Friday, October 26, 2007
You can call me Henna Kyaeme
A few Fridays ago, 5 out of the original 8 of us went back to Wassa Domama village. On the way there we passed a village where school had gotten out and every single kid had a machete…
Anyway, we promised we would return before we left Ghana, as we had all been appointed positions in the village. When we were hanging out in the visitors hut/lodge we met the village herbalist who invited us to see some gwafs. Everyone was intrigued, giraffes? No, I realized, as he gestured towards the ground, dwarfs! Yes, of course I wanted to see dwarfs, especially because he said there were black ones and white ones. So we waited till the rain stopped to go to his medicine hut. The animal paws on sticks, sticking out of the wall on the outside by the door were a nice touch. Inside, I’m pretty sure the stuff splattered all over the wall was blood. There was a lot of random stuff on the wall, goat skins on the floor and a shrine in the corner. It was kind of intense. We all sat down along the wall and the herbalist started to call the dwarfs. He poured some black liquid on the floor that exploded into a cloud of smoke, he lit some incense, and he blew a whistle. Then he got up and from underneath a curtain pulled out a plate of mashed up orange stuff with two hard boiled eggs that rolled off, and bounced around the floor. He picked them up threw them back on the plate and explained that it was dwarf food, plantains and salt. From the way the eggs bounced, I thought it was fake, like the pictures of food in Egyptian tombs, or the food in model homes, but it wasn’t because he ate some and passed it around. Of course I ate some. You pretty much have to do what they tell you, eat what they give you, and go where they want you too in these type of situations. Then he drinks from a kettle and passes that around. Although the mashed orange stuff tasted like it had been there for a couple years, drinking the water was probably a worse idea, with typhoid and all. After all that, he pulls back a curtain to show us where the dwarfs will come, and there were 4 tiny little dwarf stools. It was a great way to spend a Friday night. But then one of us left to go outside where our tour guide, Kofi, was waiting because he was Christian. Unfortunately the herbalist said that because he had told the dwarfs that there would be 5 of us and now there were 4, they weren’t going to come after all. Man.
And I thought Friday was weird. Saturday morning we waited to meet with the chief who had been busy dealing with chieftaincy disputes in another village. (There was another guy in Wassa Domama doing graduate research on biodiversity and this one chief wouldn’t let him complete his survey, etc..) Anyway we sat and talked on his porch for a while. Apparently the drums we heard at 5 in the morning were to summon the people for our ceremony. Halie and I ended up being dressed in traditional clothes by the queen mother and some village ladies that didn’t speak English. It was definitely a process of one cloth after another and ended up with a gallon of perfume. We met the guys in their sweet traditional robes back out on the porch as a hoard of people and drums and ladies with towels descended on us. We started parading down through the village gathering more people and more ladies with towels fanning us and showering us with baby powder. At this point I was far beyond accepting reality. And I wouldn’t have believed that this ever happened except for the bracelet they gave me which serves as tangible evidence. We ended up sitting down in the community center, which was good because I thought I was going to pass out. I wasn’t really breathing because I was trying to keep my robes up, and it was really hot, and they were still spraying perfume. All I know, is those ladies fanning with the towels got me through. We ended up formally accepting our positions and taking an oath. Everyone cheered.
Now, no matter where I am, whenever I hear the call of the drums I must return to Wassa Domama. And then we danced and paraded back to the chief’s house. On one hand it was the craziest thing that has ever happened to me. On the other, it was a little unsettling. Maybe I have read too much about the white man being worshipped as the golden god or something. Anyway I think our real duties to the village are to act as ambassadors, to tell other people to go there and take part in the eco tourism project they have set up. Because although I humbly accept my position as linguist to the queen mother, I don’t know enough Twi, and she doesn’t speak English.
All that before 1pm. So then we went to a funeral. It was probably the most awkward funeral yet. I had to sit next to this cheif that kept asking me to marry him and there was only one person dancing in the middle of the tents. The music was blasting on speakers that were blown and was only turned off to announce how much money each party donated to the family. When they announced our contribution the family came over to shake our hands and give us cough drops. We didn't stay long. I really needed a nap.
