Page 57 - Obruni In Ghana | Amber Lockridge
P. 57
OBRUNI IN GHANA 55
“Eh, but you are American, you have money. You have to be buying them things. Doesn’t maame work for you in the house?”
“I’m only a student. I do not have a lot of money.”
“Ah, so you just sit there in the house and eat fufuu like that?” I can barely keep the anger out of my voice but it’s spread liberally across my features.
“No. I work like any of my sisters. I sweep and dust the windows and help cook.”
“Eh?” She turns a surprised look on Ama, who smiles and laughs.
“Kukuwa, o ye edwuma paa (she works hard)” my host sister says affectionately.
“Hmm.” The woman turns back to my sister and animatedly interrogates her about a variety of questions I could just as well answer. She continues to refer to me as oboroni, having failed to absorb or consciously rejecting the knowledge of my given name. I am left sitting behind her, ashamed and angry, listening to her discuss me as though I’m not even there.
