First Ten Days

Sometimes ten days are a lifetime. This is Day 10 in Ghana but as I look back to our arrival last Tuesday, it seems an age ago.

First off, the good news. We moved into our semi-permanent residence two days ago. Our hosts are Cynthia and John, an older couple whose four children are mostly grown and have left home (including one studing in Halifax!) and so have some room to spare. We are in their home, luxurious by Ghanaian standards, with running water and even our own semi-private bathroom and shower. Our bedroom includes a desk where we can work and we have free use of the kitchen to cook and make use of their pots, pans, and staples. It is good to unpack our bags, the first time really since Finland, and to use our new homebase as a place to spring from and begin to make our life in Ghana. It is good to have a place to lay our head at night and look forward to resting when we need to rest.

You can write us, then, at
c/o Cynthia Fosu
PO Box 1080
Dansoman
Accra
Ghana
West Africa.

Our cell number is 233 207 343423 and the landline number is 233 213 01405. Feel free to call - it would be great to hear from you! We are generally home before 8am and after 8-9pm (GMT).

I confess I was surprised by the culture shock in coming here. After many months on the road and already six months since we left Canada, I thought I was done missing home. Still, this is again a new place, a new way of doing things, a new city and I guess it isn't so easy to just settle in. With time, though, as Chris and I make our way around, I begin to adjust and feel stronger and better able to involve myself in life in Ghana.

We spent our first couple of days in Accra meeting up with some connections including university profs, NGOs, and former government ministers. They were initial contact sessions just to find out some about the different sectors in Ghana.

On Thursday of last week, we went to Akim Ayirebi, a small village of about 2,000 people some 2 hours (ideally) from Accra. On our way, though, we ran the requisite errands which took several hours and en route it began to rain and the sun set. Driving in the car with Patrick at the wheel, David in the front passenger seat, Henry our new 18-year-old friend behind him, Chris in the middle in the back and me on his right, it was getting foggy inside and dark outside. Then, just some 25 minutes from the village, a lumber truck without rear lights or reflectors, backed out on to the main road. The last I remember was David shouting. We hit head on. My head hit the back of the driver's seat and all of us were thrown forward. We were all a bit dazed and started asking each other, "Are you OK? Are you OK?" Henry flopped into Chris' lap, breathing shallow and fast, his eyes watering. I couldn't find my glasses anywhere and worried they'd been broken. I found them soon after - under the brake pedal... they'd flown so far forward. Henry had a serious concussion, it seemed. David stopped a taxi and put Henry in and David, Chris and I jumped in. Patrick stayed behind with the car waiting for the police. The driver of the lumber truck had disappeared.

The taxi brought us to the local hospital, a heart wrenching place with some seriously sick people. We grabbed a wheelchair and put Henry in, trying to find a nurse or doctor. He seemed about to go into shock. But the place is understaffed and underequipped and there was nothing to do but wait until a doctor would come. So we waited. And waited. Henry was seen by a nurse but continued to wait. Chris and I sat there, necks stiff and completely dazed, and felt that sickeningly frustrating sense of "In Canada..." when every now and again you ache for what you are familiar with, including a responsive health care system.

Henry was admitted for observation and some other friends got a hold of us and came and picked us up. We arrived at the village at night, hungry, wet, exhausted.

Henry was out the next day with a bump on his head and some major aches and pains. We all had sore necks and bruises in random places. A strange, strange experience.

Ayirebi is a poor rural village where most people are involved in agriculture. There is much to say about the place. I don't think I want to focus on the poverty, which is pretty stark, but on how we were so warmly welcomed, how people were excited to meet us, talk to us, and even more excited to see us dance at the large community gatherings. We were there for David's mother's funeral, a three day affair that started on Friday with an all night vigil. On Saturday we were in church for the funeral, then a procession to the cemetery and finally a community festival to celebrate the life of all those who were buried that day (there were four funerals on Saturday). On Sunday there was the regular Sunday church service and then a final community celebration. I had had my measurements taken so that on Sunday both Chris and I were outfitted in traditional Ghanaian clothes.

In Ghana, funerals are a big deal. They generally happen about 3 months after the person has deceased and are intended to be a celebration of the person's life as much as a time to grieve. Family members come from all over and friends too are present. The bodies are kept in the hospital morgue for a fee and then transported by a rented "ambulance" that comes to the home of the deceased with sirens blaring. The deceased is laid in bed and people can walk round and pay their respects.

