'R Amigos

When I walk around the house that I share with eighteen other women and one man, I am greeted by two sunny Community Resource Associates (CRAs). Abigail and Nana Ama are Ghanaian women, NYU Accra’s version of RAs. They are completing their Year of Service, which is mandatory for all Ghanaian college graduates. Nana Ama went to the University of Ghana in Accra, majoring in Hospitality. Abigail graduated with a double major in Psychology and Art from Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology in Kumasi. These are the two premier universities in Ghana, and two of the most prestigious in all of Africa. NYU Accra gets the cream of the crop.

“Hello, dear,” Abigail’s round and smiling face speaks. She is beautiful; with her hair elegantly braided and her curvy body wrapped beneath a traditional outfit she looks like an African queen. “How are you this morning?”

I smile; hers is infectious. “I’m fine, Abigail, how are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you going to church?” I am still in my pajamas at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning. Abigail is fully dressed, her hair carefully tied back from her face, layers of printed fabric tied and zipped around her frame that trail down to the floor.

“Yes, dear. Have a nice day,” with a giggle and a smile she leaves. She is like my mother, sweet and loving.

Abigail welcomes students to Kakum National Park. 

Nana Ama is bigger, with lustrous eyes and a booty that I swear is the muse of Sir Mixalot. She is less charitable with her affections than Abigail, and usually gets along better with men than women. Nana Ama walks around with a slight sneer on her face, just enough so she seems always slightly amused. Her attitude can easily be mistaken for coldness but she has a kind heart.

I walk into the kitchen and see Nana Ama standing at the sink, washing dishes. The house smells fragrant, like cooked stew and onions. The steaming pot of tomato-drenched chicken on the stove tells me Nana Ama just prepared this delectable meal.

“Yum,” I say, but she doesn’t respond so I think she didn’t hear me, or just didn’t want to answer. I walk to the refrigerator and extract some ingredients for breakfast.

We cross paths on my way back to the counter. I smile and she says, “Good morning, Anna.”

“Good morning,” I chirp.

As I continue to make my breakfast she leans over me and smells the pan deeply. “Yummy,” she says, and smiles at me. She is like my older sister, sassy but affectionate.