Growing Yams in London (13 page)

‘Me?’ Delphina said, surprised.

‘Go on,’ Mum said, poking her in the back.

I watched as Delphina stood up and went to Aunt Grace’s side. Auntie Anita placed a silver tray with four silver cups in her hands. I saw Delphina peering into them and looking confused. I
knew what they contained, because I had to carry them for Delphina’s outdooring. They were in pairs: salt and sugar, water and vodka (or some other clear alcohol). When I asked what they
symbolised, Mum told me it was for the baby to recognise the difference between right and wrong. I kind of thought it also meant let your words be sweet when needed and bitter or strong when
needed, but I never told anyone because they’d just laugh.

I watched as Aunt Grace spoke in Twi before dipping her finger into one of the cups and gently placing it just inside Baby Akosua’s mouth. She repeated it for three cups, then went to the
last one, and we all saw Baby Akosua’s tongue clearly lick the vodka off Aunt Grace’s finger. Baby Akosua’s grandmother said something to Aunt Grace in Twi that made everyone
laugh.

‘It looks like Baby Akosua definitely knows the difference between water and alcohol,’ Mum whispered to me.

‘Oh,’ I said, smiling. ‘A bit like Delphy and sugar?’

Mum laughed. ‘Yes,’ she replied.

Delphina did the same thing with sugar at her outdooring, which probably explained her love of sweets. I looked up and saw Aunt Grace holding Baby Akosua up in the air and saying her full
name.

‘Sarah, Jessica, Akosua-Serwah, Boakye. Akwaaba!’

Everyone began cheering and clapping and I overheard Mum whispering in English to Baby Akosua’s mum.

‘Sarah Jessica?’ Mum asked.

‘Yes, what’s wrong with that?’ Aunt Anita replied. She ignored the look of disbelief on Mum’s face.

‘You really miss that TV show, don’t you?’ Mum questioned.

Ohmigod, Baby Akosua was named after an actress?

‘Sister, you know as well as I do that custom doesn’t let mothers choose names for their children. Fathers do,’ Aunt Anita said, smirking.

‘Ha!’ Mum said, laughing. ‘You know how to influence the outcome though.’

Aunt Anita laughed, as I quietly slipped away from the celebrations and headed for the stairs, armed with my mobile.

As I sat down, Delphina raced towards me.

‘Makeeda, hide me!’ she said.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But I’m your sister!’ Delphina pleaded.

‘And?’

‘You’re so . . .’ she began, but then she raced upstairs.

‘Delphina, Delphina? Even though you cheated, I forgive you,’ Kofi shouted.

‘You?’ I said, horrified.

What was wrong with this kid? Why was he still hanging around with Delphina after their last fiasco? A few months ago, Delphina had convinced him to ask me out, in exchange for a five pound
note. My sister effectively pimped me.

‘I don’t suppose you’d reconsider?’ Kofi said, sitting beside me on the stair.

‘Reconsider what?’ I asked, just as he placed his tiny hand on my knee. ‘You’d better move your hand before I whoop your ass!’

‘Just checking. I don’t go out with girls in braids anyway.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Ten and a half.’

‘Great, take your ten and a half self and . . .’

‘Hiya, Makeeda,’ said a woman dressed head to toe in black and white Kente. ‘I see you’ve met my son.’

‘Yes, Auntie,’ I said, faking a smile.

‘Seeing as you two get on so well, I might have to get you to babysit.’

I don’t flaming think so, love!

‘Well, I think Delphina gets on really well with Kofi, so . . .’ And I hope she cons him out of all his pocket money, I added mentally.

‘There you are!’ Kofi interrupted. He had spotted Delphina at the top of the stairs.

Luckily Kofi’s mother was called away and the gruesome twosome left the stairs and headed to the dining room.

I switched on my phone, expecting at least one message from Nelson, but I had one from Bharti and Mel. I decided to reply to Bharti’s first.

I decided to read Mel’s whilst I waited for Bharti.

Huh? That made absolutely no sense. Laura and I aren’t mates, so why was Mel telling me this?

I waited two minutes before Bharti replied.

I didn’t have time to ask Bharti whether she got an invite to Chessington before receiving another text message.

I deleted the girlfriend bit and put in ‘life’. Even I couldn’t be that mean. The last girl he fancied was only interested in his brother Paul. My phone beeped
just as I was about to put it away but I didn’t recognise the number.

How did she get my number? Stupid question really. Maybe she was being nice. Ohmigod what’s going on, Laura’s being nice?

‘Makeeda?’

I looked up to see Mum standing over me.

‘Mum?’

‘What are you doing here?’ Mum asked.

‘Oh . . .’ I began.

I couldn’t tell her I’m bored because she’d get really angry.

‘I wasn’t feeling well,’ I finally managed.

‘Oh, so text messaging your friends has helped?’

I was stuck. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Besides, how long had she been standing there? Had she seen any of my text messages about Nelson?

‘Right, can you go and help your Aunt Grace in the kitchen, please?’

‘Yes, Mum.’

I headed for the kitchen and found myself watching Afua smiling and helping to serve rice into a huge bowl.

‘Glad you could join us, Makeeda,’ she said under her breath.

‘I’d stop talking. Your breath reeks of garlic – been tasting the food?’ I countered.

I saw a look of complete horror cross her face as she immediately excused herself for the bathroom.

‘I heard that,’ Aunt Grace said from behind me.

‘I . . . I . . .’ I stuttered.

I didn’t want to get into any more trouble.

‘Take this into the living room and pass it round.’

