AKOSUA JINCHULING ( What a weird thing! )

“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.