One last note, that night I reached another milestone. I ate a face size bowl of fufu. Fufu is ground an pounded plaintain and sometimes yam dough blob that you eat with various stew/soups like groundnut (spicy peanut butter) or light goat (random "meat" particles). You usually order it by the price, i.e. I would like 2,000 fufu is about 20 cents of fufu or a large fist sized amount. We estimated the fufu they gave each of us was 8,000. I hit a wall about half way through but somehow I ate it all and I regretted it.
Anyway, we promised we would return before we left Ghana, as we had all been appointed positions in the village. When we were hanging out in the visitors hut/lodge we met the village herbalist who invited us to see some gwafs. Everyone was intrigued, giraffes? No, I realized, as he gestured towards the ground, dwarfs! Yes, of course I wanted to see dwarfs, especially because he said there were black ones and white ones. So we waited till the rain stopped to go to his medicine hut. The animal paws on sticks, sticking out of the wall on the outside by the door were a nice touch. Inside, I’m pretty sure the stuff splattered all over the wall was blood. There was a lot of random stuff on the wall, goat skins on the floor and a shrine in the corner. It was kind of intense. We all sat down along the wall and the herbalist started to call the dwarfs. He poured some black liquid on the floor that exploded into a cloud of smoke, he lit some incense, and he blew a whistle. Then he got up and from underneath a curtain pulled out a plate of mashed up orange stuff with two hard boiled eggs that rolled off, and bounced around the floor. He picked them up threw them back on the plate and explained that it was dwarf food, plantains and salt. From the way the eggs bounced, I thought it was fake, like the pictures of food in Egyptian tombs, or the food in model homes, but it wasn’t because he ate some and passed it around. Of course I ate some. You pretty much have to do what they tell you, eat what they give you, and go where they want you too in these type of situations. Then he drinks from a kettle and passes that around. Although the mashed orange stuff tasted like it had been there for a couple years, drinking the water was probably a worse idea, with typhoid and all. After all that, he pulls back a curtain to show us where the dwarfs will come, and there were 4 tiny little dwarf stools. It was a great way to spend a Friday night. But then one of us left to go outside where our tour guide, Kofi, was waiting because he was Christian. Unfortunately the herbalist said that because he had told the dwarfs that there would be 5 of us and now there were 4, they weren’t going to come after all. Man.
And I thought Friday was weird. Saturday morning we waited to meet with the chief who had been busy dealing with chieftaincy disputes in another village. (There was another guy in Wassa Domama doing graduate research on biodiversity and this one chief wouldn’t let him complete his survey, etc..) Anyway we sat and talked on his porch for a while. Apparently the drums we heard at 5 in the morning were to summon the people for our ceremony. Halie and I ended up being dressed in traditional clothes by the queen mother and some village ladies that didn’t speak English. It was definitely a process of one cloth after another and ended up with a gallon of perfume. We met the guys in their sweet traditional robes back out on the porch as a hoard of people and drums and ladies with towels descended on us. We started parading down through the village gathering more people and more ladies with towels fanning us and showering us with baby powder. At this point I was far beyond accepting reality. And I wouldn’t have believed that this ever happened except for the bracelet they gave me which serves as tangible evidence. We ended up sitting down in the community center, which was good because I thought I was going to pass out. I wasn’t really breathing because I was trying to keep my robes up, and it was really hot, and they were still spraying perfume. All I know, is those ladies fanning with the towels got me through. We ended up formally accepting our positions and taking an oath. Everyone cheered.
Now, no matter where I am, whenever I hear the call of the drums I must return to Wassa Domama. And then we danced and paraded back to the chief’s house. On one hand it was the craziest thing that has ever happened to me. On the other, it was a little unsettling. Maybe I have read too much about the white man being worshipped as the golden god or something. Anyway I think our real duties to the village are to act as ambassadors, to tell other people to go there and take part in the eco tourism project they have set up. Because although I humbly accept my position as linguist to the queen mother, I don’t know enough Twi, and she doesn’t speak English.
All that before 1pm. So then we went to a funeral. It was probably the most awkward funeral yet. I had to sit next to this cheif that kept asking me to marry him and there was only one person dancing in the middle of the tents. The music was blasting on speakers that were blown and was only turned off to announce how much money each party donated to the family. When they announced our contribution the family came over to shake our hands and give us cough drops. We didn't stay long. I really needed a nap.
