the big long cry

sofie, nanakwame and I have taken up a nightly routine of exercising together. Sometimes we do yoga, sometimes we run.

Nanakwame calls it “sofie training” and tells me to meet on the porch at 5:30 p.m. sharp, for sofie training. I think he’s more impressed with her physical fitness than mine, and at first I took offense. she’s more flexible and faster, she sets the pace for everything.

“I’dliketosay you’re tired kessy!” he yells at me while we’re running uphill.

“I’m not tired, I’m just slower.” I say, lagging 10 feet behind.

“ohhhhhh kess!!!” then he jogs back to keep me company. although, he doesn't LOOK like he's jogging, he looks like he's bouncing, peacefully on legs that wouldn't rather be doing anything else. they're loose and free. he makes it appear effortless.

“he’s a really good personal trainer.” Sofie says. “maybe we should pay him.”

And it’s true. He is. He floats along and keeps things positive, he makes me forget i’m working. If all three of us are twisted in some yoga position on the porch, he looks at us with raised eyebrows and says “is correct!”, meaning, you are doing well. he loves yoga, each position he is taught. He attempts the headstands with devoted fury, whether we are around or not.

The other day I walked over to his house, where he and Collins stay. I strolled up the pathway and saw him balancing himself upside down against the wall.

“sofie training!” I yelled.

He fell, then looked up.

“Kess! Kess!”

he ran down to me and gave me a sweaty hug. “oh kess… tonite, no trotting. I’m going to work, to mate. Ya? Is okay?”

“I’ll tell sofie.” I said. “we’ll go trotting without you.”

So I waited for sofie to come home, but the night was soon to be dark and she hadn’t arrived yet. I decided to go alone.

The first night we ran, I was so out of shape I was convinced I had gone through my entire life not realizing I was asmahtic.

“keep going, that’s normal.” Sofie the doctor said. “it’s always hard to breathe at the beginning of any cardiovascular workout.”

I took her word for it.

Now, the perserverance was paying off. It was getting easier. I could do this, I could get back in shape. I started to feel strong, like a Nike commercial. I looked down at my legs and saw power. I checked out my arms and noticed great potential. The road was beginning to decline and my speed was picking up. No taxis had passed which kept for clean fresh air, breathable air, air that fills your lungs and makes you want to go faster. So I did, I ran faster. I was sprinting and having a great time when all of a sudden, for no particular reason at all, my ankle rolled underneath me and I went skidding, palms down, across the gritty road. I let out a yelp, that sounded like a puppy getting ran over by a tractor. And then, when it was all over, I sat on the edge of the road, looked around and down, and cried.

No one was there, which I was thankful for. I stood up and hopped in circles, whining to myself, letting out little whimpers. My leg really hurt, and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do just yet, so I let myself cry a little harder. A quick flash of the maternity ward popped in my mind. I sprained my ankle and it hurt bad, I was not looking forward to the pain of childbirth. I let the thought pass.

i saw a taxi in the distance, so i moved to the side and sat on a clump of dirt. i didn't ask him to stop, but one of the 6 people in the backseat must have paid special attention to my disheveled state, my powder red hair. after they had passed, the driver stopped, and reversed back to me.

"akua kessywa? ete sen?"

i stood up.

they were all looking me up and down and clucking their tongues.

"akua?" he said again, with more force.

"yes."

"what has happened to you?"

i couldn't answer, because if i did i was going to cry again. i didn't want to cry in front of all my village friends, the ones who slice fingers off with machetes and come to the clinic casually shrugging.

"akua?" he wasn't leaving until i spoke.

"i fell." i said, looking away from their eyes.

"you fell? sorry... are you feeling fine?"

i nodded, but i couldn't hold back. i sobbed into my shirt, an ugly sob, an embarrassed sob, a don't-stare-at-me-but-don't-leave-me-in-the-dark-just-yet sob.

my display of emotion had them all entranced, they weren't saying a thing. then the driver, who also happens to be secetry's brother, interuppted the silence... "okay i'll go and come. stay here. i'm coming!" then he sped off.

i sat for a minute or two, then decided i would start hobbeling home. dusk isn't the most ideal time to be sitting around in ghana, half-clothed. mosquitos prey.

i perfected my limp within a matter of minutes, but i still had a ways to go. i saw a man and a woman ahead, gathered around a big pile of palm nuts, chatting.

when i passed them they greeted me, i said hello, and kept walking.

"ai! my sister!" the woman cried out "why are you walking like that?"

i turned and told her i fell.

"ai! sssoooooorrryyy, sorrryyyy. are you okay?"

