From Pasta to Pigfoot (32 page)

‘Edwin's just asked me to marry him!'

15

Spiritual Culture

The bus bounced along the tarmac road, speeding through miles of green bush and forest. The air conditioning didn't quite succeed in masking the scent of the dried fish the woman in the seat behind her had packed tightly into the basket on her lap and Faye shifted slightly in her seat, hoping to move out of the path of the strong aroma. When that didn't work, she adjusted the knob above her head that directed the flow of the cold air and sighed with relief as the fishy vapours cleared.

Auntie Akosua, seated beside her, smiled sympathetically. Although not directly in the line of fire, she had picked up the occasional whiff from the basket and could well imagine Faye's discomfort.

‘We've only got about another hour to go before we reach Kumasi,' she whispered consolingly.

The bus swerved violently as a car that had been overtaking them was forced to cut in front of them when another vehicle unexpectedly appeared in the oncoming
lane. The passengers exclaimed loudly while Faye saw her life flashing before her eyes.

After shouting insinuations about the other driver's mother through the window, the bus driver calmed down and went back to listening to his radio, muttering quietly to himself.

‘Honestly, the driving in this country is crazy,' Faye said in exasperation. ‘Why can't people just follow the rules?'

Auntie Akosua, who had been crossing herself vigorously at their narrow escape, shook her head in resignation. ‘Too many people get behind the wheel without learning how to drive properly,' she said. ‘Unfortunately, our police force is so under-equipped, they can rarely enforce traffic rules, and some of them are only too happy to look the other way in return for a quick bribe.'

‘We've driven past two car crashes so far on this journey alone,' Faye shuddered. ‘It makes you wonder how many people are getting hurt all the time.'

‘Unfortunately, road accidents are all too common.' She leant back into the cushioned seat and smiled at Faye. ‘But let's talk about more pleasant things, my dear. How is Amma? Amelia told me her news when we spoke on the phone yesterday. She must be very excited.'

Faye sighed, remembering how impossible Amma had been to live with since Wednesday night. ‘
Excited
is not the word, Auntie Akosua,' she grimaced. ‘She's completely lost her mind. You can't get a sensible word out of the girl. She's either dancing around hugging and kissing everyone or she's crying her eyes out because she can't stand the thought of a whole year without Edwin!'

The older woman laughed heartily. ‘Well, that's love for you! I must say it's nice to see you young ones starting out on your lives together – it reminds me of how exciting it once was for us oldies.'

‘You're not old,' Faye protested, looking at the still-unlined attractive face beside her. She tried, and failed, to contain her curiosity. ‘How did you and Uncle Charlie meet?'

‘Oh my goodness,' Auntie Akosua exclaimed. ‘It all seems so long ago. Let me see – we were at University together and both of us were passionate about politics. We were members of the Debating Society and ended up having heated arguments every time we attended meetings.'

She paused, her eyes half closed as she cast her mind back. She smiled and went on.

‘On one occasion, the President of the Debating Society was so fed up with our constant arguing that he ordered us to go to the students' cafeteria and stay there until we had finished. I think we even argued about which table to sit at to finish arguing!'

‘I used to suffer terribly from migraines, which was probably not surprising given how much time I spent getting fired up about politics. Anyway, that day as we were talking, I felt a migraine coming on. Charlie was busy making his point about something or other when he noticed that I had gone quiet and looked unwell. I think he was so shocked that I was actually human that he didn't quite know how to react! He walked me back to my hall of residence and made sure there was someone to take care of me before he left. When he came back later that evening, I was still feeling weak, so for once we
actually talked instead of arguing – and that was how our friendship began.'

‘That's a beautiful story,' Faye sighed wistfully. ‘I love happy endings.'

She sniffed and quickly adjusted the air vent above her head before settling back into her seat.

They had been on the road for over three hours and Faye was beginning to feel the effects of her early start. For once she had beaten the neighbourhood rooster to the punch, setting her alarm to go off at four-thirty. Auntie Akosua had arrived at five-thirty to collect her, with Uncle Charlie looking distinctly drowsy in the driver's seat. After dropping them at the State Transport terminal where they were to board the six o'clock bus to Kumasi, he had driven back home to catch up on his interrupted sleep.

