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
Thursday, December 28, 2006
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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