medaase paa boamadumase

Friday was the perfect day to have our party. Sofie and i decided it should start around 5 and go all night. we would try to invite everybody and keep the music going until midnight at least, let it boom across the village to let everybody know we were leaving.

"i usually just sort of sneak out" she said "i don't know how i feel about a proper goodbye."

"you don't have to worry, because, whatever it is" i said "it'll be funny."

she agreed.

around 4:45 we left our house to make our way to the clinic. but on my way i stopped by my seamstresses shop, no bigger than a children's clubhouse. she was inside, finishing up a skirt and top for me, with pins clenched between lips and pumping her foot up and down on her manual sewing machine. she looked over and saw me, then tried to give a smile. in a few minutes, she had finished.

she handed me the green skirt and i took it and went into a tiny sectioned off space in the corner. i had to duck low and steer clear the window that was directly in front of me, a group of preteen boys were playing soccer with rigor and an old deflated ball. i wasn't in the flashing mood.

i put it on and it felt okay, but there was just one tiny problem. the left side of the skirt had a personality of it's own, flinging out stiffly and curling up towards the sky.

i didn't really like that look. i would have let it pass, but i already had one dress with this peculiarity. i had asked sofie if she liked the dress and she just sort of stared at the flip and shrugged.

i mentioned to the seamstress that i'd really love the outfit if she could just cut off the curl and sew it straight.

she said okay and grabbed it from me the second i took it off.

i went and sat on the ledge of the shop, looking out onto the road. it was market day, people had walked miles from the durrounding villages with bundles of yam and plantain on their heads. they were now turning around to take home what they didn't sell.

Tanko walked by.

"TANKO!" i yelled.

he stopped, looked around until he found me perched, waiting.

"Kacie- hello! um, okay, i'm going to escort my sister here" he said, gently grabbing his lady friend by her elbow "and then i'll be coming."

"no, c'mhere, real quick." i wanted to tell him about the party.

he walked over.

"kacie. it seems it has been quite some time since i've seen you. have you been around?"

"yes. i've been here." i said. "but i'm leaving tomorrow."

"TOMORROW!"

"yes, tomorrow, and i wanted to let you know i'm having a going away party. sophie and i are. and... it's probably already started, it's at the clinic, and i want you to come."

he moved his fingers up and down his slim goatee and said "oh, i'm afraid you've given me very short notice". his worried look gave way to certainty "but you can expect me. i'll come soon."

the sky rumbled deep. it was the familiar welcoming sound of a quickly impending storm. we both looked out across the orange grove, over the trees in the distance. people started running with one hand keeping their market goods on their heads. the winds changed and blew the seamstresses shutters shut.

tanko gave me a look.

"the party is happening, rain or shine." i said.

"you'll celebrate even when the rain comes?"

"yup."

He laughed and ran to meet up with his friend, who had inched her way up the road.

when i looked up at the sky things weren't looking promising. promising, that is, if i wanted to stay dry. i calculated about 10 more minutes before the rains fell, before the storm really hit.

i went back into the shop and noticed the seamstress was no where close to being finished. she was picking apart the blue thread with a razor blade and yelling at her son to get in the shop. it was too late to tell her to stop, that i could in fact live with the left side flip, that i'd rather make it to my party.

instead, i went inside and sat on a table, i fingered brightly colored scraps of other people's clothes. clothes i had seen being worn that week in the village. i looked out the window, the soccer game had vanished. people were safe in their homes, and i felt a surge of guilt. the storm would surely last hours, it would hold us captive in this tiny little space for at least half the night, the seamstress wouldn't be able to go home, cook dinner for her family.

i tried to speak to her in twi, she spoke no english. but i struggled communicating, not sure what to say i resorted to small talk. everything i tried to mention casually she took as having extreme importance and listened with full attention. she'd stop her sewing.

and then, the rain came. it fell ferociously, sopping up the once dry ground and turning boamadumase into one huge abandoned mud pit. 3 people who had left the market late took shelter in the shop along with a gang of small boys. after 10 minutes the rain turned horitzontal, forcing us to close the 1 window and 1 door to keep the inside from getting wet. just as door was getting pulled tight auntie squeezed herself through with a look of relief.

the room was now pitch black, full of thick tropical air and heavy breathing. big white eyes blinked all around me, and somehow the seamstress managed to keep working in the dark.

aunties voice broke the silence the same way the thunder had interuppted Tanko and i. another deep grumble, then little words flying left and right, complaints mostly.

i couldn't handle it so i manuevered my way through the people and told them i was going to my party. i had to leave. i opened the door and was amazed by the amount of water outside. i scrunched up my nose and reconsidered. auntie yelled at me and told me to get back in, to wait it out.

