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Belinda didn’t mind, though. Mary was still a child, not
quite a teenager, and she still sucked her thumb at night.
Sometimes, she was an exasperation but mostly, she was like
a sister to Belinda, even though they were unrelated house
girls from small Ghanaian villages, given up by their
mothers to work for wealthy people.
Given by her mother. That hurt, but it was why Belinda
didn’t feel she had much choice when her employer, Aunty,
gifted Belinda to her friend, Nana, with an odd assignment
attached. Belinda would move to London – not to cook and
clean, but to serve as a good example for Nana’s daughter,
Amma, who was just a year older than Belinda, but worlds
away in attitude.
It was not easy for Belinda to tell Mary that she was
leaving. Mary cursed and cried but in the end, she was
comforted by promises that she and Belinda would talk often
on their cell phones. Belinda was sure Mary would adjust,
maybe even take over the running of Aunty’s household. Mary
would grow up.
In the meantime, Belinda had other worries. Nana’s husband
paid for Belinda to go to school, and Nana took her shopping
for new clothes. They gave her a room of her own, a bed of
her own, and pretty things for decoration. But Amma was a
challenge – she was sassy and cursed, lied and snuck around.
Belinda liked Amma, but befriending her could be quite
another thing.
Still, the two girls grew close and they began to share
secrets. Belinda unburdened herself of the shameful things
her mother had done. Amma told Belinda that she liked girls
in that way. Both knew they’d have to rely on one
another in days to come.
Neither knew their friendship would cause regrets…
Absolutely, Housegirl is not an easy book to read.
Parts of it are written in the Ghanaian language of Twi, and
though there’s a glossary before this story starts, it’s
cumbersome to constantly page back and forth.
More back-and-forth comes from character conversation in
which it isn’t always clear who’s saying what, so it all
ends up being a mish-mash of words. Add to that a number of
odd details that seem pruriently gratuitous (do we really,
for example, need to know about a character’s need for
hygiene products? The answer is “no.”) and you’ve
got a lot of cringing ahead.
That’s too bad; the characters are mostly very likeable,
maybe even relatable, and the settings are perfectly
written. That makes Housegirl flawed, though it’s not
a terrible novel; it’s just that, if you try it, it’s going
to be a challenge. |
