From Pasta to Pigfoot (14 page)

Following more slowly, Faye was one of the last to reach the doors of the aircraft where the humidity of the tropical night hit her like a slap across her face. She walked carefully down the metal steps and joined the other passengers in the bus waiting on the tarmac.

The bus driver, after checking that the last passenger had boarded, sped off with a screech of his tyres towards the airport terminal where the weary travellers alighted to walk into the airport. Clutching her duffle bag and wiping her face, which was already moist from the humidity, Faye followed the crowd into the air-conditioned arrivals area and stood in the queue waiting to go through Immigration.

When it was her turn, she stepped forward and nervously handed her red British passport to the tired-looking officer. Despite the glass screen, Faye could see his large stomach poking gently through the gap between the buttons of his short-sleeved white cotton shirt. He stared at her for a long moment and then turned back to the pages of her passport.

‘Miss Bonsu?' he asked ponderously, his bald head hardly moving as he flicked through the pages.

‘Yes…?' Faye replied nervously.

‘Your name is Bonsu, but you are British,' he said. His voice held no particular inflexion and Faye tried to work out whether it was a statement or if he was asking a question. She decided to keep it simple.

‘Yes.'

The officer stared across at her for another few seconds and then stamped her passport. Suddenly his tired face lightened as he broke into a broad smile. Handing back her passport, he said gently, ‘Welcome home.'

7

Cultural Homecoming

In comparison with Heathrow Airport's general air of calm, Kotoka International Airport was a frantic hub of activity. Faye stuck close to the other passengers heading towards the baggage collection area as busy officials rushed up and down barking instructions into mobile phones and uniformed security guards pushed through the throng of arriving travellers with barely concealed impatience, shouting across to each other in a combination of English mixed with other languages. Some, more obviously privileged, passengers were met by officious looking personnel and whisked off to a side room identified by a discreet sign as the VIP lounge.

Faye followed some of the people she recognised from her flight through to the large reclaim area. She walked past trolleys stacked against a wall and headed towards the baggage carousel.

‘My sister, I hope you had a pleasant flight.' The voice came from behind her and, turning round, she almost
bumped into Kwabena Nti with his ever-present smile.

‘It was fine, thank you,' she replied. ‘Have you got many cases to collect?' The carousel was still in motion although, as yet, there was nothing to be seen and she kept one eye on the moving belt as she spoke.

Kwabena shrugged amiably and said with a wry smile, ‘Well, I have five sisters and they each gave me a long list of things to bring them. I can only hope that the goods have all arrived safely!'

Just then the first suitcase appeared on the carousel and the crowd surged forward, their trolleys banging against the metal sides as everyone struggled to identify their own. Kwabena manoeuvred his so that it was next to Faye and wriggled his wiry frame in front of it, ready to seize any of his belongings as soon as they appeared. Faye watched in amazement as he deftly collected a total of seven suitcases and three large boxes, one of them clearly marked with a picture of a microwave.

After a few more minutes, Faye spied her case and reached out towards it, but Kwabena got there first and heaved it off the carousel, placing it with great care in front of her.

‘Here you are, my sister,' he said, wiping off the dust on his hands down the sides of his jeans. ‘I am pleased that you have not lost your belongings.'

With a smile of thanks, Faye followed him as he navigated his overcrowded trolley through the crowd and walked confidently into the customs area. Just before they reached the exit, a portly shiny-faced official demanded to see their tickets and passports. Using a tired stub of chalk,
the official scribbled an illegible mark on Faye's case with a flourish and gestured for her to carry on through the exit. As she moved off, Kwabena waved a cheerful goodbye and returned to his task of arguing with another official who seemed determined to go through each item on his trolley in painstaking detail before granting the white chalk seal of approval.

Faye tossed her duffle bag over her shoulder and wheeled her case out into the hot and humid night air, stopping for a moment to slip off her jacket and drape it over her arm. Before she had taken more than a few steps outside the building, she was mobbed by a pack of young men shouting ‘trolley, trolley, madam!' and ‘taxi, madam!' A few exhausted security guards tried to disperse the over-helpful porters but with little effect, as several others rushed forward to take the place of those who were pushed out of her way.

Just as Faye was wondering what to do next, she heard a deep voice shouting, ‘Faye, Faye Bonsu… over here!'

Heaving a sigh of relief, she turned to see a middle-aged man moving rapidly towards her, followed by an attractive young woman. When the man reached her, he threw his arms out wide and gathered her into a warm embrace without saying a word. Releasing her, he prised her suitcase from her grip and propelled her away from the disappointed porters.

