From Pasta to Pigfoot (13 page)

I should have read this article weeks ago
, she thought as she mentally ticked off each of the warning signs that spelled disaster and found that she had answered yes to eight out of ten of them.

‘So where do you stay in Ghana?' The man next to her was now settled comfortably in his chair and he smiled at her, a look of open curiosity on his face.

She hesitated and then smiled back. ‘I'll be staying with friends in Accra.'

Her neighbour nodded vigorously as if she had answered a very complicated question. ‘That is good. And, if I may ask, where do you come from in Ghana? Are you a Fanti?'

Faye shook her head. ‘No, I'm an Ashanti.'

Although she had lived outside Ghana for most of her life, she was well aware of the different ethnic groups in the country. She knew from her father that the Ashantis, a proud tribe with a long and distinguished lineage, were the largest of the Akan-speaking people of West Africa. With the end of colonialism, the vast majority of Ashantis now lived in Ghana, which had once been a British colony known as the Gold Coast.

‘But that is wonderful – so am I!' With a happy cry, her neighbour stretched out his right hand to shake hers,
pumping it hard, and then released her fingers with a gentle click of his thumb and middle finger.

‘My name is Kwabena Nti,' he said. After she had introduced herself, he asked curiously. ‘Where is your home town?'

Again, Faye heaved an internal sigh of relief for her father's lectures on the subject. She knew that by asking her this question, Kwabena was asking where her mother came from, as the Ashantis trace their lineage through the female line.

‘Ntriso,' she replied firmly. ‘It's about a hundred and fifty kilometres from Kumasi.' Her reference to the capital of the Ashanti region appeared to have firmly established her ethnic credentials as Kwabena sat back in his chair, apparently satisfied with what he'd heard.

She checked her watch and realised that the flight should already have taken off, but remembering her father's warning that flights to Ghana often left later than scheduled, she went back to reading her magazine. The other passengers continued to flood into the lounge, many of them now leaning against the walls or sitting on their bulky hand luggage. Some of the younger children, restless at the delay and clearly excited at the prospect of getting on a plane, were running around the crowded area, ignoring the hissed instructions from their frustrated mothers to sit down.

Twenty minutes later, a flight official announced in a relieved voice that it was time to board and the suddenly energised passengers quickly gathered up their belongings. Faye watched with amazement as the crowd
held back while mothers with young children and the elderly and infirm made their way forward first. Kwabena Nti rose from his seat and, hoisting his heavy tote bag over his back, politely offered to help her with her things.

‘Oh no, it's okay,' Faye stammered in surprise. ‘I only have my handbag and the magazines, but thank you.' He flashed a last smile at her and headed hastily towards the exit, his boarding pass in hand.

As she walked into the aeroplane, Faye once again felt a sense of suppressed excitement creeping over her. Although she knew she was in for a long flight, she could hardly wait to feel the soil of her home country under her feet.

Maybe Wesley wasn't so wrong after all, she mused, I should have made this trip ages ago. Her seat was by the window and as the other passengers made their way to theirs, she gazed through the small round window at the activity taking place on the tarmac below. A middle-aged woman paused in the aisle and, after checking her boarding pass, sat down wearily next to Faye. She was wearing the traditional Ghanaian dress of a long skirt in printed cotton with a fitted top, known as a
kaba
. As a concession to the English winter, she wore a warm heavy cardigan over the low cut top. A piece of fabric had been twisted around her head with a stylish knot holding it firmly in place.

After fastening her seat belt, the woman turned to Faye with a smile.

‘Good afternoon. It looks like we will be at least an hour late getting to Accra,' she sighed.

Faye smiled and nodded. ‘I was warned not to expect to arrive on time.'

They both laughed and the older lady held out her hand in greeting.

‘I'm Mrs Patience Allotey,' she said. Her grip was firm as Faye shook her outstretched hand. She introduced herself and they both fell silent as the Captain's voice came over the speakers announcing the preparations for take off.

