Growing Yams in London (23 page)

‘Such an achievement!’ said one woman.

‘Most children these days, they wouldn’t be bothered,’ said a man.

‘I know,’ Aunt Grace said, smiling at me.

I was really shocked at the attention. Usually I would just say hello to everyone and kind of disappear into that weird ‘too old to be cute and too young to talk about politics’
vortex. Suddenly, I was the topic of conversation. I looked over at Afua; her arms were folded against her chest and she looked ready to kill me.

‘So how did this come about?’ asked an elderly auntie.

‘Well, we had to do an essay about an historical woman we found inspirational. I chose Yaa Asantewaa,’ I said.

‘Oh, I see. Did you have to do the same?’ she asked Afua.

Afua replied in Twi.

‘Don’t speak in Twi. Makeeda can’t understand you,’ the woman said.

‘Sorry, Auntie,’ Afua replied. ‘I did mine on Rosa Parks.’

‘Oh really? That was a good choice,’ Uncle Larry commented.

‘I agree, but why didn’t you choose a Ghanaian heroine?’ asked the elderly auntie.

‘Oh, my school wouldn’t let me,’ Afua said.

I could see she was lying, but I didn’t think highlighting that fact would score me any points. Ohmigod, I was being the better person. Yippee!

‘My teacher didn’t want me to write it because she thought I wouldn’t find any books, but I just got stuff through the public library and online,’ I said. ‘She even
tried to get me to change my topic but I wouldn’t.’

‘Did you get a good grade?’ Uncle Larry asked.

‘Yes, I got an A,’ I said.

I knew I was being really smug, but I didn’t care. Afua wasn’t the only one interested in our culture.

‘Oh, well done!’ said the elderly auntie.

‘Yes, it’s very impressive,’ said Uncle Larry.

‘Thanks.’

‘Yeah, well done, Makeeda,’ Afua said, adding a fake smile.

‘Well, your mum and I are very proud of you,’ Dad said.

This came as a surprise to me. I turned around and saw a broad smile on his face and the same one on Aunt Grace’s.

‘Dinner’s ready,’ said Auntie Anita as she and Mum piled more food on to the dining table.

Afua pulled me aside. ‘You know one essay doesn’t exactly make you an expert, you know,’ she said.

‘Yeah, well, learning one dance routine doesn’t make you one either,’ I retorted.

‘Makeeda, can you help me get some more drinks?’ Aunt Grace asked.

‘Um . . . OK,’ I said, surprised. I could clearly see more than enough drinks already on the table.

‘I heard that,’ Aunt Grace said, once we were in the kitchen.

The smell of spicy rice wafted across us. Ohmigod, she’s going to tell me off!

‘I’m not going to tell you off, Makeeda.’

That’s a relief. ‘Thanks, Auntie.’

‘I just want you to realise something. You and Afua aren’t as different as you think.’

I clasped my mouth with my hand. It was the only way to stifle the threat of seriously loud laughter.

‘Stop that!’ Aunt Grace said, irritated.

‘But . . .’

‘You are both striving for the same thing,’ Aunt Grace said.

I just gazed at Aunt Grace like she had just grown an extra head. There was no way Afua and I were alike, so why were we having this conversation?

‘Whether you like it or not, she is your cousin.’

‘Cousin? But how . . .’ I said.

I always insisted on knowing how I was related to someone. Once I asked my parents, they were forced to go through it step by step – something they didn’t like doing, but it usually
resulted in the confirmation that the person was just a family friend.

‘Her father’s father and your grandfather, my father, were cousins.’

Mum walked in, and she and Aunt Grace spoke in Twi briefly.

‘Wait a minute, father’s father equals grandfather, plus your father equals cousins?’ I said, unsure of myself.

‘Yes.’

‘So she’s your niece too?’

‘Well, yes,’ Aunt Grace replied.

‘Ohmigod!’ I replied, shocked. ‘It’s OK not to like your cousin though, isn’t it?’I said.

I suddenly realised that that question definitely should have stayed in my head. Mum shot me her death stare.

