late one afternoon, on my walk home from the clinic, Tanko met me on the road and walked me the rest of the way. we chatted about our day and the soccer game we had both played in that previous sunday.
our team had loaded up into the back of a big truck and gone to play a game in a local village. the entire drive there i was getting tossed around in between sweaty armpits and loud singing. while leading the cheers, Tanko also kept swatting people to give me a little space, but i really didn't mind. i was having fun being 'one of the boys'.
as we walked along the road, we talked of our similar complaints against the referree, who called the two teams together at the beginning, declaring it a 'friendly match' but who was obviously biased. he let the game get overly rowdy and made calls only against our team. at half time a fist fight almost broke out between him and one of our mid-fielders. it was apparent the pre-match speech was really just him publically trying to remind himself to stifle his bad temper.
"well thanks for walking me" i said to Tanko.
he opened the gate to let me into my courtyard.
"oh not a problem. see you at training." he said, as he walked off.
i turned around and made my way towards the porch. auntie was sitting there, growling at me.
"good afternoon auntie." i said.
she started hitting the air, as if trying to combat a swarm of invisible bees. every day she was growing more and more odd.
I waited for her storm to subside. Then I walked up the stairs and began to make my way into the house. Just then auntie turned back and shouted at me between mumbles...
“I will beat you! Stop doing that!”
she looked genuinely angry about something so I stayed put, but she just turned her back to me and continued being upset.
Just then sakola walked down the hallway in my direction. I rolled my eyes and pointed in aunties direction, as if to warn him.
He pretend slapped the side of my head and told me in twi he was going to abuse me. This language is harsh for a native English speaker, but I had grown used to how Ghanaians use it so I wasn’t too offended. But still, I wondered what everyone was mad at me about?
The two of them were now sitting side by side on the porch, ganging up on me.
“why will you beat me?” I asked auntie directly.
She answered passionately in twi, something about a thief and my friend.
“sakola I don’t understand.”
Although auntie was the more fluent of the two it didn’t look like she was going to attempt English any time soon.
“she will beat you kessy!”
“yes I know, I already heard that.”
“she will beat you because you bring that boy here. He’s a bad boy kessy.” Then he gave me that same look, the one I had gotten from him the morning Tanko woke me before work.
“Tanko?” I asked.
Auntie hollered at me like a fierce lion. “KEEP HIM OUT!!!!!!”
“come” sakola said, ushering me into the house. He closed the door. “akua, that boy is bad. He go to accra steal from the white people and run. The police, they come here and find him…” then he pantomimed being handcuffed and dragged away. “he’s bad, and you are making friends with him, its no good, no good at all.”
“I didn’t know.” I wondered why it took them 2 months to tell me I had been walking with the town thief. I quickly recounted all the times I had let him into my room.
Once.
Then I went down the list of all the times I had left my purse unattended in his company.
Never.
Thirdly I thought about him, as an individual.
I liked him. He kept pleasant company.
Was it because he was planning on robbing me or because he was a nice person who just happened to do something stupid? In a village reputation is everything, and as I was witnessing, one bad move will forever taint your future.
Sakola’s lips began to sneer in disapproval, and my thoughts were following them. So tanko is a thief who enjoys stealing from foreigners. This entire time he has been placating me, I thought, waiting for the perfect moment to move in and make a fortune off the naïve white girl. My initial assumption had been correct, when I looked at his skinny body and questioned how he got along. Apparently he didn’t need to work hard living off of funds taken from somebody else.
I looked at sakola.
“okay.” I said, firm in my decision. “I won’t walk with him anymore.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Secetry, Kingsley and I were taking a stroll through the village visiting friends and enjoying each other’s company. It was late in the day and Kingsley’s cologne had worn off some so I was able to stand in between them while we stopped at the football pitch to watch a match that was close to finishing.
Tanko was playing left forward.
"i saw you walking with that boy there kacie." kingsley said, pointing at tanko. "people have been telling me that." he stated it more as a conversation piece than a warning or admonishment. his humble nature invited my question.
"do you know much about him?"
"oh not so much. but he is not very good at football. see the way he is running? he isn't fast. you have to be fast! back in my home village, everybody knows me as the talented footballer."
secetry interrupted. "akua kessie plays football!"
"yes, in my town i am known as the talented footballer. when you come there, you can ask, just say 'kingsley' and everybody will tell you 'oh kingsley, he is a talented footballer', really, just go and ask. so when i look at this boy here, he doesn't play nicely. you see?"
all three of us moved our heads to look at the ball floating high in the sky. as it descended, Tanko jumped up high and headed it into the goal. his team cheered and ran into one another, embracing as if it was the world cup.
we all looked at each other and laughed.
"that was nice." i said.
"yes, it was." kingsley agreed.
"very nice." secetry added. "but any way, that boy, he is a troublemaker."
"you shouldn't be keeping company with him" kingsley said.
tanko looked over at us and made eye contact with me. he gave a friendly wave. he was beaming from his most recent accomplishment. i lifted my head ever so slightly and then stared at the ground.
"lets keep walking." i suggested. i didn't want to be around after the game had ended, because i still didn't know how to interact with my ex-friend.
as we all were strolling along i sought a little advice. "so say i wanted to ignore tanko, how does a person do that in a village? i see him everywhere."
"well" kinglsey advised "when he walks up to you, you should just tell him you aren't interested and do this." he waved his arms around like he was drowning.
it seemed a bit dramatic, and i couldn't imagine it coming naturally. 'sorry tanko, i'm not interested!' wave wave flutter flutter. he'd have no frame of reference. i'd just appear crazy.
"...and why do you guys think he's a bad boy?"
"oh because the police came and arrested him. he was taking money from people in accra." secetry said.
i had known he lived in accra, he told me he was a houseboy for some missionaries. this was after i complimented him on how well he spoke english.
"did you see him being arrested?"
"yes, the police came to his house and brought him out in handcuffs. everybody in the village knows, we all saw."
"when was this?"
"about 2 years back."
i spent a little while longer walking with my friends and then i told them i was heading home.
on the stretch back to my house i prayed for some guidance.
