its New Year Eve, i just remembered that.
2 years ago, after the enormous tsunami hit in Asia, i stayed in the house and collaged for New Years Eve. I couldn't see why anyone would want to go out and party when millions of people were so deeply hurting. why anyone would want to destroy their bodies with poison when all these people were aching for health. why i would want to spend money on myself when organizations so desperately needed donations. why i'd want to go anywhere when all my family was right here.
i watched the news all night and cried. then i thought long and hard about my life. what is it that i want to do? this year, the year after, in 10 years. i grabbed stacks of magazines and started clipping images that i wanted to materialize into my reality. i did this with my cousin, who was about 10 at the time.
she puffy painted and glued horses all over hers.
i ended up filling about 5 jumbo sized index cards and taping them into a vertical display, each one hanging from the other.
the top card, had a picture of a seal. yes, the mammal, a seal. its face was plump and pleasant, she had a smirk so peaceful and serene that i could only interpret as being directly God derived. i wanted that smirk. i wanted that knowing. so i cut it out and pasted the image at the top. that was the most important thing to me.
next down the line i think i put a picture of a woman karate chopping her way over a cliffs edge. i didn't want to die, i wanted to become a black belt. i was moving to Taiwan and thought it'd be the perfect place to learn a martial art and develop some severe self-defense tactics. since then, that goal has sifted around and been filtered out. maybe one day.
the 3rd note card was a picture of a lady holding a fetal scope up to a pregnant woman's belly. i wanted to become a midwife. or so i thought. i wanted to see, at least, if i wanted to become a midwife. this picture was pasted over an image of low lying tropical rain forest and a long red dirt dusty road.
sound familiar?
every morning when i walk to work i marvel at the exactness of what i am looking at and what i had glued on my card. there is no disparity. i am living in the place i had glued on my card.
prior to coming here i had never seen it. in fact, my prayers before i came went something like this
"dear God, if this place doesn't exist please let me know why you sent me here."
i was doubting the legitimacy of the organization, for a few slight reasons. i had no idea i would be living in a place i had already seen, on my collage card.
the 4th card had a woman sitting at a laptop casually writing a novel.
and the last had a plan on how to pay off some petty debt.
i glued a picture of Gael Garcia Bernal on the flip side. he's the sexy Latin American who stars in The Motorcycle Diaries. He was just a symbol. i didn't want to make romantic love my main focus, it could occupy the backspace. although admittedly i was having a hard time not doing so. i had fallen head over heals for a man who satisfies every part of my soul. its not easy being madly in love and trying to pursue these things... one always seems to have to give way to the other.
i have to flip the card and focus separately.
in a perfect world i could move Mr. Marquez to the front, create a 5th card, and they could all dangle together. but for now, he was on the back, and the things on the front were all happening. well, at least some of them, the ones at the moment that are worth the flipping.
now, 2 years later, i'm sitting in this Internet lab waiting for a midwife to call me so i can go hang out with bulging bellied women. if i was to do the same thing tonite, cut and paste together some sort of intention board, i don't know what i would put.
now that i'm removed from America, from the incessant drive to 'do' and 'go' and 'strive' i feel complacent. or satisfied. or just unable to dream up some things to achieve. i'm pleased with what is happening here, even if Watchman and Secetry don't call for me in the night, and Ernestine forgets our date.
the Ghanaian mindset is very oriented towards the present. besides Ma asking me what i'll be eating for dinner every morning at 9, i've yet to see a lot of planning here. it is both a major stumbling block towards development, and one of poverty's greatest blessings. to be able to accept the present and not obsess over the future. i think every one could have a lot to learn from this way of thinking: to be happy and grateful that the tank has enough to get you to the station, instead of assuming you'll always be on full.
Sunday, December 31, 2006
*12*
i've been waiting for Ernestine to call me and bring me to the hospital to tour the maternity ward. this morning i walked over to Gilbert's (senam's brother) room and knocked on his door.
He poked his head out from behind the lace curtain hanging over the entry way.
"Oh hello Kacie. How are you?"
"i'm doing well, thank you."
"what can i do for you?" he asked.
"have you seen Ernestine today? I am supposed to go with her to the hospital and i wasn't sure what time we were leaving."
"oh riiiiight. okay. let me just put on my shoes and go figure that out for you. here, come in, i'm sure you wouldn't mind passing some time by watching a little James Bond, would you?"
"of coarse not." i said. i am starting to like the movies. so i sat down on the couch and sort of nuzzled in. i was feeling more comfortable with Gilbert now after our tro tro ride the night before. he gave up his shoulder to me as a pillow, and kept checking to see if i was comfortable.
somehow having 4 people and a stickshift all tangled up with each other promotes intimacy.
"i'll be right back" he said.
i didn't notice when he came in because i was so enthralled with what i was watching.
its 5:30 and Ernestine has yet to call. i've watched 3 movies today and walked from internet lab to internet lab, looking for one open on a sunday.
"are you open?" i asked a man standing outside some barred up doors.
"oh misses, we will be opening at 3:00."
i shot him an 'are you sure look'.
"oh yes, 3:00 we will open, most certainly."
i looked at my watch. "but it's 4:00" i said.
"oh" he pulled his neck back and frowned. he looked at his watch. but from having observed people recently i've found watches are more for style and proof of class than function. Gilbert wears a watch that doesn't even tick.
"well then" he said "my boys should be coming soon. you just wait here, the lab will open. take that chair."
some random person brought the plastic chair over to me and dusted it off. they held out their hand to sit, so i did.
i sat and sat and sat, until i had to give myself a little talking to.
why was i still sitting waiting for this place to open up? who knows when or if it really was going to? where was that man who seemed to know it was going to open? for all i knew he was sprinting down some road to tell his brother the internet lab had business and to come quick and unlock the door. if that was the case, it would take hours before the computers and internet were actually hooked up.
i'm out of here, i thought.
i left feeling like i had to sneak away. i made up some excuses just in case i got caught, and then jumped in a cab. the driver took me to a working internet lab, where i'm typing... a little bored... don't have a lot to say... but don't have much to do either... maybe i'll go watch some more movies. tommorow is my last day here, which means my last day with electricity and close friends...
He poked his head out from behind the lace curtain hanging over the entry way.
"Oh hello Kacie. How are you?"
"i'm doing well, thank you."
"what can i do for you?" he asked.
"have you seen Ernestine today? I am supposed to go with her to the hospital and i wasn't sure what time we were leaving."
"oh riiiiight. okay. let me just put on my shoes and go figure that out for you. here, come in, i'm sure you wouldn't mind passing some time by watching a little James Bond, would you?"
"of coarse not." i said. i am starting to like the movies. so i sat down on the couch and sort of nuzzled in. i was feeling more comfortable with Gilbert now after our tro tro ride the night before. he gave up his shoulder to me as a pillow, and kept checking to see if i was comfortable.
somehow having 4 people and a stickshift all tangled up with each other promotes intimacy.
"i'll be right back" he said.
i didn't notice when he came in because i was so enthralled with what i was watching.
its 5:30 and Ernestine has yet to call. i've watched 3 movies today and walked from internet lab to internet lab, looking for one open on a sunday.
"are you open?" i asked a man standing outside some barred up doors.
"oh misses, we will be opening at 3:00."
i shot him an 'are you sure look'.
"oh yes, 3:00 we will open, most certainly."
i looked at my watch. "but it's 4:00" i said.
"oh" he pulled his neck back and frowned. he looked at his watch. but from having observed people recently i've found watches are more for style and proof of class than function. Gilbert wears a watch that doesn't even tick.
"well then" he said "my boys should be coming soon. you just wait here, the lab will open. take that chair."
some random person brought the plastic chair over to me and dusted it off. they held out their hand to sit, so i did.
i sat and sat and sat, until i had to give myself a little talking to.
why was i still sitting waiting for this place to open up? who knows when or if it really was going to? where was that man who seemed to know it was going to open? for all i knew he was sprinting down some road to tell his brother the internet lab had business and to come quick and unlock the door. if that was the case, it would take hours before the computers and internet were actually hooked up.
i'm out of here, i thought.
i left feeling like i had to sneak away. i made up some excuses just in case i got caught, and then jumped in a cab. the driver took me to a working internet lab, where i'm typing... a little bored... don't have a lot to say... but don't have much to do either... maybe i'll go watch some more movies. tommorow is my last day here, which means my last day with electricity and close friends...
life on the road *11*
Last night i was 3 hours from Ho, the city i am currently vacationing in. Me, Senam and his brother, Senams girlfriend and another friend decided to visit some local waterfalls. They are one of the sightseeing highlights in Ghana, and after a short hike up through some "jungle" you can relax and swim at the base of it's enormous downpour. Its refreshingly beautiful and always nice to get some exercise too.
Our cab driver was late picking us up (sometime after 7 pm), which bumped us into a tro tro (overcrowded van-like cars that work as public transportation) that was completely empty. we sat in the dark for 2 more hours waiting for the car to fill up with passengers.
typically, in the west, we'd fit about 7 or 8 people in these cars and applaud ourselves for carpooling.
here, in Ghana, the car isn't considered full until at least 16 people have bought a seat.
we had 14 going, and were waiting for the last two to straggle in.
it was taking so long that i had fallen asleep on the bench directly behind the drivers seat, and had my legs sprawled over what would be the remaining two seats. when i had gone to bed just me and my friends had spots reserved. when i had awoke the entire car was full, almost.
"press close against the window" somebody told me. they were directing me to squeeze and make room.
i looked around for my friends. 2 behind me and 2 in front. check.
but why were they all laughing at me?
Dela, one of the ladies, crinkles up her entire nose until it almost hits her forehead when she laughs (i think i might do something similar). whatever they were laughing at seemed to be really funny.
senam leaned forward and patted my shoulder a few times. i turned around and asked him what was going on?
"well it looks like we are going to have to squeeze" and he pointed to the two women who had purchased the last two seats.
now, i am not one to make fun of people who are overweight, but the idea that these ladies were going to fit into this overcrowded car, and going to fit in next to me, was preposterous. even the locals thought it was funny.
these women weren't large, they were huge, and it wasn't physically possible to get all of us on one bench seat and make it there alive.
3 days earlier i witnessed the slow death of a few chickens aboard a tro tro, due to overcrowding and heat, and i wasn't about to let that happen to me.
"um i don't think so." i cried.
Dela hadn't stopped laughing.
the women were boarding.
"um no, i don't think so." i felt like a skinny stuck up white girl. but i didn't care. "we can't fit!" and i shook my head like somebody who was about to be robbed.
the driver was smirking at me, as were all the other passengers.
my friends in the front whispered back "human airbags". i felt sick that it was turning into a joke, but i suppose 40 skinny people crowded on a bench would have been just as funny. it wasn't the character behind the weight, it was the situation the weight was in.
1 of the women took up at least 2 seats. there were 2 women and we were sitting on a 4 seater. the math wasn't adding up. so Senam explained to the driver exactly why this wasn't going to work. he eventually agreed and plopped me in the front seat. i did the sign of the cross and got ready to go. some children ran up to the car and crawled onto the women's laps.
"they have kids too?" i asked Gilbert. "they expected us ALL to fit there?"
He raised his eyebrows, which is the silent way to say "yes".
i've seen some pretty amazing things here, but the law of physics holds true no matter what. the 4 seater was fitting just 2 bodies. i suppose i could have sat on their laps too, but squeezing 4 people into the front wasn't all that bad.
when i studied abroad here our country advisor told us all about the tro tros. she let us in on an unsettling secret "sit in the 3rd row back, right in the middle, that way if you get in an accident your chances of survival are higher. the bodies will cushion the blow".
it seemed like sound advice, but not really what you want to hear when you first move to a foreign country. i never forgot it though, and every time i load up i can hear her voice like a little recorder in my head. when i was asking to move, part of me was thinking, i really should volunteer to sit between the two ladies.
accidents are not rare here.
late at night in the village, when i'm sleeping, i can hear tro tros racing down the accra-kumasi road (kind of like the state highway) miles away. sometimes i swat at my ear. they go so fast it sounds like i'm about to be a mosquito's feast. then i realize what i realized the night before. its the cars, not mosquitoes. i say a little prayer for the car and then go back to bed.
the veil of youth is slowly being lifted from my eyes and mortality is something that is beginning to take a blurry shape and form.
3 years back i hitchhiked the length of Ghana with my friend Crystal, through rainstorms in the back of pick-up trucks. It was incredible, but i wouldn't do that now.
is it a small loss of sense of adventure, or the first step in acquiring a little common sense? maybe neither, maybe both. but whatever it is, at least my mom can feel a little more at peace :)
Our cab driver was late picking us up (sometime after 7 pm), which bumped us into a tro tro (overcrowded van-like cars that work as public transportation) that was completely empty. we sat in the dark for 2 more hours waiting for the car to fill up with passengers.
typically, in the west, we'd fit about 7 or 8 people in these cars and applaud ourselves for carpooling.
here, in Ghana, the car isn't considered full until at least 16 people have bought a seat.
we had 14 going, and were waiting for the last two to straggle in.
it was taking so long that i had fallen asleep on the bench directly behind the drivers seat, and had my legs sprawled over what would be the remaining two seats. when i had gone to bed just me and my friends had spots reserved. when i had awoke the entire car was full, almost.
"press close against the window" somebody told me. they were directing me to squeeze and make room.
i looked around for my friends. 2 behind me and 2 in front. check.
but why were they all laughing at me?
Dela, one of the ladies, crinkles up her entire nose until it almost hits her forehead when she laughs (i think i might do something similar). whatever they were laughing at seemed to be really funny.
senam leaned forward and patted my shoulder a few times. i turned around and asked him what was going on?