‘Yes, Auntie,’ I said, taking the tray of
atwim
ɔ
and tit-bits. The
atwim
ɔ
were fried biscuits cut into tiny golden squares and were on the left side of the tray whereas the titbits consisted of strips of pastry with peanuts and
raisins. I re-entered the living room and went around with the tray and napkins, when I was stopped by a woman dressed in a mint-coloured ntoma that was covered with yellow flowery patterns.

‘Hello,’ she said.

I saw a glint in her eye. Here it comes, the usual mini test in Twi that I always fail.

‘
Y
ε
fr
ε
wo s
ε
n?
’ she asked

Hold it, I know this one. It’s . . . how old are you? No wait, it’s . . . I’ve got it! It’s ‘what’s your name?’

‘
Y
ε
fr
ε
me
Makeeda,’ I said hoping for the
best.

‘
Ei Makeeda ni?
’ she said, shouting and smiled and then grabbing me by the shoulders. Luckily Auntie Anita took the tray from me before I showered everyone with
atwim
ɔ
and tit-bits.

‘Do you remember me?’ she asked.

I hate that. If you can speak to me in English what the hell is the Twi test about?

‘Um . . .’ I wondered.

I could just be honest and say no, but I’ve done that before. It doesn’t work and I end up looking rude. I’m expected to remember people I met when I was two; end of story. No
consideration given for the fact that they may have changed hairstyles quite dramatically like jerry curl or wet look to anything decent.

‘Of course she does, Auntie Felicia!’ Mum said, suddenly standing behind me. ‘Makeeda, you remember the little boy you used to play with in Ghana?’

‘Er . . .’ Of course I don’t, Mum.

‘The one with the toy lorry you used to fight over? Isaac?’ Mum added.

Ohmigod, him? That kid made my life a misery when I tried to play with that toy. I was only in Ghana for two weeks and I had to spend three days at his house.

‘Isaac! Yeah, sure,’ I replied, giving my best fake smile. ‘Ouch,’ I added, as Mum gave me a none too subtle poke in my back, whilst pretending to adjust my ntoma.

‘This is his mother,’ Mum said.

‘Hello, Auntie,’ I said, almost giving a genuine smile.

‘Makeeda,
wo ho te s
ε
n?
’

I don’t believe it. Is it not enough that her evil son made my life hell for three days; she’s still testing my Twi?

‘
Me ho y
ε
,
Auntie,’ I replied.

That’s it. My Twi is limited to ‘My name is Makeeda’ and ‘I’m fine’. So this is the point I dread, because I just won’t understand the next question and
it’s unlikely she’ll ask for my name again.

‘So how is Isaac?’ Mum asked.

Saved by my mother! That’s when I switched off and excused myself. I was just about to run and hide, when I literally bumped into Afua.

‘Watch it!’ Afua said.

‘Like I would intentionally bump into you, Afua,’ I replied.

‘I heard you trying to speak Twi.’

Great! That’s all I need.

‘What exactly is an outdooring?’ Delphina interrupted. ‘Kofi says it’s the same as a christening.’

‘How come you’re asking me?’ I said suspiciously.

Kofi was standing three feet away from us and pretending badly that he wasn’t listening to our conversation.

‘No reason, I just thought you’d know,’ Delphina said.

‘Listen, Makeeda, if you don’t know, I don’t mind explaining it,’ Afua said.

Ohmigod, why can’t I just hit her and be done with it?

‘No thanks, Afua,’ I said angrily. ‘Kofi is right in a way, as it is a naming day. The thing is, we don’t perform this in front of the Christian God, unless we’re
in church,’ I began.

‘Makeeda, they’re not going to understand the difference between pagan and Christian rituals!’ Afua interrupted. ‘Listen, all you need to know is that a long time ago,
way before Ghanaian people believed in a Christian or Muslim God, they named their babies and introduced them to the world by holding an outdooring.’

It’s not fair. Why couldn’t I explain it like that? I looked at my sister, the traitor.

‘Oh, OK then,’ Delphina said, smiling.

‘Is that it?’ Kofi said, piping up.

‘Yes,’ Afua said, allowing a smug grin to crease her face.

Then I saw it. The look in Delphina’s eye that usually means nothing to anyone else, but I know as ‘I haven’t finished yet’.

‘You know, you didn’t really answer my question, Afua. I mean, we still don’t know what the differences between an outdooring and christening are. Thanks anyway though,’
she said.

Afua stared at her in disbelief, whilst I watched the best little sister in the world run off with her latest sidekick.

‘You know, both of you were right,’ said Aunt Grace, from behind us. We both spun round.

‘Thank you, Auntie,’ Afua said, almost smiling.

Great! I can’t even enjoy myself without her spoiling it for me.

‘Can you two help me in the kitchen, please?’ Aunt Grace asked.

‘Sure, but I have to leave in half an hour,’ Afua replied brightly.

Even Afua has a decent escape route.

‘Something wrong, Makeeda?’ Aunt Grace questioned.

‘No, Auntie,’ I replied hastily.

I spent the next hour helping Aunt Grace, who rewarded me with fried plantain that was sweet, soft and juicy. Unfortunately I had to share it with Delphy and later Tanisha, who arrived with so
many bags of shopping that Dad made us put them in the car before she greeted all the guests. Tanisha was excused from the ceremony because she wasn’t related to Baby Akosua’s
family.

‘Ohmigod, the woman is impossible!’ Tanisha moaned.

‘Who?’

‘Our grandma! She wants me to take some stuff out to Ghana for her.’

Tanisha was leaving the next day to start her voluntary work in our grandmother’s old village.