Ipods in Accra

Sophia Acheampong
is a British-born Ghanaian. She lives and works in North London and studied at Brunei University. Her first book,
Growing Yams in London
, introduced the character of Makeeda. Like Makeeda, she 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

Thanks to Brenda, Anne, Melissa, Vivien and the Piccadilly Press Team, Mrs Mary Osei, Dr & Mrs Thomas Mensah, Rt Hon Keith Vaz MP, Mrs M Vaz, Mr K Acheampong, Vowusu, Ms T. Bonsu, Mr & Mrs Addai, Mr K Adom Fordjour, Dr Asuboah, Ms Emelia Aryee, Mr Yildi Sirer, Mr & Mrs Kwarteng, Dr Rose Atfield, Dr Daniela Amasanti, Mrs P Ramage, Ms Angelina Aidoo, Mr and Mrs Appiah-Minka, Ms V Agyemang, St William of York Church, Stanmore and Harrow Libraries
.

First published in Great Britain in 2009
by Piccadilly Press Ltd,
5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR
www.piccadillypress.co.uk

Text copyright © Sophia Acheampong, 2009

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 84812 017 4 (paperback)

eISBN: 978 1 84812 218 5

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Printed in the UK by Bookmarque CPI, Croydon, CR0 4TD
Cover design by Simon Davis
Cover artwork by Catell Ronca

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1. Rude Awakenings

Chapter 2. A Mathematical Conundrum

Chapter 3. Questions and Long Distance Answers

Chapter 4. Good Kiss vs Bad Kiss

Chapter 5. The Unexpected

Chapter 6. About Doing the Right Thing …

Chapter 7. Honest Secrets

Chapter 8. Losing Enemies and Winning Hearts

Chapter 9. Akwaaba

Chapter 10. Drumbeats and Heartbeats

Chapter 11. Dating, Kumasi-style

Chapter 12. The Voiceless

Chapter 13. Home Comforts

Chapter 14. The Theory of the Heart-chip

Chapter 15. The Last Dance

For Mum, Dad and Gerald

A guide to Ghanaian terms and phrases can be found at the back of the book.

‘Go away, Delphy!' I said from beneath my duvet.

My sister had this totally annoying habit of waking me early. She had no consideration for the fact that I had been up till two a.m. revising. Well, midnight – then I had to watch the final episode of
Yana's Guest
, the latest Californian teen drama. Besides, waking me up on a teacher training day was just plain wrong.

‘I mean it, Delphy!' I said, nearly blinded by the sunlight she had sent streaming into my room. ‘Who told you to open my curtains?'

‘I did!' Mum called from downstairs. ‘And stop shouting at your sister!'

‘You can talk,' I mumbled. Sometimes it was like Mum had a
megaphone attached to her mouth. I peeked out at my sister. She was dressed in her jeans and a blue top she had begged me to lend her two months ago. Her hair was in shoulder-length braids.

‘Well, aren't you going to ask me why I —' she began.

‘Delphy, you're my sister. You always want to torture me, simply with your presence,' I said, smiling sweetly.

‘Fine! When everyone starts asking you why you didn't get your vaccinations, don't blame me!' Delphy said, storming out of my room.

‘What? Woaaaaaaaaargh!' I jumped up from the bed but got tangled up in my duvet. I ended up in a heap on the floor.

‘Makeeda?' Mum rushed into my room. ‘Oh,' she said, laughing, as I made two failed attempts to stand up. I saw Delphy laughing from the top of the stairs.

‘Yeah, thanks for helping me up, Mum,' I said.

‘Sorry. So has she told you?'

‘No.'

‘We're going to Ghana!' Mum said, smiling excitedly. ‘You, me and Delphy.'

‘Ghana?' I yelped. ‘This summer? Wait, isn't Dad going?'

‘No, with your Uncle Raj leaving, there's no one to look after the garage,' Mum said.

Uncle Raj was Dad's first apprentice – we called everyone of our parents' age ‘auntie' and ‘uncle' out of respect. His children had all moved to Australia, so he had decided to retire out there with them.

‘He booked his ticket last month so he can't stay any longer.'

‘Oh.'

‘I'm sorry, Makeeda – I know Dad promised to take you around the slave forts next time we went to Ghana.'

‘But what about my exams? It's my GCSEs!'

‘Yes, I know,' Mum replied. ‘You don't think we'd let you miss them, do you?'

Well, for a second, part of me actually did think they'd let me skip them. Oh OK, more like for a split second. My parents were totally into education. They both believed that as long as you can get a good schooling everything else is a bonus, and Delphy and I were expected to go into further education. I'm not sure about the subjects I've chosen – English is a defo, but apart from that I'm still not certain.

Sometimes, I wished I could be as sure of my future as Bharti or Mel. Bharti knew she wanted to be a scientist and discover cures for diseases, and Mel wanted to be a top athlete and businesswoman and she was already attending a special sports academy in Manchester. I hadn't heard from her in ages, but she'd promised to come down for our end-of-year prom in August. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do yet. I hoped it would suddenly hit me like a bolt of lightning but Mum said sometimes it could take over ten years! She said you could be in a job for fifteen years and suddenly realise that you were meant to be doing something else completely. That's life, apparently. I knew that's what had happened to her with teaching, but I'd rather not have to wait so long. And, anyway, how was I supposed to decide on a job in the first place?

‘Makeeda? Makeeda?' Mum said.

‘Yup?' I said, realising I'd missed most of her conversation.

‘You're always daydreaming! Listen, just concentrate on your revision for now – there'll be plenty of time for us to discuss the holiday later.'

‘Oh OK,' I said. But of course I was going to think about the holiday. I was looking forward to the chill-out period between actually taking the GCSE exams and getting the results – everyone had been going on about it for ages. Even my old friend and maths tutor Nick said there was something amazing about knowing you had finished school legally and could simply work for the rest of your life if you wanted to. He hadn't been allowed to do that either, but he liked knowing he could – at least in theory.

My phone beeped.

Bharti:
U up yet?
Me:
Just. U won't believe where I m gonna b 4 hol!
Bharti:
W?
Me:
Ghana!

Less than two minutes after sending that text, my phone started ringing.

‘Makeeda, are you serious?' Bharti asked.

‘Yeah. Hold on, how come you've got credit?' I replied.

Bharti was worse than I was for running out of phone credit. We were lucky our parents topped up our phones each month. In my case, it was taken out of my pocket money. Bharti was luckier as there were no deductions from her pocket money, but having a mobile phone meant her landline use was restricted to
four non-essential calls a month and five homework calls. I understood why Bharti's parents insisted on this (there was a crazy global phone bill a few years back), but I still felt it was harsh. It wasn't like we could say everything we needed to say in a conversation at school. I mean, why send us to school if we're not meant to concentrate on our lessons? Parents wanted us to learn and still cram in vital conversations, too?