"well it looks like we are going to have to squeeze" and he pointed to the two women who had purchased the last two seats.
now, i am not one to make fun of people who are overweight, but the idea that these ladies were going to fit into this overcrowded car, and going to fit in next to me, was preposterous. even the locals thought it was funny.
these women weren't large, they were huge, and it wasn't physically possible to get all of us on one bench seat and make it there alive.
3 days earlier i witnessed the slow death of a few chickens aboard a tro tro, due to overcrowding and heat, and i wasn't about to let that happen to me.
"um i don't think so." i cried.
Dela hadn't stopped laughing.
the women were boarding.
"um no, i don't think so." i felt like a skinny stuck up white girl. but i didn't care. "we can't fit!" and i shook my head like somebody who was about to be robbed.
the driver was smirking at me, as were all the other passengers.
my friends in the front whispered back "human airbags". i felt sick that it was turning into a joke, but i suppose 40 skinny people crowded on a bench would have been just as funny. it wasn't the character behind the weight, it was the situation the weight was in.
1 of the women took up at least 2 seats. there were 2 women and we were sitting on a 4 seater. the math wasn't adding up. so Senam explained to the driver exactly why this wasn't going to work. he eventually agreed and plopped me in the front seat. i did the sign of the cross and got ready to go. some children ran up to the car and crawled onto the women's laps.
"they have kids too?" i asked Gilbert. "they expected us ALL to fit there?"
He raised his eyebrows, which is the silent way to say "yes".
i've seen some pretty amazing things here, but the law of physics holds true no matter what. the 4 seater was fitting just 2 bodies. i suppose i could have sat on their laps too, but squeezing 4 people into the front wasn't all that bad.
when i studied abroad here our country advisor told us all about the tro tros. she let us in on an unsettling secret "sit in the 3rd row back, right in the middle, that way if you get in an accident your chances of survival are higher. the bodies will cushion the blow".
it seemed like sound advice, but not really what you want to hear when you first move to a foreign country. i never forgot it though, and every time i load up i can hear her voice like a little recorder in my head. when i was asking to move, part of me was thinking, i really should volunteer to sit between the two ladies.
accidents are not rare here.
late at night in the village, when i'm sleeping, i can hear tro tros racing down the accra-kumasi road (kind of like the state highway) miles away. sometimes i swat at my ear. they go so fast it sounds like i'm about to be a mosquito's feast. then i realize what i realized the night before. its the cars, not mosquitoes. i say a little prayer for the car and then go back to bed.
the veil of youth is slowly being lifted from my eyes and mortality is something that is beginning to take a blurry shape and form.
3 years back i hitchhiked the length of Ghana with my friend Crystal, through rainstorms in the back of pick-up trucks. It was incredible, but i wouldn't do that now.
is it a small loss of sense of adventure, or the first step in acquiring a little common sense? maybe neither, maybe both. but whatever it is, at least my mom can feel a little more at peace :)
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Christmas *10*
i woke up christmas morning with a slight sense of emptiness. i didn't let myself think about it much though, because i didn't want to have an over dramatic holiday. so what i thought, i'm away from my family? i was with them on thanksgiving. we had a really great time, so i should be thankful for that and revisit those old memories. i know they miss me and i miss them, but i'm choosing to embrace the day here. perk up, i told myself.
i turned on the only christmas song i could find in my cd collection, and laid in bed with it on repeat. i really didn't know what to do with myself. i could hear Sakola and Collins in the living room, singing gospel in twi. their voices are ancient, deep, and beautiful.
but still i'd rather have listened to Dave Matthews Band "the christmas song" on my disc man over and over and over.
i don't think i moved for an hour. the boys peeked into my room a few times and i pretended i was sleeping. i wasn't ready to come out. there was no tree, no family walking around outside fuzzy haired in flannel pajamas, no food except some old rotten tomatoes that i felt too wasteful to throw away.
i opened my Bible and tried to get into the spirit. tried to read some passages about what this time is all about. tried to get into Jesus. but then my mind refuted. the 25th wasn't actually his birthday, so i didn't have to force myself. i could do this any day.
and in actuality, I appreciate his birth everyday. i felt too contrived lying there in bed reading passages just for the sake of the calendar, so i shut my bible and stood up.
what to do? it was early...
the radio had been turned on to an english speaking station, and 50's christmas carols were blasting through our echo-ey house. the boys were singing along, in thick accents, and i couldn't help but love them both. did they turn the music on for me? i convinced myself they did, so i walked outside and greeted them.
collins was sitting in his chair, crutches sprawled out below his feet, smiling big at me like always.
"good morning" he said. his speech was extra slow today.
i gave him a little bow. "good morning sir and a merry christmas to you!"
he shrieked and stomped his feet.
"yeah, you too." he said.
i looked across the room at Sakola. he was busy cleaning, bent over sweeping the floor with a broom that had no handle. he looked up and gave me a smile, then kept at his work.
when i realized nothing exciting was happening out in the living room, and it was still early enough to be anti-social i retreated back into my room.
hmmm... today is a special day, i thought, and its up to me to really make it great.
i looked over at the ball gown hanging from the molding above the window.
YES!
i slipped into the dress with all the excitement i felt in the women's restroom that night at the sushi restaurant.
it felt great on, very... majestic. my only complaint was that it zipped up all the way, it was in fact, a "perfect" fit.
i jumped around my room a little (quietly, i wouldn't want my roommates to think i was crazy), i danced and watched the bottom of my dress sway from side to side. i wished for a mirror. where was santa when you really needed him?
the only reflection in the entire village was the one the birds continuously crash into out front. that meant i had to be brave and make an appearance. i had to leave my room, walk past the boys out into the front and check myself out. they'd be able to see me and i didn't want that. i wanted to look in the reflection and practice moves, some faces, and a few walks. i didn't want observers.
i decided to just stay in my room.
maybe my window could offer me something?
i walked over to it.
much too dusty.
i could clean it?
but then everyone would be able to see in.
i killed the idea.
i was really enjoying the few minutes i'd spent in the dress, and knew i didn't have the courage to wear it to church that day. so i grabbed my digital camera, set it up on timer mode, and did a modeling session behind closed doors.
the camera was placed at just the right angle that all the pictures feature me with a greasy double chin. mmm... attractive.
how much of christmas was really about Jesus, and how much of it was about tradition and emotion? just the act of getting dressed up (even if it was in ridiculous garb) got me more excited for the day than any thing else had so far. i desperately wanted to be more satisfied by the birth than by my dress, but at that moment my dress was winning out. or maybe, god gave me this dress to get excited about his birthday? i couldn't come to terms with that reasoning, instead i had to admit to myself that i was shallow and would never fully understand life.
this put me into a mid morning depression that i was sure church would fix.
i arrived at church in a reasonable outfit with a smile on my face.
the pastor called me up to his shaky wooden desk and showed me some pictures he had just recently developed. i was in 3 of them, each one i was standing with a different person i did not know, and one picture with him. a few weeks before they had me walk around to the back side of the church and stand by a tree and take pictures with these people.
i would have been annoyed except for the fact that no one seemed to know how to use the camera. watching the pastor try to explain to each person, and then frustrated grab it from their hands and give it to someone else (who also didn't know) was just too funny. the camera was bright yellow and made of thick plastic. it looked like a fisher price toy, with the attachable flash that towers high above like a Lego structure.
"no no no, not like that" pastor said. we were posing together for a picture, and i could tell he wanted it just right. he walked over and gave explicit directions to a little old man. the man nodded his head rapidly absorbing the advice on technique.
"okay, yes pastor, i can do it."
so pastor ran back to me and stiffened up for the shot. he even pulled a flower from the tree and held it between us, a little natural beauty always makes for a nice shot.
the man taking the photo had everything down perfectly. he was looking through the right hole, the camera was facing in the correct direction, he was about to push the button that actually takes pictures...
"um, pastor, his finger is over the lens." i said.
he relaxed, grunted, and ran over to the guy. then he shooed him away and called an older woman over.
she handled the camera like it was radioactive. her eye was about 1 foot away from the viewfinder and she kept moving it around like she was practicing Chi Gong.
i burst out laughing and didn't stop. pastor laughed too, although i don't think we were laughing at the same things.
i looked closer at the woman. i recognized her. it was the same lady i had seen earlier carrying a pile of firewood, half the size of a mini-cooper, on her head.
i marveled at life for a brief moment.
i thought about how my skills don't seem to shine in the village. i suck at washing clothes with my hands, am still learning how to cook efficiently over fire, and can't peel fruit in swift graceful twists of the wrist. but i do know how to work a camera.
"here let me show you" i said. " put your eye up close here, when you see us and we are ready, press this button. okay?"
"yoooo (okay)" she said.
the pictures turned out nicely. the people who took them were all gathered around me, giving glances of approval. after sometime we all went back to our seats to get ready for the sermon.
now i must explain this church.
it is quaint, held in a building that has no foundation developed and no walls higher than my shoulders. the floor is dirt, hard packed and lumpy. the roof is made of dried palm leaves, which i personally love. the atmosphere is breezy and cool and earthy. much how i imagine the first churches (that weren't inside homes) must have been.
the congregation size is close to 20, from what i've observed. chameleons skitter about, chasing each other across the ground while pastor stands behind his wooden desk and preaches The Good News. goats and roosters seem to hold conversation but the people eventually drown them out with their booming authentic cries.
some people bring their own chairs and some of us just sit on the wooden benches. there are 2 to choose from. i like to sit in the "back".
Nana Kwame, (Collins and Sakolas brother (also my roommate)) carries Collins chair to church for him every Sunday. Collins usually arrives about a half hour after everyone, sweaty and grinning. the walk is long and not exactly handicap accessible.
the first time i followed Nana Kwame to church i thought he was kidding.
"this is it?" i asked.
"yes."
"where are all the people?"
"they come soon. they come Kissy, don't you worry. they come. ahahaha"
slowly the benches filled up and everyone was surprised to see a white lady around. i shook hands and answered basic questions.
Christmas felt like old times again. everyone knew who i was and was happy to see me, and i them.
the pastor really caters to me, by speaking his message in both twi and english. he makes references to California and my family and friends. he tries to see Ghana from a foreigners point of view and works that into what he's saying. he said i must really be sacrificing to spend my time in blazing sun in the day and getting chomped by mosquitoes at night. i thought it was keen of him to notice, but i told him it wasn't that much of a sacrifice. the sun makes me happily nostalgic and i take malaria meds.
i have to pay close attention when he talks because when it is in English it is only for me.
at one point he asked me
"keycey, are you listening to me?"
i was startled. i wasn't prepared for that. i had dozed off for a split second, wallowed in homesickness, and returned. i opened my eyes really wide and said i had heard.
"so when your family comes to pick you up at the airport" he said pronouncing words the way good preachers do "how do you think they will feel?"
i wasn't sure if i was supposed to answer. i stayed silent.
"how will they feel? huh? HOW WILL THEY FEEL?" he asked again.
was the repetition for flair or for a response? i stayed silent, but attentive.
"Oh keycey! They will be happy! Oh they will rejoice! They will hug you and embrace you" he was jumping around and enthused.
I wanted to cry. I didn't want to think about being home hugging my mom. In that moment, i wanted to be there. I could imagine it perfectly.
"So keycey, this is how we should be welcoming Jesus." he said. "On his birthday, welcome him, please. He's come."
when he said that i felt the attention shift from my relationship to my family, to my relationship with God. i saw the holes in his metaphor, but the feeling it evoked was spot on.
i suddenly realized what i wanted this day to be about. and it was.
after one of the church members finished auctioning of rice and yams, i left and took a walk over to the clinic to see if any babies were going to make their grand entry on Christmas day.
i turned on the only christmas song i could find in my cd collection, and laid in bed with it on repeat. i really didn't know what to do with myself. i could hear Sakola and Collins in the living room, singing gospel in twi. their voices are ancient, deep, and beautiful.
but still i'd rather have listened to Dave Matthews Band "the christmas song" on my disc man over and over and over.
i don't think i moved for an hour. the boys peeked into my room a few times and i pretended i was sleeping. i wasn't ready to come out. there was no tree, no family walking around outside fuzzy haired in flannel pajamas, no food except some old rotten tomatoes that i felt too wasteful to throw away.
i opened my Bible and tried to get into the spirit. tried to read some passages about what this time is all about. tried to get into Jesus. but then my mind refuted. the 25th wasn't actually his birthday, so i didn't have to force myself. i could do this any day.
and in actuality, I appreciate his birth everyday. i felt too contrived lying there in bed reading passages just for the sake of the calendar, so i shut my bible and stood up.
what to do? it was early...
the radio had been turned on to an english speaking station, and 50's christmas carols were blasting through our echo-ey house. the boys were singing along, in thick accents, and i couldn't help but love them both. did they turn the music on for me? i convinced myself they did, so i walked outside and greeted them.
collins was sitting in his chair, crutches sprawled out below his feet, smiling big at me like always.
"good morning" he said. his speech was extra slow today.
i gave him a little bow. "good morning sir and a merry christmas to you!"
he shrieked and stomped his feet.
"yeah, you too." he said.
i looked across the room at Sakola. he was busy cleaning, bent over sweeping the floor with a broom that had no handle. he looked up and gave me a smile, then kept at his work.
when i realized nothing exciting was happening out in the living room, and it was still early enough to be anti-social i retreated back into my room.
hmmm... today is a special day, i thought, and its up to me to really make it great.
i looked over at the ball gown hanging from the molding above the window.