Tanko may have made a poor choice in his life but i am a christian, which means, i am supposed to love the sinner and hate the sin, right? i didn't feel comfortable letting him into my personal space anymore, and wouldn't dare have him face auntie in fear of an explosion, but i couldn't justify turning my back and running every time i saw him in town. i thought he was a nice guy.
i reflected on my past.
i had stolen a lot in my life. when i was 16, me and my 2 best friends, got chased and handcuffed by police in an outdoor mall, ending my 2 year spree of teenage kleptomania. who was i to judge? in my case, i was blessed to have come from a big city.
i thought of the bible, of the adulteress woman who was caught with her lover. as the story goes, she was dragged outside to be punished, to have stones thrown at her body. when the officials asked jesus how he thought she should be dealt with, he replied after a long time of silence "he who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first."
in time, Jesus was left standing with the woman, alone.
i decided i was going to drop the rock from my sweaty palm and keep our relationship exactly how it was. i was going to continue playing soccer with him, and walking through the village with him, and being his friend. but the next time he approached me i was going to tell him what i knew. i like being honest, and i like hearing what is on people's hearts. this would make for an interesting conversation with him, and a future of interesting conversations with all the townspeople.
"you must stop walking with that boy. he is a theif."
"i know he's a theif, we already talked."
once again, i couldn't escape the potentcy of village life, of the directness, the accessibiltily, the lack of privacy. i wondered how Tanko even got along? who were his true friends, how did his neighbors treat him?
he had brought me to his living quarters once, it was a small mud structure divided into two. he lived on the right, his mother on the left. he had two white cats that responded lovingly to his voice, following him from the outside to the inside, inside to the outside.
"those are my pets." he giggled."i like animals."
they appeared to be quite fond of him also. and i wondered why we humans have such a complicated system to loving. sometimes, i thought, it might just be easier if we were a little more like Tanko's pets, or a little more like God, free to love regardless of circumstance.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
the one week celebration
i had seen Secetry late the night before, while Sofie, Sakola and I were on our way in the dark, walking to the clinic. Collins had malaria so we went to get him some medicine. during the walk i heard a million 'akua kacie's' and i decided to answer each one. i was in a sociable mood.
sakola and sofie kept walking while i chatted with my friends. each time i caught up with them another 'akua kacie' would make me fall behind.
one of them was secetry.
'i saw you playing football today!" he said. "you are good. ahhahaha."
"thank you."
"ahhh akkkuuaa!" and he gave me a little slap. "tomorrow we will go to the one week celebration. you won't go to work, you'll come with me."
"okay."
"see you then."
"bye!"
i skipped ahead. sakola and sofie had almost reached the clinic. this week was going to be a strain on the health center, only because Vic's mother died a week earlier so she planned to be out, and just as secetry said, tomorrow we would go to mourn with the family.
i sat down on the bench with sakola while sophie went into the dispensary for the drugs.
"it's too much." sakola said.
i didn't know what he was talking about.
"it's too much, akua kessy akua kessy, why?!" he looked at me like i was trigger happy and had a remote control that set off people yelling my name.
"what do you mean, "why"?" i asked.
"every time, akua kessy, akua kessy, everyone. they scream you and you go. why?"
"i am practicing the ghanian way sako, i'm greeting!"
"but you are too happy."
"what do you mean i am too happy?"
"i say, you- you- are too happy!"
the statement seemed accusatory. but how can you accuse someone of being TOO happy?
"okay, fine, i'm too happy." i said cheerfully.
he turned his back to me and pouted. his bad mood had lasted a few days and it was beginning to bother me. we ignored each other until sofie came back with the medicine and then we all left to deliver it to our friend.
~~~
i woke up and knew exactly what i was to wear. i walked over to my wardrobe, reached in the far back, and unhooked the hangar that held the black dress. i was glad that i didn't have to think of an outfit. not that it requires too much thought, but like a microwave dinner, sometimes having something preplanned and simple is a great pleasure.
i put it on and went to work.
"good morning Ma."
"good morning. oh! you look nice today. your dress, it suits you."
Ma's compliments always felt more powerful than anyone elses. I suddenly felt incredibly beautiful. i looked down at my dress, it was nice, wasn't it?
she sat back in her chair and smiled at me, the way an illiterate mother might smile while her daughter reaches out to receive a diploma at her college graduation.
"thank you." i beamed.
"so you are going to the funeral with secetry today. please give vic my sympathies."
"i will. we plan to leave at 11" i said "so in 2 hours time. how was your weekend?" i asked.
"oh! i just was relaxing." she moved her hands around like she was flipping tortillas. "but as for this place, if you stay around for the weekend there is nothing to do except sleep! it is too quiet here!" she laughed and shook her head.
Ma preferred to visit her family in kumasi for the weekends, but was only allowed to go twice a month. due to the almost disaster in the ward a week prior i was thankful she didn't leave every weekend. but she always seemed refreshed and alive after seeing her children, so i was also glad when she got to vacate. "you said you were going to cameroon in february but you haven't left." she said.
"i bought my ticket for the 26th. i'll go then." i said.
"and when will you be returning?"
"on the 12th of March."
"oh Kaisy. but i will miss you too much. that is a long time!"
Ma was feeling cozy with me this morning, i wasn't sure why, but i liked her softer side.
while we were talking watchman walked in, greeted ma, and informed me it was time to leave.
