"your friend will be here the day after tomorrow! ahh you are happy i can tell!"
Secetry kept calling the German man whose visit we had all been awaiting, "my friend". in fact everyone at the clinic was calling him "my friend". this was strictly based off the fact that he was white too.
"but what if i don't want him to be my friend?" i teased.
"he is white and you are white" Vera joked as she passed me in the clinic hallway "so you have no choice."
"what if he's a killer, then can i have a choice?"
"NO!" Secetry and Vera agreed.
"okay then, what if i want my killer friend to be your husband, how about that? and i won't give you any say!"
we all laughed.
it was probably a good thing the volunteer had delayed in coming. he was supposed to have arrived at the beginning of January, and it was the end. but Auntie had become like an obstinate little child during that time and decided the volunteer was not allowed to live in our house. he would have to find some other accommodation.
"but there isn't any other accommodation?" i told Secetry. it was his job to oversee foreign visitors and work out the details.
"yes, i know this. i will beg auntie to let your friend stay with you, but in the meantime let us go walk through the village and look for a place."
we walked slowly, greeting people, and scoping homes built of mud and sticks. "i think the volunteer would prefer a room in my house."
"haha, i agree. i am meeting with auntie tonite, let us pray she gives us the room, then your friend will have a nice place to stay just as you have had a nice place to stay."
we parted and i walked back home. auntie was on the porch, chewing on something and mumbling under her breath. i sat down next to her.
"the oburoni is coming soon" i said.
she grunted.
she had told me a few days earlier she did not like Secetry. i was walking back to my room to read a little and she cornered me in the hallway to say Secetry had disrespected her and once that happens she will never do a favor for that person again. i prefer to stay out of drama so i did not ask how he had disrespected her, but she quickly offered the answer to my unasked question.
"he took the bed back when he found out you were sleeping on the floor. they came and brought it to the clinic. he disrespected me. i said 'bring a bed' and then they come and take it away!"
the story didn't make sense to me, gossip and drama is full of entangled truths but pumped mostly full of lies, ego, and miscommunication. i didn't expect clarity. i wanted to read.
"i'm sorry" i said.
"so the germani is not going to stay here."
out on the porch i sensed the same conversation was about to take place, and i had primed it by stating the volunteer would be coming shortly. before she could open her mouth i changed the subject, but that didn't work.
"if Secetry wants him to live in a room in my house it won't happen."
"okay." i said "i'm sure you can tell him that tonite."
i was surprised auntie didn't want the extra money generated from somebody actually paying rent. NanaKwame, Sakola, Cheif, and Collins didn't work jobs that paid in cash so i knew she wasn't getting any from them.
i left her on the porch in the sun, and opted for the relief of a cool dark house.
Collins was inside napping on a mat in the living room. His eyes were closed and his shoes had been removed, so i took a quick second to look at the awkwardness of his feet. the shape of his foot didn't seem to be compatible with his shoe. it was too much of an L. i'm sure it took quite an effort to get them on and off, a simple task i really quit thinking about after kindergarten.
a day in the life of Collins. what would that be like?
Sakola emerged from his room shaking his head.
"auntie" he said. we could see her through the windows.
Secetry had just come and they were chatting outside. she quickly stood up and moved inside. Secetry left.
that was a short visit.
the next day at work Secetry looked troubled.
"auntie said no." he told me. "she refuses to let the doctor stay with you because of the bed."
"so what will you do?" i asked.
"i will go to your house later today and beg her."
i was shocked by his persistence. i also admired it.
the talk later that afternoon was more successful. the german man could have a room under a few conditions. glass must be inserted into the empty bedroom window to keep the mosquitoes out, they must buy a new bed and clean everything before he was to come the next morning.
vera, efreeyeh, and two men showed up around 5 pm and scrubbed down the room. they ordered me to inside. i needed to help them. i didn't agree with their cleaning style, wiping down dirty surfaces with dirty rags dipped in dirty water and i had no alternative due to lack of cleaning supplies so i told them i'd just watch.
"you are lazzzzyyyy!" vera said while she swatted me.
"hey! don't call me lazy. i spent all day sunday on my hands and knees washing the floor of the entire house. there are 4 of you doing this tiny room. YOU ARE LAZY!" every interaction with Vera never carries any seriousness. and if i did need to approach her about something important, that matter quickly turns into a joke or a play fight.
"you washed all that floor?" pointing to the living space.
"yes i did. and sakola." we had skipped church to clean. it took quite some time and i became very intimate with the places babybushmeat liked to defecate in.
the men began to install the glass once the room was clean.
"aren't you going to wipe down the walls?"
i annoyed myself asking that question, but they were filthy. dark red hand prints filled the white space like some sort of scattered art project gone awry.
"no" she said.
"did you clean like this when i came?"
"yes."
i was curious how much Vera and Efreeyeh got paid. They constantly worked over hours and doing things outside of their 'job requirements' but the idea of 'job requirements' seemed out of place. life in a village is not clear cut like that. when somebody needs help, you help. the german man needed a clean room so they came.
they left back to their homes shortly after sunset.
i waited for my roommates to congregate around the kitchen table, i was getting hungry. no one came.
the house which had been so full before was now empty. it was just me.
where were they?
i walked out on the porch and screamed in the direction of Collin's mothers house "SAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKOOOOOOOOO!!!"
i waited for the echo to settle, then i yelled again. "SAAAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
a baby sound came from that direction "akkkuuuaaa! me ba!". they were coming! i was glad. i didn't like being in the house alone at night. i wasn't scared, the darkness just made solitude feel like loneliness, and i didn't like that feeling.
i heard collins crutches tapping outside. so he hadn't left, he had just made a trip to the latrine.
Auntie and her son were no where to be found. Perhaps they had gone into the village.
within a matter of minutes, my family was back in the house. Sakola had brought food to cook, Collins had returned and NanaKwame was cradling his stereo how i imagine he'll be holding his firstborn.
african hiplife was blasting from the quarter size speakers and he was moving his hips all around. "i'dliketosay MUSIC, hehehhahaha!!!!!". he turned the corner and pranced through the living room, dancing in a few circles and singing words too quick for me to recognize.
i walked outside with my bucket to fetch some water.
the music had been turned up a few dozen notches, i could hear it loud and clear in the backyard. when i walked back in i noticed Sakola had stepped away from the kitchen. instead of preparing food, he was standing at the edge of the dining room table with his arms raised high shaking his butt on rhythm from one side to the other.
NanaKwame was on the other side of the table, hugging himself and gyrating.
Collins was sitting in a chair, throwing his arms all around and screaming from delight.
The dance party had begun! instead of joining i watched them. they were so pure in their enjoyment of the song, each in their own world, that i didn't know how to break through and i didn't want to.
Sakola opened his eyes and caught me staring. then the man who told me he would never dance in town, that it "isn't christian behavior" ran over and pinned me against the wall. he danced to the beat and i wiggled myself out from his forthrightness.
"ahhhh kessywa! dance dance dance i'dliketosay dance!" NanaKwame commanded. he thought my rejection of Sakola's offer was a decline to the party.
"i'll dance i'll dance!" i said.
i just didn't want to "freak" on the wall.
i was thrilled at the spontaneity. i felt very much at home. my family loves to dress up in costume for dinner; boas, sequins, cowboy gear. Our dinners are complete with persona's (each character having their own accent of course) and we then finish the night with a similar sort of dance party, everyone fully expressing themselves however they'd like to- jumping, spinning, flailing arms. whatever. people, my family, can spin on the floor and jump off the couches. if anyone feels inspired, which we often do, we'll take flying leaps into the pool with all our clothes on. it is a favorite past time that has developed in my santa barbara home over the last 10 years. i always laugh till my stomach hurts. when we all are exhausted we go back in the kitchen and eat dessert.
i looked at my boys and cut loose. i started by taking a few warm up laps around the living room. i stared at the ground. it was so smooth, and clean. should i break dance?
i thought a better question would be to ask myself first- did i know how?
No.
second- did i want to break my head open?
No.
instead i focused on how perfectly the lantern had reflected my shadow onto the wall. if i kept a fluid motion going it looked psychedelic. i was sure the boys were entranced, except when i looked over at them they were spinning and throwing their hips out in all directions. they could care less what i was doing.
this was great!
every now and again Collins would throw a fist up and holler, then i'd jump up and down and holler back. the song had changed, this next one was a bit slower with a stronger beat. i ran over and grabbed one of his crutches then waltzed with it across the room. i would have much rather preferred Collins, but he didn't want to budge. i handed him back his tool and went back to my moves.
we kept moving through 3 or 4 songs, then Sakola sprinted to the gas cooker, removed the rice which was about to burn, and called us all to the table.
NanaKwame went to his room and emerged with his newly created version of a headlamp. the boys had been admiring my headlamp, how i could walk around without even having to hold my own light. he had found a huge black rubber band, and tied it to a very large flash light. the flashlight rested above his ear on the right side of his head. it looked incredibly funny because it was so big and it didn't point down, it pointed straight, into all our eyes. i felt more like i was being interrogated by him than sharing his company at mealtime.
"ahh NanaKwame you are shooting me." Sakola said.
"yeah the light is kind of bright" i agreed.
he didn't respond. he kept eating his rice as if no one had said anything. then he'd look up and blind us all.
"ei! NanaKwame. Stop. Your light, its shooting us."
he laughed.
Sakola grumbled.
i hit NanaKwame and then stripped him of his headlamp.
we ate in peace and conversation about the volunteer followed.
"tomorrow he will come." Sakola said.
NanaKwame looked at me. "i won't stay here no more. me and collins we are moving!"
"what?"
"i'dliketosay we are moving!"
"no you aren't!" my heart sank. i was hoping he was lying.
"it's true! to collin's mothers house. Auntie told us we can't stay here."
i looked at Sakola.
"it's true." he said.
"but why?" i was sad.
"because, auntie, she say NanaKwame and Collins, no stay here any more because..." he was struggling with english.
"say it in twi" i said.
he quickly explained that auntie had yelled at him for things he didn't understand. and she didn't want NanaKwame and Collins to stay there once the german man had arrived. they needed rooms of their own, and since one of the rooms was being taken that wouldn't be possible. they had to leave.
auntie was really beginning to bother me. mostly because she was upsetting my happiness. why couldn't she have sent Cheif away? i would never notice that. but NanaKwame and Collins? they were my lifeblood, making my house a home.
"oh Kessywa, don't worry!" NanaKwame said.
"but when will i see you if you aren't living here?" i pleaded.
"i will come. every day i will come. but i will sleep there, at mothers house. do you understand?"
"yes i understand. but still."
i realized why Sakola had been shaking his head at auntie all day. she had kicked out his brothers.
"okay. so you are moving tonite?"
"yes, tonite, the oburoni is coming tomorrow. will you be happy?"
"i don't know." i said. "i will only be happy if the oburoni likes to dance."
"ohhhhh kessywa!"
but i was serious. i was prepared for the worst. the worst being a stiff arrogant white doctor who came to teach "the africans" a thing or two.
but... i was hoping for the best, possibly a retired professional break dancer who happened to know a lot about medicine and was willing to share knowledge?
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Konongo Hospital
my good friend Yaa, who also happens to be Sakola's sister, was showing the first signs of an impending labor. i had been visiting her daily since her due date of January 20th. each day passed and each day she grew bigger and bigger. i'd run up to her where ever she happened to be at and pat her belly saying "when?!?! when!?!?" while she leaned back and laughed.
Yaa has a wonderful sense of humor and oozes love. i don't think she speaks one word of English, but even through the language barrier, she generally seems concerned about my welfare and we enjoy each other's company greatly.
her house is the last one i pass on my walk to the clinic, so the daily visit was easy. the morning her labor began, she was outside waiting for me.
"akua kessywa!"
"madamfo opemfwo! (my friend the pregnant woman)"
she motioned for me to come, looking a bit worried.
she removed her house slippers and walked into her small one room living quarters. she held the screen door open for me so i followed her in.
"hwe (look)" she said. she pulled her dress up and showed me a pad full of blood.
i wasn't sure what to say but she was looking at me for an answer so i made one up. the safest one.
i told her to come to the clinic.
she wanted to know if she was okay, and i told her yes, although i really didn't know.
"me ba (i'm coming)" she said.
i walked back outside and greeted the two women sitting on a bench, and shook their babies arms all around. then i picked up a small infant that was lying on her back. she was a fat juicy thing and i had some time to spare. i bounced her around on my lap and felt her cotton soft hair. then she showed me her appreciation by leaving a nice warm puddle on my skirt. i didn't feel it until it had soaked through to my legs. i quickly put the little girl back where i found her and the 2 women and i began a group effort of washing my skirt while it was still on. they kept apologizing but i found it all very funny and wasn't too worried.
Sakola's sister was ready to go, so i wrung myself out and walked with her slowly the last stretch of the way to the ward.
Ma was in, behind her desk, and told my friend to sit.
we reviewed her patient card and Ma allowed her to check in to the first stage room. time passed slowly, and i tried hard to crack some jokes to move it along, but intentional humor in a not yet second language is quite a challenge. instead i napped. i was tired, auntie had woke the household up at 4:30 a.m. singing raspy gospel songs to herself for hours. i didn't go back to bed after that, so the sleep was well deserved.
it was friday and Ma had plans to travel. she was going to her youngest brothers wedding.
"i've never been to a Ghanaian wedding!" i told her. i wasn't saying it for an invitation, which was good because i didn't get one.
when i woke up it was close to 2 o'clock and another woman had just come in complaining of waist pains.
this was great, i thought. potentially two births in one day. i was a junkie and i was certain to get my fix.
"Errrghh, why?!" Ma was directing her distress at me. "I have to travel today at 3. I won't be staying here and these women come in? Go and bring me the fetascope."
our relationship has developed to the point where she feels comfortable ordering me around. i dreamed of this day.
i ran and got the fetalscope.
she checked the woman and told her to go back into town and come again later, the baby wouldn't be coming any time soon.
the woman said she was from a small village, Mangwase, miles away. i was glad to hear this because i had just visited her place that Tuesday with the health volunteers. i gave my talk about what to bring to the clinic and when to come. my advice was to come early to reduce the risk of delivering on the road, and to pack a small suitcase of essentials. now Ma was telling her she came too early, to take her bag and go walk around. she looked annoyed, but picked it up and walked out. i wondered if Ma had just said that so she could leave in an hour for her wedding.
"what are you writing?"
Ma was scribbling something on a white piece of paper.
"i am referring your friend to Konongo Hospital. She has a history of fibroid, she can't deliver here."
"why?" i assaulted Ma with my favorite question.
"she could bleed too much and die. she has to be seen at the hospital, that's why. i've sent for a taxi, she will leave now."
i went back and asked my friend if she wanted me to come to the hospital with her. she nodded through pain and fear.
"okay, i'll come."
the car pulled up and Efreeyeh and i loaded into the front seat, my friend, and the two ladies i had met earlier in the morning got in the back. our little beat up car left the village beeping every few seconds to warn livestock and people that we were in a hurry.
when we got onto the main highway i cursed the road for it's condition. each bump, every dip, sent my friend into a silent spiral of extreme discomfort. i looked over at our driver and admired his focus. he was off road driving in a 20 year old hodge podge sedan and little beads of sweat had accumulated all over his face. efreeyeh was looking out the window. i was trying to keep my knees away from the stick shift and not squash Efreeyeh too much. every now and then i'd lean back and rub my friends leg. i didn't want her to worry, but how could she not? we were rushing her to the hospital.
she started to cry, uncontrollable baby sobs escaped before both her sisters lovingly but firmly swatted her and told her to stop. they wiped her face and she then buried it in a cloth. i said a little prayer.
the drive took forever. uncertainty and fear can drag a moment into eternity.
we skidded down the dirt driveway and pulled up at the run down entrance way. we helped our friend into where the midwives were congregated.
"oh you again." one of them said looking at Efreeyeh. "did you bring a letter this time?"
Efreeyeh handed it over politely.
"what time did she go into labor?"
"at 12:00 today." Efreeyeh said.
there had to be a good reason to lie.
"come with us Sister." they told our friend.
i didn't want to leave her in her distress so i used my being a foreigner and pretended not to understand when Efreeyeh yelled at me and told me not to enter the maternity ward.
"trust me! i'll be right back."
"Akua, don't! you aren't allowed back there."
i gave her a quick wink and walked back. i entered the room where 2 midwives and a nurses assistant stared at me with disbelief.
"hello!" i said.
"what are you doing?" the short one said abruptly. she spoke English really well and it instantly intimidated me.
"i'm here to stay with my friend."
"why don't you go and sit outside?" the taller darker one phrased it as a question but meant it more as an order.
i suddenly became very foreign and very dumb. "outside? why? can't i just stay here? it's really nice inside here. these mint green walls are pretty." i looked around overly curious.
"you want to stay in here?"
"sure! why not?"
they powwowed their eyes and came to the conclusion i was odd but harmless.
"fine, fine." they all agreed to it rather than try to convince me to leave. then they leaned up against the beds, to relax and get to know me a bit. "where are you from?" the little one in the white dress said.
"america."
"can you help me to get there?"
"i don't think so."
"why not?"
"because it is a difficult process."
"but as for you, it was simple to come to ghana."
"yes, it was, in some ways."
"so how can that be?"
"i don't know, you should ask my president."
then they all laughed brash laughs.
she spoke in an accusatory manner, which made me want to flee her company, but instead i decided i'd ask questions instead of answer them.
"are you both midwives?"
"yes, of course." they stated.
"why are you the only one in a white dress then?" i said.
"because it's Friday, so i get to wear this, do you like it?"
it was a shirt about two sizes too small for her medium frame. it grabbed her sides and pinched her stomach. it looked bad.
"i love it!" i said.
the graphic redeemed the shirts hideous shade of yellow. there was a huge needle placed across her chest and in block letters it said "BEHIND EVERY GOOD DOCTOR IS A GREAT NURSE!".
Friday is "National dress day" where government workers are allowed to trade in uniforms to build national pride. They are allowed to wear Ghanaian dress.
"but aren't you supposed to wear something Ghanaian on Fridays? That shirt is western."
I got no verbal reply, but i did receive a sneer.
the third woman had on the same uniform Vera wears, an alarmingly bright pink dress. Vera wears fake hawaiian flowers in her hair. this woman did not. she was next to my friend setting up a drip.
the ladies shuffled out of the room and let me sit on the bed next to my sister.
"how are you?" i asked. she gave me a faint smile in return and moved her body to get comfortable.
the short midwife came back in and started yelling. my friend was in the middle of contractions and begged her to just wait.
the midwife said "your sister. i'm going to discharge her and send her to Agogo hospital. she is refusing me!"
"why what did she do?" the look on Yaa's face was a scared one. i felt sorry for her.
"she keeps moving. she has to stay still if the drip is to work."
my friend groaned "i beg you please". she just wanted to lay on her side.
"i said LIE ON YOUR BACK or you'll have to leave! last time!" then she turned and left the room.
Agogo hospital was far away. the thought of a referral was cruel enough.