YES!
i slipped into the dress with all the excitement i felt in the women's restroom that night at the sushi restaurant.
it felt great on, very... majestic. my only complaint was that it zipped up all the way, it was in fact, a "perfect" fit.
i jumped around my room a little (quietly, i wouldn't want my roommates to think i was crazy), i danced and watched the bottom of my dress sway from side to side. i wished for a mirror. where was santa when you really needed him?
the only reflection in the entire village was the one the birds continuously crash into out front. that meant i had to be brave and make an appearance. i had to leave my room, walk past the boys out into the front and check myself out. they'd be able to see me and i didn't want that. i wanted to look in the reflection and practice moves, some faces, and a few walks. i didn't want observers.
i decided to just stay in my room.
maybe my window could offer me something?
i walked over to it.
much too dusty.
i could clean it?
but then everyone would be able to see in.
i killed the idea.
i was really enjoying the few minutes i'd spent in the dress, and knew i didn't have the courage to wear it to church that day. so i grabbed my digital camera, set it up on timer mode, and did a modeling session behind closed doors.
the camera was placed at just the right angle that all the pictures feature me with a greasy double chin. mmm... attractive.
how much of christmas was really about Jesus, and how much of it was about tradition and emotion? just the act of getting dressed up (even if it was in ridiculous garb) got me more excited for the day than any thing else had so far. i desperately wanted to be more satisfied by the birth than by my dress, but at that moment my dress was winning out. or maybe, god gave me this dress to get excited about his birthday? i couldn't come to terms with that reasoning, instead i had to admit to myself that i was shallow and would never fully understand life.
this put me into a mid morning depression that i was sure church would fix.
i arrived at church in a reasonable outfit with a smile on my face.
the pastor called me up to his shaky wooden desk and showed me some pictures he had just recently developed. i was in 3 of them, each one i was standing with a different person i did not know, and one picture with him. a few weeks before they had me walk around to the back side of the church and stand by a tree and take pictures with these people.
i would have been annoyed except for the fact that no one seemed to know how to use the camera. watching the pastor try to explain to each person, and then frustrated grab it from their hands and give it to someone else (who also didn't know) was just too funny. the camera was bright yellow and made of thick plastic. it looked like a fisher price toy, with the attachable flash that towers high above like a Lego structure.
"no no no, not like that" pastor said. we were posing together for a picture, and i could tell he wanted it just right. he walked over and gave explicit directions to a little old man. the man nodded his head rapidly absorbing the advice on technique.
"okay, yes pastor, i can do it."
so pastor ran back to me and stiffened up for the shot. he even pulled a flower from the tree and held it between us, a little natural beauty always makes for a nice shot.
the man taking the photo had everything down perfectly. he was looking through the right hole, the camera was facing in the correct direction, he was about to push the button that actually takes pictures...
"um, pastor, his finger is over the lens." i said.
he relaxed, grunted, and ran over to the guy. then he shooed him away and called an older woman over.
she handled the camera like it was radioactive. her eye was about 1 foot away from the viewfinder and she kept moving it around like she was practicing Chi Gong.
i burst out laughing and didn't stop. pastor laughed too, although i don't think we were laughing at the same things.
i looked closer at the woman. i recognized her. it was the same lady i had seen earlier carrying a pile of firewood, half the size of a mini-cooper, on her head.
i marveled at life for a brief moment.
i thought about how my skills don't seem to shine in the village. i suck at washing clothes with my hands, am still learning how to cook efficiently over fire, and can't peel fruit in swift graceful twists of the wrist. but i do know how to work a camera.
"here let me show you" i said. " put your eye up close here, when you see us and we are ready, press this button. okay?"
"yoooo (okay)" she said.
the pictures turned out nicely. the people who took them were all gathered around me, giving glances of approval. after sometime we all went back to our seats to get ready for the sermon.
now i must explain this church.
it is quaint, held in a building that has no foundation developed and no walls higher than my shoulders. the floor is dirt, hard packed and lumpy. the roof is made of dried palm leaves, which i personally love. the atmosphere is breezy and cool and earthy. much how i imagine the first churches (that weren't inside homes) must have been.
the congregation size is close to 20, from what i've observed. chameleons skitter about, chasing each other across the ground while pastor stands behind his wooden desk and preaches The Good News. goats and roosters seem to hold conversation but the people eventually drown them out with their booming authentic cries.
some people bring their own chairs and some of us just sit on the wooden benches. there are 2 to choose from. i like to sit in the "back".
Nana Kwame, (Collins and Sakolas brother (also my roommate)) carries Collins chair to church for him every Sunday. Collins usually arrives about a half hour after everyone, sweaty and grinning. the walk is long and not exactly handicap accessible.
the first time i followed Nana Kwame to church i thought he was kidding.
"this is it?" i asked.
"yes."
"where are all the people?"
"they come soon. they come Kissy, don't you worry. they come. ahahaha"
slowly the benches filled up and everyone was surprised to see a white lady around. i shook hands and answered basic questions.
Christmas felt like old times again. everyone knew who i was and was happy to see me, and i them.
the pastor really caters to me, by speaking his message in both twi and english. he makes references to California and my family and friends. he tries to see Ghana from a foreigners point of view and works that into what he's saying. he said i must really be sacrificing to spend my time in blazing sun in the day and getting chomped by mosquitoes at night. i thought it was keen of him to notice, but i told him it wasn't that much of a sacrifice. the sun makes me happily nostalgic and i take malaria meds.
i have to pay close attention when he talks because when it is in English it is only for me.
at one point he asked me
"keycey, are you listening to me?"
i was startled. i wasn't prepared for that. i had dozed off for a split second, wallowed in homesickness, and returned. i opened my eyes really wide and said i had heard.
"so when your family comes to pick you up at the airport" he said pronouncing words the way good preachers do "how do you think they will feel?"
i wasn't sure if i was supposed to answer. i stayed silent.
"how will they feel? huh? HOW WILL THEY FEEL?" he asked again.
was the repetition for flair or for a response? i stayed silent, but attentive.
"Oh keycey! They will be happy! Oh they will rejoice! They will hug you and embrace you" he was jumping around and enthused.
I wanted to cry. I didn't want to think about being home hugging my mom. In that moment, i wanted to be there. I could imagine it perfectly.
"So keycey, this is how we should be welcoming Jesus." he said. "On his birthday, welcome him, please. He's come."
when he said that i felt the attention shift from my relationship to my family, to my relationship with God. i saw the holes in his metaphor, but the feeling it evoked was spot on.
i suddenly realized what i wanted this day to be about. and it was.
after one of the church members finished auctioning of rice and yams, i left and took a walk over to the clinic to see if any babies were going to make their grand entry on Christmas day.
Friday, December 29, 2006
ladies c'mon over *9*...
A week before i left, 5 of my great girlfriends and i met each other out for sushi at a trendy restaurant in downtown Chico. I along with 2 others got there around 6, and sat at a table in the corner. It was perfect, we could get giggly and loud and only the walls would hear.
When the last two ladies, Simone and Marie, showed up they were both carrying bags and suspicious smiles. They ordered us all into the 1 room bathroom, where they uncovered their surprises.
Ball gowns and funky socks, for all to wear.
i was ecstatic, i had heard about crazy nights in 80's ball gowns, and waited for the day of my initiation. my going away party was the perfect night!
we all stripped down and started rummaging through the choices, tossing each other what we thought "was so you" and grabbing for what we liked. the bathroom couldn't have been a more perfect place. the walls were fully mirrored (i think even the ceilings were too) and the floor was clean enough not to be grossed out. the dresses came in all colors and designs, and i had my eye on the light blue thigh length one. someone was holding it at the moment, so i tried not to get my hopes up. i looked through the socks instead.
purple and black striped knee highs. that will do.
the outfits were coming together nicely, except one thing.
"excuse me ladies!" marie yelled out. "ball gown rule number 12, you need to all know, is that the dress doesn't have to (and preferably, should not) be able to zip up all the way."
we all looked around at each other and started laughing. perfect, cause none of them were budging past our mid backs.
somebody threw the blue one into my empty arms and said "wear this one Kace!" so i frantically stepped into it and wiggled it up, went to zip it, and only got half way. it was meant to be.
we were all starting to get a little sweaty and claustrophobic so a few of us finished up and left to go sit at the table. the others came shortly.
we looked fabulous. all frills, sequins, shoulder pads, and definitely meaning business. i was sad to leave. i wanted to dress in ball gowns every night. i didn't want this to be a going away party, so instead of letting the night end early, we squeezed out every last minute we could. we perused the town and crashed every single small business we could find. cafes, wine lounges, and restaurants. we were unstoppable.
each place we went into we danced like it was MTV spring break meets San Francisco rave, flipping our hairdos in outrageous directions. i lucked out and got to wear the yellow sparkly boa which we dubbed as our testosterone shocker. no boys were going to intrude on our night, that was for sure. each time the male species walked within our vicinity, showing any slight interest, we'd throw out our shocker and keep them at bay. this was all done 100% sober.
and who says you need alcohol to have fun?
after doing karaoke in a completely empty bar (except for a few local cowboys) and singing our hearts out to (i think it was) Metallica then working our way down the block and stompin' to a live Irish band, we walked our tousled selves back to our bikes and cars.
"you know" marie said "we should travel the world in ball gowns!"
none of us wanted it to end. okay, maybe one of us did, but she was a little tired and i don't blame her.
"YEAH!!!!!!!" i thought it was a great idea. "when i get back from africa, lets start in argentina and learn how to salsa dance. (unfortunately i don't think they salsa dance there, but that wasn't my point) then lets go to-"
"iceland"
"YEAH! and then we can go to China and walk the Great Wall in ball gowns"
"and then we can visit the Pyramids in ball gowns..."
and the conversation ping ponged like that- all around our ball gowns, until we separated and went to bed.
well my ladies would be proud to hear of my most recent find.
friday is market day in the village. every week sellers come from the local cities, packed in cars with all their goods, then sprawl them out on plastic mats and yell out to come and buy their goods.
my first week in town i thought the big vacant lot was a huge blacktop, some sort of deserted playground.
it took only a few short days to realize what Agyei meant when he nodded and kept saying "friday is market day, are you ready?" i thought market day just meant people went to the already existing stands and purchased what they needed for the upcoming week. oh but was i wrong.
tomatoes, shampoo, fabric, kitchen supplies, rope, soap, dried fish, baby clothes, onions and papaya, chiles and plantain, ice cream... someone even offered up their child to me... everything is for sale.
huge piles of clothes, shipped over from the U.S., all previously used were carefully placed in 5 feet increments down a long stretch of road. when i first saw it and heard the man yell out "5,000 cedis! (50 cents)" i had that rush of excitement that i get right when i walk into a thrift store with absolutely nothing else to do for the day. the world was mine!
but then i was flooded with guilt remembering how Sakola and Agyei had to team up with me and struggle to put together a janky wardrobe, which it's directions were all written in chinese, earlier that morning. Agyei kept wiping the sweat off his forehead onto his sleeve and giving me funny looks. we would just laugh, but i think we both were a little more annoyed than amused. Sakola had to fix each of the screws i had put together, to make the wardrobe not so shaky and unstable. all because i needed to hang the exorbitant amount of clothes i had brought over.
while i was packing i decided, if i was going to be homesick it was going to be for things i couldn't bring over. like people. ALL my clothes were coming with me.
"your bags are over the weight limit" the lady at the airline checkout counter told me.
"that's fine, i'll pay the extra fee." i said politely.
"no, they are over the limit of allowance. you can't bring all this. you have to get rid of 20 pounds, for each bag."
darn it! i couldn't leave my clothes behind, all my outfits already had future memories attached to them. i was planning on wearing my black and white dresses to church, backpacking in my earth colored tank tops, working at the clinic in my thrift store scrubs. what could i get rid of?
my mom was there, already trying to problem solve. if i hadn't been leaving for an indefinite amount of time, i think she probably would have been annoyed at my lack of planning. i did spend the last night upstairs on a scale struggling to hold each suitcase high enough so she could read the weight. but now, it didn't seem to matter. i had to get rid of 40 lbs and my mom was looking at me to help her figure it out.
"what's it gonna be?" she asked.
"okay" i said selfishly. "lets get rid of the exam gloves."
i mean, aren't clothes a little more important than the protection of oneself and a patient during times like childbirth? so i pulled out boxes and boxes of exam gloves, and kept my clothes.
now, in ghana, i needed a wardrobe to house all these clothes, and i needed help putting it together. initially i was convinced i could do it myself. i had heard another foreign volunteer before me put together Ma's wardrobe (she has a lot of clothes too :)) and i competitively asked Ma
"how long did it take her to put it together?"
she sneered at me skeptically and said "oh, 30 minutes and she was done."
then i could do it in 20, i told myself.
but instead the wardrobe sat in my room, a quarter of the way assembled, for about a week. each day i went to the clinic Ma asked me if i had put it together yet. each day i had a new excuse until finally she told me
"if you say you are going to do something, you should do it."
my self-esteem plummeted and then i got angry. she didn't even put hers together. easy for her to say.
i woke up the next morning and struggled until Sakola, curious poked his head around the corner into my room. he just stared for a while. it was pretty obvious i needed help, and it was pretty obvious i wasn't going to ask. i just kept reading and rereading the chinese directions, convinced maybe a caricature or two might suddenly jump out and make sense and the entire wardrobe could then be put together effortlessly.
the cool morning was giving way to a hot morning and i wanted to cry. i felt like i was failing every woman from every generation that was told she couldn't do man's work. i couldn't, but i wanted to.
instead Sakola came in and started to look at the pieces and fit them together like a jigsaw puzzle. he didn't do it quickly, which made me happy. in fact, Agyei showed up (we have a telepathic relationship) and brought the humor back into everything. i think he made fun of me in twi to Sakola, one for getting a wardrobe i couldn't put together and two, for HAVING to get a wardrobe that i couldn't put together. really, they wondered, WHY SO MANY CLOTHES?
so there i was, just a half a day later, staring at the pile of old ragged used clothes at the market, only wanting more. i started shuffling 'just to look'. i didn't need anything else, i just wanted to look. really.
i was shopping with Efreeyeh, and she had quickly lost interest in the old heap. she walked over to the beauty supplies when she heard me let out a great big cry of good fortune
"YYYYYYYIIIIehhhh!" i jumped up and down like i just won the lotto.