"bye Ma! i'll see you tomorrow!" i yelled as the screen door shut. i heard her chuckle to herself a few times.
watchman was dressed in a crisp black shirt and slacks that matched. he told me to wait for a taxi in town, he was going to get something. secetry would be coming shortly, he had gone to put on his funeral attire.
i sat around for an hour or so, as the town drunk tried desperately to make english conversation with me. each time i made eye contact with him, which was an easy thing to do considering he was standing directly in front of me, he'd lean down and grasp both my hands into both of his and shake them furiously, saying 'good good, oh yes, good good'.
it was really annoying and the longer i waited the more my mood began to plummet. i wasn't in the mood to be every body's novelty.
i chose to focus on other things. i was thankful that the day was cloudy with bursts of wind. the weather was uncharacteristic and i found some delight in the upset. when i wasn't looking at the sky i could only see the man, he was taking over my personal space.
the drunk had an interesting look. he was tall and stiff with a friendly gawky presence. he reminded me of dorothy's friend, the scarecrow. he'd bow down and tip his hat in my direction and mumble off some incoherent phrase. i would have engaged his company if i knew it would have resulted in something fruitful, but by the looks of it he had been drinking the local hard alcohol, apeteshie, all morning long and i preferred to pretend i was a mute white girl.
pretty soon a crowd of locals gathered around and tried to convince the man i spoke twi. but every time he bent down and rustled my palms together i looked at my feet in silence.
he told them he didn't think i spoke anything.
i was glad he was catching my point.
just then a taxi came down the road and secetry walked out from behind a corner, wrapped in at least 3 yards of beautiful black fabric. his small chest was exposed and the tail end of the cotton was slung over his left shoulder, the way men traditionally wear the local garb. he looked great. he looked regal.
6 of us loaded up into the taxi and the drunk stuck his head through the window.
"is he crazy?" i asked secetry.
"no, hahaha, hes drunk."
so i was correct. i didn't feel so bad ignoring him. he had inflicted this state upon himself.
watchman and secetry made some playful banter with the guy, and then we took off for what i presumed would be a very long day.
~~~
i have never been to a funeral celebration in ghana that didn't last the entire day, and that didn't end in drunkenness. i was wanting neither of those things but was prepared for both.
"we will take 4 cars to get to Maame Vic's village." secetry said.
"4 cars!? how far is it?"
"its not far, but we will alight in konongo and take a car from there. then when we alight at the next town we will take a bush taxi."
"alright."
"oh kessy! you are thinking too much. it seems something is troubling you this morning."
it was nice to have a friend who noticed my moods.
"i'm okay." i said. "i'm just feeling kind of tired and i really don't want to be the center of attention today. i don't want people coming up and prodding me and saying "oh white girl oh white girl". i just want to sit and be left alone. do you know what i mean?"
"i understand." he said. "i will make an announcement that nobody should talk to you."
i wasn't sure if he was kidding, because he didn't laugh, he just stared over the hill looking for a tro tro to catch.
"i don't mind talking to people, i just don't want to be treated like a zoo animal. you don't have to make an announcement, i'll be okay, i'm just low energy."
"oh okay, tank you." he said.
we made it to the last ride in a short amount of time. i was able to doze off and not have to make conversation, which was exactly how i was hoping the morning would go. 7 of us loaded up into the car, after the driver took an old dirty rag and wiped off the seats. this car was dustier than ones i had seen in boamadumase, but just as ragged.
secetry and i shared the front seat, but i didn't want to sit on him so i hung half my body out the window. i peered into the vehicle and paid close attention. i like getting to know the taxis, they interest me. secetry must have seen me staring because he started laughing and asked me if i would be able to drive this car.
i had gotten into the habit of driving the local taxis. not a lot of women drive here, so it initially started as a way to show off. i liked the attention, cruising down the long dusty road, beeping at people and then watching their faces astonished as i wave with a car packed full of people. it's also expanded my twi, having to learn phrases such as "you need to get out of the way faster!"
"sure i can drive this car!" i said, coming back to life from a morning of dullness.
"are you sure?"
"yea, why not?"
he pointed at the ignition.
it was keyless.
we both started laughing.
"well" i said "i might need a key."
"so you can't drive this car. but ghanaians" he said "we are MAGICIANS! you see?"
the road was bumpy and i was trying to figure if i did have to take control, how would i turn the car on. secetry kept echoing his phrase, 'ghanians are magicians' while he saw me pondering. i was hoping we'd get to the town shortly because i was tired of propping myself up. i didn't trust the door to hold me in, so i had a strong hold on the roof of the car, just in case the door flung open.
the environment surrounding the windy road was wild. graves were scattered underneath tall trees. the rains had come in the past week leaving everything more green and vibrant. i liked the feel of the village immediately we pulled in. it rested on what felt like the edge of a hill, overlooking rolling mountains in the distance, and brought out that funny feeling in my heart that balancing on the edge of a city on a hill does. it produces moments of deep reflection, of feeling gratefully small and inconsequential. like looking at the stars.
a huge church had been constructed in the middle of town. it dominated any attention the town might receive, and made me instantly interested in the history of the place. then from the bottom of the hill, i saw streams of people dressed in black single filing into a small cement building.
we all got out of the taxi and walked in that direction. the building was painted fluorescent pink, with electric blue shutters. it was the only colored building i could see, the rest matched the red dirt color i had grown quite accustomed to.
the first time i saw a line of army ants in africa, i was warned to be careful. the trail of them was so thick they could have been mistaken as a stream of water. i was walking in the forest, with a friend. "be careful" he said, pointing at the ground. i bent down and observed their formation. lining the outside of the flow, on both sides, were big ants with claws facing outwards protecting their kin inside. the ants inside were busy hurrying across the path into the bush. one step into the middle and my foot would have been swarmed.
plastic chairs lined the building, not one left empty. the rest of the well wishers were making their way inside. i thought of the ants, because i felt like one now. we were on a mission, to our nest, our hill.
the inside of the courtyard looked like a miniature stadium. it was small, no bigger than half a tennis court, but somehow managed to accommodate every person who was making their way in. chairs had been set up on four sides, each having 3 or 4 lines behind them.
in the center of the room was a picture, blown up and framed of Maame Vic's deceased mother. a lace cloth had been draped over a chair, and the picture rested against it.
it is custom to greet every person (sitting in the front row) when you arrive to a funeral with a handshake. women follow men, so i trailed behind secetry and extended my hand to over 75 people. greeting that many people in just a few short minutes is an overload on my imagination. so many different looks and histories, each hand a different texture and bone structure than the last.
funerals are the glue that keep families in contact here. because ghanaians believe in extended family, they attend funerals quite often, and in turn this keeps relations close.
by the time we had finished with our rounds most of the chairs had been taken. there were 3 left open, close to the wall of the far corner where 6 gigantic speakers, each threatening me with a potential headache, had been set up. i hoped for failure of electricity.
a high pitched screech made it's way through the room.
they had turned on the microphones, my wish had not been granted.
