The IronBond: CelebratingDaakyeHemaa withLove If there’s one thing our family loves, it’s a good story— and ours begins long before any of us even knew our ages. Back then, there were no birth certificates, so no one really knew the gaps between us. It wasn’t until one of our late brothers discovered our father’s old journal—with all our birth dates neatly written—that everything became clear. I am the ninth born and Yaa Yaa—is tenth on our maternal side—we are two years apart. Three older siblings passed away very young, so we never met them. Growing up, there were seven of us, and we spent our days playing together. Like most siblings, we had our disagreements—mostly over simple things like house chores. Yaa Yaa always wanted the last word, but as the older one, I didn’t let her have it. Even now, we still have the occasional misunderstanding, but it never lasts. We always end up laughing. She could be tough at times, but she also loved a good cry. In truth, we all did. We were strong-headed, each in our own way. As I grew older, I moved frommy mother’s house to my father’s hometown, so I only saw everyone during school vacations in Kumasi. Later, we went to live with our elder sister, Grace, of blessed memory, who looked after us and guided us through school. During the holidays, we sold sponges. I took it seriously because I needed the money for school, but she was more relaxed, knowing our father would support her at St. Monica’s. Our different approaches eventually led me to stop selling with her, and I later moved to live with my grandmother. Still, those little trading days taught us both a lot. We had our share of adventures too. One Christmas, we set off to visit our uncle in Tafo without asking for directions. We walked a long way, got completely lost, and returned home late. When he heard the story, he just laughed and said he would have given us a lift if we had asked. Another time, on the way to our mother’s hometown, she accidentally boarded a bus to the wrong Adjumakase. Tired and confused, she was helped by kind strangers to get to the right village. We had been waiting anxiously, already knowing she was on the wrong bus. Moments like these happened often—we did almost everything together, even if there were a few squabbles along the way. I am so proud of her. After her husband passed, she stayed strong, completed the family house, and cared for all her children who were still in secondary school—except Chief, who was already at university. Happy Birthday, Yaa. May the good Lord bless you, strengthen you, and keep you. You have lived, loved, worked hard, and cared deeply—and we honour you today. God bless you! Akua Serwaa 8 The Birthday Journal
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