Yaa yelled out for her to come back. despite the foul treatment she wanted the woman by her side to ease her worries.
the lady came back in with an incredulous laugh bubbling out of her, then she directed her speech at me, as it was in English and Yaa only speaks Twi. "your friend wants me to stay next to her, like she is a baby. this is a hospital. i see up to 50 woman a day give birth. does she think i will just stand here? NO! who does she think i am? there is a woman in the other room who needs help. come let's go, leave your friend."
i told Yaa i'd be right back. i wanted to see what was happening in the other room, but before i reached there i heard high pitched yelping that didn't sound very good. i peered around the corner and saw a thin woman with her legs open bleeding profusely.
the midwife in the yellow shirt yelled over her shoulder to me that this was "an incomplete abortion and extractions were to follow."
i didn't enter that room. instead i stayed next to Yaa and tried to drown out the horrible noises we were about to hear. the louder the screams came the more veins popped out of Yaa's forehead. the panic was spreading and so was Yaa's drip with Pitocin. her contractions were coming more steady and more strong. she was gripping the bars of the bed and quietly dealing with it all.
i needed a little fresh air so i walked outside. her sisters were sitting on a bench and stood up when they saw me.
"not yet" i said. and they sat down.
Efreeyeh had taken a cab back to the village, she was needed at the clinic.
i walked around the hospital and observed. mostly i was interested in the posters hanging from the walls. some talked of buruli ulcer, others of the benefits of breastfeeding, one showed pictures of before and after cleft palate surgeries, then one i hadn't ever seen before. i stepped up to it closely. it read:
AVIAN BIRD FLU
then it went on to list what to do with a dead bird.
1. Alert! If you find a dead bird, DO NOT TOUCH IT!!!
i thought of Sakola and our resident bird which had since grown thin, close to baring it's bones. then i reflected on the many dead birds i had been finding around our house recently, small ones that could fit in the palm of my hand.
"Sakola why so many?" i had asked.
he motioned that they fly into the house at night, then drop dead from the impact. i had a hard time believing that.
there were two yellow-breasted birds lying dead at the foot of the well. they were so close to each other they looked like they were spooning. birds don't fall dead in that position.
2. If you should touch a dead bird, WEAR PROTECTIVE GEAR!
"Sakola this is gross." i had said. i knew he was killing them with his slingshot. "could you move these?"
he picked them up and threw them into the brush.
the further i read the poster the more ridiculous it seemed. i could barely imagine Sakola running to the health clinic to buy gloves to move our dead birds.
i heard a loud scream from a baby down the hallway. SHIT, i thought, i missed the birth! i ran down into the room Yaa had been in. there was a tiny boy being circumcised and Yaa was not there. the screams were coming from him and i quickly left the room.
i walked by the room the woman who had suffered the abortion had been in. she wasn't there, but Yaa was, sitting upright with her knees pulled in close to her chest. she was giving birth. i ran in next to her side.
"PPPPPPPPUSSSSSSSH! PUSSSSSSSSSSHHH!" the midwives were instructing. nothing about Yaa's body made it seem like it was the right time to push. she looked exhausted.
"PPPPPPPPPPUSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH" they screamed.
the energy wasn't fluid. Yaa's body was being told one thing by the staff, but it was apparent she was feeling something entirely different. the midwives would have none of it, the little one slapped her hard across her face, harder than i would have liked to witness.
"PUUUUUUUUUUUSSHHHHH!" they started to speak quickly in Twi, but i caught a lot of it. they told her her baby would die if she didn't start pushing and she needed to try harder. i wiped the sweat from her face and propped her knees up closer to her shoulders. she bore down so hard and long it made me tired. then she came back for a breath but the midwives didn't believe in breathing it seemed because they both slapped her across her face numerous times, each weighty and hard, and screamed at her even louder.
i wanted to run.
i wanted to get as far away from this scene as i could.
i hated it.
i tried to tell myself it was just a cultural difference but by the look on Yaa's face this was not something she was accustomed too. i couldn't leave but i didn't want to watch.
i held my friends hand and looked into her eyes. i silently tried my hardest to give her what little strength i had.
the white dressed midwife pulled up a stool, next to the side of Yaa. She stood on top and looked down at us.
"in ghana here" she was sweating "we call this FUNDAL PRESSURE." she clasped her hands together and pressed down at the top of Yaa's stomach. Yaa gritted her teeth and turned her head away. She winced and then yelled. The midwife began pumping her hands up and down and screaming at Yaa to push. "FUNDAL PRESSURE" she said again, looking at me.
I must have had my mouth hanging open out of complete disbelief because the lady asked me "why, you don't do this in America?"
i didn't say anything.
she kept pumping Yaa's stomach until she was too tired and had to stop to catch HER breath. "i'm tired!" she said. then she resumed.
the baby's head poked in and out, the way a difficult tube of toothpaste reluctantly lets the last bit free. they had been successful in objectifying Yaa into the state of a tube of toothpaste too.
her baby came following the trauma with a half convincing cry and skin as white as snow.
"OOOHHHHH!" everybody laughed "it is a white baby! baby white boy!"
someone mentioned i had turned a black baby white just by being in the delivery room. "good job, you made him white!"
it added a little humor to the situation, but i couldn't think too hard about being congratulated on an inherently racist joke. now was not the time to try and ask WHY she thought white was more beautiful. the baby was alive and healthy, and that i was thankful for.
the short aggressive midwife dangled the baby from his feet and whacked his butt and thighs with all her might over and over. this was not how Ma whacked. it was not a loving act. i gasped.
"you probably don't beat your babies in america either, do you? DO YOU?"
i looked at Yaa and she had covered her eyes.
they plopped him down on a table while they attended to the delivery of the placenta. he sat there, body stiff as a corn of cob with attached wirey wriggly limbs.
were they going to wash him? bundle him? make him warm? time passed.
i wasn't going to wait any longer.
"can i please wash the baby?"
they were crowded around Yaa, tending to 3rd stage needs. "do you know how to wash a baby?" they asked.
"yes! i do."
"you can go ahead then"
i picked him up and brought him over to the wash basin. i poured the water over his head and scrubbed his slimy body. i overcompensated their roughness with gentleness. i pondered if he was albino and wanted to ask. i wasn't interested in any further conversation with the hospital staff so i took a closer look at the baby and saw his eyebrows and eyelashes carried pigment. kofi oburoni. friday born white boy. he isn't albino, just very white.
i dried him, weighed him, bundled him, and went into the room i had spent time in before. the circumcised baby was gone but the woman who had the abortion was resting a few feet away. i felt conflicted, holding a beautiful alive creation, next to someone who had just lost theirs. she looked over at us and grinned. i said "kofi oburoni" and she let out a faint faraway sigh that seemed to come from a place of appreciation.
the midwife came in and asked "why are you sitting here? bring the child to the other room. your friend will meet you there."
i held him close as i strolled through the hospitals corridors. i joked to one person that the baby i was holding was mine. i had just given birth! didn't i look great? when she believed me i decided to stop with that joke, i deserved no fake credit, this child took a lot of work.
i walked into a room filled with beds lined up in a row, like the 7 dwarfs, except each had their own mosquito net. i walked down to a bed that felt right and sat down. Yaa came in, wrapped in a beautiful orange and purple cloth, hair in disarray. she came and plopped herself down with a defeated look on her face.
"you worked hard" i said, handing over her child. the sisters swept in carrying food and thanksgiving. they inspected the child and adored his mother with praise.
i left them to be and went outside. the road just outside the hospital was busy and loud. i was thirsty and could feel the processing of what just happened beginning to make it's way through my mind.
i looked up and saw a billboard that had comforted me in many uncomfortable times. it was a huge picture of Senam. he was smiling, wearing a colorful african robe, with his arms stretched out, modeling for a local telephone company. Areeba, the phone company, had come to the college campus in Accra looking for a good-looking man to represent their product. they had chosen Senam, and his picture was plastered all over Ghana. i sat and stared at it for awhile. the image brought me some peace, he always appeared at just the right time. a woman walked by with a cooler of bagged water balancing on her head.
i bought one and hung out with the picture of my friend for a while. then i went back into the hospital.
Yaa was going to sleep there that night, so i bid her farewell and jumped into a tro tro with her sister. the other one stayed behind to wash the cloths used during the birth. she would be coming shortly.
we didn't speak once on the way back to the village. it was the type of silence that comes from having experienced something so intense words are no longer needed. she heard the midwives yelling at Yaa, she knew what had gone on. my shirt was stained, matching the pee stain on my skirt from earlier in the day, my face was greasy and i was ready for bed. it had been a long day. this woman, Yaa's sister, had the face of a full moon, and friendly cheeks. i found comfort in that. she leaned her head against the window and stared blankly into the distance. when we reached my house i alighted, gave a little wave, and walked inside.
sakola was sitting at the table, waiting for me with a bowl of tomato fish soup. he wanted to know where i had been.
"i went to Konongo, to the hospital."
"why?"
"your sister" i said "she had her baby."
"you lie." he gave me a little smile.
"it's true. a little boy. kofi."
"ei! serious? ohhhhhhhhh" he shook around a bit "thank you Jesus."
"and" i noted "he is verrrry white."
"like you?"
"even more."
"you lie!"
"tomorrow, we'll go and see."
i was glad i could have been some help to Yaa, but i wondered truly how much help had i offered?
i was present which is sometimes all the help somebody needs, and i did all i could, so instead of worrying i decided to eat soup.
Yaa has a wonderful sense of humor and oozes love. i don't think she speaks one word of English, but even through the language barrier, she generally seems concerned about my welfare and we enjoy each other's company greatly.
her house is the last one i pass on my walk to the clinic, so the daily visit was easy. the morning her labor began, she was outside waiting for me.
"akua kessywa!"
"madamfo opemfwo! (my friend the pregnant woman)"
she motioned for me to come, looking a bit worried.
she removed her house slippers and walked into her small one room living quarters. she held the screen door open for me so i followed her in.
"hwe (look)" she said. she pulled her dress up and showed me a pad full of blood.
i wasn't sure what to say but she was looking at me for an answer so i made one up. the safest one.
i told her to come to the clinic.
she wanted to know if she was okay, and i told her yes, although i really didn't know.
"me ba (i'm coming)" she said.
i walked back outside and greeted the two women sitting on a bench, and shook their babies arms all around. then i picked up a small infant that was lying on her back. she was a fat juicy thing and i had some time to spare. i bounced her around on my lap and felt her cotton soft hair. then she showed me her appreciation by leaving a nice warm puddle on my skirt. i didn't feel it until it had soaked through to my legs. i quickly put the little girl back where i found her and the 2 women and i began a group effort of washing my skirt while it was still on. they kept apologizing but i found it all very funny and wasn't too worried.
Sakola's sister was ready to go, so i wrung myself out and walked with her slowly the last stretch of the way to the ward.
Ma was in, behind her desk, and told my friend to sit.
we reviewed her patient card and Ma allowed her to check in to the first stage room. time passed slowly, and i tried hard to crack some jokes to move it along, but intentional humor in a not yet second language is quite a challenge. instead i napped. i was tired, auntie had woke the household up at 4:30 a.m. singing raspy gospel songs to herself for hours. i didn't go back to bed after that, so the sleep was well deserved.
it was friday and Ma had plans to travel. she was going to her youngest brothers wedding.
"i've never been to a Ghanaian wedding!" i told her. i wasn't saying it for an invitation, which was good because i didn't get one.
when i woke up it was close to 2 o'clock and another woman had just come in complaining of waist pains.
this was great, i thought. potentially two births in one day. i was a junkie and i was certain to get my fix.
"Errrghh, why?!" Ma was directing her distress at me. "I have to travel today at 3. I won't be staying here and these women come in? Go and bring me the fetascope."
our relationship has developed to the point where she feels comfortable ordering me around. i dreamed of this day.
i ran and got the fetalscope.
she checked the woman and told her to go back into town and come again later, the baby wouldn't be coming any time soon.
the woman said she was from a small village, Mangwase, miles away. i was glad to hear this because i had just visited her place that Tuesday with the health volunteers. i gave my talk about what to bring to the clinic and when to come. my advice was to come early to reduce the risk of delivering on the road, and to pack a small suitcase of essentials. now Ma was telling her she came too early, to take her bag and go walk around. she looked annoyed, but picked it up and walked out. i wondered if Ma had just said that so she could leave in an hour for her wedding.
"what are you writing?"
Ma was scribbling something on a white piece of paper.
"i am referring your friend to Konongo Hospital. She has a history of fibroid, she can't deliver here."
"why?" i assaulted Ma with my favorite question.
"she could bleed too much and die. she has to be seen at the hospital, that's why. i've sent for a taxi, she will leave now."
i went back and asked my friend if she wanted me to come to the hospital with her. she nodded through pain and fear.
"okay, i'll come."
the car pulled up and Efreeyeh and i loaded into the front seat, my friend, and the two ladies i had met earlier in the morning got in the back. our little beat up car left the village beeping every few seconds to warn livestock and people that we were in a hurry.
when we got onto the main highway i cursed the road for it's condition. each bump, every dip, sent my friend into a silent spiral of extreme discomfort. i looked over at our driver and admired his focus. he was off road driving in a 20 year old hodge podge sedan and little beads of sweat had accumulated all over his face. efreeyeh was looking out the window. i was trying to keep my knees away from the stick shift and not squash Efreeyeh too much. every now and then i'd lean back and rub my friends leg. i didn't want her to worry, but how could she not? we were rushing her to the hospital.
she started to cry, uncontrollable baby sobs escaped before both her sisters lovingly but firmly swatted her and told her to stop. they wiped her face and she then buried it in a cloth. i said a little prayer.
the drive took forever. uncertainty and fear can drag a moment into eternity.
we skidded down the dirt driveway and pulled up at the run down entrance way. we helped our friend into where the midwives were congregated.
"oh you again." one of them said looking at Efreeyeh. "did you bring a letter this time?"
Efreeyeh handed it over politely.
"what time did she go into labor?"
"at 12:00 today." Efreeyeh said.
there had to be a good reason to lie.
"come with us Sister." they told our friend.
i didn't want to leave her in her distress so i used my being a foreigner and pretended not to understand when Efreeyeh yelled at me and told me not to enter the maternity ward.
"trust me! i'll be right back."
"Akua, don't! you aren't allowed back there."
i gave her a quick wink and walked back. i entered the room where 2 midwives and a nurses assistant stared at me with disbelief.
"hello!" i said.
"what are you doing?" the short one said abruptly. she spoke English really well and it instantly intimidated me.
"i'm here to stay with my friend."
"why don't you go and sit outside?" the taller darker one phrased it as a question but meant it more as an order.
i suddenly became very foreign and very dumb. "outside? why? can't i just stay here? it's really nice inside here. these mint green walls are pretty." i looked around overly curious.
"you want to stay in here?"
"sure! why not?"
they powwowed their eyes and came to the conclusion i was odd but harmless.
"fine, fine." they all agreed to it rather than try to convince me to leave. then they leaned up against the beds, to relax and get to know me a bit. "where are you from?" the little one in the white dress said.
"america."
"can you help me to get there?"
"i don't think so."
"why not?"
"because it is a difficult process."
"but as for you, it was simple to come to ghana."
"yes, it was, in some ways."
"so how can that be?"
"i don't know, you should ask my president."
then they all laughed brash laughs.
she spoke in an accusatory manner, which made me want to flee her company, but instead i decided i'd ask questions instead of answer them.
"are you both midwives?"
"yes, of course." they stated.
"why are you the only one in a white dress then?" i said.
"because it's Friday, so i get to wear this, do you like it?"
it was a shirt about two sizes too small for her medium frame. it grabbed her sides and pinched her stomach. it looked bad.
"i love it!" i said.
the graphic redeemed the shirts hideous shade of yellow. there was a huge needle placed across her chest and in block letters it said "BEHIND EVERY GOOD DOCTOR IS A GREAT NURSE!".
Friday is "National dress day" where government workers are allowed to trade in uniforms to build national pride. They are allowed to wear Ghanaian dress.
"but aren't you supposed to wear something Ghanaian on Fridays? That shirt is western."
I got no verbal reply, but i did receive a sneer.
the third woman had on the same uniform Vera wears, an alarmingly bright pink dress. Vera wears fake hawaiian flowers in her hair. this woman did not. she was next to my friend setting up a drip.
the ladies shuffled out of the room and let me sit on the bed next to my sister.
"how are you?" i asked. she gave me a faint smile in return and moved her body to get comfortable.
the short midwife came back in and started yelling. my friend was in the middle of contractions and begged her to just wait.
the midwife said "your sister. i'm going to discharge her and send her to Agogo hospital. she is refusing me!"
"why what did she do?" the look on Yaa's face was a scared one. i felt sorry for her.
"she keeps moving. she has to stay still if the drip is to work."
my friend groaned "i beg you please". she just wanted to lay on her side.
"i said LIE ON YOUR BACK or you'll have to leave! last time!" then she turned and left the room.
Agogo hospital was far away. the thought of a referral was cruel enough.
Yaa yelled out for her to come back. despite the foul treatment she wanted the woman by her side to ease her worries.
the lady came back in with an incredulous laugh bubbling out of her, then she directed her speech at me, as it was in English and Yaa only speaks Twi. "your friend wants me to stay next to her, like she is a baby. this is a hospital. i see up to 50 woman a day give birth. does she think i will just stand here? NO! who does she think i am? there is a woman in the other room who needs help. come let's go, leave your friend."
i told Yaa i'd be right back. i wanted to see what was happening in the other room, but before i reached there i heard high pitched yelping that didn't sound very good. i peered around the corner and saw a thin woman with her legs open bleeding profusely.
the midwife in the yellow shirt yelled over her shoulder to me that this was "an incomplete abortion and extractions were to follow."
i didn't enter that room. instead i stayed next to Yaa and tried to drown out the horrible noises we were about to hear. the louder the screams came the more veins popped out of Yaa's forehead. the panic was spreading and so was Yaa's drip with Pitocin. her contractions were coming more steady and more strong. she was gripping the bars of the bed and quietly dealing with it all.
i needed a little fresh air so i walked outside. her sisters were sitting on a bench and stood up when they saw me.
"not yet" i said. and they sat down.
Efreeyeh had taken a cab back to the village, she was needed at the clinic.
i walked around the hospital and observed. mostly i was interested in the posters hanging from the walls. some talked of buruli ulcer, others of the benefits of breastfeeding, one showed pictures of before and after cleft palate surgeries, then one i hadn't ever seen before. i stepped up to it closely. it read:
AVIAN BIRD FLU
then it went on to list what to do with a dead bird.
1. Alert! If you find a dead bird, DO NOT TOUCH IT!!!
i thought of Sakola and our resident bird which had since grown thin, close to baring it's bones. then i reflected on the many dead birds i had been finding around our house recently, small ones that could fit in the palm of my hand.
"Sakola why so many?" i had asked.
he motioned that they fly into the house at night, then drop dead from the impact. i had a hard time believing that.
there were two yellow-breasted birds lying dead at the foot of the well. they were so close to each other they looked like they were spooning. birds don't fall dead in that position.
