From Pasta to Pigfoot (34 page)

‘Yaa, go to my room and bring me the photo albums on my table,' Nana said. ‘Let your sister see what the rest of the family looks like.'

The younger girl scurried off and quickly returned with several well-thumbed photo albums that she handed over to her grandfather. He flipped through the first one before gesturing to Faye to come over. She sat beside him as he leafed through the album, pointing out his children and grandchildren.

While the other family members didn't bear the same striking resemblance to the Bonsu branch as Nana Osei, most of them seemed to share the same tall lean frame of Faye and her brother. Before he opened the last album, Nana looked at her appraisingly and a small smile hovered on his lips.

‘I think you will find this album very interesting,' he said. The first picture was an old black and white print of a chubby baby sprawled on a white cloth and wearing
nothing but a smile. Instead of his usual commentary, Nana was silent. Faye looked at him enquiringly.

‘Whose baby is this?'

‘Your grandfather's,' Nana replied simply. For a moment Faye was confused and as the meaning of his answer dawned on her, all she could say was ‘Oh!' She stared in amazement at the first picture she had ever seen of her mother as a baby. After a few moments, Nana turned the page and she gasped again. This time, the identity of the young girl posing beside a flowering bush was in no doubt. The almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones could have been hers, as could the long slim legs encased in a pair of fitted slacks.

‘Wow, I really do look like her!' Faye stared in wonder. ‘How old was she when this picture was taken?'

Nana studied the photo, his forehead creased in concentration. ‘I think this was taken when they came home for my son Akwasi – Joshua's father's – wedding. Akwasi was a few years older than Asantewaa, so she would have been around nineteen or twenty at that time.'

Faye sat spellbound as Nana leafed through the rest of the album, marvelling at the many pictures of her mother. One picture in particular held her attention.

‘Auntie Akosua, you were right about my mother's taste in clothes,' she giggled. ‘Take a look at this picture of the two of you.'

Auntie Akosua wriggled into the space on the sofa next to Faye and burst into laughter at the exaggerated poses she and her best friend had struck for the camera.

‘Oh my goodness – I remember that dress! Annie had
seen the style in a magazine my auntie brought me from America and decided to make one herself. Look at those lapels – they look like daggers!'

Nana shook his head and his lips curved into a wry smile as he reminisced fondly about his late niece. ‘That child always had to be different from everyone else,' he said. ‘She was so stubborn, but also such a kind-hearted person.'

Just as Faye turned the last page of the photo album, a loud clap of thunder sounded, followed by an ominous rumble. The air suddenly grew cooler and Auntie Akosua sat up in alarm.

‘Come on, Faye,' she said. ‘It looks like it's going to rain. We'd better get going before we get caught in it!'

Remembering the tropical storm she had witnessed in Accra, Faye jumped hastily to her feet. ‘Nana, thank you so much for showing me the photographs,' she said hurriedly. ‘Will you be at the funeral tomorrow?'

Nana nodded and walked with them to the top of the steps. ‘Yes, we shall all be there tomorrow to pay our final respects.'

He glanced up at the dark sky and shooed them off. ‘Akosua, don't lose any time,' he said anxiously. ‘You must go quickly before the rain starts.'

Waving a final farewell to Yaa and Nana Osei, the two women scampered down the steps and down the road, laughing and gasping for breath as they rushed back home. The first fat drops of rain started to fall just as Auntie Akosua's home was in sight and they raced the final few metres into the old house.

A flash of lightning was followed by another loud clap
of thunder before the heavens opened and heavy rain cascaded down onto the parched ground. Sighing in relief at their narrow escape, Auntie Akosua led the way up the stairs and to Faye's room.

Suddenly they were plunged into darkness as the dim lights inside the house went out altogether. For a moment no one spoke and the only noise to be heard was of the deluge of rain on the rooftops. Faye's eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness when she realised that the older woman had somehow acquired a torch.

‘We keep several of these here in the drawer in case of power failures,' Auntie Akosua said, guiding Faye through to her room. ‘It's quite possible that the storm has damaged an electrical cable or something, but don't worry, they usually repair these faults quite promptly.'

Having satisfied herself that her young guest had everything she needed, she left her with the torch and wished her a good night.