‘Makeeda, her family are passing through some difficulties and it would help if . . .’ Aunt Grace began.

‘But she’s mean to me,’ I interrupted.

‘You’re mean to her,’ Mum said.

‘Well, I don’t react well to being insulted,’ I replied.

‘Don’t be so cheeky!’ Mum said.

I saw Aunt Grace’s features turn from a frown to a smile, then back again.

‘Makeeda, just make an effort, for me?’ Aunt Grace asked, before leaving me in the kitchen with Mum.

‘OK,’ I lied.

As we all sat eating dessert of ice cream and lemon cake, I overheard a conversation in Twi between an elderly man and the elderly woman from earlier. I looked over at Afua and I could see she
too was eavesdropping, except I only understood the three words spoken in English as opposed to what sounded like hundreds spoken in Twi. I watched the expression on Afua’s face change. She
looked angry.

The elderly woman said my name and my ears pricked up.

‘Can’t they speak Twi?’ the elderly man asked.

‘No,’ Aunt Grace replied. ‘Afua, Makeeda, come here. Uncle Yaw wants to ask you something.’

I’d never seen the man before, so I knew he had to be some kind of family friend. Afua and I silently rose and sat near the elderly man.

‘Uncle Yaw was just saying that since he’s been here, he noticed that the children brought up in England don’t seem to be interested in learning about their culture.’

‘Huh?’ Afua said.

I stared at her. I’ve never seen her give or make an incredulous sound like that before, to an adult anyway.

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I expect you prefer to keep in with your friends by not being seen as different,’ he said.

‘Huh?’ Afua said again.

Even when the elderly woman told Uncle Yaw about Afua’s dancing and my essay, he still didn’t seem impressed. He told us that there was nothing wrong in preferring our English
culture to our Ghanaian one.

That’s when I got upset. I told him that it wasn’t a matter of preference, as we lived with both, but had more access to English culture than Ghanaian because we lived in England. I
looked over at Mum and Dad. Mum was busy picking up the empty bowls, whilst Dad was pretending not to listen as he and Uncle Larry attempted to repair a broken remote control. I was waiting for
them to stop me. They didn’t.

Afua commented that it would help if our elders had sought to secure our interest by providing or organising more than Independence Day events for the next generation. Then I added if there were
Twi language schools, like the ones people went to for Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic and Greek, then maybe by the time Ghanaian kids were adults they’d be fluent.

The room began buzzing in Twi, and Afua and I hadn’t even noticed that we now had everyone’s attention. Mum stood by the door, watching me, then smiled as she left the room.

Afua and I stared at each other and I looked away, embarrassed at our outburst. I could see Uncle Yaw looking impressed.

‘I stand corrected. There are obviously two very bright and culturally literate young people around. I just hope that there are more of you.’

I surreptitiously looked at Afua. She had the same fire in her eyes as I had. I realised that she had something to prove. Even if I did too, it didn’t mean Aunt Grace was right about us
being similar, though.

‘Girls, never forget the sacrifices of those who first came to England. It is because of their experiences that your generation have a lot more opportunities,’ Aunt Grace
remarked.

Sometimes I hate adults. They always have to be right.

I left the room and reclaimed my seat on the stairs. It was eight o’clock. I knew that this time tomorrow I would either be single again or still with Nelson. It wasn’t going to be
just another day hanging out with my boyfriend. That thought unnerved me.

I felt nervous as the bus pulled into the garage. I knew that whatever happened today, Nelson and I would have to resolve everything, even if it meant us splitting up. He said
that he hadn’t called to dump me, but what if he just wanted to do it in person? I knew he was hurt that I hadn’t been honest with him, but how could I?

My phone rang just as I jumped off the bus. It was Nick.

‘Makeeda!’

‘Yeah?’

‘I just wanted a quick chat.’

‘Now? Right at this moment?’ I asked. ‘Nick, I’m about to meet Nelson.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

Ohmigod, was Mel right? Was Nick about to confess his true feelings for me? I headed for a corner outside of the shopping centre’s entrance, to get out of the way of the shoppers all eager
for a bargain at the sales. This was going to be awkward. I didn’t fancy Nick! I’ve never fancied him. How could I? It was Nick!