2. If you should touch a dead bird, WEAR PROTECTIVE GEAR!
"Sakola this is gross." i had said. i knew he was killing them with his slingshot. "could you move these?"
he picked them up and threw them into the brush.
the further i read the poster the more ridiculous it seemed. i could barely imagine Sakola running to the health clinic to buy gloves to move our dead birds.
i heard a loud scream from a baby down the hallway. SHIT, i thought, i missed the birth! i ran down into the room Yaa had been in. there was a tiny boy being circumcised and Yaa was not there. the screams were coming from him and i quickly left the room.
i walked by the room the woman who had suffered the abortion had been in. she wasn't there, but Yaa was, sitting upright with her knees pulled in close to her chest. she was giving birth. i ran in next to her side.
"PPPPPPPPUSSSSSSSH! PUSSSSSSSSSSHHH!" the midwives were instructing. nothing about Yaa's body made it seem like it was the right time to push. she looked exhausted.
"PPPPPPPPPPUSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH" they screamed.
the energy wasn't fluid. Yaa's body was being told one thing by the staff, but it was apparent she was feeling something entirely different. the midwives would have none of it, the little one slapped her hard across her face, harder than i would have liked to witness.
"PUUUUUUUUUUUSSHHHHH!" they started to speak quickly in Twi, but i caught a lot of it. they told her her baby would die if she didn't start pushing and she needed to try harder. i wiped the sweat from her face and propped her knees up closer to her shoulders. she bore down so hard and long it made me tired. then she came back for a breath but the midwives didn't believe in breathing it seemed because they both slapped her across her face numerous times, each weighty and hard, and screamed at her even louder.
i wanted to run.
i wanted to get as far away from this scene as i could.
i hated it.
i tried to tell myself it was just a cultural difference but by the look on Yaa's face this was not something she was accustomed too. i couldn't leave but i didn't want to watch.
i held my friends hand and looked into her eyes. i silently tried my hardest to give her what little strength i had.
the white dressed midwife pulled up a stool, next to the side of Yaa. She stood on top and looked down at us.
"in ghana here" she was sweating "we call this FUNDAL PRESSURE." she clasped her hands together and pressed down at the top of Yaa's stomach. Yaa gritted her teeth and turned her head away. She winced and then yelled. The midwife began pumping her hands up and down and screaming at Yaa to push. "FUNDAL PRESSURE" she said again, looking at me.
I must have had my mouth hanging open out of complete disbelief because the lady asked me "why, you don't do this in America?"
i didn't say anything.
she kept pumping Yaa's stomach until she was too tired and had to stop to catch HER breath. "i'm tired!" she said. then she resumed.
the baby's head poked in and out, the way a difficult tube of toothpaste reluctantly lets the last bit free. they had been successful in objectifying Yaa into the state of a tube of toothpaste too.
her baby came following the trauma with a half convincing cry and skin as white as snow.
"OOOHHHHH!" everybody laughed "it is a white baby! baby white boy!"
someone mentioned i had turned a black baby white just by being in the delivery room. "good job, you made him white!"
it added a little humor to the situation, but i couldn't think too hard about being congratulated on an inherently racist joke. now was not the time to try and ask WHY she thought white was more beautiful. the baby was alive and healthy, and that i was thankful for.
the short aggressive midwife dangled the baby from his feet and whacked his butt and thighs with all her might over and over. this was not how Ma whacked. it was not a loving act. i gasped.
"you probably don't beat your babies in america either, do you? DO YOU?"
i looked at Yaa and she had covered her eyes.
they plopped him down on a table while they attended to the delivery of the placenta. he sat there, body stiff as a corn of cob with attached wirey wriggly limbs.
were they going to wash him? bundle him? make him warm? time passed.
i wasn't going to wait any longer.
"can i please wash the baby?"
they were crowded around Yaa, tending to 3rd stage needs. "do you know how to wash a baby?" they asked.
"yes! i do."
"you can go ahead then"
i picked him up and brought him over to the wash basin. i poured the water over his head and scrubbed his slimy body. i overcompensated their roughness with gentleness. i pondered if he was albino and wanted to ask. i wasn't interested in any further conversation with the hospital staff so i took a closer look at the baby and saw his eyebrows and eyelashes carried pigment. kofi oburoni. friday born white boy. he isn't albino, just very white.
i dried him, weighed him, bundled him, and went into the room i had spent time in before. the circumcised baby was gone but the woman who had the abortion was resting a few feet away. i felt conflicted, holding a beautiful alive creation, next to someone who had just lost theirs. she looked over at us and grinned. i said "kofi oburoni" and she let out a faint faraway sigh that seemed to come from a place of appreciation.
the midwife came in and asked "why are you sitting here? bring the child to the other room. your friend will meet you there."
i held him close as i strolled through the hospitals corridors. i joked to one person that the baby i was holding was mine. i had just given birth! didn't i look great? when she believed me i decided to stop with that joke, i deserved no fake credit, this child took a lot of work.
i walked into a room filled with beds lined up in a row, like the 7 dwarfs, except each had their own mosquito net. i walked down to a bed that felt right and sat down. Yaa came in, wrapped in a beautiful orange and purple cloth, hair in disarray. she came and plopped herself down with a defeated look on her face.
"you worked hard" i said, handing over her child. the sisters swept in carrying food and thanksgiving. they inspected the child and adored his mother with praise.
i left them to be and went outside. the road just outside the hospital was busy and loud. i was thirsty and could feel the processing of what just happened beginning to make it's way through my mind.
i looked up and saw a billboard that had comforted me in many uncomfortable times. it was a huge picture of Senam. he was smiling, wearing a colorful african robe, with his arms stretched out, modeling for a local telephone company. Areeba, the phone company, had come to the college campus in Accra looking for a good-looking man to represent their product. they had chosen Senam, and his picture was plastered all over Ghana. i sat and stared at it for awhile. the image brought me some peace, he always appeared at just the right time. a woman walked by with a cooler of bagged water balancing on her head.
i bought one and hung out with the picture of my friend for a while. then i went back into the hospital.
Yaa was going to sleep there that night, so i bid her farewell and jumped into a tro tro with her sister. the other one stayed behind to wash the cloths used during the birth. she would be coming shortly.
we didn't speak once on the way back to the village. it was the type of silence that comes from having experienced something so intense words are no longer needed. she heard the midwives yelling at Yaa, she knew what had gone on. my shirt was stained, matching the pee stain on my skirt from earlier in the day, my face was greasy and i was ready for bed. it had been a long day. this woman, Yaa's sister, had the face of a full moon, and friendly cheeks. i found comfort in that. she leaned her head against the window and stared blankly into the distance. when we reached my house i alighted, gave a little wave, and walked inside.
sakola was sitting at the table, waiting for me with a bowl of tomato fish soup. he wanted to know where i had been.
"i went to Konongo, to the hospital."
"why?"
"your sister" i said "she had her baby."
"you lie." he gave me a little smile.
"it's true. a little boy. kofi."
"ei! serious? ohhhhhhhhh" he shook around a bit "thank you Jesus."
"and" i noted "he is verrrry white."
"like you?"
"even more."
"you lie!"
"tomorrow, we'll go and see."
i was glad i could have been some help to Yaa, but i wondered truly how much help had i offered?
i was present which is sometimes all the help somebody needs, and i did all i could, so instead of worrying i decided to eat soup.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
~~~
it was early in the morning and i thought i heard a familiar voice outside my door. i was just coming out of a deep sleep and i heard Sakola call for me, he said i had a visitor. i decided to pretend i was still sleeping. It was not yet 7 a.m., it was too early to be bothering me, even if the person was my friend. i tried hard to slip back into a deep slumber but knowing somebody was sitting a foot away from me on the other side of the wall made it a little difficult.
i tore my blankets off, put on something appropriate, and walked outside.
"hello kacie, good morning."
Tanko, my Muslim soccer friend who had since grown a small goatee, peeked his head around. He was sitting next to Collins, who was looking at me, legs sticking out, smiling.
I rubbed my eyes to suggest Tanko's poor timing, but gave him a smile to let him know it was okay, this time.
"i've been waiting here for quite some time." he said.
"oh really?"
"yes"
"i was sleeping."
"oh well that is alright. i just came over to say hello. i wanted to see how you were doing."
"i'm well, thanks."
Sakola walked through the room and gave me an awful stare.
then i asked "and how are you?".
Tanko said he was fine and that he didn't mean to disturb me.
"coming by early in the morning is not my best time, just to let you know." i said.
"oh okay, well what time do you go to work?" he asked.
"in 2 hours." he already knew that. he met me on the road around 8:45 a few times a week and walked me a small part of the way. i wondered why he was pretending like he didn't know.
"well then, i can just wait for you."
the idea sounded dreadful. how was i supposed to entertain him for 2 hours. i wanted to crawl back into bed and read.
"you'll wait?"
"yes, i'll just stay here and when you leave we can walk together."
Sakola walked back across the living room and gave me another dose of his look.
"well howabout i go bathe and we can go to the market. i'll just leave early today."
"okay, alright." he said.
i went back into my room and quickly got ready. when we left the house the clock said 7:20. oh well, i thought. i'd spend some time at the market and take the long way to work, all the greetings would surely take up an extra hour.
any time before 9 a.m. conversation does not flow freely with me. Tanko didn't have much to say, so we walked in silence. it was nice to see the village at an hour i wasn't familiar with. fog rested at the tips of the trees and there were less children bobbing at the sides of the road reaching out their hands. when we got to the market the veggies looked plump and fresh.
"what will you buy today?" tanko asked me.
"um, i'm not sure." i was having just a fine time looking at everything, i wasn't ready to think about buying. back at home, in chico, our local farmers market is so beautiful you have to make rounds just to satisfy the eyes. once i've circled two or three times i can then focus on what i need. i was feeling the same way.
"well what do you need?" he said again.
"i really don't know." i repeated.
i've found that indecisiveness does not translate well. it's much easier to communicate with certainty, with a strong yes or an absolute no. waivering in the middle is where i usually like to be, but trying to relay that is exhausting. this dilemma has caused me to make some strange quick decisions in my time here. but at the market, on this morning, i wanted to just saunter along and decide nothing.
"you don't know if you need anything?" he asked.
"i haven't really thought about it."
"well do you need plantain?" he started to go through the list of everything that was offered.
"i'll just come back later. i can't do this right now."
"okay i'm coming." he said. and he ran off.
i walked down the road, slowly. i greeted a few people and tanko came back with a big bag full of oranges and bananas.
"this is for you" he said. handing them over to me. i took them from him and said thank you. it was a sweet gesture, and i love bananas and oranges. then he grabbed them back and insisted on carrying them.
"but a few of these are for my mother." he said.
"oh please, take all that you need, you bought quite a lot!"
we laughed.
i decided i'd just go to work extra early, maybe a case had come in?
"so have you got very far in the book i lent you?" i asked him.
he had stopped by my house a few weeks earlier to let me know of a soccer match later that day. "is it christians versus muslims?" i had asked. he told me it was not. it was the guys who lived on the left side of the road, versus the guys who lived on the right side of the road. "which side is going to try to cripple me this time?" i said. he told me i should play with the people on the left side, since that was where i lived. then we sat on the stairs of the porch and talked about religion.
Auntie walked by once and scowled... i ignored her.
Tanko said he really didn't understand why people used instruments to worship God. God never asked for guitars and drums to be included in worship. i said i wasn't too sure about that, how could God not love music, especially the stuff i had been hearing! he wanted to know about Jesus, how could a man be both a God and a human. It made no sense. I had just finished reading The Jesus I Never Knew, by Phillip Yancey, a fantastic book. I offered to loan it to him, if he was interested. "Oh please" was the response i got.
"i'm on page 30." he said.
"are you understanding the language?"
"yes, in fact, it seems i am, but i am reading slowly."
"well take your time i don't need it back any time soon."
"okay, alright, i'll do that."
we walked by his mosque. it was all closed up, they had finished with his morning prayer.
"can i look inside?" i asked.
"of course" he snickered.
we walked over. his mosque is a big yellow concrete structure, smack dab in the middle of town. it has turquoise shutters and brightly colored plastic tea pots scattered about outside. people wash their feet with the water in the tea pots before they go inside, the rest of the day they just sit there, decorating the place looking like empty flower pots from far away.
we removed our shoes and toured through the building. old worn mats were crowded together, leaving no space to walk without walking on top.
"this is the mens section" he said, then we walked and ducked under a cloth hanging down as a divider "and this is the womans area." the woman had a much smaller space, maybe a quarter of the size, equivalent to the waiting space in a fast food restaraunt. then he walked a little further back to an open closet and pulled out a wooden box the size of a long desk. "and this is the casket."
that immediately perked my interest.
"the casket?"
"yes, for our dead people. we carry them in this, put them in the ground, and bring it back. but you whites, i think you do it differently do you not?"
i told him i had never been to a funeral i remembered, so i wouldn't know. i felt strange saying that, almost as if i had never lived. funerals in Boamadumase are the weekend entertainment, where family comes and people drink too much and dance, eat even more and talk. the music blasts out of enormous speakers and rattles my brain even a mile away.
i stepped a little closer and peered inside. i wanted to know it's history, who the casket had carried and what they had seen, what they knew. i wished the wood could speak. i checked it for weird stains.
"how old is it?"
"the casket?"
"yes."
he just laughed, and showed me the exit door. "but since you are a woman this would be an entrance for you. this is the area women pray in, will you be coming to pray?"
"ummmmmm..." i tried to imagine myself bent over on one of the mats, my quiet prayers being drowned out by the hum of a deep african recital. i decided it would be a bad idea, i would be a spectacle not a participant. "... no, thanks."
"okay haha, i understand, well here are your fruits i should get going now. i've got to prepare my lesson for my students, school will be starting very soon."
"alright. good bye!" i gave his hand a soft shake and strode away in my direction.
i tore my blankets off, put on something appropriate, and walked outside.
"hello kacie, good morning."
Tanko, my Muslim soccer friend who had since grown a small goatee, peeked his head around. He was sitting next to Collins, who was looking at me, legs sticking out, smiling.
I rubbed my eyes to suggest Tanko's poor timing, but gave him a smile to let him know it was okay, this time.
"i've been waiting here for quite some time." he said.
"oh really?"
"yes"
"i was sleeping."
"oh well that is alright. i just came over to say hello. i wanted to see how you were doing."
"i'm well, thanks."
Sakola walked through the room and gave me an awful stare.
then i asked "and how are you?".
Tanko said he was fine and that he didn't mean to disturb me.
"coming by early in the morning is not my best time, just to let you know." i said.
"oh okay, well what time do you go to work?" he asked.
"in 2 hours." he already knew that. he met me on the road around 8:45 a few times a week and walked me a small part of the way. i wondered why he was pretending like he didn't know.
"well then, i can just wait for you."
the idea sounded dreadful. how was i supposed to entertain him for 2 hours. i wanted to crawl back into bed and read.
"you'll wait?"
"yes, i'll just stay here and when you leave we can walk together."
Sakola walked back across the living room and gave me another dose of his look.
"well howabout i go bathe and we can go to the market. i'll just leave early today."
"okay, alright." he said.
i went back into my room and quickly got ready. when we left the house the clock said 7:20. oh well, i thought. i'd spend some time at the market and take the long way to work, all the greetings would surely take up an extra hour.
any time before 9 a.m. conversation does not flow freely with me. Tanko didn't have much to say, so we walked in silence. it was nice to see the village at an hour i wasn't familiar with. fog rested at the tips of the trees and there were less children bobbing at the sides of the road reaching out their hands. when we got to the market the veggies looked plump and fresh.
"what will you buy today?" tanko asked me.
"um, i'm not sure." i was having just a fine time looking at everything, i wasn't ready to think about buying. back at home, in chico, our local farmers market is so beautiful you have to make rounds just to satisfy the eyes. once i've circled two or three times i can then focus on what i need. i was feeling the same way.
"well what do you need?" he said again.
"i really don't know." i repeated.
i've found that indecisiveness does not translate well. it's much easier to communicate with certainty, with a strong yes or an absolute no. waivering in the middle is where i usually like to be, but trying to relay that is exhausting. this dilemma has caused me to make some strange quick decisions in my time here. but at the market, on this morning, i wanted to just saunter along and decide nothing.
"you don't know if you need anything?" he asked.
"i haven't really thought about it."
"well do you need plantain?" he started to go through the list of everything that was offered.
"i'll just come back later. i can't do this right now."
"okay i'm coming." he said. and he ran off.
i walked down the road, slowly. i greeted a few people and tanko came back with a big bag full of oranges and bananas.
"this is for you" he said. handing them over to me. i took them from him and said thank you. it was a sweet gesture, and i love bananas and oranges. then he grabbed them back and insisted on carrying them.
"but a few of these are for my mother." he said.
"oh please, take all that you need, you bought quite a lot!"
we laughed.
i decided i'd just go to work extra early, maybe a case had come in?
"so have you got very far in the book i lent you?" i asked him.
he had stopped by my house a few weeks earlier to let me know of a soccer match later that day. "is it christians versus muslims?" i had asked. he told me it was not. it was the guys who lived on the left side of the road, versus the guys who lived on the right side of the road. "which side is going to try to cripple me this time?" i said. he told me i should play with the people on the left side, since that was where i lived. then we sat on the stairs of the porch and talked about religion.
Auntie walked by once and scowled... i ignored her.
Tanko said he really didn't understand why people used instruments to worship God. God never asked for guitars and drums to be included in worship. i said i wasn't too sure about that, how could God not love music, especially the stuff i had been hearing! he wanted to know about Jesus, how could a man be both a God and a human. It made no sense. I had just finished reading The Jesus I Never Knew, by Phillip Yancey, a fantastic book. I offered to loan it to him, if he was interested. "Oh please" was the response i got.
"i'm on page 30." he said.
"are you understanding the language?"
"yes, in fact, it seems i am, but i am reading slowly."
"well take your time i don't need it back any time soon."
"okay, alright, i'll do that."
we walked by his mosque. it was all closed up, they had finished with his morning prayer.
"can i look inside?" i asked.
"of course" he snickered.
we walked over. his mosque is a big yellow concrete structure, smack dab in the middle of town. it has turquoise shutters and brightly colored plastic tea pots scattered about outside. people wash their feet with the water in the tea pots before they go inside, the rest of the day they just sit there, decorating the place looking like empty flower pots from far away.
we removed our shoes and toured through the building. old worn mats were crowded together, leaving no space to walk without walking on top.
"this is the mens section" he said, then we walked and ducked under a cloth hanging down as a divider "and this is the womans area." the woman had a much smaller space, maybe a quarter of the size, equivalent to the waiting space in a fast food restaraunt. then he walked a little further back to an open closet and pulled out a wooden box the size of a long desk. "and this is the casket."
that immediately perked my interest.
"the casket?"
"yes, for our dead people. we carry them in this, put them in the ground, and bring it back. but you whites, i think you do it differently do you not?"
i told him i had never been to a funeral i remembered, so i wouldn't know. i felt strange saying that, almost as if i had never lived. funerals in Boamadumase are the weekend entertainment, where family comes and people drink too much and dance, eat even more and talk. the music blasts out of enormous speakers and rattles my brain even a mile away.
i stepped a little closer and peered inside. i wanted to know it's history, who the casket had carried and what they had seen, what they knew. i wished the wood could speak. i checked it for weird stains.
"how old is it?"
"the casket?"
