it was mid morning and all the health volunteers and i had been standing around waiting for the taxi to arrive.
"c'mon kessie, let's go." secetry was suggesting we should all walk to meet the cab. some people grumbled and would have rather sat till it came, but he was the one organizing the Community Education trips so we followed him and walked down the path away from the clinic.
"i will stay in Boama today." he said. i looked at him and my body asked him why.
"because" he said "i have malaria. i am too sick. i'll stay here, can you go?"
"ya i can go."
"okay then, let's go."
we kept walking and a cab came hauling down the path, dust flying in all directions.
it stopped at our toes, practically touching our kneecaps.
"here is your transportation" he said, as he jiggled the door open so i could get in.
the 6 of us, excluding secetry, piled in. i was instantly wary. i knew the local cabs and have been studying them as closely as i have been studying birth.
the town has about 6 "bush taxis" and each car has a distinct personality. the one we were getting into i had decided after my last ride i would never accept a ride in it again. the space where the radio typically would be was hollowed out straight through into the engine.
that is just fine. most of the cars are like that. then the drivers usually stick foam or plastic bags in the space to keep us all from breathing the fumes. but this man had cut the top and bottom off of a plastic bottle and wedged that in the big vacant spot. the bottle served as a pipe blowing hot exhaust from the front of the car to the back. to make matters even worse, not all the windows roll down so you are stuck in the mess with no chance for an iota of clean air to breathe.
since i didn't have much option, except to stay behind, i looked at the bright side- i had gotten next to the window that opened half way.
the other half of the volunteer team had probably already arrived to our destination, they left early. i wished i was with them, or that i had brought a handkerchief to inhale into.
"bye kessie!" secetry waved and yelled.
i waved back. then i heard him ask faintly from the distance "do you know where you are going? you are going to the fetish village, to visit the fetish priest!"
a fetish village? a fetish priest? i could hear secetry cracking up walking slowly down the road. and we were on our way.
sometimes i'm not sure if it's dustier inside the car, or outside, but i was set on having my head outside the window the entire ride. i looked like the wind sniffing dog they had decided to bring.
we were all slowly becoming asphyxiated and no one seemed to care. i wondered what engine pollution could do to the mind. i thought about showing up at a fetish village freshly high off of exhaust. this could be an interesting day. i stuck my head out the window a little further.
the volunteers and the driver had gotten into a heated discussion about what exactly it is that the bible says. they were all speaking at once. i wasn't sure what they were referring to, i just kept hearing "but the bible says!" "but the bible says!".
the road was starting to get even more narrow, and the surroundings were closing in on the car. long branches swept the roof, and weeds taller than most children brushed the side of the car.
"come inside". someone had ordered me back into the gas chamber. i didn't want to go but due to the road ahead, it looked like i had to. i popped back in just as sharp plants began to make their way in through my window.
"this is a real bush road!" someone else exclaimed. everyone laughed in agreement.
the man whose lap i was practically sitting on top of asked me "in america, do you see roads such as these?"
"yes" i said. although i had never seen one.
"really?"
"well, in some places. but mostly not." i wanted to keep my answers short, that way i could breath less. he noticed my discomfort and alerted the group.
"our friend is getting beat by the road!" he said.
but it wasn't the road, it was the inside of the car. wasn't anyone else suffering? if so i wanted to walk the rest of the way with them! i didn't dare open my mouth, i pressed my lips together and gave him a fake smile.
the car continued down very rough road for quite some time until we finally reached the village.
"look, it is a fetish shrine." he pointed at a cement mound.
the taxi weaved it's way through the quaint settlement, dodging goats and babies scooting themselves through the dirt. the other car was parked underneath a large jacaranda tree that spanned shade throughout the center of the village. the driver was sitting in his seat, sleeping with his mouth wide open.
we parked next to them and unloaded.
the volunteers had already found the local wood benches and brought them to the tree. they were set up in a hexagon shape with people taking up every inch of them. i counted about 40 people.
i liked the feel of this village. it was shady and sloped. everything seemed intimate and nonthreatening. the wind was gentle and kept dropping leaves the size of breath mints down on all our heads. most people didn't notice, the leaves were so light. but each person i looked at had one or two stuck to their hair.
i didn't feel nervous like i had last tuesday. the place we visited the week prior had twice as many people and it was the first time i had made my 'care during pregnancy speech'. i had butterflies in my stomach before i stood up to talk. this time i hadn't brought the paper of all my facts but figured they were pretty easy to remember. Madame Lydia, the calm dignified director of Foundation Human Nature leaned over and asked me where my paper was.
i tapped on my temple. she gave me a long slow nod and grinned. "okay kaisy." and we were off. she gave her speech about nutrition, i stood up and talked about getting to the clinic early, bringing essential items, and a little bit about protecting yourself against HIV, and then the local doctor charmed everyone with his silly antics and easy going way. he discussed the importance of hand washing and how to recognize Buruli ulcer.
an old man, with pink lined eyes and a shirt blotched with huge bright spots, who had been sitting in a wooden lounge chair very still spoke up across the gathering addressing a guy my age. he chose his words as if picking the right fruit; slowly and carefully in a tone that usually is reserved for intimate conversations. the guy then turned to the doctor and spoke exactly what had just been said again. each person present interrupted in laughter, except me.
i leaned over to madame lydia and asked what was so funny.
"okay well the fetish priest wants to know why in the old days there weren't as many diseases and people weren't dying of so many sicknesses. but now they are. in the old days you could come from the farm and never wash your hands, then go and eat and be healthy. now that is not the case. he said he thinks it's because of the doctors. there are too many doctors and not enough fetish priests, is what he thinks."
i knew fetish priests were considered healers by some, that they were said to cure such things as infertility and disease. i had been to fetish markets in Ghana and a popular one in Togo, which donned everything from iguana heads to turtle shells and parrot wings. but i never had a context to place those items in. they were just another strange market array i got to gawk at. now i was looking at the man who used those things.
the doctor was trying to explain in a humorous and respectful way why he believed the priest was wrong. Madame Lydia rose to explain her point of view, that the pesticides and herbicides are causing ailments we never had to deal with before. she spoke to the fetish priests linguist, the guy sitting across the way, and the linguist relayed the message to the priest. he didn't seem convinced and i wondered how far our simple efforts would reach and how deeply they would penetrate. our time there was almost finished.
the doctor spoke loudly and asked in twi "who is going to start washing their hands BEFORE they eat?".
nothing but silence.
then, from a corner behind all the benches, a chubby mother who was standing holding her breastfeeding child quietly said she would. everyone stared at her. Madame Lydia took out a packet of salt and handed it in her direction.
suddenly agreements broke out all over the place.
"i will i will" "we will". now that something free was involved, assent flowed like water. so the attraction is universal, i noted.
each person who was in attendance got their complimentary packet of salt and left clapping and singing a simple song the doctor had made up.
'when i come from the farm
i wash my hands
when i come to my house
i wash my hands
when i come from the town
i wash my hands'
then he handed it off to them to fill in where they were coming from, and we all sang out "I WASH MY HANDS!"
song and dance seemed like an effective method to get a point across. everyone had turned the rhythm and the clapping into something that sounded quite beautiful and as the people dispersed i could hear it echoing down to the bottom of the village. women had gone into their huts singing, and the children had caught on quickly. we packed up and drove off singing inside the taxis. i had switched cars and was opening my mouth wide, enjoying fresh air and joining in "i wash my hands!"
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
porch talk
the mother of the owner of the house i live in has been staying with us for the past week. she lives in the village but her son has come to visit for a small time. he is staying in the room next to mine. so she has been around cooking up meals and taking care of him. she's an elderly woman, known to the village folk as "Auntie" with a lot of sass and a good command of the English language. she has a raspy laugh and wears big African frocks that hang low off of one shoulder. she shuffles through the house, busy in her own world. she also happens to be very opinionated.
i didn't know she spoke English so well because she always talks to me in Twi. I also didn't know she had been to California until just the other day.
the sun was going to set soon and i wasn't ready for darkness, so i grabbed an orange and a knife from the kitchen and went out to the front porch to enjoy the last glimmer of the days light.
Auntie was there, with an orange and a knife in her hand too.
"auntie?" i laughed. she turned around to look at me. i said "same same" and pointed to our fruits.
"ohhhh yes, haha, same same." she paused and then looked back up at me. "you shouldn't call me auntie."
"i shouldn't?"
"no because, how old is your mother?" she asked.
"54, i think." i kind of stopped counting after 50.
"you see? i am 73. i am older than your mother and you call me auntie?! you should call me grandmother."
"okay. i'll do that. but Sakola calls you auntie and so does NanaKwame, so i thought i'd call you auntie too. thats all."
"ohhh i see. yes, everyone calls me auntie. you can call me auntie, i understand."
the conversation was starting to make its way into absurd, so i shrugged and examined her eating her orange.
we both had sliced the skin off in small short strokes and left a pile of shavings sitting in front of us. i was getting better at this simple act. we cut the north pole off and sucked the juice out through the opening. her lips had spent a lifetime wrapping themselves around oranges and slurping out the juice, this style of enjoying my citrus was relatively new to me. i liked watching her staring out into the wild and clumsily spitting seeds onto her lap and the floor around us.
"my daughter, the one who built this house, she lives in California."
"oh really, where?"
"los angeles. i've even been there."
"you have? when?"
"a few years back i was there. actually i have been there two times. one time for, hmmmm, lets say, 3 months and the second time i stayed 1 year and a half. so you know, i know your place. ah California. i know it!"
i was surprised she had spent such a long time there.
"what did you do there?" i asked.
"ohh, i just spent time with my daughter, and my son in law and my granddaughter. they wouldn't let me work so i stayed and relaxed. hm, it was nice. ahh California. and Hollywood- do you know Hollywood?"
"yes" i laughed. "san diego, do you know san diego?"
"ahh yess, san diego. i know the place."
i straightened myself excitedly and told her that was my home.
"so" she said "you can call your mother and tell her auntie who stays here in boamadumase knows your home. i know the place. let's see, i went on a trip there and toured with my son-in-law. i was in this place, i think, hm, it was a museum but i can't remember. but it had many beautiful things. and i spoke twi..." her storytelling was beginning to turn into stage acting. she was pausing and using hand gestures and was lost in the tale "yes, i spoke the twi and some man heard. he walked over- he said- where are you from? i told him, i am an African. he said, from where? i said Ghana. then he spoke the twi back to me. eih!" she clenched her fists and shook them around. "i said eih! you know the twi? he said 'yes, i've been there.' oh! it was nice. so you see, when you go back you can speak the twi with him."
"auntie, san diego is big."
"yes, i know, but just you wait. you'll see. one day the same thing will happen to you. you'll hear the twi and then you can ask that person to be your friend. but you know, when i arrived in the airport my first time to California i was shaking. immigration took my papers and they told me to walk down the red carpet. they wanted to check me. i stood there, like this" she made her body tremble "like that. they said 'why are you here?' i told them to see my daughter. then they said 'when are you leaving?' i told them i didn't know. so they left me there. oh they were big men, and not very friendly. i was shaking. then, they asked if anyone was going to pick me up. i said, why yes of course, my son-in-law. they called him. 4 minutes later he was there and they let me go! ahh immigration, its not nice at all."
i felt instantly sad at how we treat foreigners. it seemed so accusatory. the two worlds colliding seemed unreal. little auntie going to visit her daughter up against a man trained and drained by 'the super power'. talk about culture shock.
i wanted to know how she saw Americans.
she replied "oh they are nice people. very friendly."
"and the food, did you eat our food?"
"oh YES! i told you, i know the place."
"what did you eat?" i asked. i had spent the last hour in my room, drawing pictures of Caesar salad, hamburgers, and pizza in my journal.
"well my favorite is pissa." she said.
"oh PIZZA! yes! did you eat hot dogs?"
she stroked her throat. "oh even hearing it is making me feel for it." she said, but for some reason i didn't believe her. hot dogs are disgusting, and the gesture she made was like she enjoyed swallowing them whole.
we looked at each other and laughed. i noticed how gummy her mouth was, and her teeth looked like tiny yellow watermelon seeds that had been tossed into her mouth and stuck in all directions.
"but you know, the sweetcorn! you have SWEETcorn. and your oranges are different than ours. same with your peppeh. and..."
she talked of what she knew, and told me where i can go to buy cocoa yams, plantain, cassava, and anything else i might need when i'm back home and want to make African food. granted, it is a few hours away from my home, but i don't doubt i will show up there one day eyeing every African in the place, desperate to speak twi and connect back to a time when i sat long hours in the front of a monstrous house and giggled till it was dark and the mosquitoes came.
i didn't know she spoke English so well because she always talks to me in Twi. I also didn't know she had been to California until just the other day.
the sun was going to set soon and i wasn't ready for darkness, so i grabbed an orange and a knife from the kitchen and went out to the front porch to enjoy the last glimmer of the days light.
Auntie was there, with an orange and a knife in her hand too.
"auntie?" i laughed. she turned around to look at me. i said "same same" and pointed to our fruits.
"ohhhh yes, haha, same same." she paused and then looked back up at me. "you shouldn't call me auntie."
"i shouldn't?"
"no because, how old is your mother?" she asked.
"54, i think." i kind of stopped counting after 50.
"you see? i am 73. i am older than your mother and you call me auntie?! you should call me grandmother."
"okay. i'll do that. but Sakola calls you auntie and so does NanaKwame, so i thought i'd call you auntie too. thats all."
"ohhh i see. yes, everyone calls me auntie. you can call me auntie, i understand."
the conversation was starting to make its way into absurd, so i shrugged and examined her eating her orange.
we both had sliced the skin off in small short strokes and left a pile of shavings sitting in front of us. i was getting better at this simple act. we cut the north pole off and sucked the juice out through the opening. her lips had spent a lifetime wrapping themselves around oranges and slurping out the juice, this style of enjoying my citrus was relatively new to me. i liked watching her staring out into the wild and clumsily spitting seeds onto her lap and the floor around us.
"my daughter, the one who built this house, she lives in California."
"oh really, where?"
"los angeles. i've even been there."
"you have? when?"
"a few years back i was there. actually i have been there two times. one time for, hmmmm, lets say, 3 months and the second time i stayed 1 year and a half. so you know, i know your place. ah California. i know it!"
i was surprised she had spent such a long time there.
"what did you do there?" i asked.
"ohh, i just spent time with my daughter, and my son in law and my granddaughter. they wouldn't let me work so i stayed and relaxed. hm, it was nice. ahh California. and Hollywood- do you know Hollywood?"
"yes" i laughed. "san diego, do you know san diego?"
"ahh yess, san diego. i know the place."
i straightened myself excitedly and told her that was my home.
"so" she said "you can call your mother and tell her auntie who stays here in boamadumase knows your home. i know the place. let's see, i went on a trip there and toured with my son-in-law. i was in this place, i think, hm, it was a museum but i can't remember. but it had many beautiful things. and i spoke twi..." her storytelling was beginning to turn into stage acting. she was pausing and using hand gestures and was lost in the tale "yes, i spoke the twi and some man heard. he walked over- he said- where are you from? i told him, i am an African. he said, from where? i said Ghana. then he spoke the twi back to me. eih!" she clenched her fists and shook them around. "i said eih! you know the twi? he said 'yes, i've been there.' oh! it was nice. so you see, when you go back you can speak the twi with him."
"auntie, san diego is big."
"yes, i know, but just you wait. you'll see. one day the same thing will happen to you. you'll hear the twi and then you can ask that person to be your friend. but you know, when i arrived in the airport my first time to California i was shaking. immigration took my papers and they told me to walk down the red carpet. they wanted to check me. i stood there, like this" she made her body tremble "like that. they said 'why are you here?' i told them to see my daughter. then they said 'when are you leaving?' i told them i didn't know. so they left me there. oh they were big men, and not very friendly. i was shaking. then, they asked if anyone was going to pick me up. i said, why yes of course, my son-in-law. they called him. 4 minutes later he was there and they let me go! ahh immigration, its not nice at all."
i felt instantly sad at how we treat foreigners. it seemed so accusatory. the two worlds colliding seemed unreal. little auntie going to visit her daughter up against a man trained and drained by 'the super power'. talk about culture shock.
i wanted to know how she saw Americans.
she replied "oh they are nice people. very friendly."
"and the food, did you eat our food?"
"oh YES! i told you, i know the place."
"what did you eat?" i asked. i had spent the last hour in my room, drawing pictures of Caesar salad, hamburgers, and pizza in my journal.
"well my favorite is pissa." she said.
"oh PIZZA! yes! did you eat hot dogs?"
she stroked her throat. "oh even hearing it is making me feel for it." she said, but for some reason i didn't believe her. hot dogs are disgusting, and the gesture she made was like she enjoyed swallowing them whole.
we looked at each other and laughed. i noticed how gummy her mouth was, and her teeth looked like tiny yellow watermelon seeds that had been tossed into her mouth and stuck in all directions.
"but you know, the sweetcorn! you have SWEETcorn. and your oranges are different than ours. same with your peppeh. and..."
she talked of what she knew, and told me where i can go to buy cocoa yams, plantain, cassava, and anything else i might need when i'm back home and want to make African food. granted, it is a few hours away from my home, but i don't doubt i will show up there one day eyeing every African in the place, desperate to speak twi and connect back to a time when i sat long hours in the front of a monstrous house and giggled till it was dark and the mosquitoes came.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
lets get an ambulance for our friends
Dear Wonderful You who reads this blog,
I'm assuming, since you are interested in these stories, that you might be interested in the lives of the people in Boamadumase. The Huttel Health center is still in need of an ambulance.
If you would like to donate any funds (5 dollars, 10 dollars, 700 dollars, 312 dollars, 14,000 dollars) towards this please email me!
One person has donated a few hundred dollars. The price of the ambulance was not what i originally expected. It will cost close to US $6,000. We have a long ways to go but i'd like to give them an ambulance as a going away present in May, from all of us. I am writing this to start a sort of online fundraiser. Contact me if you are moved.
Sincerely,
Kacie
I'm assuming, since you are interested in these stories, that you might be interested in the lives of the people in Boamadumase. The Huttel Health center is still in need of an ambulance.
If you would like to donate any funds (5 dollars, 10 dollars, 700 dollars, 312 dollars, 14,000 dollars) towards this please email me!
