I tell you, the shock was so great I nearly collapsed! As for Paa Kwesi’s mother, she did not stop crying for ten solid days! His brothers returned home immediately to bury him and my family also came from our village for the funeral. In fact, the whole village came to mourn with us and for many weeks afterwards, in accordance with our custom, we had to provide refreshment and shelter for the visitors.

‘When my family eventually returned to our home town, Paa Kwesi’s mother and his sisters began to make my life hell. Soon they were even blaming me for his death, telling me that if I had not made him feel so angry because of my wicked pride, he would not have been drinking and would have been able to jump out of the way of the timber truck. No matter how I tried to calm them, the abuse just become worse.

‘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 and 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 Ghanaian 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.’

Faye was puzzled. ‘How can they have a funeral if they’ve already buried your uncle?’

Uncle Charlie chuckled. ‘When we talk about a funeral, we are usually referring to the funeral rites, which are performed after the deceased has been buried,’ he explained patiently. ‘It involves drumming and dancing and other rites that are traditionally performed by the family elders.’

Faye still looked confused, so he went on. ‘Funerals in Ghana are a process rather than just a one-off event, like you have in England. This is particularly true for the Akan people because, for us, death leads to a prolonged period of mourning and we have a series of rituals that mark the transition of a living member of the community to a revered ancestral spirit.’

Auntie Amelia nodded in agreement. ‘You’ll find as you stay here longer, my dear, that funerals are given as much – if not more – attention as weddings and christenings. In the daily newspapers you’ll often see funeral announcements published with the names of the deceased’s family members and close friends, who are referred to as the chief mourners. The more people who attend, the more successful the funeral is considered to have been – unless, of course, there weren’t enough refreshments for the mourners!’ she added with a laugh.

Amma repressed a shudder. ‘Frankly, I think the worst part is when you have to file past the dead body. It’s really awful to see someone you’ve known lying there looking so different.’

‘But the dancing is so wonderful to watch,’ Auntie Akosua said with a smile. Turning to Faye, she explained further. ‘At funerals, the idea is that dancing helps the bereaved to express their grief and console themselves. The drummers have to entice the mourners to dance and the skilful way in which they do that is absolutely marvellous to see.’

Faye listened in fascination. It seemed that there was no end to the lessons she had to learn about her people and their traditions. Finishing her wine, she put down her glass carefully.

‘It sounds amazing, Auntie Akosua,’ she said with enthusiasm. ‘I can’t wait to see it all in action.’ Suddenly aware of how it might have sounded, she added hastily, ‘I mean, I’m really sorry about your uncle dying…’

Auntie Akosua interrupted her with a smile, patting her hand gently. ‘It’s all right. I know what you meant, and I’m also looking forward to the chance to show you our town.’

Uncle Charlie set his empty beer glass on the table and sighed in satisfaction.

‘So, Amma, what’s the latest with you and your young man? Should I be preparing my speech as the favourite uncle of the bride?’ He chuckled as Amma pouted at his teasing.

‘Uncle Charlie, seriously, all Edwin talks about now is America this and America that,’ she said flatly. ‘Honestly, the way he talks you’d think there was absolutely nothing he could do in this country!’

‘Well, let’s hope he finds a good job soon,’ Auntie Akosua remarked. ‘But you know, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if he did work overseas for a little while – it would probably give him some valuable experience.’

Amma sighed. ‘Auntie, now you sound like Rocky. All he thinks about is making his international career move as soon as possible.’

Auntie Akosua turned to her friend and asked with a smile, ‘Amelia, how is your gorgeous son – has he finally popped the question to that pretty girlfriend of his? I saw her on television the other day advertising some new hair care product. If I were younger, I would definitely have been persuaded to buy it.’

Auntie Amelia laughed and shook her head. ‘I’m starting to think I have to give up on Rocky,’ she said ruefully. ‘He is so obsessed with his career he won’t give any woman a chance. As for proposing, according to my sources,’ she glanced slyly at Amma, ‘the pretty girlfriend is no longer on the scene. So it looks like we are back to square one.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t give up hope yet, Mama, some strange things have been known to happen,’ Amma murmured, gazing into her half-empty wine glass. She didn’t elaborate on her cryptic comment and refused to be drawn any further on the subject.

With dinner over, they staggered back to the living room where the conversation continued until Uncle Fred exclaimed at the time.

‘Some of us have to go to work tomorrow,’ he retorted, when the girls protested that it was too early to leave. After prolonged farewells, they climbed back into the car and headed back to Labone.

It was after ten o’clock and there was relatively little traffic on the roads as they drove back. It was still hot and humid as Faye rolled down her window and peered out. ‘It’s so dark, Uncle Fred, how can you make out where you’re going? And why are so few of the streetlights on?’

‘That’s a good question,’ he sighed, shaking his head in resignation. ‘I wish I knew the answer. Particularly since when I get my electricity bill, there’s always a charge for street lighting!’

He drove slowly and carefully through the capital and about twenty minutes later they were home.

Rocky’s car was parked in the driveway and Faye felt a dart of excitement shoot through her. But when they went into the house, it was clear from the darkened living room that he had already gone up to bed.

Quashing her disappointment, Faye wished everyone a good night and headed up to her bedroom where she showered quickly before lying down. Pleasantly tired, she replayed the events of the day until her thoughts became one big jumble and she drifted off to sleep.