"yes."
he just laughed, and showed me the exit door. "but since you are a woman this would be an entrance for you. this is the area women pray in, will you be coming to pray?"
"ummmmmm..." i tried to imagine myself bent over on one of the mats, my quiet prayers being drowned out by the hum of a deep african recital. i decided it would be a bad idea, i would be a spectacle not a participant. "... no, thanks."
"okay haha, i understand, well here are your fruits i should get going now. i've got to prepare my lesson for my students, school will be starting very soon."
"alright. good bye!" i gave his hand a soft shake and strode away in my direction.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
outreach
it was mid morning and all the health volunteers and i had been standing around waiting for the taxi to arrive.
"c'mon kessie, let's go." secetry was suggesting we should all walk to meet the cab. some people grumbled and would have rather sat till it came, but he was the one organizing the Community Education trips so we followed him and walked down the path away from the clinic.
"i will stay in Boama today." he said. i looked at him and my body asked him why.
"because" he said "i have malaria. i am too sick. i'll stay here, can you go?"
"ya i can go."
"okay then, let's go."
we kept walking and a cab came hauling down the path, dust flying in all directions.
it stopped at our toes, practically touching our kneecaps.
"here is your transportation" he said, as he jiggled the door open so i could get in.
the 6 of us, excluding secetry, piled in. i was instantly wary. i knew the local cabs and have been studying them as closely as i have been studying birth.
the town has about 6 "bush taxis" and each car has a distinct personality. the one we were getting into i had decided after my last ride i would never accept a ride in it again. the space where the radio typically would be was hollowed out straight through into the engine.
that is just fine. most of the cars are like that. then the drivers usually stick foam or plastic bags in the space to keep us all from breathing the fumes. but this man had cut the top and bottom off of a plastic bottle and wedged that in the big vacant spot. the bottle served as a pipe blowing hot exhaust from the front of the car to the back. to make matters even worse, not all the windows roll down so you are stuck in the mess with no chance for an iota of clean air to breathe.
since i didn't have much option, except to stay behind, i looked at the bright side- i had gotten next to the window that opened half way.
the other half of the volunteer team had probably already arrived to our destination, they left early. i wished i was with them, or that i had brought a handkerchief to inhale into.
"bye kessie!" secetry waved and yelled.
i waved back. then i heard him ask faintly from the distance "do you know where you are going? you are going to the fetish village, to visit the fetish priest!"
a fetish village? a fetish priest? i could hear secetry cracking up walking slowly down the road. and we were on our way.
sometimes i'm not sure if it's dustier inside the car, or outside, but i was set on having my head outside the window the entire ride. i looked like the wind sniffing dog they had decided to bring.
we were all slowly becoming asphyxiated and no one seemed to care. i wondered what engine pollution could do to the mind. i thought about showing up at a fetish village freshly high off of exhaust. this could be an interesting day. i stuck my head out the window a little further.
the volunteers and the driver had gotten into a heated discussion about what exactly it is that the bible says. they were all speaking at once. i wasn't sure what they were referring to, i just kept hearing "but the bible says!" "but the bible says!".
the road was starting to get even more narrow, and the surroundings were closing in on the car. long branches swept the roof, and weeds taller than most children brushed the side of the car.
"come inside". someone had ordered me back into the gas chamber. i didn't want to go but due to the road ahead, it looked like i had to. i popped back in just as sharp plants began to make their way in through my window.
"this is a real bush road!" someone else exclaimed. everyone laughed in agreement.
the man whose lap i was practically sitting on top of asked me "in america, do you see roads such as these?"
"yes" i said. although i had never seen one.
"really?"
"well, in some places. but mostly not." i wanted to keep my answers short, that way i could breath less. he noticed my discomfort and alerted the group.
"our friend is getting beat by the road!" he said.
but it wasn't the road, it was the inside of the car. wasn't anyone else suffering? if so i wanted to walk the rest of the way with them! i didn't dare open my mouth, i pressed my lips together and gave him a fake smile.
the car continued down very rough road for quite some time until we finally reached the village.
"look, it is a fetish shrine." he pointed at a cement mound.
the taxi weaved it's way through the quaint settlement, dodging goats and babies scooting themselves through the dirt. the other car was parked underneath a large jacaranda tree that spanned shade throughout the center of the village. the driver was sitting in his seat, sleeping with his mouth wide open.
we parked next to them and unloaded.
the volunteers had already found the local wood benches and brought them to the tree. they were set up in a hexagon shape with people taking up every inch of them. i counted about 40 people.
i liked the feel of this village. it was shady and sloped. everything seemed intimate and nonthreatening. the wind was gentle and kept dropping leaves the size of breath mints down on all our heads. most people didn't notice, the leaves were so light. but each person i looked at had one or two stuck to their hair.
i didn't feel nervous like i had last tuesday. the place we visited the week prior had twice as many people and it was the first time i had made my 'care during pregnancy speech'. i had butterflies in my stomach before i stood up to talk. this time i hadn't brought the paper of all my facts but figured they were pretty easy to remember. Madame Lydia, the calm dignified director of Foundation Human Nature leaned over and asked me where my paper was.
i tapped on my temple. she gave me a long slow nod and grinned. "okay kaisy." and we were off. she gave her speech about nutrition, i stood up and talked about getting to the clinic early, bringing essential items, and a little bit about protecting yourself against HIV, and then the local doctor charmed everyone with his silly antics and easy going way. he discussed the importance of hand washing and how to recognize Buruli ulcer.
an old man, with pink lined eyes and a shirt blotched with huge bright spots, who had been sitting in a wooden lounge chair very still spoke up across the gathering addressing a guy my age. he chose his words as if picking the right fruit; slowly and carefully in a tone that usually is reserved for intimate conversations. the guy then turned to the doctor and spoke exactly what had just been said again. each person present interrupted in laughter, except me.
i leaned over to madame lydia and asked what was so funny.
"okay well the fetish priest wants to know why in the old days there weren't as many diseases and people weren't dying of so many sicknesses. but now they are. in the old days you could come from the farm and never wash your hands, then go and eat and be healthy. now that is not the case. he said he thinks it's because of the doctors. there are too many doctors and not enough fetish priests, is what he thinks."
i knew fetish priests were considered healers by some, that they were said to cure such things as infertility and disease. i had been to fetish markets in Ghana and a popular one in Togo, which donned everything from iguana heads to turtle shells and parrot wings. but i never had a context to place those items in. they were just another strange market array i got to gawk at. now i was looking at the man who used those things.
the doctor was trying to explain in a humorous and respectful way why he believed the priest was wrong. Madame Lydia rose to explain her point of view, that the pesticides and herbicides are causing ailments we never had to deal with before. she spoke to the fetish priests linguist, the guy sitting across the way, and the linguist relayed the message to the priest. he didn't seem convinced and i wondered how far our simple efforts would reach and how deeply they would penetrate. our time there was almost finished.
the doctor spoke loudly and asked in twi "who is going to start washing their hands BEFORE they eat?".
nothing but silence.
then, from a corner behind all the benches, a chubby mother who was standing holding her breastfeeding child quietly said she would. everyone stared at her. Madame Lydia took out a packet of salt and handed it in her direction.
suddenly agreements broke out all over the place.
"i will i will" "we will". now that something free was involved, assent flowed like water. so the attraction is universal, i noted.
each person who was in attendance got their complimentary packet of salt and left clapping and singing a simple song the doctor had made up.
'when i come from the farm
i wash my hands
when i come to my house
i wash my hands
when i come from the town
i wash my hands'
then he handed it off to them to fill in where they were coming from, and we all sang out "I WASH MY HANDS!"
song and dance seemed like an effective method to get a point across. everyone had turned the rhythm and the clapping into something that sounded quite beautiful and as the people dispersed i could hear it echoing down to the bottom of the village. women had gone into their huts singing, and the children had caught on quickly. we packed up and drove off singing inside the taxis. i had switched cars and was opening my mouth wide, enjoying fresh air and joining in "i wash my hands!"
"c'mon kessie, let's go." secetry was suggesting we should all walk to meet the cab. some people grumbled and would have rather sat till it came, but he was the one organizing the Community Education trips so we followed him and walked down the path away from the clinic.
"i will stay in Boama today." he said. i looked at him and my body asked him why.
"because" he said "i have malaria. i am too sick. i'll stay here, can you go?"
"ya i can go."
"okay then, let's go."
we kept walking and a cab came hauling down the path, dust flying in all directions.
it stopped at our toes, practically touching our kneecaps.
"here is your transportation" he said, as he jiggled the door open so i could get in.
the 6 of us, excluding secetry, piled in. i was instantly wary. i knew the local cabs and have been studying them as closely as i have been studying birth.
the town has about 6 "bush taxis" and each car has a distinct personality. the one we were getting into i had decided after my last ride i would never accept a ride in it again. the space where the radio typically would be was hollowed out straight through into the engine.
that is just fine. most of the cars are like that. then the drivers usually stick foam or plastic bags in the space to keep us all from breathing the fumes. but this man had cut the top and bottom off of a plastic bottle and wedged that in the big vacant spot. the bottle served as a pipe blowing hot exhaust from the front of the car to the back. to make matters even worse, not all the windows roll down so you are stuck in the mess with no chance for an iota of clean air to breathe.
since i didn't have much option, except to stay behind, i looked at the bright side- i had gotten next to the window that opened half way.
the other half of the volunteer team had probably already arrived to our destination, they left early. i wished i was with them, or that i had brought a handkerchief to inhale into.
"bye kessie!" secetry waved and yelled.
i waved back. then i heard him ask faintly from the distance "do you know where you are going? you are going to the fetish village, to visit the fetish priest!"
a fetish village? a fetish priest? i could hear secetry cracking up walking slowly down the road. and we were on our way.
sometimes i'm not sure if it's dustier inside the car, or outside, but i was set on having my head outside the window the entire ride. i looked like the wind sniffing dog they had decided to bring.
we were all slowly becoming asphyxiated and no one seemed to care. i wondered what engine pollution could do to the mind. i thought about showing up at a fetish village freshly high off of exhaust. this could be an interesting day. i stuck my head out the window a little further.
the volunteers and the driver had gotten into a heated discussion about what exactly it is that the bible says. they were all speaking at once. i wasn't sure what they were referring to, i just kept hearing "but the bible says!" "but the bible says!".
the road was starting to get even more narrow, and the surroundings were closing in on the car. long branches swept the roof, and weeds taller than most children brushed the side of the car.
"come inside". someone had ordered me back into the gas chamber. i didn't want to go but due to the road ahead, it looked like i had to. i popped back in just as sharp plants began to make their way in through my window.
"this is a real bush road!" someone else exclaimed. everyone laughed in agreement.
the man whose lap i was practically sitting on top of asked me "in america, do you see roads such as these?"
"yes" i said. although i had never seen one.
"really?"
"well, in some places. but mostly not." i wanted to keep my answers short, that way i could breath less. he noticed my discomfort and alerted the group.
"our friend is getting beat by the road!" he said.
but it wasn't the road, it was the inside of the car. wasn't anyone else suffering? if so i wanted to walk the rest of the way with them! i didn't dare open my mouth, i pressed my lips together and gave him a fake smile.
the car continued down very rough road for quite some time until we finally reached the village.
"look, it is a fetish shrine." he pointed at a cement mound.
the taxi weaved it's way through the quaint settlement, dodging goats and babies scooting themselves through the dirt. the other car was parked underneath a large jacaranda tree that spanned shade throughout the center of the village. the driver was sitting in his seat, sleeping with his mouth wide open.
we parked next to them and unloaded.
the volunteers had already found the local wood benches and brought them to the tree. they were set up in a hexagon shape with people taking up every inch of them. i counted about 40 people.
i liked the feel of this village. it was shady and sloped. everything seemed intimate and nonthreatening. the wind was gentle and kept dropping leaves the size of breath mints down on all our heads. most people didn't notice, the leaves were so light. but each person i looked at had one or two stuck to their hair.
i didn't feel nervous like i had last tuesday. the place we visited the week prior had twice as many people and it was the first time i had made my 'care during pregnancy speech'. i had butterflies in my stomach before i stood up to talk. this time i hadn't brought the paper of all my facts but figured they were pretty easy to remember. Madame Lydia, the calm dignified director of Foundation Human Nature leaned over and asked me where my paper was.
i tapped on my temple. she gave me a long slow nod and grinned. "okay kaisy." and we were off. she gave her speech about nutrition, i stood up and talked about getting to the clinic early, bringing essential items, and a little bit about protecting yourself against HIV, and then the local doctor charmed everyone with his silly antics and easy going way. he discussed the importance of hand washing and how to recognize Buruli ulcer.
an old man, with pink lined eyes and a shirt blotched with huge bright spots, who had been sitting in a wooden lounge chair very still spoke up across the gathering addressing a guy my age. he chose his words as if picking the right fruit; slowly and carefully in a tone that usually is reserved for intimate conversations. the guy then turned to the doctor and spoke exactly what had just been said again. each person present interrupted in laughter, except me.
i leaned over to madame lydia and asked what was so funny.
"okay well the fetish priest wants to know why in the old days there weren't as many diseases and people weren't dying of so many sicknesses. but now they are. in the old days you could come from the farm and never wash your hands, then go and eat and be healthy. now that is not the case. he said he thinks it's because of the doctors. there are too many doctors and not enough fetish priests, is what he thinks."
i knew fetish priests were considered healers by some, that they were said to cure such things as infertility and disease. i had been to fetish markets in Ghana and a popular one in Togo, which donned everything from iguana heads to turtle shells and parrot wings. but i never had a context to place those items in. they were just another strange market array i got to gawk at. now i was looking at the man who used those things.
the doctor was trying to explain in a humorous and respectful way why he believed the priest was wrong. Madame Lydia rose to explain her point of view, that the pesticides and herbicides are causing ailments we never had to deal with before. she spoke to the fetish priests linguist, the guy sitting across the way, and the linguist relayed the message to the priest. he didn't seem convinced and i wondered how far our simple efforts would reach and how deeply they would penetrate. our time there was almost finished.
the doctor spoke loudly and asked in twi "who is going to start washing their hands BEFORE they eat?".
nothing but silence.
then, from a corner behind all the benches, a chubby mother who was standing holding her breastfeeding child quietly said she would. everyone stared at her. Madame Lydia took out a packet of salt and handed it in her direction.
suddenly agreements broke out all over the place.
"i will i will" "we will". now that something free was involved, assent flowed like water. so the attraction is universal, i noted.
each person who was in attendance got their complimentary packet of salt and left clapping and singing a simple song the doctor had made up.
'when i come from the farm
i wash my hands
when i come to my house
i wash my hands
when i come from the town
i wash my hands'
then he handed it off to them to fill in where they were coming from, and we all sang out "I WASH MY HANDS!"
song and dance seemed like an effective method to get a point across. everyone had turned the rhythm and the clapping into something that sounded quite beautiful and as the people dispersed i could hear it echoing down to the bottom of the village. women had gone into their huts singing, and the children had caught on quickly. we packed up and drove off singing inside the taxis. i had switched cars and was opening my mouth wide, enjoying fresh air and joining in "i wash my hands!"
porch talk
the mother of the owner of the house i live in has been staying with us for the past week. she lives in the village but her son has come to visit for a small time. he is staying in the room next to mine. so she has been around cooking up meals and taking care of him. she's an elderly woman, known to the village folk as "Auntie" with a lot of sass and a good command of the English language. she has a raspy laugh and wears big African frocks that hang low off of one shoulder. she shuffles through the house, busy in her own world. she also happens to be very opinionated.
i didn't know she spoke English so well because she always talks to me in Twi. I also didn't know she had been to California until just the other day.
the sun was going to set soon and i wasn't ready for darkness, so i grabbed an orange and a knife from the kitchen and went out to the front porch to enjoy the last glimmer of the days light.
Auntie was there, with an orange and a knife in her hand too.
"auntie?" i laughed. she turned around to look at me. i said "same same" and pointed to our fruits.
"ohhhh yes, haha, same same." she paused and then looked back up at me. "you shouldn't call me auntie."
"i shouldn't?"
"no because, how old is your mother?" she asked.
"54, i think." i kind of stopped counting after 50.
"you see? i am 73. i am older than your mother and you call me auntie?! you should call me grandmother."
"okay. i'll do that. but Sakola calls you auntie and so does NanaKwame, so i thought i'd call you auntie too. thats all."
"ohhh i see. yes, everyone calls me auntie. you can call me auntie, i understand."
the conversation was starting to make its way into absurd, so i shrugged and examined her eating her orange.
we both had sliced the skin off in small short strokes and left a pile of shavings sitting in front of us. i was getting better at this simple act. we cut the north pole off and sucked the juice out through the opening. her lips had spent a lifetime wrapping themselves around oranges and slurping out the juice, this style of enjoying my citrus was relatively new to me. i liked watching her staring out into the wild and clumsily spitting seeds onto her lap and the floor around us.
"my daughter, the one who built this house, she lives in California."
"oh really, where?"
"los angeles. i've even been there."
"you have? when?"
"a few years back i was there. actually i have been there two times. one time for, hmmmm, lets say, 3 months and the second time i stayed 1 year and a half. so you know, i know your place. ah California. i know it!"
i was surprised she had spent such a long time there.
"what did you do there?" i asked.
"ohh, i just spent time with my daughter, and my son in law and my granddaughter. they wouldn't let me work so i stayed and relaxed. hm, it was nice. ahh California. and Hollywood- do you know Hollywood?"
"yes" i laughed. "san diego, do you know san diego?"
"ahh yess, san diego. i know the place."
i straightened myself excitedly and told her that was my home.
"so" she said "you can call your mother and tell her auntie who stays here in boamadumase knows your home. i know the place. let's see, i went on a trip there and toured with my son-in-law. i was in this place, i think, hm, it was a museum but i can't remember. but it had many beautiful things. and i spoke twi..." her storytelling was beginning to turn into stage acting. she was pausing and using hand gestures and was lost in the tale "yes, i spoke the twi and some man heard. he walked over- he said- where are you from? i told him, i am an African. he said, from where? i said Ghana. then he spoke the twi back to me. eih!" she clenched her fists and shook them around. "i said eih! you know the twi? he said 'yes, i've been there.' oh! it was nice. so you see, when you go back you can speak the twi with him."
"auntie, san diego is big."
"yes, i know, but just you wait. you'll see. one day the same thing will happen to you. you'll hear the twi and then you can ask that person to be your friend. but you know, when i arrived in the airport my first time to California i was shaking. immigration took my papers and they told me to walk down the red carpet. they wanted to check me. i stood there, like this" she made her body tremble "like that. they said 'why are you here?' i told them to see my daughter. then they said 'when are you leaving?' i told them i didn't know. so they left me there. oh they were big men, and not very friendly. i was shaking. then, they asked if anyone was going to pick me up. i said, why yes of course, my son-in-law. they called him. 4 minutes later he was there and they let me go! ahh immigration, its not nice at all."
i felt instantly sad at how we treat foreigners. it seemed so accusatory. the two worlds colliding seemed unreal. little auntie going to visit her daughter up against a man trained and drained by 'the super power'. talk about culture shock.
i wanted to know how she saw Americans.
she replied "oh they are nice people. very friendly."