One last note, that night I reached another milestone. I ate a face size bowl of fufu. Fufu is ground an pounded plaintain and sometimes yam dough blob that you eat with various stew/soups like groundnut (spicy peanut butter) or light goat (random "meat" particles). You usually order it by the price, i.e. I would like 2,000 fufu is about 20 cents of fufu or a large fist sized amount. We estimated the fufu they gave each of us was 8,000. I hit a wall about half way through but somehow I ate it all and I regretted it.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Baseball
Right now I love my research project. To be honest it has been pretty love-hate recently. Dealing with the sports office on campus has been the most frustrating. On one hand I’m glad I don’t have to do library research because there is more of a social oral society here. I decided to find the one baseball pitch in Ghana by myself, so I just got on a tro tro to Tema (3rd largest city about 1 hr east) and asked around. People here don’t just help you, they take you there or find someone who will, so I made it to the field and there were actually little leaguers playing. It was so amazing. Anyway I have spent the past few days going to the national team’s practices and everyone is very helpful and nice to be around. Sometimes it is hard because I think the sports office is suspicious of me (I have no idea why?) and the national team thinks I can help them (I have no idea how?) but it is a lot of fun to get away from Accra and hang out with them. It is so interesting to learn about all of them and their hopes and love for baseball in such a soccer dominated society. It is really familiar too. The sound of the ball hitting the glove and the clinking of warm-up hitting against the fence definitely brings back the smell of the sports park back home.
Speaking of back home, I went to the U.S. Embassy and it was total culture shock that I can only explain as sterile and confusing. It was like a little island of America with marble lobbies with magazines and numerous bathrooms and even cubicles. Weird.
Speaking of back home, I went to the U.S. Embassy and it was total culture shock that I can only explain as sterile and confusing. It was like a little island of America with marble lobbies with magazines and numerous bathrooms and even cubicles. Weird.
Volta Region
A friend and I went traveling in the Volta Region, the southeastern part of Ghana two weekends ago. We started out at the Tafi Atome Monkey Sanctuary where there was lots of Mona monkeys. We got there by walking about 5km from the main junction. It wasn’t long before we had a posse of kids that had just gotten out of school and were walking back to their villages with us. We dodged the town crazy and kept walking. Then I raced a few of the kids down the road. The monkeys were coming out in the evening and we got to feed them bananas. They would grab them right from your hand and were very greedy, but they looked like little old men, so it was cute.
We spent the night in Tafi Atome. It is so crazy to wake up before the sun comes up because the roosters are running around and then to go outside and see people sweeping with brooms made of a bundle of sticks and random baby goats wandering around out in front of all the mud huts. We went for a morning walk to see more monkeys and feed them more bananas. This time we saw the boss monkey who was about 3 times bigger than everyone else. He wouldn’t accept anything from your hand, and only whole bananas were acceptable. He wouldn’t let anyone come near until he got his either. When someone finally threw him one, he acted like he didn’t really want it, but then he took it and ate it with his back turned towards us. Wow.
Then Kristen and I asked if it was possible to rent bikes so we could get to a Kente (traditional cloth) weaving village about 14km away. The guides found two in the village for us. Kristen’s changed gears if you weren’t pedaling and mine was a road-racing bike that was too big and I couldn’t reach the brakes. I don’t really notice these details anymore unless I try to think about them. Of course the gears don’t work and of course I can’t reach the pedals or brakes… So we set off on the typical red dirt road through farmland occasionally greeting farmers working, or an old woman walking with something on her head. Sometimes you just have to stop and tell yourself that that just happened. Its great.
We rode into the village and sort of just stood there until someone came over. He gave us a tour of all these open air huts with about 5-15 weavers working on the looms. It takes about 2 days to make a strip of kente probably 5 inches by 4 feet? Most of the weavers were apprentices. He said they were 10 and up, but they looked so young. They are taken in by a master weaver and work for him for 2 years, maybe 8-12 hours a day. Being here puts a whole new perspective on western ideas of child labor, as in it is lost in cultural translation and traditional ways of life. Same with animal cruelty. Don’t tell anyone here that people actually put clothes on pets…
Unfortunately, before we left we saw a baby goat get run over by a speeding taxi. Kristen and I just stared for a while in shock. Then we got back on our bikes and rode away before we had to see them put it down. I was afraid they were going to smash its head or something. It was really hot. I probably drink at least 10 water bottles a day here because I never stop sweating.
