AKOSUA JIN CHU LING What a weird thing [2]

Whenever a long gone traveller has to retrace his steps back home, the first question on his mind is “how will it be like?” or “how will it feel like?”, especially when such traveller left behind a bagful of unresolved issues, past mistakes and undeclared intentions. That was the state I was in when I checked into my hotel room around Airport.

One of my Dad`s cousins in Accra, having been informed of my coming, had badly wanted to meet me at the Airport with her family and take me home for the weekend but I had dissuaded her from doing so, with the excuse that  an old university mate was on her way to pick me up. I simply needed some time alone to reflect and to have my last full night of rest before I took the Bus back home to Kumasi.

After a warm shower, I sat in the middle of my bed staring at my phone, which read LOW BATTERY.  There was no network, and of course, no Jin, no Claire and no Mrs Ling… just the smiley cute face of a young African girl on the wall saying “Akwaaba”.

I started to fidget with my phone, and with the pile of thoughts in my mind, pondering and projecting into the journey ahead, and at the same time retrieving every detail of information from the past. I still was determined to sail through this tough season without wounds or bruises. I had promised Claire and my own self that I was not going to breakdown amidst all the stress and I was really determined not to.

Yet still, I was sure that Mum and Dad had a list of good points to prove that all through my life I had been the toughest issue they had had to deal with, that unlike my three younger sisters, I had brought them the longest sleepless nights and the scariest nightmares and that it was finally time for me to surrender and obey.

I still thought however, that I had not been the "odd one out "  for nothing. Perhaps every seemingly digressive turn in my life had been the sharpening edge of my personality and the incisive pointer to my destiny.

 

Why then would a person`s life, path and story, turn out to be so different from what her family had planned? What else could push a person to make an uncommon choice if not the striking pull of destiny and divine purpose, which no man can resist?
That was the force that pushed me out of home at 19, But that which I simply call the pull of destiny nevertheless sparked off great tension and stress, igniting at the time a huge family feud. 

Akosua Asare Brenya, first daughter of Dr. Asare Brenya of the acclaimed Brenya Pharmaceuticals in Kumasi was obviously supposed to consider her father`s succession plan, the family`s long term investment and legacy plan and simply follow the "Science trend" in the family. After all, which kind of a good daughter would not comply with a father’s simple wish for her to read medicine in the KNUST, stay in Kumasi and inherit an already established pharmaceutical Company with an enviable reputation?

 

All of my passion for Art was deemed as total rebellion to the ideal plans of a well-meaning family. I insisted and defended my cause and somehow pleaded for weeks till i was left off the hook to read Sociology and Social work in Legon,( Accra), my "so called Humanities" as my father would say. Then, hardly had I been handed the freedom to live and make my own choices than freedom itself became the venom which put my life in danger. At the end of the second year emerged the sour fruits of pre-mature passion - pregnancy for a fresh university graduate who was even more tied to the strings of his family`s apron than I was at the time. The future?  Nothing more than a dark mass of confused emotions entangled in a web of vague dreams and scorching guilt.

To my dismay, my family shared in my pain and managed to shield me from the harsh reality of a mistake that could have blocked many future prospects, and as soon as I left the child with mum and went back to school,  even Dad`s hopes for my future began to soar again. He brought up another of his “ideal plans” believing that I had learnt my lesson well enough to trust and obey him for good.

"You should branch into law. Company Law..." he had said,

"I've already discussed it with Professor Whilmor of the Ghana law School. He says it`s a great idea. Nowadays all big companies need a good Lawyer."

I got the message, Asare Brenya Pharmaceuticals needed a Lawyer, because Dad`s greatest desire was for all of us girls to be a part of the family business and work to uphold the success of the family`s pharmaceutical investments, but as attractive as it seemed, I still had other plans.  