I yanked a magenta 80's ball gown out of the mess. I held it up to myself (not too closely) and looked down. it was dreadfully beautiful. painfully gorgeous. and it even had jewels studded across the chest in the form of a rose.
how perfect and tacky is this?
i could barely remember feeling guilty now that i had this in my hands. i examined it a little more. it was off the shoulder and a little above the knee. the color was atrocious. i had to get it.
the man selling the clothes had no doubt sensed my excitement, and said
"its really nice isn't it? oh what a beautiful dress. it will look sweet on you sista"
i was waiting for the increase in price, but he put his hand out and said "5,000 cedis."
what a unblemished moment, i thought. i didn't even have to haggle.
Efreeyeh walked over and i asked her if she liked my dress.
"No, not really."
She has a striking gap in between her two front teeth, and posture like a midget in a big persons body, all tight and straight. she's good looking in a different sort of way, with a gentle inquiring spirit. she didn't want to say she didn't like it, but i sort of forced it out of her. plus, the dress was down right hideous.
"i don't like it either." i said with images of my friends and me together in ball gowns, floating through my head. we wouldn't be starting in Argentina, now that i found this dress we would have to start in Ghana. I would have to find a bunch more.
"will you wear it to town?" she asked.
never. i thought.
"um, probably not. i'm not sure when or where i'll wear it." i answered. "i'll have to wear it with my friends."
she nodded knowingly. i had no idea how to explain why i bought a dress i didn't think was attractive for no particular reason except to wear it someday? somewhere in that exchange, there is a loss for understanding. some things just don't cross cultures, and it was apparent my ball gown escapade wasn't going to make sense if i told her, so i kept the story to myself and brought my dress home and hung it over my glass window. i wanted to keep it out of the wardrobe so i could lovingly look at it when i reclined in bed. this dress was my new best friend and it hung in the same spot for 3 weeks. i didn't try it on, i wanted instead to wait for the perfect moment to put it on. some special occasion that was sure to come...
When the last two ladies, Simone and Marie, showed up they were both carrying bags and suspicious smiles. They ordered us all into the 1 room bathroom, where they uncovered their surprises.
Ball gowns and funky socks, for all to wear.
i was ecstatic, i had heard about crazy nights in 80's ball gowns, and waited for the day of my initiation. my going away party was the perfect night!
we all stripped down and started rummaging through the choices, tossing each other what we thought "was so you" and grabbing for what we liked. the bathroom couldn't have been a more perfect place. the walls were fully mirrored (i think even the ceilings were too) and the floor was clean enough not to be grossed out. the dresses came in all colors and designs, and i had my eye on the light blue thigh length one. someone was holding it at the moment, so i tried not to get my hopes up. i looked through the socks instead.
purple and black striped knee highs. that will do.
the outfits were coming together nicely, except one thing.
"excuse me ladies!" marie yelled out. "ball gown rule number 12, you need to all know, is that the dress doesn't have to (and preferably, should not) be able to zip up all the way."
we all looked around at each other and started laughing. perfect, cause none of them were budging past our mid backs.
somebody threw the blue one into my empty arms and said "wear this one Kace!" so i frantically stepped into it and wiggled it up, went to zip it, and only got half way. it was meant to be.
we were all starting to get a little sweaty and claustrophobic so a few of us finished up and left to go sit at the table. the others came shortly.
we looked fabulous. all frills, sequins, shoulder pads, and definitely meaning business. i was sad to leave. i wanted to dress in ball gowns every night. i didn't want this to be a going away party, so instead of letting the night end early, we squeezed out every last minute we could. we perused the town and crashed every single small business we could find. cafes, wine lounges, and restaurants. we were unstoppable.
each place we went into we danced like it was MTV spring break meets San Francisco rave, flipping our hairdos in outrageous directions. i lucked out and got to wear the yellow sparkly boa which we dubbed as our testosterone shocker. no boys were going to intrude on our night, that was for sure. each time the male species walked within our vicinity, showing any slight interest, we'd throw out our shocker and keep them at bay. this was all done 100% sober.
and who says you need alcohol to have fun?
after doing karaoke in a completely empty bar (except for a few local cowboys) and singing our hearts out to (i think it was) Metallica then working our way down the block and stompin' to a live Irish band, we walked our tousled selves back to our bikes and cars.
"you know" marie said "we should travel the world in ball gowns!"
none of us wanted it to end. okay, maybe one of us did, but she was a little tired and i don't blame her.
"YEAH!!!!!!!" i thought it was a great idea. "when i get back from africa, lets start in argentina and learn how to salsa dance. (unfortunately i don't think they salsa dance there, but that wasn't my point) then lets go to-"
"iceland"
"YEAH! and then we can go to China and walk the Great Wall in ball gowns"
"and then we can visit the Pyramids in ball gowns..."
and the conversation ping ponged like that- all around our ball gowns, until we separated and went to bed.
well my ladies would be proud to hear of my most recent find.
friday is market day in the village. every week sellers come from the local cities, packed in cars with all their goods, then sprawl them out on plastic mats and yell out to come and buy their goods.
my first week in town i thought the big vacant lot was a huge blacktop, some sort of deserted playground.
it took only a few short days to realize what Agyei meant when he nodded and kept saying "friday is market day, are you ready?" i thought market day just meant people went to the already existing stands and purchased what they needed for the upcoming week. oh but was i wrong.
tomatoes, shampoo, fabric, kitchen supplies, rope, soap, dried fish, baby clothes, onions and papaya, chiles and plantain, ice cream... someone even offered up their child to me... everything is for sale.
huge piles of clothes, shipped over from the U.S., all previously used were carefully placed in 5 feet increments down a long stretch of road. when i first saw it and heard the man yell out "5,000 cedis! (50 cents)" i had that rush of excitement that i get right when i walk into a thrift store with absolutely nothing else to do for the day. the world was mine!
but then i was flooded with guilt remembering how Sakola and Agyei had to team up with me and struggle to put together a janky wardrobe, which it's directions were all written in chinese, earlier that morning. Agyei kept wiping the sweat off his forehead onto his sleeve and giving me funny looks. we would just laugh, but i think we both were a little more annoyed than amused. Sakola had to fix each of the screws i had put together, to make the wardrobe not so shaky and unstable. all because i needed to hang the exorbitant amount of clothes i had brought over.
while i was packing i decided, if i was going to be homesick it was going to be for things i couldn't bring over. like people. ALL my clothes were coming with me.
"your bags are over the weight limit" the lady at the airline checkout counter told me.
"that's fine, i'll pay the extra fee." i said politely.
"no, they are over the limit of allowance. you can't bring all this. you have to get rid of 20 pounds, for each bag."
darn it! i couldn't leave my clothes behind, all my outfits already had future memories attached to them. i was planning on wearing my black and white dresses to church, backpacking in my earth colored tank tops, working at the clinic in my thrift store scrubs. what could i get rid of?
my mom was there, already trying to problem solve. if i hadn't been leaving for an indefinite amount of time, i think she probably would have been annoyed at my lack of planning. i did spend the last night upstairs on a scale struggling to hold each suitcase high enough so she could read the weight. but now, it didn't seem to matter. i had to get rid of 40 lbs and my mom was looking at me to help her figure it out.
"what's it gonna be?" she asked.
"okay" i said selfishly. "lets get rid of the exam gloves."
i mean, aren't clothes a little more important than the protection of oneself and a patient during times like childbirth? so i pulled out boxes and boxes of exam gloves, and kept my clothes.
now, in ghana, i needed a wardrobe to house all these clothes, and i needed help putting it together. initially i was convinced i could do it myself. i had heard another foreign volunteer before me put together Ma's wardrobe (she has a lot of clothes too :)) and i competitively asked Ma
"how long did it take her to put it together?"
she sneered at me skeptically and said "oh, 30 minutes and she was done."
then i could do it in 20, i told myself.
but instead the wardrobe sat in my room, a quarter of the way assembled, for about a week. each day i went to the clinic Ma asked me if i had put it together yet. each day i had a new excuse until finally she told me
"if you say you are going to do something, you should do it."
my self-esteem plummeted and then i got angry. she didn't even put hers together. easy for her to say.
i woke up the next morning and struggled until Sakola, curious poked his head around the corner into my room. he just stared for a while. it was pretty obvious i needed help, and it was pretty obvious i wasn't going to ask. i just kept reading and rereading the chinese directions, convinced maybe a caricature or two might suddenly jump out and make sense and the entire wardrobe could then be put together effortlessly.
the cool morning was giving way to a hot morning and i wanted to cry. i felt like i was failing every woman from every generation that was told she couldn't do man's work. i couldn't, but i wanted to.
instead Sakola came in and started to look at the pieces and fit them together like a jigsaw puzzle. he didn't do it quickly, which made me happy. in fact, Agyei showed up (we have a telepathic relationship) and brought the humor back into everything. i think he made fun of me in twi to Sakola, one for getting a wardrobe i couldn't put together and two, for HAVING to get a wardrobe that i couldn't put together. really, they wondered, WHY SO MANY CLOTHES?
so there i was, just a half a day later, staring at the pile of old ragged used clothes at the market, only wanting more. i started shuffling 'just to look'. i didn't need anything else, i just wanted to look. really.
i was shopping with Efreeyeh, and she had quickly lost interest in the old heap. she walked over to the beauty supplies when she heard me let out a great big cry of good fortune
"YYYYYYYIIIIehhhh!" i jumped up and down like i just won the lotto.
I yanked a magenta 80's ball gown out of the mess. I held it up to myself (not too closely) and looked down. it was dreadfully beautiful. painfully gorgeous. and it even had jewels studded across the chest in the form of a rose.
how perfect and tacky is this?
i could barely remember feeling guilty now that i had this in my hands. i examined it a little more. it was off the shoulder and a little above the knee. the color was atrocious. i had to get it.
the man selling the clothes had no doubt sensed my excitement, and said
"its really nice isn't it? oh what a beautiful dress. it will look sweet on you sista"
i was waiting for the increase in price, but he put his hand out and said "5,000 cedis."
what a unblemished moment, i thought. i didn't even have to haggle.
Efreeyeh walked over and i asked her if she liked my dress.
"No, not really."
She has a striking gap in between her two front teeth, and posture like a midget in a big persons body, all tight and straight. she's good looking in a different sort of way, with a gentle inquiring spirit. she didn't want to say she didn't like it, but i sort of forced it out of her. plus, the dress was down right hideous.
"i don't like it either." i said with images of my friends and me together in ball gowns, floating through my head. we wouldn't be starting in Argentina, now that i found this dress we would have to start in Ghana. I would have to find a bunch more.
"will you wear it to town?" she asked.
never. i thought.
"um, probably not. i'm not sure when or where i'll wear it." i answered. "i'll have to wear it with my friends."
she nodded knowingly. i had no idea how to explain why i bought a dress i didn't think was attractive for no particular reason except to wear it someday? somewhere in that exchange, there is a loss for understanding. some things just don't cross cultures, and it was apparent my ball gown escapade wasn't going to make sense if i told her, so i kept the story to myself and brought my dress home and hung it over my glass window. i wanted to keep it out of the wardrobe so i could lovingly look at it when i reclined in bed. this dress was my new best friend and it hung in the same spot for 3 weeks. i didn't try it on, i wanted instead to wait for the perfect moment to put it on. some special occasion that was sure to come...
Collins *8*
By traveling just a few short hours in Ghana, and a lot of Africa, you pass through not just scenery but various cultures, traditions, and languages. I've spent the last few days in the Volta region, just 5 hours and a few languages away from where i'm living in Boamadumase. its been a nice break to not understand what people are saying to me, to not have to turn my head to every "oburoni kokoo maakye!/white girl how are you?". i can just walk in peace and ignorance and listen to what Maya Angelou refers to as "the beautiful singsong language, Ewe".
i'm starting to miss my roommates a little. mostly collins, the youngest brother. he's 19 years old and has lived in the village his entire life and is just completing junior high school. he's the only disabled person in the village i've seen, and also happens to be the person i feel most comfortable around.
after a long day at the clinic, i am happy to see collins at home. he usually is sitting in 1 of our 3 plastic chairs in the living room, that lean up against thick glass windows that look into my room. i would have bought curtains for a bit of privacy from all the people who pass through, and occasionally collins peeping eyes, but the glass is so dusty that i don't need any. i am protected.
the first week i was here i gave collins a tee-shirt, bright blue that says "Chapman Cats". it's boasts the logo from the school i was working at just a few short months ago and was given to me as a present by my wonderful boss Chris Kenney. Before i left for this trip i was feeling nervous about quitting, i didn't want to let people down by giving my notice in the middle of the school year, but the call back to Ghana was so strong i couldn't help myself. she strongly supported me and then gave me the gift at a going away party. now, collins is wearing it, religiously.
every day when i meet up with him he has it on. i can see him coming down the long dusty trail, his body twisted at a challenged angle, his stiff homemade crutches working their way down the road, and his legs whipping around slowly, one after the other. his shirt is very new looking amidst the aging things my eyes are so used to seeing.
his mother is the next closest house to mine, close enough for him and his brothers (all of them my roommates) to yell out the window and ask if dinner is ready, but far enough for it to be funny. it would probably be equivalent to a little longer than the length of a football field.
Sakola has the best yelling voice, and the best ear. He waits a few extra seconds, till the sound waves travel and have made a complete stop. then he inches up close to the window and hollers back. usually it is accompanied by a "let's go." and then we trudge off to eat whatever has been prepared for us.