"and the food, did you eat our food?"
"oh YES! i told you, i know the place."
"what did you eat?" i asked. i had spent the last hour in my room, drawing pictures of Caesar salad, hamburgers, and pizza in my journal.
"well my favorite is pissa." she said.
"oh PIZZA! yes! did you eat hot dogs?"
she stroked her throat. "oh even hearing it is making me feel for it." she said, but for some reason i didn't believe her. hot dogs are disgusting, and the gesture she made was like she enjoyed swallowing them whole.
we looked at each other and laughed. i noticed how gummy her mouth was, and her teeth looked like tiny yellow watermelon seeds that had been tossed into her mouth and stuck in all directions.
"but you know, the sweetcorn! you have SWEETcorn. and your oranges are different than ours. same with your peppeh. and..."
she talked of what she knew, and told me where i can go to buy cocoa yams, plantain, cassava, and anything else i might need when i'm back home and want to make African food. granted, it is a few hours away from my home, but i don't doubt i will show up there one day eyeing every African in the place, desperate to speak twi and connect back to a time when i sat long hours in the front of a monstrous house and giggled till it was dark and the mosquitoes came.
i didn't know she spoke English so well because she always talks to me in Twi. I also didn't know she had been to California until just the other day.
the sun was going to set soon and i wasn't ready for darkness, so i grabbed an orange and a knife from the kitchen and went out to the front porch to enjoy the last glimmer of the days light.
Auntie was there, with an orange and a knife in her hand too.
"auntie?" i laughed. she turned around to look at me. i said "same same" and pointed to our fruits.
"ohhhh yes, haha, same same." she paused and then looked back up at me. "you shouldn't call me auntie."
"i shouldn't?"
"no because, how old is your mother?" she asked.
"54, i think." i kind of stopped counting after 50.
"you see? i am 73. i am older than your mother and you call me auntie?! you should call me grandmother."
"okay. i'll do that. but Sakola calls you auntie and so does NanaKwame, so i thought i'd call you auntie too. thats all."
"ohhh i see. yes, everyone calls me auntie. you can call me auntie, i understand."
the conversation was starting to make its way into absurd, so i shrugged and examined her eating her orange.
we both had sliced the skin off in small short strokes and left a pile of shavings sitting in front of us. i was getting better at this simple act. we cut the north pole off and sucked the juice out through the opening. her lips had spent a lifetime wrapping themselves around oranges and slurping out the juice, this style of enjoying my citrus was relatively new to me. i liked watching her staring out into the wild and clumsily spitting seeds onto her lap and the floor around us.
"my daughter, the one who built this house, she lives in California."
"oh really, where?"
"los angeles. i've even been there."
"you have? when?"
"a few years back i was there. actually i have been there two times. one time for, hmmmm, lets say, 3 months and the second time i stayed 1 year and a half. so you know, i know your place. ah California. i know it!"
i was surprised she had spent such a long time there.
"what did you do there?" i asked.
"ohh, i just spent time with my daughter, and my son in law and my granddaughter. they wouldn't let me work so i stayed and relaxed. hm, it was nice. ahh California. and Hollywood- do you know Hollywood?"
"yes" i laughed. "san diego, do you know san diego?"
"ahh yess, san diego. i know the place."
i straightened myself excitedly and told her that was my home.
"so" she said "you can call your mother and tell her auntie who stays here in boamadumase knows your home. i know the place. let's see, i went on a trip there and toured with my son-in-law. i was in this place, i think, hm, it was a museum but i can't remember. but it had many beautiful things. and i spoke twi..." her storytelling was beginning to turn into stage acting. she was pausing and using hand gestures and was lost in the tale "yes, i spoke the twi and some man heard. he walked over- he said- where are you from? i told him, i am an African. he said, from where? i said Ghana. then he spoke the twi back to me. eih!" she clenched her fists and shook them around. "i said eih! you know the twi? he said 'yes, i've been there.' oh! it was nice. so you see, when you go back you can speak the twi with him."
"auntie, san diego is big."
"yes, i know, but just you wait. you'll see. one day the same thing will happen to you. you'll hear the twi and then you can ask that person to be your friend. but you know, when i arrived in the airport my first time to California i was shaking. immigration took my papers and they told me to walk down the red carpet. they wanted to check me. i stood there, like this" she made her body tremble "like that. they said 'why are you here?' i told them to see my daughter. then they said 'when are you leaving?' i told them i didn't know. so they left me there. oh they were big men, and not very friendly. i was shaking. then, they asked if anyone was going to pick me up. i said, why yes of course, my son-in-law. they called him. 4 minutes later he was there and they let me go! ahh immigration, its not nice at all."
i felt instantly sad at how we treat foreigners. it seemed so accusatory. the two worlds colliding seemed unreal. little auntie going to visit her daughter up against a man trained and drained by 'the super power'. talk about culture shock.
i wanted to know how she saw Americans.
she replied "oh they are nice people. very friendly."
"and the food, did you eat our food?"
"oh YES! i told you, i know the place."
"what did you eat?" i asked. i had spent the last hour in my room, drawing pictures of Caesar salad, hamburgers, and pizza in my journal.
"well my favorite is pissa." she said.
"oh PIZZA! yes! did you eat hot dogs?"
she stroked her throat. "oh even hearing it is making me feel for it." she said, but for some reason i didn't believe her. hot dogs are disgusting, and the gesture she made was like she enjoyed swallowing them whole.
we looked at each other and laughed. i noticed how gummy her mouth was, and her teeth looked like tiny yellow watermelon seeds that had been tossed into her mouth and stuck in all directions.
"but you know, the sweetcorn! you have SWEETcorn. and your oranges are different than ours. same with your peppeh. and..."
she talked of what she knew, and told me where i can go to buy cocoa yams, plantain, cassava, and anything else i might need when i'm back home and want to make African food. granted, it is a few hours away from my home, but i don't doubt i will show up there one day eyeing every African in the place, desperate to speak twi and connect back to a time when i sat long hours in the front of a monstrous house and giggled till it was dark and the mosquitoes came.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
lets get an ambulance for our friends
Dear Wonderful You who reads this blog,
I'm assuming, since you are interested in these stories, that you might be interested in the lives of the people in Boamadumase. The Huttel Health center is still in need of an ambulance.
If you would like to donate any funds (5 dollars, 10 dollars, 700 dollars, 312 dollars, 14,000 dollars) towards this please email me!
One person has donated a few hundred dollars. The price of the ambulance was not what i originally expected. It will cost close to US $6,000. We have a long ways to go but i'd like to give them an ambulance as a going away present in May, from all of us. I am writing this to start a sort of online fundraiser. Contact me if you are moved.
Sincerely,
Kacie
I'm assuming, since you are interested in these stories, that you might be interested in the lives of the people in Boamadumase. The Huttel Health center is still in need of an ambulance.
If you would like to donate any funds (5 dollars, 10 dollars, 700 dollars, 312 dollars, 14,000 dollars) towards this please email me!
One person has donated a few hundred dollars. The price of the ambulance was not what i originally expected. It will cost close to US $6,000. We have a long ways to go but i'd like to give them an ambulance as a going away present in May, from all of us. I am writing this to start a sort of online fundraiser. Contact me if you are moved.
Sincerely,
Kacie
more Ma tales...
it has been two weeks and the maternity ward has only gotten women at night, besides prenatals. i've stopped expecting to be called and have come to terms that nobody at the clinic will travel to get me in the dark.
the days are long, therefore, i have taken up a twice-weekly habit of sleeping on the job. it is a very Ghanaian thing to do and i'm a talented napper, so i figured what better way to fit in with the local culture?
Ma's office is getting too cold for her. it's wintertime here and everybody is decked out in sweaters and beanies. i come to work wearing a tank top.
to keep herself warm she now leaves her spot behind the desk and sits on a chair in the front room of the block. it's an open room full of direct sunlight and pink walls. There is netting covering the area of the windows that glass would typically be, and benches stacked up for the volunteer meetings on tuesdays and the baby clinic on fridays. this is also the room where families of women in labor congregate. Ma does not allow them into the back area until after the child has been born.
"why can't they just come back?" i asked.
"Hmf. It's not good." she said.
"why?"
"Because, they will disturb."
"but why?" i was like an incessant child, but i had to be. i find the more i ask why the more i annoy her, but also the more interesting the answers become. i'd rather get a juicy tale than be compliant.
"Because they will." she said again.
"yes, but WHY?"
She puffed herself up and let out her long sigh. Her hands danced around in front of her as she thought up her answer.
"because of witchcraft." she said. then she lowered her head and closed her eyes.
i hoped her eyes closed didn't mean she was through talking, because i was just beginning with the inquiry.
"witchcraft? i don't understand." i said.
"because of the local witchcraft i don't want people back there, thats why."
we sat saying nothing. i didn't want to overwhelm her with my seeming ignorance so i once again let the story leak out in it's own time. i was sure it would come if i could just be patient.
"you know..." she started up "there are witches in this place."
i was noticing how much she resembled a big fat owl perched on a branch. very intentional with her few movements, and eyes just as big.
"there are witches and witchcraft. it's not good. i've heard they'll keep the babies from coming."
she moved her hands motioning a baby coming out and then stopping.
"the witches, i have heard, will press their feet down hard to the ground, soooo hard and then the baby won't come. that is why i don't let the women scream. i want the baby to come quietly so we can go out and tell the family, he has come!"
i had two thoughts. i was warmed to see Ma acting as a protector and caring for her patients by not letting them make noise, even though i am pretty certain the baby would come either way. secondly i had to reconsider my original notion, which was- women in the village were tougher and could handle pain in a more contained fashion, so much they didn't even need to make loud sounds.
"yes the witchcraft is all over, but there is no place for it here. Hmf."
i looked over on the wall at a poster sized calendar of Jesus. He was larger than life and surreal looking. the months of 2006 were listed along the bottom of the poster. a new calendar for 2007 had been hung on the same nail in the wall. this one was of an African beauty queen and was smaller. the beauty queens face was the same size as Jesus' and had been hung over his, replacing Jesus' face with that of a woman but keeping the robe and gentle hands in place so that it looked like the white god had a new look.
i pointed it out to Ma.
i'm still not certain how well she can see, with the creeping cataracts in her eyes, but she saw what i was referring to. it looked like a cardboard Jesus cutout where the African woman had inserted her face. it was funny. i related more closely to the second image than the first.
Ma and I cracked up and she told me "you are always making me laugh."
then she went on to explain how when i had contacted Foundation Human Nature 2 years back and asked if i could apprentice with the midwife at the clinic she had said "no".
"Did they tell you?" she asked me.
"no, they didn't."
"but you kept asking. you kept calling. you were persistant. but i didn't want you to come. i even thought you were a midwife yourself. that is what Dr. Ed Gold said. He said you were a midwife."
I had made it clear i was not. I told the head of the organization i had no nursing or midwifery skills. I was simply coming to observe and learn. He said he would get back to me. i liked imagining him having to lie to get me there, coaxing Ma into believing i was qualified.
"yes, Dr. Ed Gold said you were a midwife, but even then i didn't want you. then finally they said you were still in contact and i had to let you come." she smiled at me and chuckled. a little it seemed, out of embarrasment and a little out of circumstance. i was here now and we were doing just fine, laughing and napping together.
i almost asked if she was glad now that i came, but decided to hold back. i didn't want to be openly rejected.
"do you remember the first day you came? Madame Lydia introduced you as a midwife and you said you were not?!" tides of laughter poured from her gut. "i even thought you were a midwife! turns out you are an educator!! ahahahhhaha! now you see-" she was choking on herself "how a midwife suffers. the life of a midwife is not easy, you should go back to the schools, unless you find this too interesting."
i didn't feel like i was suffering at all. i wanted to be, i wanted to be up all night till the wee hours of the morning, tending to women in need. but instead i was about to sleep on a bench.
"well i do find it interesting." i said.
"then you shouldn't waste your time here." she had gathered herself and was instructing me in some wise advice. "go to train, become qualified, and in 2 years you can return. you can be the head midwife. as for me, i will retire soon."
i liked the thought of that.
Kacie Annelise Mutscheller: Head Midwife: Huttel Health Clinic: Boamadumase.
Then i remembered the rats running atop Ma's roof. That is the resident midwifes house. Could i live years with the sound of claws scratching across metal?
I thought of babybushmeat. I had somewhat gotten used to him, our resident pet. Sure i could get used to the rats. and i would have to scrub the grease streaks off the wall.
"yeah, that sounds like a great idea. then i will get to wear a white midwifes dress like you!" i exclaimed.
"OH NO! this is senior midwifes wear. you will have to work some time before you can put on a white dress. but don't you worry you will get there. you will. one day."
"and Efreeyeh?!" i said it loud enough that she could hear me in Ma's office. "Efreeyeh and i will be a team. We'll deliver the next generation!"
I think Efreeyeh liked the thought of that although she didn't say anything.
"and i'll let her do all the circumcisions"
i immediately heard a giggle.
earlier that day a mother of week old twins had come in to have her boy circumsized. I thought i wanted to watch, so i went into the women's ward where the little baby was lying on his back. Efreeyeh was tying his legs down with a strip of African cloth. the mother was outside with the girl cradled in a white cloth. I sat at the baby's head and felt his hair. i could have been petting the belly of a bunny, it was that soft.
Efreeyeh prepared everything into a ready position; gauze, forceps, clipping devices.
i took a deep deep breath.
what continued in that next 10 minutes was too much for me to handle. the baby screamed loud and long and shook from excruciating pain. i wondered about the custom of circumsision, then i hated it.the second layer of skin was getting sliced into and i was beginning to feel weak and dizzy. i called for someone to take my place.
i walked over to the office and reclined on the mini-couch, with it's plastic covered cushions.
Secetry entered laughing. r>
"Oh kessy! You fear the circumsision! Oh Kessy!";
i told him i didn't so much fear it as i pitied the child. You couldn't offer solace to a child being mutilated and strapped down to a wooden bench.
The lab technician, Kingsley, came into the office to tease me too.
"Kacie? It seems you can't even watch. Can you? You fear it do you?? But you have to know it is the custom in Ghana. If you don't get your penis cut then you won't ever get a wife! It's true, no woman will want to marry you, even if you have one billion cedis! She will see your penis, scream, and leave you."
"it's true!!!" chimed Secetry.
"then that same boy who wasn't circumsized as a child" Kingsley was driving his point home with another example "will grow and enter JSS and everyone in school will tease him because of his penis. he won't be able to go another day with all that teasing. when he goes to the toilet, he will hide like this..." he huddled and cupped himself in the corner "he'll hide and he won't show anyone, he'll fear being beaten. i know of some children who become old, say 20 or something, and go to get circumsized so they won't feel ashamed. one billion cedis will not get you a wife if your penis is not cut, i will tell you that." then he left.
when i was in Ho, sitting with Senam in the hospital talking about life, the issue of circumsision came up. i dont' remember why but Senam told me of a child he grew up with who hadn't had it done. My dear friend explained to me how much he had made fun of the boy, for years on end. Growing up in rural Ghana, in a village, is a public affair. Your private parts are as visable at times as the bananas for sale down the road. You bathe in your yard, and your yard is public. The poor boy was teased until he was taken at 12 years old to get the skin removed.
Senam said "he didn't walk straight for weeks, and wouldn't look us in our eyes even longer than that."
the baby in the womens ward had finally quit crying and was back with his mother. when i left the room she had moved behind the corner and was biting her fist. as a future mother, i don't think i could have handled hearing all that.
i told Secetry "well when i have a baby i will not be circumsizing him. and if my husband demands it then he can bring him."
"fine fine!" he said.
i left the office over to Ma's. I wanted to be closer to women, which would bring me further away from what i had just witnessed.
A few hours later, after talking with Ma about witchcraft and midwifery, i had almost released the memory, until i hollered at Efreeyeh that she'd be taking care of all the future penis surgeries.
I think Ma had correctly read and interpreted my distaste at the idea of having to perform a circumcision. I had assumed in rural health clinics' that was a midwifes job. I was beginning to slide down the hill of self-doubt. She interuppted me by saying "as for circumcision, that is not a midwife's duty, that is why i stay in here while it is being performed. as for me i don't like it so i don't do it. don't worry kacie, you can leave that up to someone else, it is not for you. do you ever see me in the room while the baby is being cut? Never! So don't you worry."
We both closed our eyes, mine in the comfort of knowing and hers in the tiredness of old age. Together, we fell asleep on the job.
the days are long, therefore, i have taken up a twice-weekly habit of sleeping on the job. it is a very Ghanaian thing to do and i'm a talented napper, so i figured what better way to fit in with the local culture?
Ma's office is getting too cold for her. it's wintertime here and everybody is decked out in sweaters and beanies. i come to work wearing a tank top.
to keep herself warm she now leaves her spot behind the desk and sits on a chair in the front room of the block. it's an open room full of direct sunlight and pink walls. There is netting covering the area of the windows that glass would typically be, and benches stacked up for the volunteer meetings on tuesdays and the baby clinic on fridays. this is also the room where families of women in labor congregate. Ma does not allow them into the back area until after the child has been born.
"why can't they just come back?" i asked.
"Hmf. It's not good." she said.
"why?"
"Because, they will disturb."
"but why?" i was like an incessant child, but i had to be. i find the more i ask why the more i annoy her, but also the more interesting the answers become. i'd rather get a juicy tale than be compliant.
"Because they will." she said again.
"yes, but WHY?"
She puffed herself up and let out her long sigh. Her hands danced around in front of her as she thought up her answer.
"because of witchcraft." she said. then she lowered her head and closed her eyes.
i hoped her eyes closed didn't mean she was through talking, because i was just beginning with the inquiry.
"witchcraft? i don't understand." i said.
"because of the local witchcraft i don't want people back there, thats why."
we sat saying nothing. i didn't want to overwhelm her with my seeming ignorance so i once again let the story leak out in it's own time. i was sure it would come if i could just be patient.
"you know..." she started up "there are witches in this place."
i was noticing how much she resembled a big fat owl perched on a branch. very intentional with her few movements, and eyes just as big.
"there are witches and witchcraft. it's not good. i've heard they'll keep the babies from coming."
she moved her hands motioning a baby coming out and then stopping.
"the witches, i have heard, will press their feet down hard to the ground, soooo hard and then the baby won't come. that is why i don't let the women scream. i want the baby to come quietly so we can go out and tell the family, he has come!"
i had two thoughts. i was warmed to see Ma acting as a protector and caring for her patients by not letting them make noise, even though i am pretty certain the baby would come either way. secondly i had to reconsider my original notion, which was- women in the village were tougher and could handle pain in a more contained fashion, so much they didn't even need to make loud sounds.
"yes the witchcraft is all over, but there is no place for it here. Hmf."
i looked over on the wall at a poster sized calendar of Jesus. He was larger than life and surreal looking. the months of 2006 were listed along the bottom of the poster. a new calendar for 2007 had been hung on the same nail in the wall. this one was of an African beauty queen and was smaller. the beauty queens face was the same size as Jesus' and had been hung over his, replacing Jesus' face with that of a woman but keeping the robe and gentle hands in place so that it looked like the white god had a new look.
i pointed it out to Ma.
i'm still not certain how well she can see, with the creeping cataracts in her eyes, but she saw what i was referring to. it looked like a cardboard Jesus cutout where the African woman had inserted her face. it was funny. i related more closely to the second image than the first.