"AGGGGGGGGGGGOOO AGGGGOOOOOOO!!!!"
a middle aged woman who seemed to really like public announcements was on the loud speaker commanding the crowds attention. i still hadn't been placed in a seat, but was trying to get as far away from the speakers as possible. the room was small enough for it not to make much of a difference, but i was glad when somebody grabbed my arm and said "you will sit here."
i plopped myself down on the chair and looked around. not many people were watching me, which was nice. i had been sat at the chair closest to the picture of who we were mourning.
i looked across the room at vic. she had her hair wrapped up in a large piece of stiff black cloth. her face looked worn and her skin looked thin. she had the appearance of somebody who does all their crying in private then emerges tired and aloof. i felt bad for her. it's harder to console somebody who is publically trying to keep it together, in fear of unraveling them. when she walked over to me i stretched out my hand and gave her a sympathy nod, resting in the fact that the speakers drowned out our opportunity for conversation.
"AGGGGOOOO!!! AGGGOOOO!!" i don't know why the woman was still screaming, we were all paying attention to her.
i looked at the photograph. vic looked exactly like her mother. they both carried the same expression, of worry and sadness melted into beauty.
a few large crates of bottled soda had been hauled into the center and the dj's had taken over by replacing the woman with very loud music.
there were 4 choices; sprite, cocacola, fanta, and guiness. one man was scooting the red crate along the floor as the other pulled out different drinks and handed them to each person in my row. i was hoping he'd hand me fanta, and he did. somebody ran down our aisle and opened all our drinks, letting our bottle caps fly off and roll on the floor.
i studied the crowd in their outfits. black and red, their funeral colors. everybody was dressed in african fabric, the women in long skirts and creative tops, and most of the men looking the same as secetry, fabric wrapped around their body like a huge body bandage. my dress seemed a little short, exposing my pasty knees and causing me to constantly shift, tugging it down so it wouldn't reach mid thigh. but again, not many people seemed to notice me, so i wasn't too worried. i just sat and drank my orange flavored fanta, wondering if anyone else was going deaf also.
the man who opened my drink was standing in front of me, waiting for something. when i realized everyone else had finished their drinks and handed their bottles back i chugged mine so he could take it and leave. the only problem was, it was too much soda. i handed him the rest and said i couldn't finish it.
"thank you" he said, as he gulped down the last little bit. then he put the bottle back in the crate, balanced it all on his head, and walked out.
i leaned over to secetry and whispered.
"so what are we doing?"
"we are mourning with the family and taking in minerals (soda)."
"oh, okay."
"and we are deciding the date of the funeral."
i was confused.
"isn't this the funeral?" i asked.
"no, this is the one week celebration."
secetry's has the most welcoming face. i like watching it during conversation. his features are round and bubbly.
"but, why do both?"
"because we have to decide on a date for the funeral, so people will come."
i looked around. the place was pretty packed.
"more people than this?" i asked.
"ooooohhhhh yes. more people will come. you see, the people here, they are just representatives for all the rest of their family. they will go back to their villages and tell more people to come."
a tent had been constructed to shade the middle of the courtyard, or considering the weather, maybe it was to protect us all from the chance of rain. either way, the woman on the loudspeaker was explaining the costs of the gathering; minerals, tent and chair rental, speakers, etc.. this was followed up by another lady, slim and energetic with a black plastic bucket on her head, dancing around the room like a wobbly top bending in suggestion of a donation.
i opened my purse and pulled out 10,000 cedis, about one dollar. i crumpled it up so no one could make out the amount and threw it in the bucket. i looked and saw that most contributions were 2,000 cedis.
in situations like this, i never know what is an appropriate amount to give. i have no cultural context, so i crumple the bills and hope i'm not offending.
"let's go." somebody had walked over to me and was pulling me out of my chair. i followed them back outside where a band of people, none of whom i knew, were waiting for me. "follow them." the person said. we walked past the church, behind some houses, into one of them. the house felt relatively modern, with cushioned chairs and a television.
i started to overanalyze why i was feeling so tired, and came to the conclusion that sophies book on tropical diseases is not what i should be reading during down time at the clinic. it had reignited my dormant hypochondria. i was sure my day's lethargy stemmed from being secretly bit by a tsetse fly and now i had the dreaded "sleeping sickness". in a few short days i might be bleeding out all my orfaces.
was i getting my symptoms confused? i tried hard to remember if the sleeping sickness led to bleeding, or was it death?
nobody in the room was speaking so i slowly descended into the depths of paranoid thought, until a saviour walked in the room and turned the television on. i snapped out from where i was at and zoned in on the screen.
"but i loved soloman, why did he have to go away?" the little brunette was asking her blonde babysitter.
i recognized the movie instantly, only because it was on my top 5 favorite from my childhood.
i glanced to the left and to the right. my company seemed to be just as enthralled. none of them knew english but the plot would be easy to follow.