"how long?" i asked, as if she had control of the weather.

"not long." she answered, as if she did.

i believed her and went back inside, shutting the door. i shuffled through my purse handling things and making out their shapes the way someone would reluctantly do in a haunted house's touch and feel section. i wanted to find something interesting to do in the dark, but i hadn't prepared for this. i did have one thing that was sure to be a crowd pleaser.

i pulled out my digital camera and took a picture, then showed everyone.

there was instant excitement and requests for more.

the next hour was spent in a photo shoot, where everyone laughed and posed, posed and laughed. besides auntie, the group turned wild and wanted me to document it all.

and... the pictures helped time to pass, until my battery ran out.

my skirt was completed, ironed and folded nicely in a bag, so i bid my new friends farewell and told them i had to go. although i was apprehensive about leaving, the storm was bad and it seemed, nobody was out.

we opened the doors and one of the men in the shop let out a loud hoot and pointed his finger to the road in front of us. the road that had turned into a muddy river.

"HWE! (look)" he said, cackling with delight.

we all turned our heads, saw, and burst out screaming.

jumping down the middle of the road in a line were slippery naked pitch black bodies of three young children. they were playing follow the leader, in the downpour, splashing through what everyone else was avoiding. they clearly had conquered the storm, turning it more into a friend to skip and dance with than something to hide from.

they inspired me. and... i think they inspired all of us, because everyone in the shop gathered around the open doorway glaring out, completely silent, in awe.

we all wanted to be them. the children emitted a joy as powerful as sun, and as liberating as eating dessert first. we took in their every move. they jumped and moved their heads from side to side, the way happy children do.

i looked around the village, and adult heads were popping out of doorways all over. each face looked happy, and the children kept at it, weaving and giggling and jumping around like ponies.

i decided it was time to party.

**********************************************

i made it to the clinic having chanted a positive affirmation which i believe kept me clean and mudless. i wanted to be as free as the kids, to pounce through puddles and not worry about a thing, but the truth was i had dressed up for the going away party in a long blue dress and i wanted to arrive looking, as Ma would say, sweet.

i even put on mascara.

"c'mon!" i said to sofie, before we left the house. "it's a big night..." then i thought for a bit "we better put on some makeup."

she agreed and even went as far as to brush her hair.

my makeup bag consisted of a small leather pouch, which held a pink mascara at least 5 years old, a blush of which the clinique counter lady told me would look great on me after i had been in the african sun for awhile, and some wierd brown sparkely gel that neither one of us knew what to do with.

sofie smeared the gel all over her lips.

i put it on my eyelids.

we looked at each other and laughed.

the only mirror we owned was on the blush and it was only big enough to look at my nose, so instead we used each other.

when i walked into the office at the clinic, i was drenched, but clean. it was a small area for a party, so it was a good thing not many people were there. i left my encrusted moccasins at the foot of the door and walked in barefoot.

"HELLO!!!!!" i announced to everyone there.

i looked around and saw familiar faces, but not whom i had expected.

i whispered to sofie "where is everyone? secetry? vera? you know?"

"they're coming i think, but, if you haven't noticed" she said "there isn't any music. or drinks."

"it'll come." i said, sure of the reliability of my one-armed friend. "is my mascara running?" the question was foreign. sofie ignored it.

"when?"

"it'll come, just wait."

i was very late, but nobody seemed to mind. the weather had made everything turn dark early, so we asked Watchman to turn on the generator, to get some lights going.

after another hour or so, sofie got fed up. "i can't wait any longer, the drinks aren't coming."

more people had shown up, and it was time to provide.

"i'm going to send secetry into town to buy some crates of beer."

i thought that would be a good idea.

"what are we going to do about music?" she asked.

"looks like we won't have any." and i turned to talk to the room full of guests. most of who had arrived were the health volunteers, they had jumped on their red bicycles and pedaled through the rain, each from their own village, miles away, to say goodbye to us.

