AKOSUA JIN CHU LING What a weird thing! [3]

“Akosua!!”, the clanging sound of rage…

“Akosua!!” the tempestuous uproar of desperation…

“Akosua!!” the near cry of a man in love, followed by Silence, the evidence that Love itself may not thrive without Passion and when Passion elopes Love may look like a famished Lion lured into a promising hunt that only ends in a cave trap.

The image of Edmund`s persistent banging on my bedroom door was to me, even fiercer than that of a famished Lion and when that yielded nothing he channeled his energy into sending a string of calls and e-mails and text messages which when summarized, meant to say that I was being SILLY, and CHILDISH, and UNFAIR, and that he needed to hear from me.

I agreed with him to a point. In Africa the meanest thing a lady could do to her man was to play hide and seek after the Curtains were drawn and the stage was set for THE MARRIAGE SCENE. It was like gathering clouds that gave no rain, or a soft hum that gave no song of hope, and since marriage was a Union of family and friends and not of two individuals, such disappointment could wreck a man`s ego for life.

Moreover, a man like Edmund, was an epitome of his tribesmen. Not that I believed in stereotypes but if indeed what they say about the Asante man`s ego and pride was somewhat true, then he represented them in bold print. The past days had had me listening to an unending list of plans and projects and enduring conspicuous introductions to friends and family members as the “fiancée from Canada”. 

Not that Edmund`s zest was without basis, because my parents were also caught in that fit of fervent marriage preparation, but the only shock to me was that the Bride was pensive and no one realized it, not even the Groom, because he was whirling through the tunnel of Self.

That is why I had to tell him on the night before my “disappearance”, everything I had been trying to tell him with my sullen Eyes. I respected the efforts he had made to take care of his daughter but I did not think we were meant to be. WE belonged to the past. My journey abroad and back was not just a PAUSE and PLAY session of our juvenile love Tango, it was a defining moment spent in maturing and reflecting, a season in which I found the fearless confidence to dance to the love song of my choice. 

So even though we both had kinky hair on our heads and spoke Twi by birth and had a child in common, It was not enough reason to bind ourselves in a “till death do us part” covenant because life, love, living life and living love were four different scopes of existence that a person needed to fully understand before saying “I DO”.

“Did she tell you where she was going?” I could almost hear my Dad say after confirming with the extra key that I was indeed away.

“No, not a word…” mum would respond in near anguish.

“No problem, I`ll just keep trying her line” Edmund would respond with the decorum and courtesy expected of a “To-be In Law”.

“Well she should be back by tomorrow” my Dad would reassure himself,but, in the deepest reflections of both parties surely lingered the ghostly thoughts of a possible rebellion on my part, which they hoped could be avoided. For the sake of their deep rooted sense of affiliation, for the sake of their image before the crowd of witnesses who clapped to the acceptance of sealed bottles of Schnapps and pieces of cloth, my presence was a much needed sign to a love contract that was to be signed in a few days! 

 

“Where ever you go, I told you the moon will show you my heart” Jin whispered to me from across the table, the lyrics of a popular Chinese song “Yueliang biaoda wo de xin“ (The moon represents my heart). I had indeed missed him, his subtle humor and endearing modesty. He seldom laughed out loud but when he smiled, it had a rippling effect. His Asian eyes were themselves an epitome of a moon which glistened with a certain truth, hidden and untold for centuries: The truth that Love is universal, as universal as the concept of Day and Night and the flying of birds in the skies, and it did not need a certain cultural dimension to give its wings the power to fly.

One of the most enchanting things was to watch him eat with the chopsticks, something like an artwork he executed with inherent dexterity and the coy innocence of his smile when he fed me from across the table was a sight I would give anything to behold. That was what I yearned for: Naivety and simplicity, the carefree laughter of two persons who clutched at each other by the hands whilst paragliding from the mountains of mutual love and commitment, sometimes afraid, but never defeated. 

“Let`s take a walk on the Beach” he would say. “Let`s hum to the rhythm of the sea breeze”  he would say, and then clutch on seductively to his Erhu, a two stringed traditional Chinese instrument of Southern China, which he learnt to play from infancy. It was a perfect reminder of the love journey that Jin and I had embarked on: Just two strings could make a beautiful love song, not ten strings or twelve strings but two strings, two strings that played in harmony was enough to produce the powerful melody of the Erhu. 

