sofie had been working on what she referred to as "the bike project" since the beginning of her time in ghana. her goal was to get each health volunteer and staff worker their own bicycle. she had contacted an american NGO in accra, which gives discounted bicycles to people living in villages, after having provided a day of training them how to maintain it. every time she went to the internet cafe, she corresponded with the NGO and worked out the details of how to get 20 bicycles into Boamadumase.
she wrote up and list, with the help of Secetry and I, of who would be recieving a bike.
i remember the day we got the paper out, and wrote down the names. it was a few months ago. i don't remember exactly what happened, but somehow Ma got left out. i can faintly recall us all looking at each other skeptically as to whether or not Ma would want a bicycle. we might have even laughed at the thought of her riding around town.
just last week a big lorry filled with red postman bikes pulled down the road and unloaded the goods. they were stored in the men's ward until the day of training, a saturday, when some men from the NGO would visit our village and teach us all how to take good care of a bike.
the arrival of the bicycles created quite a stir. people in town saw the truck driving through, and now on my walk to work little children were asking me to give them a bike. everyone at the health clinic were anxiously anticipating being able to ride around, and were looking forward to recieving them. even sofie had an extra bounce to her walk, and kept peering through the shutters to get a good look at them all locked up and lined up.
most of the health volunteers have been asking for bikes for years now, i was told by ed. he's been promising, and was relieved to see sofie take charge and make it happen.
we were sitting in the office talking about how excited every one was, how happy they all were, how beneficial a bicycle would be for some of the volunteers that live miles and miles away, when i got up and walked across the lawn into Ma's office.
kingsley was leaned up against her doorway, and she was sitting behind her desk, in her white dress. kingsley was defending himself, shaking a little and nervous like Piglet.
i walked past him and sat down in a chair, ready to engage in some late afternoon conversation, when all of a sudden Ma exploded. i couldn't understand what she was saying, but i had never heard her speak like this before. Her face went from a glowing orangish to a greenish to a deeper red. she wasn't happy.
kingsley hid a little behind the door frame, while Ma's hands whipped around, smacking the air around her. i was afraid of what i just walked in on, afraid to look at Ma. her voice had grown deeper than a roll of thunder but there was something else peculiar going on... it was shaky.
when i glanced over at her i saw that her bottom lip was quivering and her big owl face was trembling at the edges. her eyebrows were like poison arrows.
i didn't say a word, i just crossed my hands and stuck them between my crossed legs and looked down. then, i listened attentively, as miKe waRRingTon would say.
"i never heard that!" the words flew passionatley in twi out of Ma's mouth "NOBODY EVER ASKED ME!"
"they wrote the list and said you didn't want a bike." kingsley said.
"WHO? WHO WROTE THE LIST? HMPF." she leaned back in her chair for a silent moment, then... "YOU DIDN'T EVEN THINK TO ASK ME!"
my mind quickly retraced the making of the list. a surge of guilt shocked my body. had i spoken for Ma? said she didn't want a bike? cracked a joke about it? i felt i had to make something better, but i wasn't sure how.
"ma?" i said, a little too quietly.
"I AM THE HEAD MIDWIFE, SENIOR STAFF, NOBODY EVEN CARES!" she yelled. kingsley was toeing the ground.
"i think it was an accident." i said, sheepishly.
"EI! HA. HMPF." she stared blankly ahead, her mouth in full frown, with a look she was about to start crying.
"i'm sure we can get you your own bike."
"IT ISN'T THAT!"
silence and a deep breath.
"WHAT PAINS" she said "IS THAT NOBODY EVEN THOUGHT TO INFORM ME."
i realized this was a major blow. at the health center, under ghanaian terms, because she is the oldest person around, she should be the most respected. this shipment of bicycles was considered a big deal and she had had no idea it was happening, we had forgotten her.
"IF THAT IS HOW IT IS, FINE, I'LL PACK MY BAGS AND LEAVE."
her fury hadn't died down, i was suprised by how charged she was.
kingsley tried slinking away and Ma yelled at him to figure out who made the list. he called efreeyeh, who seemed to be the most elated from the idea of getting a bike. she loves bike riding. she walked through the screen door glowing with excitement, unaware of what was going on.
right when Ma started screaming at Efreeyeh, Efreeyeh began to laugh and looked down. this small interaction clarified so much for me. i had heard Ma admonish patients before, during consultation, and each did the same thing- that is- they looked down and laughed. i always thought i must have been interpreting the situation incorrectly, nobody laughs, nobody looks genuinely joyful when someone is yelling at them. but i was wrong, they do. efreeyeh looked happy.
"...HUH? TELL ME!"
efreeyeh said she didn't make the list, while kingsley escaped. "BUT YOU SAY YOU DIDN'T MAKE THE LIST? YOU ARE A MIDWIFE'S ASSISTANT, YOU SHOULD KNOW THESE THINGS!"
then Ma wrapped her arms close to her body and squeezed. "CALL VIC FOR ME!"
efreeyeh ran out and i sat with Ma. i wanted to ask her where she'd plan on riding around, which paths would she take, but i knew it was irrelevant.
"I'll PACK MY BAGS AND GO." she said.
i suddenly felt that she wanted me to resist that, i needed to talk her down from her bridge.
"Maaaaaaa... we need you here. you can't go."
"HMPF!"
"Really Ma, you're the master midwife. it was a bad mistake."
"A MISTAKE! last night that young woman came in, you and sofie and edward were here. why did you call for vic to come settle the case? huh? the young woman was pregnant, it should have been settled in maternity, but you called vic. she is only pretending to be a midwife. i am certified, but you didn't call me!"
"but they weren't certain it was a maternity case. they were trying to figure it out."
the woman was pregnant, and we had met her on the road in the dark, she was moaning in agony, her husband holding her up. we turned around and walked back to the clinic. she sounded like she could have been having a baby, but she was only 2 months pregnant. a possible spontaneous abortion, but there was no blood, and none ever came. we didn't feel the need to disturb Ma while she was sleeping. the doctors were taking care of it.
"THEY SHOULD HAVE CALLED ME! YOU SEE! ... and the other girl, the small girl whose father raped her. she went to vic. that should have been my case. she should come to me for antenatal, 6 months pregnant. she will come to deliver and i won't know who she is. hmpf! i didn't even know about her until you said something. why should she go to vic? i am the midwife! why?"
i could see her point. i felt guilty and i felt bad, mostly because Ma was hurt and i didn't like seeing her like this. not all the maternity cases were being referred to her. in her eyes, we were disrespecting and insulting her, and she had been storing up all this anger for awhile.
"both of those things upset you?" i asked.
"YES!"
"nobody knew. you didn't tell us."
"i know. why should i tell you?"
"because it makes you mad."
i quickly remembered mad means insane in this part of the world. i rephrased. "because you're angry and none of us even know."
"WELL IT'S NOT GOOD. NONE OF THIS IS GOOD. YOU SEE?"
"i'm sorry."
Madame Vic walked in the room and sat down across from me, cooly. she looked at Ma and then back at me. "we made a very bad mistake, we have forgotten Ma. she is the senior staff so if we are going to make a project we should inform her, ask her, see what she thinks. it's too bad." then she shook her head.
Ma shouted at Vic, then called everyone in for one last session. then we all left, droopy shouldered dragging our feet. secetry had just arrived, and as the screen door was shutting Ma heard his voice. "CALL SECETRY." she ordered me.
"secetry!" i pointed back through the door "Ma wants you."
he jumped off the bike, and laughed. when he walked past me into her area i could tell he already knew what he was in for. it looked like he was trying to shrug his shoulders up high so his head might fall down into the deep part of his tshirt. so he could cushion the attack.
i heard him squeal when she started yelling, and i looked back to see her words creating winds so vicious i hoped he'd make it out alive.
i walked back into the office, where ed and sofie were sitting.
"this is so cool!" sofie said, clapping her hands together. "all the bikes are here, i'm so excited!" she clenched her teeth and sucked in a happy breath. i gave her a smile back, but it was really fake.
i wasn't able to shake the wrath, it had stained my afternoon. it would be hard to get rid of, i thought, until efreeyeh walked into the office swatted me on the head and started boneshakin'.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
boneshaker
the woman had been in labor for over a day. Ma's had changed her hairdo from what she called "jerry", a short bob with tight curls, to a high ponytail that fell down her back, like a 50's girl, and the wait had really ruined her look. instead of the smooth thick mane of fake hair, it was tangled and matted from resting and waiting. she had a days worth of grease streaking her cheeks and her eyes were bloodshot.
we all were tired, and it was the middle of a hot day and i had run out of ways to keep myself occupied.
i tried yoga in the first stage room, next to Ma while she rested. she watched me, and yelled to efreeyeh in the other room that 'i was REALLY exercising!'. yoga is not relaxing when somebody is staring at you, so i stopped. i was too conscious of Ma. 'she is already tired!' Ma informed efreeyeh. 'you see? she's grown tired.' then she laughed.
before yoga i had finished a really good book and i wasn't ready to start another. the characters were still tingling through my body, still alive and next to me. it wouldn't be right to skip through that sensation and dive into another. it'd feel too much like rebounding.
i had napped for a few hours, had eaten too much, and had visited everyone in the clinic at least once.
"go and check your patient to see how far she is." Ma told me.
i went, put on a glove, and checked.
"WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN?!" Ma yelled from the bed.
i looked at efreeyeh like maybe she had the answer. i still had a very hard time measuring dilation. i needed more guidance, more instruction, more something.
"WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN? HUH!?"
"um, i think, she's at 6."
"6!" then came Ma's favorite line again... "DO YOU SEE HOW A MIDWIFE SUFFERS?!"
"well i'm not sure if it's 6, i think."
i went to stand between the two rooms, in the doorway, and i told Ma i needed more practice with that sort of thing. "can you come check? just so we really know?"
"but you shouldn't have done it if you don't know how. you see, the risk of infection will be high. efreeyeh! check!"
efreeyeh put on a glove, examed the lady, then yelled "6".
a little surge of pride ran up and down my spine. i was right. or... we were both wrong.
"are you sure?" i whispered.
she glanced at me sideways and snort laughed. "akua!"
"so looks like we'll be here all day." i said. "efreeyeh, tell me a joke."
she didn't say anything. she sat down on the childrens stool, with her head in her palms, and closed her eyes.
i prodded her awake "let's do something! we've been sleeping all day!"
"okay, what?" she asked.
"i don't know."
just then Ma came into the room with a surge of motivation to teach me something.
when she stood in the doorway she blocked the entire thing. i looked up at her from where efreeyeh and i were sitting and she resembled some magnificent sea creature, big and dark with wild hair for tentacles, and ready to emerge from it's sea cave.
"kaisy look." she said.
she balled up her chubby soft fist and held it out to me, there was a tiny hole she had created in the center. "this is 3 cm. you see?"
i bowed my head. "yes."
"here is 4" she made the hold a little larger "and 5, 6, and 7" the hold grew as she stuck her other hands fingers into the space "8, 9, and" her entire other hand shot through "10 cm! this is 10 cm."
"what is 1?" i asked.
"one is the size of a pinhole. very small. you see?"
i nodded.
"okay" she said "then now you know. you will be able to examine and see, then you can tell me."
she turned around, walked out, and got back onto the bed.
i looked at efreeyeh and asked her to show me 7 cm. efreeyeh's was much larger than Ma's and this style of learning was doing me no good, it was painfully inexact.
"c'mon" i said "arts and crafts time."
i went and grabbed some old cardboard, my swiss army knife, a pen, and a measuring tape.
"akua, you are doing what?" efreeyeh asked.
"lets cut out the cervix." i said. sofie had given me this idea, i just hadn't acted on it until now.
"lets go from 1-10, cut out the holes, then quiz each other."
we put down a dark blue sheet, on the floor next to Ma. Ma leaned over the side of the bed and watched us, approving of our activity. "see how the 1 is a pinhole?" she pointed.
when i cut out 10 cm and it was the size of a baby pizza, efreeyeh yelped. "akua, is too big!"
"i know, it's huge. you, one day, will be opening like this." then i threw the chunk of cardboard in her direction.
"no" she said "it's incorrect. you've cut it too big."
"i measured it, it's not too big." i grabbed it back. "it's 10 cm. exactly." then i stuck my face through and tried to make it look like i was being birthed. "waaaaaa..."
efreeyeh took the cardboard from me, and pressed the top of her head into the hole, while i said "chim chim" which is "push" in twi.
the scrap of cut out cardboard cervix kept us busy for quite a while, as we enacted all the different ways to be born, and stuck our faces turning to show eachother our hideous entry into the world. efreeyeh put her tongue through, her nose, her big eye.
we were Ma's live entertainment, and she loved it.
efreeyeh said "boneshaykaa kezzy!"
"what?"
"you are a boneshaykaa!"
"a boneshaker?"
"yes, boneshaykaa kezzy. you cut your holes too big. you make the women suffer if you expect this from them. boneshaykaa!"
i sprang up and made up a very passionate impromptu boneshaker dance, where i crouched low and shook my knees all around, threw my arms high into the sky and leaned back my head singing "BBBOOONNEEEESHHHAAKKEEERRR!!!"
Ma buried her face in the pillow and couldn't stop laughing. her whole body convulsed and the squeaky bed rattled. efreeyeh thought it was funny too, i actually hadn't ever seen her laugh that hard before. the reaction only egged me on to continue, with double the passion. this time i shook my butt too, and efreeyeh turned away from me to catch her breath. but she wasn't able.
i stopped for their sake and because i knew i was bordering ridiculous, but after 30 hours of waiting, one starts to go a little mad. relationships in this line of work seem to border more on family than on work.
efreeyeh walked behind Ma's head, where she couldn't be seen, and waved to me to look at her. then she silently lipped "boneshaykaa!" and did her own version, which was 10 times faster and more jiggly than mine. but i knew she didn't want Ma to see her boneshakin', so i had to hold back my laugh.
when the woman delivered and was resting next to her baby in the nursery, efreeyeh called me in to be with them all.
"do boneshaykaa." she said.
i wasn't really in the mood to be acting like that in front of our patients. "what? no." i replied. then i turned to walk out.
"akua, this is my friend." she said, patting the mother's back.
"so?"
"so she wants to see you boneshake."
"you first."
"akua! boneshake, i beg."
i looked at the mom, all ratty and exhausted needing a cheap thrill. i threw my arms up in the air, wobbled my knees, and did a quiet chant. she looked quite pleased to have witnessed my dance, and efreeyeh was about to break down laughing again when she looked at her friend and said "see, it's too funny."
i walked out of the nursery and went to finish the clean-up.
i thought of something sofie had told me one day while i was engaged in a water fight with some townspeople. she said, in the village she never felt like she could get away from being a doctor, from having to stay professional. "there is a barrier i can't break through."
this idea hadn't really ever crossed my mind, and when it did, it made me feel more like a kid than i had felt in a long time. i was a little embarrassed, feeling immature and unprofessional, and also incredibly relieved. relieved to be a free country.
i think she would have disapproved of my dancing.
maybe when i'm a certified midwife some newfound hubris will keep me from boneshakin'. but until then...
we all were tired, and it was the middle of a hot day and i had run out of ways to keep myself occupied.
i tried yoga in the first stage room, next to Ma while she rested. she watched me, and yelled to efreeyeh in the other room that 'i was REALLY exercising!'. yoga is not relaxing when somebody is staring at you, so i stopped. i was too conscious of Ma. 'she is already tired!' Ma informed efreeyeh. 'you see? she's grown tired.' then she laughed.
before yoga i had finished a really good book and i wasn't ready to start another. the characters were still tingling through my body, still alive and next to me. it wouldn't be right to skip through that sensation and dive into another. it'd feel too much like rebounding.
i had napped for a few hours, had eaten too much, and had visited everyone in the clinic at least once.
"go and check your patient to see how far she is." Ma told me.
i went, put on a glove, and checked.
"WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN?!" Ma yelled from the bed.
i looked at efreeyeh like maybe she had the answer. i still had a very hard time measuring dilation. i needed more guidance, more instruction, more something.
"WHAT HAVE YOU SEEN? HUH!?"
"um, i think, she's at 6."
"6!" then came Ma's favorite line again... "DO YOU SEE HOW A MIDWIFE SUFFERS?!"
"well i'm not sure if it's 6, i think."
i went to stand between the two rooms, in the doorway, and i told Ma i needed more practice with that sort of thing. "can you come check? just so we really know?"
"but you shouldn't have done it if you don't know how. you see, the risk of infection will be high. efreeyeh! check!"
efreeyeh put on a glove, examed the lady, then yelled "6".
a little surge of pride ran up and down my spine. i was right. or... we were both wrong.
"are you sure?" i whispered.
she glanced at me sideways and snort laughed. "akua!"
"so looks like we'll be here all day." i said. "efreeyeh, tell me a joke."
she didn't say anything. she sat down on the childrens stool, with her head in her palms, and closed her eyes.
i prodded her awake "let's do something! we've been sleeping all day!"
"okay, what?" she asked.
"i don't know."
just then Ma came into the room with a surge of motivation to teach me something.
when she stood in the doorway she blocked the entire thing. i looked up at her from where efreeyeh and i were sitting and she resembled some magnificent sea creature, big and dark with wild hair for tentacles, and ready to emerge from it's sea cave.
"kaisy look." she said.
she balled up her chubby soft fist and held it out to me, there was a tiny hole she had created in the center. "this is 3 cm. you see?"
i bowed my head. "yes."
"here is 4" she made the hold a little larger "and 5, 6, and 7" the hold grew as she stuck her other hands fingers into the space "8, 9, and" her entire other hand shot through "10 cm! this is 10 cm."
"what is 1?" i asked.
"one is the size of a pinhole. very small. you see?"
i nodded.
"okay" she said "then now you know. you will be able to examine and see, then you can tell me."
she turned around, walked out, and got back onto the bed.
i looked at efreeyeh and asked her to show me 7 cm. efreeyeh's was much larger than Ma's and this style of learning was doing me no good, it was painfully inexact.
"c'mon" i said "arts and crafts time."
i went and grabbed some old cardboard, my swiss army knife, a pen, and a measuring tape.
"akua, you are doing what?" efreeyeh asked.
"lets cut out the cervix." i said. sofie had given me this idea, i just hadn't acted on it until now.
"lets go from 1-10, cut out the holes, then quiz each other."
we put down a dark blue sheet, on the floor next to Ma. Ma leaned over the side of the bed and watched us, approving of our activity. "see how the 1 is a pinhole?" she pointed.
when i cut out 10 cm and it was the size of a baby pizza, efreeyeh yelped. "akua, is too big!"
"i know, it's huge. you, one day, will be opening like this." then i threw the chunk of cardboard in her direction.
"no" she said "it's incorrect. you've cut it too big."
"i measured it, it's not too big." i grabbed it back. "it's 10 cm. exactly." then i stuck my face through and tried to make it look like i was being birthed. "waaaaaa..."
efreeyeh took the cardboard from me, and pressed the top of her head into the hole, while i said "chim chim" which is "push" in twi.
the scrap of cut out cardboard cervix kept us busy for quite a while, as we enacted all the different ways to be born, and stuck our faces turning to show eachother our hideous entry into the world. efreeyeh put her tongue through, her nose, her big eye.
we were Ma's live entertainment, and she loved it.
efreeyeh said "boneshaykaa kezzy!"