"akua, soon you will be home and oh! we will miss you and sofie."

i smiled.

a knock outside the office door. we turned to look.

it was sakola, with his friend, little sister, and mother, and standing behind them was the woman we asked to make the food for the party. she had 100 balls of kenkey in a big silver pot on top of her head.

"you guys made it through the rain!" i was happy to see them. people were hungry. "come in come in."

i heard sofie suddenly becoming aware of things neither one of us had thought about.

"shoot man, i didn't even think about plates." she said.

"hmmm..." i said, cringing. "...well at least we don't need forks." as if that helped at all. i was thankful that people preferred eating with their hands.

i became painfully aware that hosting required planning of details, like utensils. it also required reaching out and being overly kind. when sofie asked me if i wanted to serve our guests i told her no, they'd come and eat when they were hungry. i sat in my chair, cracking jokes with some friends, and was suddenly hit with etiquette, with the fact that i needed to stand up and move. i was reluctant at first, because it seemed like a lot of work and hanging out making people laugh seemed so much better. but then i thought of the countless meals that had been served to me over the last 6 months and of all the people who clearly spent extra time and effort to make me feel comfortable. i stood up.

efreeyeh walked in with a stack of plates, all different, some plastic, a few ceramic, most paper. "efreeyeh! you are good." i said. she half way rolled her eyes, and told me to make her up a plate.

the night was progressing smoothly. the space was too small, so we all crowded together, sitting on the arms of chairs, the corner of a desk, perched knees to chest on the floor.

this is what i like best about ghana, the spirit of malleability and of resiliance.
circumstance had changed our vision of a lively, out door celebration filled with dancing, drinks and food into a stuffy indoor half equipped gathering, and people still wanted to party. not one complaint, just laughs and the familiar smell of other people's body odor. i knew i was going to miss it.

suddenly i felt the presence of someone very important arrive in the doorway. i turned to look.

it was Ma, and she had fixed herself up for the party in a powder blue dress, yards of starched fabric full of intent. her head was covered in a beautiful wrap of finely woven kente cloth.

i stood up while she stood for a second or two, assessing the "party".

she barked an order for someone to get her a chair and i offered her mine a second too late. we both looked at my chair, constricting with it's narrow arm rests, and waited for another to come.

"Ma" i said "welcome. you look gorgeous."

"oh thank you." she replied in a barely audible voice, an almost bashful voice.

a small girl brough her in a chair, free of arm rests. Ma pointed to the 3 silver pots sitting on the ground in the middle of the room. "what is this?"

"it's dokono. can i make you a plate?"

she gave one firm nod, so i began to assemble her a meal.

"how many balls, 1 or 2?"

she began to make an excuse even though i knew she would have come with a belly full of fufuo either way. "i wasn't aware you were having food. i have already taken-"

"fufuo!?"

"yes" she laughed. "fufuo. give me 1."

i poured on the sauces, mixed them together, and tried unwrapping the maize flour from the husks that held it together. it was too hot. each time i'd peel back the husk for half a second, i had to shake my hand around for 5 until it cooled off.

i looked very sensitive, very white-girl-raised-with-potholders-esque, and i was very conscious of my antics. but it didn't bother me, it was a feeling i had grown overly familiar with having spent so much time with Ma.

efreeyeh walked in and saw me and it bothered her, my being borderline pathetic. again, just for a moment, i wished i was a little more hard core. i wished for thick callousses on the palms of my hands.

she grabbed the steaming ball of food, removed the husk serenely, plopped it on a plate and handed it to Ma.

i sat back down in a chair next to them both.

across the room was a new volunteer, a white volunteer, who had just arrived in country and was visiting for the bush party from a nearby hospital, in Agogo. sofie invited her. i had spoken with her for a brief time, going through some of the basic getting to know yous, but drifted away from her general vicinity once more people arrived. she looked comfortable with being an outsider, not knowing anyone really, but her face was beginning to perk up in my direction and i could feel that she wanted to engage in further conversation.

now that Ma had arrived and was sitting silently on my left i became stingy with my attentiveness, i didn't want to give her any. this girl did not know that it took some dull empty moments to get Ma to open up. she did not know that Ma was who i wanted to be speaking to, spending my last night in communion with. if i could have snuggled up on Ma's lap, like an old familiar cat, i would have.

i licked the crumbly bits of the meal off my fingers and silently hoped the new volunteer wouldn't make small talk, but as is mostly the case, wishing for something NOT to happen usually spurs it into existence.

