Maame(21)

“You’ll wear yourself out,” she continues. “No wonder you were sounding so miserable on the phone as of late. You’ve been doing too much. Your father isn’t well and he needs professionals looking after him, not a twenty-three-year-old.”

“I’m twenty-five, Mum.”

“Yes, of course.” She raises her eyebrows. “It’s because you’re not married, so my brain thinks you must be younger.”

Wow.

“How has your father been doing anyway? I try to talk to him, but he doesn’t understand me, I think.”

“He’s better,” I answer truthfully. “You were right about that.”

She stops to look at me as if I’ve stated the obvious. “I am never wrong,” she says. “All is well. Maybe now you can feel comfortable living your life in your new flat. Do you have a boyfriend yet?”

I remember Ben’s text and how I’ve yet to reply. The longer I leave it, the more I feel it’s too late. “No, Mum, I don’t.”

She drops her arms from the line. “That’s weird, isn’t it?” she says, looking at me. “You know, you’re so pretty. I know all mothers say that about their daughters, but many mothers are lying. You actually are beautiful, so I don’t understand it. Twenty-five and no boyfriend, ever.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re not into girls, are you?”

“No, Mum, I’m not.”

“Huh, very weird then.” She pushes her mouth down, hitching up the sleeves of her tunic. “When do you plan to get married?” Before I can answer, she says, “You don’t have long. I know you think you do because you’re twenty-five, but it is only men who can make babies whenever. For us women, there is a clock.” She makes a grabbing motion with her hand, so I give her another clothes peg. “Time is running low because you’ll have to meet the man,” she continues, “date, then wait for him to propose, be engaged, then marriage before you even think of children, especially if you’re going to have more than one. You want more than one?”

“Maybe.”

She sighs. “How can you not know, Maame? How can you not think of these things?”

“I do, but children are worth really thinking about,” I say. “Looking after children properly … it’s hard.”

“I know that, I am a mother.” There’s more to being a mother than giving birth … “You need not think too hard, because for women, babies are natural. It is men who need the help. You’ll be fine once you start to have them.” I want to say: I’d like to be more than a “fine” mother, but it doesn’t come out in time. “Also, you have me to guide you, if you are scared.”

I don’t say anything about this.

“Are you looking in the right places?” Mum asks. “Like I have said, church is a good place. You want to make sure you get the right partner; you have to pray about it, pray that God sends you the right man. Look at what happened to me and your father. I don’t want that for you, my only daughter.” Seconds later, she adds, “Who will you marry? Will he be Black?”

“Mum, I don’t know. I don’t have a crystal ball.”

She whips her head round at this. “I should hope not. Crystal balls are witchcraft. Anyway, I don’t mind if he is white—with the time it is taking you, we can’t afford to eliminate too many prospects. No, so long as he is God-fearing, that is number one, and financially stable, number two. Although, someone from our own culture will be easier for you.”

“You just said you don’t mind.”

“I still have a preference,” she says. “Dating a Black, if not Ghanaian, man will be easier because there is less to explain. Do you understand this?”

I’m about to say I do but—

“That way it’s not always ‘why do you do this?’ and ‘why do you think that?’ They will already know because they have lived it. When someone doesn’t understand you, how you are, why you are, you will find yourself fighting losing battles every day. They will seem small at first, but you will spend your life watching them grow, in size and importance. Listen to me, Maame. Your mother is very wise in these things.”

I can’t help but agree with parts of her statement because I know she’s speaking from experience. Dad, although also Ghanaian, wasn’t the best husband and James and I grasped that early on. This still dramatically calls into question Mum’s it would be easier if he were … manifesto, but I do see where she’s coming from. Dad’s foibles are a him thing, not a Ghanaian thing. When well, he was very private, unlearned in effective communication, and was unwilling to spend money, opting instead to save for emergencies—not unlike myself, I realize.

Marriage and fatherhood to him were more an act of duty than anything else, so he had succeeded so long as there was a roof over our heads and enough food in our fridge. The problem for my parents was that Mum needed more. We’d watch her try, especially with home-cooked food and spontaneous hugs, but it was almost as if Dad didn’t enjoy being touched. I thought maybe just in front of his children, but one day I asked myself, what if it extends beyond that?

If they were two people I was casually observing, I’d have come to the quick conclusion that they just weren’t a match. But because they’re my parents, I labored under the delusion that I’d be happier if my parents were together rather than apart, and I’d alternate between who was letting the other down. It used to be Dad, then Mum started to leave and he got ill, so it was Mum letting him down, but by then it was too late for him to ask for all that she’d previously tried to give. Her heart was no longer in it.