I sang a love song in “Twi’ in response to Jin`s Chinese tune, and through the soft whispers of the evening sea breeze, nature took its place as the audience of this classical ambience of raw rustic love, draped in pure sophistication.

 The following Saturday found us coiled up in a public bus headed for Kumasi. Despite the weird look on the face of the old lady behind and the gentleman by my side, I was more than comfortable with, my Chinese Muse. They were all wondering why a fine African lady would be with a pure Chinese. I just looked back at them with the reply, “why not?”  

 

 Walking back to our compound in Asokwa on the following Sunday morning however, had been like flying back into a nest of conflict. Curious eyes of neighbors had pierced through the very fabric of my soul and the solemn sound of Sunday School children in a nearby building, repeating “Children, obey your parents in the Lord” was a slashing sword in my heart.

I had stood at the dining table watching my child nimble at her breakfast while I spotted my mum through the kitchen doorway, pealing plantain in a robotic rhythm. The whooshing sound of boiling water in the Kettle made me all the more dizzy and uneasy when I tried to SAY SOMETHING. After what sounded like a lame excuse punctuated with an awkward feeling of inadequacy, I had only succeeded in getting “It`s a big disgrace” and a sigh from my mum as a response. But even with that response, I was satisfied, because I needed her to at least SAY SOMETHING TOO.

“I know how you feel, i`ve been there too and sometimes I think life itself simply looks like the speedy evolution of mobile phone technology - there`s always some kind of new feature with enticing possibilities, but the underlying principle remains the same. That is why even though am old, i could advice you as a mother on your love life and marriage”. She added.

I did not doubt that. My mother was a wise woman with a Degree in Life skills, and even without ever stepping foot into a lecture room, she was astute in Critical Thinking and Economics and with very little in her hand,

she could turn an empty cold Kitchen into the dining Hall of a King.

She had the inherent genius of an African woman to change and to adjust to change, and every word she spoke to me was like the refreshing flow of wisdom from an Ancient clay pot into a Modern wine glass.  I listened.

 “When your phone stayed switched off on Thursday morning, we knew that the Traditional marriage could not take place on Saturday morning, so we sent messages to all family members saying it had been postponed to next month.

And then when I retired to bed, I thought of the day your Father asked for my hand in marriage from my Parents. That day, I started to feel a certain fear and insecurity creep over me concerning the future, and concerning the glaring fact that I was about to climb the mountains of life with a man who offered no form of financial cushioning. My Dad referred to it as total insanity but my mum was patient enough to give me the kind of advice i`m giving to you right now. Do not despise humble beginnings, do not judge a man by the Dust on his boots, he may be the owner of a gold mine. Edmund may not be like those “International men” you meet every day in Canada, but he is a Good man.” She said. “Give him a chance.”

  

The point mum missed and I guess every other person in my family, was that I was not an African woman in search of “International Love”, I was not after a nationality or social status, I was after edifying LOVE, liberating Love, that had nothing to do with a man`s Skin and Accent, Love that was a matter of Heart and Spirit. So I explained that in a bit more detail, with photos of Jin and a brief account of Jin`s family history, how we met and who he had been to me these past years… She listened, carefully, meditatively, fighting with her own fears and stereotypes and I for once said nothing in my own defense, l just left her with the arduous task of finding her own courage while my silence pleaded with her to let go off her fears. She said nothing. But when I was leaving the house to see Jin in the hotel that afternoon I heard her sigh on my way out, and I knew that at least she had started to give it all a try.

The diversity in the meaning of the word Love, combined with the complexity of the feelings involved made it unusually difficult to consistently define, or assess it. Jin`s concept of “Ai” ( Love in Chinese) was for instance one that carried with it a very specific sense of responsibility, commitment and loyalty, so on the following Wednesday, when we decided despite Dad`s silence to just go to the house and introduce him to the family, he prepared his box of 12 silk scarves for my mum and Aunties together with a set of China ware, a box of Chinese Tea, a phenomenal painting of his home town, a special book on Chinese traditional medicine and gifts for my daughter. 