Despite the early hour, the Transport yard was busy with anxious travellers milling around the departure areas. Huge sacks of foodstuffs and heavy bags were strewn around the bus terminal, many with their owners perched on top, waiting for the buses to start loading. Their bus, which had left only slightly late, was clean and comfortable except, of course, for the aroma of dried fish wafting over her seat.

After a couple of hours on the road, they had stopped at a wayside cafe in the town of Nkawkaw where most of the passengers had rushed off in search of the washrooms and facilities. A quick glance at the food in the cafe – anaemic-looking egg and sardine sandwiches and huge meat pies encased in dense pastry – was enough for Faye, and she settled for a soft drink and a sweet bread roll.

After a short break they had set off again, driving through miles and miles of unspoiled virgin land and forest. The road undulated through the hilly landscape like a curling ribbon of tarmac peppered with huge potholes, causing cars to swerve without warning into the oncoming lane. Impatient drivers, anxious to reach their destination, would often overtake slower vehicles in their paths, careless of the dangers of oncoming vehicles. Faye kept her focus on the passing landscape, fascinated by the many small villages they drove through.

Now, with less than an hour before they were due to arrive in Kumasi, where they would be met and driven to Ntriso, Faye felt her lack of sleep catching up with her. She glanced across at Auntie Akosua whose closed eyes and steady breathing indicated that she had nodded off. Faye burrowed into her seat and drifted off to sleep, oblivious even to the aroma of smoked fish.

Auntie Akosua's hand shaking her shoulder roused her from a dreamless sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she peered out of the window. Instead of green bush and tall trees, the landscape was now distinctly urban. Large buildings covered in a layer of red dust lined the dual carriageway on which they drove. The signboards welcomed them to Kumasi and pedestrians dodged in and out of the heavy traffic.

‘So this is the famous Garden City,' Faye murmured, looking at the drooping vegetation lining the highway.

‘It's certainly not looking its best these days,' Auntie Akosua said. ‘It's a pity because, as the capital of the Ashanti region, Kumasi is a city that is rich in ancient history, culture and tradition.'

She gestured to their left. ‘If you follow that road, it takes you to Manhyia Palace, the residence of the Asantehene, the King of the Ashantis. Kumasi used to be such a beautiful city; when we were younger, it was always an adventure to come here. These days, people seem to just build anywhere they wish, the traffic is terrible and so much of the city's infrastructure is a mess. Look over there.' Leaning across Faye, she pointed towards a group of people walking slowly down the main road. They were all clad in traditional cloths of black and red and the women wore black headscarves.

‘Funerals are quite commonplace at the weekend in Kumasi,' Auntie Akosua said. ‘You're likely to see a good number of people dressed in mourning clothes.'

She glanced at her watch. ‘My younger brother, Kodjo, will meet us at the transport yard in Kumasi and drive us on to Ntriso. It's about another forty minutes drive – once we get out of the Kumasi traffic, that is.'

They drove through the slow moving traffic, eventually arriving at the bus terminus. The passengers piled off, elbowing each other in a bid to retrieve their luggage first from the cavernous hold of the dusty bus. Auntie Akosua held her ground and soon returned to where Faye was standing, clutching both their bags triumphantly.

‘Sister Akosua, I'm here!' Both women turned around at the sound of a male voice behind them. Faye looked on as Auntie Akosua gave a loud cry and embraced the short, wiry man who had just appeared. He hugged her warmly before stepping away and smiling at Faye, his teeth as strong and white as his sister's.

‘Kodjo, meet Faye Bonsu.' Auntie Akosua smiled as she watched him look at Faye appraisingly. ‘Does she remind you of anyone?'

Faye stood awkwardly as the older man scrutinised her features for a few moments and nodded slowly. ‘She reminds me very much of Sister Asantewaa,' he said finally. ‘Is this her child?'