The day Dad called one of his Lawyer friends over for supper in order for him to brief me on the selection process and interview requirements for Law school was the day I spilled the "bad news” : I was not going to study law, I was not even planning to complete my final year of school in Ghana. I had applied for an exchange program in Vancouver, Canada and had been selected along with four other students, and I was possibly going to pursue a Master’s degree program after that and make a life in Canada.
My Dad looked at me with the engrained disappointment of a father whose efforts had been trampled upon by an ungrateful   daughter. My mother inquired, almost choking on her emotions,

 

“You`re just going to leave the baby here and go abroad?. What of the child`s upbringing and your relationship with the baby`s father?  What have you seen over there in the white man`s land that you cannot find here Akosua? We`ve given you everything we have and your father has toiled to secure a good future for you and your two sisters. At least they are grateful, but you… you throw everything we offer you back in our face and run in the opposite direction

Tell me, where did we go wrong with you?”

“Ma, don`t start this….”

“No I ought to, let`s talk about this now, so I get to hear it from you without doubt that the mistake I made was breaking my back with hard labor in order to support your father to see you through school. Let me tell you …” and here she switched to idioms and intense expressions in the Twi language.

“We didn`t have a penny ok? Not even a” chopbox”… when your Father and I met on the Streets of Bantama. I had my stuff in a polythene bag and I worked and slept in a “chopbar” where an old friend of my deceased mother had given me a part-time job of clearing dishes and pounding Fufu, and your father was a newspaper seller by day and storekeeper of a dusty Video cassette kiosk by night.  And If I remind you of this, it is not to brood over our misfortunes or despise our little beginnings, but to remind you of how far we`ve come and how pertinent it is for you to make choices that will attract blessings into your own life so that in the end our toil would not have been in vain…And then she got emotional...

If I had had a shadow of the opportunities that you have at your age I would not be like this, if misfortune and poverty had not torn my family apart I would also have learnt to read and write and I would not have had to nurse so many past wounds. If my alcoholic father had at least permitted me to start school I may have had a brighter life without people giggling at the Bank at “the woman who can`t spell her own name”. I would not have had so many emotional scars and bruises and I would probably have completed my Masters like some of my colleagues,. But such is life…”she wiped her tears and went on.

“So now the mistake we have made, Akosua is to have given you a double portion of opportunities that we could not even afford to dream of in our time and now education and modernity has turned your mind in the wrong direction and covered your heart with ice such that you feel no remorse rejecting your family`s counsel over and over again and you feel no shame having a child out of wedlock and even more regrettably, you feel no qualms whatsoever in abandoning your baby girl.

Because of further studies and the desire to be up there, to have this and to have that, many of you young women have lost that powerful instinct and sense of sacrifice that a real woman should have. You`ve lost it!

Now, motherhood has become a dirty chore that your newly fixed manicures cannot handle so you postpone it to whenever, or handle it with pitiful disgust. You give me cold feet!  In my days motherhood was a source of pride and don`t get me wrong, it was not because we could not aspire for anything higher, to me, it was simply because we held in great awe the phenomenon of a human being carrying and bearing another human being into the world. Now that miracle of creation, awes this generation no more, that is why you drink anything to flash out your babies from your wombs saying once you are not prepared or once the man doesn`t want it or once the baby is deformed it`s ok.

 

And in fact I blame these Scientists and Human Right folks… Freedom of this, freedom of that, and now we have all been turned into a world of blind barbarians, singing freedom songs we cannot even interpret and demanding rights, the results of which we cannot bear in the years to come. Now my own daughter stands under my roof, chanting this same freedom song. Yoo Akosua, it is not meet for aged lips to talk unendingly, it can lead to a curse so, GO, we have released you from under our wings, go and live your life of freedom in Canada, and as for the baby, you can leave her here if you so wish but don`t blame any of us for any future mishap, because we told you, Akosua, we told you…’ my Dad rubbed her back as a sign that she had spoken enough.”

“Abena, eye! eye! gyae…” he consoled as he pulled her into the bedroom, I saw from the dim in my mum`s eye and the fringe on my Dad`s brow that they were inwardly frustrated. 

 On that day, they quietly closed the chapter on the grooming of their first daughter, leaving nature and life to do the rest. And as for me, I was left standing alone, branded a rebel, facing a unanimous charge of having disregarded my allegiance to the family. There was no one to hear me out, let alone bail me out and no means to tell my side of the story or explain in anyway what I felt at that moment.

