Growing Yams in London
Read Growing Yams in London Online
Authors: Sophia Acheampong
Sophia Acheampong
is a British-born Ghanaian. She lives and works in North London and studied at Brunel University. The second novel about Makeeda and her
friends,
Ipods in Accra,
is also available. Like Makeeda, Sophia is still learning about her culture.
Praise for
Growing Yams in London:
‘Sweet and funny.’
Mizz
‘Acheampong accurately captures the roller-coaster of young teenage emotions . . . There is still an urgent need for novels reflecting different cultures within Britain
and this is a welcome new voice.’
Books for Keeps
‘A complete delight from start to finish.’
Chicklish
This is dedicated to Mum, Dad, and Gerald.
Thanks to Brenda, Yasemin, Anne, Melissa and
the rest of the team at Piccadilly Press.
Dr Thomas Mensah for all things Asante
and everything else.
Dr R. Asuboah AKA Nephew and Mr Danso
for the insight into yams and Asante history.
Dr Rose Atfield, Ms E. Aryee, Mrs A Mensah,
Major Elizabeth Osei-Wusu (retired), Mrs Mary Osei,
Mr and Mrs Addai, Mr K. Acheampong for their support.
First published in Great Britain in 2006
by Piccadilly Press Ltd,
5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR
www.piccadillypress.co.uk
Text copyright © Sophia Acheampong, 2006
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The right of Sophia Acheampong to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978 1 85340 872 4 paperback)
eISBN: 978 1 84812 324 3
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD
Cover design and text design by Simon Davis
Cover artwork by Catell Ronca
Typeset by M Rules, London
Set in Lettres Eclatees and Stempel Garamond
Guide to Ghanaian Terms and Phrases
Mel’s Party
‘Tinted lip-gloss? Check. Mascara? Check.’ I spread my makeup out on to the back seat of the car. I caught Dad rolling his eyes at me in the rear-view mirror. He
didn’t think I should I wear make-up till I was eighteen, but Mum had let me wear mascara and lip-gloss, plus the free sample she got when she bought her favourite perfume. I had to make an
effort tonight. It was Mel’s fifteenth birthday and she always had guys at her parties, unlike my other friends.
‘Don’t take any drinks from a boy,’ he said, looking at me in the mirror.
‘Dad, Auntie Angie and Uncle Kevin will be there,’ I said. ‘Actually, do you mind dropping me off the road before Mel’s?’
I couldn’t have him dropping me off at the door. I’d look like a right baby!
‘Why, has she moved?’
‘Well, no, not exactly . . .’
‘Makeeda, are you ashamed of me?’
‘No, Dad!’
‘The car then?’
‘No, Dad,’ I replied truthfully.
Dad’s a mechanic. He owns a garage in Kingsbury, and we have a great car. I looked up and saw him smirking in the mirror. He was just winding me up.
‘Makeeda, I’m not dropping you off on a different road.’
What’s the big deal? He’s not the one who’ll get cold.
‘OK then, on her road but not outside her block.’
‘Only if I follow you till you get in.’
‘Done,’ I said.
I was just grateful that Mum wasn’t with us. She wouldn’t have just taken me to the door. Mum would have gone in with me, picked out potential troublemakers and stayed for a cup of
coffee with Mel’s parents.
As I walked up the steps to the entrance of Mel’s apartment block, I could hear the gentle thud of music. I hoped that my choice of sparkly cranberry top, black corduroy trousers, teal
bolero, and dangly earrings looked OK. I pressed the buzzer and saw Mel’s stepdad racing down the stairs.
‘Hello, Makeeda! You look great.’
It didn’t count if your best mate’s dad said it, but it was nice to hear.
‘Hi, Uncle Kevin!’ I said, giving him a hug.
I never called Mel’s parents by just their first names, as it’s considered disrespectful for Ghanaian kids to do so.
‘Is that your dad?’
‘Yeah.’
He went outside to chat to Dad and I went upstairs. As soon as I reached the front door, I could hear the sounds of people laughing and a slow song in the background. I gently pushed the door
open and saw Mel’s cousins, people from our school, and guys from the local boys’ school, St Mark’s. There were so many people I could barely see the other end of the room. There
were lots of thick wires and multicoloured lights beaming across the walls.
‘Makeeda!’ Mel said, startling me.
She was wearing a gold halter-neck top, a knee-length denim skirt, boots and lots of gold jewellery.
‘You look fantastic!’ I said.
‘Thanks. Dad only let me buy this top if I promised not to wear it out,’ Mel said.
I wasn’t that surprised. Mel, like all my friends, seemed to be speeding through puberty, leaving me and my flat chest seriously behind.
‘Yep, and he’s already begged me to change twice,’ Mel added, rolling her eyes.
‘You’re not going to, are you?’
‘Hell no! I’ve already got two phone numbers. It’s not bad being fifteen, you know!’
We both laughed.
‘Anyway, happy birthday!’ I said, giving her a hug and then holding up an envelope.
‘Thanks!’ Mel said, ripping it open. ‘TopShop!’ she said, hugging me again, before disappearing.
Great! The only person I can talk to properly, and she’s just deserted me. With Bharti at her cousin’s engagement party and Nick, my other good friend, spending the weekend at his
brother’s university, I only really had Mel to talk to till my cousin Tanisha arrived. My mobile beeped so I headed into the kitchen.
Tanisha: | There in 10 mins! |
Me: | Gr8 stuff! |
Tanisha’s my seventeen-year-old cousin. She used to live with us about five years ago, just after her mum died. Her mum, Auntie Jennifer, was Mum’s younger sister. I
still remember the day Tanisha came to stay. Her dad, Uncle James, was in tears. He left for a job in America within hours of dropping her off. Tanisha never cried in front of us. Dad told me once
that sometimes grief was like that. Tanisha shared my room, so I couldn’t escape the weird sobbing sounds she made when she thought everyone was asleep.