In between the houses is a cocoa farm, owned, ran and worked by all the family, except Collins. His body is disadvantaged, especially for village life. But his mind is keen and he makes great conversation. He can't haul water, or carry wood, or pound fufuo but he can translate anything me or the brothers can't get across to each other, and then has the sense of humor to laugh at us all. he hears the miscommunication between us and sees the struggles, and smooths them out by patiently explaining what we each mean, all in our own native languages. then he claps his hands together, throws his head back, and shakes it all around.
he was so overjoyed by his bright blue t-shirt he promised me again and again that God was going to bless me abundantly, when i returned to America. "Just you wait and see Kessy, God will BLESS YOU BLESS YOU BLESS YOU!" he shook his head around, side to side, like a dog after a bath.
he was so sincere, i felt like i was having my palm read.
"really? how?" i was almost scared to ask, like the feeling you get when you sneak into your mothers secret hiding spot and look at a Christmas present early.
"oh Kessy, he will BLESS YOU! because God says 'those that give to the least of these, give unto Me. Just you wait, he will BLESS YOU! you will be RICH!" he was rolling his rrrrrrr's and speaking in his deep preachers voice.
i'm believing him. even though just being in collins presence is all the blessing i need.
i'm starting to miss my roommates a little. mostly collins, the youngest brother. he's 19 years old and has lived in the village his entire life and is just completing junior high school. he's the only disabled person in the village i've seen, and also happens to be the person i feel most comfortable around.
after a long day at the clinic, i am happy to see collins at home. he usually is sitting in 1 of our 3 plastic chairs in the living room, that lean up against thick glass windows that look into my room. i would have bought curtains for a bit of privacy from all the people who pass through, and occasionally collins peeping eyes, but the glass is so dusty that i don't need any. i am protected.
the first week i was here i gave collins a tee-shirt, bright blue that says "Chapman Cats". it's boasts the logo from the school i was working at just a few short months ago and was given to me as a present by my wonderful boss Chris Kenney. Before i left for this trip i was feeling nervous about quitting, i didn't want to let people down by giving my notice in the middle of the school year, but the call back to Ghana was so strong i couldn't help myself. she strongly supported me and then gave me the gift at a going away party. now, collins is wearing it, religiously.
every day when i meet up with him he has it on. i can see him coming down the long dusty trail, his body twisted at a challenged angle, his stiff homemade crutches working their way down the road, and his legs whipping around slowly, one after the other. his shirt is very new looking amidst the aging things my eyes are so used to seeing.
his mother is the next closest house to mine, close enough for him and his brothers (all of them my roommates) to yell out the window and ask if dinner is ready, but far enough for it to be funny. it would probably be equivalent to a little longer than the length of a football field.
Sakola has the best yelling voice, and the best ear. He waits a few extra seconds, till the sound waves travel and have made a complete stop. then he inches up close to the window and hollers back. usually it is accompanied by a "let's go." and then we trudge off to eat whatever has been prepared for us.
In between the houses is a cocoa farm, owned, ran and worked by all the family, except Collins. His body is disadvantaged, especially for village life. But his mind is keen and he makes great conversation. He can't haul water, or carry wood, or pound fufuo but he can translate anything me or the brothers can't get across to each other, and then has the sense of humor to laugh at us all. he hears the miscommunication between us and sees the struggles, and smooths them out by patiently explaining what we each mean, all in our own native languages. then he claps his hands together, throws his head back, and shakes it all around.
he was so overjoyed by his bright blue t-shirt he promised me again and again that God was going to bless me abundantly, when i returned to America. "Just you wait and see Kessy, God will BLESS YOU BLESS YOU BLESS YOU!" he shook his head around, side to side, like a dog after a bath.
he was so sincere, i felt like i was having my palm read.
"really? how?" i was almost scared to ask, like the feeling you get when you sneak into your mothers secret hiding spot and look at a Christmas present early.
"oh Kessy, he will BLESS YOU! because God says 'those that give to the least of these, give unto Me. Just you wait, he will BLESS YOU! you will be RICH!" he was rolling his rrrrrrr's and speaking in his deep preachers voice.
i'm believing him. even though just being in collins presence is all the blessing i need.
See you on Sunday *7*
I watched my first James Bond movie today. Or part of it, at least. Senam pawned me off on his brother so he could go bathe, he told me he was watching movies in his room and i could just hang out there for a while.
i walked into a tiny dark room, all painted pink with pink bed sheets and fake flower arrangements and a holographic picture of the white Jesus. Senams brother, Gilbert, was sprawled out and welcomed me by fluffing a few pillows for me to sit on. He did a quick once over of his room, shut some dresser drawers and smoothed his shirt.
"do you like James Bond movies?" and then he handed me a pirated case cover which showed all the movies he had. "how much are dvd's in america?" he asked.
i told him.
"ehhhhh!" he screamed, throwing his body back like he'd just been punched. "that much? this was only about, hm, let's say, 25,000 cedis!"
thats roughly $2.50. i really didn't care one way or the other but it obviously excited him into further questions.
"that much? oh. well, these are all copies of copies but they play well" he pointed to the t.v. "see they are a clear picture. and you say you've never seen a James Bond movie? You white people seem to not see very many of these films."
we had gone out to a restaraunt the night before and he went down the list of all the movies he had recently seen, and who starred in each. i knew of neither. i am completely ignorant when it comes to Hollywood, which really puts a quick end to a lot of budding conversations here. next time i come i should grab a handful of People magazines and study up on the plane ride over.
"well make yourself comfortable" he said, stressing each syllable in com-for-ta-ble.
i leaned back and looked around the room.
"is this your room?" i was certain it was for an older lady in the family, maybe his grandmother.
"yes!" he said.
"oh" i smiled. "you have a lot of stuff." i couldn't think of anything to say. i didn't want to tell him how it dripped with femininity and did he do the flower arrangements himself?
not to mention, i found some sort of bizarre pleasure seeing him kicked back enjoying James Bond amidst lace and frills. like the new fad of fraternity boys wearing pink pastel polo shirts, a little odd but highly enjoyable, as if we are all going to join the same tribe soon.
"you should watch, if you'd like." he noticed i was taking mental note of every possible detail, even though i was trying to be casual i don't think it was working. good thing i hadn't brought a pen and paper.
"okay" i said. i leaned back and instantly wanted to be outside. it was too dark, i wasn't interested in James Bond, and the lace curtains were blowing ever so softly that i knew the weather hadn't turned unbearable and there was still time to enjoy the morning. but i didn't move, i just let the urge pass and settled down into docks exploding and little bodies flying like fleas jumping off dogs.
an hour passed and we were on to our 2nd film. i was starting to see why my family was excited when they saw Pierce walking down a beach a few years back in Kuaui.
"Pierce, who's Pierce?" i kept asking.
We ended up walking in groups of two down the long stretch of sand, trying to appear non-chalant and get a closer look.
"its him!" they said. they were certain.
"Gilbert" i was interuppting the movie but i know he didn't mind, he had been going out of his way to make small talk with me the entire time. "Gilbert, did you know that i saw Pierce once when i was in Hawaii?"
He gave me a long slow nod.
"Hawaii? Is that an island?" he asked.
Yes i said.
"oh yes, Hawaii, i'd like to go there one day. i've seen pictures, its so colorful and..." he wiggled his fingers around in the air, like he was playing a piano up by his forehead.
we kept watching the movie. my news didn't seem to impress him, but it didn't really impress me either so i didn't mind. i could feel a wad of thick frothy saliva forming in my mouth but hadn't wanted to get up for the past hour to spit it out due to my laziness. my mind kept skipping from remembering the water i had used to rinse after i brushed, James Bond, and whether i should just swallow it. the water wasn't clear. was i harboring millions of harmful bacteria inside my mouth and if i swallowed what would happen?
a rocket shot through someones chest a pinned them against the wall. seconds later, Bond shot a lady dead.
i swallowed, i should be okay.
I heard Senams father calling from the other house for his grandson. The little boy ran into our room and told Gilbert something in Ewe. Gilbert nodded and looked at me and told me someone was here to greet me.
"in fact, its my eldest sister. come she's just outside." and he stood up and waved me over towards the door.
I walked out and the sunlight was blinding. His sister was old to be his sibling, in her late 50's. She was shorter than me and had her hair greased into a short bob. she stuck out her hand and i shook it.
"hello, you must be Gilbert's sister." how on earth did i know?
She laughed... "yes, yes, i am the eldest sister, the first born. veeeeeeeeery first that is."
she spoke english well. all of Senam's family does.
"you are welcome." she said, offering the typical Ghanaian greeting.
"thank you." i replied.
"so i hope you are enjoying your stay here. i have come for just today." she said "i am a midwife in a village just 30 kilometers from this place, i have to go back soon but will be returning on Sunday, this Sunday. It is my hope you will be here when i return. Is that the case?"
I responded that i was planning on leaving Sunday to head back to Boamadumase. I didn't want to be gone from work for too long, that i wanted to be exposed to more "cases" (Ma's term for women delivering).
"oh, i see. So you are a midwife." she stated.
"well no, not really." i felt embarrassed. again, like a wannabe. so i just admitted "no, i'm not, i just want to be."
that really made her laugh and then she reached out and slapped my arm. "then you should come with me! you will see a lot. but i'm leaving today and coming back on Sunday."
She and Gilbert shot Ewe back and forth and came up with the conclusion that it just wouldn't work.
"okay" she said "maybe instead, when i come on Sunday i can bring you to the local hospital, then you can see how it is for yourself. Maybe Sunday night i will come, is that alright with you?"
"Yes." anything was alright with me, anything that had to do with birth. scrubbing blood splatters off the wall would be okay with me. i didn't say that though. "Yes, that sounds great."
"Okay then, i'll see you on Sunday." she said. "but i don't even know your name. I'm Ernestine."
"I'm Kacie."
"Great, see you in a few days." and then she left.
Ma told me she had worked in the Volta region as a midwife for a good number of years. I wonder if Ernestine knows Ma, and if she did I wonder what she would think of her. They seem to be from two different planets. Ernestine appears so mobile and personable. I could never imagine her yelling the way Ma does, loud and long till my belly trembles and my bones shake.
She was wearing a purple matching skirt and top, the color of a perfectly dyed easter egg, and just as friendly. and i'm going to see her in 2 days.
i walked into a tiny dark room, all painted pink with pink bed sheets and fake flower arrangements and a holographic picture of the white Jesus. Senams brother, Gilbert, was sprawled out and welcomed me by fluffing a few pillows for me to sit on. He did a quick once over of his room, shut some dresser drawers and smoothed his shirt.
"do you like James Bond movies?" and then he handed me a pirated case cover which showed all the movies he had. "how much are dvd's in america?" he asked.
i told him.
"ehhhhh!" he screamed, throwing his body back like he'd just been punched. "that much? this was only about, hm, let's say, 25,000 cedis!"
thats roughly $2.50. i really didn't care one way or the other but it obviously excited him into further questions.
"that much? oh. well, these are all copies of copies but they play well" he pointed to the t.v. "see they are a clear picture. and you say you've never seen a James Bond movie? You white people seem to not see very many of these films."
we had gone out to a restaraunt the night before and he went down the list of all the movies he had recently seen, and who starred in each. i knew of neither. i am completely ignorant when it comes to Hollywood, which really puts a quick end to a lot of budding conversations here. next time i come i should grab a handful of People magazines and study up on the plane ride over.
"well make yourself comfortable" he said, stressing each syllable in com-for-ta-ble.
i leaned back and looked around the room.
"is this your room?" i was certain it was for an older lady in the family, maybe his grandmother.
"yes!" he said.
"oh" i smiled. "you have a lot of stuff." i couldn't think of anything to say. i didn't want to tell him how it dripped with femininity and did he do the flower arrangements himself?
not to mention, i found some sort of bizarre pleasure seeing him kicked back enjoying James Bond amidst lace and frills. like the new fad of fraternity boys wearing pink pastel polo shirts, a little odd but highly enjoyable, as if we are all going to join the same tribe soon.
"you should watch, if you'd like." he noticed i was taking mental note of every possible detail, even though i was trying to be casual i don't think it was working. good thing i hadn't brought a pen and paper.
"okay" i said. i leaned back and instantly wanted to be outside. it was too dark, i wasn't interested in James Bond, and the lace curtains were blowing ever so softly that i knew the weather hadn't turned unbearable and there was still time to enjoy the morning. but i didn't move, i just let the urge pass and settled down into docks exploding and little bodies flying like fleas jumping off dogs.
an hour passed and we were on to our 2nd film. i was starting to see why my family was excited when they saw Pierce walking down a beach a few years back in Kuaui.
"Pierce, who's Pierce?" i kept asking.
We ended up walking in groups of two down the long stretch of sand, trying to appear non-chalant and get a closer look.
"its him!" they said. they were certain.
"Gilbert" i was interuppting the movie but i know he didn't mind, he had been going out of his way to make small talk with me the entire time. "Gilbert, did you know that i saw Pierce once when i was in Hawaii?"
He gave me a long slow nod.
"Hawaii? Is that an island?" he asked.
Yes i said.
"oh yes, Hawaii, i'd like to go there one day. i've seen pictures, its so colorful and..." he wiggled his fingers around in the air, like he was playing a piano up by his forehead.
we kept watching the movie. my news didn't seem to impress him, but it didn't really impress me either so i didn't mind. i could feel a wad of thick frothy saliva forming in my mouth but hadn't wanted to get up for the past hour to spit it out due to my laziness. my mind kept skipping from remembering the water i had used to rinse after i brushed, James Bond, and whether i should just swallow it. the water wasn't clear. was i harboring millions of harmful bacteria inside my mouth and if i swallowed what would happen?
a rocket shot through someones chest a pinned them against the wall. seconds later, Bond shot a lady dead.
i swallowed, i should be okay.
I heard Senams father calling from the other house for his grandson. The little boy ran into our room and told Gilbert something in Ewe. Gilbert nodded and looked at me and told me someone was here to greet me.