One person has donated a few hundred dollars. The price of the ambulance was not what i originally expected. It will cost close to US $6,000. We have a long ways to go but i'd like to give them an ambulance as a going away present in May, from all of us. I am writing this to start a sort of online fundraiser. Contact me if you are moved.
Sincerely,
Kacie
more Ma tales...
it has been two weeks and the maternity ward has only gotten women at night, besides prenatals. i've stopped expecting to be called and have come to terms that nobody at the clinic will travel to get me in the dark.
the days are long, therefore, i have taken up a twice-weekly habit of sleeping on the job. it is a very Ghanaian thing to do and i'm a talented napper, so i figured what better way to fit in with the local culture?
Ma's office is getting too cold for her. it's wintertime here and everybody is decked out in sweaters and beanies. i come to work wearing a tank top.
to keep herself warm she now leaves her spot behind the desk and sits on a chair in the front room of the block. it's an open room full of direct sunlight and pink walls. There is netting covering the area of the windows that glass would typically be, and benches stacked up for the volunteer meetings on tuesdays and the baby clinic on fridays. this is also the room where families of women in labor congregate. Ma does not allow them into the back area until after the child has been born.
"why can't they just come back?" i asked.
"Hmf. It's not good." she said.
"why?"
"Because, they will disturb."
"but why?" i was like an incessant child, but i had to be. i find the more i ask why the more i annoy her, but also the more interesting the answers become. i'd rather get a juicy tale than be compliant.
"Because they will." she said again.
"yes, but WHY?"
She puffed herself up and let out her long sigh. Her hands danced around in front of her as she thought up her answer.
"because of witchcraft." she said. then she lowered her head and closed her eyes.
i hoped her eyes closed didn't mean she was through talking, because i was just beginning with the inquiry.
"witchcraft? i don't understand." i said.
"because of the local witchcraft i don't want people back there, thats why."
we sat saying nothing. i didn't want to overwhelm her with my seeming ignorance so i once again let the story leak out in it's own time. i was sure it would come if i could just be patient.
"you know..." she started up "there are witches in this place."
i was noticing how much she resembled a big fat owl perched on a branch. very intentional with her few movements, and eyes just as big.
"there are witches and witchcraft. it's not good. i've heard they'll keep the babies from coming."
she moved her hands motioning a baby coming out and then stopping.
"the witches, i have heard, will press their feet down hard to the ground, soooo hard and then the baby won't come. that is why i don't let the women scream. i want the baby to come quietly so we can go out and tell the family, he has come!"
i had two thoughts. i was warmed to see Ma acting as a protector and caring for her patients by not letting them make noise, even though i am pretty certain the baby would come either way. secondly i had to reconsider my original notion, which was- women in the village were tougher and could handle pain in a more contained fashion, so much they didn't even need to make loud sounds.
"yes the witchcraft is all over, but there is no place for it here. Hmf."
i looked over on the wall at a poster sized calendar of Jesus. He was larger than life and surreal looking. the months of 2006 were listed along the bottom of the poster. a new calendar for 2007 had been hung on the same nail in the wall. this one was of an African beauty queen and was smaller. the beauty queens face was the same size as Jesus' and had been hung over his, replacing Jesus' face with that of a woman but keeping the robe and gentle hands in place so that it looked like the white god had a new look.
i pointed it out to Ma.
i'm still not certain how well she can see, with the creeping cataracts in her eyes, but she saw what i was referring to. it looked like a cardboard Jesus cutout where the African woman had inserted her face. it was funny. i related more closely to the second image than the first.
Ma and I cracked up and she told me "you are always making me laugh."
then she went on to explain how when i had contacted Foundation Human Nature 2 years back and asked if i could apprentice with the midwife at the clinic she had said "no".
"Did they tell you?" she asked me.
"no, they didn't."
"but you kept asking. you kept calling. you were persistant. but i didn't want you to come. i even thought you were a midwife yourself. that is what Dr. Ed Gold said. He said you were a midwife."
I had made it clear i was not. I told the head of the organization i had no nursing or midwifery skills. I was simply coming to observe and learn. He said he would get back to me. i liked imagining him having to lie to get me there, coaxing Ma into believing i was qualified.
"yes, Dr. Ed Gold said you were a midwife, but even then i didn't want you. then finally they said you were still in contact and i had to let you come." she smiled at me and chuckled. a little it seemed, out of embarrasment and a little out of circumstance. i was here now and we were doing just fine, laughing and napping together.
i almost asked if she was glad now that i came, but decided to hold back. i didn't want to be openly rejected.
"do you remember the first day you came? Madame Lydia introduced you as a midwife and you said you were not?!" tides of laughter poured from her gut. "i even thought you were a midwife! turns out you are an educator!! ahahahhhaha! now you see-" she was choking on herself "how a midwife suffers. the life of a midwife is not easy, you should go back to the schools, unless you find this too interesting."
i didn't feel like i was suffering at all. i wanted to be, i wanted to be up all night till the wee hours of the morning, tending to women in need. but instead i was about to sleep on a bench.
"well i do find it interesting." i said.
"then you shouldn't waste your time here." she had gathered herself and was instructing me in some wise advice. "go to train, become qualified, and in 2 years you can return. you can be the head midwife. as for me, i will retire soon."
i liked the thought of that.
Kacie Annelise Mutscheller: Head Midwife: Huttel Health Clinic: Boamadumase.
Then i remembered the rats running atop Ma's roof. That is the resident midwifes house. Could i live years with the sound of claws scratching across metal?
I thought of babybushmeat. I had somewhat gotten used to him, our resident pet. Sure i could get used to the rats. and i would have to scrub the grease streaks off the wall.
"yeah, that sounds like a great idea. then i will get to wear a white midwifes dress like you!" i exclaimed.
"OH NO! this is senior midwifes wear. you will have to work some time before you can put on a white dress. but don't you worry you will get there. you will. one day."
"and Efreeyeh?!" i said it loud enough that she could hear me in Ma's office. "Efreeyeh and i will be a team. We'll deliver the next generation!"
I think Efreeyeh liked the thought of that although she didn't say anything.
"and i'll let her do all the circumcisions"
i immediately heard a giggle.
earlier that day a mother of week old twins had come in to have her boy circumsized. I thought i wanted to watch, so i went into the women's ward where the little baby was lying on his back. Efreeyeh was tying his legs down with a strip of African cloth. the mother was outside with the girl cradled in a white cloth. I sat at the baby's head and felt his hair. i could have been petting the belly of a bunny, it was that soft.
Efreeyeh prepared everything into a ready position; gauze, forceps, clipping devices.
i took a deep deep breath.
what continued in that next 10 minutes was too much for me to handle. the baby screamed loud and long and shook from excruciating pain. i wondered about the custom of circumsision, then i hated it.the second layer of skin was getting sliced into and i was beginning to feel weak and dizzy. i called for someone to take my place.
i walked over to the office and reclined on the mini-couch, with it's plastic covered cushions.
Secetry entered laughing. r>
"Oh kessy! You fear the circumsision! Oh Kessy!";
i told him i didn't so much fear it as i pitied the child. You couldn't offer solace to a child being mutilated and strapped down to a wooden bench.
The lab technician, Kingsley, came into the office to tease me too.
"Kacie? It seems you can't even watch. Can you? You fear it do you?? But you have to know it is the custom in Ghana. If you don't get your penis cut then you won't ever get a wife! It's true, no woman will want to marry you, even if you have one billion cedis! She will see your penis, scream, and leave you."
"it's true!!!" chimed Secetry.
"then that same boy who wasn't circumsized as a child" Kingsley was driving his point home with another example "will grow and enter JSS and everyone in school will tease him because of his penis. he won't be able to go another day with all that teasing. when he goes to the toilet, he will hide like this..." he huddled and cupped himself in the corner "he'll hide and he won't show anyone, he'll fear being beaten. i know of some children who become old, say 20 or something, and go to get circumsized so they won't feel ashamed. one billion cedis will not get you a wife if your penis is not cut, i will tell you that." then he left.
when i was in Ho, sitting with Senam in the hospital talking about life, the issue of circumsision came up. i dont' remember why but Senam told me of a child he grew up with who hadn't had it done. My dear friend explained to me how much he had made fun of the boy, for years on end. Growing up in rural Ghana, in a village, is a public affair. Your private parts are as visable at times as the bananas for sale down the road. You bathe in your yard, and your yard is public. The poor boy was teased until he was taken at 12 years old to get the skin removed.
Senam said "he didn't walk straight for weeks, and wouldn't look us in our eyes even longer than that."
the baby in the womens ward had finally quit crying and was back with his mother. when i left the room she had moved behind the corner and was biting her fist. as a future mother, i don't think i could have handled hearing all that.
i told Secetry "well when i have a baby i will not be circumsizing him. and if my husband demands it then he can bring him."
"fine fine!" he said.
i left the office over to Ma's. I wanted to be closer to women, which would bring me further away from what i had just witnessed.
A few hours later, after talking with Ma about witchcraft and midwifery, i had almost released the memory, until i hollered at Efreeyeh that she'd be taking care of all the future penis surgeries.
I think Ma had correctly read and interpreted my distaste at the idea of having to perform a circumcision. I had assumed in rural health clinics' that was a midwifes job. I was beginning to slide down the hill of self-doubt. She interuppted me by saying "as for circumcision, that is not a midwife's duty, that is why i stay in here while it is being performed. as for me i don't like it so i don't do it. don't worry kacie, you can leave that up to someone else, it is not for you. do you ever see me in the room while the baby is being cut? Never! So don't you worry."
We both closed our eyes, mine in the comfort of knowing and hers in the tiredness of old age. Together, we fell asleep on the job.
the days are long, therefore, i have taken up a twice-weekly habit of sleeping on the job. it is a very Ghanaian thing to do and i'm a talented napper, so i figured what better way to fit in with the local culture?
Ma's office is getting too cold for her. it's wintertime here and everybody is decked out in sweaters and beanies. i come to work wearing a tank top.
to keep herself warm she now leaves her spot behind the desk and sits on a chair in the front room of the block. it's an open room full of direct sunlight and pink walls. There is netting covering the area of the windows that glass would typically be, and benches stacked up for the volunteer meetings on tuesdays and the baby clinic on fridays. this is also the room where families of women in labor congregate. Ma does not allow them into the back area until after the child has been born.
"why can't they just come back?" i asked.
"Hmf. It's not good." she said.
"why?"
"Because, they will disturb."
"but why?" i was like an incessant child, but i had to be. i find the more i ask why the more i annoy her, but also the more interesting the answers become. i'd rather get a juicy tale than be compliant.
"Because they will." she said again.
"yes, but WHY?"
She puffed herself up and let out her long sigh. Her hands danced around in front of her as she thought up her answer.
"because of witchcraft." she said. then she lowered her head and closed her eyes.
i hoped her eyes closed didn't mean she was through talking, because i was just beginning with the inquiry.
"witchcraft? i don't understand." i said.
"because of the local witchcraft i don't want people back there, thats why."
we sat saying nothing. i didn't want to overwhelm her with my seeming ignorance so i once again let the story leak out in it's own time. i was sure it would come if i could just be patient.
"you know..." she started up "there are witches in this place."
i was noticing how much she resembled a big fat owl perched on a branch. very intentional with her few movements, and eyes just as big.
"there are witches and witchcraft. it's not good. i've heard they'll keep the babies from coming."
she moved her hands motioning a baby coming out and then stopping.
"the witches, i have heard, will press their feet down hard to the ground, soooo hard and then the baby won't come. that is why i don't let the women scream. i want the baby to come quietly so we can go out and tell the family, he has come!"
i had two thoughts. i was warmed to see Ma acting as a protector and caring for her patients by not letting them make noise, even though i am pretty certain the baby would come either way. secondly i had to reconsider my original notion, which was- women in the village were tougher and could handle pain in a more contained fashion, so much they didn't even need to make loud sounds.
"yes the witchcraft is all over, but there is no place for it here. Hmf."
i looked over on the wall at a poster sized calendar of Jesus. He was larger than life and surreal looking. the months of 2006 were listed along the bottom of the poster. a new calendar for 2007 had been hung on the same nail in the wall. this one was of an African beauty queen and was smaller. the beauty queens face was the same size as Jesus' and had been hung over his, replacing Jesus' face with that of a woman but keeping the robe and gentle hands in place so that it looked like the white god had a new look.
i pointed it out to Ma.
i'm still not certain how well she can see, with the creeping cataracts in her eyes, but she saw what i was referring to. it looked like a cardboard Jesus cutout where the African woman had inserted her face. it was funny. i related more closely to the second image than the first.
Ma and I cracked up and she told me "you are always making me laugh."
then she went on to explain how when i had contacted Foundation Human Nature 2 years back and asked if i could apprentice with the midwife at the clinic she had said "no".
"Did they tell you?" she asked me.
"no, they didn't."
"but you kept asking. you kept calling. you were persistant. but i didn't want you to come. i even thought you were a midwife yourself. that is what Dr. Ed Gold said. He said you were a midwife."
I had made it clear i was not. I told the head of the organization i had no nursing or midwifery skills. I was simply coming to observe and learn. He said he would get back to me. i liked imagining him having to lie to get me there, coaxing Ma into believing i was qualified.
"yes, Dr. Ed Gold said you were a midwife, but even then i didn't want you. then finally they said you were still in contact and i had to let you come." she smiled at me and chuckled. a little it seemed, out of embarrasment and a little out of circumstance. i was here now and we were doing just fine, laughing and napping together.
i almost asked if she was glad now that i came, but decided to hold back. i didn't want to be openly rejected.
"do you remember the first day you came? Madame Lydia introduced you as a midwife and you said you were not?!" tides of laughter poured from her gut. "i even thought you were a midwife! turns out you are an educator!! ahahahhhaha! now you see-" she was choking on herself "how a midwife suffers. the life of a midwife is not easy, you should go back to the schools, unless you find this too interesting."
i didn't feel like i was suffering at all. i wanted to be, i wanted to be up all night till the wee hours of the morning, tending to women in need. but instead i was about to sleep on a bench.
"well i do find it interesting." i said.
"then you shouldn't waste your time here." she had gathered herself and was instructing me in some wise advice. "go to train, become qualified, and in 2 years you can return. you can be the head midwife. as for me, i will retire soon."
i liked the thought of that.
Kacie Annelise Mutscheller: Head Midwife: Huttel Health Clinic: Boamadumase.
Then i remembered the rats running atop Ma's roof. That is the resident midwifes house. Could i live years with the sound of claws scratching across metal?
I thought of babybushmeat. I had somewhat gotten used to him, our resident pet. Sure i could get used to the rats. and i would have to scrub the grease streaks off the wall.
"yeah, that sounds like a great idea. then i will get to wear a white midwifes dress like you!" i exclaimed.
"OH NO! this is senior midwifes wear. you will have to work some time before you can put on a white dress. but don't you worry you will get there. you will. one day."
"and Efreeyeh?!" i said it loud enough that she could hear me in Ma's office. "Efreeyeh and i will be a team. We'll deliver the next generation!"
I think Efreeyeh liked the thought of that although she didn't say anything.
"and i'll let her do all the circumcisions"
i immediately heard a giggle.
earlier that day a mother of week old twins had come in to have her boy circumsized. I thought i wanted to watch, so i went into the women's ward where the little baby was lying on his back. Efreeyeh was tying his legs down with a strip of African cloth. the mother was outside with the girl cradled in a white cloth. I sat at the baby's head and felt his hair. i could have been petting the belly of a bunny, it was that soft.
Efreeyeh prepared everything into a ready position; gauze, forceps, clipping devices.
i took a deep deep breath.
what continued in that next 10 minutes was too much for me to handle. the baby screamed loud and long and shook from excruciating pain. i wondered about the custom of circumsision, then i hated it.the second layer of skin was getting sliced into and i was beginning to feel weak and dizzy. i called for someone to take my place.
i walked over to the office and reclined on the mini-couch, with it's plastic covered cushions.
Secetry entered laughing. r>
"Oh kessy! You fear the circumsision! Oh Kessy!";
i told him i didn't so much fear it as i pitied the child. You couldn't offer solace to a child being mutilated and strapped down to a wooden bench.
The lab technician, Kingsley, came into the office to tease me too.
"Kacie? It seems you can't even watch. Can you? You fear it do you?? But you have to know it is the custom in Ghana. If you don't get your penis cut then you won't ever get a wife! It's true, no woman will want to marry you, even if you have one billion cedis! She will see your penis, scream, and leave you."
"it's true!!!" chimed Secetry.
"then that same boy who wasn't circumsized as a child" Kingsley was driving his point home with another example "will grow and enter JSS and everyone in school will tease him because of his penis. he won't be able to go another day with all that teasing. when he goes to the toilet, he will hide like this..." he huddled and cupped himself in the corner "he'll hide and he won't show anyone, he'll fear being beaten. i know of some children who become old, say 20 or something, and go to get circumsized so they won't feel ashamed. one billion cedis will not get you a wife if your penis is not cut, i will tell you that." then he left.
when i was in Ho, sitting with Senam in the hospital talking about life, the issue of circumsision came up. i dont' remember why but Senam told me of a child he grew up with who hadn't had it done. My dear friend explained to me how much he had made fun of the boy, for years on end. Growing up in rural Ghana, in a village, is a public affair. Your private parts are as visable at times as the bananas for sale down the road. You bathe in your yard, and your yard is public. The poor boy was teased until he was taken at 12 years old to get the skin removed.
Senam said "he didn't walk straight for weeks, and wouldn't look us in our eyes even longer than that."
the baby in the womens ward had finally quit crying and was back with his mother. when i left the room she had moved behind the corner and was biting her fist. as a future mother, i don't think i could have handled hearing all that.
i told Secetry "well when i have a baby i will not be circumsizing him. and if my husband demands it then he can bring him."
"fine fine!" he said.
i left the office over to Ma's. I wanted to be closer to women, which would bring me further away from what i had just witnessed.
A few hours later, after talking with Ma about witchcraft and midwifery, i had almost released the memory, until i hollered at Efreeyeh that she'd be taking care of all the future penis surgeries.
I think Ma had correctly read and interpreted my distaste at the idea of having to perform a circumcision. I had assumed in rural health clinics' that was a midwifes job. I was beginning to slide down the hill of self-doubt. She interuppted me by saying "as for circumcision, that is not a midwife's duty, that is why i stay in here while it is being performed. as for me i don't like it so i don't do it. don't worry kacie, you can leave that up to someone else, it is not for you. do you ever see me in the room while the baby is being cut? Never! So don't you worry."
