“Are
you going to get married?”
“No.”
“If
no, then you are not going…”
“Why?”
“Because apart from marriage, which I hold sacred, I don`t see any other reason why I
should validate your trip back home.”
What
amount of “truth” could let me off my supervisor`s hook?
“Listen,
my Dad is dying…” He gave a troubled frown,
“To
see me…’’ He cocked his head to one
side.
“…Over
an issue…”I added and he waited.
“A
serious issue of marriage which cannot wait…” He did not look too convinced.
“Look,
he`s already taken the Bride Price and God knows what?”
“Pride
Price. What is Pride Price?” His full Canadian Accent jumped up at me.
“Bride
Price. Mr. Vandeff. It`s the sum of money paid before the woman is taken away by
her man”
“Slave
trade…” his eyes lit up in frightening curiosity.
“Maybe…and
I need to free myself now”
“Hm…where`s
the slip?”
“Here”
I stretched impatiently and he signed it pensively,, slowly, tentatively….
“We
need to write an article on that Akosua, when you return,
:
Marriage – a modernized form of slave trade?
“I`ll
keep that in my diary…” I said in jest.
“And
you should be back in Canada in two weeks” he added.
I slipped away, pretending not to have heard
that bit.
“Are
you really ready?” Claire asked from across the office. She knew me more than
anyone else at SOCIETE AMICALE and after all the years we had spent helping the
helpless and devastated in society, the both of us had naturally learnt to be
there for each other first.
“Yes”
I said, ducking away towards the drawers to cover up for any fear that may have
been lurking behind my eyes.
“It`s
been seven years Akosua…”
“I
know. Seven years of change, growth, progress…” I packed the files.
“And…?”
She prodded, and that was what pushed me to say,
”I trust my instincts, even better now than
before and I have learnt to take firm decisions in my mind, and keep them from
being corroded by the dissuasive tears of my heart. So i`ll take a decision, a
good one, I`ll go back home and announce it to the family and i`ll not blink an
eye when I hear the” after-gossip”
“Wow!”
Claire took a second glance at my composure and the graceful confidence with
which I uttered these words.
She was a
Canadian woman who had never been to Africa but with the experience of
having African colleagues and friends, she had come to learn a lot about the
African society and its values and principles more than the ordinary Canadian
will care to know about and with this in mind, she gave a warning sigh.
“You
have a daughter you have not seen in seven years, the father of this daughter
asking for a “second chance”, parents who are tired of sacrificing and won`t
take NO for an answer to their demands and a secret you`ve been keeping for
years which will explode in the midst of the blazing flames and all you are
counting on is your instinct?
I
shrugged, and the silence which followed was a moment of reflection for us
both. Then Claire spoke up,
“ It seems that every woman has at least 777
definite decisions to make in a lifetime but unfortunately, many coil in after
the first mistake with their first decision, leaving over 700 more decisions to
be made for them by Societal pressure, cultural dictates or Fear…”
It was my turn to stare at her, this Lady,
whose sincerity made a lasting impression on me the first day I started working
with this organization seven years ago.
“I
hope that you will have the courage to take a decision Akosua and no matter what
happens, make sure that the decision you make is yours and that it reflects the
true desires of the woman that you have become.”
“Thanks
Claire”. I murmured minutes after she was gone, having left behind the soft
tingle of her warm hug and enchanting perfume.
Before
leaving for Ghana, I went to the Belaroule vicinity in Downtown Vancouver to
see an old lady that I could not leave without saying good to. From the extra
tidiness of the sun flowers that bloomed below the green trimmed hedges, I knew
that she had been expecting her frequent visitor all week. The subtle smell of
rain over freshly mowed grass mingled with the alluring scent of Chinese green
Tea was a warm message of welcome. I knew who had mowed the grass and I knew who
had made the Tea, because the routine in this house was pretty much familiar to
me.
“Wo
nu`er” She beamed and I smiled to the
affectionate manner in which she addressed me as daughter.
“Lai
lai lai” She beckoned me over the step with so much strength and vigour.
“Qing
zuo…”
I
sat .
“Qing
he Cha”
I
took a sip of “Cha”, green Tea that glistened luxuriously in a Chinese tea cup.
I
could predict and repeat every one of her welcome phrases in a blink of an eye.
She fixed her radiant eyes on me
“Xiexie”
I said, with the touch of courtesy that was naturally embedded in the Chinese
language. A language I had come to admire ever since I met her.
The
rest of the conversation that followed was of less words and more intuition.
She said Jin had told her about my journey back home, and that she wished me
well. I did not understand everything by her words but the look in her eyes
made the conversation complete. She held
my hands tight and told me that I was like her own daughter and that if I
really belonged with her family and with Jin, nothing could destroy that
connection. I breathed in as I gazed at her shriveled hands interspersed with
Asian veins, hands that were full of History and culture.
In July 1976, these hands had frantically
lifted up rabbles off stretches of dead people in the Northern city of Tangshan
in China, where a 7.8-8.2 earthquake, the deadliest in the last 100 years had
killed at least 242,000 people.
Her whole family was wiped out in that
earthquake, yet she did not give up. She had lived a nightmare yet she still
believed in brighter days, and when she enrolled on Tangshan`s RESCUE TEAM made
up of youth deployed to seek support and relief for victims, little did she
know that her life was going to change tremendously.
Through that
volunteering work, she met her life partner in the person of a noble and
prolific Chinese surgeon Dr.Ling, whose ingenious skill in the use of Chinese
traditional healing methods won the admiration and acknowledgement of a
Canadian Health Institute in the early 80s, leading to the couple`s
relocation to Canada, where they had a full and enjoyable life bringing healing
to the lives of many.
After the death of her renowned husband, when
life threatened to take her and her son on the road of depression and
exasperation, she girded her loins once more with strength and embarked on a refreshing
launch of a Traditional
Chinese
Tea Culture in Canada, and as she would say “serving tea to others, helped
quench my own thirst for company”
Really, I never saw a woman who fought back at
life`s misfortunes like Mrs Ling and for me she was not only an ideal Mother in
law, but also a true reflection of a mentor and a friend.
I
stepped into her garden to inhale once more the memories and aroma of these sacred grounds on
which Jin and I had gotten engaged or if I should say, married three years ago.
Mrs Ling walked over to me and whispered in my ears that Jin would join me in
Ghana as soon as he came from his Volunteering work.
“Bie Zhaoji” she added to
mean that i did not need to worry.
I gave the fresh roses in my hand a gentle
sniff as i finally strolled out of the garden and out of the Ling family haven.
In reality, it was not Jin`s commitment I was
worried about. Our five year long journey had proven well enough that i could count on him.
What made my stomach churn with fright was more the quizzical look on the faces of
twelve elderly family members gathered together in our large family house at
Asokwa in Kumasi awaiting an explanation to my rebellion, with a kind of
silence which will resonate the question
“How on earth did you manage to marry abroad without our consent, to a
man none of us have neither seen nor approved, a man who has paid no bride
price and indeed no respect to the Elders of your house, a man whose lineage
and history none of us can ascertain, and in fact a man we cannot even speak
with, a Chinese Man !!”
I walked out of Belaroule, fumbling for the appropriate answer to give to the Elders back home.
Written
By: Alice Blighton
PLEASE DON`T MISS THE SECOND PART.
