Friday 56 #26

This is a fun meme to do hosted by Freda's Voice If you'd like to join on the fun go to The Friday 56 

 Rules:

 

 *Grab a book, any book.
*Turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader.
*Find any sentence that grabs you.
*Post it.
*Link it

 

Summary:

 

Kweku Sai is dead. A renowned surgeon and failed husband, he succumbs suddenly at dawn outside his home in suburban Accra. The news of Kweku’s death sends a ripple around the world, bringing together the family he abandoned years before. Ghana Must Go is their story. Electric, exhilarating, beautifully crafted, Ghana Must Go is a testament to the transformative power of unconditional love, from a debut novelist of extraordinary talent.

Moving with great elegance through time and place, Ghana Must Go charts the Sais’ circuitous journey to one another. In the wake of Kweku’s death, his children gather in Ghana at their enigmatic mother’s new home. The eldest son and his wife; the mysterious, beautiful twins; the baby sister, now a young woman: each carries secrets of his own. What is revealed in their coming together is the story of how they came apart: the hearts broken, the lies told, the crimes committed in the name of love. Splintered, alone, each navigates his pain, believing that what has been lost can never be recovered—until, in Ghana, a new way forward, a new family, begins to emerge.

Ghana Must Go is at once a portrait of a modern family, and an exploration of the importance of where we come from to who we are. In a sweeping narrative that takes us from Accra to Lagos to London to New York, Ghana Must Go teaches that the truths we speak can heal the wounds we hide.

Summary & Cover taken from Goodreads.com

Length: 336 pages (Hardcover)

Publication Date: March 5th 2013 by Penguin Press HC, The

 

My 56:

 

Then Ghana and the smell of Ghana, a contradiction, a cracked clay pot: the smell of dryness, wetness, both, the damp of the earth and the dry of the dust. The airport. Bodies pushing, pulling, shouting, begging, touching, breathing. He'd forgotten the bodies. The proximity of bodies. In America the bodies were distant. The warmth of it. Pushing through the jostling throng, warm bodies clutching Fola's arm while Fola clutched the baby, leading his squadron to the taxi rank. "Your purse!" he called over his shoulder. "Be careful! This is Ghana."

"It is?"

But when he looked she was laughing. "My friend, I'm from Lagos. Never mind your small Ghana." She winked. "I'm okay. We're okay."

And then home.

 

What's your 56?