We both closed our eyes, mine in the comfort of knowing and hers in the tiredness of old age. Together, we fell asleep on the job.
no men, just fufuo please
being a white woman in Ghana, i stand out. people want to "take me" as their wife before they even know my name. i can sit down in the shade for a brief moment and be approached by a man who wants to marry me because he loves me and he especially loves my country.
"really?" i say.
"yes, it is true my sweetie." he'll/they'll say.
"what country is it that you love so much?"
"your country."
"and where am i from?" i'll ask.
"i don't know."
the requests are so frequent that i've been considering going to a shop to have a t-shirt made. one side, the front side, will say "yes i will be your friend" and then the back side will say "no i will not marry you."
the other day i took a short ride on a tro tro to a local city. the car pulled up to my stop and just as i was alighting the vehicle a man that had been sitting in front of me for the past 30 minutes turned around and reached for my hand.
i had been admiring his stylish hat and paying close attention to what his almond eyes found interesting along the way. he stared at a huge oil rig that had been toppled over for quite some time. i was used to this drive, i knew the bends and corners that haphazard drivers wouldn't make it around and when they didn't i stared at the results for weeks. no one here is in a real hurry to clean up an accident scene, instead people use the debris as lounging areas, play structures, and shade. the man made a disapproving sound when he saw it. most locals don't take special note the way he did, so i questioned for a few miles whether he was a foreigner too. but when he asked me for my telephone number as i was stepping out of the trotro, his accent was Ghanaian.
i was in a funny mood that day. i was tired of routine. tired of telling people that i only wanted them as my friend, tired of being begged. the car was waiting for me to leave it, the man no longer had a hold of me, and all the passengers were listening to whether or not i was going to give this random person my telephone number.
"my number?" i asked. "why of course! do you have a pen?"
he scrambled through his bag as the tro tro inched forward, eager to leave. a few people in the car let some laughs loose and i stepped back to look at what i was doing.
why was i giving this man my number? i looked over at him and realized it was because i liked his hat, it had some sex appeal and was tilted to the side, which to me signified he had flair and personality.
he couldn't find a pen but someone from the back of the car lent him theirs.
"024" i said "6268924. and my name is Kacie."
"okay great, i'm Morrison, i'll be contacting you soon."
they all sped off, i heard him shout a goodbye through his window while i physically and mentally prepared to cross the busy street. i didn't have time to think about what i had just done, i had to dodge cars and buses first. sometimes i feel like i am living the real life version of Frogger.
when i got to the other side i started laughing. i felt a new sense of freedom. i didn't have to tell people no all the time, instead i could start saying yes. i pictured how life would be if i started handing out my number like it was Halloween candy. maybe i would find a husband? maybe our "how we met" story would lack 'soul mate romanticism and appeal' maybe instead it would be more dry and practical. i would tell people i had handed out my telephone number for years on public transportation until i had established some type of mutual connection with one of my recipients. then we got married.
i considered blind dating. this was no worse, or no better, depending on how you see it. and after all, Ghana is a big country and i didn't have to pick up my phone.
1 hour after i had been in the city i got a phone call from Morrison. He was just checking up on me.
"well, i'm doing just fine, thanks." then i hung up.
the next hour i got another phone call.
"still doing great, thanks." i said.
that night when i got back to the village i received a text message.
DEAREST KACIE. I KNOW YOU DO NOT KNOW ME BUT I CAN GUARANTEE I WILL MAKE YOU A GREAT FRIEND. DON'T FORGET ME. I WANT TO KNOW YOUR MIND. YOUR FRIEND, MORRISON.
i was tired and wasn't going to try and analyze it, the part about knowing my mind. tomorrow i would be leaving for a 2 day trip to Kumasi, a city with a lot of culture, history, and American food. At this point, the meals i had been dreaming about were what interested me most. i was going to eat something familiar and colorful.
the next day i checked into the guesthouse, declined the receptionist a marriage proposal, and found my room.
the sound my cell phone makes when i have an incoming message is similar to a cheap soundtrack of a sci-fi movie, or a scene from some after school special right when the ufo's land. i try to keep my phone on low because i don't know how to switch it and the noise embarrasses me. but no one was in my room so i didn't have to worry. i read the note.
HEY KACIE ITS MORRISON YOUR FRIEND. WISHING TO BE IN CONTACT.
i considered his salutation. "hey". it was slang, so if i did ever meet up with him at least we'd be able to converse freely.
my phone rang and i picked it up.
"Kacie? Kacie?" the background noise of where the caller was at, whom i assumed was Morrison, was scratchy and loud.
"yes this is kacie."
"Kacie where are you?"
"i'm in Kumasi."
"OH REALLY! that is wonderful. i am here in Kumasi also. i stay here. i'd like to meet with you sometime. when can i see you?"
i wasn't aware he was from Kumasi, i probably wouldn't have told him i was there if i knew.
"well" i had to think quick. "well i have a lot of work to do. i came just for a short time, i'm applying to colleges and will be busy for quite awhile on the computer. i don't think-"
the phone hung up.
i packed my bag with essentials for a day out on town; toilet paper, malaria meds, money, pen and paper then i headed over to the Internet lab.
when i was inside, fully engrossed in writing an application essay, i got another call.
"where are you kacie?"
"who is this?" i thought stalling the inevitable was my best choice.
"this is your friend Morrison."
"oh hello. how are you?"
the way cell phones work here is through units. the user buys a scratch card that equals up to a certain amount of time in units. when you call someone your units begin to deduct. most people are very low on units, due to lack of money. they call, typically greet the person on the other line, and state what they need to say. Then they hang up. i thought if i talked long enough about nothing his time would run up and i would never have to awkwardly reject a date.
"where are you?" he asked.
"oh, you see, i'm on the computer at an Internet cafe, and i don't know where i am."
i was annoying the people in the room. i was trying to speak low but it was still quite obvious i was on the phone. someone leaned over to me and told me where i was at.
"okay great, i'm coming." Morrison said right before he hung up.
he had heard my neighbor. they had informed him unintentionally of my hideout. now i was stuck. i couldn't leave my project, it was holding me hostage, so instead i said a little prayer.
dear God, help me, untangle my mess. i don't want to date this man.
for some strange reason i stopped focusing on my work on screen in front of me and started worrying about the reflection. i checked my teeth and smoothed my hair. i typed a line and then straightened my posture. i wanted to look cute typing when he walked in.
i looked around and realized how ridiculous this all was. i was primping for a person i was trying to reject, but it didn't stop me.
i was fully aware when he walked in behind me, i saw him on the screen. he swooped in and bent down on one knee lowering himself to my side, like a prince.
"keeesssyy" he said. when i focused in on him, he suddenly didn't look so much like royalty. he was sweating and trembling and his eyeballs looked like they were shaking around in their sockets. i repeated my previous prayer.
"helloooooo ohh it iss ssooo goood too see youu."
his voice was gremlinish and i wanted to get away from it.
he grabbed my hand and lifted it up to his eager lips. i was instantly mortified.
please god don't let him kiss my-
"mmmwwwkkk!"
he did it.
my whole body cringed and i wondered where the nearest sink was. i had already planned a hand washing session.
"ohh kessy, when yyyyoouu are donne lett's gett togethher, okayy?"
i gave him a very strong but sympathetic look. "i am very sorry but i will be here until the place closes. i surely don't have time today. i apologize."
it was early in the morning and the lab closed late at night, i was lying and it was obvious. no one spends 15 hours in a computer lab.
"weeelll theen maybe i''lll cooome bacck in 30 minnuttes and waiit."
he looked obsessed.
i tried to dissuade his return but he would have none of it.
after he left i quickly typed up answers to the midwifery college i am trying to get into.
question number 8- please describe your current relationship with the Lord.
question number 9- please describe your relationship with your family.
question number 10- what do you believe your strengths as a midwife will be.
i was thoughtful and truthful and typing like crazy. i wanted to get out of there before he came back. i was putting all my faith into him operating in "African time". that would mean his half hour arrival would really come in 1 hour or longer. i was pleasantly surprised by the speed and fluency of my answers. they were what i would have typed had i been sitting and pondering all day long.
i dotted my last i's and crossed my t's and got the hell out of there. i grabbed all my things in one big swoop and ran out the door down the street. the day had turned busy, people were everywhere, taxis buzzing around beeping at me and all the other pedestrians. i ran past everything, taking in nothing, knowing the further away i got the less of a chance of me getting caught again in the presence of that guy.
i ran past an expat hangout, made a quick u turn, and entered it like i was dying of thirst and had just reached a waterfall. i found a table close to the corner and huddled down with my papers and relief.
a menu came floating down to me, like an autumn leaf falling. it landed in my lap and i studied it in complete peace. i was safe.
the waiter came over and asked me what i'd like.
"first," i said "i'd like to wash my hands. is there a place i can do that?"
he pointed to a sink in the corner.
"okay" i said "i can't decide quite yet, my mind will clear once my hands are clean. please come back to me."
i walked back to the sink, but had to special request soap. somebody brought me a huge squirt bottle full, it was the color of 4 leafed clovers and leprechauns. i filled my palms up and rubbed ferociously.
i was thankful.
thankful to be where i was at, alone, doing what i was doing.
i walked back to my table and sat down. i looked at the menu again and a strange craving came over me.
none of the food looked appetizing.
i wanted fufuo. my body wanted fufuo.
the waiter made his second round and looked at me expectantly.
"okay, well, i guess i'll get a Hawaiian pizza."
he nodded.
"but wait-" he was leaving and i just had to know. "you don't by any chance have fufuo, do you?"
"we do not."
"oh okay, never mind. pizza will be just fine."
i sat back and relaxed. i thanked God for my clean hands and deliverance and decided i wasn't going to hand out my number to strangers anymore, the excitement of it all was just too much.
"really?" i say.
"yes, it is true my sweetie." he'll/they'll say.
"what country is it that you love so much?"
"your country."
"and where am i from?" i'll ask.
"i don't know."
the requests are so frequent that i've been considering going to a shop to have a t-shirt made. one side, the front side, will say "yes i will be your friend" and then the back side will say "no i will not marry you."
the other day i took a short ride on a tro tro to a local city. the car pulled up to my stop and just as i was alighting the vehicle a man that had been sitting in front of me for the past 30 minutes turned around and reached for my hand.
i had been admiring his stylish hat and paying close attention to what his almond eyes found interesting along the way. he stared at a huge oil rig that had been toppled over for quite some time. i was used to this drive, i knew the bends and corners that haphazard drivers wouldn't make it around and when they didn't i stared at the results for weeks. no one here is in a real hurry to clean up an accident scene, instead people use the debris as lounging areas, play structures, and shade. the man made a disapproving sound when he saw it. most locals don't take special note the way he did, so i questioned for a few miles whether he was a foreigner too. but when he asked me for my telephone number as i was stepping out of the trotro, his accent was Ghanaian.
i was in a funny mood that day. i was tired of routine. tired of telling people that i only wanted them as my friend, tired of being begged. the car was waiting for me to leave it, the man no longer had a hold of me, and all the passengers were listening to whether or not i was going to give this random person my telephone number.
"my number?" i asked. "why of course! do you have a pen?"
he scrambled through his bag as the tro tro inched forward, eager to leave. a few people in the car let some laughs loose and i stepped back to look at what i was doing.
why was i giving this man my number? i looked over at him and realized it was because i liked his hat, it had some sex appeal and was tilted to the side, which to me signified he had flair and personality.
he couldn't find a pen but someone from the back of the car lent him theirs.
"024" i said "6268924. and my name is Kacie."
"okay great, i'm Morrison, i'll be contacting you soon."
they all sped off, i heard him shout a goodbye through his window while i physically and mentally prepared to cross the busy street. i didn't have time to think about what i had just done, i had to dodge cars and buses first. sometimes i feel like i am living the real life version of Frogger.
when i got to the other side i started laughing. i felt a new sense of freedom. i didn't have to tell people no all the time, instead i could start saying yes. i pictured how life would be if i started handing out my number like it was Halloween candy. maybe i would find a husband? maybe our "how we met" story would lack 'soul mate romanticism and appeal' maybe instead it would be more dry and practical. i would tell people i had handed out my telephone number for years on public transportation until i had established some type of mutual connection with one of my recipients. then we got married.
i considered blind dating. this was no worse, or no better, depending on how you see it. and after all, Ghana is a big country and i didn't have to pick up my phone.
1 hour after i had been in the city i got a phone call from Morrison. He was just checking up on me.
"well, i'm doing just fine, thanks." then i hung up.
the next hour i got another phone call.
"still doing great, thanks." i said.
that night when i got back to the village i received a text message.
DEAREST KACIE. I KNOW YOU DO NOT KNOW ME BUT I CAN GUARANTEE I WILL MAKE YOU A GREAT FRIEND. DON'T FORGET ME. I WANT TO KNOW YOUR MIND. YOUR FRIEND, MORRISON.
i was tired and wasn't going to try and analyze it, the part about knowing my mind. tomorrow i would be leaving for a 2 day trip to Kumasi, a city with a lot of culture, history, and American food. At this point, the meals i had been dreaming about were what interested me most. i was going to eat something familiar and colorful.
the next day i checked into the guesthouse, declined the receptionist a marriage proposal, and found my room.
the sound my cell phone makes when i have an incoming message is similar to a cheap soundtrack of a sci-fi movie, or a scene from some after school special right when the ufo's land. i try to keep my phone on low because i don't know how to switch it and the noise embarrasses me. but no one was in my room so i didn't have to worry. i read the note.
HEY KACIE ITS MORRISON YOUR FRIEND. WISHING TO BE IN CONTACT.
i considered his salutation. "hey". it was slang, so if i did ever meet up with him at least we'd be able to converse freely.
my phone rang and i picked it up.
"Kacie? Kacie?" the background noise of where the caller was at, whom i assumed was Morrison, was scratchy and loud.
"yes this is kacie."
"Kacie where are you?"
"i'm in Kumasi."
"OH REALLY! that is wonderful. i am here in Kumasi also. i stay here. i'd like to meet with you sometime. when can i see you?"
i wasn't aware he was from Kumasi, i probably wouldn't have told him i was there if i knew.
"well" i had to think quick. "well i have a lot of work to do. i came just for a short time, i'm applying to colleges and will be busy for quite awhile on the computer. i don't think-"
the phone hung up.
i packed my bag with essentials for a day out on town; toilet paper, malaria meds, money, pen and paper then i headed over to the Internet lab.
when i was inside, fully engrossed in writing an application essay, i got another call.
"where are you kacie?"
"who is this?" i thought stalling the inevitable was my best choice.
"this is your friend Morrison."
"oh hello. how are you?"
the way cell phones work here is through units. the user buys a scratch card that equals up to a certain amount of time in units. when you call someone your units begin to deduct. most people are very low on units, due to lack of money. they call, typically greet the person on the other line, and state what they need to say. Then they hang up. i thought if i talked long enough about nothing his time would run up and i would never have to awkwardly reject a date.
"where are you?" he asked.
"oh, you see, i'm on the computer at an Internet cafe, and i don't know where i am."
i was annoying the people in the room. i was trying to speak low but it was still quite obvious i was on the phone. someone leaned over to me and told me where i was at.
"okay great, i'm coming." Morrison said right before he hung up.
he had heard my neighbor. they had informed him unintentionally of my hideout. now i was stuck. i couldn't leave my project, it was holding me hostage, so instead i said a little prayer.
dear God, help me, untangle my mess. i don't want to date this man.
for some strange reason i stopped focusing on my work on screen in front of me and started worrying about the reflection. i checked my teeth and smoothed my hair. i typed a line and then straightened my posture. i wanted to look cute typing when he walked in.
i looked around and realized how ridiculous this all was. i was primping for a person i was trying to reject, but it didn't stop me.
i was fully aware when he walked in behind me, i saw him on the screen. he swooped in and bent down on one knee lowering himself to my side, like a prince.
"keeesssyy" he said. when i focused in on him, he suddenly didn't look so much like royalty. he was sweating and trembling and his eyeballs looked like they were shaking around in their sockets. i repeated my previous prayer.
"helloooooo ohh it iss ssooo goood too see youu."
his voice was gremlinish and i wanted to get away from it.
he grabbed my hand and lifted it up to his eager lips. i was instantly mortified.
please god don't let him kiss my-
"mmmwwwkkk!"
he did it.
my whole body cringed and i wondered where the nearest sink was. i had already planned a hand washing session.
"ohh kessy, when yyyyoouu are donne lett's gett togethher, okayy?"
i gave him a very strong but sympathetic look. "i am very sorry but i will be here until the place closes. i surely don't have time today. i apologize."
it was early in the morning and the lab closed late at night, i was lying and it was obvious. no one spends 15 hours in a computer lab.
"weeelll theen maybe i''lll cooome bacck in 30 minnuttes and waiit."
he looked obsessed.
i tried to dissuade his return but he would have none of it.
after he left i quickly typed up answers to the midwifery college i am trying to get into.
question number 8- please describe your current relationship with the Lord.
question number 9- please describe your relationship with your family.
question number 10- what do you believe your strengths as a midwife will be.
i was thoughtful and truthful and typing like crazy. i wanted to get out of there before he came back. i was putting all my faith into him operating in "African time". that would mean his half hour arrival would really come in 1 hour or longer. i was pleasantly surprised by the speed and fluency of my answers. they were what i would have typed had i been sitting and pondering all day long.
i dotted my last i's and crossed my t's and got the hell out of there. i grabbed all my things in one big swoop and ran out the door down the street. the day had turned busy, people were everywhere, taxis buzzing around beeping at me and all the other pedestrians. i ran past everything, taking in nothing, knowing the further away i got the less of a chance of me getting caught again in the presence of that guy.
i ran past an expat hangout, made a quick u turn, and entered it like i was dying of thirst and had just reached a waterfall. i found a table close to the corner and huddled down with my papers and relief.
a menu came floating down to me, like an autumn leaf falling. it landed in my lap and i studied it in complete peace. i was safe.
the waiter came over and asked me what i'd like.
"first," i said "i'd like to wash my hands. is there a place i can do that?"
he pointed to a sink in the corner.