"your mommy sent him away." said the physco nanny.
i was watching "a hand that rocks the cradle" in a tiny west african village. after that thought flashed through my mind i paid no more attention to my current reality as i quickly absorbed myself into the film. i wanted to stay there all day long. it was the perfect situation for my mood.
a tray passed in front of my face, with wadded up chunks of something greasy wrapped in paper towels. tv and papertowels? i plucked one off and didn't take my eyes from the screen while i unwrapped the contents and ate it.
chicken. yum.
i hadn't tasted chicken in quite some time. every night in the village, the meat of choice and availability was fish, from "the big water".
sakola had bought a chicken one day while we were walking down the road. it was a strange experience, only because i thought we were headed on our way to church until a man rode by on a bicycle holding the fowl upside down while trying to balance and steer. he wasn't very coordinated and one of them, either him or the bird, was sure to get hurt. sakola stopped him and suddenly nanakwame appeared from out of nowhere, while they all haggled for a fair price. they settled on 30,000 cedis, 3 dollars. nanakwame ran the chicken back to our house and later when we came home, the chicken had a rooster friend. i still haven't figured out where the rooster came from but i have become calloused to his uniquely harrowing 3 a.m. cry that sounds more like a woman dying in a blender than a rooster crowing. "this bird" sakola says daily, pointing to the chicken as it runs around the yard "this bird, before you leave..." then he makes the motion of slicing its neck.
i'm hoping he means we'll feast on it as a farewell party.
the flavor of the chicken in my mouth now, tasted like the most amazing thing i had ever eaten.
secetry walked in the room. "kessy?! we are going back, come and lets go." he said. i hadn't noticed everyone had shuffled out and i was chewing on the bone like a starved dog.
"is there any more chicken?" i asked.
he just laughed at me and led me out of the house.
"no i'm serious." i said. "is there any more chicken?"
i had come a long way from my devout vegetarianism some years prior, i was now begging for meat.
"it is sweet?"
"YES! very."
"i will try to find you some." he said, the way a good friend would.
we walked back into the room overflowing with people. i was growing tired of being there, mostly because the day was now hot, the music level had increased, and nothing new was happening. when i sat down in my chair the sound waves made my stomach hurt. my body was vibrating to the sound of the beat, i felt like i had swallowed all 6 of the speakers.
ma vic walked over to me and i gave her a look.
"are you okay?" she said.
"yea, i'm okay. is the music loud to you too?" i yelled.
"yes, it's too loud. the speakers are supposed to have gone outside but we didn't have a... whats that thing... extension cord, so they just kept them in here. it's disturbing."
by the look on everyones face they could have been at a relaxing weekend on the lake.
ma vic walked away.
i thought about what sophie had noted a few days earlier. "nobody seems to complain here." she said "i find it really annoying!"
it was true in some situations, like now.
i looked at secetry. "i have to leave, it's too loud! it's hurting my body. i'll be outside." i said.
he followed me out.
i wasn't being a very good guest, but i wasn't sure if anyone really noticed. i hadn't talked to anyone since morning and couldn't stop thinking about leaving.
"secetry, what time is it?"
"why, do you want to leave?"
"yeah, kinda."
"we will go in 30 minutes time, which will make it 3:00. if we leave now, vic will think we don't care. 30 minutes, is that okay?"
"30 minutes is good." it seemed like eternity.
we made small talk, about the house and all the people. i had asked whose house it was.
"it's vic's mothers house. the house is big! it's nice!" he said.
"your house is just as big, it just seems larger because they crammed so many people inside."
"no, my house is too small. it is much smaller than this one."
"you think so?"
"ohh yess."
"well than, don't die. we won't have any place to celebrate you in."
"oh kessy! death-" he said "death, is everyones property."
somebody announced they had come to an agreement on the date of the funeral. news started buzzing around outside that it was set for April 27th and 28th, and i only saw nods of approval.
"will you come?" secetry asked.
"i think so." i answered.
"everybody at the clinic will come; efreeyeh, vera, kingsley. they will all be here. we will dance and have fun. you must come! ahhhahhaaaha"
it sounded like it was going to be a good time.
"okay, i'll be there. definately."
"good, thank you. now lets go."
we said our good byes to vic and made our journey back home.
"how was the funeral?" sophie asked.
i didn't know what to say so i shrugged my shoulders. "i'm tired today. the music was loud and i drank a fanta."
"sounds pretty boring" her accent put a lot of stress on the boring.
"i wouldn't say that, it just wasn't exciting." it dawned on me that i am one of those people, one of those people that don't believe in boredom. i thought of my grandmama, a woman who lives every moment as an artist. growing up, whenever we'd be sitting in her car at a stop light, she'd bend both her hands into what resembled a little looking box, and then she'd peer through it contemplatively, saying
"the good thing about being an artist is..." bending her head left and then right "... you never have a dull moment." she is a painter. "you just do this and whatever is in front of you, life, turns into a working composition."
that wisdom has helped me on long days like this.
sakola and sofie kept walking while i chatted with my friends. each time i caught up with them another 'akua kacie' would make me fall behind.
one of them was secetry.
'i saw you playing football today!" he said. "you are good. ahhahaha."
"thank you."
"ahhh akkkuuaa!" and he gave me a little slap. "tomorrow we will go to the one week celebration. you won't go to work, you'll come with me."
"okay."
"see you then."
"bye!"
i skipped ahead. sakola and sofie had almost reached the clinic. this week was going to be a strain on the health center, only because Vic's mother died a week earlier so she planned to be out, and just as secetry said, tomorrow we would go to mourn with the family.
i sat down on the bench with sakola while sophie went into the dispensary for the drugs.
"it's too much." sakola said.
i didn't know what he was talking about.
"it's too much, akua kessy akua kessy, why?!" he looked at me like i was trigger happy and had a remote control that set off people yelling my name.
"what do you mean, "why"?" i asked.
"every time, akua kessy, akua kessy, everyone. they scream you and you go. why?"
"i am practicing the ghanian way sako, i'm greeting!"
"but you are too happy."
"what do you mean i am too happy?"
"i say, you- you- are too happy!"
the statement seemed accusatory. but how can you accuse someone of being TOO happy?
"okay, fine, i'm too happy." i said cheerfully.
he turned his back to me and pouted. his bad mood had lasted a few days and it was beginning to bother me. we ignored each other until sofie came back with the medicine and then we all left to deliver it to our friend.
~~~
i woke up and knew exactly what i was to wear. i walked over to my wardrobe, reached in the far back, and unhooked the hangar that held the black dress. i was glad that i didn't have to think of an outfit. not that it requires too much thought, but like a microwave dinner, sometimes having something preplanned and simple is a great pleasure.
i put it on and went to work.
"good morning Ma."
"good morning. oh! you look nice today. your dress, it suits you."