We left Tafi Atome, walked back out probably half way, and then caught a ride on a truck back to the junction. Luckily there was a tro tro right there going to HoHoe, further north where we wanted to go. In the city we caught a shared taxi to Wli, the village at the base of the largest waterfall in West Africa. This was the most awkward taxi ride of my life, and taxis are usually awkward no matter where you are. This was also when I realized there is no such emotion here as awkwardness (or sarcasm), which makes all awkward situations one-sided, increasing the awkwardness for myself. Anyways, Kristen and I got in. Then a really large lady got in. Then the driver left, maybe to go eat lunch? He was gone for a while. This angered the large woman. On the other hand Kristen and I have realized the key is never to expect anything, including leaving to go anywhere once you get in a vehicle. Once he came back 2 more people also got in. Putting a fourth woman in the back seat definitely rubbed the large woman the wrong way. Thus ensued 20 minutes of screaming in Ewe. Kristen and I only understand a bit of Twi, but we did catch the equivalent of the middle finger being thrown around so we could tell it was serious. So Kristen and I just sat, trying to scoot away from the lady and trying not laugh because with 5 other people in the car who were screaming, we didn’t really want to be involved. Then the driver stopped and got out and everyone from a store came out and started yelling too. The lady finally took her money and stormed off, but then the yelling continued for a while…until somehow we were at the Togo border, wondering why we were at the Togo border.
Turns out it is really close to the waterfall and a lady wanted to get out there. But then our taxi wouldn’t start and kept rolling backwards off the road. Eventually we made it to the visitors lodge just as it started to pour. We decided to do the hike early the next morning and to just stay at the closest hotel because the rain was really coming down. The path to our hotel turned into a river. It was so cool. I love the rain here. The place we stayed at was the nicest place I have ever stayed in Ghana…relative luxury for only 6 dollars. It was owned by some Germans with a nice dog and a parrot. The porch looked out onto the mountains and the waterfall. We ate dinner by candle light in a gazebo under these amazing mountains listening to the waterfall and the rain, watching fireflies and telling ourselves that we were actually eating dinner by candle light in a gazebo under these amazing mountains listening to the waterfall and the rain, watching fireflies.
The next morning we hiked with our short little guide to the lower falls. It was flat and we crossed 9 bridges but only 2 rivers. Technically the upperfalls are “closed” during the rainy season, but that doesn’t really mean anything. So we went up. It was definitely the most intense hike, almost straight up for 2 hours, that I have ever done. I have never needed a tool to hike before, but you definitely couldn’t do it without a stick or both hands. I couldn’t believe the guide did this more than a couple times a week. It turns out there is a village at the top and the path we were taking to the waterfall was the easiest way to get there. Getting to the pool in between the falls was so amazing. We went almost to the top of the mountain before coming down to the pool and we could see all the surrounding villages, along with the low clouds and fog moving through the crevices in the surrounding mountains. The force of the water from the upper falls made me feel like I was in a wind tunnel and a car wash at the same time. It was so cool. The pool was pretty small and we followed to where it dropped over the cliff to create the lower falls. I couldn’t believe that I was standing in the middle of a huge waterfall. Going down was harder than going up because you had to be really careful.
By the time we lef the village and got back to HoHoe it was too late to follow through with our plan to get to a festival in the south, partly because our taxi driver decided to act as a glass bottle delivery man for an hour, so we decided to go to an eco-village on Lake Volta. Getting there was pretty interesting, as it got dark really fast and the guide book was old so we weren’t sure if we were getting ripped off. Well, I am pretty sure I am always getting ripped off, but it is to the extent that I am getting ripped off that I try to help. We ended up just getting in a taxi that could take us there from the tro tro junction because it was getting dark, but then half our taxi ended up in a ditch so we arrived at the village on foot. It was ok, eventually the road was pretty much just bush with some tire marks so we were going really really slow when we got stuck. Unfortunately there was no way to get the taxi out, but it was really amazing just to walk. I gave the driver my flashlight but he was pissed off and walking ahead making the standard ooohye! Noise every few minites and stamping his foot. Kristen and I, both almost twice as tall as he was followed. I couldn’t see so I kept stepping in deep muddy holes but I could not stop laughing. We were just walking in the bush under amazing stars to a peaceful eco village on a lake. At the time I thought it was hilarious. The people there were really cool. They are all volunteers working on this sustainability project. We were the only tourists there and we spent the next day swimming and lying on hammocks. They shared their tea and banku, and played drums for us. I think that was the most relaxed I have ever been.
