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.

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.