There is a knowingness in the ease of the men who sit beside the unfinished vessel; theirs is a form of experience possessed by those who know how solid water is, how temperamental it can be. The little girl watches a process she has doubtless seen unfold. Yet who can exhaust the wonder of a boat as it is made from wood, shaped by millennia of skill and precision? They are ten in all, five above and five below. In the rhythm of their poses, the whole of elegance gathers itself.

— Emmanuel Iduma

This photo was taken in Anyanman, a town in Ada Greater Accra Region of Ghana, when I attended the funeral of my favorite Aunty. She was known as “Kwanye,” which means “mother of twins.”  I called her Sister Yayira because she always called me Sister Adikour although she is older. She has seven children, four of who are twins. The first time I met her was when my grandmother and my other aunty decided to relocate to Sege-Ada after the burial of my uncle.

I lived with my grandmother and aunty in the same compound as Sister Yayira.  Because Sister Yayira was a younger aunty, I felt like she really understood me and was able to guide me. My grandmother and aunty at that time seemed too old, so I didn’t find it interesting talking to them. Sister Yayira was a good and kind-hearted person who always liked to help not just her family but the whole community she lived in. 

I lived with her for almost 3 years. When my grandmother died, my aunty and I relocated to Accra to live with my mother. After relocating to Accra, I always thought about going back to Sege-Ada to see Sister Yayira. Seven years passed, but I kept postponing my visit. In December 2021 I was informed that she was seriously ill. I was not able to pay her a visit before I heard the news of her demise. I was staggered by the news and started to regret not visiting her. I kept telling myself that now I will have to visit her on the day of her burial service. She won’t be able to talk nor laugh or hug me. I won’t hear her saying “Sister Adikour, it’s been a long time, I have missed you a lot.” 

On the day of her burial service, I went to see her for the last time. While standing in front of her body, questions kept running through my mind: Who will welcome me anytime I go back to Sege? Who will cook for me and say, “Sister Adikour, are you satisfied?” Who will I talk to when I come back? I started to cry. I left and went to the sea for a walk. I started to reflect on the relationship we had. I remembered that throughout the burial service I didn’t take any photo that would serve as a memory of our relationship. So, I thought of taking photos at the beach where I was walking. Now this image reminds me of Sister Yayira; it is a memory I have of her which will live with me for a lifetime.

— Fibi Afloe

Fibi Afloe is a documentary photographer based in Nima, Accra, Ghana. In her photography practice she documents everyday life. Recurring themes in her work are gender, climate change and culture. More of her work can be found on Lensational, and on Instagram.