"okay" i said "i can't decide quite yet, my mind will clear once my hands are clean. please come back to me."
i walked back to the sink, but had to special request soap. somebody brought me a huge squirt bottle full, it was the color of 4 leafed clovers and leprechauns. i filled my palms up and rubbed ferociously.
i was thankful.
thankful to be where i was at, alone, doing what i was doing.
i walked back to my table and sat down. i looked at the menu again and a strange craving came over me.
none of the food looked appetizing.
i wanted fufuo. my body wanted fufuo.
the waiter made his second round and looked at me expectantly.
"okay, well, i guess i'll get a Hawaiian pizza."
he nodded.
"but wait-" he was leaving and i just had to know. "you don't by any chance have fufuo, do you?"
"we do not."
"oh okay, never mind. pizza will be just fine."
i sat back and relaxed. i thanked God for my clean hands and deliverance and decided i wasn't going to hand out my number to strangers anymore, the excitement of it all was just too much.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
short and sweet
A bicycle was creaking it's pedals towards me, and the rider stopped just short of running me over.
"kacie, hello? where are you going?"
"i'm going to the clinic." i replied.
"fine, fine, that is fine. by God's grace enjoy yourself."
i started to walk on but he reached out and prodded my shoulder.
"kacie? i must let you know, do not be letting the boys from the village into your home. it is not advisable." he smacked his lips and his head fluttered about, like a bird trying desperately to escape his cage.
i had no reference for what he was speaking of, but he was obviously very serious about the matter.
"who?" i asked. "who has been visiting me?"
"the boys, from the village, don't let them in."
"well i'm sorry but i don't know what you are talking about. i don't let boys from the village into my home"
if he was talking about my roommates, i didn't really have a choice. not to mention, i liked them, a lot. i had to pause, step back and look at this man.
who was he?
i liked his energy, it was serene and caring, but i still did not know him. he was interacting with me on intimate terms so i couldn't ask him when or if we had ever met.
he was still talking.
"give me your number and i'll share what i have been hearing with you later."
"okay." i said. but then, why not now? "can you please just tell me now."
"OHNO! i will call you later kacie. besides..." he perked up his index finger stiff like a flagpole, then he said slowly "a word to the wise is-" looking at me expectantly. He wanted me to finish his sentence.
I stared at him blankly.
"a word to the wise-" he continued.
i just kept staring.
"Kacie? a word to the wise- is ENOUGH! remember, A WORD TO THE WISE IS ENOUGH!"
it was nice he was looking after me, but i still had to inform him. "yes i understand, but i still don't know WHO you are referring to. I don't let strange boys into my home!"
"Kacie? do you remember last week at the market?" he said it so fast it sounded like a chant.
i raised my eyebrows with one quick lift.
"the lady, with plantain on her head, she said her son has been coming to visit you! i have been in this village since 1969! i know these small boys who grow to be big. i am the eyes and the ears of this village Kacie. don't let these boys into your home."
then he sped off.
i understood. this was a warning against Osmand, the boring 20 something year old who had been stopping by my house to drill me on questions about the U.S. I met him on the road back home one day and he instantly befriended me. He's a modern thinker, too modern for a village. He clung to me like a barnacle, going along with me just to hear stories about America. he says he likes the place because we have enormous buildings, we don't cheat on our spouses and the women 'just say what is on their minds.'
i told him yes our buildings are big, but that affairs happen all the time in the u.s. and if i were really to say what was on my mind i probably would have hurt him, so i didn't. his company made me feel tired and i wasn't afraid to show it. maybe letting out a few loud slow motion yawns could clear him from my house, i thought.
when that didn't work, i'd put my head down where ever we were at and close my eyes. he didn't seem to care so i'd answer him from a resting position.
"i've grown tired of this place." he'd say, referring to Ghana.
"i can't see why." i'd murmur.
then he'd go on to explain his reasons.
one thing i appreciate is he never asks me for anything except my company and some conversation.
after his first few days of stopping by my house, i realized he was just there to befriend me. he doesn't want to be my husband or even my boyfriend, he doesn't want a visa, or a letter to get a visa, he doesn't want dinner, or water from the well.
he's just lonely.
he's Muslim and we play soccer together. he says he used to be a Christian, but now is Muslim. In two years he plans to return to Christianity.
"2 years?" i laughed. i wasn't aware you could schedule faith into a datebook.
"yes, in 2 years."
he had brought a soccer ball that day and on it were the words "NO JESUS NO LIFE", i found it ironic that the ball belonged to his team. it jump started our casual religious conversation. i asked him about Islamic beliefs , but he couldn't express himself very well. he couldn't come up with the words to explain much.
i knew exactly how he felt.
"faith" i reassured him "it's a hard thing to talk about. at least the kind that lives in your heart."
he agreed.
i didn't mean for it too, but i noticed my demeanor softening up around him. he wasn't so boring anymore. a week or so went by and it was clear- he was a soul-searcher. i was somebody who had time and an equal curiosity about things, when i was awake. i made a commitment to his company, to stop sleeping when he came to visit.
our time together was short, but i would call him a friend. he answered my questions about Ghana and corrected my brash generalizations. he came early and stayed late, sometimes a little too late for my liking, but it all worked out. his school came back into session and he returned. he goes to university in Kumasi. when he left he thanked me for spending time with him and said he had to get going, spring semester was starting on Monday.
"okay but before you leave..." i said a little hesitantly "what is your name?"
we both laughed. we had talked about everything, asked each other a million and one questions, but never our names.
"i'm Osmand."
i waited for the other names. none came.
"and what is your name?" he asked me.
"i'm Kacie."
"Kacie. fine, it's been a pleasure. take care."
then he left.
i think the man on the bicycle is mistaken.
"kacie, hello? where are you going?"
"i'm going to the clinic." i replied.
"fine, fine, that is fine. by God's grace enjoy yourself."
i started to walk on but he reached out and prodded my shoulder.
"kacie? i must let you know, do not be letting the boys from the village into your home. it is not advisable." he smacked his lips and his head fluttered about, like a bird trying desperately to escape his cage.
i had no reference for what he was speaking of, but he was obviously very serious about the matter.
"who?" i asked. "who has been visiting me?"
"the boys, from the village, don't let them in."
"well i'm sorry but i don't know what you are talking about. i don't let boys from the village into my home"
if he was talking about my roommates, i didn't really have a choice. not to mention, i liked them, a lot. i had to pause, step back and look at this man.
who was he?
i liked his energy, it was serene and caring, but i still did not know him. he was interacting with me on intimate terms so i couldn't ask him when or if we had ever met.
he was still talking.
"give me your number and i'll share what i have been hearing with you later."
"okay." i said. but then, why not now? "can you please just tell me now."
"OHNO! i will call you later kacie. besides..." he perked up his index finger stiff like a flagpole, then he said slowly "a word to the wise is-" looking at me expectantly. He wanted me to finish his sentence.
I stared at him blankly.
"a word to the wise-" he continued.
i just kept staring.
"Kacie? a word to the wise- is ENOUGH! remember, A WORD TO THE WISE IS ENOUGH!"
it was nice he was looking after me, but i still had to inform him. "yes i understand, but i still don't know WHO you are referring to. I don't let strange boys into my home!"
"Kacie? do you remember last week at the market?" he said it so fast it sounded like a chant.
i raised my eyebrows with one quick lift.
"the lady, with plantain on her head, she said her son has been coming to visit you! i have been in this village since 1969! i know these small boys who grow to be big. i am the eyes and the ears of this village Kacie. don't let these boys into your home."
then he sped off.
i understood. this was a warning against Osmand, the boring 20 something year old who had been stopping by my house to drill me on questions about the U.S. I met him on the road back home one day and he instantly befriended me. He's a modern thinker, too modern for a village. He clung to me like a barnacle, going along with me just to hear stories about America. he says he likes the place because we have enormous buildings, we don't cheat on our spouses and the women 'just say what is on their minds.'
i told him yes our buildings are big, but that affairs happen all the time in the u.s. and if i were really to say what was on my mind i probably would have hurt him, so i didn't. his company made me feel tired and i wasn't afraid to show it. maybe letting out a few loud slow motion yawns could clear him from my house, i thought.
when that didn't work, i'd put my head down where ever we were at and close my eyes. he didn't seem to care so i'd answer him from a resting position.
"i've grown tired of this place." he'd say, referring to Ghana.
"i can't see why." i'd murmur.
then he'd go on to explain his reasons.
one thing i appreciate is he never asks me for anything except my company and some conversation.
after his first few days of stopping by my house, i realized he was just there to befriend me. he doesn't want to be my husband or even my boyfriend, he doesn't want a visa, or a letter to get a visa, he doesn't want dinner, or water from the well.
he's just lonely.
he's Muslim and we play soccer together. he says he used to be a Christian, but now is Muslim. In two years he plans to return to Christianity.
"2 years?" i laughed. i wasn't aware you could schedule faith into a datebook.
"yes, in 2 years."
he had brought a soccer ball that day and on it were the words "NO JESUS NO LIFE", i found it ironic that the ball belonged to his team. it jump started our casual religious conversation. i asked him about Islamic beliefs , but he couldn't express himself very well. he couldn't come up with the words to explain much.
i knew exactly how he felt.
"faith" i reassured him "it's a hard thing to talk about. at least the kind that lives in your heart."
he agreed.
i didn't mean for it too, but i noticed my demeanor softening up around him. he wasn't so boring anymore. a week or so went by and it was clear- he was a soul-searcher. i was somebody who had time and an equal curiosity about things, when i was awake. i made a commitment to his company, to stop sleeping when he came to visit.
our time together was short, but i would call him a friend. he answered my questions about Ghana and corrected my brash generalizations. he came early and stayed late, sometimes a little too late for my liking, but it all worked out. his school came back into session and he returned. he goes to university in Kumasi. when he left he thanked me for spending time with him and said he had to get going, spring semester was starting on Monday.
"okay but before you leave..." i said a little hesitantly "what is your name?"
we both laughed. we had talked about everything, asked each other a million and one questions, but never our names.
"i'm Osmand."
i waited for the other names. none came.
"and what is your name?" he asked me.
"i'm Kacie."
"Kacie. fine, it's been a pleasure. take care."
then he left.
i think the man on the bicycle is mistaken.
what's cookin'?
i took my anatomy and physiology book to the clinic today, but it was Friday, and Friday's are always busy due to women coming in from the market, and a baby health clinic we run once a month. i only had time to flip through the pages during my lunch break. then i walked over to Maame Vic's office and showed her, she loves learning and then explaining what she has learned.
"it's a nice book! some time you should come and we will spend the time studying everything. i will teach it to you."
earlier that day she told me all about the human heart. she spoke so passionately about it i almost cried.
a few years back a doctor invited her to a hospital in Kumasi to witness an open heart surgery. the little boy they were performing it on had been born with a hole in his heart.
"God is wonderful." she said.
i hadn't seen her touched to this magnitude ever. not even when she talked about birth. it sent chills rushing through me, down to the tips of my toes. her storytelling had me entranced.
"the heart is truly incredible." she continued with a 30 minute impromptu summary of all its intricacies and power. i haven't seen tears shed in public much, but i almost did. if you could consider Maame Vic's office public.
"any way" she sighed and concluded "we are so perfectly made, our bodies are so able. Praise God."
i thought about the mystery of a pumping heart. silently all our life our heart beats for us, and not because we tell it to. it has been designed FOR US to do that. then one day, it stops, and that is life. i wanted to gently lift mine out of my chest and give it a little hug, just to say thanks.
i decided right then i would be coming to Maame Vic's more frequently, instead of sitting in Ma's cavernous office waiting for her to talk.
i left the book on her desk and closed work for the day. i walked home, into the living room, where Sakola was resting on the ground listening to the radio. i like it when Sakola turns the radio on because he sets the volume at a bearable level. NanaKwame must be going deaf.
"what are you listening to?" i asked.
"sports." he was on his stomach, arms crossed, with his chin resting on top of his hands. he was into the game.
"ballball?" i asked.
"ahnnnnnn" the pitch of his voice made a steady decline. this was another way of saying yes without having to speak.
because i like soccer i sat down and listened. the game could have been basketball, ice hockey, or politics. i wouldn't have been able to tell, but i still felt like i knew what was happening. i could imagine the quick passes, slide tackles, and bulging thigh muscles, and i could hear the fans in the background. i stretched out and thought about soccer and the human body.
"did you go to the farm today?" i asked Sakola.
"yes" he had a look that was asking for me to inquire more.
"what?" i said.
"bush meat? you say you like it?"
the day prior NanaKwame brought home quite a surprise for dinner. I was sitting at the dining room table absorbing the last pages i had left of Maya Angelou's Complete Autobiography. I wasn't ready to be through with her. I had spent the last few weeks reading this book every day after work and i felt as if i had a new friend. In 3 short pages my friend would be gone. i read slowly, with a sad anticipation. i also noticed an incredibly salty smell and it was making it's way into me, seeping into my skin and crawling through my mouth.
"Kessywa?!?!" NanaKwame always sounds like he has excellent news to share.
i looked up from my book.
"Kessywaa? You like fish?"
i was trying to figure out how i should answer that question, but then he ordered me into the kitchen to look at the big black bucket he had carried in. i peered over the edge (he had it up on a table) and looked down into the murky water.
it was an aquatic orgy, except only the crabs were moving. all the rest of the creatures had their bellies sliced open and floated there looking ugly, rubbing slimy bodies against each other.
NanaKwame had turned on the gas cooker and pulled out a big silver pot.
Sakola walked in and looked inside the bucket too. he smiled. "you like?"
they already knew that i liked fish, but i had no idea the fish i had been eating looked like this. i ignorantly assumed there were just two kinds; dried and fresh. the contents below me proved this to be untrue. i had been eating big fish and small fish, fat fish and skinny fish, fish with whiskers and flat heads (catfish?) and fish that looked like snakes. i had been eating a Dr.Seuss book.
i tried really hard to not think about it too much. that worked for 5 seconds.
"you bought this?" i asked NanaKwame.
he has a phrase he speaks so quickly and fluently that i have registered it more as a clearing of the throat then an actual coherent string of words. he says "i'dliketosay" and then he says whatever it is.
i repeated. "you bought this?"
"nooooo, i'dliketosay i caught."
"you caught these?" i asked.
"yeesss! i'dliketosay today."
were we close to any bodies of water? i was worried.
"WHERE?!"
"oh kessywa, i'dliketosay i caught at the big water!"
i didn't know where the "big water" was, but i had been eating this fish the entire time i had been here and have only been sick once. i had to continue eating it until may. i decided it'd be best if i didn't ask where the "big water" was, i didn't want to see it.
NanaKwame picked out the eel looking fish and wiggled it in my face.
"You like the snake fish!?!"
i told him in twi i did not. i picked through which fish i thought looked good and which i would never want to eat. the whiskered fish was out. Sakola was astonished at how incredibly picky i was. i didn't care. then we grabbed a crab out of the bucket and let it skitter about.
i felt comfortable with crabs, i grew up by the ocean spending long days chasing them into their tide pool homes. i knew what it felt like to be pinched by a crab, and the ones in the bucket were small. i thought i'd scare the boys and let the crab latch on to one of my fingers. i'd scream and act like i was dying.
the plan didn't work because they were too overprotective. every time i stuck my index finger in the crabs way the boys swatted my hand. i couldn't explain the joke so they probably just thought i had no idea what i was doing.
NanaKwame started throwing fish into the pot and Sakola yelled at him to keep the flat headed catfish thing and the snake fish out. he wanted me to enjoy the dinner too.
i went back to the table and said goodbye to my friend, i closed the book. dinner was soon to be ready, the smells were intensifying. part of me enjoyed the aroma, it reminded me of the beach, of San Diego. the other part knew that the ocean was no where nearby.
with the amount of food our table offered that night we could have fed our congregation. the brothers refused to let any of it be wasted, but hadn't invited anyone to eat with us. we were 3 and the fish were plenty.
"i'm satisfied, thank you." i said stretched back to let my stomach accommodate.
"NO! you eat. there is too much!" they said.
"i'm full! i can't possibly take any more."
Sakola plopped a medium sized fish over on my side of the bowl. i threw it back. we all laughed.
i told them in simple twi that i didn't think i could ever eat fish again, and i think they felt the same way. we were stuffed. fish was swimming out our ears.
"soo much fish. please, i can't eat fish again this week." i told them again.
we had to go on an after dinner walk to let all the food settle and work it's way through.
...
"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLL" Sakola jumped up. his team had just scored. he was asking me if i liked bushmeat, also known as grasscutter, also known (by Americans) as big fat rat. i had lost myself in the thoughts of the fish from last night.
he jogged around the room, a little mellow celebration for his team who just made the shot.
"kecie, come."
i was comfortable on the ground. i told him no.
"kecie? i say, come." he was trying to convince, in a sweet coaxing voice.
"what is it?" i asked.
"you like bushmeat?"
"kakra kakra (a little bit)"
"okay. come."
i didn't need to go look, i already knew. we were having rat for dinner. my last words at the table echoed in my mind "please no more fish this week". i should have considered my alternative.
"i've seen it before Sakola. it's grasscutter, i know."
"Kecie?" he reached down for my hand, pulled me up and dragged me into the kitchen.
he opened the closet door where the broom without a handle is kept, along with old dirty rags and machetes. the silver pot was sitting there neatly with the lid on top.
Sakola bent down and lifted up the lid. he turned with excitement jumping off his face.
"today, we eat bushmeat, you like! i shoot at farm today." he made the motion of firing off a rifle.
i had remembered the day. the town looked like a pyromaniac had taken charge, multiple blazing fires were burning on the outskirts of the village. one was so close to the clinic Ma yelled that it was going to burn us all down. Secetry had gone out to assess the situation.
"the fires are troublesome." he said "people like the bushmeat too much. they go and burn the brush and catch it as it comes running out."
i should have corrected him, they don't CATCH it, they SHOOT it.
"sure Sakola, i like. i'll eat it." i said.
he nodded and looked like he had just recieved a medal, glowing and proud.
i had set myself up for this one, but i had eaten bushmeat plenty of times before, i could do it again. i even traveled with two dead smoked rats in a paper bag once, venturing half the length of Ghana with them in hand, so me and my friend could cook them up at home. we spent so much time with the things that we started calling them "da bruthas." we'd get on a tro tro and ask "did you get da bruthas" or we'd go to bed and smell them and say "good night bruthas". surely i could enjoy a nice meal of grasscutter once again.
i looked at Sakola and thought of the phone conversation i had with my mom and stepdad. they called me thrilled about a special program they had seen on t.v. about Ghana. i was glad they got to see where i was living and understand it a bit more.
