Hello Blogsville,
Happy new year and yes, shame on me for putting up my first blog-post of the year in March. I have no excuse, and can only promise to do better. So without much ado, here goes...
You know how
difficult it is to find that person who makes bearing the inherent risks of a committed
monogamous relationship seem like peanuts to trade for the joy of being
together in all the ways that count? No? Yea, me neither…
You know how
people are always saying a good man or woman is hard to find? Finding such a
(wo)man seems to increasingly be a Professor Acheampong designed Calculus II proof
question. You know the answer. It’s been given to you in the question. And yet,
there are a myriad of wrong tangents you could go off on if one does not
exercise utmost caution in one’s approach.
Imagine the exhilarating
feeling of accomplishment when you are finally able to prove that when ‘x’
jumps to Mars and comes back, it is still ‘x’. You heave a huge sigh of relief
knowing that at least you’re assured full marks for that question.
But wait a
minute. You’re not home free yet. You have to ensure that you have not broken
any mathematical law, and that you have used every relevant piece of
information in the question. It is possible that you have proved that when ‘x’
jumps to Mars and comes back, it is still ‘x’. However, imagine the horror if
you come out of the examination room only to realize the question asked you to
prove that when ‘x’ jumps to Mars wearing a Speedo suit of 5 pounds mas
That, my
friends, is my convoluted (forgive!) attempt at describing the sinking feeling
you get when you find the (wo)man of your dreams and s/he is from a part of the country or
globe your parents forbid you to wed from.\
You know how football,
the map of Ghana and Wofa Atta’s (bless his soul) funeral seems to suggest that
we are one people? That oneness is in no way true when it comes to marriage,
make no mistake. When it comes to marriage, all 56 or so ethnic groups are
every vocal about what they will and will not accept. And ethnic stereotyping (a
canker which unfortunately seems to transcend education, religion and football)
rears its very potent, very ugly, timeless head. Almost every family has its
list.
I hope I will
not be thrown under the proverbial train for being that foolishly courageous
one to point out that the chief priest has stained teeth when I say that most
Ghanaian families, especially Akan ones, are not particularly enthusiastic
about welcoming Voltarians into the family, or ‘sending’ one of their own into
a Voltarian family, as the case may be.
I recently
caught up with an old friend who was dating the sweetest boy I have ever come across,
let’s call him Edem. I inquired after Edem, feeling smug for remembering his
name only to be told Edem was history. “Mommy must have been crushed”, I said.
Edem was in charge of the teen’s chapel in their church and Awo’s mom, having
observed his service and dedication as the head of the youth ministry, often
joked that she could not have picked better for her daughter if it had been up
to her to choose.
Awo quietly
disclosed, “That is what I thought too, but she confessed during one of our
post break-up mother-comforts-daughter sessions that although she loved Edem,
she was never comfortable with where he came from and so perhaps it was all for
the best. Imagine that!” I could not imagine…
Apparently,
within the Volta region itself, they are not holding hands and singing ‘Kumbaya’
by a fire-place. There appears to be a case of Northern and Central versus
Southern going on, or as someone put it less diplomatically, everyone else
versus the Anlos. Naturally, my Anlo friends insist ‘they just hatin’. It can
however be quite serious. I recently sat down to lunch with a friend from Peki
who was telling me about his parents’ stated preference that he NOT bring a
southern Voltarian home. He further disclosed how this feeling was so deeply ingrained
in the family that an aunt had three unmarried daughters between the ages of 33
and 38 still at home because these poor girls seemed to have acquired a taste
for Anlo men.
I expressed the
sentiment that one would think as a parent, one’s first priority would be the
happiness of your kids. But the thing is, for most parents, they truly believe
they are looking out for their kids and saving them from a lifetime of misery with
these prohibitions. Many have personally witnessed or experienced things that
made their minds up and so we may even say have valid reasons. But this does
not ease the pain of star-crossed relationships, nor make it right.
Pardon my
idealism but I just fail to see how it’s looking out for your offspring when
you refuse to acknowledge your children and grandchildren after eight years of
marriage to their ‘undesirable’ spouse (as in the case of my neighbor). I’m
unable to see how denying your children and grandchildren your presence and
support is in their best interest. A mother disowns her daughter and refuses to
go to her bedside as her daughter lies dying of cancer at 35 because she
married from a tribe she does not like. And whom does this help? How?
While we’re
being idealistic, shouldn’t your ultimate goal be their happiness? Granted, you’ll
sleep, and eventually, rest easier knowing they married someone from your
village. But should you permit their not doing so to rob both of you of
whatever time you have left together? Who knows how much time that is? And are
there not more pressing issues in this life?
I know this will
probably not change (m)any minds but can we at least think a bit more about it
when it gets to our turn? No? Okay, then consider this writing therapy for me
*sigh*.
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