We made it back to Accra early in the evening. It was such an amazing weekend because of the people we met and at the same time the off the beaten path feeling we found. Sometimes you just need to be unreachable on a mountain in the middle of a waterfall in Africa.
We spent the night in Tafi Atome. It is so crazy to wake up before the sun comes up because the roosters are running around and then to go outside and see people sweeping with brooms made of a bundle of sticks and random baby goats wandering around out in front of all the mud huts. We went for a morning walk to see more monkeys and feed them more bananas. This time we saw the boss monkey who was about 3 times bigger than everyone else. He wouldn’t accept anything from your hand, and only whole bananas were acceptable. He wouldn’t let anyone come near until he got his either. When someone finally threw him one, he acted like he didn’t really want it, but then he took it and ate it with his back turned towards us. Wow.
Then Kristen and I asked if it was possible to rent bikes so we could get to a Kente (traditional cloth) weaving village about 14km away. The guides found two in the village for us. Kristen’s changed gears if you weren’t pedaling and mine was a road-racing bike that was too big and I couldn’t reach the brakes. I don’t really notice these details anymore unless I try to think about them. Of course the gears don’t work and of course I can’t reach the pedals or brakes… So we set off on the typical red dirt road through farmland occasionally greeting farmers working, or an old woman walking with something on her head. Sometimes you just have to stop and tell yourself that that just happened. Its great.
We rode into the village and sort of just stood there until someone came over. He gave us a tour of all these open air huts with about 5-15 weavers working on the looms. It takes about 2 days to make a strip of kente probably 5 inches by 4 feet? Most of the weavers were apprentices. He said they were 10 and up, but they looked so young. They are taken in by a master weaver and work for him for 2 years, maybe 8-12 hours a day. Being here puts a whole new perspective on western ideas of child labor, as in it is lost in cultural translation and traditional ways of life. Same with animal cruelty. Don’t tell anyone here that people actually put clothes on pets…
Unfortunately, before we left we saw a baby goat get run over by a speeding taxi. Kristen and I just stared for a while in shock. Then we got back on our bikes and rode away before we had to see them put it down. I was afraid they were going to smash its head or something. It was really hot. I probably drink at least 10 water bottles a day here because I never stop sweating.
We left Tafi Atome, walked back out probably half way, and then caught a ride on a truck back to the junction. Luckily there was a tro tro right there going to HoHoe, further north where we wanted to go. In the city we caught a shared taxi to Wli, the village at the base of the largest waterfall in West Africa. This was the most awkward taxi ride of my life, and taxis are usually awkward no matter where you are. This was also when I realized there is no such emotion here as awkwardness (or sarcasm), which makes all awkward situations one-sided, increasing the awkwardness for myself. Anyways, Kristen and I got in. Then a really large lady got in. Then the driver left, maybe to go eat lunch? He was gone for a while. This angered the large woman. On the other hand Kristen and I have realized the key is never to expect anything, including leaving to go anywhere once you get in a vehicle. Once he came back 2 more people also got in. Putting a fourth woman in the back seat definitely rubbed the large woman the wrong way. Thus ensued 20 minutes of screaming in Ewe. Kristen and I only understand a bit of Twi, but we did catch the equivalent of the middle finger being thrown around so we could tell it was serious. So Kristen and I just sat, trying to scoot away from the lady and trying not laugh because with 5 other people in the car who were screaming, we didn’t really want to be involved. Then the driver stopped and got out and everyone from a store came out and started yelling too. The lady finally took her money and stormed off, but then the yelling continued for a while…until somehow we were at the Togo border, wondering why we were at the Togo border.