"yes" i said, and i started crying.

what was my problem? i just couldn't stop!

she ran over to me and pulled out a crisp white handkerchief. she was well dressed, and spoke english nicely. she wiped my tears, and my face, and my legs and arms. "oh don't cry" she said, over and over.

i took a deep breath and said thank you.

"it's no problem, no problem at all. please, can you tell me why it is you are crying?" her look was bordering on terrified, so i assured her it was just a fall. i was okay.

"oh! you fell! i'm sorry..." then she wiped my face a little more. "you are akua kessywa, is it true?"

"yes, i am." i said, involuntary gasps for air escaping me.

"ohhhh... i'm tawa."

"it's nice to meet you."

"yes, likewise."

"sorry for scaring you, i don't know why i can't stop crying, all i did was fall, but it hurts, you know? do you have children?"

"yes, a son."

"okay, well i know you probably wouldn't cry like this if you fell, and actually, probably no one in boamadumase would, so i'm sorry, i know it seems a little odd. i'm a wimp, i guess."

she laughed and tugged at my arm. "here is the problem." she said. "you aren't solid like an african woman. we africans, we" then she flexed her arms in a 'i'm gonna beat you up' position.

"yeah- you're tough." i said.

"yes."

she called back to her friend, told him she was going to walk me home.

"we're too strong. it's true. my sister... where do you stay?"

"i live in the big house."

"ohhhh the big house, that's where you stay huh? i'm not from here, but i know the big house. do you know Tanko?"

"no- i've never been there before."

i wasn't at my sharpest.

"no Tanko, you're friend. Tanko. he says he has a white friend, her name is akua kessywa. thats you. don't you know Tanko?"

"ohhh tanko! yes, i know tanko."

"he's my brother. i'm here visiting him."

"ya, he's my friend."

we continued down the stretch talking about tanko, and soccer.

"he says you train with him, for football."

"i do."

"you are tough, you see? but today it looks like you were very unlucky." she held up her dirty handkercheif.

"okay." i said.

we reached my house and parted ways, then i negotiated myself up the stairway respecting collins a little more each part of the way.

when i got inside i laid down and elevated my foot. so much for ice.

sakola walked into the living room.

"akua?" he said.

"yes?"

"come." he walked into his room, so i stood up and followed him. i sat down on his plastic rug. my ankle began to throb and i couldn't translate what he was saying. he wanted an answer to what he was asking me, but i had no idea what it was. i started crying again.

"hey!" he yelled "hey! hey! hey!" then he ran over to me and bent down, an inch from my face. "why? why? you cry? why?"

"i hurt myself and i don't understand what you're saying!"

"huh?" he looked confused.

"i hurt myself. i fell. hurt? fell? boom down on the ground? see, you don't understand what i'm saying!" then i cried a little more.

"kess kess, stop. tell me. what?"

i told him in twi that i went running, then i showed him me falling to the floor. i didn't feel so bad crying in front of him, for two reasons.

one, he was practically family.

and

two, he crashed on his bike awhile back and came home to me tear stained, admitting to having cried, then asking to be cleaned and bandaged up.

"ohhhhh!!! wo hwe ase!!!" he ran over to the wall, grabbed it and slid down laughing. hysterically. "wo hwe ase!!!"

"no i fell!" i said, correcting his mistake.

"yes! you fell. wo hwe ase!" more laughter. he pointed at me and cracked up, "kess! ah ha ha kess!!!"

i started laughing. "it hurts!" i screamed.

"aha hhaa haa ha! kess fell! you went trotting, you fell?!"

"IT HURTS!" but i just kept laughing. he had never seen me cry before, and i was being really pathetic, so now all i could do was laugh about it.

we sat in his room and laughed and laughed. after some time, it crossed my mind that i had forgotten WHY and WHAT exactly we were laughing about.

then, he tried his village therapy on me, rubbing my leg vigoriously making it hurt even worse. but all i could do was laugh.

"here?" he said, pointing to the ball of swollen flesh that was now my foot. then he pressed down hard right where it was the most painful, and moved his hand up and down.

"OOOWWWW SAKO! THAT HURTS! HA HA!"

"trust me" he said, but i didn't at all. i recoiled and didn't let him near me the rest of the night. i was wondering if it was payback for all my "nursing" experiments i had pulled on him, for when i spoonfed him papaya seeds and raw aloe. when i double cleaned his wounds just because it made me feel good, like a make believe doctor, even though it was apparently painful for him.

i stayed in my bed that evening, with my foot up, reading. i was tired, but happy.

i was glad to be in a place where people cared for one another.