To my surprise he offered to put on the African print shirt I had bought for him in Accra.

It was magnificent, but the sheer look on our Taxi driver`s face made me realize despite the thrill, that we were on a decisive mission that morning. 

We were on a mission to redefine love and portray how it could look like if woven with a multicultural fabric. As always, the Taxi driver could not contain the deliberations in his mind.

“Is he your husband?” he asked in Twi.

“Yes” I replied simply.

He gazed through his rear view mirror at Jin and smiled.

“Times are really changing oo..” he mused, ”who would have thought that an Asante woman would be with a Chinese man.”

“Why do you find that hard to believe?”      

“Well, they are from far far away, on the other side of the universe. Which family member can you even consult when there is an issue?

As in my case... I once married a young girl a young girl from one of the states in Northern Nigeria. When she had a complication in child birth at Korle Bu hospital and was admitted, none of her family members bothered to come, they said she had not informed them she had a “husband” in Ghana. In the end, I had to sell all my property in order to pay for her bills. Really, marrying a foreigner is sometimes like walking barefooted on blazing coal. It`s hell”

“Well…” I grazed along the line of his reasoning. “I think it is better when two people who fall in love cultivate the mentality of being wholly committed and solely responsible for each other, whether near home, or far away in a foreign land.

As for the traditional values placed on family ties, I reckon they are indeed necessary but just as salt is on a piece of stake. A little amount here, a little amount there and you are ok, too much on one piece of meat and you are bound to spew it out in disgust. If there is no form of family link at all, it can taste pretty weird too.”

“ And is it true that they chew frogs and bamboo worms? I hear their food is “really someway” He chipped.

  Well Mrs Ling, Jin`s mum, had never prepared rice with “fried frogs” or “bamboo worm sauce” and Jin himself was vegetarian to say the least, so frogs and worms were obviously not going to be on our menu.

“Well, I don`t think so” I replied, just as the taxi curved unto our street. Jim handed him a pack of tea for his warm company though I was sure he had understood nothing of all that we had said in Twi. 

“It`s Green Tea from China. My mother in Law is known in Canada for her exceptional skill in making Chinese Tea. You`ve heard about the Chinese people`s love for Tea right?” I inquired

‘No, Not really. I did not know that till today.’

With this driver`s comment, I thought suddenly of how quick people were to receive weird rumors without seeking to find the useful truths about the people, places or things they claim they have been informed about. He knew that Chinese people ate frogs and bamboo worms but he did not know that they loved Tea.

  He knew nothing about China`s renowned Tea culture that has existed for so long in history and which has been found to be a cure for various ailments, he only knew that their food was “someway”. That to me was worrying. 

“It`s really worrying Akosua, to entertain a new man under the same roof where another professed his love a minute ago. Your father`s not spoken a word since he returned and I fear the worst.” Mum announced.

 Jin sat across the corridor, fidgeting with the sweaty glass of chilled water and I suddenly regretted dragging him into all this.

“Mum, please give him warm water instead. He`s not used to chilled water.”

 My heart was pounding.

 Two men were racing for my heart and attention, one was very tactful about it, but the other was a bit less patient and the least mistake on my part could cause eternal damage.
 

“Dad” I started in a lost voice,

“I would like to introduce you to someone, the one I really want to be with…and all I ask from you is one more chance to make a choice of my own. He is not an Asante, he does not speak our language or know everything about our culture, but

He knows what it means to love a woman, and what it takes to prove that love. He`s decided against all odds to come all the way here to show his regard for my roots and my family. He`s into medicine Dad, just like you, his father was a great physician in China, he is an only child, just like you, and his mum sold Tea to see him through school just as your mum did.

If we look beyond our fears, we`ll see if not culturally, at least humanly, in the eyes of “the other strange race” a certain humanism and sincere vulnerability that defines us as one. After all these years in Canada, working in an Association that caters for the betrayed wife and the defiled child I have grown to realize that “Brother” or “Lover” is not a matter of ”black or white as I am” it is a question of “he took me as I am” and that is what Jin has proved in our three year relationship…” His back was turned towards me throughout my speech and he looked away from the window.