"in fact, its my eldest sister. come she's just outside." and he stood up and waved me over towards the door.
I walked out and the sunlight was blinding. His sister was old to be his sibling, in her late 50's. She was shorter than me and had her hair greased into a short bob. she stuck out her hand and i shook it.
"hello, you must be Gilbert's sister." how on earth did i know?
She laughed... "yes, yes, i am the eldest sister, the first born. veeeeeeeeery first that is."
she spoke english well. all of Senam's family does.
"you are welcome." she said, offering the typical Ghanaian greeting.
"thank you." i replied.
"so i hope you are enjoying your stay here. i have come for just today." she said "i am a midwife in a village just 30 kilometers from this place, i have to go back soon but will be returning on Sunday, this Sunday. It is my hope you will be here when i return. Is that the case?"
I responded that i was planning on leaving Sunday to head back to Boamadumase. I didn't want to be gone from work for too long, that i wanted to be exposed to more "cases" (Ma's term for women delivering).
"oh, i see. So you are a midwife." she stated.
"well no, not really." i felt embarrassed. again, like a wannabe. so i just admitted "no, i'm not, i just want to be."
that really made her laugh and then she reached out and slapped my arm. "then you should come with me! you will see a lot. but i'm leaving today and coming back on Sunday."
She and Gilbert shot Ewe back and forth and came up with the conclusion that it just wouldn't work.
"okay" she said "maybe instead, when i come on Sunday i can bring you to the local hospital, then you can see how it is for yourself. Maybe Sunday night i will come, is that alright with you?"
"Yes." anything was alright with me, anything that had to do with birth. scrubbing blood splatters off the wall would be okay with me. i didn't say that though. "Yes, that sounds great."
"Okay then, i'll see you on Sunday." she said. "but i don't even know your name. I'm Ernestine."
"I'm Kacie."
"Great, see you in a few days." and then she left.
Ma told me she had worked in the Volta region as a midwife for a good number of years. I wonder if Ernestine knows Ma, and if she did I wonder what she would think of her. They seem to be from two different planets. Ernestine appears so mobile and personable. I could never imagine her yelling the way Ma does, loud and long till my belly trembles and my bones shake.
She was wearing a purple matching skirt and top, the color of a perfectly dyed easter egg, and just as friendly. and i'm going to see her in 2 days.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
reunited *1*
hello friends and family~
i've arrived safely in ghana and have been here about a week now. it seems my first trip here (2 years ago) has taken away the thrills of such things as eating goat with my hands, bargaining for cheaper prices, and drinking water out of bags.
the majority of the honeymoon stage has been skipped, but i am still in love with this place!
last night i took a cab ride from a man who didn't have enough gas to get me home. i lent him my fare so we could stop by a petrol station, only to be told that "all petrol was out".
these are the types of things only a foreigner like me would be nostalgic for. driving from gas station to gas station looking to fill an already empty tank. i like the absurdity of that type of thing.
the car kept jerking back and forth but i wasn't too sure if it was because we were dry or the guy was still figuring out how to drive a stick shift.
we ended up finding what we needed, and then continuing on our way. at this point i imagined the quality of driving would improve... but it didn't. it soon began to feel like the beginning of a roller coaster ride, sudden jolts whipping me all around. he drove over curbs instead of around them. he steered us into large potholes till the impact made my head hit the ceiling. but what worried me most was that all of this was happening at an extremely SLOW pace.
i looked over at him and he was squinting so much i was wondering if he was even awake.
i had to ask.
"sir what is the problem?"
"oh no problem at all. no problem."
"can you see?"
"yes."
so i believed him and we continued on our way. i was a little frustrated considering it was taking quite a long time to get home (scooters were passing us up) and he had forgotten to tell me his passengers seat was as wet as a muddy puddle, and now i was sitting in it. but the more i thought about it the more i considered this small trip just another initiation into life in ghana.
i leave for the village tomorrow. the name of the place is Boamadumase. i keep asking locals if they know where it is, and so far nobody does. (for those of you who don't know) i will be living with a midwife and apprenticing with her for a bit (6 months?) in a rural health clinic. i know i'm in for quite a surprise as i have never even seen a live birth. last time i was here i prayed to see a goat give birth. i think i really just wanted to see a woman, but figured it'd be less intrusive and easier to randomly see an animal do it. but now, my dream is coming true, nix the goat!
to all my ISH buddies, i hope you all are doing well. i miss you, jolof misses you and ghana misses you! anyone interested in a legon reunion, meet me here! :)
and for those of you who wanted to know, i have a cell phone while i'm here and the number is 011233246268924. i'm almost certain that will work if you are calling from the u.s..
when i get my address i'll send that along too!
well, at the moment there is nothing too interesting to report. i've just been reabsorbing myself into the pace, the music, the food, the heat, the hospitality. my friends, musa and senam, have been taking very good care of me this past week (in fact, they've checked in on me 3 times while i've been writing this email). i'm in good hands :)
sending my love to you all- and hoping to hear how things are going with you.
xooxoxkacie
i've arrived safely in ghana and have been here about a week now. it seems my first trip here (2 years ago) has taken away the thrills of such things as eating goat with my hands, bargaining for cheaper prices, and drinking water out of bags.
the majority of the honeymoon stage has been skipped, but i am still in love with this place!
last night i took a cab ride from a man who didn't have enough gas to get me home. i lent him my fare so we could stop by a petrol station, only to be told that "all petrol was out".
these are the types of things only a foreigner like me would be nostalgic for. driving from gas station to gas station looking to fill an already empty tank. i like the absurdity of that type of thing.
the car kept jerking back and forth but i wasn't too sure if it was because we were dry or the guy was still figuring out how to drive a stick shift.
we ended up finding what we needed, and then continuing on our way. at this point i imagined the quality of driving would improve... but it didn't. it soon began to feel like the beginning of a roller coaster ride, sudden jolts whipping me all around. he drove over curbs instead of around them. he steered us into large potholes till the impact made my head hit the ceiling. but what worried me most was that all of this was happening at an extremely SLOW pace.
i looked over at him and he was squinting so much i was wondering if he was even awake.
i had to ask.
"sir what is the problem?"
"oh no problem at all. no problem."
"can you see?"
"yes."
so i believed him and we continued on our way. i was a little frustrated considering it was taking quite a long time to get home (scooters were passing us up) and he had forgotten to tell me his passengers seat was as wet as a muddy puddle, and now i was sitting in it. but the more i thought about it the more i considered this small trip just another initiation into life in ghana.
i leave for the village tomorrow. the name of the place is Boamadumase. i keep asking locals if they know where it is, and so far nobody does. (for those of you who don't know) i will be living with a midwife and apprenticing with her for a bit (6 months?) in a rural health clinic. i know i'm in for quite a surprise as i have never even seen a live birth. last time i was here i prayed to see a goat give birth. i think i really just wanted to see a woman, but figured it'd be less intrusive and easier to randomly see an animal do it. but now, my dream is coming true, nix the goat!
to all my ISH buddies, i hope you all are doing well. i miss you, jolof misses you and ghana misses you! anyone interested in a legon reunion, meet me here! :)
and for those of you who wanted to know, i have a cell phone while i'm here and the number is 011233246268924. i'm almost certain that will work if you are calling from the u.s..
when i get my address i'll send that along too!
well, at the moment there is nothing too interesting to report. i've just been reabsorbing myself into the pace, the music, the food, the heat, the hospitality. my friends, musa and senam, have been taking very good care of me this past week (in fact, they've checked in on me 3 times while i've been writing this email). i'm in good hands :)
sending my love to you all- and hoping to hear how things are going with you.
xooxoxkacie
into the village *2*
Howdy peoples!
Ahhh, its nice to come into the city and read the e-mail you have sent me. Thank you. The electricity has failed a few times so far while i've been on the computer, so forgive me for not responding. It might take a while for that to happen, but do know I appreciate the updates from each of you.
I am living in a true village and i know this because my roommate wipes with bannana leaves. Actually all 5 of my roommates do.
I took a bus ride 4 hours north of Accra and was dropped at the side of the "highway" at a place called Duampopo. The driver said he had no idea where that was but he would keep his eye out for the sign. I unloaded my 2 heavy suitcases and just stood there in the dirt feeling really strange about life. Why did i come here again?
Supposedly a man named Agei was coming to pick me up, so I trusted he would be there. True to his word he walked up to me in less than 5 minutes with a big goofy grin on his face, introducing himself as Secetry. I had forgotten the many names people have here. Often people will introduce themselves as say, Kwame, and seconds later tell you they actually go by John. But also, they say, people sometimes refer to them as Little boy, or even, Henry. That is at least 4 names. I'm learning to just wait, and log the last name into my memory. That usually works best.
So Secetry and I took a cab from the main road down a little red dusty dirt road, past dense, low, tropical forest, and pulled up to what appeared to be a mansion.
"this is your place" he told me.
oh.
i had no idea i would be staying in the local mansion. i squinted my eyes to look further down the road and asked secetry what was in that direction.
"that is the village, where the health clinic is at. i stay there."
oh. okay.
so we unloaded my things, and i moved into my room.
the house is huge for african standards and big for western standards. i felt a little undeserving.
i had so many questions. whose house was this? who else was living here? why on earth was there a courtyard in front the size of a small soccer field?
the more i asked the more Secetry just laughed and nodded his head saying "its sweet, isn't it?"
i was told i had 2 roommates. one is half alter boy half village boy. he's crafty and kind, and also the appointed "Security". he sleeps with a slingshot by his mat. he killed a mouse that crept into my bathing bucket in the middle of the night. he did it by squeezing its neck and then throwing it on the ground with one hard SLAM!. he greets me when i come home and opens the door for me with a huge smile. and he doesn't speak english so we laugh a lot together. one of his names is Sakola.
my other roommate is unfriendly. i asked some people in the village why he won't talk to me even when i try to communicate with him in broken Twi, and they said he has a mental disease. Greeeeeaaat, i thought. They said it was depression and i felt better. not only will he not speak to me, but he won't look at me either. i rarely see him. hes kind of like a ghost in the house, he rotates rooms and has a talent of just "appearing".
so 2 roommates. or so i thought.
i've been there for almost 2 weeks now and every day i am meeting someone new. in my house that is. everyday i am meeting someone new, who has just woken up and stepped out of a room or is sitting on the porch or is eating at the dining room table (which happens to be the only piece of furniture in the house) its a little confusing, but i am "just going with it".
the house has no electricity and no running water. its a farce! i thought with such a huge place those things would be a given. not so. Sakola insists on fetching my water, even though i've pleaded for him to let me do it. i need to grow some muscles here, everyone is so fit from all the manual labor they do, i wouldn't mind doing some myself! everytime i try somebody takes over and does it for me- with almost everything i do. do they think i'm incompetent?
"you are our guest." they say.
i started having nightmares last week. i mentioned it to one person at the clinic and by the time i got home that night Sakola was waiting outside my bedroom door to pray for my well being. (gotta love the way news travels in a village) African prayers are loud and dramatic, a lot of hand gestures and movement, AND they work. I've only had sweet dreams since! Praise God for that.
the days in the clinic are slow, until a taxi pulls up and out comes a pregnant woman ready to deliver. i've been there twice for that. each time i was reminded why i was standing on the side of the road with suitcases full of medical supplies, just 2 short weeks ago. i feel good about what is going on thus far. and i have a lot to say about it.
I am going to start a blog so those of you who are interested can read the girth of my experience there. and those of you who aren't interested won't be bothered with my chapter sized emails!
my place is big and very welcoming to visitors :) as you well know. come visit!
Take care and sending you the joy of Christmas,
Kacie
Ahhh, its nice to come into the city and read the e-mail you have sent me. Thank you. The electricity has failed a few times so far while i've been on the computer, so forgive me for not responding. It might take a while for that to happen, but do know I appreciate the updates from each of you.
I am living in a true village and i know this because my roommate wipes with bannana leaves. Actually all 5 of my roommates do.
I took a bus ride 4 hours north of Accra and was dropped at the side of the "highway" at a place called Duampopo. The driver said he had no idea where that was but he would keep his eye out for the sign. I unloaded my 2 heavy suitcases and just stood there in the dirt feeling really strange about life. Why did i come here again?
Supposedly a man named Agei was coming to pick me up, so I trusted he would be there. True to his word he walked up to me in less than 5 minutes with a big goofy grin on his face, introducing himself as Secetry. I had forgotten the many names people have here. Often people will introduce themselves as say, Kwame, and seconds later tell you they actually go by John. But also, they say, people sometimes refer to them as Little boy, or even, Henry. That is at least 4 names. I'm learning to just wait, and log the last name into my memory. That usually works best.
So Secetry and I took a cab from the main road down a little red dusty dirt road, past dense, low, tropical forest, and pulled up to what appeared to be a mansion.
"this is your place" he told me.
oh.
i had no idea i would be staying in the local mansion. i squinted my eyes to look further down the road and asked secetry what was in that direction.
"that is the village, where the health clinic is at. i stay there."
oh. okay.
so we unloaded my things, and i moved into my room.
the house is huge for african standards and big for western standards. i felt a little undeserving.
i had so many questions. whose house was this? who else was living here? why on earth was there a courtyard in front the size of a small soccer field?
the more i asked the more Secetry just laughed and nodded his head saying "its sweet, isn't it?"
i was told i had 2 roommates. one is half alter boy half village boy. he's crafty and kind, and also the appointed "Security". he sleeps with a slingshot by his mat. he killed a mouse that crept into my bathing bucket in the middle of the night. he did it by squeezing its neck and then throwing it on the ground with one hard SLAM!. he greets me when i come home and opens the door for me with a huge smile. and he doesn't speak english so we laugh a lot together. one of his names is Sakola.
my other roommate is unfriendly. i asked some people in the village why he won't talk to me even when i try to communicate with him in broken Twi, and they said he has a mental disease. Greeeeeaaat, i thought. They said it was depression and i felt better. not only will he not speak to me, but he won't look at me either. i rarely see him. hes kind of like a ghost in the house, he rotates rooms and has a talent of just "appearing".
so 2 roommates. or so i thought.
i've been there for almost 2 weeks now and every day i am meeting someone new. in my house that is. everyday i am meeting someone new, who has just woken up and stepped out of a room or is sitting on the porch or is eating at the dining room table (which happens to be the only piece of furniture in the house) its a little confusing, but i am "just going with it".
the house has no electricity and no running water. its a farce! i thought with such a huge place those things would be a given. not so. Sakola insists on fetching my water, even though i've pleaded for him to let me do it. i need to grow some muscles here, everyone is so fit from all the manual labor they do, i wouldn't mind doing some myself! everytime i try somebody takes over and does it for me- with almost everything i do. do they think i'm incompetent?
