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STORY TIME WITH PEARL
ASHIA
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I had mixed feelings towards Efua. Sometimes it was of complete disgust and other times it was of pity. She was eight months pregnant and her belly was incredibly protruded, Nana (grandma) always said it could be twins or even triplets. Her pre-natal period had been plagued with petty illnesses which left her frail and fragile most of the times. There were times she lost complete appetite for food and then times when she had cravings for stuff like ‘etew’ with hot pepper and one-man- thousand (crispy fried fishes).Nana was taking so much care of her, she didn’t have to lift a finger. Her bucket of warm water was waiting for her when she woke up each morning. |
Her meals were carefully prepared with selected ingredients in their right proportions, a well balanced meal to keep her and the unborn strong and healthy. “She needs to eat well so that after delivery she can have some nutritious milk to feed her baby”, Nana would tell me any time I moaned about the special treatment Efua was receiving.
In front of Nana’s room stood a chair we used to call the ‘lazy chair’ and that was her favourite. In the mornings after her warm water baths, she would sit in the chair, lean back and relax. She always munched on a chewing stick or ‘shire’ (a piece of Swiss-oven baked white clay). And thank heavens if she was nibbling a piece of ‘shire’. If it was a chewing stick, she’d spit and spit and spit. I found that a very disgusting habit which put me off eating anything from the house.
“Can’t you at least find a container to spit into?” I yelled at her one morning. I had had enough of her bad habit. But she only gave me an attitude look and carried on spitting.
Efua was my youngest Aunt. There was only a year’s difference between us. We grew
up together in the same compound, my mother her elder sister and her mother, my grandmother. I felt sorry for her because aside the nausea, she was going through so much complication.
“Kokrokooo!” cried the rooster. Morning had broken. It was a brand new day in Sikaman. The skies were clear. Birds chirped incessantly as the broods cackled and flew out of their coop. My three little cousins woke up reluctantly. They stirred, yawned, stretched and rubbed their eyes, a clear sign they wanted more sleep.
Kwamena was the worst kid to try and wake up. He’d cling to his mat and pillow with such strength that it took only my uncle to get him out of bed.
Sometimes he had to be spanked. Then there was seven year old Ewuraba who had a bed-wetting problem which had defied all Nana’s secret remedies.
When the kids were fully awake, each of them went to the kitchen to fetch a piece of charcoal and ‘brodetre’ (the fibrous part of a plantain peel).
They beat them together on a grinding stone and scrubbed their teeth to a sparkling-white finish. A substitute for fluoride and toothbrush but it was even better.
Efua sat in the lazy chair as usual. The kids were sweeping the compound and feeding the goats and fowls. Nana was at the grinding stone, blending ginger and ‘nunum’ (bitter leaves) for her once-a-week enema session.
“Agyei! ……..agyei! ……..maame”, Efua screamed. Her water had broken and labour had begun. Nana and I rushed to her aid. Kwamena was then sent to fetch Maame Quansima. She was the village midwife. Though without any qualification whatsoever, she had 25 years experience in midwifery. Most of the youngsters in the village, including me were delivered by her.
Kwamena returned in minutes with Maame Quansima. She was a small black woman with a bold and grave face. From her eyes, one could tell that in spite of time and bad living conditions she had once been beautiful.
Although a stack illiterate, she was very professional. ‘Push harder … go on push!’ Efua wailed in agony as she made an effort to push. After nearly two hours of excruciating labour and the midwife’s effort, amidst the tears and sweat, the head showed up. Slowly, Efua pushed until we heard the frail cry of a baby. And soon the slippery little thing wriggled out of its mother. It was a boy! Maame Quansima scooped him in a white towel and patted him clean. Efua felt nostalgic. Maternal instincts started arising. The agony she had suffered the entire nine month period was soon forgotten as her face creased to a sparkling smile. But that was not all. Half an hour later, another baby slipped out and another ….
Nana had predicted right. Efua had just delivered two bouncy boys and a little girl. Nana’s lips broke into a song of praise. She was beside herself with joy. I felt warm and a bit teary. I was happy for my aunt.
Within three hours she had brought to the world a quarter of a dozen children, she was three times a mother. She was even happier when her husband returned from there city the next day. Their lives were complete.
Life in the village was simple, not appealing to most people but I loved it.
The communal and oneness spirit, the I-can-leave-my-door-open-at-night-and-not-worry-about-criminals spirit, the fresh, unadulterated air, the natural and fresh food---------- no artificial additives, no food colour, no flavouring, no chemicals. Just natural.
That afternoon our kitchen was busy. Pestles pounded into mortars, it was ‘abeduro (palm cream and green leaves soup) and fufu --- proper soul food to congratulate the mother and welcome the triplets. The villagers poured in to wish them well. It was a wonderful day! Preparations soon began towards their abadzinto (naming ceremony).
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