Children under 18 years are not buried in this way. We couldn't quite figure out why but it seems that it is too painful to celebrate a life taken too soon. After death, the family holds a private ceremony right away and the body is taken to the cemetery.

The ceremonies are a complete mix of mourning and weeping as well as rejoicing and dancing. The families of the deceased cover the costs and during the two community festivals on the Saturday and Sunday when people dance, donations are made to the families and announced to the community. Extended relatives and friends bare a responsibility to contribute and can be held to account by village chiefs if they do not honour their responsibilities.

The hardest part for us, I think, was that as the only whites, we were paraded around as these great guests of honour when we felt that there were people who were much closer to the family and David's mother (who we never even met). We were checked into the only guest house in town, catered to, set apart during meals, accompanied, sheltered, upheld in ways that were hard for us to receive. I looked at some of the women with their many children, their hard work collecting fire wood, transporting water, cooking, cleaning, caring for children... And then how I was treated as this great person when my efforts were nothing compared to theirs. I understand and am thankful that my friendship with David means much in the community and that we have come from far away to attend this funeral, but in my own heart I don't feel like I merit such a reception. It was a bit hard to take but, in the end, as we got accustomed that it was just going to be that way, we did our best to be as gracious about it all as possible.

Every Ghanaian village has a chief and part of our visit to Ayirebi included a visit to the chief's palace. We met the chief, the Queen Mother, and many of the sub-chiefs. There is a whole etiquette involved, including greeting the royals upon arrival, speaking only when spoken to, speaking to the chief's linguist (i.e. spokesperson) and through that mediator, bringing gifts, having your representative make a small speech about why you're there and the purpose of your visit, and leaving only when the chief gives his permission, rising when he enters and exits. In all, we visited with the chief three times and each time the visit became more familiar, warmer, and we were more impressed by the chief. I began to see why the chief was chief and appreciate his insights, his understanding. I look forward to going back to the village in the hope that we will have still more chances to talk with him.

Somewhere during this process there has been talk of making Chris a sub-chief and me a Queen Mother. We'll see how this goes and what happens. It may not come to fruition but we'll see. I'll keep you posted.

Eventually our time in the village came to an end. We had danced and made an entire village laugh. We had eaten our firsts of Ghanaian cuisine (many delicious dishes including kenke made from corn (like tamales in Latin America), spicy soup, mutuo (yummy rice balls), jollof rice, peanut soup, African doughnut, fried plantain, cooked yam, spinach fish sauce... mmmm.... I'm hungry even thinking about it!). We had met with the chief of the village, a bishop of the Methodist church, and many, many locals. We visited the local high school and gave impromptu talks to three of the classes. We made many new friends and learned a lot. We are trying desperately to learn Twi, the local language that most everyone in southern Ghana speaks.

As we started back to Accra on Tuesday morning, we were in the car with John (our new host) and some other people when, just outside of Ayirebi, there was a horrendous sound coming from the car and shards of metal flew in through the open window beside me. I took cover, John stopped the car, and we saw that the back right wheel had shredded completely, ripped off the gas cap and broken the rear light. What luck. Our other friends passed us in a bus and we said it was OK, we were replacing the wheel. They came back soon in another car that took us to Akim Oda, the nearest major town, and from there we took a bus back to Accra. We were hurrying to make it to a launch of a new initiative called College for Ama (CofA) at Ashesi University where one of the professors we had met was involved in this new project. Both Chris and I have thought about volunteering with CofA whose main aim is to work with rural junior high girls to keep them in school and even get them to university or some vocational training. Hopefully I'll be able to lend my hand there.

Phew. What a recap.

Since being back in Accra, we've moved in to our new digs and yesterday spent the day wandering just the two of us downtown, at the insane market Makola (the biggest I've ever seen), registered at the Canadian Embassy, and took our first trotro (public minibus) rides on our own. There is an electricity rationing system in place that cuts off the electricity one night every six days so we spent a very hot night last night with no fan and just the hot, humid air. It's 30+C here every day and I said to Chris this morning that I think I just have to adjust to being sweaty all of the time. Easier said than done.

We are now trying to continue to make connections and find our way around. Slowly, slowly.

OK, there is the last week and all the we've been up to. Suddenly I'm hit with a terrible bout of homesickness and wish I could be there with all of you. Sad to sign off.

Miia