My brother happens to be in the unfortunate state of mind in which he believes that everything African is bad or dirty, and he has rejected his nationality and everything about it. Like, no kidding. He even has a huge American flag hanging on the door of his room. When he speaks you’ll think he’s spent his entire life living in Ohio, where he was born. My mother should have had him in Ghana. That way, he’d have no excuse to think he’s American. For goodness sake, which pure American is called Delali? Then again, they don’t really have any original culture.
Anyway, we’re having kenkey for dinner tonight, and my uncle wanted to convince him to eat some without knowing what he was having. So he whispered to me, “Let’s coin some American name for this meal.” Of course, I was confused, because…what? So I suggested, “Corn Dough-Balls.”
Next thing I knew, he was asking my brother who was in the next room, “Would you like to dine with us? We’re having some Corn Dough-Balls and Seafood.” By which of course, he meant kenkey and sardine.
Delali jumped up with enthusiasm. “Corn balls? What are corn balls? I want some.” Only for him to come to the table and see kenkey, red pepper, shito and sardine.
I’m writing this as it’s happening… Suddenly, the red pepper has turned into “Spicy Sauce a la Tomate.” My word. My Uncle, Kwasi is insane. So is the rest of my family. I love them! :’D
For some strange reason, my brother doesn’t want to eat anymore. LOL. LOL. LOL.