"honey" my mom said "they eat rat?"
i laughed with relief that i wasn't the only person who considered it a less than ideal food. "ya" i said.
"but i heard them call it 'grasscuttah! it's just rat though right? have you eaten rat?" she wanted to know.
"ya mom! i eat it all the time."
i actually hadn't had it for quite a while, but i was trying to sound calloused.
"ewwwwwewwwwweww!" she squealed. i heard my stepdad laugh in the background. he got on the phone "okay dearie, we taped the show for you so you can watch it when you get back. we miss you and love you, byyyeee."
right after it happened i had told Sakola about the phone call, how my family was grossed out by bushmeat. this kept him entertained for quite some time. real fresh pure laughter was spilling out of him, at the thought of my family attempting to eat rat.
Now he was telling me to come to the corner of the kitchen. he was standing right by the gas burner, also close to a contraption i hadn't seen earlier. it looked similar to a structure a child might make when trying to corral a found pet, or a wild animal small enough to domesticate.
"for your mother" he said. he had a mischievous look.
i walked over and viewed his achievement.
he had used concrete blocks and the wedge of the kitchen wall to make the 'arena', thrown in a delicious looking papaya, and a ear of corn,and was successfully keeping the small shivering rodent from running away.
i screamed.
i wasn't expecting to see bushmeat alive in my kitchen, and why did he bring it home?
"it is for your mother and father." he said.
"wo di agoro?" are you kidding?
he fell to the floor cracking up and slapping his thigh. the laughter turned into the kind where you can barely breathe and it didn't stop. i looked at him quite stoically.
he never answered my question.
instead, he cooked up the poor rats mother only a feet away from it and then we sat and munched down. he handed me the thigh, with feet and curled up toes attached and i told him there was no way. he ripped the thigh apart and tore out the meat that looked appetizing, then i ate it. i thought of the anatomy book i had been studying earlier in the day. the rat was almost intact so i was able to identify major muscles and bones, were they the same as mine? Sakola popped them in his mouth. he ate everything, and i slowly picked at my serving telling myself it tasted exactly like corned beef, something i don't care for, but still it calmed me. i was awed by the strength of his teeth. he ate the entire skeleton.
"so how did you catch the bushmeat if you didn't shoot it?"
"like this" he stood up and demonstrated by creeping low like a cartoon robber, pounced on the air, and swooped up nothing.
Secetry was right.
"when will we eat it?" i asked.
"no, we don't eat. you take to America, give to your family." he quickly looked into the bowl and fished around for more meat. he couldn't look at me because he had to hold back the joke. he was trying to act serious.
now, i haven't been able to ascertain truth from fiction, but the animal isn't coming home with me.
i woke up this morning and the grasscutter had stopped shivering and seemed to be enjoying his new enclosure, munching on the fruit and slithering across the cement floor exploring the corners. i sat down to eat porridge and looked into the kitchen.
i've decided to start considering it as a new pet. if i think of it in edible terms i lose my appetite and don't even enjoy vegetarian food. if it stays around too long i might just turn into Fern, from Charlotte's Web, protesting that we simply can't eat our new friend! or maybe i'll have my own version of Free Willy, instead of carrying a million tons to the ocean, i'll just kick over a cement block and let the thing run outside back into his great big home.
"it's a nice book! some time you should come and we will spend the time studying everything. i will teach it to you."
earlier that day she told me all about the human heart. she spoke so passionately about it i almost cried.
a few years back a doctor invited her to a hospital in Kumasi to witness an open heart surgery. the little boy they were performing it on had been born with a hole in his heart.
"God is wonderful." she said.
i hadn't seen her touched to this magnitude ever. not even when she talked about birth. it sent chills rushing through me, down to the tips of my toes. her storytelling had me entranced.
"the heart is truly incredible." she continued with a 30 minute impromptu summary of all its intricacies and power. i haven't seen tears shed in public much, but i almost did. if you could consider Maame Vic's office public.
"any way" she sighed and concluded "we are so perfectly made, our bodies are so able. Praise God."
i thought about the mystery of a pumping heart. silently all our life our heart beats for us, and not because we tell it to. it has been designed FOR US to do that. then one day, it stops, and that is life. i wanted to gently lift mine out of my chest and give it a little hug, just to say thanks.
i decided right then i would be coming to Maame Vic's more frequently, instead of sitting in Ma's cavernous office waiting for her to talk.
i left the book on her desk and closed work for the day. i walked home, into the living room, where Sakola was resting on the ground listening to the radio. i like it when Sakola turns the radio on because he sets the volume at a bearable level. NanaKwame must be going deaf.
"what are you listening to?" i asked.
"sports." he was on his stomach, arms crossed, with his chin resting on top of his hands. he was into the game.
"ballball?" i asked.
"ahnnnnnn" the pitch of his voice made a steady decline. this was another way of saying yes without having to speak.
because i like soccer i sat down and listened. the game could have been basketball, ice hockey, or politics. i wouldn't have been able to tell, but i still felt like i knew what was happening. i could imagine the quick passes, slide tackles, and bulging thigh muscles, and i could hear the fans in the background. i stretched out and thought about soccer and the human body.
"did you go to the farm today?" i asked Sakola.
"yes" he had a look that was asking for me to inquire more.
"what?" i said.
"bush meat? you say you like it?"
the day prior NanaKwame brought home quite a surprise for dinner. I was sitting at the dining room table absorbing the last pages i had left of Maya Angelou's Complete Autobiography. I wasn't ready to be through with her. I had spent the last few weeks reading this book every day after work and i felt as if i had a new friend. In 3 short pages my friend would be gone. i read slowly, with a sad anticipation. i also noticed an incredibly salty smell and it was making it's way into me, seeping into my skin and crawling through my mouth.
"Kessywa?!?!" NanaKwame always sounds like he has excellent news to share.
i looked up from my book.
"Kessywaa? You like fish?"
i was trying to figure out how i should answer that question, but then he ordered me into the kitchen to look at the big black bucket he had carried in. i peered over the edge (he had it up on a table) and looked down into the murky water.
it was an aquatic orgy, except only the crabs were moving. all the rest of the creatures had their bellies sliced open and floated there looking ugly, rubbing slimy bodies against each other.
NanaKwame had turned on the gas cooker and pulled out a big silver pot.
Sakola walked in and looked inside the bucket too. he smiled. "you like?"
they already knew that i liked fish, but i had no idea the fish i had been eating looked like this. i ignorantly assumed there were just two kinds; dried and fresh. the contents below me proved this to be untrue. i had been eating big fish and small fish, fat fish and skinny fish, fish with whiskers and flat heads (catfish?) and fish that looked like snakes. i had been eating a Dr.Seuss book.
i tried really hard to not think about it too much. that worked for 5 seconds.
"you bought this?" i asked NanaKwame.
he has a phrase he speaks so quickly and fluently that i have registered it more as a clearing of the throat then an actual coherent string of words. he says "i'dliketosay" and then he says whatever it is.
i repeated. "you bought this?"
"nooooo, i'dliketosay i caught."
"you caught these?" i asked.
"yeesss! i'dliketosay today."
were we close to any bodies of water? i was worried.
"WHERE?!"
"oh kessywa, i'dliketosay i caught at the big water!"
i didn't know where the "big water" was, but i had been eating this fish the entire time i had been here and have only been sick once. i had to continue eating it until may. i decided it'd be best if i didn't ask where the "big water" was, i didn't want to see it.
NanaKwame picked out the eel looking fish and wiggled it in my face.
"You like the snake fish!?!"
i told him in twi i did not. i picked through which fish i thought looked good and which i would never want to eat. the whiskered fish was out. Sakola was astonished at how incredibly picky i was. i didn't care. then we grabbed a crab out of the bucket and let it skitter about.
i felt comfortable with crabs, i grew up by the ocean spending long days chasing them into their tide pool homes. i knew what it felt like to be pinched by a crab, and the ones in the bucket were small. i thought i'd scare the boys and let the crab latch on to one of my fingers. i'd scream and act like i was dying.
the plan didn't work because they were too overprotective. every time i stuck my index finger in the crabs way the boys swatted my hand. i couldn't explain the joke so they probably just thought i had no idea what i was doing.
NanaKwame started throwing fish into the pot and Sakola yelled at him to keep the flat headed catfish thing and the snake fish out. he wanted me to enjoy the dinner too.
i went back to the table and said goodbye to my friend, i closed the book. dinner was soon to be ready, the smells were intensifying. part of me enjoyed the aroma, it reminded me of the beach, of San Diego. the other part knew that the ocean was no where nearby.
with the amount of food our table offered that night we could have fed our congregation. the brothers refused to let any of it be wasted, but hadn't invited anyone to eat with us. we were 3 and the fish were plenty.
"i'm satisfied, thank you." i said stretched back to let my stomach accommodate.
"NO! you eat. there is too much!" they said.
"i'm full! i can't possibly take any more."
Sakola plopped a medium sized fish over on my side of the bowl. i threw it back. we all laughed.
i told them in simple twi that i didn't think i could ever eat fish again, and i think they felt the same way. we were stuffed. fish was swimming out our ears.
"soo much fish. please, i can't eat fish again this week." i told them again.
we had to go on an after dinner walk to let all the food settle and work it's way through.
...
"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLL" Sakola jumped up. his team had just scored. he was asking me if i liked bushmeat, also known as grasscutter, also known (by Americans) as big fat rat. i had lost myself in the thoughts of the fish from last night.
he jogged around the room, a little mellow celebration for his team who just made the shot.
"kecie, come."
i was comfortable on the ground. i told him no.
"kecie? i say, come." he was trying to convince, in a sweet coaxing voice.
"what is it?" i asked.
"you like bushmeat?"
"kakra kakra (a little bit)"
"okay. come."
i didn't need to go look, i already knew. we were having rat for dinner. my last words at the table echoed in my mind "please no more fish this week". i should have considered my alternative.
"i've seen it before Sakola. it's grasscutter, i know."
"Kecie?" he reached down for my hand, pulled me up and dragged me into the kitchen.
he opened the closet door where the broom without a handle is kept, along with old dirty rags and machetes. the silver pot was sitting there neatly with the lid on top.
Sakola bent down and lifted up the lid. he turned with excitement jumping off his face.
"today, we eat bushmeat, you like! i shoot at farm today." he made the motion of firing off a rifle.
i had remembered the day. the town looked like a pyromaniac had taken charge, multiple blazing fires were burning on the outskirts of the village. one was so close to the clinic Ma yelled that it was going to burn us all down. Secetry had gone out to assess the situation.
"the fires are troublesome." he said "people like the bushmeat too much. they go and burn the brush and catch it as it comes running out."
i should have corrected him, they don't CATCH it, they SHOOT it.
"sure Sakola, i like. i'll eat it." i said.
he nodded and looked like he had just recieved a medal, glowing and proud.
i had set myself up for this one, but i had eaten bushmeat plenty of times before, i could do it again. i even traveled with two dead smoked rats in a paper bag once, venturing half the length of Ghana with them in hand, so me and my friend could cook them up at home. we spent so much time with the things that we started calling them "da bruthas." we'd get on a tro tro and ask "did you get da bruthas" or we'd go to bed and smell them and say "good night bruthas". surely i could enjoy a nice meal of grasscutter once again.
i looked at Sakola and thought of the phone conversation i had with my mom and stepdad. they called me thrilled about a special program they had seen on t.v. about Ghana. i was glad they got to see where i was living and understand it a bit more.
"honey" my mom said "they eat rat?"
i laughed with relief that i wasn't the only person who considered it a less than ideal food. "ya" i said.
"but i heard them call it 'grasscuttah! it's just rat though right? have you eaten rat?" she wanted to know.
"ya mom! i eat it all the time."
i actually hadn't had it for quite a while, but i was trying to sound calloused.
"ewwwwwewwwwweww!" she squealed. i heard my stepdad laugh in the background. he got on the phone "okay dearie, we taped the show for you so you can watch it when you get back. we miss you and love you, byyyeee."
right after it happened i had told Sakola about the phone call, how my family was grossed out by bushmeat. this kept him entertained for quite some time. real fresh pure laughter was spilling out of him, at the thought of my family attempting to eat rat.
Now he was telling me to come to the corner of the kitchen. he was standing right by the gas burner, also close to a contraption i hadn't seen earlier. it looked similar to a structure a child might make when trying to corral a found pet, or a wild animal small enough to domesticate.
"for your mother" he said. he had a mischievous look.
i walked over and viewed his achievement.
he had used concrete blocks and the wedge of the kitchen wall to make the 'arena', thrown in a delicious looking papaya, and a ear of corn,and was successfully keeping the small shivering rodent from running away.
i screamed.
i wasn't expecting to see bushmeat alive in my kitchen, and why did he bring it home?
"it is for your mother and father." he said.
"wo di agoro?" are you kidding?
he fell to the floor cracking up and slapping his thigh. the laughter turned into the kind where you can barely breathe and it didn't stop. i looked at him quite stoically.
he never answered my question.
instead, he cooked up the poor rats mother only a feet away from it and then we sat and munched down. he handed me the thigh, with feet and curled up toes attached and i told him there was no way. he ripped the thigh apart and tore out the meat that looked appetizing, then i ate it. i thought of the anatomy book i had been studying earlier in the day. the rat was almost intact so i was able to identify major muscles and bones, were they the same as mine? Sakola popped them in his mouth. he ate everything, and i slowly picked at my serving telling myself it tasted exactly like corned beef, something i don't care for, but still it calmed me. i was awed by the strength of his teeth. he ate the entire skeleton.
"so how did you catch the bushmeat if you didn't shoot it?"
"like this" he stood up and demonstrated by creeping low like a cartoon robber, pounced on the air, and swooped up nothing.
Secetry was right.
"when will we eat it?" i asked.
"no, we don't eat. you take to America, give to your family." he quickly looked into the bowl and fished around for more meat. he couldn't look at me because he had to hold back the joke. he was trying to act serious.
now, i haven't been able to ascertain truth from fiction, but the animal isn't coming home with me.
i woke up this morning and the grasscutter had stopped shivering and seemed to be enjoying his new enclosure, munching on the fruit and slithering across the cement floor exploring the corners. i sat down to eat porridge and looked into the kitchen.
i've decided to start considering it as a new pet. if i think of it in edible terms i lose my appetite and don't even enjoy vegetarian food. if it stays around too long i might just turn into Fern, from Charlotte's Web, protesting that we simply can't eat our new friend! or maybe i'll have my own version of Free Willy, instead of carrying a million tons to the ocean, i'll just kick over a cement block and let the thing run outside back into his great big home.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
the dispensary
a package arrived for me and the handwriting was my mothers. she had told me she 'sent me a little something for Christmas' so i grabbed the gift and coveted it for about an hour, pacing the lawn outside the clinic, waiting for the perfect time to see what was inside.
the perfect time would be in solitude, this i knew from experience.
when i had studied abroad, my mom sent me a parcel that was light. i opened it on campus, as students walked by. they were probably wondering why i had a huge granny bra dangling from my fingertips. i quickly tucked it back into its original spot, i wanted to keep it hidden till i got home. unfortunately for me, Ghanaians do not hide curiosity. every person i met on the walk back to my hostel that day asked me what exactly was i holding? i didn't want them to know- or see- mostly due to how gigantic the thing was. it lacked style and was a poor representation of how i wanted to be imagined with my clothes off, if i wanted to be imagined at all. at any rate, it was something a 22 year old should not be wearing, even if it did fit.
the present that i was holding now was just a little heavier. i figured i'd go into the dispensary, where only Vera and Efreeyeh hang out, and unwrap my gift.
when i walked in no one was around. perfect! i quickly scrambled and tore it open. i read the card, was warmed by the contact, and thankfully examined the pictures they sent. it was nice to see familiar faces, even if they were just prints. the glow of the night we took the pictures shone through every ones faces. it had been a great last night. we ate Caesar salad and played Catchphrase with our closest family friends. the choice of game was a little ironic considering i'd be spending the next 6 months trying to have people guess what i was saying. an appropriate send off to say the least.
i finished up my packing with a stomach full of anxiety, but a night well spent with people i love got me through and kept me sleeping. My best friend stayed the night, reminiscent of our childhood sleepovers, except now we slept in separate beds. we had grown.
when i was through with the photos i reached into the padded envelope and pulled out handful after handful of fresh crisp underwear. she had really gone all out, buying funky styles and patterns, all in designer brands.
Vera walked in while my lap was littered in lingerie.
"Christmas!" i explained.
her teeth are as big as Efreeyeh's but placed differently. instead of gapping in the front they fan out, like a hand of cards held upside down. she's small but has a big butt, so i tried to convince her to take a pair. i wanted to spread the Christmas love.
she grabbed some pastel flowered full bottomed undies and wrapped the length of the waist around her neck.
"they're too big!" she laughed and threw them back at me.
she knew the trick! how did she know the trick? i thought only me and my closest girlfriends knew that trick. in fact, i thought we had discovered it.
13 years old and scavenging rummage sales and second hand stores, we'd claim to have found 'the perfect pair of corduroys' which to us, was the equivalent of having just been given a Faberge egg. close to impossible.
we'd wrap the waist around our necks, and if it went around completely and didn't double wrap, they were perfect. that rarely ever happened, but when it did we'd secretly envy the other person and how great their future was about to become because of those pants.
Efreeyeh walked in and gave me her doubtful inquisitive look. she always assumes i am up to no good, or don't understand what is going on- but she likes me, this i know. she thinks i'm funny and foreign, like a new pet hamster.
"who gave you those?" her voice is the next step up from deep, and she speaks bluntly.
"my mom sent them, aren't they cute?"
she agreed, they were sweet. she picked up a pen drive that had fallen out of a wrapped up pair of underwear. "whats this?"
"its for my computer, for when i type."
"ahhhh" she still didn't understand but was pretending like she did. i knew this look because i had become a professional at it.
"i'll show you the next time we are in the office." i said.
"hm, okay."
i didn't let them know i had actually gotten 4 of them. i wanted them to think i was a simple girl, that i really only needed one of everything, except undies.
