This year is being an absolute see you next Tuesday and continues to batter me.
I lost one of my favourite aunties yesterday. Not an African auntie, but my proper same surname as me Auntie. For all the aunties that tell you about your weight or getting married, my Auntie was genuinely concerned for me and my wellbeing.
When I had my first period, my Auntie was straight around with an embroidered white blouse for me to go with the white skirt my mother wanted me to wear (don’t ask), to have a ceremonial celebration of my womanhood. It was acutely embarrassing but it was precious.
Auntie made the best doughnuts and had the best laugh. She did nothing but love her family to the ends of her perfectly coiffed wig. She was decent and honest and God fearing and I don’t know what her kids will do without her. They’re not kids any more but when it comes to your mum? You’re always a kid.
My Auntie’s knowledge and power and understanding has fed a lot of my books and she was unabashedly proud of me. I can’t quite believe that I’m never going to see her again. Or hear her laugh. Or the way she says my name with such affection. She was at home with me and my mum having a couple of glasses of wine when I received my first email from Jayha Leigh. The three of us were cackling in the car as my mum dropped her home. Another sign of her decency - she loved a glass of red and a hard spirit or two.
I’m going to have a hard spirit for her. Just for today. Given the pandemic means we can’t travel to Ghana to honour her in the way we Ghanaians usually do, I’ll toast to her and all that she gave me.
Rest well, my sweet Auntie. You’ve earned it.