Turns out it is really close to the waterfall and a lady wanted to get out there. But then our taxi wouldn’t start and kept rolling backwards off the road. Eventually we made it to the visitors lodge just as it started to pour. We decided to do the hike early the next morning and to just stay at the closest hotel because the rain was really coming down. The path to our hotel turned into a river. It was so cool. I love the rain here. The place we stayed at was the nicest place I have ever stayed in Ghana…relative luxury for only 6 dollars. It was owned by some Germans with a nice dog and a parrot. The porch looked out onto the mountains and the waterfall. We ate dinner by candle light in a gazebo under these amazing mountains listening to the waterfall and the rain, watching fireflies and telling ourselves that we were actually eating dinner by candle light in a gazebo under these amazing mountains listening to the waterfall and the rain, watching fireflies.
The next morning we hiked with our short little guide to the lower falls. It was flat and we crossed 9 bridges but only 2 rivers. Technically the upperfalls are “closed” during the rainy season, but that doesn’t really mean anything. So we went up. It was definitely the most intense hike, almost straight up for 2 hours, that I have ever done. I have never needed a tool to hike before, but you definitely couldn’t do it without a stick or both hands. I couldn’t believe the guide did this more than a couple times a week. It turns out there is a village at the top and the path we were taking to the waterfall was the easiest way to get there. Getting to the pool in between the falls was so amazing. We went almost to the top of the mountain before coming down to the pool and we could see all the surrounding villages, along with the low clouds and fog moving through the crevices in the surrounding mountains. The force of the water from the upper falls made me feel like I was in a wind tunnel and a car wash at the same time. It was so cool. The pool was pretty small and we followed to where it dropped over the cliff to create the lower falls. I couldn’t believe that I was standing in the middle of a huge waterfall. Going down was harder than going up because you had to be really careful.
By the time we lef the village and got back to HoHoe it was too late to follow through with our plan to get to a festival in the south, partly because our taxi driver decided to act as a glass bottle delivery man for an hour, so we decided to go to an eco-village on Lake Volta. Getting there was pretty interesting, as it got dark really fast and the guide book was old so we weren’t sure if we were getting ripped off. Well, I am pretty sure I am always getting ripped off, but it is to the extent that I am getting ripped off that I try to help. We ended up just getting in a taxi that could take us there from the tro tro junction because it was getting dark, but then half our taxi ended up in a ditch so we arrived at the village on foot. It was ok, eventually the road was pretty much just bush with some tire marks so we were going really really slow when we got stuck. Unfortunately there was no way to get the taxi out, but it was really amazing just to walk. I gave the driver my flashlight but he was pissed off and walking ahead making the standard ooohye! Noise every few minites and stamping his foot. Kristen and I, both almost twice as tall as he was followed. I couldn’t see so I kept stepping in deep muddy holes but I could not stop laughing. We were just walking in the bush under amazing stars to a peaceful eco village on a lake. At the time I thought it was hilarious. The people there were really cool. They are all volunteers working on this sustainability project. We were the only tourists there and we spent the next day swimming and lying on hammocks. They shared their tea and banku, and played drums for us. I think that was the most relaxed I have ever been.
We made it back to Accra early in the evening. It was such an amazing weekend because of the people we met and at the same time the off the beaten path feeling we found. Sometimes you just need to be unreachable on a mountain in the middle of a waterfall in Africa.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Random Pictures
Tro Tros usually same something religiously inspired...
Wassa Domma river crossing. We were supposed to go down, but it was flooded so we just went accross.
Kakum National Park Canopy Walk
Hike near Boti Falls
Aburi Bike Ride. I lost a shoe. A woman with yams on her head and a baby on her back dug it out for me and washed off my leg while Halie and Kristen took pictures...
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Religion is everywhere, and now it is on my bed
I knew coming here that most shops are sponsored by Jesus. Tro tros, taxis, motorcycles are too. “God Saves Rasta Do” “Let There Be Light Electronics” “Jesus Sauve”… It doesn’t really phase me anymore.
Jane, a seamstress, comes every few days to Volta Hall to sell clothes and take orders if we have something we want made. She also sells really cool colorful quilts with African prints so I bought one, which she brought for me the next week. As it turns out, the middle quilt square is the Virgin Mary.