"your mother loves you too much!" Vera said, she started grabbing my gifts and sprinkling them over my head, again and again, chanting how much my mom loves me and laughing at how ridiculous i looked covered in g-strings.
She and Efreeyeh like to gang up on me and laugh and poke fun. I look forward to time spent in the dispensary because i can relate with them in a youthful fresh sort of way. We talk about life, and love, and which songs on the radio are worthy or not. I sit there, talk, and count pills. I sort and package them and write the instructions for the labels.
Take 2 pills, 3 times daily.
It makes me feel important, esp. when no cases are coming in. I suddenly snap into Ms. Efficient and try to get as many done as possible. I try to let the ladies know that i might not be able to give somebody a shot (yet) but when the time comes to give out medicine i can package it in a jiffy.
The girls just laugh at me and ask if i am tired yet.
"and you will have to learn." Vera says "you will have to learn how to give an injection. let me tell you this. you can't feel other peoples pain. if you feel their pain you won't ever be able to be a midwife. you have to be strong, but not too sensitive. like me, i can prick you with a needle and laugh."
i looked over at Efreeyeh.
"it's true." she chimed.
i looked at them both. i wondered if i'd ever be able stick a needle in someone and laugh. i didn't think so. but then, the point wasn't being made maliciously, it was just a fact. she could do it. i couldn't.
"well when i learn, if i don't learn here, i'll make sure to come back to Boamadumase and stick you both, and laugh."
when we all thought this was funny i knew our friendship was only going to get better.
the perfect time would be in solitude, this i knew from experience.
when i had studied abroad, my mom sent me a parcel that was light. i opened it on campus, as students walked by. they were probably wondering why i had a huge granny bra dangling from my fingertips. i quickly tucked it back into its original spot, i wanted to keep it hidden till i got home. unfortunately for me, Ghanaians do not hide curiosity. every person i met on the walk back to my hostel that day asked me what exactly was i holding? i didn't want them to know- or see- mostly due to how gigantic the thing was. it lacked style and was a poor representation of how i wanted to be imagined with my clothes off, if i wanted to be imagined at all. at any rate, it was something a 22 year old should not be wearing, even if it did fit.
the present that i was holding now was just a little heavier. i figured i'd go into the dispensary, where only Vera and Efreeyeh hang out, and unwrap my gift.
when i walked in no one was around. perfect! i quickly scrambled and tore it open. i read the card, was warmed by the contact, and thankfully examined the pictures they sent. it was nice to see familiar faces, even if they were just prints. the glow of the night we took the pictures shone through every ones faces. it had been a great last night. we ate Caesar salad and played Catchphrase with our closest family friends. the choice of game was a little ironic considering i'd be spending the next 6 months trying to have people guess what i was saying. an appropriate send off to say the least.
i finished up my packing with a stomach full of anxiety, but a night well spent with people i love got me through and kept me sleeping. My best friend stayed the night, reminiscent of our childhood sleepovers, except now we slept in separate beds. we had grown.
when i was through with the photos i reached into the padded envelope and pulled out handful after handful of fresh crisp underwear. she had really gone all out, buying funky styles and patterns, all in designer brands.
Vera walked in while my lap was littered in lingerie.
"Christmas!" i explained.
her teeth are as big as Efreeyeh's but placed differently. instead of gapping in the front they fan out, like a hand of cards held upside down. she's small but has a big butt, so i tried to convince her to take a pair. i wanted to spread the Christmas love.
she grabbed some pastel flowered full bottomed undies and wrapped the length of the waist around her neck.
"they're too big!" she laughed and threw them back at me.
she knew the trick! how did she know the trick? i thought only me and my closest girlfriends knew that trick. in fact, i thought we had discovered it.
13 years old and scavenging rummage sales and second hand stores, we'd claim to have found 'the perfect pair of corduroys' which to us, was the equivalent of having just been given a Faberge egg. close to impossible.
we'd wrap the waist around our necks, and if it went around completely and didn't double wrap, they were perfect. that rarely ever happened, but when it did we'd secretly envy the other person and how great their future was about to become because of those pants.
Efreeyeh walked in and gave me her doubtful inquisitive look. she always assumes i am up to no good, or don't understand what is going on- but she likes me, this i know. she thinks i'm funny and foreign, like a new pet hamster.
"who gave you those?" her voice is the next step up from deep, and she speaks bluntly.
"my mom sent them, aren't they cute?"
she agreed, they were sweet. she picked up a pen drive that had fallen out of a wrapped up pair of underwear. "whats this?"
"its for my computer, for when i type."
"ahhhh" she still didn't understand but was pretending like she did. i knew this look because i had become a professional at it.
"i'll show you the next time we are in the office." i said.
"hm, okay."
i didn't let them know i had actually gotten 4 of them. i wanted them to think i was a simple girl, that i really only needed one of everything, except undies.
"your mother loves you too much!" Vera said, she started grabbing my gifts and sprinkling them over my head, again and again, chanting how much my mom loves me and laughing at how ridiculous i looked covered in g-strings.
She and Efreeyeh like to gang up on me and laugh and poke fun. I look forward to time spent in the dispensary because i can relate with them in a youthful fresh sort of way. We talk about life, and love, and which songs on the radio are worthy or not. I sit there, talk, and count pills. I sort and package them and write the instructions for the labels.
Take 2 pills, 3 times daily.
It makes me feel important, esp. when no cases are coming in. I suddenly snap into Ms. Efficient and try to get as many done as possible. I try to let the ladies know that i might not be able to give somebody a shot (yet) but when the time comes to give out medicine i can package it in a jiffy.
The girls just laugh at me and ask if i am tired yet.
"and you will have to learn." Vera says "you will have to learn how to give an injection. let me tell you this. you can't feel other peoples pain. if you feel their pain you won't ever be able to be a midwife. you have to be strong, but not too sensitive. like me, i can prick you with a needle and laugh."
i looked over at Efreeyeh.
"it's true." she chimed.
i looked at them both. i wondered if i'd ever be able stick a needle in someone and laugh. i didn't think so. but then, the point wasn't being made maliciously, it was just a fact. she could do it. i couldn't.
"well when i learn, if i don't learn here, i'll make sure to come back to Boamadumase and stick you both, and laugh."
when we all thought this was funny i knew our friendship was only going to get better.
please, can you help me?
taking bucket baths is fun, i've found.
its a challenge, especially with long hair.
you get one pail of water to do the job. and if i'm careful enough i'll have the right amount left over that i can even use conditioner, but that takes diligent conservation. i can't just splash around.
i have a frugal disposition, i never like to run out comlpletely. i like to save. i like to keep an inch of water at the bottom of my bucket, just because. i'm the same way when i chop vegetables, leaving a chunk on the cutting board instead of throwing it all into the stirfry. it pays off well with some things, like my finances, and appears to be wasteful with others. this style of living is how i afford my travels.
the other night i had been rough with my hair, and knew i wouldn't be able to have a little extra water left AND condition. i had really scrubbed, lathering up my orange essence shampoo into a huge puffy cloud resting high above my head. this is not a good thing to do with limited water at hand, but the day was dusty and it all settled over me, wrapping me up in a dirt cloth. i needed to get clean.
after i dried off, my hair had really turned into a disaster. it looked like seven scraggly 4 year olds who just woke up from naptime had donated to Locs of Love, and i had bought the wig.
it was nighttime, the house was dark, so i walked outside and around the corner to the dining room to where a lantern was burning. i wanted to brush it all out in the light.
Sakola was sitting at the dining room table, relaxing. i sat down next to him and began the work at hand, ripping and working the brush through the mess i had created. i quickly got tired and offered him the brush. i even turned my chair around in the perfect hairdressor/client position. i was curious to see if he would be interested at all.
he took the brush from my hand and smiled. he stood up and started to untangle what was in front of him.
i closed my eyes and let him do all the work. it's a tough life having long hair. i never knew this, until it grew.
he brushed and brushed, like i was his doll. when he got close to my ears he paid special attention, like he was dealing with the top secret intricacies, like MacGyver. he'd move slowly down my scalp and then whip the brush down my back towards the end of my hair.
if this was a profession, he was qualified, and hired.
not only was i enjoying every moment, i think the oddity of a white woman's hair had him hypnotized into never leaving my side. we were there, in the dim light, listening to sounds rumbling far off in the village, for quite some time. i didn't feel uncomfortable once. i loved every second of it.
brush brush brush brush. brush brush brush brush. no words, just brushing. occasionally the comb would find a newly formed tangle. it'd snag and i would hear Sakola say "saahhhri" in English.
i thought about what HE was thinking about, and how he could have possibly been doing this for so long. i giggled, he laughed too and handed me my brush.
"Dayie (sleep well)" he said.
"You too."
i went to bed enjoying the simplicity of what had just occurred and a head full of smooth hair.
its a challenge, especially with long hair.
you get one pail of water to do the job. and if i'm careful enough i'll have the right amount left over that i can even use conditioner, but that takes diligent conservation. i can't just splash around.
i have a frugal disposition, i never like to run out comlpletely. i like to save. i like to keep an inch of water at the bottom of my bucket, just because. i'm the same way when i chop vegetables, leaving a chunk on the cutting board instead of throwing it all into the stirfry. it pays off well with some things, like my finances, and appears to be wasteful with others. this style of living is how i afford my travels.
the other night i had been rough with my hair, and knew i wouldn't be able to have a little extra water left AND condition. i had really scrubbed, lathering up my orange essence shampoo into a huge puffy cloud resting high above my head. this is not a good thing to do with limited water at hand, but the day was dusty and it all settled over me, wrapping me up in a dirt cloth. i needed to get clean.
after i dried off, my hair had really turned into a disaster. it looked like seven scraggly 4 year olds who just woke up from naptime had donated to Locs of Love, and i had bought the wig.
it was nighttime, the house was dark, so i walked outside and around the corner to the dining room to where a lantern was burning. i wanted to brush it all out in the light.
Sakola was sitting at the dining room table, relaxing. i sat down next to him and began the work at hand, ripping and working the brush through the mess i had created. i quickly got tired and offered him the brush. i even turned my chair around in the perfect hairdressor/client position. i was curious to see if he would be interested at all.
he took the brush from my hand and smiled. he stood up and started to untangle what was in front of him.
i closed my eyes and let him do all the work. it's a tough life having long hair. i never knew this, until it grew.
he brushed and brushed, like i was his doll. when he got close to my ears he paid special attention, like he was dealing with the top secret intricacies, like MacGyver. he'd move slowly down my scalp and then whip the brush down my back towards the end of my hair.
if this was a profession, he was qualified, and hired.
not only was i enjoying every moment, i think the oddity of a white woman's hair had him hypnotized into never leaving my side. we were there, in the dim light, listening to sounds rumbling far off in the village, for quite some time. i didn't feel uncomfortable once. i loved every second of it.
brush brush brush brush. brush brush brush brush. no words, just brushing. occasionally the comb would find a newly formed tangle. it'd snag and i would hear Sakola say "saahhhri" in English.
i thought about what HE was thinking about, and how he could have possibly been doing this for so long. i giggled, he laughed too and handed me my brush.
"Dayie (sleep well)" he said.
"You too."
i went to bed enjoying the simplicity of what had just occurred and a head full of smooth hair.
pehpeh and paste
"my sister, listen attentively. Please approach!"
the voice was coming from behind a house. it was the most formal beckoning i had ever received. i knew what was coming. the man just wanted to say good morning. i wasn't in the mood to work my way in that direction, i had an important errand to attend to and i couldn't' quite place where the call was coming from. that meant i would have to weave my way off my path, and greet at least 20 other people by the time i finally reached the stranger who wanted to speak with me. i would sit with him, tell him all about myself and George Bush and leave.
i wasn't really in the mood, so instead i walked and hid myself between small mud houses and old dilapidated concrete structures. I was having fun, with my secret game of hide-and -seek, until i was interrupted.
"Oh hello!" this was a different voice, but it was familiar. i needed to see the person to recognize them. his sound was soft, and persuading.
i turned.
"oh my soccer friend! how are you?" i asked. i hadn't seen him since the game and i was thankful to him for having included me.
"well i'm doing better now. but the other day did you not realize i hurt myself in the first 10 minutes of the match?"
i hadn't noticed, i thought we had played the entire game together. his look was so distraught i had to lie.
"of course i noticed! what happened? one minute you were playing and the next you were gone!"
he was relieved, i recognized his pain and absence. "well, you see, my opponent came at me with force at a time most unexpected" he pointed at his shin "and left this."
it was a small bruise, barely noticeable.
"why didn't you play with the heart of a lion?" i thought i'd remind him of his own advice, joke around a bit.
"oh but he was too rough!"
my friend was whining. he was of a different breed. he was flimsy and weak and living in the village. i wondered about his life, and questioned his work ethic. he wasn't strong from long hard days at the farm, like the brothers.
"well you see i had to stop playing. i thought you didn't notice but i am glad to see that my presence was missed. now sister, i don't know your English name. You say you are Akua. Akua what?"
i liked how he spoke. it was precise, questioning, confidant, and unique.
"Akua Kacie."
"okay, Kacie. I too, I am Yusif. or Joseph. But i am Muslim, so i go by Yusif, you see."
"it is a pleasure Yusif."
"i am the only boy in my family. We have me and 3 girls. So i am also called Tanka. You can call me Tanka if you like."
oh so maybe that was it. he kicked back while his sisters did all the work.
"okay Tanka. i'd like to know, do you live in the village?"
"yes."
"what do you do here?" or more aptly, what don't you do?
"i am a teacher at a private primary school, just down the road."
respect and admiration quickly replaced my judgement and doubt.
i applauded him and asked what he taught. he told me about all his subjects and the students in his class. they were on break at the moment, but when school was back in session he wants me to come and stay for a day.
"just so you may observe and see how school is like here in Ghana."
"i'd love to. you can call for me at the clinic, i am there all week."
"well then, i should let you continue on your way. and i will be seeing you shortly i am sure, if not at the clinic i will see you at school. good bye."
"good bye."
we shook hands and snapped fingers towards the end of the release, its the intimate way friends shake hands.
i continued on looking to complete my errand, my very important errand, when i heard another voice. this one i knew. it was Secetry.
"Keesssyyyy!" explosions of masculine giggles and another "Akua Kessy!"
"Secetry!!!!!!!!!!! Hello! How are you?"
"I am fine and you?"
"I am also fine."
"well its nice that i have seen you. I have been wanting you to meet the Chief for quite some time and he is around today. He needs to be meeting the white woman in the village, so come let us go!"
I couldn't refuse him, and didn't want to. We shimmied our way up uneven dirt road between the buildings i had just walked through when i was hiding from the man earlier. I didn't hear his voice again, he must have gone inside. We walked out onto the main road passing a small stand selling candy and single packets of detergent. When we got to the end of the village's main road we stood at the base of the steps of a fair sized home.
i looked up the stairs onto the porch. a small boy was staring back at us, and after Secetry asked him to go get the Chief, we walked up the stairs through a doorway into the central courtyard. the house was set up where the living quarters were on the perimeter, so we were standing in the middle of the building with the open sky above us.
the chief walked out from a dark doorway over in my direction. He was tall and sturdy. i shook his hand. he pointed to the chair that had just been placed next to me and told me to sit, so i did.
"welcome to Boamadumase." he said.
then we went through the usual. when that part came to a close he assured me "you are living in a safe village. if anything is disturbing you please come to me. i will correct it at once."
i was glad he said that. i had royal protection.
when it came time for conversation, i felt trite being casual so instead i silenced myself and secretly focused on the odd noise that was coming out of his closed mouth (like he was knocking around a dislodged tooth with his tongue).
Secetry took this as disinterest and tried to spawn some interaction.
He said "this is the chief kessy! of Boama!"
he was greatly affected, turning into a small stuttering boy in the Chiefs company and thanking him for letting us come to visit. i was conflicted, wanting to talk but having nothing important to say. so i stood up to follow Secetry out. the meeting had been short and respectful, after all he was my elder and silence was interpreted as reverence.
"Please sit down." the chief said. He leaned back in his chair and Secetry returned. After some quick talk in Twi a little boy ran out of the house with a handful overflowing of little round pebbles. He put them in the Chief's hand and the Chief deposited them in mine.
I looked at the round pebbles. I prayed to God they weren't some esoteric bush hallucinogen. I wasn't in the mood to trip out with the town's Chief on some local African drug. Maybe 10 years ago, not now.
"Dr. Ed Gold loves pehpeh, try some."
Dr. Ed Gold is the founder of the organization I am working with. He lives abroad and makes yearly visits to the clinic. I don't know him, could i trust him? I looked at the round pebbles. Pehpeh is what i thought he said, but it escaped his lips in such a low tone i could barely make it out. i examined what was in my palm. Pepper. Yes, it was black pepper. I hoped.
I popped it into my mouth and pretended to chew. i was preparing to keep it in the pocket of my cheek and spit it out once i left. i motioned my jaw up and down and hummed in approval.
the Chief yelled at me and told me to EAT IT.
i kept pretending.
i didn't want to EAT IT. i preferred faking it.
Secetry laughed and told me it would be delicious.
i wasn't fooling anyone, there were no loud crunching noises coming from my mouth like they were from Chiefs and i was only seconds away from seriously offending him. i bit down hard and the pepper balls exploded in my mouth. i chewed and chewed and swallowed and coughed. the flavor spread from my mouth up into my nostrils, then deep into my eye sockets and up into my head, back and around through the tips of my ears.
it was way too much pepper! i was suffering politely, looking at the Chief wondering why he had handed me so much and told me to eat it all. i needed water. i wanted to leave.
"do you like it?" he asked.
"its delicious."
that was the second time i had lied that day.
"yes. thank you. it is our local pepper."
i glanced over at my friend and motioned a 'lets get outta here' nod. he caught it and we said our goodbyes. the second i was out of the Chiefs arena i spit, choked, gagged and generally acted over dramatic.
"the pehpeh is too much?!" Secetry asked.
"YES! i don't like it, i need water now!"
we walked from shop to shop as the pehpeh's heat seemed to recycle itself through my head. every time i removed a pepper kernel from my tooth it reactivated the entire incident. i pondered death from a pepper overdose.
"there is no water. sorry." Secetry said.
"okay, something, anything will do. beer, coca cola. i don't care."
"Kalypo?"
"sure." i said. "but wait? what is Kalypo?" striking up the first stages of another frenzy of paranoia.
