The People Called Family

They came in their numbers at dawn. When Aya heard the distant wailing, she thought she was dreaming but it got louder so she woke up, and it became louder still. Then she heard the knocks at the main gate. She also heard Yoofi walk out of his room to go and open the gates. The wailing was now at its loudest.

Owuo ayε ma di ooo owuo wa yε ma di. Ah we di mi ewu” screamed a woman, she was addressing death as though it was human. She said he had taken something precious from her. Her voice was hoarse, perhaps, from shouting too much.

Aya got out of her bed and crept towards the window. She could see them, they were clad in the traditional black and red mourning attires. Many of them were women who wore black scarfs on their heads, black wrappers around their waists, and red bands on their wrists. The screaming woman was lying on the ground, and the others stood in a somber semi-circle around her; their quieter sobs, the chorus to her mournful song.

The woman stopped crying to blow her nose into the cloth she had around her waist. The sound tore through the compound, loud and long, it felt like she was forcing decades of goo out of her insides. She looked up towards someone, Aya could not see the person from where she hid behind her bedroom curtains so she tried stretching her neck and standing on her tiptoes. A hand reached down to help the screaming woman stand up and sit on the bench in the compound. This time Aya got a good look the wailing woman. She was fair and lean, she had a protruding forehead, a big flat nose, and thick dark lips. Just like Paapa.

“Yoofi, my son, tell me what happened.” the woman was saying to Yoofi. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and still had tears in them.

Yoofi was about to speak but was interrupted by a lanky old man. “Young man, it is too early to talk about what happened. Tell your sisters to bring your aunt and the rest of us some water, then call your mother for us. This is a matter for older people to address” the man cleared his throat.

Aya slipped into the black and white dress that hung on the door of her room while she waited to be called to serve the mourners; It was the same one she had worn to the hospital yesterday. The same one Paapa rested his head on when in the car while she watched as his breath stopped and pupils became still. She shook her head fiercely in an attempt to clear the memory.

Yoofi didn’t come to call her. Aya went back to the window.

The old man was addressing Mama now. “Nana Esi, thank you for receiving us, and for telling us what happened. It is the wish of the elderly in every house that they are buried by the younger ones but death has his own timetable and has decided to call my nephew Joojoe.” He cleared his throat again and continued. “As custom demands, we shall meet here again on Tuesday to have the one-week rites and announce the funeral arrangements. Send word to your family, and take heart.”

Aya sat on her bed and blocked her ears, tears flowed freely from her eyes and there was a sudden tightening in her chest that made it hard to breathe.

Yoofi finally came into her room. He was dragging in two suitcases and a large handbag.

“Who are those for?” Aya wanted to ask, but she said nothing.

“The people called family,” he said, answering the question in her eyes.

The Hostel Manager, The Programmer and Me ;)

Tadaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!

So as you may have noticed, I recently acquired a brand new name! Rosa Antoinette ( Kuukua Annang Asante ( here’s the part where I do my happy dance and display all my 32 and couple more teeth lol.) Yes, I got married to a very beautiful person Francis Asante. Anyone who has met this man will understand how easy it was for me to  “fall” for him, and how privileged I am to share life with him . I am still working on finding the words to describe how I feel, God really outdid himself on this one. Maybe I will share that in another post.Right now I just want to share a bit of my joy, and some pictures  with you.

How we met…

Put simply, we were sold the same room at a hostel by a crook of a hostel manager called Pa George ( Shout outs to all the GIJ alumnae who can relate- Anthony Jackson, Jemila, Ini and the rest!). This was in 2010 I think, when I was studying for a Diploma in Communication Studies at the Ghana Institute of Journalism, and he was studying Computer Science at Ashesi University which was then located at Labone.

When it was time for us to move in, my roommate Araba and I were shown a room which was already being occupied by Francis and his roommate Henry! Of course I was angry, but my mother was angrier, you should have seen how she lashed out at the old man. Pa George eventually gave Araba and I a new room ( a better deal actually, thanks to Mama) but I had to meet the guys who “stole” our room and I did meet one of them – The One. We became friends, very good friends,(ok we dated, but you know our parents don’t like hearing tins like that ah)  and well, here we are now!

Lesson: In all things give thanks – even for the Pa Georges of your life! lol

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These young vendors made magic happen for me. I’d totally recommend them to you, check them out 0n instagram!

Photography: The MemoryLane Crew

Kente Dress: Zoya_ 233

Hair: RevUp Salon Gh

MakeUp: Lamisi MakeUp Artistry