"you are our guest." they say.
i started having nightmares last week. i mentioned it to one person at the clinic and by the time i got home that night Sakola was waiting outside my bedroom door to pray for my well being. (gotta love the way news travels in a village) African prayers are loud and dramatic, a lot of hand gestures and movement, AND they work. I've only had sweet dreams since! Praise God for that.
the days in the clinic are slow, until a taxi pulls up and out comes a pregnant woman ready to deliver. i've been there twice for that. each time i was reminded why i was standing on the side of the road with suitcases full of medical supplies, just 2 short weeks ago. i feel good about what is going on thus far. and i have a lot to say about it.
I am going to start a blog so those of you who are interested can read the girth of my experience there. and those of you who aren't interested won't be bothered with my chapter sized emails!
my place is big and very welcoming to visitors :) as you well know. come visit!
Take care and sending you the joy of Christmas,
Kacie
an ambulance? *3*
Afenkyia Pa! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year...
I've now been here for a little over a month and have seen 4 births. The clinic is far from bustling... and i'm antsy for a little more action!
My house is about 1 mile from the clinic, down a long dusty road. Every morning, taxis speed up and down, honking their horns and leave me in a cloud of red dirt. by the time i finally arrive at work i'm a shade darker....just one step closer to fitting in! unfortunately that will never be the case.
the walk alone is both exhilirating and exhausting. i guess it depends on the day. being a white girl walking through the village is somewhat comparable to being the most exotic float in a National Parade. People gather around and oogle at me, some are brave enough to reach their hands out and lightly brush against my skin (i still wonder what they expect), others jump up and down and cheer me along, and I, I just walk with my head held high. its really strange. i thought the excitement would die down by this time, but alas it has not!
some days i get a little frisky and squirt the kids with water, or stop and do a little dance. i made a mistake of shaking some childs tiny grubby hand, and in a matter of 5 seconds i was surrounded by at least 30. i don't really enjoy shaking hands in the first place, if i could make failure to wash hands a petty crime, i would. i prefer hugging, i think its more sanitary. people don't wipe with their arms, or their chests. so anyways, it seems i had gotten myself into a quandary, so i quickly fixed it.
now when i walk through the village, the children run up to me and point their fingers out like Tinkerbell and then i take my pinkie finger, and lightly touch the end of theirs.
its perfect. i've appeased the more neurotic part of myself and am connecting with the locals.
once i make it within the distance of the clinic, some adult usually comes out to greet me and aggressively shoo of my followers.
i'm starting to understand the reasons for Jesus' travel tactics, over water, at night, in secret. i can't imagine performing miracles and healing's and trying to make it through a town/village without getting mobbed, or just trying to make it through period.
so more about the clinic... its official name is The Huttel Health Clinic. it is a 1 story structure separated into 3 different entities; the ward where sick men and women stay, the maternity section, and an office and dispensary. i have been floating around, checking out what happens in all the areas, mostly because there isn't much to do in maternity if no one is giving birth.
the midwife i am working under is 60+ years and has been doing this line of work for quite some time. Her name is Ma and she reminds me of a foghorn. Shes very stationary and very loud, and large. It seems i have only seen her in 3 spots since i've known her. one is behind her desk, the other is sitting in her living room in a chair leaning against the wall (where a big vertical black grease mark has accumulated from her hair, i think?) and the other is between patients legs.
a woman will come in, clearly in labor, and Ma doesn't leave her spot until the last possible second.
"is it coming?" she asks.
i can see the little tuft of hair making its way into the world and the lady seems to be pushing harder than ever so yes, that seems like a good sign that the baby is coming.
"YESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!"
"okay, okay." she says. and gets up to walk over and deliver the child.
we are operating on two different extremes. she is very casual about labor and delivery, i am not. she laughs at me when i reach my hand out so it can be gripped fiercely during contractions and tells me
"its okay. its painful. you can't help them."
Ma has a real assistant (that is not me) who runs around like an army ant doing all the grunt work and i envy her job so much. i keep telling her (she goes by Efreeyeh) that i can help do whatever she needs me to do. She looks at me and laughs and sometimes lets me do stuff and sometimes does it all herself.
the other day i was sitting in the office when a taxi pulls up and a woman wobbles out, just about to have her baby right there on the grass.
i ran over to her and helped her walk inside.
Efreeyeh was ready with gloves on, but Ma was nowhere to be found. I was ordered to run to the back of the clinic (where Ma lives) and call for her. So i sprinted faster than i could have imagined and called for Ma. She was sitting in her living room, leaned up against her favorite spot. I ran back to the clinic just in time as the woman was pushing and the baby was coming. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby's neck, making it impossible for him to come all the way out.
This is a situation i have read about and have considered high risk and dramatic.
Efreeyeh dealt with it beautifully. Shes young (22) and her hands are not as wise and gentle as Ma's, but after about 10 seconds, the kid let out first a gurgled, then throaty cry, and Ma walked in to see us 3 all sweaty and inexperienced, proud of a job well done.
after each birth, Ma plops down on her chair and praises Jesus over and over. "oh thank you yesu! thank you yesu!" it adds flair to the situation and helps remind me how fragile and out of our control those moments really are, and how it needs to be guided in prayer, how every moment naturally is a prayer for the baby to come and be healthy, and for the mother to live.
The clinic is far from any hospital so if any serious complications should occur it could be tragic. the organization no longer has an ambulance, one of the many things that have broken down. They asked me if i could buy them an ambulance, that it is only about 2,000 dollars. I said I'm afraid that i don't have those type of funds, but i would put the word out to my friends and family (which is what i'm doing now :)) and i'll see what happens. so there it is, if you feel led in any way small or large, please contact me!
i'm on vacation now for a few days on the other side of the country, staying with my buddy and his father. this morning i delighted in simple pleasures, like running water, electricity, and T.V. I watched a show with Senams father about "the myths of eating oysters" then switched it over to the other channel which featured a Mexican Soap Opera. We chatted a bit about China possibly taking over Taiwan and the prospects of introducing Family Planning (population control) into rural Ghana. Things are casual and going well. I'll be returning to the village in a few days, 2007, and wish you all a wonderful new year full of love and lessons, and remember i cherish your emails!!!!!!!!!
I've now been here for a little over a month and have seen 4 births. The clinic is far from bustling... and i'm antsy for a little more action!
My house is about 1 mile from the clinic, down a long dusty road. Every morning, taxis speed up and down, honking their horns and leave me in a cloud of red dirt. by the time i finally arrive at work i'm a shade darker....just one step closer to fitting in! unfortunately that will never be the case.
the walk alone is both exhilirating and exhausting. i guess it depends on the day. being a white girl walking through the village is somewhat comparable to being the most exotic float in a National Parade. People gather around and oogle at me, some are brave enough to reach their hands out and lightly brush against my skin (i still wonder what they expect), others jump up and down and cheer me along, and I, I just walk with my head held high. its really strange. i thought the excitement would die down by this time, but alas it has not!
some days i get a little frisky and squirt the kids with water, or stop and do a little dance. i made a mistake of shaking some childs tiny grubby hand, and in a matter of 5 seconds i was surrounded by at least 30. i don't really enjoy shaking hands in the first place, if i could make failure to wash hands a petty crime, i would. i prefer hugging, i think its more sanitary. people don't wipe with their arms, or their chests. so anyways, it seems i had gotten myself into a quandary, so i quickly fixed it.
now when i walk through the village, the children run up to me and point their fingers out like Tinkerbell and then i take my pinkie finger, and lightly touch the end of theirs.
its perfect. i've appeased the more neurotic part of myself and am connecting with the locals.
once i make it within the distance of the clinic, some adult usually comes out to greet me and aggressively shoo of my followers.
i'm starting to understand the reasons for Jesus' travel tactics, over water, at night, in secret. i can't imagine performing miracles and healing's and trying to make it through a town/village without getting mobbed, or just trying to make it through period.
so more about the clinic... its official name is The Huttel Health Clinic. it is a 1 story structure separated into 3 different entities; the ward where sick men and women stay, the maternity section, and an office and dispensary. i have been floating around, checking out what happens in all the areas, mostly because there isn't much to do in maternity if no one is giving birth.
the midwife i am working under is 60+ years and has been doing this line of work for quite some time. Her name is Ma and she reminds me of a foghorn. Shes very stationary and very loud, and large. It seems i have only seen her in 3 spots since i've known her. one is behind her desk, the other is sitting in her living room in a chair leaning against the wall (where a big vertical black grease mark has accumulated from her hair, i think?) and the other is between patients legs.
a woman will come in, clearly in labor, and Ma doesn't leave her spot until the last possible second.
"is it coming?" she asks.
i can see the little tuft of hair making its way into the world and the lady seems to be pushing harder than ever so yes, that seems like a good sign that the baby is coming.
"YESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!"
"okay, okay." she says. and gets up to walk over and deliver the child.
we are operating on two different extremes. she is very casual about labor and delivery, i am not. she laughs at me when i reach my hand out so it can be gripped fiercely during contractions and tells me
"its okay. its painful. you can't help them."
Ma has a real assistant (that is not me) who runs around like an army ant doing all the grunt work and i envy her job so much. i keep telling her (she goes by Efreeyeh) that i can help do whatever she needs me to do. She looks at me and laughs and sometimes lets me do stuff and sometimes does it all herself.
the other day i was sitting in the office when a taxi pulls up and a woman wobbles out, just about to have her baby right there on the grass.
i ran over to her and helped her walk inside.
Efreeyeh was ready with gloves on, but Ma was nowhere to be found. I was ordered to run to the back of the clinic (where Ma lives) and call for her. So i sprinted faster than i could have imagined and called for Ma. She was sitting in her living room, leaned up against her favorite spot. I ran back to the clinic just in time as the woman was pushing and the baby was coming. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby's neck, making it impossible for him to come all the way out.
This is a situation i have read about and have considered high risk and dramatic.
Efreeyeh dealt with it beautifully. Shes young (22) and her hands are not as wise and gentle as Ma's, but after about 10 seconds, the kid let out first a gurgled, then throaty cry, and Ma walked in to see us 3 all sweaty and inexperienced, proud of a job well done.
after each birth, Ma plops down on her chair and praises Jesus over and over. "oh thank you yesu! thank you yesu!" it adds flair to the situation and helps remind me how fragile and out of our control those moments really are, and how it needs to be guided in prayer, how every moment naturally is a prayer for the baby to come and be healthy, and for the mother to live.
The clinic is far from any hospital so if any serious complications should occur it could be tragic. the organization no longer has an ambulance, one of the many things that have broken down. They asked me if i could buy them an ambulance, that it is only about 2,000 dollars. I said I'm afraid that i don't have those type of funds, but i would put the word out to my friends and family (which is what i'm doing now :)) and i'll see what happens. so there it is, if you feel led in any way small or large, please contact me!
i'm on vacation now for a few days on the other side of the country, staying with my buddy and his father. this morning i delighted in simple pleasures, like running water, electricity, and T.V. I watched a show with Senams father about "the myths of eating oysters" then switched it over to the other channel which featured a Mexican Soap Opera. We chatted a bit about China possibly taking over Taiwan and the prospects of introducing Family Planning (population control) into rural Ghana. Things are casual and going well. I'll be returning to the village in a few days, 2007, and wish you all a wonderful new year full of love and lessons, and remember i cherish your emails!!!!!!!!!
the bird *4*
every morning i wake up to the sound of birds crashing into my living room window. the first week i was here i had no idea what the noise was. i thought my roommates were doing some physical labor, like throwing cement blocks around, outside. i passed it off as another annoying thing i would have to get used to.
one morning i couldn't take it any longer. it was 5 a.m. and i didn't understand why my roommates had to start work so early. couldn't they wait a bit, at least till 6? i put on my slippers and walked down the hallway to the front door. i opened it and looked out only to find a big bird, about the size of a hawk or a raven, crashing its head continuously against the reflection.
it saw me, got scared and flew away.
it was back in less than 5 minutes, bashing itself against the window, pooping all over the porch.
something about this situation really grosses me out. birds crashing into windows is unsettling. i've never felt good when i have been on a long car ride and a bird comes straight at the windsheild, hits it, then bounces off to the side of the road. senseless, i think. and running over squirrels is just as bad.
i went back to bed, trying to think of a remedy to this problem.
later in the day i walked outside and saw Sakola making a scarecrow. i took close note of my surroundings and noticed the clothes he had hung on the porch a few days earlier. i thought he was just drying his laundry, but now understood it was to deter the birds. it obviously didn't work, so he was crafting together a body and head made of some materials from the farm. he stuffed the head and propped it up against the window, then took a rag and wiped up all the bird shit.
"that is nice" i said in twi, pointing to his creation. i had to keep it simple due to lack of vocabulary.
"the birds" he said in english.