"what?"
"you are a boneshaykaa!"
"a boneshaker?"
"yes, boneshaykaa kezzy. you cut your holes too big. you make the women suffer if you expect this from them. boneshaykaa!"
i sprang up and made up a very passionate impromptu boneshaker dance, where i crouched low and shook my knees all around, threw my arms high into the sky and leaned back my head singing "BBBOOONNEEEESHHHAAKKEEERRR!!!"
Ma buried her face in the pillow and couldn't stop laughing. her whole body convulsed and the squeaky bed rattled. efreeyeh thought it was funny too, i actually hadn't ever seen her laugh that hard before. the reaction only egged me on to continue, with double the passion. this time i shook my butt too, and efreeyeh turned away from me to catch her breath. but she wasn't able.
i stopped for their sake and because i knew i was bordering ridiculous, but after 30 hours of waiting, one starts to go a little mad. relationships in this line of work seem to border more on family than on work.
efreeyeh walked behind Ma's head, where she couldn't be seen, and waved to me to look at her. then she silently lipped "boneshaykaa!" and did her own version, which was 10 times faster and more jiggly than mine. but i knew she didn't want Ma to see her boneshakin', so i had to hold back my laugh.
when the woman delivered and was resting next to her baby in the nursery, efreeyeh called me in to be with them all.
"do boneshaykaa." she said.
i wasn't really in the mood to be acting like that in front of our patients. "what? no." i replied. then i turned to walk out.
"akua, this is my friend." she said, patting the mother's back.
"so?"
"so she wants to see you boneshake."
"you first."
"akua! boneshake, i beg."
i looked at the mom, all ratty and exhausted needing a cheap thrill. i threw my arms up in the air, wobbled my knees, and did a quiet chant. she looked quite pleased to have witnessed my dance, and efreeyeh was about to break down laughing again when she looked at her friend and said "see, it's too funny."
i walked out of the nursery and went to finish the clean-up.
i thought of something sofie had told me one day while i was engaged in a water fight with some townspeople. she said, in the village she never felt like she could get away from being a doctor, from having to stay professional. "there is a barrier i can't break through."
this idea hadn't really ever crossed my mind, and when it did, it made me feel more like a kid than i had felt in a long time. i was a little embarrassed, feeling immature and unprofessional, and also incredibly relieved. relieved to be a free country.
i think she would have disapproved of my dancing.
maybe when i'm a certified midwife some newfound hubris will keep me from boneshakin'. but until then...
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
cozy up with seth
the last time i bought a pack of batteries in africa, pulled out 2 AA and stuck them in my discman, they didn't even last me 2 songs.
batteries here are not powerful. if you put any faith in them whatsoever, they'll let you down.
this time, i brought my own over, and i cherish them. i know each one by name, and my supply is slowly diminishing. i'm greedy with my batteries, and the devices that need them to operate.
nanakwame asks to use my headlight to walk to town, and i pour some kerosene into a lantern and hand it over to him. my headlamp takes 4 AA's.
sakola wants to look at some pictures i took of us on the digital camera, but i tell him no. it will use up too much of my precious batteries. he understands frugality.
i am a battery nazi.
just the other day i was relaxing on my mattress, indulging in the pleasures of music. i was listening to my discman weighing every song against the worth of battery juice. the picture on the screen of the discman was flashing, i had 1/3 left. i felt good about this.
i closed my eyes and exercised my ankles by spelling out the alphabet with my big toes. then i opened them, and admired how well my sprain had healed, how sexy my ankle had become.
out of the corner of my eye, i noticed my door swing open, and like kramer from seinfeld (except expressionless and depressed), seth came sliding into my room.
i sat up, kept my headphones in.
he stared at me and began talking. i tried to make out what he was saying, but i couldn't hear him so i nodded, thinking he might leave, that maybe the nod was sufficient interaction.
but it wasn't. instead, he came over and sat down with me on my bed, scooching in close. so close my left thigh and his right were pressed hard against each other and when i turned to look at him i had to pull my head back or our lips would have touched.
i paused the music.
"hi." i said.
"hello what are you listening to?"
he has a way of talking, of stringing together phrases and questions into one long vocal marathon.
"american folk music."
seth likes music, likes blasting 80's love songs at all hours of the day and night from his boombox. i like knowing seth is passionate about something, so i don't mind hearing the same cheesy songs over and over again.
"american folk music i see do you mind if i listen?"
i looked down at my ear pieces, they are the kind you lodge deep inside, the kind i hate sharing with people whose ears i don't trust. it's hard enough to trust my own ears, cleaning with Qtips is always an adventure, but seths?
"um" i said trying my hardest to think of a good reason to say no, "um... well... um...argh... okay, but you can only have 1. my batteries are running up."
i handed over the little white nob and watched as he wedged it into his big greasy ear hole. i cringed then put mine in. the wire connecting the two pieces had been manufactured in a way that forced us to move even closer together, it was too short. both our headphones were in, and our legs and arms and heads were pressed together.
it was uncomfortable at first, being that close to seth. i could feel his clammy skin and smell his dusty smell and we weren't talking. i became painfully aware of the lyrics we were listening to, of lovers falling in love, dying for one another. he was drumming his fingers against his thigh and moving his neck around to the sound of the guitar. i was sitting there wondering about this moment, telling myself to relax.
before, when i was listening alone, the song was beautiful. but now that i was sharing it i felt i had to defend myself from any implications. i pulled a blanket over my legs. i didn't want him listening to love songs and staring at my legs. i pulled my shirt up to my neck. i became very mormon. i hoped he'd leave soon, so i could daydream alone, so i wouldn't have to sit stiffly to keep my one headphone in.
while the song was starting up into another, seth mentioned through the pause that he really loved my music. "it is really beautiful." he said.
i looked at our legs pasted up against each other. mine was muscular, long, and white. his looked more like a scraggly tree branch, thin and inconsequential. then i noticed the music had cheered him to a point where even his feet and toes were moving. once i got over the fact they were rubbing brown dirt smudges all over my white sheets i saw some beauty in what was happening. seth was coming back to life.
"you like this music?" i asked, staring ahead.
"oh very much you say it is what kind of music again?"
"it's called folk music." i said.
"beautiful, beautiful."
we kept listening, through the entire 16 songs. we had almost fallen asleep on one another, lost in the melodies. the music and the time and my constant staring at his weak depressed body gave me more compassion to love him like a brother.
when it was over, we seperated and the sweat from our legs unsuctioned our stuck flesh.
he jumped up off my bed, ran over to a picture on my wall, and kissed it. "i love that girl what do you say her name is again?" pointing to my friend on the wall.
"valeria." i said, stressing the italian accent.
"VA-LAIR-IAH!" he repeated, throwing an arm in the air.
"yep."
"sounds very similar to malaria, valeria, malaria, valeria. i really love that girl it's true." then he kissed the photo again.
"well i gave you her number when you first came and you still haven't called her."
"oh i will call her, you say her name is valeria?"
"yes."
"do you think she'd take an african man?"
"any african man, or you?"
"me do you think she'd take me?"
i looked him up and down, then shrugged. "don't know. call her and ask. but to tell you the truth, i don't think she's into the whole long distance relationship thing."
he gave a pensive nod and looked around my room. i could tell he wanted to talk, wanted to hang out a bit, wanted some interaction, but i was through. i was tired of his company, but glad to have broken through some of our barriers.
"okay," i said "i'd like to be alone now."
"oh so you'd prefer for me to leave your room now?"
"yes." i said.
"sure sure." and he scurried towards my door, turning back to give the photo one more kiss, a little too juicy for my liking.
he didn't say bye, or thanks for forcing me into semi-cuddling for the past hour, or for sharing my batteries, but when he left my room and the door swung open i didn't feel the need to run and lock it. giving me that was enough.
batteries here are not powerful. if you put any faith in them whatsoever, they'll let you down.
this time, i brought my own over, and i cherish them. i know each one by name, and my supply is slowly diminishing. i'm greedy with my batteries, and the devices that need them to operate.
nanakwame asks to use my headlight to walk to town, and i pour some kerosene into a lantern and hand it over to him. my headlamp takes 4 AA's.
sakola wants to look at some pictures i took of us on the digital camera, but i tell him no. it will use up too much of my precious batteries. he understands frugality.
i am a battery nazi.
just the other day i was relaxing on my mattress, indulging in the pleasures of music. i was listening to my discman weighing every song against the worth of battery juice. the picture on the screen of the discman was flashing, i had 1/3 left. i felt good about this.
i closed my eyes and exercised my ankles by spelling out the alphabet with my big toes. then i opened them, and admired how well my sprain had healed, how sexy my ankle had become.
out of the corner of my eye, i noticed my door swing open, and like kramer from seinfeld (except expressionless and depressed), seth came sliding into my room.
i sat up, kept my headphones in.
he stared at me and began talking. i tried to make out what he was saying, but i couldn't hear him so i nodded, thinking he might leave, that maybe the nod was sufficient interaction.
but it wasn't. instead, he came over and sat down with me on my bed, scooching in close. so close my left thigh and his right were pressed hard against each other and when i turned to look at him i had to pull my head back or our lips would have touched.
i paused the music.
"hi." i said.
"hello what are you listening to?"
he has a way of talking, of stringing together phrases and questions into one long vocal marathon.
"american folk music."
seth likes music, likes blasting 80's love songs at all hours of the day and night from his boombox. i like knowing seth is passionate about something, so i don't mind hearing the same cheesy songs over and over again.
"american folk music i see do you mind if i listen?"
i looked down at my ear pieces, they are the kind you lodge deep inside, the kind i hate sharing with people whose ears i don't trust. it's hard enough to trust my own ears, cleaning with Qtips is always an adventure, but seths?
"um" i said trying my hardest to think of a good reason to say no, "um... well... um...argh... okay, but you can only have 1. my batteries are running up."
i handed over the little white nob and watched as he wedged it into his big greasy ear hole. i cringed then put mine in. the wire connecting the two pieces had been manufactured in a way that forced us to move even closer together, it was too short. both our headphones were in, and our legs and arms and heads were pressed together.
it was uncomfortable at first, being that close to seth. i could feel his clammy skin and smell his dusty smell and we weren't talking. i became painfully aware of the lyrics we were listening to, of lovers falling in love, dying for one another. he was drumming his fingers against his thigh and moving his neck around to the sound of the guitar. i was sitting there wondering about this moment, telling myself to relax.
before, when i was listening alone, the song was beautiful. but now that i was sharing it i felt i had to defend myself from any implications. i pulled a blanket over my legs. i didn't want him listening to love songs and staring at my legs. i pulled my shirt up to my neck. i became very mormon. i hoped he'd leave soon, so i could daydream alone, so i wouldn't have to sit stiffly to keep my one headphone in.
while the song was starting up into another, seth mentioned through the pause that he really loved my music. "it is really beautiful." he said.
i looked at our legs pasted up against each other. mine was muscular, long, and white. his looked more like a scraggly tree branch, thin and inconsequential. then i noticed the music had cheered him to a point where even his feet and toes were moving. once i got over the fact they were rubbing brown dirt smudges all over my white sheets i saw some beauty in what was happening. seth was coming back to life.
"you like this music?" i asked, staring ahead.
"oh very much you say it is what kind of music again?"
"it's called folk music." i said.
"beautiful, beautiful."
we kept listening, through the entire 16 songs. we had almost fallen asleep on one another, lost in the melodies. the music and the time and my constant staring at his weak depressed body gave me more compassion to love him like a brother.
when it was over, we seperated and the sweat from our legs unsuctioned our stuck flesh.
he jumped up off my bed, ran over to a picture on my wall, and kissed it. "i love that girl what do you say her name is again?" pointing to my friend on the wall.
"valeria." i said, stressing the italian accent.
"VA-LAIR-IAH!" he repeated, throwing an arm in the air.
"yep."
"sounds very similar to malaria, valeria, malaria, valeria. i really love that girl it's true." then he kissed the photo again.
"well i gave you her number when you first came and you still haven't called her."
"oh i will call her, you say her name is valeria?"
"yes."
"do you think she'd take an african man?"
"any african man, or you?"
"me do you think she'd take me?"
i looked him up and down, then shrugged. "don't know. call her and ask. but to tell you the truth, i don't think she's into the whole long distance relationship thing."
he gave a pensive nod and looked around my room. i could tell he wanted to talk, wanted to hang out a bit, wanted some interaction, but i was through. i was tired of his company, but glad to have broken through some of our barriers.
"okay," i said "i'd like to be alone now."
"oh so you'd prefer for me to leave your room now?"
"yes." i said.
"sure sure." and he scurried towards my door, turning back to give the photo one more kiss, a little too juicy for my liking.
he didn't say bye, or thanks for forcing me into semi-cuddling for the past hour, or for sharing my batteries, but when he left my room and the door swung open i didn't feel the need to run and lock it. giving me that was enough.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
oh the places you'll go... the people you'll meet
"you haven't ever been to the bomfiri butterfly sanctuary?" sofie was asking me.
"no, i haven't."
it wasn't that big of a deal to me. it was 20 minutes away, and because of it's close proximity i knew i would go sometime. i didn't need to fret.
"you should come along." she said.
her mother made a 2 week visit, swept through boamadumase in a day, and was continuing journeying north. "we're leaving in an hour if you'd like to come."
it sounded fun, but i was busy in my room, throwing piles of clothes and papers around, looking for my wallet. i had lost it. i bit my tongue a million times and told myself it was my fault. i had misplaced it. but every part of me wanted to blame it on seth, wanted to say he had secretly snuck into my room and taken my plane ticket and credit card. he really was out to get me, or get away.
but he wasn't.
fact of the matter is, i am disorganized and i hate to admit it. its easier to blame my roommate, the roommate who refuses to make eye contact, who walks with his head down past me on a road with just us two.
"i'm really worried about seth" sofie said when she came into my room. she wanted to talk with him before we left on our trip. "i can't go and promote health at the clinic all day, then come home to this man who is obviously sick and just ignore it. did i tell you about what i think it is?"
"no." i said.
"i think it's sleeping sickness, from the tsetse fly." she said it like she had just discovered a treasure chest, and had taken out the most rare dated coin, and was telling me it's origin.
"isn't he just depressed?" i asked.
"no, i talked to him. well, if he is he completely denied it, which is scary. depression is such a cultural thing. back home, all i do is talk to people who tell me they are depressed. but here, people don't admit it. i told him he seemed miserable and he said he was fine. but you've seen it, haven't you, the personality change?"
i double checked my bedroom doors to make sure they were locked, daily. "yes." i said. "i've seen it."
"its really bad." she said.
"i know. does he scare you?" i asked.
"no, oh no. he doesn't scare me but-"
"if you shared a bathroom with him would he scare you?"
"don't be afraid of him. what's he going to do? he's just sick. i think my new diagnosis is sleeping sickness. loss of appetite, constant lethargy, personality change..."
"i think he stole my wallet."
"what???"
i hated myself for not being able to hold that back. seth wasn't a theif but i wasn't ready to come to terms with my own weaknesses. that i would be irresponsible enough to lose my plane ticket home, and my credit card. not that Visa did me much good in the village.
"i mean, no i don't think that. but i can't find it anywhere. and i want to go to the butterfly sanctuary with you guys, i think it will be fun. but this wallet thing. i have to find my wallet."
"the taxi is leaving in an hour."
"okay," i said "i'll be ready."
i didn't find anything in that time, but decided to just forget it all. i loaded up in the taxi, which sofie had privately rented. just sofie, her mother and i, and Mr. taxi man who drove sister Yaa on her trip to Konongo Hospital. i liked this driver. i was suprised his car was still running, although, the village is full of mechanical miracles like that. last time i rode in his car, from the main road to my house, he had to get out of the driver seat every 10 feet and give his car mouth to mouth. literally. he grabbed a small black tube connected to the big metal engine , sucked until the petrol filled his mouth, then spat it down another black tube. he'd get back behind the wheel and clear the remaining petrol saliva out of his mouth with one big "hhhhcck!", then stop again to repeat the process.
and now, he was out on the road again, driving us around.
"i like this driver" sofie said "he's the only one who would give us a ride. no one else was willing to leave the village."
bush taxis prefer the bush. the big wide open asphalt road is just too much. they prefer the snaking, head jolting back roads. most of the drivers haven't renewed their licences, if they have them, since back in the 80's. their cars aren't registered and they're too poor to pay a dash (bribe) to the police. they'd rather just stay, than go.
the butterfly sanctuary wasn't far at all, and when we pulled up i was suprised i hadn't been there before!
"it's absolutely lovely!" sofie's mom said. "oh it's charming."
she was referring to the architecture of the guesthouse and the restaraunt. we humans, we like what we know. i liked it too because it reminded me of my house back home. a quaint cottage type feel.
the sanctuary was a reserve, a plot of land bought and saved from complete destruction then designed to educate. it was beautiful, trees climbing to the sky, some bushy some lanky. green everywhere, enough green my lungs dissolved into complete relaxation mode. we didn't get to see many butterflies before it was dark, before dinner arrived, but we got something better than butterflies. we got their Number One Fan.
"mind if we join you?" i asked the old man, sitting on the porch. he was sitting in one of the six plush rattan chairs that circled a low table.
he looked up, peered through his glasses, and scooted over. "no." he said. then he went back to smoking his pipe, an ancient looking thing.
there was an uncomfortable silence, of when groups join individuals. it takes a few moments to ascertain whether to be inclusive or to leave alone. its an animal moment, sniffing, checking.
everything was okay. this man wanted to talk.
"did you just arrive?" he asked no one in particular. his voice sounded like a foreign Clint Eastwood.
we all answered our different answers. then "and you? what are you doing here?"
he said- "i kill butterflies."
conversation quickly fell head deep into the subject of butterflies. granted, we were at a butterfly sanctuary, but this man was bringing it to a whole other level. i quickly concluded that if he could become one, he would gladly do so.
sofie's mom would comment nicely and generically, the way someone admiring a butterfly would do. "they're simply beautiful creatures." she'd say. then butterfly master would retort "beautiful sure!? but incredibly interesting!"
it seemed our conversation could stray only 3 paces ahead into a foreign subject, before he wrangled us back in to the winged world.
he was from Denmark and had short cropped grey hair, winona ryderish. it was actually the haircut i would pick for myself, if i had short hair. i admired it, the way it clung in short wisps and framed his face. i wanted to sneak a picture, from all angles, just in case i decided to chop mine.
he spoke with certainty, in a sort of run on sentence, as if he were conducting a small group lecture. as if we had all come to hear him.
sofie's mom thought he had an inferiority complex, which then propelled this childhood hobby into a profession and fueled the publishing of an enormous sized textbook titled "Butterflies of West Africa". he plopped it down in front of me and told me to try and find the butterfly i was mentioning to him, the one i chased down in boamadumase the other day after leaving the health clinic. it was pink and frilly, like a dream. his textbook had millions and millions of pictures lined up with names. i didn't want to look for it, it seemed to methodical a task.
his fascination, within itself, was enough to keep sofie, her mother, and i satisfied. we didn't need true interaction, observation was just fine. he was an odd man, an enthusiast. enthusiasts are generally strange in their own way, in that they love something you don't, and have devoted their lives to it.