‘Faye, I'm Fred Asante – your Uncle Fred,' he said, his voice loud over the cacophony. Gesturing at the young woman behind him who was smiling at her excitedly, he went on. ‘This is my daughter Amma. Let's get you away
from this commotion – the car is over here.'

The three of them walked down a flight of steps towards the car park and Uncle Fred briskly led the way to the car. Waving away some of the more optimistic porters who were still in hot pursuit, he opened the boot of the shiny 4x4 and manoeuvred her heavy suitcase inside with a short grunt before locking the boot carefully and coming round to open the car doors.

‘In you get, ladies,' he said, opening the front door for Faye, who slid in gratefully, relieved to escape from the enthusiastic pack of porters still hanging around the car. Amma clambered into the back as her father settled himself into the driving seat before driving off slowly, carefully avoiding both the pedestrians and the porters milling around the newly arrived passengers.

Amma leaned forward from her seat in the back and rested her arm on the back of Faye's seat, almost bouncing with excitement. ‘Did you have a good flight? We phoned from home to check if you would be on time but they told us that the plane had been delayed.'

Faye turned slightly to get a better view of the other girl. Amma looked remarkably like her father, with round brown eyes and soft full cheeks. She was wearing a long loose-fitting cotton shift dress with thin straps that accentuated a full bosom. Her sparkling white teeth glittered in the semi-darkness as she chattered on non-stop.

‘Oh Amma!' her father protested after she had rattled through about ten questions without pausing long enough for Faye to answer. ‘Give the poor girl a chance to get a word in.' He took his eyes off the road and glanced quickly
in Faye's direction. ‘Forgive her,' he said apologetically, ‘she's a terrible chatterbox.'

Ignoring his daughter's indignant cry of protest, he gave Faye another quick glance.

‘My goodness, Faye,' he said, a note of emotion creeping into his voice. ‘I haven't seen you since you were a small child. We are so happy to have you here with us – the rest of the family are waiting anxiously to meet you.'

The warmth of the welcome she had received eased the anxiety that had begun to creep up on her as she left the airport terminal, and she settled comfortably into her seat, looking around her with interest.

With the windows rolled up and the powerful air conditioning blasting through the car, it was easy to forget the humidity outside. As they drove, mini buses crammed with people going home from work drove past them at full speed. The noise of car horns filled the night air as yellow and white taxis weaved in and out of their lanes, intent on picking up and depositing passengers and arrogantly dismissive of any other vehicles.

‘Oh my God… Uncle Fred!' Faye exclaimed, wincing as she watched a taxi narrowly avoid a collision with a small van. ‘How on earth do you manage to drive here and stay in one piece?'

Uncle Fred nodded. His expression was grim and he didn't take his eyes off the road for a second. ‘These roads can be a death trap if you're not careful, Faye. I wouldn't suggest that you try and drive while you are here – between Amma, Rocky and I, you'll have plenty of people to take you around.'

At Faye's enquiring look, Amma jumped in. ‘Rocky's my older brother,' she explained. ‘Actually his name is Richard but his friends started calling him Rocky years ago because he was really into boxing at one time. Even though he gave it up a long time ago, the nickname stuck and it's what everyone calls him.'

Faye smiled at Amma's detailed explanation and said firmly. ‘I've got no intention of driving while I'm in Ghana, Uncle Fred. Apart from the fact that I'm not used to driving on the right hand side of the road, I don't think I would last three minutes against these taxi drivers!'

As they drew up to a particularly busy roundabout, Amma pointed in the direction of one of the exits, where cars could be seen slowing inching along, bumper to bumper.

‘That area over there is called Osu,' she said. ‘We live in the centre of Accra and there are loads of pubs and nightclubs nearby. I'll make sure we go out a lot while you're here, Faye.' Her father rolled his eyes and Amma ruffled his hair affectionately as he shook his head in resignation.

‘Actually, that particular road is known as Oxford Street, just like the one in London,' he said. ‘And I can tell you that it's probably just as busy!'

They drove on through busy intersections and speeding traffic until finally they emerged into a quieter, more residential part of the city. The roads were darker and Faye could see the silhouettes of large houses behind high walls and securely locked gates, some of which carried signs with drawings of ferocious-looking dogs ready to tear any intruder into shreds.

‘What's this part of Accra called?' Faye asked curiously.

Uncle Fred answered before Amma could speak. ‘It's called Labone. In fact, we're almost home.'

