The loss of the briefcase with the ransom money weighed heavily on Ato’s mind as he turned the Volvo from the Tudu Road and onto the road in front of the Ministry of Education offices at Kinbu. The transport yard at the Kinbu station of the State Transport Corporation was crowded. He wasn’t very familiar with the place although he knew the Kinbu area of Central Accra very well. He didn’t even know there was an STC station there, complete with passenger parking space.
He manouvered the car carefully through a maze of hawkers, shoppers and sightseers, trying not to run over any feet. He found an empty spot, parked the car, got out and opened the door for his wife. He was trying to be on his best behavior as he tried to set the stage for breaking the news about the missing briefcase to her.
He elbowed his way through the crowd, creating space for Nana Ajoa while keeping a vigilant eye on her purse. A young man with a huge ‘afro’ stepped in front of them, waving a bottle filled with a strange pink liquid.
“Blow your hair!”
Ato shoved him impatiently aside.
“Hey, hey massa make you no push me, o! Plent-ay space dey for everybod-ay.”
Ato grabbed his wife’s left hand and guided her gently through the throng, ignoring the young man’s protest.
There was a Setra bus idling on the loading dock with ‘SOGAKOPE’ showing through its destination display window but no one was boarding or disembarking. Nana Ajoa was astonished that despite the crowded parking lot, the station itself was relatively quiet.
She knew what her mother looked like. Her image was imprinted in her mind’s eye and, since she had started thinking more and more about her, she has began noticing, each time she looked in the mirror, that she bore a little resemblance to her.
As they were walking towards the ticketing window, they saw a woman in a green and grey flowered head scarf, a navy blue blouse with white vertical stripes over GTP textile slit and cover cloth. She was standing beside a huge ‘chopbox’ with an old but seemingly expensive suitcase sitting on top of it. She had her back towards them so it was more out of intuition than recognition that Nana Ajoa called out, ‘Mama!’
Mama Aku nearly jumped but quickly composed herself. It was well that she did, otherwise she would have been knocked to the ground when her daughter rushed into her arms. She began to smile but when she felt Nana Ajoa’s body shaking with sobs, she could not hold back her own tears. Ato looked around, slightly embarrassed. But, when he saw two or three strangers wiping tears off their own faces, he was slightly touched.
The drive back to Dansoman was smooth. Traffic in Accra was always light during the weekends, especially in the mornings. Ato decided to take a longer route to give Mama Aku and Nana Ajoa some time to strengthen their mother-daughter bond before they got home. Nana Ajoa had decided to ride in the back seat with her mother so Ato had placed Mama Aku’s suitcase, which was having a hard time fitting in the trunk with the sizeable chop-box, on the passenger seat beside him. He was happy about Mama Aku’s arrival for many reasons but he was especially grateful that his wife was getting the opportunity to borrow from the wisdom and comfort of an older woman during a difficult time. He was also happy about being able to buy some time to think of how to break the news about the lost briefcase to Nana Ajoa. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about his own daughter. He missed her dearly.
Nana Ajoa was surprised to find that her mother spoke Akan very well although she kept switching from dialect to dialect. Sometimes, in the middle of an Asante Twi sentence, she would swing in a Fante word. Other times, she would attempt an Akuapem Twi proverb and end it in Fante. The most important thing for Nana Ajoa, however, was that they could communicate. She even enjoyed listening to her mother’s way of speaking Akan. She kept hugging and laying her head on Mama Aku as if she wanted to make up for all the lost years. Strangely, it seemed they had stepped back into each other’s lives as if they had never parted.
Nana Ajoa kept thinking about her sister too. In her reply to Nana Ajoa’s letter, Mama Aku had mentioned that she had another daughter in Accra. As Ato turned the Volvo towards the Asylum Down Road leading to the Overhead Bridge near Kwame Nkrumah Circle, Nana Ajoa was wondering how Baaba would feel when she got back home to meet two new family members.
“So my sister’s name is Emilia?”
Ato looked back briefly, wondering whether he really heard what he heard, his mind suddenly going back to the night Kwesi had returned home with a prostitute. But he quickly disnissed that thought, thinking, “certainly, the world cannot be that small.” He could not see how a woman like Mama Aku could have raised a daughter to become a prostitute.
“Yes,” Mama Aku said. “She used to live with my friend at Lartebiokorshie but my friend doesn’t know where she is now. We will go and find her after we find my granddaughter. We shall find them. Both of them.”
Those words comforted Ato too. Although he did not believe in voodoo, he wished Mama Aku had brought some voodoo from Eweland to help find his daughter.