"although, greenland has 4 genuinely resident butterflies" he said "iceland doesn't have any true residents, but they've discovered 6 species over time." because of these low numbers, he didn't like greenland or iceland. he liked west africa. he knew almost everything about the butterflies here, but i noticed when the waitress came out that he didn't know how to reply to a greeting in twi. he looked startled when the old ghanaian farmer who walked by the porch and said good evening expected a reply. "huh?" was his response, as if he had just been hit over the head with a cave man club.
it was getting dark, and the generator had popped on, igniting the porch in a false bright light, a flourescent light. we had made it through our meal of spagetti and were now digesting, listening. i spoke very little.
"i'm doing a 100 year survey of the butterflies here. we'll finish in the year two thousand one hundred. tomorrow when you go walking and you're looking for butterflies, go by the mango trees. you'll find them there. or if you find assemblages over water they're generally very big, but... 90% are the same species." he laughed, as if this was a little secret joke of his, then continued "they love the rotting mangoes. it's only 20% of the butterflies that will come to bait. fermented bananas are their favorite."
there was a pause. none of us could get a word in and we didn't need to anymore, we were all staring at the steady climb in population congregating over by the light.
"termites." he said, standing up.
i had been swatting them away as they kamakazied into my face.
he went into the eye of the termite tornado and held his hands up, looking around at the wonder of it all, as if he were under the spray of huge water fountain. "my only legacy in ghana" he said a little louder so we could hear him "is discovering a butterfly that turns 180 degrees when it lands, giving it a much better chance of escaping with it's falsehead." the termites were everywhere, he looked like he was feeding miniature pigeons, the way they were flocking. "and they are VERY sensitive to vibrations, little bit like snakes, some species are virtually impossible to sneak in on."
he snatched a termite and walked over to us. they were crawling in his hair, on his shoulders. he had it by it's wings and he held it out over the table. "they're actually quite delicious." he said. "try it."
the termite resembled a hard thick worm, the color of copper. it didn't want to be eaten, it wanted to mate like all the other termites who had dropped to the ground, and were dragging themselves around, reproducing.
i stood up and walked over.
i opened my mouth and he flicked it in.
sofie gasped. i chewed. the termite wiggled and crunched, then died between my teeth. the butterfly man was an inch away from me, delicately explaining what a delightful experience eating a termite is. "chew a little more, and really, if you can imagine it, a pan with termites, a little salt, a little pepper, some chili. lightly cook it. quite tasty?"
i was still chewing, listening to him commentate my experience, then i swallowed. "how was it?" he asked.
i nodded, lips pressed together, suprised by myself, by this willingness that sprang forward and also by taste of a termite.
it was good.
i sat back down and thought of my mom. she despises insects, mostly worms. i remembered the time we were at a dinner party, and i purposely hand delivered her a beautiful hibiscus, with a juicy worm in the middle. she was sitting on an outdoor patio, drinking wine, eating horsduevors, enjoying time with her adult friends. i was a child, filled with mischief and humor. she gave me a thankful smile, a oh-that-was-so-sweet-of-you-i-love-you-my-daughter smile, then she looked into the middle, screamed, threw the flower in the air, and cried for quite a while.
i was wanting my mom to have seen me eat the termite, only to see her face.
i joined back in listening to the conversation. butterfly man was talking about cats! the kittens that had been playing around the tree, with their mother. sofie mentioned cats get eaten here, in some parts. butterfly man said "most cats i've seen in this country, one wouldn't want to eat. they slink around like shadows- you look at them- they look at you with the full confession they're life is not worth anything, and they're sorry for that."
the night continued, with more listening, more learning of facts i'd forget in my sleep.
the next day we toured the grounds, viewed all the gorgeous butterflies. each time one of us said "oh look at that one! it's so pretty!" we'd look at each other and laugh to ourself, because we knew, it was MORE than JUST beautiful.
when we left the sanctuary, in the taxi to continue on our way, we passed our friend. he was crouched over on the side of the road, with an adult sized butterfly net and his droopy pipe hanging out of his mouth. we waved to him, and he sort of waved back, but he was too involved in observation to really care.
"strange, but interesting." someone said, and we all agreed.
"no, i haven't."
it wasn't that big of a deal to me. it was 20 minutes away, and because of it's close proximity i knew i would go sometime. i didn't need to fret.
"you should come along." she said.
her mother made a 2 week visit, swept through boamadumase in a day, and was continuing journeying north. "we're leaving in an hour if you'd like to come."
it sounded fun, but i was busy in my room, throwing piles of clothes and papers around, looking for my wallet. i had lost it. i bit my tongue a million times and told myself it was my fault. i had misplaced it. but every part of me wanted to blame it on seth, wanted to say he had secretly snuck into my room and taken my plane ticket and credit card. he really was out to get me, or get away.
but he wasn't.
fact of the matter is, i am disorganized and i hate to admit it. its easier to blame my roommate, the roommate who refuses to make eye contact, who walks with his head down past me on a road with just us two.
"i'm really worried about seth" sofie said when she came into my room. she wanted to talk with him before we left on our trip. "i can't go and promote health at the clinic all day, then come home to this man who is obviously sick and just ignore it. did i tell you about what i think it is?"
"no." i said.
"i think it's sleeping sickness, from the tsetse fly." she said it like she had just discovered a treasure chest, and had taken out the most rare dated coin, and was telling me it's origin.
"isn't he just depressed?" i asked.
"no, i talked to him. well, if he is he completely denied it, which is scary. depression is such a cultural thing. back home, all i do is talk to people who tell me they are depressed. but here, people don't admit it. i told him he seemed miserable and he said he was fine. but you've seen it, haven't you, the personality change?"
i double checked my bedroom doors to make sure they were locked, daily. "yes." i said. "i've seen it."
"its really bad." she said.
"i know. does he scare you?" i asked.
"no, oh no. he doesn't scare me but-"
"if you shared a bathroom with him would he scare you?"
"don't be afraid of him. what's he going to do? he's just sick. i think my new diagnosis is sleeping sickness. loss of appetite, constant lethargy, personality change..."
"i think he stole my wallet."
"what???"
i hated myself for not being able to hold that back. seth wasn't a theif but i wasn't ready to come to terms with my own weaknesses. that i would be irresponsible enough to lose my plane ticket home, and my credit card. not that Visa did me much good in the village.
"i mean, no i don't think that. but i can't find it anywhere. and i want to go to the butterfly sanctuary with you guys, i think it will be fun. but this wallet thing. i have to find my wallet."
"the taxi is leaving in an hour."
"okay," i said "i'll be ready."
i didn't find anything in that time, but decided to just forget it all. i loaded up in the taxi, which sofie had privately rented. just sofie, her mother and i, and Mr. taxi man who drove sister Yaa on her trip to Konongo Hospital. i liked this driver. i was suprised his car was still running, although, the village is full of mechanical miracles like that. last time i rode in his car, from the main road to my house, he had to get out of the driver seat every 10 feet and give his car mouth to mouth. literally. he grabbed a small black tube connected to the big metal engine , sucked until the petrol filled his mouth, then spat it down another black tube. he'd get back behind the wheel and clear the remaining petrol saliva out of his mouth with one big "hhhhcck!", then stop again to repeat the process.
and now, he was out on the road again, driving us around.
"i like this driver" sofie said "he's the only one who would give us a ride. no one else was willing to leave the village."
bush taxis prefer the bush. the big wide open asphalt road is just too much. they prefer the snaking, head jolting back roads. most of the drivers haven't renewed their licences, if they have them, since back in the 80's. their cars aren't registered and they're too poor to pay a dash (bribe) to the police. they'd rather just stay, than go.
the butterfly sanctuary wasn't far at all, and when we pulled up i was suprised i hadn't been there before!
"it's absolutely lovely!" sofie's mom said. "oh it's charming."
she was referring to the architecture of the guesthouse and the restaraunt. we humans, we like what we know. i liked it too because it reminded me of my house back home. a quaint cottage type feel.
the sanctuary was a reserve, a plot of land bought and saved from complete destruction then designed to educate. it was beautiful, trees climbing to the sky, some bushy some lanky. green everywhere, enough green my lungs dissolved into complete relaxation mode. we didn't get to see many butterflies before it was dark, before dinner arrived, but we got something better than butterflies. we got their Number One Fan.
"mind if we join you?" i asked the old man, sitting on the porch. he was sitting in one of the six plush rattan chairs that circled a low table.
he looked up, peered through his glasses, and scooted over. "no." he said. then he went back to smoking his pipe, an ancient looking thing.
there was an uncomfortable silence, of when groups join individuals. it takes a few moments to ascertain whether to be inclusive or to leave alone. its an animal moment, sniffing, checking.
everything was okay. this man wanted to talk.
"did you just arrive?" he asked no one in particular. his voice sounded like a foreign Clint Eastwood.
we all answered our different answers. then "and you? what are you doing here?"
he said- "i kill butterflies."
conversation quickly fell head deep into the subject of butterflies. granted, we were at a butterfly sanctuary, but this man was bringing it to a whole other level. i quickly concluded that if he could become one, he would gladly do so.
sofie's mom would comment nicely and generically, the way someone admiring a butterfly would do. "they're simply beautiful creatures." she'd say. then butterfly master would retort "beautiful sure!? but incredibly interesting!"
it seemed our conversation could stray only 3 paces ahead into a foreign subject, before he wrangled us back in to the winged world.
he was from Denmark and had short cropped grey hair, winona ryderish. it was actually the haircut i would pick for myself, if i had short hair. i admired it, the way it clung in short wisps and framed his face. i wanted to sneak a picture, from all angles, just in case i decided to chop mine.
he spoke with certainty, in a sort of run on sentence, as if he were conducting a small group lecture. as if we had all come to hear him.
sofie's mom thought he had an inferiority complex, which then propelled this childhood hobby into a profession and fueled the publishing of an enormous sized textbook titled "Butterflies of West Africa". he plopped it down in front of me and told me to try and find the butterfly i was mentioning to him, the one i chased down in boamadumase the other day after leaving the health clinic. it was pink and frilly, like a dream. his textbook had millions and millions of pictures lined up with names. i didn't want to look for it, it seemed to methodical a task.
his fascination, within itself, was enough to keep sofie, her mother, and i satisfied. we didn't need true interaction, observation was just fine. he was an odd man, an enthusiast. enthusiasts are generally strange in their own way, in that they love something you don't, and have devoted their lives to it.
"although, greenland has 4 genuinely resident butterflies" he said "iceland doesn't have any true residents, but they've discovered 6 species over time." because of these low numbers, he didn't like greenland or iceland. he liked west africa. he knew almost everything about the butterflies here, but i noticed when the waitress came out that he didn't know how to reply to a greeting in twi. he looked startled when the old ghanaian farmer who walked by the porch and said good evening expected a reply. "huh?" was his response, as if he had just been hit over the head with a cave man club.
it was getting dark, and the generator had popped on, igniting the porch in a false bright light, a flourescent light. we had made it through our meal of spagetti and were now digesting, listening. i spoke very little.
"i'm doing a 100 year survey of the butterflies here. we'll finish in the year two thousand one hundred. tomorrow when you go walking and you're looking for butterflies, go by the mango trees. you'll find them there. or if you find assemblages over water they're generally very big, but... 90% are the same species." he laughed, as if this was a little secret joke of his, then continued "they love the rotting mangoes. it's only 20% of the butterflies that will come to bait. fermented bananas are their favorite."
there was a pause. none of us could get a word in and we didn't need to anymore, we were all staring at the steady climb in population congregating over by the light.
"termites." he said, standing up.
i had been swatting them away as they kamakazied into my face.
he went into the eye of the termite tornado and held his hands up, looking around at the wonder of it all, as if he were under the spray of huge water fountain. "my only legacy in ghana" he said a little louder so we could hear him "is discovering a butterfly that turns 180 degrees when it lands, giving it a much better chance of escaping with it's falsehead." the termites were everywhere, he looked like he was feeding miniature pigeons, the way they were flocking. "and they are VERY sensitive to vibrations, little bit like snakes, some species are virtually impossible to sneak in on."
he snatched a termite and walked over to us. they were crawling in his hair, on his shoulders. he had it by it's wings and he held it out over the table. "they're actually quite delicious." he said. "try it."
the termite resembled a hard thick worm, the color of copper. it didn't want to be eaten, it wanted to mate like all the other termites who had dropped to the ground, and were dragging themselves around, reproducing.
i stood up and walked over.
i opened my mouth and he flicked it in.
sofie gasped. i chewed. the termite wiggled and crunched, then died between my teeth. the butterfly man was an inch away from me, delicately explaining what a delightful experience eating a termite is. "chew a little more, and really, if you can imagine it, a pan with termites, a little salt, a little pepper, some chili. lightly cook it. quite tasty?"
i was still chewing, listening to him commentate my experience, then i swallowed. "how was it?" he asked.
i nodded, lips pressed together, suprised by myself, by this willingness that sprang forward and also by taste of a termite.
it was good.
i sat back down and thought of my mom. she despises insects, mostly worms. i remembered the time we were at a dinner party, and i purposely hand delivered her a beautiful hibiscus, with a juicy worm in the middle. she was sitting on an outdoor patio, drinking wine, eating horsduevors, enjoying time with her adult friends. i was a child, filled with mischief and humor. she gave me a thankful smile, a oh-that-was-so-sweet-of-you-i-love-you-my-daughter smile, then she looked into the middle, screamed, threw the flower in the air, and cried for quite a while.
i was wanting my mom to have seen me eat the termite, only to see her face.
i joined back in listening to the conversation. butterfly man was talking about cats! the kittens that had been playing around the tree, with their mother. sofie mentioned cats get eaten here, in some parts. butterfly man said "most cats i've seen in this country, one wouldn't want to eat. they slink around like shadows- you look at them- they look at you with the full confession they're life is not worth anything, and they're sorry for that."
the night continued, with more listening, more learning of facts i'd forget in my sleep.
the next day we toured the grounds, viewed all the gorgeous butterflies. each time one of us said "oh look at that one! it's so pretty!" we'd look at each other and laugh to ourself, because we knew, it was MORE than JUST beautiful.
when we left the sanctuary, in the taxi to continue on our way, we passed our friend. he was crouched over on the side of the road, with an adult sized butterfly net and his droopy pipe hanging out of his mouth. we waved to him, and he sort of waved back, but he was too involved in observation to really care.
"strange, but interesting." someone said, and we all agreed.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
collins prayer
i walked into the house.
the first steps are always the best. after having made my journey home, clear across town, down the long dusty road, across the enormous cement brick front yard in the heat of the day, walking into my house is like entering an icebox. the air is chilly inside, the walls are cool, it is dark.
i remove my shoes and the ground feels similar to if i had just dipped asphalt burned feet into a swimming pool.
and each day it is a suprise. i am still not used to it, and i love it.
i made my way down the long hallway to my bedroom door. i heard people in sakola's room so i went over to see what was happening. when i peeked my head around the corner, i realized it wasn't much. it was just collin's and sakola, resting on mats through the heat of the day, talking. sakola was in a pair of black dirty jeans and his favorite t-shirt, worn thin with holes and riddled with mold. he apparently had just come from farming.
"hey guys." i said.
they both looked over at me and raised their heads, saying hello.
i went to my room, grabbed my mat, and went to rest with them. collin's was smelling extra strong, like nursing home b.o., and his breath was thick. each time he laughed it'd fog up my space. we were lying quite close to one another. i moved back a bit, closer to sakola. he always smells fresh, even from farming.
they asked me about life. i told them about the women coming into the clinic, about all the newborns. they said they hadn't seen me in awhile and i informed them it was because of the moon. the full moon is bringing the babies in, and the clinic is busy. they laughed at me, and i wasn't sure if it was because of my logic or the way i was saying it. "the moon will become big and the babies will come."
i wasn't sleeping very well at the clinic, spending most night hours trading sleep between efreeyeh and i. two hours here, two hours there, atop an exam table. but i was happy to be working hard again. "how is she doing?" ma would bellow from the other room, from her mattress, and her deep sleep. we'd check, then yell back "a few more hours."
then she'd say "NOW YOU SEE HOW A MIDWIFE SUFFERS!." and she wouldn't awake until we called her again.
sakola asked me how my sleep was going at the clinic, and i knew he was referring to my dreams. he is very concerned about my dreams.
"i'm still having bad dreams." i told him.
"akua!" he said. pulling his head back in disbelief. "akua, is no good. you have a proh-blim."
i was slowly reading through a book on the holocaust before bedtime every night. i don't think it was helping much.
collins asked "what are your dreams?"
i told him last night i was being chased after by a man with a knife.
they both shouted "ei's!" and shook their heads. i rested mine on the tops of my folded hands and sighed. i didn't tell them about my book. i had already tried explaining the holocaust to Ma, in english, and that was hard enough. she could barely believe it, then she concluded that all germans are "very very evil." i said things have changed, but she didn't care. it was unfortunate my explanation fell on the very day sofie had invited a german doctor friend to tour our clinic. i was hoping Ma wouldn't find out she was german during the introduction. or that maybe she would, and Ma would realize they are not that different after all, but the girl never came in to greet Ma which only helped her fuel her newfound belief that all germans are evil, "they are bad kaisy, very bad."
so i kept my reading a secret from the boys, and we all layed in silence for a bit. then sakola sprung up and said "let's pray."
collin's took hold of my hands gently, cupping them between his. he has very clammy bony hands, all knuckles it seems. sakola sat next to me and closed his eyes. then he yelled out "JESUS!" in his dramatic african preacher voice, a voice that used to scare me. collins yelled out "JESUS" too. i had grown familiar with their prayer voices, which were much different than their speaking voices. i heard them every morning and every night, sometimes they spend hours in prayer.
sofie wants to know what they could possibly be praying about. "it's all they do! i've never met people who pray and go to church so much."
tuesdays, in the cocoa grove behind our house, sakola and nanakwame carry chairs to seat the group of 10 or so people who meet, sing, and pray all day. outrageous things happen back there. once sakola came back with a broken shoe, and nanakwame clothes were torn. every single time they return with their sharp looking outfits covered in dirt, sometimes mud. i think they fall on the ground and roll and shake.
i'm not used to that type of worship.
the dirtier they are when they come home, the happier they seem. the more sakola will repeat 'deliverance!' and shake his clenched fists around with a smile on his face. and it makes me happy, just as long as i don't have to fall and roll and shake.
wednesday nights the same folks meet on our porch, to sing all night.
twice a month, on Friday night, the boys and all their friends do what they call "All NIGHT", where they pray straight from 6 at night to 6 in the morning.