"so like, how did you get here?" she asked.

i wasn't sure exactly what she meant when she said "here" (ghana, earth, to the party through the rain?) i pretended that the few other people in the room were talking too loudly, and i hadn't heard a thing. i wondered if my 'hadn't heard a thing face' was too obvious. i tried desperately to think of a conversation starter for Ma but couldn't.

the girl wiggled herself out of the corner of the couch and pointed herself in our direction, but she didn't say anything.

we were all waiting, for something, and nothing was happening so i introduced the two.

"you haven't met Ma yet. this is Ma. she's senior staff here, the head midwife."

Ma glowed and continued to eat.

"you look like a head midwife." the girl said, laughing nervously, filling in the moment of what could have culminated into a response with more talk. "i could tell right when you walked in the room you shouldn't be messed with. i mean..."

it didn't appear that Ma knew how to interpret waht she was saying. was it a compliment? she looked over at me quizzically, like she needed help with a crossword puzzle. i stepped in.

"yes, Ma has taught me everything i know about midwifery. she's been my teacher for the past 6 months..."

i noticed Ma straightening her posture, then tilt her head to look at me, her budding student. she leaned in to me and whispered "and Kaisy, by now, you should have learned everything there is. isn't that so? you can deliver, i've seen you do it nicely. and as for suturing you can study that when you go to your training, ah?" she glanced at the girl and mentioned "here, we deliver women gently, so they won't tear." then back at me. "oh Kaisy, you have done well. very well. i will miss you."

then she frowned and looked down into her lap.

i felt a rising tide of emotions swell inside my chest.

the volunteer spoke up. "so, like, how did you decide you wanted to come here?"

i felt her question was going to pull me away from the moment, the way she said 'here', the way she wanted me to describe an experience i was still having and would soon be gone from.

i ignored her.

"i'll miss you too." i said back.

my heart began to churn and i felt uncomfortable. when i looked at Ma's face i saw her eyes swelling up, glossing over. the room was empty, people had brought the festivities outside now that the rain had cleared, and it was just the 3 of us in the room.

"soon-" Ma said "i will be going back to my house."

"i can escort you if you'd like."

she forced her mouth into a thin line, barely resembling a smile, tight and forced.

"so has it been fun working out here in the village? i just can't imagine what you must have seen?"

i didn't want to hate the volunteer, because she was just being nice. so instead of hating her i was annoyed by her. if i could have flicked her far away into the bush, if i could have cleared her from my area like an unwanted ant on a picnic blanket, i would have.

i tried to remind myself that i was a christian and with that, a short answer flew out of my lips over to her in hopes of satisfying, but before i knew it Ma leaned into me, saying through trembling lips, that she "had to go pass urine."

"okay." i said.

then she stood up slowly, hoisting herself to her feet, and left.

i felt panicky. i didn't want to leave boamadumase, or Ma, or Ghana. i wasn't ready to throw my suitcases into one of the dusty old taxis and wave goodbye. i wanted to spend more time sitting on porches, observing grimy goats scratch their sides against dilapidated buildings, and packs of children climb the old rusty farm equipment abandoned outside the mosque. i wanted to learn more twi, see the mango season come to a close, wait for the papayas to grow in pink and explosive again.

i had to get out of the room, away from anything that took me out of my current reality by making me discuss it.

i squeezed myself between groups of people chatting with one another, gave some firm excitable handshakes, yes yes i'll tell my mother you say hello. i found sakola, and his mother and latched onto them, and after about an hour i realized Ma had left for good.

"sako?" i asked "will you come back to Ma's house with me? i want you to meet her, and i want to make sure she got home alright."

"let's go." he said.

it was my last chance to introduce Ma to Sakola, and i knew she was interested in who he was, mostly because he was just as concerned about what i was going to eat for dinner as she was. she knew i ate with him almost every night, except the oahze nights of course.

Ma's housegirl Gladys was out in the dark compound washing dishes.

"agoo?" i said.

"come."

"is Ma asleep?"

i heard a deep voice from inside yelling at me to come back, so i did. when i walked into ma's bedroom she way lying on her bed with a wrap half way covering her orange brown skin. she was curled in the fetal position and her breasts were exposed, spilling out from all angles. her hair was in disarray. she was sweaty and obviously had been trying to sleep but wasn't successful.

she had a look of relief because i had come to find her, to see how she was.