Faye nodded, feeling a sudden lump in her throat. It felt so strange to hear someone referring so casually to her mother, as if Annie Asantewaa Boateng had not died almost twenty years before.

Auntie Akosua hugged her gently before turning to her brother and handing over their bags. ‘Kodjo, it's been a long journey. Let's get going so we can reach Ntriso quickly and get some rest.'

Her brother nodded in understanding and quickly relieved her of the bags. Leading the way, he walked quickly to a dusty double-cabin pick-up truck parked outside the bus terminus. After stowing the bags inside, he helped Faye into the back seat before giving his sister a gentle push up into the front seat beside him. He then climbed into the driver's seat, which, Faye noted with amusement had been padded with a cushion to give him a few critical inches of visibility, and gunned the engine into life.

They drove out of Kumasi with their sturdy pickup rattling comfortably along the bumpy roads. Once out of the city, they passed through small villages, many appearing to be no bigger than a scattering of houses on either side of the road. Uncle Kodjo waved and shouted greetings several times, honking amiably at young children
playing near the roadside and, less patiently, at the goats and chickens that seemed bent on crossing the road just as they approached.

‘Many of these villagers are artisans who weave traditional cloths and make handicrafts and wooden carvings,' Uncle Kodjo said, looking over his shoulder to where Faye sat behind him. ‘I work with some of them to market their crafts and help them with selling their products into the larger cities and tourist areas.'

Faye watched the passing scenery, fascinated at the difference between this side of Ghana and the slick sophistication she had grown used to experiencing in the city. Uncle Kodjo explained that some of the villages had not yet been connected to the national grid and did not have electricity. For these people, he said, life had changed very little over the years and modern inventions and labour-saving devices had yet to make their mark.

Almost an hour later, they drove past a signboard bearing the single word ‘Ntriso' and Faye sat up in excitement. What had just been a name to her, up until now, was about to become a reality.

‘Are we there yet?' she asked, as Uncle Kodjo carefully navigated the truck up a long winding hilly road. She had barely finished uttering the words when several houses came into view. As they reached the crest of the hill, she could see brightly painted houses and shops in what was clearly a busy town. They drove down the main street to a small roundabout where they branched left and down a narrow road that led to a large house with dusty blue walls. Uncle Kodjo parked the truck and jumped down
to open the back door for Faye before hoisting out their travel bags.

To one side of the house was a large strip of land, which, he explained, was the neighbourhood football pitch. Today, however, rows of plastic chairs sheltering under large green canopies had taken over the space normally used by the local Michael Essien wannabes. Some of the seats were occupied by elderly people clad in funereal black and red cloth, chatting quietly among themselves. A few children ran around, weaving in and out of the chairs and calling out to each other in excitement.

‘Faye, welcome to our family house,' Auntie Akosua said. ‘It's been a long day; let's go in and freshen up.' She walked into the house and Faye followed, barely able to contain her rising excitement at finally seeing her home town.

Inside, the house was dark with a slightly musty smell. The living room furniture was of solid brown mahogany, with faded white lace antimacassars draped over brown velvet cushions. Dark-brown curtains contributed to the somewhat oppressive atmosphere.

Auntie Akosua grimaced at she looked around the room and wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘You can tell Kodjo is hardly ever around; this place looks barely lived in.'

‘Who else lives here?' Faye walked over to an ancient-looking wooden cabinet sitting on squat curved legs, to take a closer look at the faded black and white framed photograph perched on top. The picture was of a couple on their wedding day. The woman stared straight into the camera with a forced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, while her groom, slightly shorter, held her hand
possessively and beamed with pride.

‘That picture of my parents was taken on their wedding day,' Auntie Akosua said, looking over Faye's shoulder. ‘I've always thought that my mother looked like a very reluctant bride, although she always denied that was the case. Kodjo lives here with his son, Solomon, a couple of our elderly aunts, and the uncle who just passed away. But as they tend to stay in their rooms or sit outside, much of the house is unused. My parents died many years ago and these are our closest remaining relatives.'

Faye gently replaced the photograph and followed Auntie Akosua up a flight of wide, slightly creaky stairs into a huge bedroom.