"akua, i won't sleep here tonite. i'm going to town for All Night." sakola will say. the next day i'll see collin's sleepy eyed. he'll tell me he had "All Night". they don't come back dirty from All Night, but i know they're working just as hard, sometimes their collective voices, travel through the village into my window.
i think the boys know i don't like a lot of shouting when i pray. every time we eat, we pray. sakola spreads his hands wide over our fufuo bowl and blesses our food. when i pray it sounds placid and flat, very WASPish, and at first he laughed at me. i explained that i'm not as dramatic as he, and he understands now. so when they began to pray for my bad dreams to disappear they kept the excitement to a minimum.
collins took control of the prayer and began "in the name of the mighty Jesus Christ, we ask that you break any stronghold that is taking over kacie in her sleep."
sakola said a "yes JESUS!"
collins continued... "we thank you Jesus, we thank you Jesus, we thank you Jesus. may your power Jesus, your power Jesus, your power Jesus, come down and BREAK any FUCKING TING. break all the FUCKING TINGS that are disturbing our friend kacie, all the FUCKING TINGS, break them! thank you in the mighty name of JESUS. AMEN."
we opened our eyes and i looked at collins, i didn't know whether to laugh or say thank you.
he had the look of an innocent schoolboy, attentive, willing, and pleased with a job well done. i was a little confused. i wasn't sure if what i just heard was really what i had just heard.
"thanks for praying for me." i said. "let me just ask you one thing. did you say 'break any fucking thing'?"
he nodded, blinked a few sympathetic blinks, then patted my hands.
"fucking thing?" i looked at sakola.
sakola laughed. "akua."
"okay, thank you so much for that prayer."
we all reclined and relaxed a little more, each in our own deep thoughts. i was thinking about a young ghanaian boy who i met in a computer lab who introduced himself as "fucking". i asked him if that was his ghanaian name or his english name. he said he chose it as his english name. i told him maybe he should rethink that one. he wanted to know why, so i tried to explain, but he was adament about being called "fucking". i didn't know any great twi cuss words to relay my example with, and he was challenging me saying names come in all different types and sizes. what one person may hate the other may like. my distaste for his was strictly a personal matter i needed to get over.
i told him most people wouldn't want to be his friend if they had to call him "fucking". he said he didn't care, all his real friends called him Fucking. and they did, i could hear them. i said okay.
"but what is your ghanaian name?" i asked.
"Kofi." he said.
when i left the computer lab that day, i yelled across the room "nice to meet you Fucking Kofi!" he gave me an i'm-busy-at-the-computer-wave and i left laughing to myself, wishing i had a friend around.
"you laughing at me?" sakola asked.
"huh?" i was lost in my daydream.
"you are laughing, why?"
"oh i was just thinking of something." i said. "something funny."
the first steps are always the best. after having made my journey home, clear across town, down the long dusty road, across the enormous cement brick front yard in the heat of the day, walking into my house is like entering an icebox. the air is chilly inside, the walls are cool, it is dark.
i remove my shoes and the ground feels similar to if i had just dipped asphalt burned feet into a swimming pool.
and each day it is a suprise. i am still not used to it, and i love it.
i made my way down the long hallway to my bedroom door. i heard people in sakola's room so i went over to see what was happening. when i peeked my head around the corner, i realized it wasn't much. it was just collin's and sakola, resting on mats through the heat of the day, talking. sakola was in a pair of black dirty jeans and his favorite t-shirt, worn thin with holes and riddled with mold. he apparently had just come from farming.
"hey guys." i said.
they both looked over at me and raised their heads, saying hello.
i went to my room, grabbed my mat, and went to rest with them. collin's was smelling extra strong, like nursing home b.o., and his breath was thick. each time he laughed it'd fog up my space. we were lying quite close to one another. i moved back a bit, closer to sakola. he always smells fresh, even from farming.
they asked me about life. i told them about the women coming into the clinic, about all the newborns. they said they hadn't seen me in awhile and i informed them it was because of the moon. the full moon is bringing the babies in, and the clinic is busy. they laughed at me, and i wasn't sure if it was because of my logic or the way i was saying it. "the moon will become big and the babies will come."
i wasn't sleeping very well at the clinic, spending most night hours trading sleep between efreeyeh and i. two hours here, two hours there, atop an exam table. but i was happy to be working hard again. "how is she doing?" ma would bellow from the other room, from her mattress, and her deep sleep. we'd check, then yell back "a few more hours."
then she'd say "NOW YOU SEE HOW A MIDWIFE SUFFERS!." and she wouldn't awake until we called her again.
sakola asked me how my sleep was going at the clinic, and i knew he was referring to my dreams. he is very concerned about my dreams.
"i'm still having bad dreams." i told him.
"akua!" he said. pulling his head back in disbelief. "akua, is no good. you have a proh-blim."
i was slowly reading through a book on the holocaust before bedtime every night. i don't think it was helping much.
collins asked "what are your dreams?"
i told him last night i was being chased after by a man with a knife.
they both shouted "ei's!" and shook their heads. i rested mine on the tops of my folded hands and sighed. i didn't tell them about my book. i had already tried explaining the holocaust to Ma, in english, and that was hard enough. she could barely believe it, then she concluded that all germans are "very very evil." i said things have changed, but she didn't care. it was unfortunate my explanation fell on the very day sofie had invited a german doctor friend to tour our clinic. i was hoping Ma wouldn't find out she was german during the introduction. or that maybe she would, and Ma would realize they are not that different after all, but the girl never came in to greet Ma which only helped her fuel her newfound belief that all germans are evil, "they are bad kaisy, very bad."
so i kept my reading a secret from the boys, and we all layed in silence for a bit. then sakola sprung up and said "let's pray."
collin's took hold of my hands gently, cupping them between his. he has very clammy bony hands, all knuckles it seems. sakola sat next to me and closed his eyes. then he yelled out "JESUS!" in his dramatic african preacher voice, a voice that used to scare me. collins yelled out "JESUS" too. i had grown familiar with their prayer voices, which were much different than their speaking voices. i heard them every morning and every night, sometimes they spend hours in prayer.
sofie wants to know what they could possibly be praying about. "it's all they do! i've never met people who pray and go to church so much."
tuesdays, in the cocoa grove behind our house, sakola and nanakwame carry chairs to seat the group of 10 or so people who meet, sing, and pray all day. outrageous things happen back there. once sakola came back with a broken shoe, and nanakwame clothes were torn. every single time they return with their sharp looking outfits covered in dirt, sometimes mud. i think they fall on the ground and roll and shake.
i'm not used to that type of worship.
the dirtier they are when they come home, the happier they seem. the more sakola will repeat 'deliverance!' and shake his clenched fists around with a smile on his face. and it makes me happy, just as long as i don't have to fall and roll and shake.
wednesday nights the same folks meet on our porch, to sing all night.
twice a month, on Friday night, the boys and all their friends do what they call "All NIGHT", where they pray straight from 6 at night to 6 in the morning.
"akua, i won't sleep here tonite. i'm going to town for All Night." sakola will say. the next day i'll see collin's sleepy eyed. he'll tell me he had "All Night". they don't come back dirty from All Night, but i know they're working just as hard, sometimes their collective voices, travel through the village into my window.
i think the boys know i don't like a lot of shouting when i pray. every time we eat, we pray. sakola spreads his hands wide over our fufuo bowl and blesses our food. when i pray it sounds placid and flat, very WASPish, and at first he laughed at me. i explained that i'm not as dramatic as he, and he understands now. so when they began to pray for my bad dreams to disappear they kept the excitement to a minimum.
collins took control of the prayer and began "in the name of the mighty Jesus Christ, we ask that you break any stronghold that is taking over kacie in her sleep."
sakola said a "yes JESUS!"
collins continued... "we thank you Jesus, we thank you Jesus, we thank you Jesus. may your power Jesus, your power Jesus, your power Jesus, come down and BREAK any FUCKING TING. break all the FUCKING TINGS that are disturbing our friend kacie, all the FUCKING TINGS, break them! thank you in the mighty name of JESUS. AMEN."
we opened our eyes and i looked at collins, i didn't know whether to laugh or say thank you.
he had the look of an innocent schoolboy, attentive, willing, and pleased with a job well done. i was a little confused. i wasn't sure if what i just heard was really what i had just heard.
"thanks for praying for me." i said. "let me just ask you one thing. did you say 'break any fucking thing'?"
he nodded, blinked a few sympathetic blinks, then patted my hands.
"fucking thing?" i looked at sakola.
sakola laughed. "akua."
"okay, thank you so much for that prayer."
we all reclined and relaxed a little more, each in our own deep thoughts. i was thinking about a young ghanaian boy who i met in a computer lab who introduced himself as "fucking". i asked him if that was his ghanaian name or his english name. he said he chose it as his english name. i told him maybe he should rethink that one. he wanted to know why, so i tried to explain, but he was adament about being called "fucking". i didn't know any great twi cuss words to relay my example with, and he was challenging me saying names come in all different types and sizes. what one person may hate the other may like. my distaste for his was strictly a personal matter i needed to get over.
i told him most people wouldn't want to be his friend if they had to call him "fucking". he said he didn't care, all his real friends called him Fucking. and they did, i could hear them. i said okay.
"but what is your ghanaian name?" i asked.
"Kofi." he said.
when i left the computer lab that day, i yelled across the room "nice to meet you Fucking Kofi!" he gave me an i'm-busy-at-the-computer-wave and i left laughing to myself, wishing i had a friend around.
"you laughing at me?" sakola asked.
"huh?" i was lost in my daydream.
"you are laughing, why?"
"oh i was just thinking of something." i said. "something funny."
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Ma sends her team out
"won't you go with efreeyeh instead of sit here with me?" Ma was asking, in what sounded like an annoyed manner. her face was wrinkled and her lips were pouty.
all 3 of us had been sitting peacefully in Ma's office, i was reading, they were chatting. efreeyeh bounced out of her chair, and walked outside. was i supposed to know what was going on?
"what is she doing?" i asked.
"oh! why should you ask? i've told her to go and bring the pregnant women. won't you go with her?"
"uh, okay. ya. i'll go and bring the pregnant women. now?"
"yes, now."
"okay." i packed up my purse and said good bye, then efreeyeh and i began to walk in the direction of town.
"what exactly are we doing?" i asked.
"Ma Aggie wants us to go and visit the pregnant women and tell them to come to the clinic."
efreeyeh had just started calling Ma, Ma Aggie. i liked the long version when efreeyeh said it because it sounded like "Moggy", but Ma would always and forever remain a two lettered woman to me.
at the beginning of that week we had a lady in town, pregnant with twins, attempt to deliver at home with a traditional birth attendant (TBA). it was a bad story with an unhappy ending, depending on how you look at it. Maame Vic thought it was a good thing one of the babies didn't make it. "you see?" she said "she is a poor poor woman, she can't afford twins. so now she has just one, she will feel free. her baby will be strong. but that TBA is a wicked wicked woman."
her perspective on the neonate's death was a good way to look at it, i suppose. and the TBA is actually a very kind woman who was put into a difficult situation. turns out the girl showed up on her doorstep with the first child already making it's way into the world. what was she to do?
she came in after her children were delivered, with a retained placenta. Maame Vic had to manually remove it, and during the process a lot of blood was lost. She stayed in the clinic longer than any patient i had ever seen. she was weak and anemic and too poor to go to the hospital for a blood transfusion.
"i'll pay for it." i said.
"let's wait and see if rest and her modified diet will work." sofie said.
her baby girl was premature, and i learned that day about how to correctly wrap a baby into a kangaroo hold. the mother learned also. it is a method that has saved premature babies who don't have access to incubators, babies born in the bush. wrap the child skin to skin against the mother's (or anyone's) chest. keep the baby there, the mother's body heat is perfect for "incubation". the positioning looked quite comfortable, and the baby seemed happier.
things were looking on the bright side the day she was discharged.
it obviously affected Ma, to get her motivated in sending us out into the community.
efreeyeh loves leaving the clinic on missions, whether it's riding the bike to fetch Ma her lunch, going to the market to buy the clinic something, or doing what we were about to do. whatever the case may be, there is always an extra skip in her step.
"so how many women are we going to visit?" i asked.
"just wait and see." she said, smirking at me.
she looked more official in her green uniform. she looked like a health professional. she looked like the community might trust her.
we walked up a hill, alongside some decrepit buildings, past women wringing out their children's just washed clothes. we walked past the baby ducks, i love those baby ducks. i noticed how much they walked like efreeyeh, a slight waddle. i told her this and she slapped me. "i only share these things with you because you share your thoughts with me." i said.
"what do you mean?" she asked.
i pointed to my arm, the arm she has been making fun of for months, the arm she says looks like i broke. "why do you walk like you've broken your arm?" she always asks.
"why do you waddle like a duck?" i now say.
we kept going and i was interested to see whose house we would stop at, when my path was intercepted by the local crazy man. it took me a while to figure out he was crazy, because he says many of the same things the locals say to me, except he repeats them and rocks back and forth while he does it, like he's slightly autistic, but he's not.
"he's a drunk." efreeyeh says. "and he's lost his mind."
now he was standing in front of me, telling me everything i already knew.
"My name is Mike Warrington! Shake me!"
he grabbed for my hand. he didn't need to grab though, i was going to offer it up willingly. i've set my rule with him. i will give him 3 handshakes, then it's over. with my dislike for handshaking i consider myself generous.
"My name is Mike Warrington. are you a british? Shake me!"
i gave him his second.
efreeyeh watched, very pleased with the situation.
"are you a british? my name is mike warrington. i am listening attentively. shake me!"
shake number three and over.
i walked away from him up the dirt hill. "c'mon efreeyeh, hurry up."
she ran up to my side and laughed. "he's lost his mind i hope you know that."
"i know, i'm just trying to get away from his handshaking. i hate it. he does this to me every morning before work, but usually i can see him and dodge him before it happens. shake me efreeyeh shake me!" then i grabbed her hand and started jostling it all around. she laughed.
"go in here akua." she said.
i walked through a metal gate painted blue, into a courtyard. there was a very pregnant woman sitting on a bench eating.
"how are you?" i asked.
"fine." she said.
"hungry?" i said.
"very." she said.
lots of laughter and then some small talk. there was a small child, of whom i had a special interest in since my first week here, hanging out close by. i asked "is this your son?", she said yes.
"oh! really? ebeneezer is my little friend. he's a good boy." i said.
he got very shy and hid.
Mike Warrington came around the corner and made his way into the courtyard over to ebeneezer. the boy tried to escape Mike Warrington but got cornered, so he just stood there while Mike Warrington told me his name over and over again, stressing the k in miKe and the rr's and t in waRRingTon.
the thing about Mike Warrington is, he can pass as sane for quite a long while, until you look closer at his glassy eyes.
"are you a british?" he kept asking.
"no i'm american." i said, wondering why i was even answering, then wondering why i wouldn't. crazy. what is crazy? crazy is still human.
the mother laughed when miKe waRRingTon said he was listening attentively. she spoke only a small bit of english, and his use of proper words had her laughing. he sounded like he had memorized a few lines from the a radio program he might have listened to. it would have been easy, since like nanakwame, he always was cradeling a small cheap radio in the crook of his armpit, listening "attentively".
when i started to ignore him, by turning my head and speaking to the pregant woman, he grabbed ebeneezers arm and squeezed until ebeneezer winced and we all turned to look. "are you a british?"
"please let go of the little boy's arm." i said.
he squeezed tighter "no, i am going to beat this child. my name is miKe waRRingTon."
he had a sick grin on his face.
"LET GO." i said.
ebeneezer looked like he was going to cry, but he wasn't moving. it was a disturbing moment.
"LET HIM GO." i said, again.
he let go, and laughed, treating me as if i were insane. then he came over and said "shake me." putting his grimy hand in my face.
"NO! i won't shake you. everyday you come to me and you say shake me shake me shake me. i'm tired of shaking you mike warrington. really tired of it. don't ask me again."
he kept laughing.
"let's go." i said to efreeyeh.
we reminded the woman to come to the clinic, she thanked us for visiting her and kept eating.
i ran up the hill and hid from miKe waRRington. i watched him walk back down the hill.
"we are going to this woman's house, by the market. have you seen her akua? she's too big, like this." then efreeyeh put her hands out past her toes. "like that. she's big, big."
"is she having twins you think?"
"yes."
"how do you know?"
"she went for a scan."
we turned the corner and were at the place.
"but all the women have gone to farm." efreeyeh said. "it's thursday. they will prepare for tommorow, market day."
"even the women who are about to deliver."
"every body has to prepare." she said.
"eh! efreeyeh. let's see if you are still saying that when you are 9 months pregnant, ya?"
she laughed. "i will akua."
we yelled into the one room structure "kokokoko" which is a phrase in twi, which is supposed to imitate the sound of knocking, but is voiced because most people don't have anything to knock a knuckle up against. no door, no window, nothing. just a vacant doorway. the response is "memememe", and we heard it. the woman hadn't gone to farm. when i saw her, i was suprised she was even moving! she was huge.
we spent some time touching her belly, talking to her, sitting around.
this was another form of community outreach. our own personal form.
this woman was afraid to come to the clinic.
i asked efreeyeh later, "why?".
she said because she hasn't been yet, mostly because she started her antenatal after she got her scan, so she just continued going to Konongo hospital. now that she was at term, Ma would yell at her for not having visited her sooner.
"but she should still come!" i said. "is she going to?"
"she said she would. tommorrow."
"do you think she will?"
"yes. if she says she will then i believe her. but it's true, Ma will yell at her."
"are the women in the village scared of Ma?"
"no." she said.
the next day she did come to the clinic, and Ma did yell at her. then i yelled at Ma, kind of.
"Ma?" i said. "you told us to go into the village and tell the women to come. now when they come, you yell at them. they won't want to deliver here if you make them feel guilty for not having come sooner, and then they'll just deliver at home. exactly what we don't want. so we should be kinder, don't you agree?"
"HMPF. these people." she began "they don't come for antenatal. i don't see them until this point, when they are coming to deliver. you see? HMPF."
"did you ask her why?"
"YES! but she won't speak."
it was true. the woman giggled uncomfortably everytime Ma asked her a question. she never answered one of them.
efreeyeh told me later she had warned her to keep her mouth shut, until she was about to leave, then she could explain her reason for not coming sooner and Ma wouldn't yell as much.
that is exactly what she did. she told Ma, she had to go to Konongo for the scan and if she didn't do antenatal there but got sent there due to complications during delivery, the midwives at the hospital wouldn't care about her. they would treat her poorly because they didn't recognize her.
i wondered if she had spoke with sister Yaa.
it was a smart move, i thought.
our delivery room was kind, whether you had been there before or not. we didn't slap hard, and we didn't yell. we also didn't perform fundal pressure. there were windows which let in the breeze and a view of nature. and although Ma could be moody, she was an excellent midwife.
my initial skepticism of her qualifications, i now see, was due to my own ignorance. i would trust Ma to deliver my child, but i would make sure i went to my antenatals with her first. just to get on her good side.
all 3 of us had been sitting peacefully in Ma's office, i was reading, they were chatting. efreeyeh bounced out of her chair, and walked outside. was i supposed to know what was going on?
"what is she doing?" i asked.
"oh! why should you ask? i've told her to go and bring the pregnant women. won't you go with her?"
