Maya Angelott, an African American writer, is visiting Ghana, in Africa, for the fint time.
AErer a few seconds of srudying me, the woman lifred both arrns and lacing her fingers cogether claspèd her hands and puc them on the cop of her head. She rocked a little from side co side and issued a pitiful little moan.
< ln Arkansas, when 1 was a child, if my brother or 1 put our hands on our heads as the woman before me was doing, my grandrnother would scop in her work and come co remove our hands and warn u.s thac che gesrure broughc bad luck.
Mr. Adadevo spoke co me quiecly, "Thac's the way we mournl."
i{j The woman lec her arms fall and scepping up co me, spoke and cook my hand, pulling me gencly away. Mr. Adadevo said, "She wants you co go wich her. We will follow." The girls and the driver had clirnbed the scairs, and we encered the crowded markec. 1 allowed myself co be rugged forward by the big woman who was a liccle taller than 1 and tWice my size.
15 She. stopped at the firsc scaU and addressed a woman who must have been me propriecor. ln the spate of words, 1 heard "American Negro". The woman looked at me disbelieving and carne around the corner of her councer co have a beccer look. She shook her head and, lifcjng her 'arms, placed her hands on her head, rocking from side to side.
My companions were standing just behind me as the vendor leaned over the shelf where tomacoes, onions, and peppers were arranged in an arcisnc display. She began speaking, anei raking the produce toward the edge.
Mr. Adadevo said something 1:0 the driver who carne forward and placed each vegecable carefulIy inco his basket. My host said, "She is giving this to
;l; yoU. She says she has more if you want it."
_.
1 went to the woman to thank her, but as 1 approached she looked at me and groaned, and cried, and put her hands on her head. The big woman was crying too. Their distress was contagious, and my lack of understanding made it especially so. 1 wanted to apologize, but 1 didn't know
30 what 1 would ask pardon for. [...]
I said, "Mr. Adadevo, you must tell me what' s happening."
He said, "This is a very sad story and 1 can't tell it all or tell it weU." 1 waited while he looked around. He began agairr, "During the slave!}'
period Keta was a good-sized village. It was hit very hard by the slave.
35 trade. Very hard. ln face, at one point every inhabitant was either killed or' taken. The only escapees were children who ran away and hid in the bush.:
Many of them watched from their hiding places as cheir parents were' beaten and puc inco chains. They saw the slaves set fire to the village. [.. J'
Whac they saw chey remembered, and all thac they remembered they tolet:
40 over and over." .. ':
"The children were taken in by nearby villagers and grew tomaturity
They married and had children and rebuilt Keca. They told the tale to
offspring. These women are the descendants of those orphaned children
They have heard the scories ofren, and the deeds are scill as fresh as if they
45 had happened during their lifetirnes. And you, Sister, you look so m~ like them, even the tone of your voice is like theirs. They are sure you ~, descended from those scolen mothers and fachers. That is why they moun
Not for you but for their lose people."
MayaANGELOU, Raum to Krta nom Travekn' Tales: A Womans Path, 2