‘We have to wear our funeral clothes tomorrow,' she reminded her. ‘After breakfast, we'll go to the venue and sit down with the rest of the family to greet those coming to mourn with us. It will be a long day, so sleep well, my dear.'

Wishing her a good night in turn, Faye yawned and flicked the torch up and down in search of her travel bag. Rummaging inside, she found a cotton vest and changed quickly. She switched off the torch and burrowed down inside the enormous bed, grateful that the darkness had also blotted out the gloomy portrait of Auntie Akosua's parents.

‘I'm in Ntriso,' she whispered sleepily to herself before falling asleep.

16

Cultural Rites

The storm raged on until the early hours of the morning. The breeze blowing through the louvre windows in the spacious bedroom was cool and Faye wrapped herself tightly in the thin bedcovers to keep warm. As daylight struggled through the dark sky, she thought back over the tumultuous events of the previous day and her first encounter with her mother's relatives.

Accra seemed light years away from the quiet darkness of this house and she thought of Rocky with a pang before turning her mind back to Ntriso. Although Amma had warned her that Ghanaian funerals entailed a lot of ‘sitting around and doing nothing', as she had described it, she was looking forward to seeing first-hand how this traditional event was conducted.

Glancing at her watch, she decided that six o'clock was a decent enough hour to wake up. It was still quite dark in the room and she walked over to switch on the light. Nothing happened, and it took a minute for her to
remember the power failure of the night before.

She padded through to the adjoining bathroom, the rusty fittings and old-fashioned bath looking even more pitiful in the morning half-light. A second bucket, full to the brim with water, had been placed alongside the bath. Faye dipped her finger into the bucket, shivering as the cold water surrounded it.

Debating on how to warm up the water without disturbing any of the other inhabitants, she decided to brave the situation and take a cold shower.

After all, lots of people do it every day, she reasoned. She walked back into the bedroom to retrieve her wash bag and stripped quickly before climbing into the antique bath. A small bowl had been placed on the side of the bath to scoop up the water in the bucket and she filled it and gingerly poured a little over her feet to test her resolve. Gritting her teeth, she poured another bowlful over her body, gasping with shock as the cold water coursed over her.

Five minutes later, she was rubbing her body vigorously with a thick towel, determined to wake the whole house if necessary, rather than try a cold bath again.

She slipped into her funeral cloth and tried without success to tie a knot with the slippery black fabric used for the headscarf. Slipping her feet into the low-heeled black sandals she had brought with her, she went downstairs in search of her hosts.

The sun had risen and light streamed into the old house, giving it a more cheerful appeal than it had possessed the previous night. She walked into the kitchen and stopped
short at the sight of two old ladies in unrelieved black cloth sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea from white enamel mugs. They looked at her curiously as she walked in, feeling slightly self-conscious in her new cloth, and greeted her in
Twi
. Murmuring ‘Good morning' in response, Faye stood awkwardly for a moment until one of them, the taller of the two, gestured to the chair next to her, indicating that she should be seated.

The smaller lady continued to stare at Faye, although a gentle smile robbed the action of any hostility. The taller lady, obviously the more proactive, poured weak milky tea from a flask into an empty cup and offered it to Faye. She grimaced inwardly, but accepted the cup meekly.

‘We did not see you yesterday when you arrived. Akosua was supposed to bring you to greet us, but Kodjo said you had gone to see your relatives?' Her voice was stern and her English heavily accented. She stared at Faye doubtfully as though waiting for her to deny the charge.

Faye nodded and took a sip of the tasteless white tea, willing herself not to shudder. ‘Yes, my mother's family is from Ntriso and I had wanted to go and greet them,' she explained.

‘That's very nice, my dear.' The smaller woman spoke up eagerly, now that the ice had been broken. ‘Welcome to our home. My name is Serwah and this is my sister Dufie.'

Dufie interrupted her sister impatiently. ‘You said your mother's family is from here? What is their name?' Her eyes raked Faye's features as she shot out the questions. Forcing herself to take another sip of the tepid, tasteless tea, Faye answered calmly.

‘My mother's name was Annie Asantewaa Boateng,' she said. ‘She was Auntie Akosua's classmate and best friend.'