"uh, okay. ya. i'll go and bring the pregnant women. now?"
"yes, now."
"okay." i packed up my purse and said good bye, then efreeyeh and i began to walk in the direction of town.
"what exactly are we doing?" i asked.
"Ma Aggie wants us to go and visit the pregnant women and tell them to come to the clinic."
efreeyeh had just started calling Ma, Ma Aggie. i liked the long version when efreeyeh said it because it sounded like "Moggy", but Ma would always and forever remain a two lettered woman to me.
at the beginning of that week we had a lady in town, pregnant with twins, attempt to deliver at home with a traditional birth attendant (TBA). it was a bad story with an unhappy ending, depending on how you look at it. Maame Vic thought it was a good thing one of the babies didn't make it. "you see?" she said "she is a poor poor woman, she can't afford twins. so now she has just one, she will feel free. her baby will be strong. but that TBA is a wicked wicked woman."
her perspective on the neonate's death was a good way to look at it, i suppose. and the TBA is actually a very kind woman who was put into a difficult situation. turns out the girl showed up on her doorstep with the first child already making it's way into the world. what was she to do?
she came in after her children were delivered, with a retained placenta. Maame Vic had to manually remove it, and during the process a lot of blood was lost. She stayed in the clinic longer than any patient i had ever seen. she was weak and anemic and too poor to go to the hospital for a blood transfusion.
"i'll pay for it." i said.
"let's wait and see if rest and her modified diet will work." sofie said.
her baby girl was premature, and i learned that day about how to correctly wrap a baby into a kangaroo hold. the mother learned also. it is a method that has saved premature babies who don't have access to incubators, babies born in the bush. wrap the child skin to skin against the mother's (or anyone's) chest. keep the baby there, the mother's body heat is perfect for "incubation". the positioning looked quite comfortable, and the baby seemed happier.
things were looking on the bright side the day she was discharged.
it obviously affected Ma, to get her motivated in sending us out into the community.
efreeyeh loves leaving the clinic on missions, whether it's riding the bike to fetch Ma her lunch, going to the market to buy the clinic something, or doing what we were about to do. whatever the case may be, there is always an extra skip in her step.
"so how many women are we going to visit?" i asked.
"just wait and see." she said, smirking at me.
she looked more official in her green uniform. she looked like a health professional. she looked like the community might trust her.
we walked up a hill, alongside some decrepit buildings, past women wringing out their children's just washed clothes. we walked past the baby ducks, i love those baby ducks. i noticed how much they walked like efreeyeh, a slight waddle. i told her this and she slapped me. "i only share these things with you because you share your thoughts with me." i said.
"what do you mean?" she asked.
i pointed to my arm, the arm she has been making fun of for months, the arm she says looks like i broke. "why do you walk like you've broken your arm?" she always asks.
"why do you waddle like a duck?" i now say.
we kept going and i was interested to see whose house we would stop at, when my path was intercepted by the local crazy man. it took me a while to figure out he was crazy, because he says many of the same things the locals say to me, except he repeats them and rocks back and forth while he does it, like he's slightly autistic, but he's not.
"he's a drunk." efreeyeh says. "and he's lost his mind."
now he was standing in front of me, telling me everything i already knew.
"My name is Mike Warrington! Shake me!"
he grabbed for my hand. he didn't need to grab though, i was going to offer it up willingly. i've set my rule with him. i will give him 3 handshakes, then it's over. with my dislike for handshaking i consider myself generous.
"My name is Mike Warrington. are you a british? Shake me!"
i gave him his second.
efreeyeh watched, very pleased with the situation.
"are you a british? my name is mike warrington. i am listening attentively. shake me!"
shake number three and over.
i walked away from him up the dirt hill. "c'mon efreeyeh, hurry up."
she ran up to my side and laughed. "he's lost his mind i hope you know that."
"i know, i'm just trying to get away from his handshaking. i hate it. he does this to me every morning before work, but usually i can see him and dodge him before it happens. shake me efreeyeh shake me!" then i grabbed her hand and started jostling it all around. she laughed.
"go in here akua." she said.
i walked through a metal gate painted blue, into a courtyard. there was a very pregnant woman sitting on a bench eating.
"how are you?" i asked.
"fine." she said.
"hungry?" i said.
"very." she said.
lots of laughter and then some small talk. there was a small child, of whom i had a special interest in since my first week here, hanging out close by. i asked "is this your son?", she said yes.
"oh! really? ebeneezer is my little friend. he's a good boy." i said.
he got very shy and hid.
Mike Warrington came around the corner and made his way into the courtyard over to ebeneezer. the boy tried to escape Mike Warrington but got cornered, so he just stood there while Mike Warrington told me his name over and over again, stressing the k in miKe and the rr's and t in waRRingTon.
the thing about Mike Warrington is, he can pass as sane for quite a long while, until you look closer at his glassy eyes.
"are you a british?" he kept asking.
"no i'm american." i said, wondering why i was even answering, then wondering why i wouldn't. crazy. what is crazy? crazy is still human.
the mother laughed when miKe waRRingTon said he was listening attentively. she spoke only a small bit of english, and his use of proper words had her laughing. he sounded like he had memorized a few lines from the a radio program he might have listened to. it would have been easy, since like nanakwame, he always was cradeling a small cheap radio in the crook of his armpit, listening "attentively".
when i started to ignore him, by turning my head and speaking to the pregant woman, he grabbed ebeneezers arm and squeezed until ebeneezer winced and we all turned to look. "are you a british?"
"please let go of the little boy's arm." i said.
he squeezed tighter "no, i am going to beat this child. my name is miKe waRRingTon."
he had a sick grin on his face.
"LET GO." i said.
ebeneezer looked like he was going to cry, but he wasn't moving. it was a disturbing moment.
"LET HIM GO." i said, again.
he let go, and laughed, treating me as if i were insane. then he came over and said "shake me." putting his grimy hand in my face.
"NO! i won't shake you. everyday you come to me and you say shake me shake me shake me. i'm tired of shaking you mike warrington. really tired of it. don't ask me again."
he kept laughing.
"let's go." i said to efreeyeh.
we reminded the woman to come to the clinic, she thanked us for visiting her and kept eating.
i ran up the hill and hid from miKe waRRington. i watched him walk back down the hill.
"we are going to this woman's house, by the market. have you seen her akua? she's too big, like this." then efreeyeh put her hands out past her toes. "like that. she's big, big."
"is she having twins you think?"
"yes."
"how do you know?"
"she went for a scan."
we turned the corner and were at the place.
"but all the women have gone to farm." efreeyeh said. "it's thursday. they will prepare for tommorow, market day."
"even the women who are about to deliver."
"every body has to prepare." she said.
"eh! efreeyeh. let's see if you are still saying that when you are 9 months pregnant, ya?"
she laughed. "i will akua."
we yelled into the one room structure "kokokoko" which is a phrase in twi, which is supposed to imitate the sound of knocking, but is voiced because most people don't have anything to knock a knuckle up against. no door, no window, nothing. just a vacant doorway. the response is "memememe", and we heard it. the woman hadn't gone to farm. when i saw her, i was suprised she was even moving! she was huge.
we spent some time touching her belly, talking to her, sitting around.
this was another form of community outreach. our own personal form.
this woman was afraid to come to the clinic.
i asked efreeyeh later, "why?".
she said because she hasn't been yet, mostly because she started her antenatal after she got her scan, so she just continued going to Konongo hospital. now that she was at term, Ma would yell at her for not having visited her sooner.
"but she should still come!" i said. "is she going to?"
"she said she would. tommorrow."
"do you think she will?"
"yes. if she says she will then i believe her. but it's true, Ma will yell at her."
"are the women in the village scared of Ma?"
"no." she said.
the next day she did come to the clinic, and Ma did yell at her. then i yelled at Ma, kind of.
"Ma?" i said. "you told us to go into the village and tell the women to come. now when they come, you yell at them. they won't want to deliver here if you make them feel guilty for not having come sooner, and then they'll just deliver at home. exactly what we don't want. so we should be kinder, don't you agree?"
"HMPF. these people." she began "they don't come for antenatal. i don't see them until this point, when they are coming to deliver. you see? HMPF."
"did you ask her why?"
"YES! but she won't speak."
it was true. the woman giggled uncomfortably everytime Ma asked her a question. she never answered one of them.
efreeyeh told me later she had warned her to keep her mouth shut, until she was about to leave, then she could explain her reason for not coming sooner and Ma wouldn't yell as much.
that is exactly what she did. she told Ma, she had to go to Konongo for the scan and if she didn't do antenatal there but got sent there due to complications during delivery, the midwives at the hospital wouldn't care about her. they would treat her poorly because they didn't recognize her.
i wondered if she had spoke with sister Yaa.
it was a smart move, i thought.
our delivery room was kind, whether you had been there before or not. we didn't slap hard, and we didn't yell. we also didn't perform fundal pressure. there were windows which let in the breeze and a view of nature. and although Ma could be moody, she was an excellent midwife.
my initial skepticism of her qualifications, i now see, was due to my own ignorance. i would trust Ma to deliver my child, but i would make sure i went to my antenatals with her first. just to get on her good side.
the mali men's last visit
i found out the mali people were actually from niger, but nobody seemed to care. they still referred to them as "the mali men". just like everybody still believes sofie is from germany.
as i was exploring the village one early morning, on my way to work, taking pictures of kids and dogs and baby ducks, one of the mali women ran across the road over to me.
she grabbed at my dress and inched up uncomfortably close to my face. then she spoke her language. i had no idea what language it was.
i tried to back away, but every time i did she grabbed my dress tighter and got closer.
she smelled like dirty goat and smoked cheese. she didn't smell ghanaian, and i hadn't realized until that point that there was a distinct ghanaian smell. it was anything other than what i was smelling now.
everything about her was different. she had unusually pink gums. they almost looked edible.
i didn't particularly like her gripping me the way she was, but it seemed desperate, so i tried hard to understand what she was explaining.
she was pointing to her dress, it had different colored swirls all over it. she singled out a red swirl and counted to 7.
what was i to think?
"wote twi?" i asked.
she said yes she speaks small twi.
"yeka twi. let's speak twi."
she told me about blood, and months, and medicine, but none of it made much sense. "i'm sorry" i said "i don't understand what you are saying. do you want medicine?"
she said yes yes yes she wants medicine.
"then come today to the clinic." i said.
she told me she would see me soon.
then i summoned up the courage and asked if i could take her picture, because she was unusually beautiful, and she said of course. then she modeled, and pressured me into taking 3 pictures, instead of 1.
well that was easy, i thought as i walked away.
when i got to work i told Maame Vic the mali people would be coming for a visit, and when they came walking down the road towards us, we sat and stared at them. they walked in long strings of pairs, husbands and wives.
they were taller and leaner and boneier. they dressed in more clothes. they were muslim.
we brought the woman i had just met earlier that morning into Vic's office. she sat down and spoke in a clippy blunt accent. it was my first time hearing twi in a foreign african accent. i could barely understand it, but Vic could.
she responded "no, no, we don't do that here."
"do what?" sofie and i asked.
"she's asking for medicine to get blood. she says she hasn't had her period for 1 month, but she's had it the past 7 months, and she wants it. so she's asking for medicine to get the blood back."
"she wants an abortion?" i asked.
"oh no, that's not in our services." sofie said.
"but she doesn't think she's pregnant." vic said.
"but she hasn't had her period for 1 month?"
we all gave each other a dubious look.
"does she know about birth control?" i asked. "we should at least council her in that. for the future."
vic explained this to our mali friend.
she was enthusiastic and wanted an injection of depo provera right away.
"first let's find out if she's pregnant." one of us said.
she left, peed, and came back in to wait with us. kingsley brought in the results.
positive.
again, the mother was unhappy with the news, but coping better than the last. i was already growing frustrated with my emotions regarding unwanted pregnancy. i wanted her to want it. i wanted to be supportive to her. i was already imagining talking to the unborn child 35 years from now. hearing his amazing life tale, telling him about his beginnings.
"well no depo for her i guess."
"let's at least get her some folic acid."
vic called the husband in the room and talked with them both. he smelled like smoke from a wood fire and wore a funny red hat. the kind a circus monkey might wear, boxy-made of felt. he had a neck full of leather jewelry dangling down to his chest. it looked special, like the charms were loaded with secret spells. i had to ask once they were through talking. i asked a few other things as well.
i concluded with "... and why exactly are they here in boama, what do they DO?"
"they walk around and sell their medicines." vic said "do you see? they have medicine there in their bags, you see? it is special from mali, they sell it from village to village. they walk everywhere."
they both were sitting, contemplativly in their chairs, trying to engage but unable to devote much energy to conversation. they just found out they were going to have their 6th child. they seemed like a wonderful couple, close and caring.
working in the clinic is strange. i'm not used to this sort of work, the kind where you know people's most intimate affairs. sofie is used to it. and really, the village is SMALL, so one begins to feel they know too much.
we walk through town together, we pass the man who is being treated for his urinary tract infection, we eat dinner with the woman who has a spleen so large it resembles another breast, i play soccer with the cute guy who comes in every day for an injection in his ass. (all the girls have a hard time with that one, figuratively and literally. the guy is fit. he is one big muscle. they all tried pawning it off on me.)
"since you love injections so much, you take the cute guy."
"it's not in my job description." i say. "looks like you'll have to do it."
i buy rice, bread, eggs from women i've seen naked, frightened or brave, lying supine on the bed in the ward. i sing in church, my voice mixing with the 20 other members, half of which are grandmothers of children i've seen be born.
i interviewed a few midwives before i came to ghana only because people said skeptically (but lovingly) "you've never seen a birth before and you're going to work in a birthing clinic, in africa? can you handle all the blood?"
every time i agreed with their statement, and said i don't know if i could handle the blood, i felt foolish and unwise, because all i could go off of was a "feeling". a feeling that this was something i would love. so to combat my insecurities stemming from other people's insecurities i engaged in some personal research. i tried to do something smart, tried to somehow prepare, so that i could prove "i was prepared."
all of this was entirely against my nature, and was only to appease those questioning me. but... i started by calling midwives in various cities, all but my own. i was too intimidated to talk face to face with a real life midwife.
i remember one of the women i called saying her least favorite part of the job was that she became so close to these pregnant women and their families. she took part in such a milestone of their lives, such a raw-intimate-now-we-know-eachother-forever-moment, but then they sort of just vanish. the baby gets older, everyone gets busier, naturally they don't see much of each other again. she saw it as a sense of loss. she didn't like that part of the job, these intense one year relationships. she wanted them to last.
i should have told her to move to a village. to practice midwifery work in boamadumase. your clients won't ever forget you, you'll get to see them every day. like a fine kente weave, you come in and out of their lives, each day, every day. there is really no way around it. you depend on them as much as they depend on you.
village life is symbiotic.
but not with these mali folk, and ultimately not with me either. we have our own tribes. although i'd like to think i will have a lasting relationship with this place.
the mali folk will travel on, and who knows what will happen, with them, or the baby.
all we could do was offer her a little advice and a handful of folic acid.
when they were leaving, Maame Vic asked the woman to do her hair, and mine. the lady said she would, but they left town that afternoon, and walked onward.
"oh well." we both said, the next day when we realized we'd been deserted. "at least efreeyeh and sofie are looking beautiful."
"but weren't they cool?" everyone said.
as i was exploring the village one early morning, on my way to work, taking pictures of kids and dogs and baby ducks, one of the mali women ran across the road over to me.
she grabbed at my dress and inched up uncomfortably close to my face. then she spoke her language. i had no idea what language it was.
i tried to back away, but every time i did she grabbed my dress tighter and got closer.
she smelled like dirty goat and smoked cheese. she didn't smell ghanaian, and i hadn't realized until that point that there was a distinct ghanaian smell. it was anything other than what i was smelling now.
everything about her was different. she had unusually pink gums. they almost looked edible.
i didn't particularly like her gripping me the way she was, but it seemed desperate, so i tried hard to understand what she was explaining.
she was pointing to her dress, it had different colored swirls all over it. she singled out a red swirl and counted to 7.
what was i to think?
"wote twi?" i asked.
she said yes she speaks small twi.
"yeka twi. let's speak twi."
she told me about blood, and months, and medicine, but none of it made much sense. "i'm sorry" i said "i don't understand what you are saying. do you want medicine?"
she said yes yes yes she wants medicine.
"then come today to the clinic." i said.
she told me she would see me soon.
then i summoned up the courage and asked if i could take her picture, because she was unusually beautiful, and she said of course. then she modeled, and pressured me into taking 3 pictures, instead of 1.
well that was easy, i thought as i walked away.
when i got to work i told Maame Vic the mali people would be coming for a visit, and when they came walking down the road towards us, we sat and stared at them. they walked in long strings of pairs, husbands and wives.
they were taller and leaner and boneier. they dressed in more clothes. they were muslim.
we brought the woman i had just met earlier that morning into Vic's office. she sat down and spoke in a clippy blunt accent. it was my first time hearing twi in a foreign african accent. i could barely understand it, but Vic could.
she responded "no, no, we don't do that here."
"do what?" sofie and i asked.
"she's asking for medicine to get blood. she says she hasn't had her period for 1 month, but she's had it the past 7 months, and she wants it. so she's asking for medicine to get the blood back."
"she wants an abortion?" i asked.
"oh no, that's not in our services." sofie said.
"but she doesn't think she's pregnant." vic said.
"but she hasn't had her period for 1 month?"
we all gave each other a dubious look.
"does she know about birth control?" i asked. "we should at least council her in that. for the future."
vic explained this to our mali friend.
she was enthusiastic and wanted an injection of depo provera right away.
"first let's find out if she's pregnant." one of us said.
she left, peed, and came back in to wait with us. kingsley brought in the results.
positive.
again, the mother was unhappy with the news, but coping better than the last. i was already growing frustrated with my emotions regarding unwanted pregnancy. i wanted her to want it. i wanted to be supportive to her. i was already imagining talking to the unborn child 35 years from now. hearing his amazing life tale, telling him about his beginnings.
"well no depo for her i guess."
"let's at least get her some folic acid."
vic called the husband in the room and talked with them both. he smelled like smoke from a wood fire and wore a funny red hat. the kind a circus monkey might wear, boxy-made of felt. he had a neck full of leather jewelry dangling down to his chest. it looked special, like the charms were loaded with secret spells. i had to ask once they were through talking. i asked a few other things as well.
i concluded with "... and why exactly are they here in boama, what do they DO?"
"they walk around and sell their medicines." vic said "do you see? they have medicine there in their bags, you see? it is special from mali, they sell it from village to village. they walk everywhere."
they both were sitting, contemplativly in their chairs, trying to engage but unable to devote much energy to conversation. they just found out they were going to have their 6th child. they seemed like a wonderful couple, close and caring.
working in the clinic is strange. i'm not used to this sort of work, the kind where you know people's most intimate affairs. sofie is used to it. and really, the village is SMALL, so one begins to feel they know too much.
we walk through town together, we pass the man who is being treated for his urinary tract infection, we eat dinner with the woman who has a spleen so large it resembles another breast, i play soccer with the cute guy who comes in every day for an injection in his ass. (all the girls have a hard time with that one, figuratively and literally. the guy is fit. he is one big muscle. they all tried pawning it off on me.)