Ma and I cracked up and she told me "you are always making me laugh."
then she went on to explain how when i had contacted Foundation Human Nature 2 years back and asked if i could apprentice with the midwife at the clinic she had said "no".
"Did they tell you?" she asked me.
"no, they didn't."
"but you kept asking. you kept calling. you were persistant. but i didn't want you to come. i even thought you were a midwife yourself. that is what Dr. Ed Gold said. He said you were a midwife."
I had made it clear i was not. I told the head of the organization i had no nursing or midwifery skills. I was simply coming to observe and learn. He said he would get back to me. i liked imagining him having to lie to get me there, coaxing Ma into believing i was qualified.
"yes, Dr. Ed Gold said you were a midwife, but even then i didn't want you. then finally they said you were still in contact and i had to let you come." she smiled at me and chuckled. a little it seemed, out of embarrasment and a little out of circumstance. i was here now and we were doing just fine, laughing and napping together.
i almost asked if she was glad now that i came, but decided to hold back. i didn't want to be openly rejected.
"do you remember the first day you came? Madame Lydia introduced you as a midwife and you said you were not?!" tides of laughter poured from her gut. "i even thought you were a midwife! turns out you are an educator!! ahahahhhaha! now you see-" she was choking on herself "how a midwife suffers. the life of a midwife is not easy, you should go back to the schools, unless you find this too interesting."
i didn't feel like i was suffering at all. i wanted to be, i wanted to be up all night till the wee hours of the morning, tending to women in need. but instead i was about to sleep on a bench.
"well i do find it interesting." i said.
"then you shouldn't waste your time here." she had gathered herself and was instructing me in some wise advice. "go to train, become qualified, and in 2 years you can return. you can be the head midwife. as for me, i will retire soon."
i liked the thought of that.
Kacie Annelise Mutscheller: Head Midwife: Huttel Health Clinic: Boamadumase.
Then i remembered the rats running atop Ma's roof. That is the resident midwifes house. Could i live years with the sound of claws scratching across metal?
I thought of babybushmeat. I had somewhat gotten used to him, our resident pet. Sure i could get used to the rats. and i would have to scrub the grease streaks off the wall.
"yeah, that sounds like a great idea. then i will get to wear a white midwifes dress like you!" i exclaimed.
"OH NO! this is senior midwifes wear. you will have to work some time before you can put on a white dress. but don't you worry you will get there. you will. one day."
"and Efreeyeh?!" i said it loud enough that she could hear me in Ma's office. "Efreeyeh and i will be a team. We'll deliver the next generation!"
I think Efreeyeh liked the thought of that although she didn't say anything.
"and i'll let her do all the circumcisions"
i immediately heard a giggle.
earlier that day a mother of week old twins had come in to have her boy circumsized. I thought i wanted to watch, so i went into the women's ward where the little baby was lying on his back. Efreeyeh was tying his legs down with a strip of African cloth. the mother was outside with the girl cradled in a white cloth. I sat at the baby's head and felt his hair. i could have been petting the belly of a bunny, it was that soft.
Efreeyeh prepared everything into a ready position; gauze, forceps, clipping devices.
i took a deep deep breath.
what continued in that next 10 minutes was too much for me to handle. the baby screamed loud and long and shook from excruciating pain. i wondered about the custom of circumsision, then i hated it.the second layer of skin was getting sliced into and i was beginning to feel weak and dizzy. i called for someone to take my place.
i walked over to the office and reclined on the mini-couch, with it's plastic covered cushions.
Secetry entered laughing. r>
"Oh kessy! You fear the circumsision! Oh Kessy!";
i told him i didn't so much fear it as i pitied the child. You couldn't offer solace to a child being mutilated and strapped down to a wooden bench.
The lab technician, Kingsley, came into the office to tease me too.
"Kacie? It seems you can't even watch. Can you? You fear it do you?? But you have to know it is the custom in Ghana. If you don't get your penis cut then you won't ever get a wife! It's true, no woman will want to marry you, even if you have one billion cedis! She will see your penis, scream, and leave you."
"it's true!!!" chimed Secetry.
"then that same boy who wasn't circumsized as a child" Kingsley was driving his point home with another example "will grow and enter JSS and everyone in school will tease him because of his penis. he won't be able to go another day with all that teasing. when he goes to the toilet, he will hide like this..." he huddled and cupped himself in the corner "he'll hide and he won't show anyone, he'll fear being beaten. i know of some children who become old, say 20 or something, and go to get circumsized so they won't feel ashamed. one billion cedis will not get you a wife if your penis is not cut, i will tell you that." then he left.
when i was in Ho, sitting with Senam in the hospital talking about life, the issue of circumsision came up. i dont' remember why but Senam told me of a child he grew up with who hadn't had it done. My dear friend explained to me how much he had made fun of the boy, for years on end. Growing up in rural Ghana, in a village, is a public affair. Your private parts are as visable at times as the bananas for sale down the road. You bathe in your yard, and your yard is public. The poor boy was teased until he was taken at 12 years old to get the skin removed.
Senam said "he didn't walk straight for weeks, and wouldn't look us in our eyes even longer than that."
the baby in the womens ward had finally quit crying and was back with his mother. when i left the room she had moved behind the corner and was biting her fist. as a future mother, i don't think i could have handled hearing all that.
i told Secetry "well when i have a baby i will not be circumsizing him. and if my husband demands it then he can bring him."
"fine fine!" he said.
i left the office over to Ma's. I wanted to be closer to women, which would bring me further away from what i had just witnessed.
A few hours later, after talking with Ma about witchcraft and midwifery, i had almost released the memory, until i hollered at Efreeyeh that she'd be taking care of all the future penis surgeries.
I think Ma had correctly read and interpreted my distaste at the idea of having to perform a circumcision. I had assumed in rural health clinics' that was a midwifes job. I was beginning to slide down the hill of self-doubt. She interuppted me by saying "as for circumcision, that is not a midwife's duty, that is why i stay in here while it is being performed. as for me i don't like it so i don't do it. don't worry kacie, you can leave that up to someone else, it is not for you. do you ever see me in the room while the baby is being cut? Never! So don't you worry."
We both closed our eyes, mine in the comfort of knowing and hers in the tiredness of old age. Together, we fell asleep on the job.
no men, just fufuo please
being a white woman in Ghana, i stand out. people want to "take me" as their wife before they even know my name. i can sit down in the shade for a brief moment and be approached by a man who wants to marry me because he loves me and he especially loves my country.
"really?" i say.
"yes, it is true my sweetie." he'll/they'll say.
"what country is it that you love so much?"
"your country."
"and where am i from?" i'll ask.
"i don't know."
the requests are so frequent that i've been considering going to a shop to have a t-shirt made. one side, the front side, will say "yes i will be your friend" and then the back side will say "no i will not marry you."
the other day i took a short ride on a tro tro to a local city. the car pulled up to my stop and just as i was alighting the vehicle a man that had been sitting in front of me for the past 30 minutes turned around and reached for my hand.
i had been admiring his stylish hat and paying close attention to what his almond eyes found interesting along the way. he stared at a huge oil rig that had been toppled over for quite some time. i was used to this drive, i knew the bends and corners that haphazard drivers wouldn't make it around and when they didn't i stared at the results for weeks. no one here is in a real hurry to clean up an accident scene, instead people use the debris as lounging areas, play structures, and shade. the man made a disapproving sound when he saw it. most locals don't take special note the way he did, so i questioned for a few miles whether he was a foreigner too. but when he asked me for my telephone number as i was stepping out of the trotro, his accent was Ghanaian.
i was in a funny mood that day. i was tired of routine. tired of telling people that i only wanted them as my friend, tired of being begged. the car was waiting for me to leave it, the man no longer had a hold of me, and all the passengers were listening to whether or not i was going to give this random person my telephone number.
"my number?" i asked. "why of course! do you have a pen?"
he scrambled through his bag as the tro tro inched forward, eager to leave. a few people in the car let some laughs loose and i stepped back to look at what i was doing.
why was i giving this man my number? i looked over at him and realized it was because i liked his hat, it had some sex appeal and was tilted to the side, which to me signified he had flair and personality.
he couldn't find a pen but someone from the back of the car lent him theirs.
"024" i said "6268924. and my name is Kacie."
"okay great, i'm Morrison, i'll be contacting you soon."
they all sped off, i heard him shout a goodbye through his window while i physically and mentally prepared to cross the busy street. i didn't have time to think about what i had just done, i had to dodge cars and buses first. sometimes i feel like i am living the real life version of Frogger.
when i got to the other side i started laughing. i felt a new sense of freedom. i didn't have to tell people no all the time, instead i could start saying yes. i pictured how life would be if i started handing out my number like it was Halloween candy. maybe i would find a husband? maybe our "how we met" story would lack 'soul mate romanticism and appeal' maybe instead it would be more dry and practical. i would tell people i had handed out my telephone number for years on public transportation until i had established some type of mutual connection with one of my recipients. then we got married.
i considered blind dating. this was no worse, or no better, depending on how you see it. and after all, Ghana is a big country and i didn't have to pick up my phone.
1 hour after i had been in the city i got a phone call from Morrison. He was just checking up on me.
"well, i'm doing just fine, thanks." then i hung up.
the next hour i got another phone call.
"still doing great, thanks." i said.
that night when i got back to the village i received a text message.
DEAREST KACIE. I KNOW YOU DO NOT KNOW ME BUT I CAN GUARANTEE I WILL MAKE YOU A GREAT FRIEND. DON'T FORGET ME. I WANT TO KNOW YOUR MIND. YOUR FRIEND, MORRISON.
i was tired and wasn't going to try and analyze it, the part about knowing my mind. tomorrow i would be leaving for a 2 day trip to Kumasi, a city with a lot of culture, history, and American food. At this point, the meals i had been dreaming about were what interested me most. i was going to eat something familiar and colorful.
the next day i checked into the guesthouse, declined the receptionist a marriage proposal, and found my room.
the sound my cell phone makes when i have an incoming message is similar to a cheap soundtrack of a sci-fi movie, or a scene from some after school special right when the ufo's land. i try to keep my phone on low because i don't know how to switch it and the noise embarrasses me. but no one was in my room so i didn't have to worry. i read the note.
HEY KACIE ITS MORRISON YOUR FRIEND. WISHING TO BE IN CONTACT.
i considered his salutation. "hey". it was slang, so if i did ever meet up with him at least we'd be able to converse freely.
my phone rang and i picked it up.
"Kacie? Kacie?" the background noise of where the caller was at, whom i assumed was Morrison, was scratchy and loud.
"yes this is kacie."
"Kacie where are you?"
"i'm in Kumasi."
"OH REALLY! that is wonderful. i am here in Kumasi also. i stay here. i'd like to meet with you sometime. when can i see you?"
i wasn't aware he was from Kumasi, i probably wouldn't have told him i was there if i knew.
"well" i had to think quick. "well i have a lot of work to do. i came just for a short time, i'm applying to colleges and will be busy for quite awhile on the computer. i don't think-"
the phone hung up.
i packed my bag with essentials for a day out on town; toilet paper, malaria meds, money, pen and paper then i headed over to the Internet lab.
when i was inside, fully engrossed in writing an application essay, i got another call.
"where are you kacie?"
"who is this?" i thought stalling the inevitable was my best choice.
"this is your friend Morrison."
"oh hello. how are you?"
the way cell phones work here is through units. the user buys a scratch card that equals up to a certain amount of time in units. when you call someone your units begin to deduct. most people are very low on units, due to lack of money. they call, typically greet the person on the other line, and state what they need to say. Then they hang up. i thought if i talked long enough about nothing his time would run up and i would never have to awkwardly reject a date.
"where are you?" he asked.
"oh, you see, i'm on the computer at an Internet cafe, and i don't know where i am."
i was annoying the people in the room. i was trying to speak low but it was still quite obvious i was on the phone. someone leaned over to me and told me where i was at.
"okay great, i'm coming." Morrison said right before he hung up.
he had heard my neighbor. they had informed him unintentionally of my hideout. now i was stuck. i couldn't leave my project, it was holding me hostage, so instead i said a little prayer.
dear God, help me, untangle my mess. i don't want to date this man.
for some strange reason i stopped focusing on my work on screen in front of me and started worrying about the reflection. i checked my teeth and smoothed my hair. i typed a line and then straightened my posture. i wanted to look cute typing when he walked in.
i looked around and realized how ridiculous this all was. i was primping for a person i was trying to reject, but it didn't stop me.
i was fully aware when he walked in behind me, i saw him on the screen. he swooped in and bent down on one knee lowering himself to my side, like a prince.
"keeesssyy" he said. when i focused in on him, he suddenly didn't look so much like royalty. he was sweating and trembling and his eyeballs looked like they were shaking around in their sockets. i repeated my previous prayer.
"helloooooo ohh it iss ssooo goood too see youu."
his voice was gremlinish and i wanted to get away from it.
he grabbed my hand and lifted it up to his eager lips. i was instantly mortified.
please god don't let him kiss my-
"mmmwwwkkk!"
he did it.
my whole body cringed and i wondered where the nearest sink was. i had already planned a hand washing session.
"ohh kessy, when yyyyoouu are donne lett's gett togethher, okayy?"
i gave him a very strong but sympathetic look. "i am very sorry but i will be here until the place closes. i surely don't have time today. i apologize."
it was early in the morning and the lab closed late at night, i was lying and it was obvious. no one spends 15 hours in a computer lab.
"weeelll theen maybe i''lll cooome bacck in 30 minnuttes and waiit."
he looked obsessed.
i tried to dissuade his return but he would have none of it.
after he left i quickly typed up answers to the midwifery college i am trying to get into.
question number 8- please describe your current relationship with the Lord.
question number 9- please describe your relationship with your family.
question number 10- what do you believe your strengths as a midwife will be.
i was thoughtful and truthful and typing like crazy. i wanted to get out of there before he came back. i was putting all my faith into him operating in "African time". that would mean his half hour arrival would really come in 1 hour or longer. i was pleasantly surprised by the speed and fluency of my answers. they were what i would have typed had i been sitting and pondering all day long.
i dotted my last i's and crossed my t's and got the hell out of there. i grabbed all my things in one big swoop and ran out the door down the street. the day had turned busy, people were everywhere, taxis buzzing around beeping at me and all the other pedestrians. i ran past everything, taking in nothing, knowing the further away i got the less of a chance of me getting caught again in the presence of that guy.
i ran past an expat hangout, made a quick u turn, and entered it like i was dying of thirst and had just reached a waterfall. i found a table close to the corner and huddled down with my papers and relief.
a menu came floating down to me, like an autumn leaf falling. it landed in my lap and i studied it in complete peace. i was safe.
the waiter came over and asked me what i'd like.
"first," i said "i'd like to wash my hands. is there a place i can do that?"
he pointed to a sink in the corner.
"okay" i said "i can't decide quite yet, my mind will clear once my hands are clean. please come back to me."
i walked back to the sink, but had to special request soap. somebody brought me a huge squirt bottle full, it was the color of 4 leafed clovers and leprechauns. i filled my palms up and rubbed ferociously.
i was thankful.
thankful to be where i was at, alone, doing what i was doing.
i walked back to my table and sat down. i looked at the menu again and a strange craving came over me.
none of the food looked appetizing.
i wanted fufuo. my body wanted fufuo.
the waiter made his second round and looked at me expectantly.
"okay, well, i guess i'll get a Hawaiian pizza."
he nodded.
"but wait-" he was leaving and i just had to know. "you don't by any chance have fufuo, do you?"
"we do not."
"oh okay, never mind. pizza will be just fine."
i sat back and relaxed. i thanked God for my clean hands and deliverance and decided i wasn't going to hand out my number to strangers anymore, the excitement of it all was just too much.
"really?" i say.
"yes, it is true my sweetie." he'll/they'll say.
"what country is it that you love so much?"
"your country."
"and where am i from?" i'll ask.
"i don't know."
the requests are so frequent that i've been considering going to a shop to have a t-shirt made. one side, the front side, will say "yes i will be your friend" and then the back side will say "no i will not marry you."
the other day i took a short ride on a tro tro to a local city. the car pulled up to my stop and just as i was alighting the vehicle a man that had been sitting in front of me for the past 30 minutes turned around and reached for my hand.
i had been admiring his stylish hat and paying close attention to what his almond eyes found interesting along the way. he stared at a huge oil rig that had been toppled over for quite some time. i was used to this drive, i knew the bends and corners that haphazard drivers wouldn't make it around and when they didn't i stared at the results for weeks. no one here is in a real hurry to clean up an accident scene, instead people use the debris as lounging areas, play structures, and shade. the man made a disapproving sound when he saw it. most locals don't take special note the way he did, so i questioned for a few miles whether he was a foreigner too. but when he asked me for my telephone number as i was stepping out of the trotro, his accent was Ghanaian.
i was in a funny mood that day. i was tired of routine. tired of telling people that i only wanted them as my friend, tired of being begged. the car was waiting for me to leave it, the man no longer had a hold of me, and all the passengers were listening to whether or not i was going to give this random person my telephone number.
"my number?" i asked. "why of course! do you have a pen?"
he scrambled through his bag as the tro tro inched forward, eager to leave. a few people in the car let some laughs loose and i stepped back to look at what i was doing.
why was i giving this man my number? i looked over at him and realized it was because i liked his hat, it had some sex appeal and was tilted to the side, which to me signified he had flair and personality.
he couldn't find a pen but someone from the back of the car lent him theirs.
"024" i said "6268924. and my name is Kacie."
"okay great, i'm Morrison, i'll be contacting you soon."
they all sped off, i heard him shout a goodbye through his window while i physically and mentally prepared to cross the busy street. i didn't have time to think about what i had just done, i had to dodge cars and buses first. sometimes i feel like i am living the real life version of Frogger.
when i got to the other side i started laughing. i felt a new sense of freedom. i didn't have to tell people no all the time, instead i could start saying yes. i pictured how life would be if i started handing out my number like it was Halloween candy. maybe i would find a husband? maybe our "how we met" story would lack 'soul mate romanticism and appeal' maybe instead it would be more dry and practical. i would tell people i had handed out my telephone number for years on public transportation until i had established some type of mutual connection with one of my recipients. then we got married.
i considered blind dating. this was no worse, or no better, depending on how you see it. and after all, Ghana is a big country and i didn't have to pick up my phone.
1 hour after i had been in the city i got a phone call from Morrison. He was just checking up on me.
"well, i'm doing just fine, thanks." then i hung up.
the next hour i got another phone call.
"still doing great, thanks." i said.
that night when i got back to the village i received a text message.
