Upon arrival at the airport in the country of Ghana, I waited anxiously for our luggage. After spotting the yellow ribbon that had been tightly tied to it I approached the conveyer belt hastily and grabbed our bags. We placed them on a cart and proceeded to find the family “I never met” but only spoke with over long distance phone calls. My cousin “Ti-ti” spotted me first and my mom looked at him as his face was vague but familiar. She smiled when she realized who he was, and just to the corner a large group of women rushed towards us, greeting us with smiles and tears of joy and sadness. My aunt, dubbed “Sister Mama” let out a loud cry, expressing her grave sorrow for the death of my grandma. My mom hugged and whispered consolations in her ear to calm her down. After that was settled, Our luggage’s were placed in an rugged jeep, then from there we drove on the rough roads along with many aggressive drivers towards what would be my home for the next few weeks Accra, New town. (No offense to my cuzzos, but there was nothing new about it).
The drive lasted for only 15 minutes when we arrived at the village, I looked around quietly, for it wasn’t what I expected. It was a collaboration of old rough looking houses, with a smelly gutter that ran throughout the whole village, small children wearing worn clothing and villagers normally completing their daily tasks. Some people young and old, carrying heavy gallons of water on their heads, some selling small provisions, and some cooking with their pots outside “for there is no such thing as a kitchen in this area”. We approached the gate of the “family’s house” and on it was a blown up picture of my grandma with the words “Celebration of Life”, we walked through the gate were in the rest of my family walked about and greeted us hospitably.
Over the course of the next few days I learned a few words of my mother’s native language and when I spoke it “with my American accent” it tickled everyone pink but they applauded anyhow for the effort. I witnessed the extremely long preparation of evening meals, cultural group performances, and so forth. On the third day, we went to Kpone, “my grandma’s village”, where her only living sister remained. Our one hour drive there, was followed by a bittersweet meeting, “like the one at the airport”. We were all happy to meet for the first time, but sad that it was on the expense of my late grandmother. We sat, laughed, ate, they talked and I listened, then we left to only be reunited a couple days later for my grandma’s wake-keeping.
On the day of her Wake, back in Newtown, I watched as my grandmother’s body was transported from the morgue to the back of an ambulance. We trailed behind the ambulance back to the family house so her friends who couldn’t travel with us to Kpone could wish her a last farewell. The sirens wailed and the people cried, hard. From there we went to Kpone, Ghana. The same reaction from the people in Newtown relived itself Kpone. Then finally everything became still and quiet after the men carried her body to the same exact room her father’s body was laid. The women “elders” bathed her and prepared for her wake-keeping that night. I left with a cousin of mine, and then returned during nightfall to loud singing and dancing as I was reminded its “A Celebration Of Her Life”. People danced around her body, but I couldn’t, I just looked at her as tears profusely ran down my cheeks. “Don’t Cry”! , they told me…”it’s a celebration, so dance for Grandma”…but I couldn’t. I grabbed a seat, and stared at her body and drapery for an hour or so….She looked different…They put makeup on her along with lipstick and shiny long earrings …to be honest she looked like totally different person…even I had doubts…but I knew it was her…her eyes looked the same though they were closed…We became tired…….left, then went home to catch a few hours of rest for her burial the next day.
Though it’s still surreal that she’s gone, I miss her. It strikes me in an uneasy way that now that I’m here, EXACTLY where she was just a couple months ago, once alive, I cannot see her, nor walk with her, or be given the opportunity to let her introduce me to family I’ve only heard about. I met her family with the exclusion of her because of death, this wasn’t how I intended it would be. She left the U.S a year and half ago, never would I have imagined the next time I saw her would be on her death bed, placid. Now, she is my guardian angel, my star, my inspiration, my motivation, my love, my A-n-g-e-l-i-c grandma.
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