“Is that how you consider it? Is that your account of the events? You are a manipulative, ungrateful woman, who for her own interest will implore Heaven and Earth to be on her side. You have offended your In Laws and dragged your family`s name in the mud, and yet you want to be applauded for a rebellious Love Hunt….” This was the reply I waited for, not a

“Come sit here my child, I have news for you.”

But I coiled up to him in the next seat and listened.

“Before I left for Bekwai on the weekend for a colleague`s Father`s funeral, I passed by the Main Office to pick up some stuff and it was there that one of my workers informed me of the persistent visits of a certain

Women`s Right Lawyer with whom I urgently needed to get in touch. When I did, she gave me a long speech which pushed me to think that I was on the verge of having issues with the Law. A certain 25 year old girl in the Training College had almost committed suicide last week.”

“Why?’

“Because she heard that you were about to get married to the one she loved, to Edmund.”

Silence.

“…She is carrying Edmund`s child.” Dad concluded.

I shuddered at the image of a beautiful young girl, yanking on the end of a torpid rope of suicide, drenched in sweat and foam, jerking from silent pain after claiming in vain, the love of a man who seemed to love another.

“Was Edmund just going to ditch her and marry me, and keep that a secret for life?”

“I should rather think that the family did not give him much of a choice. He had apparently accepted his responsibility and made attempts to wed the lady but 

Mr. Afrifa will hear none of it because the girl is a Northerner. The girl`s father took the issue to a Women`s Rights Protection team who were moved into action by their report on Edmund`s Father`s threats to the girl and the family. You were a more attractive option for them I guess. You already have a child for Edmund, you are an Asante woman and you being in Canada could offer an opening for Edmund… I don`t think they thought carefully of the girl`s suffering…”

“Well,..at least the girl is still alive and my marriage to Edmund is cancelled. Now the Afrifa family will have to face their ghosts and fight their own devils” 

“I feel terrible for nearly dragging you into such a complicated situation" Dad said.

“Akwesi, it`s alright now, our Chinese guest is waiting…” Mum whispered furtively from behind the door.

I helped Dad up from the chair and reassured him with an embrace that i was still grateful for his support, and I gladly watched him step out of his own conflicts, and out of his own fears and presumptions that morning in order to embrace his Chinese in law. The joy in Jin`s eyes when they first shook hands and the smile on Dad`s face when he was handed the Wall length Chinese painting was priceless. It was a relic I saved in my museum of memories for life.

On the last weekend of the month of July, before Jin and I left for Canada, we held a grand family ceremony of introduction which was also a way of celebrating our marriage in the customary way. Some family members came, others did not. Some neighbors wished us well; others looked on with pitiful disgust. The less diplomatic ones yelled “Akosua chinese” whenever I walked down the street. The myopic ones said that I had done so to get “my papers” and that my

Dad only reaped where there was bountiful profit: “If the Chinese man has the means, why won`t he accept him in place of an “ordinary Kumasi guy”? The apathetic ones simply reasoned that I had picked “the manner of the Whites”: “Over there two people can get married in front of a Super market and go later to sign in court, It`s crazy”.

Nobody considered the torturous journey we had embarked on in order to gather the confidence to live this choice. People merely busked in the sweet aroma of gossip, mockery and insinuation. Even my Cousin Kesewa who called to congratulate me from London, could not help but add,

“I still find it hard to believe that you left Edmund for a Chinese man, i`m happy for you ok? Just that I find it a bit weird”.

  Well, I had known Jin for who he was, and I was ready to give everyone else the chance to discover that for themselves.  

Moreover, when Mrs Ling called to say “Welcome to the Jin Chu Ling family” and my friend Claire chimed on phone from Canada “Unbelievable! …Akosua Jin chu Ling!”, neither of it sounded weird to me.It all sounded as perfect as the sound of rain after a heavy drought.

         THE END

                                         

                                                    [V]

{For the Lord seeth not as man seeth: for man looketh on the outward appearance but the Lord looketh on the heart.}

                                                                 1 Samuel 16:7

 WRITTEN BY: ALICE BLIGHTON        

 THANKS FOR READING !!!