DEAREST KACIE. I KNOW YOU DO NOT KNOW ME BUT I CAN GUARANTEE I WILL MAKE YOU A GREAT FRIEND. DON'T FORGET ME. I WANT TO KNOW YOUR MIND. YOUR FRIEND, MORRISON.
i was tired and wasn't going to try and analyze it, the part about knowing my mind. tomorrow i would be leaving for a 2 day trip to Kumasi, a city with a lot of culture, history, and American food. At this point, the meals i had been dreaming about were what interested me most. i was going to eat something familiar and colorful.
the next day i checked into the guesthouse, declined the receptionist a marriage proposal, and found my room.
the sound my cell phone makes when i have an incoming message is similar to a cheap soundtrack of a sci-fi movie, or a scene from some after school special right when the ufo's land. i try to keep my phone on low because i don't know how to switch it and the noise embarrasses me. but no one was in my room so i didn't have to worry. i read the note.
HEY KACIE ITS MORRISON YOUR FRIEND. WISHING TO BE IN CONTACT.
i considered his salutation. "hey". it was slang, so if i did ever meet up with him at least we'd be able to converse freely.
my phone rang and i picked it up.
"Kacie? Kacie?" the background noise of where the caller was at, whom i assumed was Morrison, was scratchy and loud.
"yes this is kacie."
"Kacie where are you?"
"i'm in Kumasi."
"OH REALLY! that is wonderful. i am here in Kumasi also. i stay here. i'd like to meet with you sometime. when can i see you?"
i wasn't aware he was from Kumasi, i probably wouldn't have told him i was there if i knew.
"well" i had to think quick. "well i have a lot of work to do. i came just for a short time, i'm applying to colleges and will be busy for quite awhile on the computer. i don't think-"
the phone hung up.
i packed my bag with essentials for a day out on town; toilet paper, malaria meds, money, pen and paper then i headed over to the Internet lab.
when i was inside, fully engrossed in writing an application essay, i got another call.
"where are you kacie?"
"who is this?" i thought stalling the inevitable was my best choice.
"this is your friend Morrison."
"oh hello. how are you?"
the way cell phones work here is through units. the user buys a scratch card that equals up to a certain amount of time in units. when you call someone your units begin to deduct. most people are very low on units, due to lack of money. they call, typically greet the person on the other line, and state what they need to say. Then they hang up. i thought if i talked long enough about nothing his time would run up and i would never have to awkwardly reject a date.
"where are you?" he asked.
"oh, you see, i'm on the computer at an Internet cafe, and i don't know where i am."
i was annoying the people in the room. i was trying to speak low but it was still quite obvious i was on the phone. someone leaned over to me and told me where i was at.
"okay great, i'm coming." Morrison said right before he hung up.
he had heard my neighbor. they had informed him unintentionally of my hideout. now i was stuck. i couldn't leave my project, it was holding me hostage, so instead i said a little prayer.
dear God, help me, untangle my mess. i don't want to date this man.
for some strange reason i stopped focusing on my work on screen in front of me and started worrying about the reflection. i checked my teeth and smoothed my hair. i typed a line and then straightened my posture. i wanted to look cute typing when he walked in.
i looked around and realized how ridiculous this all was. i was primping for a person i was trying to reject, but it didn't stop me.
i was fully aware when he walked in behind me, i saw him on the screen. he swooped in and bent down on one knee lowering himself to my side, like a prince.
"keeesssyy" he said. when i focused in on him, he suddenly didn't look so much like royalty. he was sweating and trembling and his eyeballs looked like they were shaking around in their sockets. i repeated my previous prayer.
"helloooooo ohh it iss ssooo goood too see youu."
his voice was gremlinish and i wanted to get away from it.
he grabbed my hand and lifted it up to his eager lips. i was instantly mortified.
please god don't let him kiss my-
"mmmwwwkkk!"
he did it.
my whole body cringed and i wondered where the nearest sink was. i had already planned a hand washing session.
"ohh kessy, when yyyyoouu are donne lett's gett togethher, okayy?"
i gave him a very strong but sympathetic look. "i am very sorry but i will be here until the place closes. i surely don't have time today. i apologize."
it was early in the morning and the lab closed late at night, i was lying and it was obvious. no one spends 15 hours in a computer lab.
"weeelll theen maybe i''lll cooome bacck in 30 minnuttes and waiit."
he looked obsessed.
i tried to dissuade his return but he would have none of it.
after he left i quickly typed up answers to the midwifery college i am trying to get into.
question number 8- please describe your current relationship with the Lord.
question number 9- please describe your relationship with your family.
question number 10- what do you believe your strengths as a midwife will be.
i was thoughtful and truthful and typing like crazy. i wanted to get out of there before he came back. i was putting all my faith into him operating in "African time". that would mean his half hour arrival would really come in 1 hour or longer. i was pleasantly surprised by the speed and fluency of my answers. they were what i would have typed had i been sitting and pondering all day long.
i dotted my last i's and crossed my t's and got the hell out of there. i grabbed all my things in one big swoop and ran out the door down the street. the day had turned busy, people were everywhere, taxis buzzing around beeping at me and all the other pedestrians. i ran past everything, taking in nothing, knowing the further away i got the less of a chance of me getting caught again in the presence of that guy.
i ran past an expat hangout, made a quick u turn, and entered it like i was dying of thirst and had just reached a waterfall. i found a table close to the corner and huddled down with my papers and relief.
a menu came floating down to me, like an autumn leaf falling. it landed in my lap and i studied it in complete peace. i was safe.
the waiter came over and asked me what i'd like.
"first," i said "i'd like to wash my hands. is there a place i can do that?"
he pointed to a sink in the corner.
"okay" i said "i can't decide quite yet, my mind will clear once my hands are clean. please come back to me."
i walked back to the sink, but had to special request soap. somebody brought me a huge squirt bottle full, it was the color of 4 leafed clovers and leprechauns. i filled my palms up and rubbed ferociously.
i was thankful.
thankful to be where i was at, alone, doing what i was doing.
i walked back to my table and sat down. i looked at the menu again and a strange craving came over me.
none of the food looked appetizing.
i wanted fufuo. my body wanted fufuo.
the waiter made his second round and looked at me expectantly.
"okay, well, i guess i'll get a Hawaiian pizza."
he nodded.
"but wait-" he was leaving and i just had to know. "you don't by any chance have fufuo, do you?"
"we do not."
"oh okay, never mind. pizza will be just fine."
i sat back and relaxed. i thanked God for my clean hands and deliverance and decided i wasn't going to hand out my number to strangers anymore, the excitement of it all was just too much.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
short and sweet
A bicycle was creaking it's pedals towards me, and the rider stopped just short of running me over.
"kacie, hello? where are you going?"
"i'm going to the clinic." i replied.
"fine, fine, that is fine. by God's grace enjoy yourself."
i started to walk on but he reached out and prodded my shoulder.
"kacie? i must let you know, do not be letting the boys from the village into your home. it is not advisable." he smacked his lips and his head fluttered about, like a bird trying desperately to escape his cage.
i had no reference for what he was speaking of, but he was obviously very serious about the matter.
"who?" i asked. "who has been visiting me?"
"the boys, from the village, don't let them in."
"well i'm sorry but i don't know what you are talking about. i don't let boys from the village into my home"
if he was talking about my roommates, i didn't really have a choice. not to mention, i liked them, a lot. i had to pause, step back and look at this man.
who was he?
i liked his energy, it was serene and caring, but i still did not know him. he was interacting with me on intimate terms so i couldn't ask him when or if we had ever met.
he was still talking.
"give me your number and i'll share what i have been hearing with you later."
"okay." i said. but then, why not now? "can you please just tell me now."
"OHNO! i will call you later kacie. besides..." he perked up his index finger stiff like a flagpole, then he said slowly "a word to the wise is-" looking at me expectantly. He wanted me to finish his sentence.
I stared at him blankly.
"a word to the wise-" he continued.
i just kept staring.
"Kacie? a word to the wise- is ENOUGH! remember, A WORD TO THE WISE IS ENOUGH!"
it was nice he was looking after me, but i still had to inform him. "yes i understand, but i still don't know WHO you are referring to. I don't let strange boys into my home!"
"Kacie? do you remember last week at the market?" he said it so fast it sounded like a chant.
i raised my eyebrows with one quick lift.
"the lady, with plantain on her head, she said her son has been coming to visit you! i have been in this village since 1969! i know these small boys who grow to be big. i am the eyes and the ears of this village Kacie. don't let these boys into your home."
then he sped off.
i understood. this was a warning against Osmand, the boring 20 something year old who had been stopping by my house to drill me on questions about the U.S. I met him on the road back home one day and he instantly befriended me. He's a modern thinker, too modern for a village. He clung to me like a barnacle, going along with me just to hear stories about America. he says he likes the place because we have enormous buildings, we don't cheat on our spouses and the women 'just say what is on their minds.'
i told him yes our buildings are big, but that affairs happen all the time in the u.s. and if i were really to say what was on my mind i probably would have hurt him, so i didn't. his company made me feel tired and i wasn't afraid to show it. maybe letting out a few loud slow motion yawns could clear him from my house, i thought.
when that didn't work, i'd put my head down where ever we were at and close my eyes. he didn't seem to care so i'd answer him from a resting position.
"i've grown tired of this place." he'd say, referring to Ghana.
"i can't see why." i'd murmur.
then he'd go on to explain his reasons.
one thing i appreciate is he never asks me for anything except my company and some conversation.
after his first few days of stopping by my house, i realized he was just there to befriend me. he doesn't want to be my husband or even my boyfriend, he doesn't want a visa, or a letter to get a visa, he doesn't want dinner, or water from the well.
he's just lonely.
he's Muslim and we play soccer together. he says he used to be a Christian, but now is Muslim. In two years he plans to return to Christianity.
"2 years?" i laughed. i wasn't aware you could schedule faith into a datebook.
"yes, in 2 years."
he had brought a soccer ball that day and on it were the words "NO JESUS NO LIFE", i found it ironic that the ball belonged to his team. it jump started our casual religious conversation. i asked him about Islamic beliefs , but he couldn't express himself very well. he couldn't come up with the words to explain much.
i knew exactly how he felt.
"faith" i reassured him "it's a hard thing to talk about. at least the kind that lives in your heart."
he agreed.
i didn't mean for it too, but i noticed my demeanor softening up around him. he wasn't so boring anymore. a week or so went by and it was clear- he was a soul-searcher. i was somebody who had time and an equal curiosity about things, when i was awake. i made a commitment to his company, to stop sleeping when he came to visit.
our time together was short, but i would call him a friend. he answered my questions about Ghana and corrected my brash generalizations. he came early and stayed late, sometimes a little too late for my liking, but it all worked out. his school came back into session and he returned. he goes to university in Kumasi. when he left he thanked me for spending time with him and said he had to get going, spring semester was starting on Monday.
"okay but before you leave..." i said a little hesitantly "what is your name?"
we both laughed. we had talked about everything, asked each other a million and one questions, but never our names.
"i'm Osmand."
i waited for the other names. none came.
"and what is your name?" he asked me.
"i'm Kacie."
"Kacie. fine, it's been a pleasure. take care."
then he left.
i think the man on the bicycle is mistaken.
"kacie, hello? where are you going?"
"i'm going to the clinic." i replied.
"fine, fine, that is fine. by God's grace enjoy yourself."
i started to walk on but he reached out and prodded my shoulder.
"kacie? i must let you know, do not be letting the boys from the village into your home. it is not advisable." he smacked his lips and his head fluttered about, like a bird trying desperately to escape his cage.
i had no reference for what he was speaking of, but he was obviously very serious about the matter.
"who?" i asked. "who has been visiting me?"
"the boys, from the village, don't let them in."
"well i'm sorry but i don't know what you are talking about. i don't let boys from the village into my home"
if he was talking about my roommates, i didn't really have a choice. not to mention, i liked them, a lot. i had to pause, step back and look at this man.
who was he?
i liked his energy, it was serene and caring, but i still did not know him. he was interacting with me on intimate terms so i couldn't ask him when or if we had ever met.
he was still talking.
"give me your number and i'll share what i have been hearing with you later."
"okay." i said. but then, why not now? "can you please just tell me now."
"OHNO! i will call you later kacie. besides..." he perked up his index finger stiff like a flagpole, then he said slowly "a word to the wise is-" looking at me expectantly. He wanted me to finish his sentence.
I stared at him blankly.
"a word to the wise-" he continued.
i just kept staring.
"Kacie? a word to the wise- is ENOUGH! remember, A WORD TO THE WISE IS ENOUGH!"
it was nice he was looking after me, but i still had to inform him. "yes i understand, but i still don't know WHO you are referring to. I don't let strange boys into my home!"
"Kacie? do you remember last week at the market?" he said it so fast it sounded like a chant.
i raised my eyebrows with one quick lift.
"the lady, with plantain on her head, she said her son has been coming to visit you! i have been in this village since 1969! i know these small boys who grow to be big. i am the eyes and the ears of this village Kacie. don't let these boys into your home."
then he sped off.
i understood. this was a warning against Osmand, the boring 20 something year old who had been stopping by my house to drill me on questions about the U.S. I met him on the road back home one day and he instantly befriended me. He's a modern thinker, too modern for a village. He clung to me like a barnacle, going along with me just to hear stories about America. he says he likes the place because we have enormous buildings, we don't cheat on our spouses and the women 'just say what is on their minds.'
i told him yes our buildings are big, but that affairs happen all the time in the u.s. and if i were really to say what was on my mind i probably would have hurt him, so i didn't. his company made me feel tired and i wasn't afraid to show it. maybe letting out a few loud slow motion yawns could clear him from my house, i thought.
when that didn't work, i'd put my head down where ever we were at and close my eyes. he didn't seem to care so i'd answer him from a resting position.
"i've grown tired of this place." he'd say, referring to Ghana.
"i can't see why." i'd murmur.
then he'd go on to explain his reasons.
one thing i appreciate is he never asks me for anything except my company and some conversation.
after his first few days of stopping by my house, i realized he was just there to befriend me. he doesn't want to be my husband or even my boyfriend, he doesn't want a visa, or a letter to get a visa, he doesn't want dinner, or water from the well.
he's just lonely.
he's Muslim and we play soccer together. he says he used to be a Christian, but now is Muslim. In two years he plans to return to Christianity.
"2 years?" i laughed. i wasn't aware you could schedule faith into a datebook.
"yes, in 2 years."
he had brought a soccer ball that day and on it were the words "NO JESUS NO LIFE", i found it ironic that the ball belonged to his team. it jump started our casual religious conversation. i asked him about Islamic beliefs , but he couldn't express himself very well. he couldn't come up with the words to explain much.
i knew exactly how he felt.
"faith" i reassured him "it's a hard thing to talk about. at least the kind that lives in your heart."
he agreed.
i didn't mean for it too, but i noticed my demeanor softening up around him. he wasn't so boring anymore. a week or so went by and it was clear- he was a soul-searcher. i was somebody who had time and an equal curiosity about things, when i was awake. i made a commitment to his company, to stop sleeping when he came to visit.
our time together was short, but i would call him a friend. he answered my questions about Ghana and corrected my brash generalizations. he came early and stayed late, sometimes a little too late for my liking, but it all worked out. his school came back into session and he returned. he goes to university in Kumasi. when he left he thanked me for spending time with him and said he had to get going, spring semester was starting on Monday.
"okay but before you leave..." i said a little hesitantly "what is your name?"
we both laughed. we had talked about everything, asked each other a million and one questions, but never our names.
"i'm Osmand."
i waited for the other names. none came.
"and what is your name?" he asked me.
"i'm Kacie."
"Kacie. fine, it's been a pleasure. take care."
then he left.
i think the man on the bicycle is mistaken.
what's cookin'?
i took my anatomy and physiology book to the clinic today, but it was Friday, and Friday's are always busy due to women coming in from the market, and a baby health clinic we run once a month. i only had time to flip through the pages during my lunch break. then i walked over to Maame Vic's office and showed her, she loves learning and then explaining what she has learned.
"it's a nice book! some time you should come and we will spend the time studying everything. i will teach it to you."
earlier that day she told me all about the human heart. she spoke so passionately about it i almost cried.
a few years back a doctor invited her to a hospital in Kumasi to witness an open heart surgery. the little boy they were performing it on had been born with a hole in his heart.
"God is wonderful." she said.
i hadn't seen her touched to this magnitude ever. not even when she talked about birth. it sent chills rushing through me, down to the tips of my toes. her storytelling had me entranced.
"the heart is truly incredible." she continued with a 30 minute impromptu summary of all its intricacies and power. i haven't seen tears shed in public much, but i almost did. if you could consider Maame Vic's office public.
"any way" she sighed and concluded "we are so perfectly made, our bodies are so able. Praise God."
i thought about the mystery of a pumping heart. silently all our life our heart beats for us, and not because we tell it to. it has been designed FOR US to do that. then one day, it stops, and that is life. i wanted to gently lift mine out of my chest and give it a little hug, just to say thanks.
i decided right then i would be coming to Maame Vic's more frequently, instead of sitting in Ma's cavernous office waiting for her to talk.
i left the book on her desk and closed work for the day. i walked home, into the living room, where Sakola was resting on the ground listening to the radio. i like it when Sakola turns the radio on because he sets the volume at a bearable level. NanaKwame must be going deaf.
"what are you listening to?" i asked.
"sports." he was on his stomach, arms crossed, with his chin resting on top of his hands. he was into the game.
"ballball?" i asked.
"ahnnnnnn" the pitch of his voice made a steady decline. this was another way of saying yes without having to speak.
because i like soccer i sat down and listened. the game could have been basketball, ice hockey, or politics. i wouldn't have been able to tell, but i still felt like i knew what was happening. i could imagine the quick passes, slide tackles, and bulging thigh muscles, and i could hear the fans in the background. i stretched out and thought about soccer and the human body.
"did you go to the farm today?" i asked Sakola.
"yes" he had a look that was asking for me to inquire more.
"what?" i said.
"bush meat? you say you like it?"
the day prior NanaKwame brought home quite a surprise for dinner. I was sitting at the dining room table absorbing the last pages i had left of Maya Angelou's Complete Autobiography. I wasn't ready to be through with her. I had spent the last few weeks reading this book every day after work and i felt as if i had a new friend. In 3 short pages my friend would be gone. i read slowly, with a sad anticipation. i also noticed an incredibly salty smell and it was making it's way into me, seeping into my skin and crawling through my mouth.
"Kessywa?!?!" NanaKwame always sounds like he has excellent news to share.
i looked up from my book.
"Kessywaa? You like fish?"
i was trying to figure out how i should answer that question, but then he ordered me into the kitchen to look at the big black bucket he had carried in. i peered over the edge (he had it up on a table) and looked down into the murky water.
it was an aquatic orgy, except only the crabs were moving. all the rest of the creatures had their bellies sliced open and floated there looking ugly, rubbing slimy bodies against each other.
NanaKwame had turned on the gas cooker and pulled out a big silver pot.
Sakola walked in and looked inside the bucket too. he smiled. "you like?"
they already knew that i liked fish, but i had no idea the fish i had been eating looked like this. i ignorantly assumed there were just two kinds; dried and fresh. the contents below me proved this to be untrue. i had been eating big fish and small fish, fat fish and skinny fish, fish with whiskers and flat heads (catfish?) and fish that looked like snakes. i had been eating a Dr.Seuss book.
i tried really hard to not think about it too much. that worked for 5 seconds.
