Adah laughed, shaking her head. “You were quite the annoyance.” “Then I grew taller than you,” Mansa teased, “and people thought I was the older one. You always had to correct them.” “There was quite an age gap between the first three and the last three, so it was sometimes harder for the older set—Phase One—to connect deeply with Phase Two. (Dad has affectionately divided us into Phase One and Phase Two.) But credit goes to Mama. She always insisted that I come home to Cape Coast on weekends, even when I had just started working and was living in Accra. No matter how busy I thought I was, she would remind me, ‘You must not forget your siblings.’ And so I would come. And what did we do? We cooked, went to the market together, attended Mass. And you know us—you don’t need outsiders for a party. Just food, drinks, and music.” “Parteeey!” Audrey shouted, lifting her arms. Everyone burst into laughter, dancing to imaginary music. Mansa nodded. “It was those little things that made us bond. WhatsApp helped too. With Missy, it started with work talks—sharing about colleagues, deadlines, and tough bosses. Slowly, it shifted to personal things. Now we share everything.” “Everything,” Missy echoed, smiling knowingly. “With you, Audrey, it was different— you were this awe-inspiring big sister in the U.S. Remember when you came back in 1999 with platinum blonde hair and all the trendy clothes? You made us stars in our neighbourhood! Back then, you felt more like a ‘sister mommy’ than a playmate. But Mama kept urging us to hang out whenever you visited—she would say, ‘Spend time together, don’t let distance make you strangers.’ Gradually, we did. Now we laugh together, we go out, we create memories. We’ve really become close.” Audrey raised her glass. “To Mrs. Jay, the glue!” Everyone lifted theirs. Adah added softly, “It’s true. She taught us that relationships don’t grow by accident. You water them, you show up, you forgive quickly, you laugh often. That’s why, today, we’re not just siblings—we’re friends.” “But my most cherished childhood memories with Mum,” Mansa went on, “are our late-night study marathons. Back in JSS, all the way through to my BECE, anytime I had to stay up late studying or cramming for exams, Mum would stay up with me. Not hovering over me or nagging—no, she had her own system. She’d settle nearby with one of her beloved novels—usually Danielle Steele, Sidney Sheldon, John Grisham, Stephen King, or Agatha Christie—and keep me company while I studied. “It became our little thing.” “You know she did this for all of us, right?” Audrey asked, and everyone nodded. “And the minute your head started nodding or you went quiet for too long,” Adah chimed in, lowering her voice in perfect imitation, “you’d hear her classic line: ‘Ei, I’m sitting here reading and you want to sleep? I’m not begging for you to get into Holy Child ooo!’” “Yes!” the siblings chorused, dissolving into chuckles. “Looking back,” Mansa said thoughtfully, “those nights did more than just help me pass exams—they shaped who I am. She wasn’t just keeping me awake; she was modelling discipline, curiosity, and a genuine love for reading. “It was through her that we discovered our love for books. She introduced us to incredible authors, and I still remember The Firm by John Grisham being one of the first ‘grown-up’ books I ever read—and loved. That book pulled me into a world of suspense and drama, and I’ve been hooked on reading ever since.” She paused, then added, “And again, Mum was very hands-on. From around JSS2, she would take us to the market and introduce us to her favourite vendors—onions here, tomatoes there, fish and carrots over there.” “True, true,” Audrey and Adah chimed in together. “Those were really special days.” “After a few trips,” Mansa continued, “she would give us the list and the money, and we’d have to shop by ourselves. Usually, we’d pass by Auntie Awo Panyin’s first. The first few times, Sister Bea would follow us, but after 28 The Birthday Journal
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