you never forget your first…

This is a story about two girls. Before I go on this isn’t about no lesbo stuff so close your mind on that one. These girls met at school, both of Ghanaian decent, so both knew what the other one was going through. As such they soon became fast friends.

Growing up in the UK with Ghanaian parents could at times be confusing. There were certain things that “you wouldn’t understand because you were British”, but lo and behold you would do what the British people do like go to a pub, go out after school, do anything apart from stay at home and do chores or homework, then they will be quick to remind you that “you are a Ghanaian”.

The fear of God was put into you when it came to boys whereby for the longest time I thought that I could get pregnant from kissing, such that I really didn’t have my first serious boyfriend until I was in my 20s. As we got older, we learnt at a very young age that if we ever bought a boy home who was a Nigerian or Jamaican (all boys from the Caribbean were Jamaican) then no. In fact the best possible solution would be to be a Ghanaian boy home. Furthermore, if you have Ashanti parents, preferably not Ga, Ewe or “God forbid” a Northerner, it is desirable but not compulsory that he be of Ashanti origin but any of the Akan tribes is acceptable.

Me and Bernie were two peas in a pod. She was part of my family and I was part of hers. We were inseparable, we went through the same parental pains, we were like sisters. Until one day when we fell out big time. The usual girl pettiness that should have blown over but instead it lasted years and then we disappeared off each other’s radar. Our parents still mixed in the same circles so once in a while I would bump into them at a function, but it took almost 18 years until we finally met up again.

Don’t get me wrong, I have met some great people and my friends Z, P and E are the best friends a girl could ever have, but just like a boy, a car, or a house, you never forget your first best friend.

Bernie’s sister was leaving for the states tomorrow and she is going back to London tomorrow so I only had today really as I missed out on Wednesdays mall date. I get to the airport and there she was. Hasn’t changed a bit except she has shed all the baby weight she had in school and looked even tinier than her 5″3. We did the girlie hug thing, and slipped back into old times. She was always the most outspoken of the two of us (most of my thoughts don’t go past this blog people), and we gave each other the condensed version of what we had missed out on each others lives. Now I said that her parents were like my parents. So as you can imagine, the first topic of conversation was the topic of “why are you not married yet”. Like me, Bernie is approaching mid 30 and still single. So it was a double dosage, poor Bernie was so embarrassed at the mini interrogation I was getting and tried to get them to stop, but like mine, they totally ignored her and kept on.

The good thing about other people’s parents is like other people’s parents, when it gets too much, you can just hand them back, so I didn’t mind. In fact it is always good to know someone else is going through what I do, it doesn’t make me feel like I’m going insane so much.

After Bernie’s sister checked in, we went and sat at the Eurowhatever bar by the car park opposite the arrivals. Ir was pretty packed, but then it would be as it is the only place apart from the Landing restaurant in the vicinity. We asked for a drinks menu. I don’t know why we bothered as they didn’t have half the drinks that was on it. Bernie’s mum asked for a malta guinness. She wasn’t told that they didn’t have it so would she mind the alternative, instead she was just given another malt drink and basically told to take it or leave it. Bernie asked for a Vodka and Orange. Instead of telling her that there was no orange he just went off and said nothing until we called the waiter over and asked why the drinks were taking so long, and that’s when he finally admitted it.

We were feeling peckish but at 20GHS for a couple of shrimps, we decided not to bother. The girls are vegetarians and so the overpriced fish was the only option. A vegetarian in Ghana, well there are not many who can grasp that concept. Apparently they went somewhere and asked for a fish dish but told the place was out of fish. They were offered a beef alternative and when they said they don’t eat meat. They were then told that there is chicken then, well they were not specific I guess. On another instance an auntie made a soup with meat and fish and told them to “just take the fish from it”, well it’s Ghana, eating meat is just part of life.

It got to 9 and after joking around and taking photos, we said our goodbyes. It was good seeing the whole family again, I hope it doesn’t take so long before we meet up again.

So now, that’s all of my friends gone back to London. They all ask when am I coming up. What can I say, at 1777ghs a ticket it looks like 2013, unless there’s a turn of fortune and I get a new job this year which pays enough for me to sort out the stuff in my house and allows for a holiday treat. I’m not asking for much.

Well its getting late and I have to be up at the crack of dawn for the last day of the working week. Still trying to trawl through the backlog, I may have to come in on the weekend at this rate, but let’s see how tomorrow goes, by some miracle of miracles I may get it all done. I say it but I’m laughing as I write that line, who am I kidding.

But anyhoo, its a good night from me, see you later…

About efiasworld

The black Bridget Jones and an English woman in Ghana
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