Chapter Fifteen
Meet the Parents
Back in Accra, the city pulsed with its characteristic energy. The streets buzzed with honking cars, street vendors calling out their wares, and the distant hum of music from passing taxis. This visit felt different; more intimate, more vivid. Noelle was here not just as a guest but as someone Kofi wanted to share his life with layer by layer.
Before she even set foot in Ghana, Noelle had spent days agonizing over what gifts to bring for Kofi’s parents. “What do I take to impress future in-laws who don’t drink alcohol?” she’d asked her friend Mimi during a frantic video call.
“Easy,” Mimi had said, barely missing a beat. “Get practical things. Fancy chocolates, maybe some tea or coffee. Don’t overthink it.” Noelle had followed her advice, packing items she hoped would strike the right balance between thoughtful and not too extravagant.
Kofi took it upon himself to show Noelle even more of the city. Their first stop was Makola Market, which Kofi described as “organized chaos.” Noelle was no stranger to Makola, she’d visited in 2019 with the KLA travel group, but this time was a whole different beast. The market was a sensory overload. Brightly colored fabrics billowed in the wind, vendors shouted over one another to advertise their goods and the air was thick with the smell of spices, fried snacks, and exhaust fumes. Kofi expertly navigated the crowded stalls while Noelle trailed behind, clutching her bag and trying to keep up. “This is… intense,” she said, dodging a woman balancing a tray of plantains on her head. Kofi laughed, grabbing her hand. “It’s not so bad. Just stick close to me.”
After what felt like hours in the market, they made their way back to the car, only to be met with the infamous Accra traffic. “Are we moving, or is this a parking lot?” Noelle asked, staring out the window. “This is normal,” Kofi said with a shrug, leaning back in his seat. “It’s a patience game.”
Patience wasn’t exactly Noelle’s strong suit, and when nature called, the situation escalated. “Kofi, I swear if we don’t move soon, I’m gonna have to get creative.” He looked at her, amused. “Creative how?” She held up an empty water bottle. “Don’t judge me.” “You’re not serious,” he said. “Oh, I’m very serious.” Kofi burst out laughing, but handed her the bottle as she climbed to the back seat. “Just don’t get caught.” The rest of the drive was filled with her grumbling about the ordeal while Kofi teased her mercilessly, claiming he’d never let her live it down.
Their explorations weren’t all chaos, though. They spent quieter moments at places like the W.E.B. DuBois Centre, where Noelle marveled at the history of the pan-African movement. The museum was both humbling and inspiring, with photos, letters, and artifacts that painted a vivid picture of DuBois’ life and work. “Did you know he renounced his U.S. citizenship and became a Ghanaian citizen?” Noelle said, reading one of the plaques. “I did,” Kofi said. “Ghana was a refuge for a lot of people like him.” Noelle nodded, soaking it all in. This certainly seemed like a country for which she could leave it all behind.
The drive out of the city was long, but the scenery shifted from bustling streets to peaceful greenery. Noelle sat uncomfortably in the backseat of the family car that was sent for them, fidgeting with the gift bag resting between her knees. Inside was a small black leather purse for his mom and monogrammed cufflinks for his dad. Kofi sat beside her, cool as ever, tapping through his playlist while they waited for the call to come through. “Ma, we’re close,” he said into the phone. “Maybe five minutes away.
As they neared the family home, Noelle felt a mix of excitement and nerves. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this quiet,” Kofi joked as they pulled up to the driveway, a young man in a security uniform heading towards them to open the gate. “Hush,” Noelle muttered, adjusting her dress. “I’m mentally preparing.”
Kofi’s mother, Brenda Addo, was a retired superior court judge — and she looked every bit the part, seated with poise on the front porch as they approached the house. “Mummy, it’s good to see you!” Kofi said, embracing the petite woman whose presence felt six feet tall. “Noelle, I’d like you to meet my mum.” Noelle hesitated. She didn’t know whether to go in for a hug or a handshake. “Uh, hello!” she stumbled. “So very nice to meet you, Mrs. Addo.” “Yes, my dear,” Brenda replied. “Noelle…what is your last name?” “Davenport,” Noelle said. “Oh…so you’re not Ghanaian?” Noelle looked at Kofi and then back to his mother. How much or little had he told his mother about her? “I’m from America,” she answered. “Ahh, I see.” Noelle didn’t know if this was a good or bad thing, but it felt like the latter. Brenda motioned for them to come inside as Patricia, a tall, friendly woman, appeared with three glasses of ice cold sobolo, a hibiscus drink Noelle had come to love.