‘Listen, I don’t know how to say this, but I really don’t fancy . . .’ I began but stopped, realising I’d just spoken over him. ‘What did you just
say?’

‘I just wanted to say I hope it works out for you two.’

‘Oh, right,’ I said, relieved.

‘What did you say?’

‘Can’t remember,’ I lied.

‘Oh, I thought you were telling me you fancied something.’

‘Nope, it’s really noisy here. So what are you doing today?’ I said, changing the subject.

‘I’m going bowling with Anoushka.’

‘Ohmigod, Anoushka as in Amazonian Anoushka?’

‘Uh huh. I didn’t even know she’s Polish!’ he said excitedly. ‘I met her at my nan’s. Apparently her grandparents and mine were old friends back in
Warsaw.’

‘Ohmigod, that’s brilliant!’

‘I know!’ he said. ‘I really owe you.’

‘What for?’

‘Well, you introduced us when she came to your house.’

‘That was last year, Nick!’

Nick was at my house a couple of times when Anoushka was tutoring me. They got on, but there were no sparks or anything.

‘I know, but she never forgot me! Anyway, I just wanted to say . . . Nelson seems nice enough, but if he hurts you, I’ll rip his . . .’

‘It’s OK, I get it,’ I said, interrupting. ‘If it’s all right with you, I’m going to find out if I have a relationship left. Bye and say hi to
Anoushka!’

‘Definitely!’ Nick said, and hung up.

I was glad he was finally being nice about Nelson, but even happier that he and Anoushka had got together. I was so glad that Mel had been wrong.

I turned my phone to silent and made my way through the people standing at the bus stop. Nelson was in the lobby dressed in black jeans and a black jacket. He hadn’t seen me, so I quickly
checked my reflection in a display window. My hair was tied away from my face and I had on a purple top and a pair of black trousers under my pink jacket and pink flats. I reapplied my lip-gloss.
As I walked up to him, my nerves suddenly hit me and my mouth went dry.

‘Makeeda, you made it,’ he said, smiling. He tried to kiss me but I dodged him.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

I saw a look of disappointment in his eyes, but I didn’t want to be a hypocrite and pretend that everything was fine.

‘Shall we go to a coffee shop where we can talk?’

‘OK,’ I said.

It was weird, walking around with him. There were so many people that it would have been easier if we were holding hands. As it was, we got separated four times on our way to the Italian
café. Every time he grabbed my hand, I shook him off.

‘I didn’t want to lose you again, that’s all,’ he said defensively.

‘OK.’ I shrugged.

‘Makeeda, don’t be like that.’

I ignored him and kept walking till we reached the café. I bought a drink and sat down at the corner table, overlooking the shoppers below. Nelson sat opposite me with a drink and a plate
of chips.

‘Sorry, I’m starving,’ he said, tucking into his food. ‘Want some?’

I sighed. ‘No thanks.’

There was an awkward silence between us as I waited for him to finish eating. It just made the situation worse. I wanted everything to be over. I wanted to know whether he was really going to
dump me.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he said.

‘Right,’ I said.

‘I can’t believe you thought I called to dump you,’ he said, reaching for my hand. I moved back from the table.

‘Makeeda? Can’t I touch you any more?’

‘Stop pretending, Nelson. I know why I’m here. You want to dump me in person.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want us to break up! I really like you!’ he said.

I stared at him. None of this made any sense to me. Here he was telling me that he liked me, but all I could feel was anger towards him because of the way he treated me.

‘Whatever!’ I said. ‘But that doesn’t explain standing me up or the stuff you said in front of your mates.’

‘Yeah, I know, Makeeda. I’m sorry, but you must believe me when I say I like you.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘Why what?’

‘Why do you like me?’

‘Umm . . . I like the fact that you’re totally obsessed with lip-gloss.’

‘No, I’m not. What else?’ I said.

‘I like the fact that you are interested in your culture.’