The reaction from the two women was instantaneous. Serwah dropped her cup on the table with a clatter and cooed with pleasure, leaning forward to pat Faye's shoulder happily. Dufie, on the other hand, sniffed loudly and looked thoroughly put out, as though she had been mortally offended. Faye stared at her for a moment, puzzled by the frosty attitude.

‘Don't mind Dufie,' Serwah whispered as her sister rose to wash her cup in the old enamel sink. ‘She has a very unforgiving nature and never forgets anything. Your mother once hid snails in her favourite shoes because she shouted at Akosua for coming home late.' Serwah giggled mischievously. ‘You should have seen the look on Dufie's face when she put her feet inside the shoes and felt the snails crawling inside!'

Faye's lips twitched dangerously as she tried not to laugh. Dufie was approaching the table again and Serwah was now tittering openly. The situation was saved by Auntie Akosua's entrance into the kitchen.

‘Oh, there you are Faye,' she said. ‘I just went to your room to see if you were up. I hope you slept well and the storm didn't disturb you too much?'

Faye swallowed the giggles threatening to erupt and returned the greeting.

‘Good morning, Auntie Akosua. I slept very well, thank you.'

‘I see you've already met my aunts,' the older woman
said dryly. ‘The power is back on now, so perhaps I can make you a fresh cup of coffee?' She looked dubiously at the half-full cup of milky liquid Faye was clutching.

‘Yes, please,' Faye replied gratefully. ‘Is Uncle Kodjo up yet?'

‘Oh, yes,' Serwah piped up. ‘He went to oversee the arrangement of the chairs and canopies at the school grounds and to make sure that all the preparations have been made for the day.'

Dufie sniffed. ‘Hmm! I still think we should have used the land the chief offered us for the funeral,' she said to no one in particular.

‘Auntie Dufie, we discussed it at length,' Auntie Akosua answered patiently. ‘The grounds are not big enough for the numbers that will be coming. You know there will be a lot of members of staff from Uncle Ofosu's old company coming today, as well as all his Lodge brothers and friends. The chief understood and has even promised to come himself and pay his respects today.'

Her aunt merely sniffed again, rising from the table and rearranging the piece of black cloth tied around her waist.

‘Well, don't worry about what I think,' she said with a pained expression. ‘I shall just go along with what has been decided – after all, who listens to old people anymore?' With that she swept majestically out of the kitchen, leaving Auntie Akosua staring after her in exasperation.

‘Akosua, drink your coffee,' Serwah said placidly. ‘Don't mind her – that's what comes of not having children,' she added in a self-righteous tone.

Faye stared at the old woman, puzzled. She was sure she had been told that both ladies were spinsters who had never left the family house.

Auntie Akosua gestured to Faye to come over and take the cup of steaming coffee she held in her hand.

‘Auntie Serwah never married but she does have two children,' she murmured quietly. ‘Although she hardly ever sees them since they went to live abroad some years ago, she's always holding it over Auntie Dufie's head that she was at least able to have children. The two of them can be quite something when they get going.'

After they finished their coffee, Auntie Akosua fixed Faye's headscarf and she went upstairs to fetch her bag and pick up some handkerchiefs. Uncle Kodjo, who had arrived just as they left the kitchen, went up to change and came back down wearing a pair of dark shorts and with a magnificent black cloth with a glossy sheen draped over his shoulder. Despite his lack of height, he still managed to look dignified in his attire.

The women were assembled in the front hall and he took the lead as they made their way to the dark blue car parked outside. Auntie Dufie suddenly turned round and stared at Faye with disapproval.

‘Asantewaa's girl, you are wearing earrings.' She pointed accusingly at Faye's small gold hoops. ‘Even if they do so in the big towns, we Ashantis do not wear jewellery when we are mourning our close relatives.'

Faye meekly removed her earrings and slipped them into her black clutch bag before following the older people out to the car. Uncle Kodjo helped settle the older ladies
in the back and opened the front passenger door for Faye.

Pools of water lay in patches on the hilly ground as they drove the short distance to the school. The sun was climbing in the sky and it promised to be another hot day. Driving along, they passed people dressed in the traditional mourning colours of black, brown and red walking in the direction of the school.