After the safety instructions had been demonstrated and the crew had taken their seats, the engines screamed in anticipation as the heavy jet taxied off the runway before hurtling up into the air to be buried in endless cushions of clouds.

Faye gave a sigh of relief and settled back into her seat, flicking through the in-flight magazine. She had never been particularly fond of flying and could never fully relax until the plane was safely up in the skies.

Mrs Allotey removed her bulky cardigan and also sighed aloud. She wiped her thin metal-rimmed glasses and put them firmly back on her broad nose.

‘So, my dear, are you returning home or going on holiday?' she asked curiously. Faye watched as the woman opened a voluminous handbag, took out a clean cotton handkerchief and carefully wiped her face.

‘Just a visit,' Faye replied. ‘I haven't been back since I was a child, so this is a very special trip for me,' she added impulsively as another dart of excitement shot through her.

The older woman clucked enthusiastically.

‘My goodness – is that so? Well, I hope you have a wonderful time,' she said, peering at Faye through her glasses. ‘How long will you be staying?'

She sounded so warm and interested that Faye found
it impossible to take offence at the barrage of questions.

‘About three weeks,' she replied, smiling in amusement as the woman practically squirmed with joy on her behalf. Deciding that she could also be nosy, Faye unfastened her seat belt and turned to face her neighbour.

‘What about you, Mrs Allotey? Are you going on holiday too?'

The older woman shook her head vigorously, almost dislodging her colourful headgear.

‘Oh no, Faye, I'm returning home,' she said with relief. ‘I came to England to be with my daughter for a few months since she's just had her first child. But she is now back on her feet and able to cope, so I'm going back to Accra. My poor husband has been waiting for me far too long.'

‘Oh, how lovely!' Faye exclaimed. ‘What did your daughter have – a boy or a girl?'

Mrs Allotey was instantly the proud grandmother as she opened her handbag again and pulled out her phone. Going through what seemed like hundreds of photos, she gave a detailed explanation about the people in each picture and where each one had been taken. Faye cooed in delight at the pictures of the new grandchild – an extremely plump brown baby with masses of curly black hair and a wide toothless smile.

‘You must feel really sad about having to leave them all behind,' Faye looked at her with sympathy.

Mrs Allotey sighed in agreement and switched off her phone, replacing it carefully back in her handbag. She pushed the bag under her seat and settled back once again.

‘Yes, I shall miss them all very much,' she admitted,
her previously happy smile fading slightly. ‘But, you see, Ghana is my home and I never like to leave it for too long.'

She grinned again as she went on. ‘You know, I studied in England for a number of years – I'm a registered midwife, you see. Maybe for you young people who have grown up in England, it's different. But as for me, when I lived here I was never very happy.' She shook her head to emphasise her point.

The drinks trolley came round and Mrs Allotey asked for orange juice while Faye opted for a glass of wine. As they nibbled on the crunchy peanuts and sipped their drinks, Mrs Allotey regaled Faye with stories of her time in England. She had a sharp sense of humour and Faye was soon giggling uncontrollably.

‘So you can imagine, Faye,' she said, finishing up a hilarious account of how she had survived her nursing course in Birmingham, ‘my decision to return home was never in doubt. But even aside from my Abraham who was waiting impatiently for my return so that we could finally marry, there was also another reason.' She paused for a moment, deep in thought, and the smile left her face.

‘In England, I always felt like a foreigner. My shifts were always longer than the English nurses' and when it came to ward duties, I always seemed to end up with the worst jobs.'

She made the comment without bitterness, a note of quiet acceptance in her voice. ‘But in Ghana, it's completely different. Where I felt I had to beg for acceptance in England, in my own country total strangers address me with respect as “Madam”.'

Leaning forward, she patted Faye's hand warmly. ‘Don't mind me, though,' she added with a rueful smile, her warm brown eyes twinkling through her glasses. ‘My daughter is always telling me that things are not like that for her in England and
she
can't understand how I put up with the inconveniences of life at home – the last time she and her husband came to Ghana, we had power cuts most of the time they were there!'