"it is fruit juice."
fruit juice would be just fine.
he delivered the drink and we sat in the shade as i recuperated. he laughed at my foolish ways, and my fear of pepper. after my body cooled off i laughed too. but the taste was still in my mouth.
"so Kessy, what was this important task you had to get done?"
he was referring to my errand.
i carefully explained to him the importance, or desire, of eating familiar food once and a while. "you know, that's why Ghanaians smuggle in their local yams to America, or so i've heard. it's nice to eat your own food sometimes. so today i set out for peanut butter. i want to find some peanut butter."
"peanut butter?"
i fixed my language. "i mean groundnut paste. i took a bus ride with an English guy living in a village north of here. he said they had groundnut paste where he was at so i know they have it here."
"come Kessy, come." Secetry brought me to a small table i have passed every day on my walk to work. Wrapped up in a small plastic bag was the familiar gooey paste i was looking for. i bought it for 1,000 cedis. about 10 cents. i ripped a hole in the corner and squeezed it into my mouth, slowly letting it smooth over the bitter after taste from the morning spent with the Chief.
after i was through i thanked Secetry for the morning and told him i had to go home now to drink some water.
We laughed and parted ways. It had been a full day. i found the peanut butter AND met the Chief, i considered the two as equally important.
the voice was coming from behind a house. it was the most formal beckoning i had ever received. i knew what was coming. the man just wanted to say good morning. i wasn't in the mood to work my way in that direction, i had an important errand to attend to and i couldn't' quite place where the call was coming from. that meant i would have to weave my way off my path, and greet at least 20 other people by the time i finally reached the stranger who wanted to speak with me. i would sit with him, tell him all about myself and George Bush and leave.
i wasn't really in the mood, so instead i walked and hid myself between small mud houses and old dilapidated concrete structures. I was having fun, with my secret game of hide-and -seek, until i was interrupted.
"Oh hello!" this was a different voice, but it was familiar. i needed to see the person to recognize them. his sound was soft, and persuading.
i turned.
"oh my soccer friend! how are you?" i asked. i hadn't seen him since the game and i was thankful to him for having included me.
"well i'm doing better now. but the other day did you not realize i hurt myself in the first 10 minutes of the match?"
i hadn't noticed, i thought we had played the entire game together. his look was so distraught i had to lie.
"of course i noticed! what happened? one minute you were playing and the next you were gone!"
he was relieved, i recognized his pain and absence. "well, you see, my opponent came at me with force at a time most unexpected" he pointed at his shin "and left this."
it was a small bruise, barely noticeable.
"why didn't you play with the heart of a lion?" i thought i'd remind him of his own advice, joke around a bit.
"oh but he was too rough!"
my friend was whining. he was of a different breed. he was flimsy and weak and living in the village. i wondered about his life, and questioned his work ethic. he wasn't strong from long hard days at the farm, like the brothers.
"well you see i had to stop playing. i thought you didn't notice but i am glad to see that my presence was missed. now sister, i don't know your English name. You say you are Akua. Akua what?"
i liked how he spoke. it was precise, questioning, confidant, and unique.
"Akua Kacie."
"okay, Kacie. I too, I am Yusif. or Joseph. But i am Muslim, so i go by Yusif, you see."
"it is a pleasure Yusif."
"i am the only boy in my family. We have me and 3 girls. So i am also called Tanka. You can call me Tanka if you like."
oh so maybe that was it. he kicked back while his sisters did all the work.
"okay Tanka. i'd like to know, do you live in the village?"
"yes."
"what do you do here?" or more aptly, what don't you do?
"i am a teacher at a private primary school, just down the road."
respect and admiration quickly replaced my judgement and doubt.
i applauded him and asked what he taught. he told me about all his subjects and the students in his class. they were on break at the moment, but when school was back in session he wants me to come and stay for a day.
"just so you may observe and see how school is like here in Ghana."
"i'd love to. you can call for me at the clinic, i am there all week."
"well then, i should let you continue on your way. and i will be seeing you shortly i am sure, if not at the clinic i will see you at school. good bye."
"good bye."
we shook hands and snapped fingers towards the end of the release, its the intimate way friends shake hands.
i continued on looking to complete my errand, my very important errand, when i heard another voice. this one i knew. it was Secetry.
"Keesssyyyy!" explosions of masculine giggles and another "Akua Kessy!"
"Secetry!!!!!!!!!!! Hello! How are you?"
"I am fine and you?"
"I am also fine."
"well its nice that i have seen you. I have been wanting you to meet the Chief for quite some time and he is around today. He needs to be meeting the white woman in the village, so come let us go!"
I couldn't refuse him, and didn't want to. We shimmied our way up uneven dirt road between the buildings i had just walked through when i was hiding from the man earlier. I didn't hear his voice again, he must have gone inside. We walked out onto the main road passing a small stand selling candy and single packets of detergent. When we got to the end of the village's main road we stood at the base of the steps of a fair sized home.
i looked up the stairs onto the porch. a small boy was staring back at us, and after Secetry asked him to go get the Chief, we walked up the stairs through a doorway into the central courtyard. the house was set up where the living quarters were on the perimeter, so we were standing in the middle of the building with the open sky above us.
the chief walked out from a dark doorway over in my direction. He was tall and sturdy. i shook his hand. he pointed to the chair that had just been placed next to me and told me to sit, so i did.
"welcome to Boamadumase." he said.
then we went through the usual. when that part came to a close he assured me "you are living in a safe village. if anything is disturbing you please come to me. i will correct it at once."
i was glad he said that. i had royal protection.
when it came time for conversation, i felt trite being casual so instead i silenced myself and secretly focused on the odd noise that was coming out of his closed mouth (like he was knocking around a dislodged tooth with his tongue).
Secetry took this as disinterest and tried to spawn some interaction.
He said "this is the chief kessy! of Boama!"
he was greatly affected, turning into a small stuttering boy in the Chiefs company and thanking him for letting us come to visit. i was conflicted, wanting to talk but having nothing important to say. so i stood up to follow Secetry out. the meeting had been short and respectful, after all he was my elder and silence was interpreted as reverence.
"Please sit down." the chief said. He leaned back in his chair and Secetry returned. After some quick talk in Twi a little boy ran out of the house with a handful overflowing of little round pebbles. He put them in the Chief's hand and the Chief deposited them in mine.
I looked at the round pebbles. I prayed to God they weren't some esoteric bush hallucinogen. I wasn't in the mood to trip out with the town's Chief on some local African drug. Maybe 10 years ago, not now.
"Dr. Ed Gold loves pehpeh, try some."
Dr. Ed Gold is the founder of the organization I am working with. He lives abroad and makes yearly visits to the clinic. I don't know him, could i trust him? I looked at the round pebbles. Pehpeh is what i thought he said, but it escaped his lips in such a low tone i could barely make it out. i examined what was in my palm. Pepper. Yes, it was black pepper. I hoped.
I popped it into my mouth and pretended to chew. i was preparing to keep it in the pocket of my cheek and spit it out once i left. i motioned my jaw up and down and hummed in approval.
the Chief yelled at me and told me to EAT IT.
i kept pretending.
i didn't want to EAT IT. i preferred faking it.
Secetry laughed and told me it would be delicious.
i wasn't fooling anyone, there were no loud crunching noises coming from my mouth like they were from Chiefs and i was only seconds away from seriously offending him. i bit down hard and the pepper balls exploded in my mouth. i chewed and chewed and swallowed and coughed. the flavor spread from my mouth up into my nostrils, then deep into my eye sockets and up into my head, back and around through the tips of my ears.
it was way too much pepper! i was suffering politely, looking at the Chief wondering why he had handed me so much and told me to eat it all. i needed water. i wanted to leave.
"do you like it?" he asked.
"its delicious."
that was the second time i had lied that day.
"yes. thank you. it is our local pepper."
i glanced over at my friend and motioned a 'lets get outta here' nod. he caught it and we said our goodbyes. the second i was out of the Chiefs arena i spit, choked, gagged and generally acted over dramatic.
"the pehpeh is too much?!" Secetry asked.
"YES! i don't like it, i need water now!"
we walked from shop to shop as the pehpeh's heat seemed to recycle itself through my head. every time i removed a pepper kernel from my tooth it reactivated the entire incident. i pondered death from a pepper overdose.
"there is no water. sorry." Secetry said.
"okay, something, anything will do. beer, coca cola. i don't care."
"Kalypo?"
"sure." i said. "but wait? what is Kalypo?" striking up the first stages of another frenzy of paranoia.
"it is fruit juice."
fruit juice would be just fine.
he delivered the drink and we sat in the shade as i recuperated. he laughed at my foolish ways, and my fear of pepper. after my body cooled off i laughed too. but the taste was still in my mouth.
"so Kessy, what was this important task you had to get done?"
he was referring to my errand.
i carefully explained to him the importance, or desire, of eating familiar food once and a while. "you know, that's why Ghanaians smuggle in their local yams to America, or so i've heard. it's nice to eat your own food sometimes. so today i set out for peanut butter. i want to find some peanut butter."
"peanut butter?"
i fixed my language. "i mean groundnut paste. i took a bus ride with an English guy living in a village north of here. he said they had groundnut paste where he was at so i know they have it here."
"come Kessy, come." Secetry brought me to a small table i have passed every day on my walk to work. Wrapped up in a small plastic bag was the familiar gooey paste i was looking for. i bought it for 1,000 cedis. about 10 cents. i ripped a hole in the corner and squeezed it into my mouth, slowly letting it smooth over the bitter after taste from the morning spent with the Chief.
after i was through i thanked Secetry for the morning and told him i had to go home now to drink some water.
We laughed and parted ways. It had been a full day. i found the peanut butter AND met the Chief, i considered the two as equally important.
storytime with Ma
"i plan on taking a trip to Cameroon sometime in the upcoming months, i just thought i'd tell you now."
i know how Ma likes advanced notice. i didnt want to spring this up on her too soon so i brought it up during one of our silent moments.
"Cameroon?" she raised an eyebrow.
"yes. some of my family lives there, i want to see them while i'm here."
"okay." she said, as if she was allowing me to go.
i looked out the window behind her head at the laundry drying on the clothesline. someone had washed the sheets on all the beds. i was glad to see this. i was also glad to have walked in early that morning and caught Efreeyeh sterilizing all the medical supplies used in delivering. i questioned the sanitary conditions of the clinic sometimes, while also skeptical of my neurotic self.
Ma bent her head down low and drew in air, from her belly up. she was filling herself up with something reminiscent but i had no idea what. i thought it'd be best not to ask.
"Ccaaammmerrooonnn. ahhhhhh." she said. a slight breeze came in and left just as quickly.
i could feel something coming from Ma, if only i kept quiet.
"Cammeerrroooon, hmmmmmmmm."
she moved her head from side to side, slowly, like she was cracking her neck.
"i used to work in Ho. did you know that?"
i had no idea.
"yes, i was a midwife there for quite sometime. and also at a nearby village to Ho, some 17 miles. This was quite some time back."
i settled back in my chair, expectant and excited at the first story Ma was ever to tell me.
"i was transfered after my training to the Volta region, away from Kumasi." she spoke the way you'd expect an old experienced elder to speak, slow and deliberate, remembering first then telling.
"At first i was not wanting to go, i was married and my husband did not want to leave. So i took my child and left to be a midwife there, in Ho. I worked hard, veeerry hard. I spent quite some time there. The life of a midwife is not easy, i will tell you that. Hmpf. It is hard. But i became well known. People, they liked how i delivered."
she rolled her neck a little more and fidgeted her plump soft hands.
"one day a woman came to the clinic, in the village. she was from Cameroon. she was very pregnant, too close to delivering. she said she had traveled the distance to be delivered by me."
a self-satisfied smile crept over her face.
"some person in Cameroon had heard of me and told this woman to come. she was wanting a natural birth but she had torn badly from her last one. she needed hands that could help. she was inches away from being hurt seriously. true. she did not want to tear any further, it would be too serious. so she came to me, by bus, through Cameroon then Nigeria, she made her way across Benin and Togo to Ghana. Hmmmm. it is a long way. even longer at 9 months."
i soaked in her words and the way she was telling me her history. i felt regret at not having realized the treasure chest that i sat with everyday.
"well i delivered her nicely, gently. it was sweet and she was happy. she thanked me and promised to give me soooo many things in return. she said 'oh madame, how can i repay you. i will give you this and that...' she then returned to cameroon and i never heard from her again, promising but nothing."
i let out a little noise to let her know i was interested and listening.
"any way, she was a nice lady. Cameroon. when i hear Cameroon i think of her. she traveled so far, just to see me. she was brave. she never gave me anything. hmpf."
she took her fingers and tore back a rip in the plastic table cloth which covered her desk, making it larger. tiny ants lived in that tear, and marched their way out whenever we ate and left behind crumbs. Mas eyes were too old to notice, the ants here are small and resemble specks of dust. i've never took the time to tell her they were there, figuring she wouldn't care. but now they were coming out of their spot, using Mas fingers as ladders, climbing up onto her hands.
"thank you Ma for sharing with me. it seems you are good at what you do, if people will travel through 5 countries to get to you!"
she laughed, felt the ants, and brushed them from her body.
i thought i should buy her a new tablecloth. this one was ragged but festively decorated with bunches of strawberries and blooming flowers. it made the office cheery.
"well any way" she said "you should go. you will have a nice trip."
"i hope so. if i see your lady friend i'll ask her where your promises are."
Ma laughed again, once, and coughed three times.
"okay." she said, pleased at the thought.
******************************************
i know how Ma likes advanced notice. i didnt want to spring this up on her too soon so i brought it up during one of our silent moments.
"Cameroon?" she raised an eyebrow.
"yes. some of my family lives there, i want to see them while i'm here."
"okay." she said, as if she was allowing me to go.
i looked out the window behind her head at the laundry drying on the clothesline. someone had washed the sheets on all the beds. i was glad to see this. i was also glad to have walked in early that morning and caught Efreeyeh sterilizing all the medical supplies used in delivering. i questioned the sanitary conditions of the clinic sometimes, while also skeptical of my neurotic self.
Ma bent her head down low and drew in air, from her belly up. she was filling herself up with something reminiscent but i had no idea what. i thought it'd be best not to ask.
"Ccaaammmerrooonnn. ahhhhhh." she said. a slight breeze came in and left just as quickly.
i could feel something coming from Ma, if only i kept quiet.
"Cammeerrroooon, hmmmmmmmm."
she moved her head from side to side, slowly, like she was cracking her neck.
"i used to work in Ho. did you know that?"
i had no idea.
"yes, i was a midwife there for quite sometime. and also at a nearby village to Ho, some 17 miles. This was quite some time back."
i settled back in my chair, expectant and excited at the first story Ma was ever to tell me.
"i was transfered after my training to the Volta region, away from Kumasi." she spoke the way you'd expect an old experienced elder to speak, slow and deliberate, remembering first then telling.
"At first i was not wanting to go, i was married and my husband did not want to leave. So i took my child and left to be a midwife there, in Ho. I worked hard, veeerry hard. I spent quite some time there. The life of a midwife is not easy, i will tell you that. Hmpf. It is hard. But i became well known. People, they liked how i delivered."
she rolled her neck a little more and fidgeted her plump soft hands.
"one day a woman came to the clinic, in the village. she was from Cameroon. she was very pregnant, too close to delivering. she said she had traveled the distance to be delivered by me."
a self-satisfied smile crept over her face.
"some person in Cameroon had heard of me and told this woman to come. she was wanting a natural birth but she had torn badly from her last one. she needed hands that could help. she was inches away from being hurt seriously. true. she did not want to tear any further, it would be too serious. so she came to me, by bus, through Cameroon then Nigeria, she made her way across Benin and Togo to Ghana. Hmmmm. it is a long way. even longer at 9 months."
i soaked in her words and the way she was telling me her history. i felt regret at not having realized the treasure chest that i sat with everyday.
"well i delivered her nicely, gently. it was sweet and she was happy. she thanked me and promised to give me soooo many things in return. she said 'oh madame, how can i repay you. i will give you this and that...' she then returned to cameroon and i never heard from her again, promising but nothing."
i let out a little noise to let her know i was interested and listening.
"any way, she was a nice lady. Cameroon. when i hear Cameroon i think of her. she traveled so far, just to see me. she was brave. she never gave me anything. hmpf."
she took her fingers and tore back a rip in the plastic table cloth which covered her desk, making it larger. tiny ants lived in that tear, and marched their way out whenever we ate and left behind crumbs. Mas eyes were too old to notice, the ants here are small and resemble specks of dust. i've never took the time to tell her they were there, figuring she wouldn't care. but now they were coming out of their spot, using Mas fingers as ladders, climbing up onto her hands.
"thank you Ma for sharing with me. it seems you are good at what you do, if people will travel through 5 countries to get to you!"
she laughed, felt the ants, and brushed them from her body.
i thought i should buy her a new tablecloth. this one was ragged but festively decorated with bunches of strawberries and blooming flowers. it made the office cheery.
"well any way" she said "you should go. you will have a nice trip."
"i hope so. if i see your lady friend i'll ask her where your promises are."
Ma laughed again, once, and coughed three times.
"okay." she said, pleased at the thought.
******************************************
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
community education
Every Tuesday a group of local volunteers meet underneath a big tree right outside the clinic. there are about 20 of them, mostly male. they discuss how to keep the communities informed and educated regarding health issues, then they drink coca cola and relax. i like these people, they're doing good things.
the first week i was here, an incredibly intelligent doctor from Kumasi (one of Ghana's biggest cities) and his wife, a community health educator, pulled up in a shiny truck. they were there to help lead the volunteer meeting and to suggest some itineraries and motivate everyone.
i walked in on the middle of the gathering, and squeezed on a bench between Secetry and a man i did not know yet. i wanted to listen to the doctor. he had an air about him, like royalty.
"Well hello my white lady friend." he stopped the meeting and focused in on me.
that was the last thing i wanted. my desire was to slip in, listen, and go back to the ward.
"Hello." i nodded humbly to him and his wife.
"Please, give us your name and where you are from."
"My name is Akua. I am from America, California to be exact."
Ghanaians use what they refer to as a "day name". Each day of the week has a corresponding name, one feminine, one masculine. Whatever day you are born on, you are given that name. This is tagged on to the many of the other names they receive, but the day name seems to be used quite often.