"since you love injections so much, you take the cute guy."
"it's not in my job description." i say. "looks like you'll have to do it."
i buy rice, bread, eggs from women i've seen naked, frightened or brave, lying supine on the bed in the ward. i sing in church, my voice mixing with the 20 other members, half of which are grandmothers of children i've seen be born.
i interviewed a few midwives before i came to ghana only because people said skeptically (but lovingly) "you've never seen a birth before and you're going to work in a birthing clinic, in africa? can you handle all the blood?"
every time i agreed with their statement, and said i don't know if i could handle the blood, i felt foolish and unwise, because all i could go off of was a "feeling". a feeling that this was something i would love. so to combat my insecurities stemming from other people's insecurities i engaged in some personal research. i tried to do something smart, tried to somehow prepare, so that i could prove "i was prepared."
all of this was entirely against my nature, and was only to appease those questioning me. but... i started by calling midwives in various cities, all but my own. i was too intimidated to talk face to face with a real life midwife.
i remember one of the women i called saying her least favorite part of the job was that she became so close to these pregnant women and their families. she took part in such a milestone of their lives, such a raw-intimate-now-we-know-eachother-forever-moment, but then they sort of just vanish. the baby gets older, everyone gets busier, naturally they don't see much of each other again. she saw it as a sense of loss. she didn't like that part of the job, these intense one year relationships. she wanted them to last.
i should have told her to move to a village. to practice midwifery work in boamadumase. your clients won't ever forget you, you'll get to see them every day. like a fine kente weave, you come in and out of their lives, each day, every day. there is really no way around it. you depend on them as much as they depend on you.
village life is symbiotic.
but not with these mali folk, and ultimately not with me either. we have our own tribes. although i'd like to think i will have a lasting relationship with this place.
the mali folk will travel on, and who knows what will happen, with them, or the baby.
all we could do was offer her a little advice and a handful of folic acid.
when they were leaving, Maame Vic asked the woman to do her hair, and mine. the lady said she would, but they left town that afternoon, and walked onward.
"oh well." we both said, the next day when we realized we'd been deserted. "at least efreeyeh and sofie are looking beautiful."
"but weren't they cool?" everyone said.
nanakwame
it was dark, and cool, because it had just rained, again. sometimes i like to shine a flashlight into my dinner bowl, just to see what i am eating. because knowing what one is eating is comforting. but on this particular night, the air was the type of humid that encourages big nasty insects to fly around, into lights, into bowls, and sakola swatted at my torch when i brought it out.
"you're right." i said tucking it away.
we ate our food in silence, because that is the way sakola likes it. he prefers to not talk while we are eating. in fact, he prefers no sound at all. one night i was happy and decided to hum while i swallowed (most ghanaian food is meant to be swallowed, not chewed. there is a specific word that means "to chew one's food")
"ei! kissy! wo kasa dodo! you talk too much."
"i'm not saying anything."
"you see?"
"see what?" i asked.
"NO! you SING! you SING when you eat, is no good, no good at all."
so i shut up. and then, i couldn't stop giggling, because dinner seemed so serious. i looked over at collins (who eats out of his own bowl, unlike everyone else who shares a bowl) and i winked. no response.
some nights on the porch are brimming with entertainment with random people stopping by to share in the food or tell outrageous stories, or play board games, or just relax and share in the passing moments. one of our favorite past times is to make fun of NanaKwame's english. of his i'dliketosay. everyone gets in on this, especially collin's mother, who is always working hard cooking or cleaning or preparing her lesson for her kindegartoners the next day. he's fiesty enough to defend himself and continue speaking however he pleases while we all roll around on the ground laughing.
other nights seem long, slow, and the interaction is dry. no talking while eating nights. those are the nights it's hard for me to sit up straight on the benches, without squirming around and wanting to walk home rather than wait for dinner to come. those are the nights i don't like speaking twi, each word struggles to come out of my mouth and my ears hurt from listening to it. those are the nights when i feel i am completely used to everything, that it has all become like second nature, and although it is long and slow and interaction is dry- i still love it.
and on this dark cool night, when i was sitting like a good school girl not uttering a word, dipping my hands into the bowl and swooping out my fufuo, swallowing then swooping again, i heard a loud scrambling on the side of the house.
i ignored it.
then we all heard it.
no one mentioned a thing.
there was the sound again, then in a grand entrance nanakwame came swinging around the corner, tumbling over himself and the ground and smacking into the side of the porch, then disappearing underneath.
we looked at each other with quizzacal faces.
"MMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYY PEEEOOOPPLLEE!!" nanakwame screamed out, as he popped up from the ground, then on to the porch. he jogged in place saying "ooohh ohhhh my peoooplllee!"
"KESSSSS!" he ran over to me, picked me up, shook me around. "KESS KESS KESS! OH KESS!"
then he dropped me.
sakola had a big grin on his face, staring up at nanakwame from the bench we eat dinner on. i whispered "someones pretty drunk huh?" and sakola laughed and shook his head. all the brothers claim they don't drink, although i've "caught" all of them and their friends, except collins, wasted at one point or another. mostly after a funeral.
but tonite was like any other week night. what occasion was there for nanakwame to get drunk?
i looked over, he had sakola's 4 year old sister lifted high and he was spinning her around. she didn't like it at all. children can feel when they're safety is endangered, i could see why she didn't want to be his play toy. she squirmed out of his arms and ran away.
collin's father, who is always crouched on the porch, quietly wrapped in a blanket, who is constantly coughing and growing thinner each day, began to yell. i never hear him yell. he is a peaceful sick soul, who usually doesn't raise his voice. "ah! nanakwame! it's too much!"
nanakwame didn't hear a word he said. he ran back over to us and started dancing. "EHHH HEE HEH MY FAMILY!!! I'DLIKETOSAY DANCE!"
we continued with our fufuo.
"Nanakwame and apeteshie have become very close." i said. i knew this would be the type of comment the family would consider funny, so i said it and they all laughed. collins repeated it in twi to nanakwame and nanakwame, like a good drunk, became very serious. "KESS! you da say i am drink?"
when sakola drinks (which he rarely does) he becomes brave and uses english words i've never heard him utter in the day. he speaks a lot more and a lot better. but when nanakwame drinks conversation begins to resemble a jigsaw puzzle, or those single word fridge magnets that are meant to be arranged into poetry, or incoherent sentences.
"you da say i been back you i'dliketosay drink the drink? NO! i no!"
a long silent moment passes as we all try to figure that one out.
"are you speaking english?" i ask.
then me and the family erupt once again in laughter.
"kess! you laughing me? you'd say i'dliketosay i go mate tro tro konongonkumasi i'dliketosay tonite?"
"what?"
"OH KESS! my english is i'dliketosay you say i go take the drink town yeahh!"
"i'm going to the clinic" i tell everyone, "thanks for dinner."
it is my nightly routine to check and see if there are any women who have began labor. the walk helps me digest the big ball of fufuo in my belly (sofie and i call them our fufuo babies and this night i was 7 months), and if i cover all my limbs and wear a hood i can sneak through the village without being recognized as an oburoni. it makes for great voyeurism.
but this night, nanakwame was intent on accompanying me.
"no no stay here" i said "i can go alone."
"KESS? you'dsay you bring clinic no go why?"
i wasn't going to try and make sense of anything coming out of his mouth. "nanakwame" i began "don't speak drunk english. it's really bad. just speak twi."
"you say is bad?"
"when you are drunk, yes. it's really bad. i'm going to the clinic, you should eat your dinner."
"NO KESS!" he screamed in a funny voice "NO! wait me. wait me."
then he scarfed down a bowl of fufuo came over to me and told me to wait just a while longer. "i am going to bathe." he said. "wait me."
"i'm leaving." i said, unsure of the truth of the statement. walking around town with him in this state could have been interesting, i knew this, so i lingered, then threatend. "okay, fine, you have 5 minutes."
5 minutes drunk time can last forever, i learned this playing hide and go seek with my once alchoholic father. then it was to my advantage. drunk time is more similar to kid time, it is easily entertained and can go on forever, until it falls flat on it's face and doesn't get up. i was not on drunk time. the longer i waited, the more i realized... i was on sober kacie time. i wanted to leave in 5 minutes, go directly to the clinic, then return. all in a timely fashion. i wasn't in the mood for an inebriated stroll.
"c'mon nanakwame, you have 2 more minutes!"
he hadn't even fetched his bucket of water. "wait me i'm bath water cold i come kess!"
madame yelled at him to hurry or i'd leave. my sudden punctuality, and everyone supporting it, was humorous. "1 minute!" i screamed.
the moon was plump, spilling it's light everywhere. i notice the stages of the moon more in a electricity-less village. i know the times i need to bring a lantern out to the latrine, and the times when i'll be able to see from the natural light of the night.
this night was the type of night i had to turn my head. nanakwame was bathing 5 feet from the porch, which isn't anything new. typically his black naked body blends in with the stark black surroundings, and i stare out in his direction, while we talk and he scrubs.
but not now.
i fell back and looked up at the stars. i talked to sakola and told him about my dreams. 1 week of nightmares, again. i played hand clapping games with his little sister. i drank some water.
nanakwame ran over and grabbed a towel from the clothesline above my head. then he put on some clothes.
"ready?" i said.
"lez go." he said.
his cold bath seemed to sober him up a bit, enough for the walk to be relatively uneventful. we walked arm in arm the entire way, me supporting us through the slipping and sliding in the thick red mud. further on down the road, closer to the clinic, and after a heavy hard rain, the ground begins to resemble quicksand. we had a lot of fun once we reached that point, laughing and nearly falling over or sinking deep every 2 feet.
on the walk back home, after an unsuccesful attempt of dancing at the town bar (nanakwame got in a shoving match before we entered) we chatted a bit, mostly none of it making sense, while he (unaware) shone his flashlight in oncoming people's faces.
a small boy, maybe 7 years old, had been walking behind us for quite some time. i hadn't paid him much attention until he said in a nice firm voice "NanaKwame your english is broken. if you want to speak it you should speak it correctly. come to my house and i'll give you lessons." then he veered off down a path into his hut.
i wasn't aware there was a child nearby who spoke so well. nanakwame was shamed into confession.
"i'dliketosay i drink apeteshie kess, i drink too much!"
"i know, nanakwame, i know. it's pretty obvious, but thanks for admitting any way."
"ya kess ya! i'dliketosay my english is correct! is correct! ya?!"
"yes, it's correct, kind of, when you're not drunk."
"oh keesssss!" he reached down and swooped me up, swinging me around in drunken glee.
"thanks for walking me home." i said.
"awwwwwwwww kess, you're my sister! kess! is correct!"
"you're right." i said tucking it away.
we ate our food in silence, because that is the way sakola likes it. he prefers to not talk while we are eating. in fact, he prefers no sound at all. one night i was happy and decided to hum while i swallowed (most ghanaian food is meant to be swallowed, not chewed. there is a specific word that means "to chew one's food")
"ei! kissy! wo kasa dodo! you talk too much."
"i'm not saying anything."
"you see?"
"see what?" i asked.
"NO! you SING! you SING when you eat, is no good, no good at all."
so i shut up. and then, i couldn't stop giggling, because dinner seemed so serious. i looked over at collins (who eats out of his own bowl, unlike everyone else who shares a bowl) and i winked. no response.
some nights on the porch are brimming with entertainment with random people stopping by to share in the food or tell outrageous stories, or play board games, or just relax and share in the passing moments. one of our favorite past times is to make fun of NanaKwame's english. of his i'dliketosay. everyone gets in on this, especially collin's mother, who is always working hard cooking or cleaning or preparing her lesson for her kindegartoners the next day. he's fiesty enough to defend himself and continue speaking however he pleases while we all roll around on the ground laughing.
other nights seem long, slow, and the interaction is dry. no talking while eating nights. those are the nights it's hard for me to sit up straight on the benches, without squirming around and wanting to walk home rather than wait for dinner to come. those are the nights i don't like speaking twi, each word struggles to come out of my mouth and my ears hurt from listening to it. those are the nights when i feel i am completely used to everything, that it has all become like second nature, and although it is long and slow and interaction is dry- i still love it.
and on this dark cool night, when i was sitting like a good school girl not uttering a word, dipping my hands into the bowl and swooping out my fufuo, swallowing then swooping again, i heard a loud scrambling on the side of the house.
i ignored it.
then we all heard it.
no one mentioned a thing.
there was the sound again, then in a grand entrance nanakwame came swinging around the corner, tumbling over himself and the ground and smacking into the side of the porch, then disappearing underneath.
we looked at each other with quizzacal faces.
"MMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYY PEEEOOOPPLLEE!!" nanakwame screamed out, as he popped up from the ground, then on to the porch. he jogged in place saying "ooohh ohhhh my peoooplllee!"
"KESSSSS!" he ran over to me, picked me up, shook me around. "KESS KESS KESS! OH KESS!"
then he dropped me.
sakola had a big grin on his face, staring up at nanakwame from the bench we eat dinner on. i whispered "someones pretty drunk huh?" and sakola laughed and shook his head. all the brothers claim they don't drink, although i've "caught" all of them and their friends, except collins, wasted at one point or another. mostly after a funeral.
but tonite was like any other week night. what occasion was there for nanakwame to get drunk?
i looked over, he had sakola's 4 year old sister lifted high and he was spinning her around. she didn't like it at all. children can feel when they're safety is endangered, i could see why she didn't want to be his play toy. she squirmed out of his arms and ran away.
collin's father, who is always crouched on the porch, quietly wrapped in a blanket, who is constantly coughing and growing thinner each day, began to yell. i never hear him yell. he is a peaceful sick soul, who usually doesn't raise his voice. "ah! nanakwame! it's too much!"
nanakwame didn't hear a word he said. he ran back over to us and started dancing. "EHHH HEE HEH MY FAMILY!!! I'DLIKETOSAY DANCE!"
we continued with our fufuo.
"Nanakwame and apeteshie have become very close." i said. i knew this would be the type of comment the family would consider funny, so i said it and they all laughed. collins repeated it in twi to nanakwame and nanakwame, like a good drunk, became very serious. "KESS! you da say i am drink?"
when sakola drinks (which he rarely does) he becomes brave and uses english words i've never heard him utter in the day. he speaks a lot more and a lot better. but when nanakwame drinks conversation begins to resemble a jigsaw puzzle, or those single word fridge magnets that are meant to be arranged into poetry, or incoherent sentences.
"you da say i been back you i'dliketosay drink the drink? NO! i no!"
a long silent moment passes as we all try to figure that one out.
"are you speaking english?" i ask.
then me and the family erupt once again in laughter.
"kess! you laughing me? you'd say i'dliketosay i go mate tro tro konongonkumasi i'dliketosay tonite?"
"what?"
"OH KESS! my english is i'dliketosay you say i go take the drink town yeahh!"
"i'm going to the clinic" i tell everyone, "thanks for dinner."
it is my nightly routine to check and see if there are any women who have began labor. the walk helps me digest the big ball of fufuo in my belly (sofie and i call them our fufuo babies and this night i was 7 months), and if i cover all my limbs and wear a hood i can sneak through the village without being recognized as an oburoni. it makes for great voyeurism.
but this night, nanakwame was intent on accompanying me.
"no no stay here" i said "i can go alone."
"KESS? you'dsay you bring clinic no go why?"
i wasn't going to try and make sense of anything coming out of his mouth. "nanakwame" i began "don't speak drunk english. it's really bad. just speak twi."
"you say is bad?"
"when you are drunk, yes. it's really bad. i'm going to the clinic, you should eat your dinner."
"NO KESS!" he screamed in a funny voice "NO! wait me. wait me."
then he scarfed down a bowl of fufuo came over to me and told me to wait just a while longer. "i am going to bathe." he said. "wait me."
"i'm leaving." i said, unsure of the truth of the statement. walking around town with him in this state could have been interesting, i knew this, so i lingered, then threatend. "okay, fine, you have 5 minutes."
5 minutes drunk time can last forever, i learned this playing hide and go seek with my once alchoholic father. then it was to my advantage. drunk time is more similar to kid time, it is easily entertained and can go on forever, until it falls flat on it's face and doesn't get up. i was not on drunk time. the longer i waited, the more i realized... i was on sober kacie time. i wanted to leave in 5 minutes, go directly to the clinic, then return. all in a timely fashion. i wasn't in the mood for an inebriated stroll.
"c'mon nanakwame, you have 2 more minutes!"
he hadn't even fetched his bucket of water. "wait me i'm bath water cold i come kess!"
madame yelled at him to hurry or i'd leave. my sudden punctuality, and everyone supporting it, was humorous. "1 minute!" i screamed.
the moon was plump, spilling it's light everywhere. i notice the stages of the moon more in a electricity-less village. i know the times i need to bring a lantern out to the latrine, and the times when i'll be able to see from the natural light of the night.
this night was the type of night i had to turn my head. nanakwame was bathing 5 feet from the porch, which isn't anything new. typically his black naked body blends in with the stark black surroundings, and i stare out in his direction, while we talk and he scrubs.
but not now.
i fell back and looked up at the stars. i talked to sakola and told him about my dreams. 1 week of nightmares, again. i played hand clapping games with his little sister. i drank some water.
nanakwame ran over and grabbed a towel from the clothesline above my head. then he put on some clothes.
"ready?" i said.
"lez go." he said.
his cold bath seemed to sober him up a bit, enough for the walk to be relatively uneventful. we walked arm in arm the entire way, me supporting us through the slipping and sliding in the thick red mud. further on down the road, closer to the clinic, and after a heavy hard rain, the ground begins to resemble quicksand. we had a lot of fun once we reached that point, laughing and nearly falling over or sinking deep every 2 feet.
on the walk back home, after an unsuccesful attempt of dancing at the town bar (nanakwame got in a shoving match before we entered) we chatted a bit, mostly none of it making sense, while he (unaware) shone his flashlight in oncoming people's faces.
a small boy, maybe 7 years old, had been walking behind us for quite some time. i hadn't paid him much attention until he said in a nice firm voice "NanaKwame your english is broken. if you want to speak it you should speak it correctly. come to my house and i'll give you lessons." then he veered off down a path into his hut.
i wasn't aware there was a child nearby who spoke so well. nanakwame was shamed into confession.
"i'dliketosay i drink apeteshie kess, i drink too much!"
"i know, nanakwame, i know. it's pretty obvious, but thanks for admitting any way."
"ya kess ya! i'dliketosay my english is correct! is correct! ya?!"
"yes, it's correct, kind of, when you're not drunk."
"oh keesssss!" he reached down and swooped me up, swinging me around in drunken glee.
"thanks for walking me home." i said.
"awwwwwwwww kess, you're my sister! kess! is correct!"