The conversation came to a temporary halt as lunch was served. Faye was ravenous and munched her way through a foil-covered dish of steak and potatoes followed by strawberry mousse and cheese and crackers. After the meal, the older lady removed her glasses and was soon fast asleep. Too excited for a nap, Faye put on her headphones and tuned into her iPod. She gazed out of the tiny window at the clouds, thinking wistfully of her family and friends now thousands of miles away, and smiled to herself as she remembered the raucous farewell dinner at Caroline and Marcus's flat the night before.

Between them, William, Lucinda, Caroline and Marcus had teased Faye mercilessly about her upcoming holiday. Dermot, who arrived halfway through dinner, had been in even higher spirits than normal.

‘Don't go asking for pasta everywhere you go either, for God's sake,' he mumbled, cramming the creamy courgette and bacon stringozzi Faye had made earlier that evening into his mouth.

‘Very funny,' Faye said dryly, dumping the basket of garlic bread by his plate. ‘I'm glad you're all so amused by the idea of me culturally messing up all over the place.
We'll see who gets the last laugh when I come back and show you all up!'

There had been one solemn moment when William had risen to his feet and called out over the din for attention.

‘Okay, now quiet everyone – I've got something to say,' he said peremptorily, suddenly every inch the barrister. Holding his full wine glass high, he cleared his throat and looked across at his sister who looked back at him, her expression wary.

‘Faye sweetheart, on behalf of all of us here, I just want to say this.' He cleared his throat again. ‘We all hope you have a wonderful holiday and that you find whatever it is that you're looking for when you get to Ghana. We'll miss you – and your ethnic backside,' he interjected with a cheeky grin, ‘but we know you're going to have the adventure of your life. Here's to you!'

The unexpected toast almost reduced Faye to tears. Luckily, Dermot's attempts to eat Marcus's dessert while he was raising his glass broke the tension, and it was well past midnight when the party finally broke up.

Lost in thought, Faye felt it was only minutes later that the Captain's voice announced that they would be landing shortly. There was a last minute flurry of activity as landing cards were handed round and harassed mothers shepherded their tired children to and from the toilets.

Mrs Allotey sat up to re-tie her headgear and clicked open her powder compact to lightly dust her shiny nose. ‘Well, I certainly won't need this for a while,' she said with relief as she folded her heavy cardigan into her handbag.

Faye, who had hastily run a comb through her hair and
repaired her smudged make-up, was trying to answer the questions on the immigration landing card.

‘“Your Address”… I only have a post office box address for the Asante family,' she said aloud.

‘Don't worry about that, dear,' Mrs Allotey advised. ‘We hardly ever use street addresses in Ghana. Just write down the box number.'

Faye shrugged and did as she was told. She quickly filled in the rest of the form and tucked it into her passport.

The excitement in the air was now almost palpable and the plane started to circle in descent. Darkness had fallen and through her window she could see the twinkling of lights on the ground far below. The engines sounded louder than ever and the sudden noise of the wheels being released jolted her upright. The flight crew took their seats and the whine of the engines grew louder still as the plane made its way down to the runway. The huge jet landed on the tarmac with the lightness of a butterfly landing on a flower petal and the passengers broke into a spontaneous round of applause.

Mrs Allotey joined in the clapping, and then crossed herself quickly before reaching under her seat for her handbag. Overriding the commands coming through the speakers for passengers to remain seated until the plane had come to a complete halt, the impatient travellers were up on their feet, rushing to pull out their oversized cabin luggage long before the plane doors had been opened.

Faye quickly gathered her magazines together and rolled them into a thick wad. Pushing her passport into her leather duffle bag, she unclipped her seat belt and
waited, almost trembling with excitement. Immediately the aeroplane doors opened, the crowd surged forward, their loud excited cries filling the air.

‘Goodbye, Faye. I hope you have a wonderful holiday!' With a quick wave, Mrs Allotey was on her feet and, with a speed belying her advanced years, pushed herself forward through the queue of passengers and was out of the plane almost before Faye could respond.