I think i was born on a Wednesday, so i have the name Akua, except that i am not African. But i didn't care, at that moment i felt like my Akua-self. (pronounced Ah-kwee-uh)
The fact that i introduced myself as this suddenly turned me into a stand-up comedian. I was going for a different sort of impression, more of the 'shy quiet won't look you directly in your eyes type', i wanted to try that out with the doctor.
Secetry immediately broke through and ruined my demure facade.
"Akua Keesssyy!!! AH! You are funny!" he looked around at all the volunteers. "She is a funny girl. Akua! She knows Twi. Speak Twi for us all." Then he slapped me on my back.
With the amount of energy Secetry has it is a good thing he is a small friendly man, he'd be in the way if he wasn't, or hurting people.
"Well, I don't know if-"
"Speak Twi! Speak Twi!" everyone was egging me on. I decided i was going to stick to the role i had originally planned upon.
"maybe later, i just came to listen, thank you."
The doctor looked at me. "Akua Kacie. Please. Give us your mission as to why you are at The Huttel Health Clinic."
I stood up, smoothed my dress, and faced the semicircle of faces which were staring intently at me.
"Good Afternoon. My name, as you now know, is Akua Kacie. You may call me either. I go by both. I am from America and I have come to Ghana to learn from Ma. I am studying midwifery and hope to be of some help to you volunteers also. I will be here for six months and then i plan to return to my home. I'd like to thank you for welcoming me and i look forward to the upcoming work we all will be doing together."
Everyone clapped like i was a famous speaker. i sat down.
Simple and precise. i felt good.
The doctor looked over at me and made a joke. "We should all be proud. The white lady, uh, Akua Kacie that is, has come over from America to learn from us!"
Everyone laughed.
If only they knew how much i do learn from them.
I nodded my head.
"Now" he said "one last very important thing." Everyone was still observing me, and i actually was beginning to feel a little shy.
"Yes Doctor" i said.
He and his wife looked at each other with secretive grins.
"You must tell us, are you married?" he asked.
"No, I am not."
"Well that is just fine! We have a son, our firstborn, about your age." the wife said.
i looked down at the grass and back up at them. i didn't know what to say. i smiled.
"meet with us after the meeting." the wife said. "we can talk."
i spent the rest of the meeting trying to combine their two looks; their faces, body structure, and expressions. i wanted to see if i would be physically interested in their offspring. after a long and thorough examination, i decided i would be. the wife had a smile that curled up towards the sky, sensual and pleasant. the husband was tall and had beautiful skin, the shade of a perfect cup of coffee. they both laughed freely and were smart. i was prepared to meet their son, even if it was only to see if my projections were close.
after the meeting we all walked over to the car.
"Akua, do you have plans for Christmas?" the doctor asked.
I hadn't even realized Christmas was approaching. I told him i didn't.
"Well then, you should come to Kumasi and spend the holiday with us. I will have this man call you to arrange the details." he pointed over his shoulder.
"Okay, that sounds great." i said.
They got in the car, and sped off.
The plans never worked out, mostly because Ma told me it was a bad idea. The doctor had arranged his friend to come and pick me up on a motorcycle Christmas morning, then ride me 1 hour north to Kumasi for the day, only to return later that night.
"You will be tired." Ma said. "They should have invited you for more than one day. Huh. You shouldn't go. You will be tired."
I thought for a bit.
"besides" she continued "have you ever traveled by moto-bike before?"
Memories of haphazardly speeding around Taiwan on scooters with my girlfriends flooded my brain.
"Yes." i said.
I could tell there was a perception shift from the way she looked at me. It was silent, but noticeable.
"well then do as you please." she said, she looked past me out the door.
I decided not to go. When i called the man and asked him if there would be a helmet for me, he made it sound like there was a slight chance he'd forget it, and that if he did it would be no big deal. He didn't sound like the type of person i wanted to be on the back of a motorcycle with, especially here. I cancelled my plans with the doctor, his wife, and their son and called Senam instead.
The volunteer group had planned to take the Holiday season off, and meet the second Tuesday in January. We would start community education on that day, by splitting into groups and visiting the local villages looking for cases of a local disease called Buruli, and referring those people to the Kumasi hospital, to be treated by the Doctor. The Doctor had promised a bicycle to whoever referred 20 cases. Over 40 cases got a motorbike. I was shooting for the motorbike.
Secetry informed me that i was to tag along, and instead of working with Buruli awareness, i was to speak with the communities about personal hygiene.
i agreed.
The Monday before we had planned our outreach i sat in the office and had a little chat with Secetry.
"So, what exactly am i supposed to say?" i asked.
"Oh okay. Well you should inform them about personal hygiene." he said.
"Yes, I realize that. But to what extent and under what parameters."
"Well see, talk to them about how they should keep themselves during pregnancy and how they should care for their bodies. Things like that. Ya." He was extra jumpy.
Maybe i should talk with Ma, I thought.
"Okay, thanks" i said "I'll go and talk with Ma to see if she has any advice."
"That's right. Yeah, good idea."
I walked over to Ma's office, thinking surely the village women know how to wash themselves. Did i need to inform them of the basics, or go deeper? If i needed to go deeper, what would that be? I really had no idea. I was wondering if my friend Mickeys advice would go over well here... "Wash as far as possible, then wash Possible."
I sat down at Ma's desk.
"Ma... tomorrow we are going to the local village and i am supposed to talk about personal hygiene. What should i say?" i was sort of begging for an answer. I knew it was going to come out reluctantly.
"oh well, inform them to keep clean."
This sounded influential. Me walking miles to tell people to KEEP CLEAN!
"what else?" i asked.
"tell me what you have prepared to say."
i hadn't prepared anything, and she knew it.
i shook my hands around letting her know i had nothing to say.
she laughed until she had to let out the familiar deep coughs to catch her breath.
"okay. if you haven't prepared anything then i will have to tell you."
that was precisely why i was sitting there.
"first you need to tell them what they should be carrying with them when they come to deliver."
i pulled out a pen and paper.
"they need 3 cloths, old but clean." she went through the list slowly and repeated everything twice. "they will need 2 dresses for their baby and 2 blankets. tell them to bring a nightgown for after they deliver. they will need to put on something clean. tell them to bring pads if they can afford them."
i kept writing. i was glad she finally cracked.
"you should inform them to clean themselves before they come to the clinic."
my mind flashed back to the last woman who had come. she was gorgeous, and dirty. her legs were dusty and there were little slick lines running down her calves, like she had walked through some sprinklers and let it dry on the way over. i kept looking at her feet, so worked and rough, while she layed there in the birth trance. i thought of America, and the feet i might see there one day. manicured and soft, probably.
"yes, they need to be clean. and when they go home they should bathe themselves and their babies two times a day."
"two times?" i was surprised.
"it is the Ghanaian way, yes, i said two times. it is our custom."
"okay! two times!" i jotted it down and circled it for the dramatic effect. Ma liked that. She knew i would relay that important information.
"Please let them know they should take the drugs after discharge. We will give them medicine to prevent infections. They need to take what we give to them and come back one week, 1 WEEK, after they deliver. Just to make sure their uterus is okay, and the baby's cord is not infected."
I got it all down. "Is that all?"
"Lastly, tell them they should not give themselves enema. Do you know enema?"
She said it like enema was an old friend of mine.
"Yes I know enema." i said.
"Tell them to not do that, rather they must sit on hot water two times daily."
"Okay, i will tell them." i assured her.
"two times daily that is, once in the morning and once in the evening."
She gave her long slow nod, breathed deeply through her nostrils, and then coughed it all out. She patted her hands on the desk a few times and asked me to repeat it to her. I did, quickly and fluently.
"So you are ready. Tomorrow you will go with the volunteers." it was a qualifying statement.
I was a health soldier and i was sent out on a mission, and Ma was commissioning me. my motto: NO ENEMAS! I left her office without saluting, even though i felt i should have.
I went back over to Secetry and we passed the morning hours by him teaching me my list in Twi.
"Ohhhhh! Kessy, you are good! Thank you. Thank you. The people in the village will like you! You speak Twi verrrrrrrrry well."
I returned to Ma's office to show off my new vocabulary. I spent about 5 minutes trying to say everything perfectly, the whole time saying it loud enough so she could hear me over her roaring laughter. Efreeyeh was there too, keeping her lips closed tight, but still letting out just as much enjoyment as Ma.
When i was through i stood and looked at Ma, scanning for approval.
"Ohhhhhhhh" she sighed, recovering. "they will laugh at you too much. You should have Secetry speak the Twi."
I agreed. It was a mouthful for a person only used to a hefty phrase here and a light conversation there. "I think that will be the best way" i said "if they want to understand, that is."
i couldn't imagine in America, taking a foreigner seriously if she was trying to educate me but couldn't stress the correct syllables of Enema. i was looking forward to the upcoming adventure, even if i was laughed at.
the first week i was here, an incredibly intelligent doctor from Kumasi (one of Ghana's biggest cities) and his wife, a community health educator, pulled up in a shiny truck. they were there to help lead the volunteer meeting and to suggest some itineraries and motivate everyone.
i walked in on the middle of the gathering, and squeezed on a bench between Secetry and a man i did not know yet. i wanted to listen to the doctor. he had an air about him, like royalty.
"Well hello my white lady friend." he stopped the meeting and focused in on me.
that was the last thing i wanted. my desire was to slip in, listen, and go back to the ward.
"Hello." i nodded humbly to him and his wife.
"Please, give us your name and where you are from."
"My name is Akua. I am from America, California to be exact."
Ghanaians use what they refer to as a "day name". Each day of the week has a corresponding name, one feminine, one masculine. Whatever day you are born on, you are given that name. This is tagged on to the many of the other names they receive, but the day name seems to be used quite often.
I think i was born on a Wednesday, so i have the name Akua, except that i am not African. But i didn't care, at that moment i felt like my Akua-self. (pronounced Ah-kwee-uh)
The fact that i introduced myself as this suddenly turned me into a stand-up comedian. I was going for a different sort of impression, more of the 'shy quiet won't look you directly in your eyes type', i wanted to try that out with the doctor.
Secetry immediately broke through and ruined my demure facade.
"Akua Keesssyy!!! AH! You are funny!" he looked around at all the volunteers. "She is a funny girl. Akua! She knows Twi. Speak Twi for us all." Then he slapped me on my back.
With the amount of energy Secetry has it is a good thing he is a small friendly man, he'd be in the way if he wasn't, or hurting people.
"Well, I don't know if-"
"Speak Twi! Speak Twi!" everyone was egging me on. I decided i was going to stick to the role i had originally planned upon.
"maybe later, i just came to listen, thank you."
The doctor looked at me. "Akua Kacie. Please. Give us your mission as to why you are at The Huttel Health Clinic."
I stood up, smoothed my dress, and faced the semicircle of faces which were staring intently at me.
"Good Afternoon. My name, as you now know, is Akua Kacie. You may call me either. I go by both. I am from America and I have come to Ghana to learn from Ma. I am studying midwifery and hope to be of some help to you volunteers also. I will be here for six months and then i plan to return to my home. I'd like to thank you for welcoming me and i look forward to the upcoming work we all will be doing together."
Everyone clapped like i was a famous speaker. i sat down.
Simple and precise. i felt good.
The doctor looked over at me and made a joke. "We should all be proud. The white lady, uh, Akua Kacie that is, has come over from America to learn from us!"
Everyone laughed.
If only they knew how much i do learn from them.
I nodded my head.
"Now" he said "one last very important thing." Everyone was still observing me, and i actually was beginning to feel a little shy.
"Yes Doctor" i said.
He and his wife looked at each other with secretive grins.
"You must tell us, are you married?" he asked.
"No, I am not."
"Well that is just fine! We have a son, our firstborn, about your age." the wife said.
i looked down at the grass and back up at them. i didn't know what to say. i smiled.
"meet with us after the meeting." the wife said. "we can talk."
i spent the rest of the meeting trying to combine their two looks; their faces, body structure, and expressions. i wanted to see if i would be physically interested in their offspring. after a long and thorough examination, i decided i would be. the wife had a smile that curled up towards the sky, sensual and pleasant. the husband was tall and had beautiful skin, the shade of a perfect cup of coffee. they both laughed freely and were smart. i was prepared to meet their son, even if it was only to see if my projections were close.
after the meeting we all walked over to the car.
"Akua, do you have plans for Christmas?" the doctor asked.
I hadn't even realized Christmas was approaching. I told him i didn't.
"Well then, you should come to Kumasi and spend the holiday with us. I will have this man call you to arrange the details." he pointed over his shoulder.
"Okay, that sounds great." i said.
They got in the car, and sped off.
The plans never worked out, mostly because Ma told me it was a bad idea. The doctor had arranged his friend to come and pick me up on a motorcycle Christmas morning, then ride me 1 hour north to Kumasi for the day, only to return later that night.
"You will be tired." Ma said. "They should have invited you for more than one day. Huh. You shouldn't go. You will be tired."
I thought for a bit.
"besides" she continued "have you ever traveled by moto-bike before?"
Memories of haphazardly speeding around Taiwan on scooters with my girlfriends flooded my brain.
"Yes." i said.
I could tell there was a perception shift from the way she looked at me. It was silent, but noticeable.
"well then do as you please." she said, she looked past me out the door.
I decided not to go. When i called the man and asked him if there would be a helmet for me, he made it sound like there was a slight chance he'd forget it, and that if he did it would be no big deal. He didn't sound like the type of person i wanted to be on the back of a motorcycle with, especially here. I cancelled my plans with the doctor, his wife, and their son and called Senam instead.
The volunteer group had planned to take the Holiday season off, and meet the second Tuesday in January. We would start community education on that day, by splitting into groups and visiting the local villages looking for cases of a local disease called Buruli, and referring those people to the Kumasi hospital, to be treated by the Doctor. The Doctor had promised a bicycle to whoever referred 20 cases. Over 40 cases got a motorbike. I was shooting for the motorbike.
Secetry informed me that i was to tag along, and instead of working with Buruli awareness, i was to speak with the communities about personal hygiene.
i agreed.
The Monday before we had planned our outreach i sat in the office and had a little chat with Secetry.
"So, what exactly am i supposed to say?" i asked.
"Oh okay. Well you should inform them about personal hygiene." he said.
"Yes, I realize that. But to what extent and under what parameters."
"Well see, talk to them about how they should keep themselves during pregnancy and how they should care for their bodies. Things like that. Ya." He was extra jumpy.
Maybe i should talk with Ma, I thought.
"Okay, thanks" i said "I'll go and talk with Ma to see if she has any advice."
"That's right. Yeah, good idea."
I walked over to Ma's office, thinking surely the village women know how to wash themselves. Did i need to inform them of the basics, or go deeper? If i needed to go deeper, what would that be? I really had no idea. I was wondering if my friend Mickeys advice would go over well here... "Wash as far as possible, then wash Possible."
I sat down at Ma's desk.
"Ma... tomorrow we are going to the local village and i am supposed to talk about personal hygiene. What should i say?" i was sort of begging for an answer. I knew it was going to come out reluctantly.
"oh well, inform them to keep clean."
This sounded influential. Me walking miles to tell people to KEEP CLEAN!
"what else?" i asked.
"tell me what you have prepared to say."
i hadn't prepared anything, and she knew it.
i shook my hands around letting her know i had nothing to say.
she laughed until she had to let out the familiar deep coughs to catch her breath.
"okay. if you haven't prepared anything then i will have to tell you."
that was precisely why i was sitting there.
"first you need to tell them what they should be carrying with them when they come to deliver."
i pulled out a pen and paper.
"they need 3 cloths, old but clean." she went through the list slowly and repeated everything twice. "they will need 2 dresses for their baby and 2 blankets. tell them to bring a nightgown for after they deliver. they will need to put on something clean. tell them to bring pads if they can afford them."
i kept writing. i was glad she finally cracked.
"you should inform them to clean themselves before they come to the clinic."
my mind flashed back to the last woman who had come. she was gorgeous, and dirty. her legs were dusty and there were little slick lines running down her calves, like she had walked through some sprinklers and let it dry on the way over. i kept looking at her feet, so worked and rough, while she layed there in the birth trance. i thought of America, and the feet i might see there one day. manicured and soft, probably.
"yes, they need to be clean. and when they go home they should bathe themselves and their babies two times a day."
"two times?" i was surprised.
"it is the Ghanaian way, yes, i said two times. it is our custom."
"okay! two times!" i jotted it down and circled it for the dramatic effect. Ma liked that. She knew i would relay that important information.
"Please let them know they should take the drugs after discharge. We will give them medicine to prevent infections. They need to take what we give to them and come back one week, 1 WEEK, after they deliver. Just to make sure their uterus is okay, and the baby's cord is not infected."
I got it all down. "Is that all?"
"Lastly, tell them they should not give themselves enema. Do you know enema?"
She said it like enema was an old friend of mine.
"Yes I know enema." i said.
"Tell them to not do that, rather they must sit on hot water two times daily."
"Okay, i will tell them." i assured her.
"two times daily that is, once in the morning and once in the evening."
She gave her long slow nod, breathed deeply through her nostrils, and then coughed it all out. She patted her hands on the desk a few times and asked me to repeat it to her. I did, quickly and fluently.
"So you are ready. Tomorrow you will go with the volunteers." it was a qualifying statement.
I was a health soldier and i was sent out on a mission, and Ma was commissioning me. my motto: NO ENEMAS! I left her office without saluting, even though i felt i should have.
I went back over to Secetry and we passed the morning hours by him teaching me my list in Twi.
"Ohhhhh! Kessy, you are good! Thank you. Thank you. The people in the village will like you! You speak Twi verrrrrrrrry well."
I returned to Ma's office to show off my new vocabulary. I spent about 5 minutes trying to say everything perfectly, the whole time saying it loud enough so she could hear me over her roaring laughter. Efreeyeh was there too, keeping her lips closed tight, but still letting out just as much enjoyment as Ma.
When i was through i stood and looked at Ma, scanning for approval.
"Ohhhhhhhh" she sighed, recovering. "they will laugh at you too much. You should have Secetry speak the Twi."
I agreed. It was a mouthful for a person only used to a hefty phrase here and a light conversation there. "I think that will be the best way" i said "if they want to understand, that is."
i couldn't imagine in America, taking a foreigner seriously if she was trying to educate me but couldn't stress the correct syllables of Enema. i was looking forward to the upcoming adventure, even if i was laughed at.
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