A week ago around this time, I was battling with my Ntama which nearly finished me! Eiiii

Now, you know I like to get styled beautifully in Ntama.

In fact, from my – Motown – Achimota days, I have been throwing Ntama over my shoulders the way my late father taught me – one of those little father-and-son lessons that became, without my knowing it at the time, some of the most sacred memories I have of him.

So, naturally, when my beautifully commissioned Bonwire Kente arrived, I was feeling rather, rather!

My brothers know this too. Whenever there is a function requiring Ntama, some of them will actually come to me for lessons. I am, apparently, the family authority. I know Ntama.

Or so I thought…

So… imagine my confidence when I received my newly commissioned Bonwire Kente. Beautifully wrapped.

Heavy. Impressive. I thought, Ah, mansize. Only to discover, a few hours before my niece Bozoma’s wedding, that the thing was not simply some nice white cotton with Kente worked into it.

It was a whole woven yarn situation! Heavy is an understatement. I put it on and immediately realised: this Ntama and I had not been properly introduced.

The traditional throw would not behave. The cloth was stiff, it was weighty, and unlike the obedient Ntama I had known all my life, this one had absolutely no intention of staying where I put it.

And therein lies the problem with Ntama. You get out of the car – adjust. You sit down – adjust. You stand up – adjust. You turn around – adjust.

At some point you begin to wonder whether you are wearing the Ntama or whether the Ntama is wearing you.

And me? I had no intention of going around that beautiful wedding exposing my little “pregnancy” every time I moved.

So I sat. And sat. And sat. My sister and I arrived just as the ceremony was beginning, so down I went. At the reception, I found my seat and basically claimed squatter’s rights. Family members, most being younger, rather came to greet me.