In the Dark Continent - I

“Akwaaba! Are you Asha?”

After completing the formalities at the immigration counter of the Kotoko International Airport in Accra, the immigration official told me the above words with a friendly smile.

I was on a visit to the West African country of Ghana as an international expert to conduct a three-day seminar on invitation from a global NGO. The program was to take place in Accra, the capital city of Ghana.

I had already known that “Akwaaba” means “Welcome” in the Ashanti language of Ghana. It is the warm greeting with which Ghanaians welcome visitors to their country. The people of Ghana are considered to be the friendliest of all Africans.

I thanked him for the greeting and was about to leave the counter, when the person repeated again with his friendly smile “Are you Asha?”

I didn’t want to disappoint him with a straight negative answer and hurt the feelings of such a nice and friendly soul. I tried my best to reciprocate with a friendly smile and politely corrected him “Sorry, I am afraid, I am not Asha”. I almost felt guilty for not being Asha.

“You are from India. Right?” He enquired. I was glad that finally he had touched upon a topic about which we both could agree. When I happily informed him that he was right on target this time, he asked me with his perpetual friendly smile “Are you Asha?”

I was getting a bit nervous. This game could not be allowed to go on forever.

I told him politely but firmly “My name is Leon. I am not Asha. It is too late for me to become an Asha”. I eagerly looked at him to know whether this information was of any help to him.

It was his turn to get perplexed. He seemed to have resigned to the fact that in the given circumstances the possibility of us reaching an agreement seemed to be quite remote.

A total breakdown of communication was imminent.

With a determination to salvage the situation and, with no more smile on his face he asked me accusingly “You are an Indian. Don’t you know what is the meaning of ‘Asha’ – ‘Good’?”

Then suddenly it dawned upon me that he was asking whether I was feeling “Acha” (“Good” in Hindi). I was relieved.

“Oh Yes! I am Asha. Bahut Asha!” I could see that now he was more relieved than me.

Dark and Lovely

 

My Emirates Air flight touched down at Accra, the capital city of Ghana on a humid afternoon in August 2006. The landing was so smooth that all the Ghanaian passengers spontaneously applauded in appreciation. I knew immediately that Ghanaians are most friendly and very simple people. This was the first of many surprises I had encountered in the dark continent of Africa.

According to my initial impression, everything in Ghana was different. The landscape was alien. I was surrounded by dark-skinned people, who are physically and culturally so different that it took some time for me to get accustomed to the environment. But, very soon I found out that the difference ends with the external characteristics. They are very beautiful people with friendly manners and warm heart. Even their dark skin has a natural and earthy beauty.

They celebrate the beauty of their black skin. In fact the largest selling skin-care cream in Ghana is “Dark and Lovely”. On my way to the hotel I could see huge hoardings on the airport road advertising the “Dark and Lovely” cream.

Mr. George Annan, my host, took me from the airport to Erata Hotel, where I was to stay for the next eight days. He had introduced to me Ameyo Maria at the front desk of the hotel. She welcomed me with a typical charming Ghanaian smile.

Ameyo was a beautiful girl in her twenties and I immediately thought that she was “Dark and Lovely”.

Celebration of motherhood

Celebration of motherhood

“Mothers’ Day” is here again. There are so many such commemorative days throughout the year including Valentine’s Day, All Fools ’ Day, Environment day, AIDS day, Labour Day, Earth day, Teachers Day, and even Star Wars day. Second Sunday of May is celebrated as Mothers’ Day in many countries. Some of these days are purely commercially oriented; some others are meant to create awareness on respective themes.

But, I think there is no meaning or relevance in celebrating motherhood on a particular day.

I read somewhere “God cannot be everywhere; so he created mother”. Mothers are very special.

We spent the first nearly ten months of our life inside her womb. We begin our life as an integral part of the mother. We remain connected to her in flesh and blood until the umbilical cord is cut and we are forced to get physically separated and become independent individuals.

But we continue to live inside the protective wombs of our mothers emotionally. There is a constant presence of mother within us.

Ten years ago, when I met with the worst accident in my life at the split-second moment of impact, when my car hit a post I cried aloud “Amma”. I realized this only after the accident. I still believe that I was protected by my mother.

Researchers say that we cannot remember clearly the events that have taken place until our first 3 to 4 years of life. I don’t think it is always right. I still can remember my mother feeding me by telling stories when I was just two or three years old.

This scene is vivid in my memory. While making the small balls of rice she tells me the story of the big bad wolf that steals the food of children. She keeps the rice-ball and looks away. The cunning wolf in me slowly steals and swallows it. My mother looks back at the plate and says, “Oh the bad wolf has again stolen my child’s food”. This makes me laugh uncontrollably.

Every day I enjoyed this game. Sometimes my mother used to introduce some new twist in the story by catching the wolf red-handed while it was stealing the rice ball. “Aha! Now I have caught the bad wolf”. Then both of us would laugh.

More than this scene, what I can still feel, even at this moment, is the smell of the rice ball, when she was feeding me with her hand. I believe it had the smell of my mother.  The fragrance was so unique and soothing that I had never found anything similar to it.

Seven years ago, when my mother was in her deathbed, I was alone for some time, with her, inside the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital. My sisters and brothers were yet to arrive. Mother was lying with her eyes closed and with laboured breathing.

I called her “Amma”. I was not sure whether she could hear me. I knew she was sinking. I took her right palm in my hands and kissed. I could feel the same unmistakable smell of my mother. It was so emotionally overwhelming that I felt like a two year old kid yearning to be cuddled in the lap of my mother.

Why Mothers’ Day on a particular date? It defies logic or reason!