 

Was I supposed to feel sorry for believing that a woman was made for more than child birth and that having a child no longer meant that  a woman`s dreams should lay to rot in the closet?

Why could a man have all the time to build an empire and a life and create a wave of impact while most women were pressured into marriage or made to feel like they had to make haste and hook on to “Mr. Wright, the fine manager with the White Ride”.

My thoughts neither back then nor now, had anything to do with what I call the toxic extremist view of some 21^st century feminists who consider marriage as a sign of weakness and an act of subservience on the part of the woman.

However, I was also far from settling for a dulled demotivated lack of passion and drive as a result of a certain definition of what “real” womanhood looked like.
I was somewhere in between the two, in a place where logic could not reach and reason could not thrive.
“Afropolitan woman" I read on the magazine cover by my dressing mirror and I thought perhaps, that sounded more like it. 

 

My Taxi did not even get into the driveway when I realized that almost the whole neighborhood had gathered in our house; children screaming and playing, strong men fixing canopies and offloading white plastic chairs, young girls sweeping the yard and scrubbing round the paved area where the heavy rhythmic sound of mortar and pestle echoed between soft indulgent giggles and a subtle peppery spicy thermosphere of hot barbecue.

 

“Akosua is here!!!” went the alarm, and all ongoing activity erupted into an energetic uproar of welcome. Faces of neighbors I did not recognize and smiles of childhood friends I had not seen in years, intermingled with warm hugs from children and infants probably born in my absence. It was overwhelming! And when I stood opposite my mum in the kitchen doorway, we were instantly drawn into that lingering embrace that soothed the heart of both mother

and child.

“Welcome home” she said, and from her tone, she was much relieved by my presence.

“You`ve come at the right moment, just on time for the traditional marriage.”

My heart jumped up in fright. The lavish preparation back there in the yard was not just for my return home but also for my marriage in a few hours?  Somewhat apprehensive of the emotional drift that could come with a displaced reaction or comment, I kept still.  

“Kesewa will be so glad to see you” She added to my relief.

“Ah, Kesewa. Uncle Kobby`s daughter.”

 

“Yes. She`s getting married to a nice young man who lives in London, the son of a Lawyer, an Ashanti man” And as if that last detail was a “must-note” she paused for a minute and continued
“She finished nursing school this year. I remember she had not even entered High school when you left right?”
“Yea, I think so.” I mumbled, “Time flies quickly”
“I`m glad you know that” Mum chipped.

She had not changed, as always she knew when and how to weave in her point.
“And now will be a good time for us to reflect on your own marriage plans and make preparations for you to settle down. The longer it takes, the more complicated it gets”
“Well…”I thought to myself, “It`s already very complicated”.
“Ah, See, even the Angels heard me speak” She gave a radiant smile in the direction of the tall dark gentleman who had just stepped into the Kitchen.

“Your sweetheart is here” She chimed joyously and whirled out of the kitchen.

 

Who would have thought that these few years would transform Edmond so drastically? He stood majestically by the fridge, gently stroking the back of our daughter, who slept in peaceful bliss over his left shoulder. To my surprise, he exuded an effervescent air of a responsible father that I never really noticed in him when I was in Ghana.

“Eddie!” my Dad called out from the garage, “Come check if this thing is leaking again.”

I stood there speechless at the changes that unveiled before my eyes in less than a day of my return. This special bond and closeness between my Dad and Edmund was totally inexistent when I was leaving for Canada. In its place was a blazing trail of tension and nerves on which both men treaded with caution, each one keeping a distance from the other to avoid a scandalous explosion. And now they drove together to town like “buddies” and returned home, to “our house” like Father and Son, like no strife had ever existed between them.
 

“We`ve been waiting for you all day…” Edmund whispered.

“I know, the plane…”

“Shh… just get ready, i`m taking you out tonight.” He said with that kind of charming smile that I bet, had won him the university Hall Elections in Legon in his time. He was suddenly flaunting some qualities that I never remember he had and those that I had forgotten he possessed; he took it upon himself to clearly remind me of them.