"yes the birds" i said back, in english. "they are troublesome."
he laughed and went inside. i followed him.
the next day we were sitting and eating dinner together when all of a sudden
CRASH! "kaw kaw" CRASH! "kaw kaw"
Sakola grabbed his slingshot and a few heavy rocks and ran outside. I watched it all from the living room, looking through the window.
the bird flew away unscathed, but i was impressed by his slingshot skills. he fired hard and quick, he i could tell, was an expert slingshotter.
the next morning i woke up early, tore flourescent colored notecards in half and taped them to the windows outside. i was feeling particulary clever, resourceful in my own city way. i had tape and index cards, and i knew how to use them. Sakola came out and looked at my work. i tried to see what he was thinking but he offered nothing. it didn't matter, i was proud.
the birds didn't come for a long time. my method worked! i could sleep later than 5 a.m. and even nap uninterrupted in the mid afternoon. life in the house turned quiet and peaceful. me and my roommates sat and ate together, without having to hear kamikazee missions thwarted halfway. and i felt better for the birds, less headaches at least.
one day, i left for work and returned late in the afternoon. my house is big, i've mentioned before, and the courtyard out front is even bigger. i've been trying to organize a small soccer game in it for quite some time. in the middle of the courtyard is a huge wooden pole, somewhat like a flagpole with out the flag.
instead of a country flag flapping in the wind, i realized when i came home, we now have a dead bird with its head ripped off, dangling upside down.
its repulsive, and i have Sakola to thank.
he looked at it with greater satisfaction than i had with my note cards. i told him it was gross but he couldn't care less. its wings are bent at a strange angle, making it look like it still has some life left and is trying to dislodge itself from the pole. its a horrible way to be greeted.
"why?" i asked. but the answer was obvious, there was bird poop all over the porch. he lowered his head and his eyebrows at me and flung his arm out towards the living room window.
"i know" i said. and i wondered, how he got the head off. did he rip it, or chop it, or slice it with one quick slash of his machete. the same machete he was now holding, picking his fingernails with? the same fingernails that share bowls of rice with me and the same tool that is used to peel my oranges?
i decided it'd be best not to know. but its hard to forget when every morning and every night i leave and return to the carcass of a huge bird, pierced at the top of a pole.
one morning i couldn't take it any longer. it was 5 a.m. and i didn't understand why my roommates had to start work so early. couldn't they wait a bit, at least till 6? i put on my slippers and walked down the hallway to the front door. i opened it and looked out only to find a big bird, about the size of a hawk or a raven, crashing its head continuously against the reflection.
it saw me, got scared and flew away.
it was back in less than 5 minutes, bashing itself against the window, pooping all over the porch.
something about this situation really grosses me out. birds crashing into windows is unsettling. i've never felt good when i have been on a long car ride and a bird comes straight at the windsheild, hits it, then bounces off to the side of the road. senseless, i think. and running over squirrels is just as bad.
i went back to bed, trying to think of a remedy to this problem.
later in the day i walked outside and saw Sakola making a scarecrow. i took close note of my surroundings and noticed the clothes he had hung on the porch a few days earlier. i thought he was just drying his laundry, but now understood it was to deter the birds. it obviously didn't work, so he was crafting together a body and head made of some materials from the farm. he stuffed the head and propped it up against the window, then took a rag and wiped up all the bird shit.
"that is nice" i said in twi, pointing to his creation. i had to keep it simple due to lack of vocabulary.
"the birds" he said in english.
"yes the birds" i said back, in english. "they are troublesome."
he laughed and went inside. i followed him.
the next day we were sitting and eating dinner together when all of a sudden
CRASH! "kaw kaw" CRASH! "kaw kaw"
Sakola grabbed his slingshot and a few heavy rocks and ran outside. I watched it all from the living room, looking through the window.
the bird flew away unscathed, but i was impressed by his slingshot skills. he fired hard and quick, he i could tell, was an expert slingshotter.
the next morning i woke up early, tore flourescent colored notecards in half and taped them to the windows outside. i was feeling particulary clever, resourceful in my own city way. i had tape and index cards, and i knew how to use them. Sakola came out and looked at my work. i tried to see what he was thinking but he offered nothing. it didn't matter, i was proud.
the birds didn't come for a long time. my method worked! i could sleep later than 5 a.m. and even nap uninterrupted in the mid afternoon. life in the house turned quiet and peaceful. me and my roommates sat and ate together, without having to hear kamikazee missions thwarted halfway. and i felt better for the birds, less headaches at least.
one day, i left for work and returned late in the afternoon. my house is big, i've mentioned before, and the courtyard out front is even bigger. i've been trying to organize a small soccer game in it for quite some time. in the middle of the courtyard is a huge wooden pole, somewhat like a flagpole with out the flag.
instead of a country flag flapping in the wind, i realized when i came home, we now have a dead bird with its head ripped off, dangling upside down.
its repulsive, and i have Sakola to thank.
he looked at it with greater satisfaction than i had with my note cards. i told him it was gross but he couldn't care less. its wings are bent at a strange angle, making it look like it still has some life left and is trying to dislodge itself from the pole. its a horrible way to be greeted.
"why?" i asked. but the answer was obvious, there was bird poop all over the porch. he lowered his head and his eyebrows at me and flung his arm out towards the living room window.
"i know" i said. and i wondered, how he got the head off. did he rip it, or chop it, or slice it with one quick slash of his machete. the same machete he was now holding, picking his fingernails with? the same fingernails that share bowls of rice with me and the same tool that is used to peel my oranges?
i decided it'd be best not to know. but its hard to forget when every morning and every night i leave and return to the carcass of a huge bird, pierced at the top of a pole.
crusty *5*
i am fitting in quite nicely due to the fact i respond to more than 3 names. these are not names that i particularly like, but they are the what some locals believe i am called.
the best came the other day, as i was walking home from the clinic.
"crusty!" someone yelled out.
7 more voices chimed in.
"crusty, crusty!" they screamed.
when i realized they were calling me, and that they thought my name was crusty, i had to bend over and laugh. this egged them on, as they thought i really liked it.
"crusty, how are you? crusty how are you?"
crusty?
i looked down at my feet.
yes, i looked like a crusty.
how unsexy i felt. not that that is an aim of mine, but somehow all my feminine energy, everything that propels me as a woman drained out when i started to be referred to as "crusty". luckily it only happens in one small section of the village, and i try to say hi to all those people right when they call me, so they can stop beckoning me by that hideous name.
i was reading the other day about the naming process in the Ghanaian culture. the Ashanti's will in fact give their children overtly unattractive names due to the belief the gods will not come after a child with a disgraceful name.
if a woman has lost a child and wants to protect herself from having this happen again, she will name her next born something to the equivalent of the english version "i am so rotten". i wonder the long term implications that has on a persons psyche? or maybe i am just too sensitive.
i was just informed by a man in the internet lab that they also might name a child "god is great" or "god is so good". i would much rather prefer that.
the best came the other day, as i was walking home from the clinic.
"crusty!" someone yelled out.
7 more voices chimed in.
"crusty, crusty!" they screamed.
when i realized they were calling me, and that they thought my name was crusty, i had to bend over and laugh. this egged them on, as they thought i really liked it.
"crusty, how are you? crusty how are you?"
crusty?
i looked down at my feet.
yes, i looked like a crusty.
how unsexy i felt. not that that is an aim of mine, but somehow all my feminine energy, everything that propels me as a woman drained out when i started to be referred to as "crusty". luckily it only happens in one small section of the village, and i try to say hi to all those people right when they call me, so they can stop beckoning me by that hideous name.
i was reading the other day about the naming process in the Ghanaian culture. the Ashanti's will in fact give their children overtly unattractive names due to the belief the gods will not come after a child with a disgraceful name.
if a woman has lost a child and wants to protect herself from having this happen again, she will name her next born something to the equivalent of the english version "i am so rotten". i wonder the long term implications that has on a persons psyche? or maybe i am just too sensitive.
i was just informed by a man in the internet lab that they also might name a child "god is great" or "god is so good". i would much rather prefer that.
me the mopper *6*
Last night when i came in from town i walked through Senam's fathers living room and caught him hiding in the hallway. He was hunkered down, in the dark, hoping i wouldn't see him. It was awkward to say the least, because he didn't say anything except stared at me and let out a few uncomfortable giggles. I walked back into the living room and looked at Senam.
"Is your father trying to hide from me?" i asked.
He laughed and nodded his head.
"Why?" i needed to know.
"Because he was relaxing with no shirt on. He didn't want you to see him."
Ohhhh. I didn't realize that would be embarrassing to him, considering just a few feet outside his door grown men urinate in broad daylight.
Senam's family is from a different line of thinking, more affluent, or western, i suppose. I haven't decided which it is. the concept of "privacy" is slowly fading in my life, having lived in a village for one month now. I watch very personal things happen in full view, and working at a birthing clinic is exposing me to VERY intimate vulnerable times in peoples lives.
Sometimes I feel guilty, like i've somehow slipped through the cracks and have been included in situations i have no qualifications for. and because i'm white, some people in the village call me "the doctor." i've learned how to say, i am not a doctor, in twi. i use the phrase a lot. mostly when people come up to me and pull down their eyelids or show me some large growth on their limbs, or cough and ask me for medicine. i am not a doctor i say. but i have a big heart and am trying to help in some way or another.
it seems my tactics don't quite fit in. the midwife i am working with, Ma, is a tough love kind of woman. if a lady has been laboring for hours, and failed to visit the clinic for prenatals, Ma will yell at her and tell her
"your labor would have been shorter and less painful if you would have come. its your fault!"
if she is feeling the pain of contractions, and wants to lie down, Ma's assistant Efreeyeh will swat her (lovingly) and tell her to STAND UP and WALK! the woman just stays there and moans.
I cringe at all this, thinking 'poor woman'. I try to smile a lot at her and help her around but since i don't know the language i have no idea what she needs.
"whats she saying?" i ask them.
"she is saying 'God forgive me'"
then i hear another phrase.
"whats she saying now?"
"she is saying she is cold."
I shut the window that was blowing air into the room and hope that helps. Ma and Efreeyeh glance at each other and laugh.
I am very new. I am like that just hired employee who strives to do the best possible work, with or without the boss around. I reek of eagerness.
after having watched Ma and Efreeyeh work their magic, and once the baby is swaddled and stuck in the nursery, its time for clean up. this is the only aspect i feel comfortable with, or i should say, experienced with. i know how to clean. i've been cleaning my whole life, so i approach it with great vigor and dedication. i turn into a new woman, less of the wide-eyed and more of the furrowed brow sort.
"give me the mop" i tell Efreeyeh.
she hands it over and i mop like a mad woman. she goes outside to empty the bucket that holds the placenta and all the other yummy stuff that comes after birth. when she comes back in i am still mopping, hard.
"the floor looks good, you can stop now." she says.
i'm not close to stopping at any time. i am really enjoying myself.
"you can stop" she repeats.
i look up and grip the mop a little tighter. i don't want to stop. i am the expert mopper, does she want to take that away from me?
"okay" i say sheepishly, and i put the mop away.
one day, i might be delivering babies with the confidence i use in mopping.
"Is your father trying to hide from me?" i asked.
He laughed and nodded his head.
"Why?" i needed to know.
"Because he was relaxing with no shirt on. He didn't want you to see him."
Ohhhh. I didn't realize that would be embarrassing to him, considering just a few feet outside his door grown men urinate in broad daylight.
Senam's family is from a different line of thinking, more affluent, or western, i suppose. I haven't decided which it is. the concept of "privacy" is slowly fading in my life, having lived in a village for one month now. I watch very personal things happen in full view, and working at a birthing clinic is exposing me to VERY intimate vulnerable times in peoples lives.
Sometimes I feel guilty, like i've somehow slipped through the cracks and have been included in situations i have no qualifications for. and because i'm white, some people in the village call me "the doctor." i've learned how to say, i am not a doctor, in twi. i use the phrase a lot. mostly when people come up to me and pull down their eyelids or show me some large growth on their limbs, or cough and ask me for medicine. i am not a doctor i say. but i have a big heart and am trying to help in some way or another.
it seems my tactics don't quite fit in. the midwife i am working with, Ma, is a tough love kind of woman. if a lady has been laboring for hours, and failed to visit the clinic for prenatals, Ma will yell at her and tell her
"your labor would have been shorter and less painful if you would have come. its your fault!"
if she is feeling the pain of contractions, and wants to lie down, Ma's assistant Efreeyeh will swat her (lovingly) and tell her to STAND UP and WALK! the woman just stays there and moans.
I cringe at all this, thinking 'poor woman'. I try to smile a lot at her and help her around but since i don't know the language i have no idea what she needs.
"whats she saying?" i ask them.
"she is saying 'God forgive me'"
then i hear another phrase.
"whats she saying now?"
"she is saying she is cold."
I shut the window that was blowing air into the room and hope that helps. Ma and Efreeyeh glance at each other and laugh.
I am very new. I am like that just hired employee who strives to do the best possible work, with or without the boss around. I reek of eagerness.
after having watched Ma and Efreeyeh work their magic, and once the baby is swaddled and stuck in the nursery, its time for clean up. this is the only aspect i feel comfortable with, or i should say, experienced with. i know how to clean. i've been cleaning my whole life, so i approach it with great vigor and dedication. i turn into a new woman, less of the wide-eyed and more of the furrowed brow sort.
"give me the mop" i tell Efreeyeh.
she hands it over and i mop like a mad woman. she goes outside to empty the bucket that holds the placenta and all the other yummy stuff that comes after birth. when she comes back in i am still mopping, hard.
"the floor looks good, you can stop now." she says.
i'm not close to stopping at any time. i am really enjoying myself.
"you can stop" she repeats.
i look up and grip the mop a little tighter. i don't want to stop. i am the expert mopper, does she want to take that away from me?
"okay" i say sheepishly, and i put the mop away.
one day, i might be delivering babies with the confidence i use in mopping.
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