Ma's compliments always felt more powerful than anyone elses. I suddenly felt incredibly beautiful. i looked down at my dress, it was nice, wasn't it?
she sat back in her chair and smiled at me, the way an illiterate mother might smile while her daughter reaches out to receive a diploma at her college graduation.
"thank you." i beamed.
"so you are going to the funeral with secetry today. please give vic my sympathies."
"i will. we plan to leave at 11" i said "so in 2 hours time. how was your weekend?" i asked.
"oh! i just was relaxing." she moved her hands around like she was flipping tortillas. "but as for this place, if you stay around for the weekend there is nothing to do except sleep! it is too quiet here!" she laughed and shook her head.
Ma preferred to visit her family in kumasi for the weekends, but was only allowed to go twice a month. due to the almost disaster in the ward a week prior i was thankful she didn't leave every weekend. but she always seemed refreshed and alive after seeing her children, so i was also glad when she got to vacate. "you said you were going to cameroon in february but you haven't left." she said.
"i bought my ticket for the 26th. i'll go then." i said.
"and when will you be returning?"
"on the 12th of March."
"oh Kaisy. but i will miss you too much. that is a long time!"
Ma was feeling cozy with me this morning, i wasn't sure why, but i liked her softer side.
while we were talking watchman walked in, greeted ma, and informed me it was time to leave.
"bye Ma! i'll see you tomorrow!" i yelled as the screen door shut. i heard her chuckle to herself a few times.
watchman was dressed in a crisp black shirt and slacks that matched. he told me to wait for a taxi in town, he was going to get something. secetry would be coming shortly, he had gone to put on his funeral attire.
i sat around for an hour or so, as the town drunk tried desperately to make english conversation with me. each time i made eye contact with him, which was an easy thing to do considering he was standing directly in front of me, he'd lean down and grasp both my hands into both of his and shake them furiously, saying 'good good, oh yes, good good'.
it was really annoying and the longer i waited the more my mood began to plummet. i wasn't in the mood to be every body's novelty.
i chose to focus on other things. i was thankful that the day was cloudy with bursts of wind. the weather was uncharacteristic and i found some delight in the upset. when i wasn't looking at the sky i could only see the man, he was taking over my personal space.
the drunk had an interesting look. he was tall and stiff with a friendly gawky presence. he reminded me of dorothy's friend, the scarecrow. he'd bow down and tip his hat in my direction and mumble off some incoherent phrase. i would have engaged his company if i knew it would have resulted in something fruitful, but by the looks of it he had been drinking the local hard alcohol, apeteshie, all morning long and i preferred to pretend i was a mute white girl.
pretty soon a crowd of locals gathered around and tried to convince the man i spoke twi. but every time he bent down and rustled my palms together i looked at my feet in silence.
he told them he didn't think i spoke anything.
i was glad he was catching my point.
just then a taxi came down the road and secetry walked out from behind a corner, wrapped in at least 3 yards of beautiful black fabric. his small chest was exposed and the tail end of the cotton was slung over his left shoulder, the way men traditionally wear the local garb. he looked great. he looked regal.
6 of us loaded up into the taxi and the drunk stuck his head through the window.
"is he crazy?" i asked secetry.
"no, hahaha, hes drunk."
so i was correct. i didn't feel so bad ignoring him. he had inflicted this state upon himself.
watchman and secetry made some playful banter with the guy, and then we took off for what i presumed would be a very long day.
~~~
i have never been to a funeral celebration in ghana that didn't last the entire day, and that didn't end in drunkenness. i was wanting neither of those things but was prepared for both.
"we will take 4 cars to get to Maame Vic's village." secetry said.
"4 cars!? how far is it?"
"its not far, but we will alight in konongo and take a car from there. then when we alight at the next town we will take a bush taxi."
"alright."
"oh kessy! you are thinking too much. it seems something is troubling you this morning."
it was nice to have a friend who noticed my moods.
"i'm okay." i said. "i'm just feeling kind of tired and i really don't want to be the center of attention today. i don't want people coming up and prodding me and saying "oh white girl oh white girl". i just want to sit and be left alone. do you know what i mean?"
"i understand." he said. "i will make an announcement that nobody should talk to you."
i wasn't sure if he was kidding, because he didn't laugh, he just stared over the hill looking for a tro tro to catch.
"i don't mind talking to people, i just don't want to be treated like a zoo animal. you don't have to make an announcement, i'll be okay, i'm just low energy."
"oh okay, tank you." he said.
we made it to the last ride in a short amount of time. i was able to doze off and not have to make conversation, which was exactly how i was hoping the morning would go. 7 of us loaded up into the car, after the driver took an old dirty rag and wiped off the seats. this car was dustier than ones i had seen in boamadumase, but just as ragged.
secetry and i shared the front seat, but i didn't want to sit on him so i hung half my body out the window. i peered into the vehicle and paid close attention. i like getting to know the taxis, they interest me. secetry must have seen me staring because he started laughing and asked me if i would be able to drive this car.
i had gotten into the habit of driving the local taxis. not a lot of women drive here, so it initially started as a way to show off. i liked the attention, cruising down the long dusty road, beeping at people and then watching their faces astonished as i wave with a car packed full of people. it's also expanded my twi, having to learn phrases such as "you need to get out of the way faster!"
"sure i can drive this car!" i said, coming back to life from a morning of dullness.
"are you sure?"
"yea, why not?"
he pointed at the ignition.
it was keyless.
we both started laughing.
"well" i said "i might need a key."
