Unknowingly, I told a lie

God's plans are not my plans, no Sir, no Mam. I learn this more and more over time. Just a few days ago, I wrote a post titled: 'On having a dirty house and why I won't clean up the crumbs, no matter who is visiting.' So there, right there in the title, I lied. And yet, just a few days ago I sincerely meant each and every word I wrote. It's what's so temperamental about me and perhaps you, perhaps all of us? So much is about 'that' very moment, the present, the now. On Friday, I returned home from work to find two brothers (my sons) fighting. It was unclear if fists had been raised or if just words had been thrown like punches but the younger of the two was on the floor sobbing. I immediately set to work, like Columbo, trying to find the trail to solve the crime. I had my most serious 'mum voice' on when I heard the key opening the door and my husband tentatively shouting, 'Hi, I've got Harry with me.' My first thought 'Oh no, not again! The last time we saw Harry, the kids had to be told off!' Then my next thought was, 'But it's Friday!' - the house is at its dirtiest on Friday because I clean at the weekend. So, I swallowed my pride thinking how proud I was and am of the new me that refuses to get bogged down in futile, petty details. Our home is 'homely' I said to myself and continued on with life. Then, later that night, I got a message from my husband just before midnight saying that our friend (who he was out with) had missed his last train home and would be heading back home with him and would be sleeping over. Already tucked up in bed and slowly drifting off, I leapt out of bed and began 'the clean'. I cleaned the bathroom, made a makeshift bed on our not very recently vacuumed sitting room floor, changed pillow cases and found extra blankets and returned to bed, smelling of cleaning products and feeling ever so slightly like a fraud. Well, crumbs are annoying and no one wants to willingly revel in crumbs surely?

One thing that I did learn is this: Friendship and kinship and relationship does genuinely surpass the embarrassment of crumbs. Watching my sons engaging with Harry (a close friend of their fathers) a man full of rich experience, a gifted musician and educator, an actor and teller of great stories. The boys deeply entranced by his knowledge and his sharing of facts, by his charm and their not quite knowing what are truths or half truths, just about able to keep up with his quick wit and cleverness with words. The morning after brought more delight in the form of conversations over teas and coffees, the thirteen year old playing guitar for a seasoned pro and receiving feedback that I can only imagine, will stay with him forever. Later in the day, before lunch, we all piled into the car and drove Harry back home to Leamington. He entertained us the whole journey and even when traffic slowed us, his running commentary on the pedestrian carrying an umbrella and walking just ahead of our car, kept us giggling for a good while and again later on when we spoke of it once more. When we arrived at Harry's home, he nervously invited us in. I was delighted. I am not alone. Others worry about their crumbs too. Harry's home was perfect. Spectacular. Filled with all of the vibrancy and range and brilliance and precision and extrovertedness that is Harry. 'Your flat describes you, without you having to' I told him. It reminded me of one of my favourite books 'Paris Interiors' that featured the homes of many creatives. It the home I dream of for myself when I think of the self without a husband or children. I think I made my husband a little sad when I described this but it isn't meaning to be so. Just that idea of a place to be that inspires and nurtured, surrounded by books and music and plants and photographs and vinyl and candles and more books. A haven. A place to be. It is a wonderful thing to have friends to share with your children. It is a privilege for them to learn from the experience of others, others that are other than their parents too. It was a delight to watch Harry doing what Harry does, with all the flair and nuance and cleverness with just a dash of cheekiness, just like a musician. My youngest wants to play trumpet now, 'just like Harry'. Don't we all. Don't we all. 

I wanna be like you

A couple of weeks ago, my hubby took our boys along with him to his new shared studio space. He was keen to get his section of the shared space up and running and because I could see that look in his eye that I know only too well means that he wasn't really going to be 'present', I suggested that we all head to the space to do what he had to do. One of the things that I've noticed along the way is that the kids love tagging along with their dad, doing his jobs and chores right alongside him. It's not something that I do naturally, taking them along with me to do my stuff. I suspect that it may be a bit of a dad thing to do. I certainly remember that wherever my dad went he took my older brother with him and us three girls were pretty jealous, left wondering what they were going to get up to. My dad always had something to pick up, someone to see, medicine to deliver to a patient he'd treated or something like that and culturally in west africa it's just what's done. When hubby and I were visiting family in Ghana, we would often end up in random places because we were accompanying my cousins on their day to day forays. It's what I find so charming about many of my favourite gangster films, that culturally embedded stuff. Like in Goodfellas when Henry has to pick up his brother whose in a wheelchair and take him back to the house, he's got to drop off the guns at Jimmy's and all the time he's leaving instructions for his brother to keep stirring the sauce that's on the hob that he's making for the family get together later that day! The point I guess I'm trying to make, is that my kids seem to just get this stuff. That unspoken stuff. Watching hubby showing the eldest one how to measure up, then jumping in the car to go and get wood cut to specified measurements and taking it to the space, then drilling and screwing and knocking up boxes to house pieces of equipment. Well, I could just see the excitement spilling out of them. And if there was a soundtrack to accompany what was taking place, it would have sounded like this! I don't have a list of what it is that makes a dad or what it is that makes a good dad but watching these three hanging out just doing …. this stuff, I realised it's this. The hanging out stuff. The witnessing your dad doing stuff he loves, the being a part of it instead of apart from it. That stuff. And even though their dad drives me a little crazy with never sitting still and always being on the go and always having a project, I love his energy, imagination and his ambition and I love that he is their dad. 

The great view of the city from dad's shared studio space aka 'the cave'.

Uncle, Clans, Men and Boys

'Uncle' - Original photograph by Stuart Tonge

This is my uncle. He is married to my Aunty who was a half sister to my dad, they shared a father. A few nights ago I had a dream and my uncle was in it and when I woke up, I was sad. Time is tick, tick, ticking and I doubt very much that there is enough time for my boys to meet my uncle nor my dear Aunty. This makes me sad and a little crazy. It is making me have dreams, lots at the moment, night after night which is unusual for me and usually marks a period of restlessness. To feel that you belong in more than one place can be a blessing and a curse. It taunts and comforts, it pushes and pulls, attracts and repels, it is beautiful and corrosive.

I long for great men like my uncle to be a part of my sons lives as they grow. Of course, there are already great men in their lives, not least their own father and paternal grandfather. But I mean men from my clan, you know? But they are missing. Either dead, estranged or living miles and miles and miles away, far far far away. I fantasise endlessly about what could have been, picturing these men, these missing clan of mine drawing close to my sons, showing them the way, passing on traditions. Alas this is not my truth.

So to my little ones named after my clansmen, a name is all I have to give but my hope is that you will cherish these and that they will serve always as a reminder of those men of whom you are a part, that came before. Allotey and Allotei, let these names and more help to shape and form your history. Perhaps not now but in the future and perhaps like me these names will be the superglue that keeps you together and makes you, you. It always made such perfect sense to me that I was named after both of my grandmothers. How fair I always thought, that my parents divided this history of theirs and mine right down the middle resulting in a sum of shared parts, how very fair. Dear boys I hope my calculations feel fair in measure, this is my hope. This is my desire.

Incidental collage of map and my sweet uncle's feet, a photo taken forever ago ..

At the Acquaye Family House in Accra, 2003. Libation in progress as my Aunty presents myself and my husband to the elder men of my family