The Sun in my
Grandparents’
Kitchen
by Demelza Okwan
Sunrise
My Grandparents’ kitchen is the closest I feel to the Ghanaian sun.
For 11 years (age 10 to 21), I lived with my Ghanaian Grandparents in the same three-bedroom flat they’ve rented since 1975 in Islington (London, England). Upon entering my Grandparents’ flat, you’re met with a comforting heat - which turns inescapable during the summer. They’ve always insisted on having the thermostat at 28 degrees all year round. You take off layers before heading straight to the kitchen, where you’re met with my beaming Nan and the warmth of her hug. The stove is usually on, heating up a pot of a stew. Soup or jollof?
The kitchen table takes up most of the central space. My Nan always sits on the same seat - closest to the cooker and one away from the T.V placed on the counter. The table has a fruit bowl always stocked (courtesy of my Grandad), a tissue box, the daily newspaper, and letters for family members who’ve been registered at their address - waiting to be collected. I don’t know whether it was because of my Nan’s cheerful cackle at the TV, or the food, drink, and fruit offered by my Grandad after sitting for less than a minute…
Like spring after winter – being at their kitchen table is enough to boost your mood.
My Grandad, Theophilus or Ekow Appiah Okwan and my Grandma (Nan or Nanny) got married in 1963 in Takoradi, Ghana. My Grandad was so smart. He came to study in London, and later secured a job. In 1968, my Grandma flew to London to start their new life together. He sadly passed away in 2023, but at 89 years old, my Grandma still lives at their home in London. Almost 60 years later, six children, 30-odd mixed Ghanaian, British and Jamaican grandchildren and several family friends, they've grown a legacy from their small but sunny council flat.
Despite being very close with my Ghanaian family - I haven’t been to Ghana since I was a baby. It's the same for many other family members who haven't had the time or resources to visit over the years.
But, thankfully, we have had the Ghanaian sun existing in my Grandparents kitchen.
Noon
At its peak, my Grandparents’ kitchen was the star of the solar system. Considering the amount of relatives in the family, many people constantly revolved around the space.
In his prime, my Grandad rose with the sun, often up at 6am before anyone else. Theo was a man of business and daily hard work – always put together in a clean suit. He was very quick-witted and wise, knowing everything about politics, always reading a newspaper and watching the broadcast news at least three times a day. Whether for the news, or for British and Ghanaian dramas; the TV was always on. During English winters, you could have mistaken it for the sun itself. However, Grandad was quick to switch it off, as greatness is what he expected of us kids. During secondary school, he would greet me everyday with a cheerful ‘My Demelza, my president, future MP!’, and ask me optimistically, how school was going. He always had a sunny, and encouraging outlook when I complained of stress.
Before I was alive, he was stricter: making the kids do chores, go to church every Sunday, and do homework at the kitchen table – even if they didn’t have any. Although sometimes he was a distant working father, his warmth always reached us. Grandad was consistent as the sun, never failing to illuminate a path of clarity and power, whilst being the best to binge watch Harry Potter films with.
My Nan, on the other hand, has never been a morning person – unless it’s a Sunday when she beams with excitement for church service – the highlight of the week. The bright colours of her kente cloth, her shiny gold jewellery and watch are not as bright as her radiant smile and loud, infectious laugh. Sunday evenings after church, Nan warms up dinner and the kitchen by playing gospel music on the CD player. Grandad would sing whilst she danced with an unshakeable smile praising her maker. Dancing with her warms my heart, and so does her food. Our Nanny makes kontomire with garri or rice every Monday, fufu and soup every Wednesday and Saturday, then chicken stew or jollof every Friday. Despite being so giving and sweet, she too was strict with a fiery tongue back in the day. ‘Os woara!’, she would shout when my cousins and I misbehaved. After years of cussing me out in Fante, Nan never fails to remind me that I don’t know how to speak the language. She also never fails to pray for the entire family every night.
During the 2000’s, a large portion of the family would visit my Grandparents’ flat every other Saturday to have dinner, watch TV, eat sweets, and play games. Even though we didn’t have much money and received benefits, my Nan would feed all of us every time. So much so, the kitchen always beamed with life and laughter late into the night.
People weren’t only round on Saturdays either. Any time someone needed a place to stay it was at Nanny and Grandad’s house, and it still is. As a child it was a haven, a place where my cousins and I could be kids. We would run around the estate block together, play endless games, and make songs and dances on a sugar rush. But we would often make a mess. Once, we even blew the electricity attempting to kill an ant with water…
Only when I started getting older as the only kid still living at Nan's house, is when I noticed my Nan and Grandad cleaning up after us kids made a state out of their home every other week. Yet, they never mentioned it. Generous as the sun, my Grandparents looked after us and sustained our place to belong for nothing in return.
But that’s not why I feel the Ghanaian sun in my Grandparents kitchen.
But because Ghanaians take after their land.
My Grandparents have always been made of sunshine.
They can’t help but give you warmth.
Sunset (A Sunny Legacy)
As the sun begins to set in my Grandparents kitchen and the London skies feel more grey, I feel Ghana calling to me. Not to just a country, but to a source – to be replenished by the same energy that raised me. After my Grandad passed, many family members began travelling to Ghana more often, being drawn back to the place that shaped us and the way we laugh from afar.
Of course, not every day has been sunny for my Grandparents; there were storms. They were among the first Black families in the neighbourhood, navigating life in a foreign country with little money, a lot of pressure, and no guide. My Nan couldn’t and still doesn’t write or speak English well, my Grandad bore the weight of keeping everyone safe in a place that wasn’t always welcoming. But still with their love for God, and for each other – their light never dimmed. I feel blessed to have seen the way they glowed, especially at their family empire. Because of their sacrifice, living in Islington, walking the same streets they walked in darker times, is now one of my greatest privileges.
Although I’m of mixed heritage, not fluent in Fante, and not having been to Ghana in two decades, a fellow Ghanaian identified me the other day. Not by name. Not by accent. But by my smile. That subtle recognition reminded me that despite perceived distance, Ghana glows within me.
The sunshine in our Grandparents, lives in us too.
So even when their kitchen and memories start to fade, they will always be our guiding light in our hearts. Our star, our sun. Their legacy reminds us we are capable of anything.
That’s why, my Grandparents kitchen is the closest I feel to the Ghanaian sun.
So for me,
Reimagining Ghana is to return to the sun.
To its radiant core.
Remembering Ghana is not just a place, but a feeling.
A feeling of warmth, strength, divinity, and joy.
Like the sun,
The feeling rises in all of us,
Again, and again, and again.
* * *
About Demelza Okwan
Photographer, healer & a lover of laughter.
My Grandparents, their food and the home they made together.
Reimagining Ghana means honouring my ancestors, and recognising them in me
Instagram.
Images taken by Demelza Okwan.