"you bought this?" i asked NanaKwame.
he has a phrase he speaks so quickly and fluently that i have registered it more as a clearing of the throat then an actual coherent string of words. he says "i'dliketosay" and then he says whatever it is.
i repeated. "you bought this?"
"nooooo, i'dliketosay i caught."
"you caught these?" i asked.
"yeesss! i'dliketosay today."
were we close to any bodies of water? i was worried.
"WHERE?!"
"oh kessywa, i'dliketosay i caught at the big water!"
i didn't know where the "big water" was, but i had been eating this fish the entire time i had been here and have only been sick once. i had to continue eating it until may. i decided it'd be best if i didn't ask where the "big water" was, i didn't want to see it.
NanaKwame picked out the eel looking fish and wiggled it in my face.
"You like the snake fish!?!"
i told him in twi i did not. i picked through which fish i thought looked good and which i would never want to eat. the whiskered fish was out. Sakola was astonished at how incredibly picky i was. i didn't care. then we grabbed a crab out of the bucket and let it skitter about.
i felt comfortable with crabs, i grew up by the ocean spending long days chasing them into their tide pool homes. i knew what it felt like to be pinched by a crab, and the ones in the bucket were small. i thought i'd scare the boys and let the crab latch on to one of my fingers. i'd scream and act like i was dying.
the plan didn't work because they were too overprotective. every time i stuck my index finger in the crabs way the boys swatted my hand. i couldn't explain the joke so they probably just thought i had no idea what i was doing.
NanaKwame started throwing fish into the pot and Sakola yelled at him to keep the flat headed catfish thing and the snake fish out. he wanted me to enjoy the dinner too.
i went back to the table and said goodbye to my friend, i closed the book. dinner was soon to be ready, the smells were intensifying. part of me enjoyed the aroma, it reminded me of the beach, of San Diego. the other part knew that the ocean was no where nearby.
with the amount of food our table offered that night we could have fed our congregation. the brothers refused to let any of it be wasted, but hadn't invited anyone to eat with us. we were 3 and the fish were plenty.
"i'm satisfied, thank you." i said stretched back to let my stomach accommodate.
"NO! you eat. there is too much!" they said.
"i'm full! i can't possibly take any more."
Sakola plopped a medium sized fish over on my side of the bowl. i threw it back. we all laughed.
i told them in simple twi that i didn't think i could ever eat fish again, and i think they felt the same way. we were stuffed. fish was swimming out our ears.
"soo much fish. please, i can't eat fish again this week." i told them again.
we had to go on an after dinner walk to let all the food settle and work it's way through.
...
"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLL" Sakola jumped up. his team had just scored. he was asking me if i liked bushmeat, also known as grasscutter, also known (by Americans) as big fat rat. i had lost myself in the thoughts of the fish from last night.
he jogged around the room, a little mellow celebration for his team who just made the shot.
"kecie, come."
i was comfortable on the ground. i told him no.
"kecie? i say, come." he was trying to convince, in a sweet coaxing voice.
"what is it?" i asked.
"you like bushmeat?"
"kakra kakra (a little bit)"
"okay. come."
i didn't need to go look, i already knew. we were having rat for dinner. my last words at the table echoed in my mind "please no more fish this week". i should have considered my alternative.
"i've seen it before Sakola. it's grasscutter, i know."
"Kecie?" he reached down for my hand, pulled me up and dragged me into the kitchen.
he opened the closet door where the broom without a handle is kept, along with old dirty rags and machetes. the silver pot was sitting there neatly with the lid on top.
Sakola bent down and lifted up the lid. he turned with excitement jumping off his face.
"today, we eat bushmeat, you like! i shoot at farm today." he made the motion of firing off a rifle.
i had remembered the day. the town looked like a pyromaniac had taken charge, multiple blazing fires were burning on the outskirts of the village. one was so close to the clinic Ma yelled that it was going to burn us all down. Secetry had gone out to assess the situation.
"the fires are troublesome." he said "people like the bushmeat too much. they go and burn the brush and catch it as it comes running out."
i should have corrected him, they don't CATCH it, they SHOOT it.
"sure Sakola, i like. i'll eat it." i said.
he nodded and looked like he had just recieved a medal, glowing and proud.
i had set myself up for this one, but i had eaten bushmeat plenty of times before, i could do it again. i even traveled with two dead smoked rats in a paper bag once, venturing half the length of Ghana with them in hand, so me and my friend could cook them up at home. we spent so much time with the things that we started calling them "da bruthas." we'd get on a tro tro and ask "did you get da bruthas" or we'd go to bed and smell them and say "good night bruthas". surely i could enjoy a nice meal of grasscutter once again.
i looked at Sakola and thought of the phone conversation i had with my mom and stepdad. they called me thrilled about a special program they had seen on t.v. about Ghana. i was glad they got to see where i was living and understand it a bit more.
"honey" my mom said "they eat rat?"
i laughed with relief that i wasn't the only person who considered it a less than ideal food. "ya" i said.
"but i heard them call it 'grasscuttah! it's just rat though right? have you eaten rat?" she wanted to know.
"ya mom! i eat it all the time."
i actually hadn't had it for quite a while, but i was trying to sound calloused.
"ewwwwwewwwwweww!" she squealed. i heard my stepdad laugh in the background. he got on the phone "okay dearie, we taped the show for you so you can watch it when you get back. we miss you and love you, byyyeee."
right after it happened i had told Sakola about the phone call, how my family was grossed out by bushmeat. this kept him entertained for quite some time. real fresh pure laughter was spilling out of him, at the thought of my family attempting to eat rat.
Now he was telling me to come to the corner of the kitchen. he was standing right by the gas burner, also close to a contraption i hadn't seen earlier. it looked similar to a structure a child might make when trying to corral a found pet, or a wild animal small enough to domesticate.
"for your mother" he said. he had a mischievous look.
i walked over and viewed his achievement.
he had used concrete blocks and the wedge of the kitchen wall to make the 'arena', thrown in a delicious looking papaya, and a ear of corn,and was successfully keeping the small shivering rodent from running away.
i screamed.
i wasn't expecting to see bushmeat alive in my kitchen, and why did he bring it home?
"it is for your mother and father." he said.
"wo di agoro?" are you kidding?
he fell to the floor cracking up and slapping his thigh. the laughter turned into the kind where you can barely breathe and it didn't stop. i looked at him quite stoically.
he never answered my question.
instead, he cooked up the poor rats mother only a feet away from it and then we sat and munched down. he handed me the thigh, with feet and curled up toes attached and i told him there was no way. he ripped the thigh apart and tore out the meat that looked appetizing, then i ate it. i thought of the anatomy book i had been studying earlier in the day. the rat was almost intact so i was able to identify major muscles and bones, were they the same as mine? Sakola popped them in his mouth. he ate everything, and i slowly picked at my serving telling myself it tasted exactly like corned beef, something i don't care for, but still it calmed me. i was awed by the strength of his teeth. he ate the entire skeleton.
"so how did you catch the bushmeat if you didn't shoot it?"
"like this" he stood up and demonstrated by creeping low like a cartoon robber, pounced on the air, and swooped up nothing.
Secetry was right.
"when will we eat it?" i asked.
"no, we don't eat. you take to America, give to your family." he quickly looked into the bowl and fished around for more meat. he couldn't look at me because he had to hold back the joke. he was trying to act serious.
now, i haven't been able to ascertain truth from fiction, but the animal isn't coming home with me.
i woke up this morning and the grasscutter had stopped shivering and seemed to be enjoying his new enclosure, munching on the fruit and slithering across the cement floor exploring the corners. i sat down to eat porridge and looked into the kitchen.
i've decided to start considering it as a new pet. if i think of it in edible terms i lose my appetite and don't even enjoy vegetarian food. if it stays around too long i might just turn into Fern, from Charlotte's Web, protesting that we simply can't eat our new friend! or maybe i'll have my own version of Free Willy, instead of carrying a million tons to the ocean, i'll just kick over a cement block and let the thing run outside back into his great big home.
"it's a nice book! some time you should come and we will spend the time studying everything. i will teach it to you."
earlier that day she told me all about the human heart. she spoke so passionately about it i almost cried.
a few years back a doctor invited her to a hospital in Kumasi to witness an open heart surgery. the little boy they were performing it on had been born with a hole in his heart.
"God is wonderful." she said.
i hadn't seen her touched to this magnitude ever. not even when she talked about birth. it sent chills rushing through me, down to the tips of my toes. her storytelling had me entranced.
"the heart is truly incredible." she continued with a 30 minute impromptu summary of all its intricacies and power. i haven't seen tears shed in public much, but i almost did. if you could consider Maame Vic's office public.
"any way" she sighed and concluded "we are so perfectly made, our bodies are so able. Praise God."
i thought about the mystery of a pumping heart. silently all our life our heart beats for us, and not because we tell it to. it has been designed FOR US to do that. then one day, it stops, and that is life. i wanted to gently lift mine out of my chest and give it a little hug, just to say thanks.
i decided right then i would be coming to Maame Vic's more frequently, instead of sitting in Ma's cavernous office waiting for her to talk.
i left the book on her desk and closed work for the day. i walked home, into the living room, where Sakola was resting on the ground listening to the radio. i like it when Sakola turns the radio on because he sets the volume at a bearable level. NanaKwame must be going deaf.
"what are you listening to?" i asked.
"sports." he was on his stomach, arms crossed, with his chin resting on top of his hands. he was into the game.
"ballball?" i asked.
"ahnnnnnn" the pitch of his voice made a steady decline. this was another way of saying yes without having to speak.
because i like soccer i sat down and listened. the game could have been basketball, ice hockey, or politics. i wouldn't have been able to tell, but i still felt like i knew what was happening. i could imagine the quick passes, slide tackles, and bulging thigh muscles, and i could hear the fans in the background. i stretched out and thought about soccer and the human body.
"did you go to the farm today?" i asked Sakola.
"yes" he had a look that was asking for me to inquire more.
"what?" i said.
"bush meat? you say you like it?"
the day prior NanaKwame brought home quite a surprise for dinner. I was sitting at the dining room table absorbing the last pages i had left of Maya Angelou's Complete Autobiography. I wasn't ready to be through with her. I had spent the last few weeks reading this book every day after work and i felt as if i had a new friend. In 3 short pages my friend would be gone. i read slowly, with a sad anticipation. i also noticed an incredibly salty smell and it was making it's way into me, seeping into my skin and crawling through my mouth.
"Kessywa?!?!" NanaKwame always sounds like he has excellent news to share.
i looked up from my book.
"Kessywaa? You like fish?"
i was trying to figure out how i should answer that question, but then he ordered me into the kitchen to look at the big black bucket he had carried in. i peered over the edge (he had it up on a table) and looked down into the murky water.
it was an aquatic orgy, except only the crabs were moving. all the rest of the creatures had their bellies sliced open and floated there looking ugly, rubbing slimy bodies against each other.
NanaKwame had turned on the gas cooker and pulled out a big silver pot.
Sakola walked in and looked inside the bucket too. he smiled. "you like?"
they already knew that i liked fish, but i had no idea the fish i had been eating looked like this. i ignorantly assumed there were just two kinds; dried and fresh. the contents below me proved this to be untrue. i had been eating big fish and small fish, fat fish and skinny fish, fish with whiskers and flat heads (catfish?) and fish that looked like snakes. i had been eating a Dr.Seuss book.
i tried really hard to not think about it too much. that worked for 5 seconds.
"you bought this?" i asked NanaKwame.
he has a phrase he speaks so quickly and fluently that i have registered it more as a clearing of the throat then an actual coherent string of words. he says "i'dliketosay" and then he says whatever it is.
i repeated. "you bought this?"
"nooooo, i'dliketosay i caught."
"you caught these?" i asked.
"yeesss! i'dliketosay today."
were we close to any bodies of water? i was worried.
"WHERE?!"
"oh kessywa, i'dliketosay i caught at the big water!"
i didn't know where the "big water" was, but i had been eating this fish the entire time i had been here and have only been sick once. i had to continue eating it until may. i decided it'd be best if i didn't ask where the "big water" was, i didn't want to see it.
NanaKwame picked out the eel looking fish and wiggled it in my face.
"You like the snake fish!?!"
i told him in twi i did not. i picked through which fish i thought looked good and which i would never want to eat. the whiskered fish was out. Sakola was astonished at how incredibly picky i was. i didn't care. then we grabbed a crab out of the bucket and let it skitter about.
i felt comfortable with crabs, i grew up by the ocean spending long days chasing them into their tide pool homes. i knew what it felt like to be pinched by a crab, and the ones in the bucket were small. i thought i'd scare the boys and let the crab latch on to one of my fingers. i'd scream and act like i was dying.
the plan didn't work because they were too overprotective. every time i stuck my index finger in the crabs way the boys swatted my hand. i couldn't explain the joke so they probably just thought i had no idea what i was doing.
NanaKwame started throwing fish into the pot and Sakola yelled at him to keep the flat headed catfish thing and the snake fish out. he wanted me to enjoy the dinner too.
i went back to the table and said goodbye to my friend, i closed the book. dinner was soon to be ready, the smells were intensifying. part of me enjoyed the aroma, it reminded me of the beach, of San Diego. the other part knew that the ocean was no where nearby.
with the amount of food our table offered that night we could have fed our congregation. the brothers refused to let any of it be wasted, but hadn't invited anyone to eat with us. we were 3 and the fish were plenty.
"i'm satisfied, thank you." i said stretched back to let my stomach accommodate.
"NO! you eat. there is too much!" they said.
"i'm full! i can't possibly take any more."
Sakola plopped a medium sized fish over on my side of the bowl. i threw it back. we all laughed.
i told them in simple twi that i didn't think i could ever eat fish again, and i think they felt the same way. we were stuffed. fish was swimming out our ears.
"soo much fish. please, i can't eat fish again this week." i told them again.
we had to go on an after dinner walk to let all the food settle and work it's way through.
...
"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLL" Sakola jumped up. his team had just scored. he was asking me if i liked bushmeat, also known as grasscutter, also known (by Americans) as big fat rat. i had lost myself in the thoughts of the fish from last night.
he jogged around the room, a little mellow celebration for his team who just made the shot.
"kecie, come."
i was comfortable on the ground. i told him no.
"kecie? i say, come." he was trying to convince, in a sweet coaxing voice.
"what is it?" i asked.
"you like bushmeat?"
"kakra kakra (a little bit)"
"okay. come."
i didn't need to go look, i already knew. we were having rat for dinner. my last words at the table echoed in my mind "please no more fish this week". i should have considered my alternative.
"i've seen it before Sakola. it's grasscutter, i know."
"Kecie?" he reached down for my hand, pulled me up and dragged me into the kitchen.
he opened the closet door where the broom without a handle is kept, along with old dirty rags and machetes. the silver pot was sitting there neatly with the lid on top.
Sakola bent down and lifted up the lid. he turned with excitement jumping off his face.
"today, we eat bushmeat, you like! i shoot at farm today." he made the motion of firing off a rifle.
i had remembered the day. the town looked like a pyromaniac had taken charge, multiple blazing fires were burning on the outskirts of the village. one was so close to the clinic Ma yelled that it was going to burn us all down. Secetry had gone out to assess the situation.
"the fires are troublesome." he said "people like the bushmeat too much. they go and burn the brush and catch it as it comes running out."
i should have corrected him, they don't CATCH it, they SHOOT it.
"sure Sakola, i like. i'll eat it." i said.
he nodded and looked like he had just recieved a medal, glowing and proud.
i had set myself up for this one, but i had eaten bushmeat plenty of times before, i could do it again. i even traveled with two dead smoked rats in a paper bag once, venturing half the length of Ghana with them in hand, so me and my friend could cook them up at home. we spent so much time with the things that we started calling them "da bruthas." we'd get on a tro tro and ask "did you get da bruthas" or we'd go to bed and smell them and say "good night bruthas". surely i could enjoy a nice meal of grasscutter once again.
i looked at Sakola and thought of the phone conversation i had with my mom and stepdad. they called me thrilled about a special program they had seen on t.v. about Ghana. i was glad they got to see where i was living and understand it a bit more.
"honey" my mom said "they eat rat?"
i laughed with relief that i wasn't the only person who considered it a less than ideal food. "ya" i said.
"but i heard them call it 'grasscuttah! it's just rat though right? have you eaten rat?" she wanted to know.
"ya mom! i eat it all the time."
i actually hadn't had it for quite a while, but i was trying to sound calloused.
"ewwwwwewwwwweww!" she squealed. i heard my stepdad laugh in the background. he got on the phone "okay dearie, we taped the show for you so you can watch it when you get back. we miss you and love you, byyyeee."
right after it happened i had told Sakola about the phone call, how my family was grossed out by bushmeat. this kept him entertained for quite some time. real fresh pure laughter was spilling out of him, at the thought of my family attempting to eat rat.
Now he was telling me to come to the corner of the kitchen. he was standing right by the gas burner, also close to a contraption i hadn't seen earlier. it looked similar to a structure a child might make when trying to corral a found pet, or a wild animal small enough to domesticate.
"for your mother" he said. he had a mischievous look.
i walked over and viewed his achievement.
he had used concrete blocks and the wedge of the kitchen wall to make the 'arena', thrown in a delicious looking papaya, and a ear of corn,and was successfully keeping the small shivering rodent from running away.
i screamed.
i wasn't expecting to see bushmeat alive in my kitchen, and why did he bring it home?
"it is for your mother and father." he said.
"wo di agoro?" are you kidding?
he fell to the floor cracking up and slapping his thigh. the laughter turned into the kind where you can barely breathe and it didn't stop. i looked at him quite stoically.
he never answered my question.
instead, he cooked up the poor rats mother only a feet away from it and then we sat and munched down. he handed me the thigh, with feet and curled up toes attached and i told him there was no way. he ripped the thigh apart and tore out the meat that looked appetizing, then i ate it. i thought of the anatomy book i had been studying earlier in the day. the rat was almost intact so i was able to identify major muscles and bones, were they the same as mine? Sakola popped them in his mouth. he ate everything, and i slowly picked at my serving telling myself it tasted exactly like corned beef, something i don't care for, but still it calmed me. i was awed by the strength of his teeth. he ate the entire skeleton.
"so how did you catch the bushmeat if you didn't shoot it?"
"like this" he stood up and demonstrated by creeping low like a cartoon robber, pounced on the air, and swooped up nothing.
Secetry was right.
"when will we eat it?" i asked.
"no, we don't eat. you take to America, give to your family." he quickly looked into the bowl and fished around for more meat. he couldn't look at me because he had to hold back the joke. he was trying to act serious.
now, i haven't been able to ascertain truth from fiction, but the animal isn't coming home with me.
i woke up this morning and the grasscutter had stopped shivering and seemed to be enjoying his new enclosure, munching on the fruit and slithering across the cement floor exploring the corners. i sat down to eat porridge and looked into the kitchen.
i've decided to start considering it as a new pet. if i think of it in edible terms i lose my appetite and don't even enjoy vegetarian food. if it stays around too long i might just turn into Fern, from Charlotte's Web, protesting that we simply can't eat our new friend! or maybe i'll have my own version of Free Willy, instead of carrying a million tons to the ocean, i'll just kick over a cement block and let the thing run outside back into his great big home.
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