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
finally...
sofie and i were in the dark, sitting on a little wooden bench, in town, sharing a bowl of oahze.
it was our second night enjoying this exotic food.
i never thought i would need a break from fufuo, but my excited anticipation for oahze proved me wrong.
a woman approached me with a calmly disturbed look on her face. she was doing something a lot of locals do to me. they mumble inaudible twi and attempt to talk through hand gestures.
i can speak twi, i told her.
that didn't seem to change her form of delivery. she kept patting her belly with both hands, staring at me.
then i heard it. the words i love to hear.
i wanted to make sure i wasn't dreaming so i repeated them back to her. "your daughter has gone to the clinic to deliver?"
she shook her head like we were playing charades, and i had guessed correctly. i suppose we were playing charades, and i was glad to have guessed correctly.
see ya!
i ran to the clinic, as fast as i could go, and barged into the front room. watchman had already left to call Ma and Efreeyeh, i was the first to arrive.
when Ma saw me she laughed at my eagerness. "how did you know to come?" she said. efreeyeh was suprised to see me there also.
"i'm glad the old lady told me or else i'm sure i wouldn't have heard about it. it's night, you wouldn't have come for me."
ma grunted. "but watchman came for you the other night. so you shouldn't be saying that we won't call you. by all means, we want you to be here. we are glad you are here."
the woman looked small to be delivering already, but according to her charts all was as expected. her family, all women, gathered in the front room and kept each other company. sofie noticed she was from a village we had done an outreach to. "it's far man! i tried riding my bike but i couldn't. that's how far it was."
the lady had walked the entire distance, in the dark and in flip flops, and was now 5 cm dilated.
women like this are my sheroes.
she went back to the delivery room and rested on the bed.
time moved slowly, as it always does when a woman is in labor, so Ma went to rest on the bed. i followed her into the resting room, the napping room.
"hey Ma, can i deliver the baby tonite?"
she chuckled. "as you wish" was all she said.
"so yes?" i needed to confirm.
"as for me, i would prefer for you to deliver a child in the daytime, when there is full light. but if you are able tonite, than you shall deliver the child tonite. i hope you are ready."
"i'm ready. if, it's okay with you."
i wanted to clear up any possible confusion.
"then, you shall do it."
"okay."
i ran out of the room back to the labor ward. i sat there, jittery with excitement. efreeyeh was sleeping. i woke her up. "Ma's gonna let me deliver the baby." she laughed and closed her eyes again. i ran out.
i didn't know what to do with myself, and the wind was blowing in just the right way, so i called my family. the reception was poor, but it was good to hear their voices. we talked for a short time when all of a sudden i got an incredible urge to go to the bathroom. 'i gotta go!' i said, hanging up and running back inside. i heard Ma yell "KAISY!", and i flew down the hallway into the delivery room.
"won't you put on some gloves. she will be having her child at any moment."
it had happened a lot more quickly than 2 hours.
i put on some gloves, got myself wrapped up in an apron, and got to the side of the table just in time. the baby's head was coming, and Ma was telling me to be gentle.
i was afraid my hands were being too gentle, that i wasn't helping much.
ma helped stretch the way open for the baby to come. the woman was barely making any noise. everything seemed to be going in slow silent motion, the baby traveling through her resembled a lazy boat ride on 'It's a small world'. all was well. my hands looked inexperienced, willing, brave.
sofie was somewhere in the room, observing. she hadn't seen a birth in years, she said.
when the baby came it was a joint effort, Ma and i, and it slid between her mother's legs onto the table. i stared at it.
i kind of delivered this child, i thought.
i blinked once, she blinked once, and realized, i DID deliver this child!
then i snapped back into mode, cut the cord, the placenta came right after, smoothly, safely. i washed the baby, dried and wrapped her up. she is a beautiful baby, with a big face and a calm presence.
i'm certain the mother's beautiful delivery made for it's seamless cushioned entry into the world. the baby was happy. she wasn't screaming from pain, discomfort, shock. her eyes were exploring, her head was cone shaped, and she was bundled and warm.
"give her to her mother." sofie said.
"um, i wish. we don't do that here."
"for fuck's sake, she was the one who just went through all that. she can't be with her baby."
i looked at Ma.
"by all means" Ma began "she will see her baby in the other room."
i took the baby and slinked down the hallway, in my new fashion, rushing it out to see it's relatives who were all waiting in those long still moments. Ma doesn't know i do this, because she naps after delivery. if she saw me, she'd yell at me, but the family is always thrilled. then when the mother comes back, minutes later, they're holding the baby for her, until she takes it.
it never has to sit, lonely in an empty room, waiting for who knows how long.
the sisters, mother, aunties jumped around and said "wayadee, onyame hyira wo!". which means, you have done well, God bless you.
it was a wonderful experience, empowering and challenging, with a perfect end result.
i went back to help clean up the after effects. the mop was the last thing i thought about.
it was our second night enjoying this exotic food.
i never thought i would need a break from fufuo, but my excited anticipation for oahze proved me wrong.
a woman approached me with a calmly disturbed look on her face. she was doing something a lot of locals do to me. they mumble inaudible twi and attempt to talk through hand gestures.
i can speak twi, i told her.
that didn't seem to change her form of delivery. she kept patting her belly with both hands, staring at me.
then i heard it. the words i love to hear.
i wanted to make sure i wasn't dreaming so i repeated them back to her. "your daughter has gone to the clinic to deliver?"
she shook her head like we were playing charades, and i had guessed correctly. i suppose we were playing charades, and i was glad to have guessed correctly.
see ya!
i ran to the clinic, as fast as i could go, and barged into the front room. watchman had already left to call Ma and Efreeyeh, i was the first to arrive.
when Ma saw me she laughed at my eagerness. "how did you know to come?" she said. efreeyeh was suprised to see me there also.
"i'm glad the old lady told me or else i'm sure i wouldn't have heard about it. it's night, you wouldn't have come for me."
ma grunted. "but watchman came for you the other night. so you shouldn't be saying that we won't call you. by all means, we want you to be here. we are glad you are here."
the woman looked small to be delivering already, but according to her charts all was as expected. her family, all women, gathered in the front room and kept each other company. sofie noticed she was from a village we had done an outreach to. "it's far man! i tried riding my bike but i couldn't. that's how far it was."
the lady had walked the entire distance, in the dark and in flip flops, and was now 5 cm dilated.
women like this are my sheroes.
she went back to the delivery room and rested on the bed.
time moved slowly, as it always does when a woman is in labor, so Ma went to rest on the bed. i followed her into the resting room, the napping room.
"hey Ma, can i deliver the baby tonite?"
she chuckled. "as you wish" was all she said.
"so yes?" i needed to confirm.
"as for me, i would prefer for you to deliver a child in the daytime, when there is full light. but if you are able tonite, than you shall deliver the child tonite. i hope you are ready."
"i'm ready. if, it's okay with you."
i wanted to clear up any possible confusion.
"then, you shall do it."
"okay."
i ran out of the room back to the labor ward. i sat there, jittery with excitement. efreeyeh was sleeping. i woke her up. "Ma's gonna let me deliver the baby." she laughed and closed her eyes again. i ran out.
i didn't know what to do with myself, and the wind was blowing in just the right way, so i called my family. the reception was poor, but it was good to hear their voices. we talked for a short time when all of a sudden i got an incredible urge to go to the bathroom. 'i gotta go!' i said, hanging up and running back inside. i heard Ma yell "KAISY!", and i flew down the hallway into the delivery room.
"won't you put on some gloves. she will be having her child at any moment."
it had happened a lot more quickly than 2 hours.
i put on some gloves, got myself wrapped up in an apron, and got to the side of the table just in time. the baby's head was coming, and Ma was telling me to be gentle.
i was afraid my hands were being too gentle, that i wasn't helping much.
ma helped stretch the way open for the baby to come. the woman was barely making any noise. everything seemed to be going in slow silent motion, the baby traveling through her resembled a lazy boat ride on 'It's a small world'. all was well. my hands looked inexperienced, willing, brave.
sofie was somewhere in the room, observing. she hadn't seen a birth in years, she said.
when the baby came it was a joint effort, Ma and i, and it slid between her mother's legs onto the table. i stared at it.
i kind of delivered this child, i thought.
i blinked once, she blinked once, and realized, i DID deliver this child!
then i snapped back into mode, cut the cord, the placenta came right after, smoothly, safely. i washed the baby, dried and wrapped her up. she is a beautiful baby, with a big face and a calm presence.
i'm certain the mother's beautiful delivery made for it's seamless cushioned entry into the world. the baby was happy. she wasn't screaming from pain, discomfort, shock. her eyes were exploring, her head was cone shaped, and she was bundled and warm.
"give her to her mother." sofie said.
"um, i wish. we don't do that here."
"for fuck's sake, she was the one who just went through all that. she can't be with her baby."
i looked at Ma.
"by all means" Ma began "she will see her baby in the other room."
i took the baby and slinked down the hallway, in my new fashion, rushing it out to see it's relatives who were all waiting in those long still moments. Ma doesn't know i do this, because she naps after delivery. if she saw me, she'd yell at me, but the family is always thrilled. then when the mother comes back, minutes later, they're holding the baby for her, until she takes it.
it never has to sit, lonely in an empty room, waiting for who knows how long.
the sisters, mother, aunties jumped around and said "wayadee, onyame hyira wo!". which means, you have done well, God bless you.
it was a wonderful experience, empowering and challenging, with a perfect end result.
i went back to help clean up the after effects. the mop was the last thing i thought about.
mysterious mali people, mysterious oahze
limping through the village has expanded my vocabulary.
i now know how to say, "i went running and i fell." and a few other useful phrases.
i haven't tried running again, except for once.
sofie and i were taking an early morning stroll through the village. instead of walking on the road, we weaved through the houses on the side of the road. we were in search of food, mostly. anything other than porridge and rice and beans.
"do you think there is any food back here?" she pointed.
"let's go see."
so we walked in the opposite direction of the clinic, towards the football pitch and the local elementary school. children were dressed in their uniforms, looking spiffy, carrying their chairs on their heads, or the little ones with just a notebook.
"akua!"
i heard a young woman call my name.
i turned and looked to see a church friend of mine. she was in her nightie and a hair net, outside her compound, with her girlfriends. they were all laughing at her.
"akua, my daughter will not go to school." she said in twi.
i didn't see any children around. "where is she?" i asked.
"oye ha. she's there. sitting in the field. she refuses to go to school."
sofie and i looked ahead, into the distance. her daughter was not yet 6 and she was already playing hookie. she was sitting in her little pink dress, all alone, with her arms crossed.
"akua... she is scared of you."
i knew this. a lot of the village children are afraid of me. my white skin is so foreign they don't know what to believe. if they aren't sticking their little fingers out waiting for me to bop them, they run away from me like i am a mad dog.
"akua, i'm sorry. but she won't go to school. i want her to go to school. can you please chase her into her classroom?"
"sure!" i said, then i lightly jogged in the direction of her daughter. i was close to 100 feet away when she stood up, alert. i kept jogging, slowly, and she began to turn and run. when i was close to 25 feet, she screamed and sprinted into school, straight through the entry way into her class.
all the women clapped loudly, laughed hard, and told me God would bless me for my good work.
"do you reckon we could do that every day?" sofie said.
"we should! let's make it our life work. attendance promoters. we could live in villages all over ghana and chase kids to school. maybe charge a small fee?"
we kept talking and decided to give up our search for food and go to work. "maybe tonite, let's look for something different to eat tonite." we decided.
our life had become very routine, and we needed a little spicing it up. collin's mother traveled to accra so we were left to find our own dinner, or cook it. we decided finding it would be easier, and more fun.
when we got to work, every body was up in a stir. "the mali people are here! the mali people are here!" Ma Vic, Vera, Kingsley, everyone was acting if they had just seen the easter bunny.
sofie and andrew had spotted them the day before, and come home elated. "have you seen them?" they asked me. "there are so many!" i hadn't.
sofie joined in with the enthusiasm. "they're sooooo cool."
efreeyeh walked around the corner. she looked gorgeous. her hair had been woven, intricate strands tying up into a high bun.
"efreeyeh you are looking sweet." kingsley said.
"ya, efreeyeh, look at you! beauty queen!" i said.
"you think so?" she gave us a look. a look that was glad to be reveling in beauty. a look that said she was having fun with her new do'. i liked this new sassy efreeyeh.
"uh huh." vic said "the Mali people have made your hair beautiful."
"the Mali people did that?" i asked.
she nodded. "they will do yours if you let them."
i most definately would let them. somebody went into town and called for one of the mali woman. she would come down later, they said.
we continued into a typical day, except that a severe rainstorm poured down. it was exciting. true hard thunder, flashes of bright lightening straight above our heads. i love the intensity of african rainstorms. i ran around barefoot in the heavy thick drops for a bit, got soaked, then went into the office with efreeyeh to learn a little anatomy from sofie. the clinic had been momentarily deserted, and the absence of people forced us all into rainy day health clinic arts and crafts.
she was drawing a human body, with attachable organs, and cutting them out.
the mali woman came in the middle of our project. i could see why everybody was so enthralled, she was exotic looking. very mysterious. very foreign.
"proper african hippies." sofie called them.
vic said she liked them because "all of them, they have everything they need in their bags. they won't ask for anything, they have everything, their own bowls and blankets, you see? they move around, with little little, they are free!"
kingsley claimed them all to be "very fine, very fine indeed."
the woman was wearing long flowy clothing and her wrists and ankles were wrapped in colorful beaded jewelry. she spoke no english, no twi and was shy as a doe, peeking out from a beautiful cloth draped over her head, exposing her face which was tatooed. little bursts of ink, where wrinkles from happy eyes form, covered her cheekbones and temples. her bottom lip was tattooed in blue also.
she walked over to my hair, and i took it out of the rubber band. i wanted my hair like efreeyeh's, spiraled braids working their way up my head.
she began her work, but after 5 minutes stopped.
"akua, your hair is too greasy." efreeyeh said.
"it's wet." sofie corrected.
"no, it's that your hair is, how do you call it? not slimy, slippery! it's too slippery. you must have hair like mine, rough rough, for this style, you see?"
"can she do mine?" sofie asked.
"let us see."
the woman could do sofies, and worked her hands all around her head while i cut out the large intestine, kidneys, a uterus. i was happy for sofie, her hair looked great. "all my life my hair has been such an issue." she's said. and on this trip, it appeared to be her daily disturbance. she stopped washing it the first day she arrived, and kept the shampoo fast going for almost 2 months. everyday she would ask "how's it look, manky?"
no, i'd say. her hair is dry and brittle, bordering african. in this case, she said, it was an advantage.
"she will come tommorrow to do yours. when it is dry." efreeyeh said.
sofie and i went out that night, into town, scavenging for dinner, something out of the norm. we passed the mosque, which was full of the mali people. they brought more life and energy to that mosque than i had seen since i arrived. they were outside, with the teapots, huddled in groups, peacefully enjoying each others company.
"i get it." i said to sofie, referring to my own thoughts of why all the townspeople can't take their eye's off of us. all i wanted to do was stare. these strangers were so interesting.
a patient at the clinic earlier that day said "i saw one of them eating rice. i saw them eating rice!" as if they caught a dolphin in the midst of some typical human behaviour.
we walked by, foreigner staring at foreigner.
"the thing is they have it all mixed up." sofie said awhile later, referring to the food search. "they sell egg sandwiches and hot chocolate at night, and rice and beans in the morning. who eats eggs at night?"
the street was dark, but lively, music was blasting from the local bar, kids were hopping all around. we found a stand selling a certain something she had only tried once. "it's delicious, let's get some."
after we finished our meal, a man walked over holding a pot filled with more food. he lifted the lid and steam rose out, like he was magically charming it to expose itself in swirls. it smelled delectable.
"what is it?" we asked, mesmerized.
in a low voice he said "oahze."
he gave us the bowl, although neither of us asked for it. both of us were excited to try it. "i'd like to pay him." sofie said. but the man had dissapearred. "it was a gift." i reminded her.
he reappeared with 2 spoons. and sofie handed him some cash. "oh please" he said "oh please, you take it. enjoy."
then he left.
we dipped our spoons into the bowl and each took out our tidy servings. we ate it slowly, tasting each bite to the fullest.
"it's so good." i said, closing my eyes and humming with delight.
"it is isn't it? i wonder what it is?"
we kept eating, and letting out little moans of approval. we both came to an agreement it tasted a lot like rice pudding. african rice pudding.
the man came back. "ah i see, you have enjoyed yourselves."
"yes, thank you. please, can you tell us where you got this?"
"oh yes yes, from that woman there. you see? she is selling the egg and bread. she has the oahze there. she sells it from the pot. you can buy some any night. whenever you like."
we beamed with satisfaction. both of us found oahze to be very comforting, and familiar.
"let's go ask her what it is."
we walked over to the woman and i told her her oahze was amazing. we needed to know... what exactly was it?
she laughed and said thank you. then she held up a cylinder carton that i knew all too well.
i looked at sofie and started cracking up.
"sofie? do you see that?"
"what?"
"it's oat's. we were eating oatmeal."
the market woman lifted the lid of her boiling pot and there it was, a pot full of bubbling oatmeal, white and goopy.
"it was so good though!" sofie said, unsure of why oatmeal could taste that great.
"i know?!"
we watched the woman make another bowl of oatmeal. she put about 6 heaping spoonfuls of sugar inside, added some condensed milk, and stirred.
"OHHHHH" we both said.
the allure had vanished, but my desire had not.
i wanted to eat oahze every night that night, and sofie and i made a pact to do just so.
i now know how to say, "i went running and i fell." and a few other useful phrases.
i haven't tried running again, except for once.
sofie and i were taking an early morning stroll through the village. instead of walking on the road, we weaved through the houses on the side of the road. we were in search of food, mostly. anything other than porridge and rice and beans.
"do you think there is any food back here?" she pointed.
"let's go see."
so we walked in the opposite direction of the clinic, towards the football pitch and the local elementary school. children were dressed in their uniforms, looking spiffy, carrying their chairs on their heads, or the little ones with just a notebook.
"akua!"
i heard a young woman call my name.
i turned and looked to see a church friend of mine. she was in her nightie and a hair net, outside her compound, with her girlfriends. they were all laughing at her.
"akua, my daughter will not go to school." she said in twi.
i didn't see any children around. "where is she?" i asked.
"oye ha. she's there. sitting in the field. she refuses to go to school."
sofie and i looked ahead, into the distance. her daughter was not yet 6 and she was already playing hookie. she was sitting in her little pink dress, all alone, with her arms crossed.
"akua... she is scared of you."
i knew this. a lot of the village children are afraid of me. my white skin is so foreign they don't know what to believe. if they aren't sticking their little fingers out waiting for me to bop them, they run away from me like i am a mad dog.
"akua, i'm sorry. but she won't go to school. i want her to go to school. can you please chase her into her classroom?"
"sure!" i said, then i lightly jogged in the direction of her daughter. i was close to 100 feet away when she stood up, alert. i kept jogging, slowly, and she began to turn and run. when i was close to 25 feet, she screamed and sprinted into school, straight through the entry way into her class.
all the women clapped loudly, laughed hard, and told me God would bless me for my good work.
"do you reckon we could do that every day?" sofie said.
