‘Yoo, that is good.’ When an old man felt inclined to be talkative, especially if he had more than me for audience, he would compliment me on the work I was doing. Then he would go on to the assets of education, especially female education, ending up with quoting Dr. Aggrey.

So this evening too, I was delayed: but it was as well, for when I arrived at the hut, Maami Ama had just arrived from the farm. The door opened, facing the village, and so I could see her. Oh, that picture is still vivid in my mind. She was sitting on a low stool with her load before her. Like all the loads the other women would bring from the farms into their homes, it was colourful with miscellaneous articles. At the very bottom of the wide wooden tray were the cassava and yam tubers, rich muddy brown, the colour of the earth. Next were the plantain, of the green colour of the woods from which they came. Then there were the gay vegetables, the scarlet pepper, garden eggs, golden pawpaw and crimson tomatoes. Over this riot of colours the little woman’s eyes were fixed, absorbed, while the tiny hands delicately picked the pepper. I made a scratchy noise at the door. She looked up and smiled. Her smile was a wonderful flashing whiteness.

‘Oh Chicha, I have just arrived.’

‘So I see. Ayekoo.’

‘Yaa, my own. And how are you, my child?’

‘Very well, Mother. And you?’

‘Tanchiw. Do sit down, there’s a stool in that corner. Sit down. Mmmm. . . . Life is a battle. What can we do? We are just trying, my daughter.’

‘Why were you longer at the farm today?’

‘After weeding that plot I told you about last week, I thought I would go for one or two yams.’

‘Ah!’ I cried.

‘You know tomorrow is Ahobaa. Even if one does not feel happy, one must have some yam for old Ahor.’

‘Yes. So I understand. The old saviour deserves it. After all it is not often that a man offers himself as a sacrifice to the gods to save his people from a pestilence.’

‘No, Chicha, we were so lucky.’

‘But Maami Ama, why do you look so sad? After all, the yams are quite big.’ She gave me a small grin, looking at the yams she had now packed at the corner.

‘Do you think so? Well, they are the best of the lot. My daughter, when life fails you, it fails you totally. One’s yams reflect the total sum of one’s life. And mine look wretched enough.’

‘O, Maami, why are you always speaking in this way? Look at Kwesi, how many mothers can boast of such a son? Even though he is only one, consider those who have none at all. Perhaps some woman is sitting at some corner envying you’