“Just give her to me…” I said, taking my seven year old girl into my arms.

The moment our skins touched, I felt a cold chill through my chest and down my spine. I covered her up in bed, my heart beating with anxiety. Would she call me “mum” when she woke up in the morning? Could she forgive me for these years of absence?
Dad walked into the room to find me stroking her hair and he spoke as if he knew exactly what I was thinking,
"I know you missed her…  We constantly reminded her that she has a mother who cares for her… don`t worry, she knows who you are. We've always told her and reminded her of that."

“Thank you” I breathed.

“Welcome home… and as always, we want the best for you so now that you're here, take time to reflect on your life and most importantly on your marriage. Consider the child`s future and happiness. At this stage, you should think of a stable home environment where she can grow and enjoy the love of both Parents. We have done our best but we cannot offer her everything. You are also not getting any younger, you`ll be 32 this year, and it`s not good for a woman to remain single for no special reason. It can cause frustration and depression at a point”.

 “ I really think…” And Dad always declared his choice by that preamble “… Eddie is a fine gentleman. He`s made mistakes, yes, and so have you. But I think both of you could still rise above all this and rebuild your relationship. I`ve observed him over the years and I can tell you he`s really evolved, he knows how to handle his responsibilities and he`s learnt from his mistakes. Moreover, he`s been here with his Dad to declare his intentions and I somewhat gave them an affirmative reply.

“You did?”

“Well, he`s ready and he`s the Father of the child. What else is there to question? Aren`t you glad that he`s finally decided to take up his responsibilities, and even outdoor and honor you as his wife just as custom demands? I think we should all be proud of his efforts”.

“Dad, it`s been seven years…already things feel a bit weird between us, don`t you think it`s in a rush?

“Akosua, stop worrying. Open up to Edmund, give yourselves a chance to talk and discuss, and all this will go smoother than you think. Some of our grandmothers saw the faces of their husbands-to- be only on the first day of marriage but their marriages lasted longer than the romantic ones of today. And in any case…”  he went on, “the date we settled on for the traditional marriage is somewhere next month. By then you two should have sorted yourselves out.”

“Are you serious?” went the echoes of my thoughts in the corridors of my throbbing head.

“And don't forget to go see Mr. Afrifa, Edmund's Dad. Let him know you've arrived and make sure to thank him for his contribution and concern towards Vera's upbringing.”

“Ok.” I responded with a voice that seemed soundless and meaningless.

At this time, most of my Father`s siblings and Elderly family members were in Kumasi for Kesewa`s traditional marriage and I knew my Dad would sit down with them to discuss upcoming family events and matters. And He would surely bring up my marriage plans even before I got the chance to give my answer. But how was I going to muster courage to say that I was engaged to someone abroad, when there were so many grey heads under one roof? 


How could i tell the Elderly members of my home that their desire to see me with an "Asante man" was like a round peg that would not fit in the concrete squares of my life,  that i already had a "husband", that i had started journeying through life with a man i met in Canada, a man who had healed my past wounds and renewed my belief in love,  a Chinese man from the Han Ethnicity! 

 

If I made any move at this time, I was sure to lose and I feared the condemnation that could come with it, so I forced myself to join in the chatter and feasting for the evening, sandwiched between elderly Aunties and distant cousins I had not seen in ages: Mama Cecilia wanted to know about life in Canada, Uncle Ansong wanted me to search for a school in Canada for his son and Sofo Mame Lydia, Prophetess and wife of my Uncle Thomas, wanted to share some marriage testimonies with me…

 

“Gye Yesu di!” She admonished me to trust in the Lord for my marriage. Then she pulled me aside and whispered in my ears that she saw me in a dream, married to a man I was not supposed to be with, a union in which I was bound to be miserable! I promptly asked her to describe the man and all she said was that his face was covered in a veil!!! 

 

Indeed it was a cordial family moment filled with fresh memories and great talk but when I retired to my room, I had a migraine that only silence and good sleep could heal.

 

WRITTEN BY: ALICE BLIGHTON

PLEASE DON'T MISS THE CONCLUDING  PART.