"so you can't drive this car. but ghanaians" he said "we are MAGICIANS! you see?"
the road was bumpy and i was trying to figure if i did have to take control, how would i turn the car on. secetry kept echoing his phrase, 'ghanians are magicians' while he saw me pondering. i was hoping we'd get to the town shortly because i was tired of propping myself up. i didn't trust the door to hold me in, so i had a strong hold on the roof of the car, just in case the door flung open.
the environment surrounding the windy road was wild. graves were scattered underneath tall trees. the rains had come in the past week leaving everything more green and vibrant. i liked the feel of the village immediately we pulled in. it rested on what felt like the edge of a hill, overlooking rolling mountains in the distance, and brought out that funny feeling in my heart that balancing on the edge of a city on a hill does. it produces moments of deep reflection, of feeling gratefully small and inconsequential. like looking at the stars.
a huge church had been constructed in the middle of town. it dominated any attention the town might receive, and made me instantly interested in the history of the place. then from the bottom of the hill, i saw streams of people dressed in black single filing into a small cement building.
we all got out of the taxi and walked in that direction. the building was painted fluorescent pink, with electric blue shutters. it was the only colored building i could see, the rest matched the red dirt color i had grown quite accustomed to.
the first time i saw a line of army ants in africa, i was warned to be careful. the trail of them was so thick they could have been mistaken as a stream of water. i was walking in the forest, with a friend. "be careful" he said, pointing at the ground. i bent down and observed their formation. lining the outside of the flow, on both sides, were big ants with claws facing outwards protecting their kin inside. the ants inside were busy hurrying across the path into the bush. one step into the middle and my foot would have been swarmed.
plastic chairs lined the building, not one left empty. the rest of the well wishers were making their way inside. i thought of the ants, because i felt like one now. we were on a mission, to our nest, our hill.
the inside of the courtyard looked like a miniature stadium. it was small, no bigger than half a tennis court, but somehow managed to accommodate every person who was making their way in. chairs had been set up on four sides, each having 3 or 4 lines behind them.
in the center of the room was a picture, blown up and framed of Maame Vic's deceased mother. a lace cloth had been draped over a chair, and the picture rested against it.
it is custom to greet every person (sitting in the front row) when you arrive to a funeral with a handshake. women follow men, so i trailed behind secetry and extended my hand to over 75 people. greeting that many people in just a few short minutes is an overload on my imagination. so many different looks and histories, each hand a different texture and bone structure than the last.
funerals are the glue that keep families in contact here. because ghanaians believe in extended family, they attend funerals quite often, and in turn this keeps relations close.
by the time we had finished with our rounds most of the chairs had been taken. there were 3 left open, close to the wall of the far corner where 6 gigantic speakers, each threatening me with a potential headache, had been set up. i hoped for failure of electricity.
a high pitched screech made it's way through the room.
they had turned on the microphones, my wish had not been granted.
"AGGGGGGGGGGGOOO AGGGGOOOOOOO!!!!"
a middle aged woman who seemed to really like public announcements was on the loud speaker commanding the crowds attention. i still hadn't been placed in a seat, but was trying to get as far away from the speakers as possible. the room was small enough for it not to make much of a difference, but i was glad when somebody grabbed my arm and said "you will sit here."
i plopped myself down on the chair and looked around. not many people were watching me, which was nice. i had been sat at the chair closest to the picture of who we were mourning.
i looked across the room at vic. she had her hair wrapped up in a large piece of stiff black cloth. her face looked worn and her skin looked thin. she had the appearance of somebody who does all their crying in private then emerges tired and aloof. i felt bad for her. it's harder to console somebody who is publically trying to keep it together, in fear of unraveling them. when she walked over to me i stretched out my hand and gave her a sympathy nod, resting in the fact that the speakers drowned out our opportunity for conversation.
"AGGGGOOOO!!! AGGGOOOO!!" i don't know why the woman was still screaming, we were all paying attention to her.
i looked at the photograph. vic looked exactly like her mother. they both carried the same expression, of worry and sadness melted into beauty.
a few large crates of bottled soda had been hauled into the center and the dj's had taken over by replacing the woman with very loud music.
there were 4 choices; sprite, cocacola, fanta, and guiness. one man was scooting the red crate along the floor as the other pulled out different drinks and handed them to each person in my row. i was hoping he'd hand me fanta, and he did. somebody ran down our aisle and opened all our drinks, letting our bottle caps fly off and roll on the floor.
i studied the crowd in their outfits. black and red, their funeral colors. everybody was dressed in african fabric, the women in long skirts and creative tops, and most of the men looking the same as secetry, fabric wrapped around their body like a huge body bandage. my dress seemed a little short, exposing my pasty knees and causing me to constantly shift, tugging it down so it wouldn't reach mid thigh. but again, not many people seemed to notice me, so i wasn't too worried. i just sat and drank my orange flavored fanta, wondering if anyone else was going deaf also.
the man who opened my drink was standing in front of me, waiting for something. when i realized everyone else had finished their drinks and handed their bottles back i chugged mine so he could take it and leave. the only problem was, it was too much soda. i handed him the rest and said i couldn't finish it.
"thank you" he said, as he gulped down the last little bit. then he put the bottle back in the crate, balanced it all on his head, and walked out.
i leaned over to secetry and whispered.
"so what are we doing?"
"we are mourning with the family and taking in minerals (soda)."
"oh, okay."
"and we are deciding the date of the funeral."
i was confused.
"isn't this the funeral?" i asked.
"no, this is the one week celebration."
secetry's has the most welcoming face. i like watching it during conversation. his features are round and bubbly.
"but, why do both?"
"because we have to decide on a date for the funeral, so people will come."
i looked around. the place was pretty packed.
"more people than this?" i asked.
"ooooohhhhh yes. more people will come. you see, the people here, they are just representatives for all the rest of their family. they will go back to their villages and tell more people to come."
a tent had been constructed to shade the middle of the courtyard, or considering the weather, maybe it was to protect us all from the chance of rain. either way, the woman on the loudspeaker was explaining the costs of the gathering; minerals, tent and chair rental, speakers, etc.. this was followed up by another lady, slim and energetic with a black plastic bucket on her head, dancing around the room like a wobbly top bending in suggestion of a donation.
i opened my purse and pulled out 10,000 cedis, about one dollar. i crumpled it up so no one could make out the amount and threw it in the bucket. i looked and saw that most contributions were 2,000 cedis.
in situations like this, i never know what is an appropriate amount to give. i have no cultural context, so i crumple the bills and hope i'm not offending.