As they drew up to the school where the funeral rites would take place, Faye noticed several large posters of the late Uncle Ofosu nailed to the front gates. Inside, the school grounds, a huge expanse of grass, still damp from the morning rain, had been converted into an open amphitheatre with hundreds of chairs arranged in circular rows. Canopies had been set up over the chairs to protect the guests from the glare of the sun. Quite a few people had already taken their seats and it was clear from the number of chairs that this was expected to be a well-attended event.

Uncle Kodjo parked the car in a cordoned off area, helped his aunts out and then led the way to the seats that had been reserved for the family. Looking around, Faye spotted printed signs designating reserved areas for the staff of the rural bank where Uncle Ofosu had worked before his retirement, for members of his Masonic Lodge, and for the church society of which he had apparently been an active member.

She sat down next to Auntie Akosua and, as the morning wore on, she watched as cars and minibuses arrived and discharged groups of dark-clad mourners, until eventually most of the seats were occupied. As each group arrived,
the guests would come over to where they sat and offer their condolences to the elderly sisters, Auntie Akosua and other members of their family.

Music blared loudly from huge speakers set up at one end of the field and a group of drummers played vigorously, gyrating and moving their well-muscled bodies in time to the rhythm. Whenever a distinguished guest arrived, the drums would quicken in intensity and the MC would announce the new arrival through the PA system.

It was almost midday when the sound of a loud cheer brought the music to a sudden halt. Faye looked over to where a slow procession was making its way onto the field. Sitting on a
palanquin
carried by a number of black clad young men was a middle-aged man wearing a magnificent black and white
kente
cloth and literally covered in gold ornaments. Solid gold chains were draped over his ample torso and he wore chunky gold rings on almost every finger. The drummers went into a frenzy of beating and the crowd surged around the procession.

‘That's the chief of Ntriso,' said Auntie Akosua, raising her voice above the din. ‘He was a good friend of Uncle Ofosu and promised to come today.'

The chief's procession had reached the seats occupied by the family and the
palanquin
was gently lowered. The chief stepped down and one of his entourage immediately opened an intricately carved golden umbrella and held it high over his head to shield him from the sun. He was stocky and not particularly tall, but he seemed to radiate majesty and, seen up close, the sheer quantity and richness of the gold paraphernalia he wore further underlined his
royal status. Moving slowly, the traditional ruler walked over to the family members who all stood to greet him. Uncle Kodjo was the first to shake the chief's hand. He bowed deeply and thanked him for doing them the honour of coming.

When it was Faye's turn, she shook his hand nervously, bobbed her knees in an awkward curtsey and ducked her head shyly. She looked up and was slightly shocked to find him still looking at her. After a moment he smiled and patted her hand gently with his heavily ringed fingers and moved on to greet Auntie Akosua.

When the chief had moved further way, Auntie Akosua smiled mischievously at Faye.

‘You look so much like your mother that I'm sure he knows who you are. I probably should have told you that before he was enstooled as Chief Kwame Karikari II, his name was Paul Adjaye.'

The sun was now high in the sky and, despite the canopy over their heads, it had grown very hot. A number of men, dressed in dark T-shirts and trousers, moved around the field offering drinks to the thirsty mourners and Faye gratefully seized a bottle of water and gulped it down thirstily.

‘What happens now?' she asked Auntie Akosua in a low voice. After sitting for such a long time and shaking hands with countless strangers, she was beginning to appreciate Amma's earlier description of funerals.

‘There will be tributes read shortly to Uncle Ofosu and then there will be some traditional dancing,' her aunt replied. ‘Be prepared – you will have to dance with the family.'

Faye looked horrified. ‘I don't know how!' she exclaimed, alarmed at the prospect of a field of people watching her efforts at traditional dancing.

Auntie Akosua laughed at her terrified expression. ‘Don't worry. Just shake your body and go with the music. Everyone will be happy that you tried.'

‘It doesn't seem very solemn to be dancing when someone has died,' Faye frowned as she looked around. ‘This is supposed to be a funeral and yet people are laughing and chatting and drinking rather than looking sad.'

‘Oh Faye, you still have a lot to learn! Death is very much a part of life for us here in Ghana and, truth be told, funerals are one of the most important of our social functions. Look.' Auntie Akosua gestured towards a table manned by two harassed-looking men who were busy scribbling on little chits of paper and handing them out to the line of people queued up in front of them.