"kaisy." she said seriously. "i had to leave- i had, to leave- becauseicouldn'tfaceyou."

i didn't say anything back.

"and when i go to work on Monday, i will be all alone."

my throat started to tighten and i could sense the need to cry. i didn't want to cry in front of her, mostly because i was afraid it would somehow shame her and it would make the good bye even harder.

"i brought sakola to see you, he's with his mother, they're outside."

she looked down at her half dressed body and started laughing, belly shaking, boobs hanging, and all. "tell them i am sleeping!" she said.

"i will."

i left to turn and walk out of her room when she yelled "kaisy!"

i faced her.

"tomorrow, if you feel to, you can come here before you leave."

"okay, i'll come."

"oh and have you written down my post? don't let it spoil, you should keep it safe, you must write me once a month so i can know how things are with you."

"yes, i already put it into my address book."

"good. so in your letters, please, let me know how things are going, your training and your family, at least one every month."

"and you too" i said, reminding her "you can write me. efreeyeh has my address."

"yes."

we looked at each other and i was taken aback by this strange relationship i had formed with a woman that needed 2 years of begging to allow me to be her apprentice.

"please, kaisy, pray for me when you are gone."

"i will."

"and i will pray for you, that you find a husband before you are too old to marry."

i laughed. "okay Ma, thanks."

"then, tommorrow?" she said falling back down into her mattress, ripe with insomnia.

"tommorrow." i assured. "rest up."

when i walked outside i tried to keep a few paces ahead of sakola and his mother because tears were slowly dripping down my face and i wanted that to be my secret. i kept my head down and my arms pulled in tight and before long we had made it back to the party, which had quickly turned into more of a fashion shoot now that the photographer had arrived and was flashing everyone's pictures.

the rain began to fall again, and i stared at all my friends posing for the camera man, proudly using a broken down car as a backdrop for their photos.

i heard sakola's mother mumble to him that i was crying and sakola glanced sideways to see if it was true. when he saw that it was he reached out and put his arm around me and leaned his head into mine. then his mother walked around to my other side and wrapped her arm around my waist. we stood there for a long time, and they let me cry with out saying a thing.

language is not always neccesary, sometimes in fact, it is unneccesary. in times like this, differences between cultures, borders, governments, beliefs... they all seem to fade, to recede, and the power of love shines through in its simplicity, in its wholeness.

"akua kessywa you must come and shoot a pikcha with us!"

i had a crowd of friends begging me to join them, to document our good times. the photographer had his eye focused behind a huge camera, with his flash stacked high. he waved us over without removing his face from it's position. i pulled sakola and his mother across the health center lawn, through the rain, and we squeezed in, leaning our backs against the car while more and more people crammed themselves into the space; madame vic, efreeyeh, vera. kingsley was crouching below me, secetry's smile was huge and natural and he was leaning on me, back up against me like i was a podium. townspeople were popping in all over the place and the rain had turned my turquouise dress a deep blue.

"get sofie!" someone yelled, and they dragged her out from inside. in a matter of minutes, sofie's hair was plastered to the side of her face and the we erupted into what reminded me of an opening scene in a movie, where a huge extended (dysfunctional) family attempts to pass food, converse and generally coexist around an enormous dining room table hosting some type of important holiday meal, like thanksgiving.

the amount of pictures they had the camera man take far surpassed obssesive, as we stood there for over an hour completely drenched, smiling and seeing stars. each time sofie and i would try to move away from the photographer, someone else would step in and ask for a picture, just the two-or three- or four- of us.

and the more i stood there the more i thought, this is like Thanksgiving. it is the culmination of my time spent in ghana, of the relationships i've made, of people i care about, of all the things i am grateful for. its my learning about another way to live, a slow and focused way to live, where people are priority and time is abundant.

i looked around and couldn't help but feel blessed at having been placed in this village, with these people, my friends.

and if the white volunteer hadn't left already, i would have pulled her into our pictures, and wrapped my arm around her, and apologized. i would have let her know that Ghana and it's people would wrap it's arms around her during her stay here, and not to worry, that she has come to a place so special, that it might carve out some type of spot in her heart that when she left she'd realize could only be filled with the love and laughter and spirits of all the people who were surrounding us.

i would say, welcome.