"let's go." somebody had walked over to me and was pulling me out of my chair. i followed them back outside where a band of people, none of whom i knew, were waiting for me. "follow them." the person said. we walked past the church, behind some houses, into one of them. the house felt relatively modern, with cushioned chairs and a television.
i started to overanalyze why i was feeling so tired, and came to the conclusion that sophies book on tropical diseases is not what i should be reading during down time at the clinic. it had reignited my dormant hypochondria. i was sure my day's lethargy stemmed from being secretly bit by a tsetse fly and now i had the dreaded "sleeping sickness". in a few short days i might be bleeding out all my orfaces.
was i getting my symptoms confused? i tried hard to remember if the sleeping sickness led to bleeding, or was it death?
nobody in the room was speaking so i slowly descended into the depths of paranoid thought, until a saviour walked in the room and turned the television on. i snapped out from where i was at and zoned in on the screen.
"but i loved soloman, why did he have to go away?" the little brunette was asking her blonde babysitter.
i recognized the movie instantly, only because it was on my top 5 favorite from my childhood.
i glanced to the left and to the right. my company seemed to be just as enthralled. none of them knew english but the plot would be easy to follow.
"your mommy sent him away." said the physco nanny.
i was watching "a hand that rocks the cradle" in a tiny west african village. after that thought flashed through my mind i paid no more attention to my current reality as i quickly absorbed myself into the film. i wanted to stay there all day long. it was the perfect situation for my mood.
a tray passed in front of my face, with wadded up chunks of something greasy wrapped in paper towels. tv and papertowels? i plucked one off and didn't take my eyes from the screen while i unwrapped the contents and ate it.
chicken. yum.
i hadn't tasted chicken in quite some time. every night in the village, the meat of choice and availability was fish, from "the big water".
sakola had bought a chicken one day while we were walking down the road. it was a strange experience, only because i thought we were headed on our way to church until a man rode by on a bicycle holding the fowl upside down while trying to balance and steer. he wasn't very coordinated and one of them, either him or the bird, was sure to get hurt. sakola stopped him and suddenly nanakwame appeared from out of nowhere, while they all haggled for a fair price. they settled on 30,000 cedis, 3 dollars. nanakwame ran the chicken back to our house and later when we came home, the chicken had a rooster friend. i still haven't figured out where the rooster came from but i have become calloused to his uniquely harrowing 3 a.m. cry that sounds more like a woman dying in a blender than a rooster crowing. "this bird" sakola says daily, pointing to the chicken as it runs around the yard "this bird, before you leave..." then he makes the motion of slicing its neck.
i'm hoping he means we'll feast on it as a farewell party.
the flavor of the chicken in my mouth now, tasted like the most amazing thing i had ever eaten.
secetry walked in the room. "kessy?! we are going back, come and lets go." he said. i hadn't noticed everyone had shuffled out and i was chewing on the bone like a starved dog.
"is there any more chicken?" i asked.
he just laughed at me and led me out of the house.
"no i'm serious." i said. "is there any more chicken?"
i had come a long way from my devout vegetarianism some years prior, i was now begging for meat.
"it is sweet?"
"YES! very."
"i will try to find you some." he said, the way a good friend would.
we walked back into the room overflowing with people. i was growing tired of being there, mostly because the day was now hot, the music level had increased, and nothing new was happening. when i sat down in my chair the sound waves made my stomach hurt. my body was vibrating to the sound of the beat, i felt like i had swallowed all 6 of the speakers.
ma vic walked over to me and i gave her a look.
"are you okay?" she said.
"yea, i'm okay. is the music loud to you too?" i yelled.
"yes, it's too loud. the speakers are supposed to have gone outside but we didn't have a... whats that thing... extension cord, so they just kept them in here. it's disturbing."
by the look on everyones face they could have been at a relaxing weekend on the lake.
ma vic walked away.
i thought about what sophie had noted a few days earlier. "nobody seems to complain here." she said "i find it really annoying!"
it was true in some situations, like now.
i looked at secetry. "i have to leave, it's too loud! it's hurting my body. i'll be outside." i said.
he followed me out.
i wasn't being a very good guest, but i wasn't sure if anyone really noticed. i hadn't talked to anyone since morning and couldn't stop thinking about leaving.
"secetry, what time is it?"
"why, do you want to leave?"
"yeah, kinda."
"we will go in 30 minutes time, which will make it 3:00. if we leave now, vic will think we don't care. 30 minutes, is that okay?"
"30 minutes is good." it seemed like eternity.
we made small talk, about the house and all the people. i had asked whose house it was.
"it's vic's mothers house. the house is big! it's nice!" he said.
"your house is just as big, it just seems larger because they crammed so many people inside."
"no, my house is too small. it is much smaller than this one."
"you think so?"
"ohh yess."
"well than, don't die. we won't have any place to celebrate you in."
"oh kessy! death-" he said "death, is everyones property."
somebody announced they had come to an agreement on the date of the funeral. news started buzzing around outside that it was set for April 27th and 28th, and i only saw nods of approval.
"will you come?" secetry asked.
"i think so." i answered.
"everybody at the clinic will come; efreeyeh, vera, kingsley. they will all be here. we will dance and have fun. you must come! ahhhahhaaaha"
it sounded like it was going to be a good time.
"okay, i'll be there. definately."
"good, thank you. now lets go."
we said our good byes to vic and made our journey back home.
"how was the funeral?" sophie asked.
i didn't know what to say so i shrugged my shoulders. "i'm tired today. the music was loud and i drank a fanta."
"sounds pretty boring" her accent put a lot of stress on the boring.
"i wouldn't say that, it just wasn't exciting." it dawned on me that i am one of those people, one of those people that don't believe in boredom. i thought of my grandmama, a woman who lives every moment as an artist. growing up, whenever we'd be sitting in her car at a stop light, she'd bend both her hands into what resembled a little looking box, and then she'd peer through it contemplatively, saying
"the good thing about being an artist is..." bending her head left and then right "... you never have a dull moment." she is a painter. "you just do this and whatever is in front of you, life, turns into a working composition."
that wisdom has helped me on long days like this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
