ii
When I was twelve I met my father’s father, FatherGrandpa, for the third time. He was a man who laughed at his own jokes. After a stint as a bookkeeper with the Governor of the Gold Coast, he became a merchant. No one knows how he amassed the wealth he was famous for, but he claimed to have profited from the Second World War. As a direct result of his trading activities, the Ribeiro Trading Company had children in many major port cities in the world: Monrovia, Liverpool, Port of Spain… He kept a list. He came to visit GeeMaa who had just had a hip operation. It was the first time he had come to our house. He sat. Raised his long, heavy legs onto a patterned sheepskin cushion on the floor. He reached for the water my mother brought him and drank. Sunlight from the living room window cast slatted streaks across his balding head. My father, mother, Naana and I stood in order of decreasing height in front of him. He repeated an old joke as if it was new. “Ah, Kojo, I see you inherited my taste for fine women!” He laughed and slapped his left shoulder with his right hand. The sound of his glee was reminiscent of the gurgle of an emptying bath. We barely smiled, but he carried on. “Where is the beautiful cripple?” Our parents sat down in the cane armchairs to FatherGrandpa’s left. “Go and get GeeMaa,” my father instructed.