"we should! let's make it our life work. attendance promoters. we could live in villages all over ghana and chase kids to school. maybe charge a small fee?"
we kept talking and decided to give up our search for food and go to work. "maybe tonite, let's look for something different to eat tonite." we decided.
our life had become very routine, and we needed a little spicing it up. collin's mother traveled to accra so we were left to find our own dinner, or cook it. we decided finding it would be easier, and more fun.
when we got to work, every body was up in a stir. "the mali people are here! the mali people are here!" Ma Vic, Vera, Kingsley, everyone was acting if they had just seen the easter bunny.
sofie and andrew had spotted them the day before, and come home elated. "have you seen them?" they asked me. "there are so many!" i hadn't.
sofie joined in with the enthusiasm. "they're sooooo cool."
efreeyeh walked around the corner. she looked gorgeous. her hair had been woven, intricate strands tying up into a high bun.
"efreeyeh you are looking sweet." kingsley said.
"ya, efreeyeh, look at you! beauty queen!" i said.
"you think so?" she gave us a look. a look that was glad to be reveling in beauty. a look that said she was having fun with her new do'. i liked this new sassy efreeyeh.
"uh huh." vic said "the Mali people have made your hair beautiful."
"the Mali people did that?" i asked.
she nodded. "they will do yours if you let them."
i most definately would let them. somebody went into town and called for one of the mali woman. she would come down later, they said.
we continued into a typical day, except that a severe rainstorm poured down. it was exciting. true hard thunder, flashes of bright lightening straight above our heads. i love the intensity of african rainstorms. i ran around barefoot in the heavy thick drops for a bit, got soaked, then went into the office with efreeyeh to learn a little anatomy from sofie. the clinic had been momentarily deserted, and the absence of people forced us all into rainy day health clinic arts and crafts.
she was drawing a human body, with attachable organs, and cutting them out.
the mali woman came in the middle of our project. i could see why everybody was so enthralled, she was exotic looking. very mysterious. very foreign.
"proper african hippies." sofie called them.
vic said she liked them because "all of them, they have everything they need in their bags. they won't ask for anything, they have everything, their own bowls and blankets, you see? they move around, with little little, they are free!"
kingsley claimed them all to be "very fine, very fine indeed."
the woman was wearing long flowy clothing and her wrists and ankles were wrapped in colorful beaded jewelry. she spoke no english, no twi and was shy as a doe, peeking out from a beautiful cloth draped over her head, exposing her face which was tatooed. little bursts of ink, where wrinkles from happy eyes form, covered her cheekbones and temples. her bottom lip was tattooed in blue also.
she walked over to my hair, and i took it out of the rubber band. i wanted my hair like efreeyeh's, spiraled braids working their way up my head.
she began her work, but after 5 minutes stopped.
"akua, your hair is too greasy." efreeyeh said.
"it's wet." sofie corrected.
"no, it's that your hair is, how do you call it? not slimy, slippery! it's too slippery. you must have hair like mine, rough rough, for this style, you see?"
"can she do mine?" sofie asked.
"let us see."
the woman could do sofies, and worked her hands all around her head while i cut out the large intestine, kidneys, a uterus. i was happy for sofie, her hair looked great. "all my life my hair has been such an issue." she's said. and on this trip, it appeared to be her daily disturbance. she stopped washing it the first day she arrived, and kept the shampoo fast going for almost 2 months. everyday she would ask "how's it look, manky?"
no, i'd say. her hair is dry and brittle, bordering african. in this case, she said, it was an advantage.
"she will come tommorrow to do yours. when it is dry." efreeyeh said.
sofie and i went out that night, into town, scavenging for dinner, something out of the norm. we passed the mosque, which was full of the mali people. they brought more life and energy to that mosque than i had seen since i arrived. they were outside, with the teapots, huddled in groups, peacefully enjoying each others company.
"i get it." i said to sofie, referring to my own thoughts of why all the townspeople can't take their eye's off of us. all i wanted to do was stare. these strangers were so interesting.
a patient at the clinic earlier that day said "i saw one of them eating rice. i saw them eating rice!" as if they caught a dolphin in the midst of some typical human behaviour.
we walked by, foreigner staring at foreigner.
"the thing is they have it all mixed up." sofie said awhile later, referring to the food search. "they sell egg sandwiches and hot chocolate at night, and rice and beans in the morning. who eats eggs at night?"
the street was dark, but lively, music was blasting from the local bar, kids were hopping all around. we found a stand selling a certain something she had only tried once. "it's delicious, let's get some."
after we finished our meal, a man walked over holding a pot filled with more food. he lifted the lid and steam rose out, like he was magically charming it to expose itself in swirls. it smelled delectable.
"what is it?" we asked, mesmerized.
in a low voice he said "oahze."
he gave us the bowl, although neither of us asked for it. both of us were excited to try it. "i'd like to pay him." sofie said. but the man had dissapearred. "it was a gift." i reminded her.
he reappeared with 2 spoons. and sofie handed him some cash. "oh please" he said "oh please, you take it. enjoy."
then he left.
we dipped our spoons into the bowl and each took out our tidy servings. we ate it slowly, tasting each bite to the fullest.
"it's so good." i said, closing my eyes and humming with delight.
"it is isn't it? i wonder what it is?"
we kept eating, and letting out little moans of approval. we both came to an agreement it tasted a lot like rice pudding. african rice pudding.
the man came back. "ah i see, you have enjoyed yourselves."
"yes, thank you. please, can you tell us where you got this?"
"oh yes yes, from that woman there. you see? she is selling the egg and bread. she has the oahze there. she sells it from the pot. you can buy some any night. whenever you like."
we beamed with satisfaction. both of us found oahze to be very comforting, and familiar.
"let's go ask her what it is."
we walked over to the woman and i told her her oahze was amazing. we needed to know... what exactly was it?
she laughed and said thank you. then she held up a cylinder carton that i knew all too well.
i looked at sofie and started cracking up.
"sofie? do you see that?"
"what?"
"it's oat's. we were eating oatmeal."
the market woman lifted the lid of her boiling pot and there it was, a pot full of bubbling oatmeal, white and goopy.
"it was so good though!" sofie said, unsure of why oatmeal could taste that great.
"i know?!"
we watched the woman make another bowl of oatmeal. she put about 6 heaping spoonfuls of sugar inside, added some condensed milk, and stirred.
"OHHHHH" we both said.
the allure had vanished, but my desire had not.
i wanted to eat oahze every night that night, and sofie and i made a pact to do just so.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
cameroon- on the road
it was me, my family, and our traveling friends- of who i had just met.
we were boarding a short flight, bringing us from the lusch tropical south of cameroon, to the dry dusty north. although the plane ride was only 2 hours, it was a world away.
"it's going to be very hot." my uncle said.
"make sure you bring your camera." my aunt said.
my cousins were being good sports, it was their spring break and when they'd rather be hanging out watching television or spending time with their friends, the next week and a half would be devoted to touring remote villages in the extreme north, with their principal, one of the friends.
i was thrilled they were coming. i like hanging out with teenagers, and i wanted to get to know the adult version of the kids that i once knew.
we stepped off the plane into a thick black haze.
"the harmattan." my uncle said.
i explained what that meant to one of our newcomer friends, who had never been to africa before.
but even though i had seen the harmattan in ghana, the winds blowing down from the sahara seemed to have a greater effect in this region. the sky was heavy and forboding, i glanced over at my cousins. they rolled thier eyes.
the travels had begun.
some official looking man hurried us out of the weather, the dry thick must, into a room with couches. the couches were low, and had big plush cushions. the AC was spilling down from the ceiling, invading the space. local men in elaborate chiefly looking outfits sat waiting to greet my uncle and aunt. the rest of us perched with our hands in our laps, smiling, not sure what exactly it was we were waiting for.
it was night.
suddenly everybody stood up and we all walked out. i had checked my mind with the airport luggage, it seemed. i was just another sheep in the flock. for the next 8 days i wouldn't have to think. everything would be taken care of, whether i liked it or not.
i chose to like it.
"we're going to drive over and check into our hotel, and then go to a friend's house for dinner." my uncle had a sneaky grin, the grin i imagine when my mother tells me her childhood stories. the grin he must of had as he scared them with his pet snakes, or spit through the shutters of their bedroom door. "it's going to be over the top." he said. "just prepare yourself, it's really something here."
then he walked away.
i knew each house we would be visiting, all the people we would be meeting, were high ranking cameroonians, whether in government, village, or military. but i had a hard time keeping up with the titles, the labels, so my mind blocked them all out.
the man's house we were going to for dinner, i was told, was very important. that is all i remember.
i was also told he has 4 wives, one of them is chinese.
the drivers took care of our details, handing us room keys, our correct baggage (which i hadn't seen since we boarded the plane), telling us when to be back.
"thank you" we all said, hurrying off to prepare before we left.
i was staying with torri and yanni and someone i hadn't yet met, who went by the name of Coby. yanni was very protective of Coby, garaunteeing me he was to provide us with long nights filled with good times. she had a strong connection with Coby and needed daily interaction with him.
then she opened up her bag. "here he is!" she announced, cradeling a medium sized silver dvd player. "so what do we want to watch? we have Friends, Desperate Housewives, The OC, Grey's Anatomy..."
i stared at Coby.
i hadn't watched t.v. in years. 8, to be exact.
i kept staring at Coby.
my uncle was right, this was going to be over the top.
"well," i said "not Friends, and i haven't heard of the others, so you guys pick."
we plugged in and started with the first episode of Desperate Housewives. when it was through, we heard a knock on our door.
"time to go."
we shuffled out of the AC bungalow, into the car, which was also cool as an icebox.
when we arrived at Mr. Important #1's House, we got out. he was out in his yard, arms spread wide, tall and sturdy as a redwood, bright eyes and smiling. he was gorgeous. he shook all our hands and laughed spoke in french. our group glanced around his yard, which was nice, a bit odd. it was mostly the gazelle i thought were strange.
"i've only ever seen them in the wild" i said "on safari."
the gazelle made everyone stare quite a bit, they were huddled in groups, staying far from the people, close to the bouganvillea plants growing up the large wall.
then my aunt commented on the size of the satelitte dish.
it was large.
it could have had sails added and been taken out to sea. odd shape for a boat, but enough to fit a good sized crew.
all conversation taking place was in french, unless it was internal or within our group. but not many of us were speaking, we just had our mouths gaping open, staring all around.
Mr. Important's wife pranced out of the house, his fourth wife, his chinese wife. she ran down and shook our hands and told us to follow her. she had a wide friendly face, and seemed very hospitable.
once we all made it inside, we sat. on one side of the large room, my uncle sat chatting and bonding with the men of the house. the rest of us sat on the right side, the side filled with snacks. the television seemed to split the room in two, the noise coming from it buffered us, divided the house into sections.
i became overly observant, returning again and again to the thick striped wall paper. it was both nauseating, and upper class. then i realized the television was all in mandarin chinese, and i recognized a few phrases here and there. i mustered up the strength to go wow the 4th wife with my limited knowledge of her language.
the only thing i could remember when i walked up to her was "please, can i have it a little cheaper."
she batted her eyelashes and shook her head. she didn't understand me.
i said it again. "please, can i have it a little cheaper?"
she stared at me, vacantly.
"i'm trying to speak mandarin." i said. "please, can i have it a littel cheaper?"
she broke out in giggles and bent forward, heaving from the humor.
"ahhh, pien e dien hau mau? ahhh ahh i see i see! oh my chinese sister!" she said, over and over.
from that point on, i became her chinese sister. when we sat down to eat, so many of us we divided into two tables, she needed help serving. "my chinese sister will help me." she said, calling me over. i (and all the servants) ladled out the strangest looking food, not sure if it was cameroonian or asian, or a mix. i also ladled out a little more of my poor mandarin, and kept my new friend in stitches all night. the meal was yes, over the top. it never seemed to end.
silver platter after silver platter.
she grabbed me and took me to the side. "my chinese sister" she said. "i don't speak english much, i don't know it very well."
"you sound great to me."
uncontrollable little laughs, then severe eye contact. "my chinese sister. people say i am brave. i am brave for coming to live here, away from them. my chinese friends here say i am brave. there are four of them. but life is hard, very hard. here, people treat me like i am a couch or a chair." she motioned to all the furniture. "they treat me like i am a couch or a chair, as if i don't feel. they think my mind is not my own. but no, my mind is my own. to be a wife here is difficult. i am not a couch or a chair. you see? i will show these people. i can think for myself."
then it was time to serve dessert. she rounded the tables, making everyone feel comfortable, making everyone feel overly full. she'd dollop and pause and glance at me and wink.
i liked her spirit. her spunk, her fire.
i had a few pinch me moments.
where was i? why was i speaking mandarin in a house full of cameroonians with my family?
i felt i was having a strange afriasia dream, mixing all my lives into one.
it was confusing, bizarre, just the way i like it. and it was only the first night.
we were boarding a short flight, bringing us from the lusch tropical south of cameroon, to the dry dusty north. although the plane ride was only 2 hours, it was a world away.
"it's going to be very hot." my uncle said.
"make sure you bring your camera." my aunt said.
my cousins were being good sports, it was their spring break and when they'd rather be hanging out watching television or spending time with their friends, the next week and a half would be devoted to touring remote villages in the extreme north, with their principal, one of the friends.
i was thrilled they were coming. i like hanging out with teenagers, and i wanted to get to know the adult version of the kids that i once knew.
we stepped off the plane into a thick black haze.
"the harmattan." my uncle said.
i explained what that meant to one of our newcomer friends, who had never been to africa before.
but even though i had seen the harmattan in ghana, the winds blowing down from the sahara seemed to have a greater effect in this region. the sky was heavy and forboding, i glanced over at my cousins. they rolled thier eyes.
the travels had begun.
some official looking man hurried us out of the weather, the dry thick must, into a room with couches. the couches were low, and had big plush cushions. the AC was spilling down from the ceiling, invading the space. local men in elaborate chiefly looking outfits sat waiting to greet my uncle and aunt. the rest of us perched with our hands in our laps, smiling, not sure what exactly it was we were waiting for.
it was night.
suddenly everybody stood up and we all walked out. i had checked my mind with the airport luggage, it seemed. i was just another sheep in the flock. for the next 8 days i wouldn't have to think. everything would be taken care of, whether i liked it or not.
i chose to like it.
"we're going to drive over and check into our hotel, and then go to a friend's house for dinner." my uncle had a sneaky grin, the grin i imagine when my mother tells me her childhood stories. the grin he must of had as he scared them with his pet snakes, or spit through the shutters of their bedroom door. "it's going to be over the top." he said. "just prepare yourself, it's really something here."
then he walked away.
i knew each house we would be visiting, all the people we would be meeting, were high ranking cameroonians, whether in government, village, or military. but i had a hard time keeping up with the titles, the labels, so my mind blocked them all out.
the man's house we were going to for dinner, i was told, was very important. that is all i remember.
i was also told he has 4 wives, one of them is chinese.
the drivers took care of our details, handing us room keys, our correct baggage (which i hadn't seen since we boarded the plane), telling us when to be back.
"thank you" we all said, hurrying off to prepare before we left.
i was staying with torri and yanni and someone i hadn't yet met, who went by the name of Coby. yanni was very protective of Coby, garaunteeing me he was to provide us with long nights filled with good times. she had a strong connection with Coby and needed daily interaction with him.
then she opened up her bag. "here he is!" she announced, cradeling a medium sized silver dvd player. "so what do we want to watch? we have Friends, Desperate Housewives, The OC, Grey's Anatomy..."
i stared at Coby.
i hadn't watched t.v. in years. 8, to be exact.
i kept staring at Coby.
my uncle was right, this was going to be over the top.
"well," i said "not Friends, and i haven't heard of the others, so you guys pick."
we plugged in and started with the first episode of Desperate Housewives. when it was through, we heard a knock on our door.
"time to go."
we shuffled out of the AC bungalow, into the car, which was also cool as an icebox.
when we arrived at Mr. Important #1's House, we got out. he was out in his yard, arms spread wide, tall and sturdy as a redwood, bright eyes and smiling. he was gorgeous. he shook all our hands and laughed spoke in french. our group glanced around his yard, which was nice, a bit odd. it was mostly the gazelle i thought were strange.
"i've only ever seen them in the wild" i said "on safari."
the gazelle made everyone stare quite a bit, they were huddled in groups, staying far from the people, close to the bouganvillea plants growing up the large wall.
then my aunt commented on the size of the satelitte dish.
it was large.
it could have had sails added and been taken out to sea. odd shape for a boat, but enough to fit a good sized crew.
all conversation taking place was in french, unless it was internal or within our group. but not many of us were speaking, we just had our mouths gaping open, staring all around.
Mr. Important's wife pranced out of the house, his fourth wife, his chinese wife. she ran down and shook our hands and told us to follow her. she had a wide friendly face, and seemed very hospitable.
once we all made it inside, we sat. on one side of the large room, my uncle sat chatting and bonding with the men of the house. the rest of us sat on the right side, the side filled with snacks. the television seemed to split the room in two, the noise coming from it buffered us, divided the house into sections.
i became overly observant, returning again and again to the thick striped wall paper. it was both nauseating, and upper class. then i realized the television was all in mandarin chinese, and i recognized a few phrases here and there. i mustered up the strength to go wow the 4th wife with my limited knowledge of her language.
the only thing i could remember when i walked up to her was "please, can i have it a little cheaper."
she batted her eyelashes and shook her head. she didn't understand me.
i said it again. "please, can i have it a little cheaper?"
she stared at me, vacantly.
"i'm trying to speak mandarin." i said. "please, can i have it a littel cheaper?"
she broke out in giggles and bent forward, heaving from the humor.
"ahhh, pien e dien hau mau? ahhh ahh i see i see! oh my chinese sister!" she said, over and over.
from that point on, i became her chinese sister. when we sat down to eat, so many of us we divided into two tables, she needed help serving. "my chinese sister will help me." she said, calling me over. i (and all the servants) ladled out the strangest looking food, not sure if it was cameroonian or asian, or a mix. i also ladled out a little more of my poor mandarin, and kept my new friend in stitches all night. the meal was yes, over the top. it never seemed to end.
silver platter after silver platter.
she grabbed me and took me to the side. "my chinese sister" she said. "i don't speak english much, i don't know it very well."
"you sound great to me."
uncontrollable little laughs, then severe eye contact. "my chinese sister. people say i am brave. i am brave for coming to live here, away from them. my chinese friends here say i am brave. there are four of them. but life is hard, very hard. here, people treat me like i am a couch or a chair." she motioned to all the furniture. "they treat me like i am a couch or a chair, as if i don't feel. they think my mind is not my own. but no, my mind is my own. to be a wife here is difficult. i am not a couch or a chair. you see? i will show these people. i can think for myself."
then it was time to serve dessert. she rounded the tables, making everyone feel comfortable, making everyone feel overly full. she'd dollop and pause and glance at me and wink.
i liked her spirit. her spunk, her fire.
i had a few pinch me moments.
where was i? why was i speaking mandarin in a house full of cameroonians with my family?
i felt i was having a strange afriasia dream, mixing all my lives into one.
it was confusing, bizarre, just the way i like it. and it was only the first night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