This morning I was on the balcony and I thought Halie had come back into the room but instead there were three women standing there, closing the door behind them. They wanted to talk to me personally about talking Jesus Christ as my savior. So they sat us down on the couch and gave Halie and I the talk. The problem with offering ultimatums…God or damnation…is that when you don’t believe in either, there really is no pressure to make a decision. Strangely, right after we told her we did not believe in prayers, she asked me to pray for them before they left. I wished them to find peace in their mission. What else can you do? After, Halie mentioned, o how the roles have reversed. How ironic is it that Africans are sitting us down, trying to save us, using a tool of colonization that my ancestors used upon their ancestors? (well not all my ancestors and not them specifically, but there is one great something grandfather…)
It gets even more interesting when you add in the witchcraft factor. I wouldn’t say witches are real in the U.S., but they are definitely real here. If everyone believes in them, it sort of makes them real in a way. The fusion of Christianity and witchcraft is fascinating. “If you are a good Christian, the witches can’t touch you.”
When I practice in the morning there are people outside the guys dorms preaching from megaphones. This is before the sun is up. There are also people walking around the field praying and talking in tongues. It definitely makes you run a little bit faster.
The other night I heard this crazy siren outside my room. Which was really strange because you really just don’t hear any here. But then a voice on a loud speaker starts talking about Jesus. He reminded me of “A Sinner in the Hands of an Angry God,” the one that says we are mere spiders God is dangling over the pit of hell and that he really doesn’t even like spiders anyway.
So now when I say I don’t go to church, and have to explain it by saying I am not religious, which I have to explain by saying I do not believe in Jesus, which I have to explain by admitting I don’t believe I can ever know anything about a higher power, thus I don’t believe I know a God exists…I pretty much feel like I just took a machete to their mother, from the way peoples faces contort.
When I first got here I didn’t understand how people could embrace Christianity so much when it was used to control them and justify their enslavement. And it is not like there is an absence of mental slavery either. It so strange to see family photos on the wall, black faces amongst a famed whiter than white Jesus. But then it sheds light on why people do crazy things here to their skin to make it lighter. All the advertisements have very very light skinned black people too. Some people here have the idea that everything African is bad and everything European or American is good, which I can’t even imagine how African Americans feel if they come here looking for a sense of homeland.
On a side note, their reaction to my skin is also interesting. Nobody notices my hair. It is freeing in a way to be so strange in the first place that it doesn’t matter what color my hair is or what I wear. Only two Ghanaian people have said anything. One said I had nice brown hair, and the other said I had nice blond hair. They don’t really get the concept of freckles here. The kids think I am dirty. The older ones think I am sick. Adults suggest I go for treatment or recommend a cream (that I think they probably use to lighten their own skin.)
Jane, a seamstress, comes every few days to Volta Hall to sell clothes and take orders if we have something we want made. She also sells really cool colorful quilts with African prints so I bought one, which she brought for me the next week. As it turns out, the middle quilt square is the Virgin Mary.
This morning I was on the balcony and I thought Halie had come back into the room but instead there were three women standing there, closing the door behind them. They wanted to talk to me personally about talking Jesus Christ as my savior. So they sat us down on the couch and gave Halie and I the talk. The problem with offering ultimatums…God or damnation…is that when you don’t believe in either, there really is no pressure to make a decision. Strangely, right after we told her we did not believe in prayers, she asked me to pray for them before they left. I wished them to find peace in their mission. What else can you do? After, Halie mentioned, o how the roles have reversed. How ironic is it that Africans are sitting us down, trying to save us, using a tool of colonization that my ancestors used upon their ancestors? (well not all my ancestors and not them specifically, but there is one great something grandfather…)
It gets even more interesting when you add in the witchcraft factor. I wouldn’t say witches are real in the U.S., but they are definitely real here. If everyone believes in them, it sort of makes them real in a way. The fusion of Christianity and witchcraft is fascinating. “If you are a good Christian, the witches can’t touch you.”
When I practice in the morning there are people outside the guys dorms preaching from megaphones. This is before the sun is up. There are also people walking around the field praying and talking in tongues. It definitely makes you run a little bit faster.