Just as he finished speaking, he turned sharply into a short driveway and stopped the car in front of a pair of black iron gates. He gave a short blast of the car horn and seconds later the gates opened a little way and a dark head emerged and stared at the car.

‘Togo, open the gate!' Uncle Fred shouted through his window. As Togo continued to examine the car without making any attempt to move, the older man pressed on his horn again, glaring at Togo with growing impatience.

Slowly Togo retreated and moments later threw back the gates, peering openly into the car at Faye as they drove inside. Uncle Fred parked under a corrugated steel canopy at the side of the house and came round to Faye's side to help her down. Amma slid out of the back and called Togo over to help with the suitcase.

Shuffling forward slowly, he made his way towards them. Staring at Faye, he raised his hand to his head in a brief salute and bared his teeth in a wide grin.

‘Akwaaba
, madam,' he said. ‘You are welcome.'

Faye watched with amusement as he hoisted her suitcase up on top his head and shuffled off in well-worn rubber sandals towards the back of the house, his skinny legs protruding from wide shorts.

Amma followed her gaze, smiling with amusement as they watched him amble away. ‘Togo's our gardeners-lash-security-guard-slash-general-handyman. He's been with us for years and knows just about everything that goes on in Labone. One or two of our neighbours have been burgled
in the past, but it's never happened to us. Someone told my mother that it's because even the thieves in the area have heard about him and are too frightened to risk it.'

‘It sounds to me as though you've got a perfect one man neighbourhood watch scheme going on here,' Faye giggled and they walked together towards the house.

They were still laughing when suddenly the front door was thrown wide open and a squealing figure came hurtling out, rooting them to the spot. As it reached where they stood, Faye had a momentary impression of a tall woman with high jutting cheekbones before she was crushed in a suffocating embrace. Focusing hard on trying to breathe, it was a few moments before she realised that the woman was weeping and laughing at the same time.

Just as suddenly, she was thrust back and found herself looking up into the woman's face. Faye gazed fixedly at the woman and felt the brief flicker of a long buried memory. The caramel-coloured eyes and slightly copper-coloured skin of the older woman brought with them a sense of
déjà vu
and for a minute no one spoke.

Then, wiping the tears away from her cheeks with an impatient hand, the woman spoke, her voice soft.

‘My lord, I never thought I would see this day!' She stroked Faye's cheek gently and suddenly smiled. Despite the evening shadow, it was as though the sun had burst through the clouds.

‘Faye, my dearest child, I'm so happy to see you at last! Your mother and I were like sisters.' Then suddenly her tone changed as she slapped at her forearm. ‘Come on, girls – let's go in before the mosquitoes get us!'

Amma went ahead and her mother wrapped an arm around Faye and walked her quickly into the house.

‘Welcome to our home,' she said as they entered a large hallway with high ceilings and a cool terrazzo floor. Moving ahead, she opened a side door and ushered Faye into what was clearly the living room.

The high walls of the room were painted white and decorated with large vibrant watercolours that reminded Faye of the painting in her bedroom. A long brown leather couch took up almost the length of one wall while a number of armchairs of soft matching leather were turned towards a large plasma TV. A profusion of brightly coloured flowers had been beautifully arranged in patterned ceramic vases all around the room, giving off a sweet fragrance. Two large fans suspended from the ceiling spun round quietly, creating an atmosphere of coolness and serenity.

Faye sat down in one of the armchairs, curling her legs into the soft leather, and sighed with pleasure.

‘What a beautiful room, Mrs Asante,' she said, looking around the room with unconcealed admiration.

‘Call me Auntie Amelia, my dear,' was the instant reply. Amma's mother slipped off her embroidered sandals and settled herself in the chair next to Faye, barely taking her eyes off her.

Amma remained standing. ‘Faye, what would you like to drink?' she asked in her distinctive breathless voice. Without waiting for an answer, she rattled on. ‘Martha's in the kitchen – I'll ask her to bring some drinks in so you can choose what you like.'

With that she left the room, almost bumping into her
father who was just walking through the door. Within what seemed like a few seconds, Amma was back, sounding even more breathless than before.

‘Martha's on her way,' she announced, and crossed the room to sit next to her father on the long leather sofa. ‘By the way, Mama, Martha said that Rocky just phoned to say that he'd left the office and should be home soon.'

Her mother shook her head in resignation. ‘Why am I not surprised that he was at the office? Never mind the fact that today is Saturday.'