“Patty, wei y3 m’adamfo Noelle,” Kofi said introducing Patricia to Noelle. “Yiw, yɛatwɛn sɛ yebehyia no,” Patty says to Noelle. “She says hello. She’s been waiting to meet you,” Kofi translates.
Inside the elegant dining room, Noelle tried not to fidget as Patricia placed bowls of steaming light soup and freshly pounded fufu in front of them. Kofi beamed—this was his favorite meal, and his mother had arranged it just for the occasion. Brenda gave a smile and approving nod as Patricia excused herself, and then turned her full attention to Noelle.
“So,” Brenda began, her voice even and deliberate, “What do you think of Ghana so far?” Noelle swallowed quickly, unsure if the question was casual curiosity or something more pointed. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I’ve been here before, but this time feels... different. More real. I’m not just visiting landmarks. I’m meeting people, noticing rhythms.” Brenda gave a tight smile. “And what do you like the most?” Noelle paused, choosing her words carefully. “Honestly? I love that I’m not a minority here. I’ve never experienced that before. It’s a strange kind of freedom to just... exist.”
Brenda raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “But,” Noelle continued, “one thing that surprised me, compared to my first trip, is that while everyone is polite, the women... They aren’t exactly warm.” Brenda tilted her head slightly, spoon in midair. “Warm? What did you expect? You did, after all, manage to steal one of our finest exports.” Noelle blinked. She couldn’t tell if Brenda was joking, testing, or accusing. “Steal is a strong word,” Noelle laughed lightly. “If that’s the case, sounds like their issue is with him, not me. He’s a grown man who knows what he wants.” Brenda narrowed her eyes, intrigued now.
A long silence settled over the table, broken only by the sound of Kofi slurping his soup, seemingly unaware—or pretending to be—of the moment unfolding between the two women. Brenda set her spoon down. “Some of us have strong ideas about Black Americans. From what we see on TV, you’re loud and aggressive.”
“Mum,” Kofi interrupted, clearly sensing danger. Noelle extended a hand toward him to pause, her eyes still on Brenda. “Let me explain why the word aggressive offends me,” she said slowly before taking a breath. “In the U.S., that word has been used to silence and stereotype Black women for generations. We get labeled as aggressive just for asserting ourselves, for setting boundaries, for existing outside the roles people expect us to play.” Brenda studied her closely.
“I’m passionate, I’m direct and yes, sometimes I raise my voice. But that doesn’t mean I’m angry or unkind. It just means I’ve been raised in a place where being seen and heard often requires volume and clarity,” she said, her voice calm but sure. “And we’ve been taught things too,” Noelle continued. “That Africans look down on us, call us akata, think we’re lost. The truth is, most of us are just trying to find our way back. To understand where we come from, who we were before we were told who we had to be.”
Brenda studied her, eyes softening. “You don’t sound lost, my dear.” She placed her napkin gently on her lap and glanced at Noelle with something closer to admiration now. “Several times in my career, I was the only woman in the room. Many times, I was mistaken for the secretary. I understand what it means to walk into a space and be underestimated before you even open your mouth.” A quiet respect passed between them. The sound of the front door opening pulled them from the moment.
“Kofi!” a deep voice called. “In here, Daddy!” Kofi shouted back. Seconds later, Mr. Addo entered the room. Dressed in a crisp short-sleeved shirt and slacks, he carried himself with quiet command. His face lit up when he saw Noelle. “Ah, you must be the American my son cannot stop talking about.” Noelle smiled warmly. “Guilty.” He shook her hand firmly, then leaned toward Brenda with a smirk. “Beautiful and clever. You’re in trouble.”
Kofi peeked over at Noelle, mouthing you okay? She gave him a small nod and smiled. She was more than okay.
The gifts went over wonderfully. Brenda adored the leather purse, noting how “sensible and stylish” it was, and Mr. Addo was genuinely impressed with the cufflinks. “So appropriate and timely,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll wear them for my meeting tomorrow.” As they said their goodbyes, Brenda embraced Noelle with a little more warmth than she had shown at the beginning. “You have spirit,” she said softly. “My son needs that.” Noelle smiled. “Women like us don’t come this far without a little fire.”