The other night I heard this crazy siren outside my room. Which was really strange because you really just don’t hear any here. But then a voice on a loud speaker starts talking about Jesus. He reminded me of “A Sinner in the Hands of an Angry God,” the one that says we are mere spiders God is dangling over the pit of hell and that he really doesn’t even like spiders anyway.
So now when I say I don’t go to church, and have to explain it by saying I am not religious, which I have to explain by saying I do not believe in Jesus, which I have to explain by admitting I don’t believe I can ever know anything about a higher power, thus I don’t believe I know a God exists…I pretty much feel like I just took a machete to their mother, from the way peoples faces contort.
When I first got here I didn’t understand how people could embrace Christianity so much when it was used to control them and justify their enslavement. And it is not like there is an absence of mental slavery either. It so strange to see family photos on the wall, black faces amongst a famed whiter than white Jesus. But then it sheds light on why people do crazy things here to their skin to make it lighter. All the advertisements have very very light skinned black people too. Some people here have the idea that everything African is bad and everything European or American is good, which I can’t even imagine how African Americans feel if they come here looking for a sense of homeland.
On a side note, their reaction to my skin is also interesting. Nobody notices my hair. It is freeing in a way to be so strange in the first place that it doesn’t matter what color my hair is or what I wear. Only two Ghanaian people have said anything. One said I had nice brown hair, and the other said I had nice blond hair. They don’t really get the concept of freckles here. The kids think I am dirty. The older ones think I am sick. Adults suggest I go for treatment or recommend a cream (that I think they probably use to lighten their own skin.)
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Cape Coast I
Last Thursday I found a great adviser for my research project on the development of baseball in Ghana. We are both really excited about it because it is so recent and not many people have looked into it. I was interested in this topic because there is a lot of US aid money and private business interest in starting basball here and I would like to research the motives and effects. Anyway he does the economics of sports.
Talking about sports...I wanted to do cross country and soccer here. BUT I have to run at 4:30 in the morning, then practice at 6am and again in the afternoon. Its a little rediculous especially because I feel like I am back in PE being frustrated with girls for playing like girls, at least with soccer anyway. But I am extremely jealous of those that are here for the year and playing soccer because the University team gets to play in the brand new stadium they are building for the 2008 African Cup (for which they postponed second semseter a month btw) for the West African Regionals. But there is the possibility of playing in Uganda this semseter I think.
Anyway, this past weekend was the Cape Coast festival. I have never been in such constant chaos. Music, drumming, dancing, food, people, kids, costumes, chiefs being carried, even a ritual bull sacrifice. It rained pretty much the whole weekend too which I really liked. It took a while for the parade to get going because there was a football match Ghana v Peru U17. I ended up watching it on a tiny tv behind the counter of a pharmacy shop until the parade started and we joined in and danced down the street for a few hours until I had to eat something. At night we went to a beach party and it was so surreal to be staring out into the ocean from West Africa with this giant slave castle behind me in the rain. I'll write more about the festival later. My classes are still changing times and places and its the third week, haha.
Talking about sports...I wanted to do cross country and soccer here. BUT I have to run at 4:30 in the morning, then practice at 6am and again in the afternoon. Its a little rediculous especially because I feel like I am back in PE being frustrated with girls for playing like girls, at least with soccer anyway. But I am extremely jealous of those that are here for the year and playing soccer because the University team gets to play in the brand new stadium they are building for the 2008 African Cup (for which they postponed second semseter a month btw) for the West African Regionals. But there is the possibility of playing in Uganda this semseter I think.
Anyway, this past weekend was the Cape Coast festival. I have never been in such constant chaos. Music, drumming, dancing, food, people, kids, costumes, chiefs being carried, even a ritual bull sacrifice. It rained pretty much the whole weekend too which I really liked. It took a while for the parade to get going because there was a football match Ghana v Peru U17. I ended up watching it on a tiny tv behind the counter of a pharmacy shop until the parade started and we joined in and danced down the street for a few hours until I had to eat something. At night we went to a beach party and it was so surreal to be staring out into the ocean from West Africa with this giant slave castle behind me in the rain. I'll write more about the festival later. My classes are still changing times and places and its the third week, haha.
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