A year in

A year in Ghana with lots of interesting interactions. I have had people ask me how lesbianism works. They are confused, because as they put it, “There’s nothing to go in.” I have had people offer me the opportunity to be their husband’s third wife, “The first wife, she cooks. I do the wash. And you, you could sit there and eat and be happy.” I have had to explain countless times how I could possibly be 24 years old and childless. To Ghanaians, this is baffling. More so, husbandless? How? But I must marry soon, as I am getting old and my eggs must certainly be drying up. Plus, don’t I want a child now so they can take care of me when they’re grown?

One of the most interesting interactions I have come in way of marriage proposals. Hardly a day goes by where I’m without at least one. There are several men in my village who propose when they see me. Or men who I meet while hitchhiking to market or town. And of course there are those men in town as well. There are too many stories to tell, but here are some of my favorites.

·                                      A man got down on one knee in the streets of Tamale as I was walking by while on the phone with my boyfriend. The Ghanaian on his knee just said he wanted to love me.

·                                      A man whose mother lives in my village came and gave me a ‘present’ in the form of 3 pictures of himself as well as a love letter for me. He continues to come to the village every few weeks, to greet me and try to convince my friends they should give him my number. When he is around, I hide in my house.

·                                   A man with a bundle of machetes walks up to me, blocking my path, and claims that “I want to love.”

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A                A man in my village declaring me his wife and telling me, “I will go to market and buy you dis ting, dis ting, ahh yes, a ring. I will buy you a ring and we will do wedding. You will go to my house, it is all there. The food is there, the fish is there. You want to marry me, no problem, I will marry you. You don’t want to marry me, no problem, I will marry you.”

There are many stories like these. Many men who claim they love me. Most I never see again, then some who come by my village to greet me again.

Relationships are a topic many seem to enjoy bringing up with me. People are curious how relationships work in America, if they can be in a relationship with me, what is allowed in America- multiple wives, girlfriends when married, etc. There are many things that have made my first year in Ghana interesting, and these conversations are among them.

When I wake up in the morning and there’s no one sitting across the road I know something has happened. On the morning of February 20^th, it was one of those days.

I was first told my best friends 5 year old daughter died.. To say I was shocked is putting it mildly. My best friend, Adam, what was he going through, what was on his mind, that’s all I could think about as I continued onto the road to get food for my cats.

The next person I encountered was the bean seller, who was in tears asking me if I knew what had happened, who had died. She thought I didn’t understand, being speechless doesn’t mean I’m unaware. From where we were standing I could see a group of men behind Adams house burring Sanatu, said 5 year old.

I knew for the day Adam would be at his house. It’s customary, you stay in the house and people come by to greet, extend their condolences. When I made it over there was a group of men sitting outside Adams house, while there was a group of women sitting inside the compound.

As customary, I first greeted the elders, then the women as I made my way to Adams room to greet him. He was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. I wanted to do nothing more than to hold him, to take his pain away. I wasn’t sure what to say. I am aware there is nothing I could have said to make him feel better.

Next I went in to greet his wife. When she entered she seemed so small and fragile. She is tiny, but she is normally so happy. Naturally I wasn’t expecting her to be her usual self, seeing her that way just struck me. With her as with Adam, or more so even, I had the distinct desire to just hold her. To let her cry. She sat in the darkest place she could and cried silently while people around her greeted and talked. I just wanted her to have the opportunity to cry, to release some of the sadness that was bearing down on her. To let some of the pain go, to not have to have a stoic face on this day of all days.

At multiple points throughout the day I would go to see Adam, just to sit with him. I had nothing to say, we’ve always been good at sitting without talking, this day was more so. He would respond if talked to but made no effort to start up interesting conversations. He would rest his head in his heads and look down. At one point he apologized to me for not going to my house in the morning, as if that was something he needed to apologize for.

When I would ask him if he ate, he would give out a small laugh and either say no or just say porridge. I’m sure the women of the compound are forcing him to eat, how much is hard to say. That first night I baked cookies; Adam will eat my baked goods but not my food. The next morning I went to his house with a small tupperwear of cookies, which were consumed in a matter of minutes. I received a half smile when I said I would go charge his and his wives dead phones and return with more cookies. I had explained in America when someone loses a loved one, it is customary for others to bring food or baked goods to the family; this seemed to be a custom worth appreciating.

It may not be much, but it seems I may have found a way I could help, or be comforting in this time.

Village Elder

               So I was standing under the shade of a Neem tree talking to my supervisor, Issahaku, as one of our village elders walked over. He sat on the bench behind me, his back to me. I turned, greeted him, and turned back to my conversation.

                A minute later I heard a noise. A noise similar to pouring water out of a cup. I turned around, thought he was emptying a water sachet. I turned back to my conversation, saw the look of surprise on my supervisors face and I knew when I turned back around I would know the truth. The truth this ekder was sitting there pee’ing just a foot behind me. I turned to Issahaku, we both shrugged to each other and continued with our conversation.

                A few minutes later when the elder got up to leave I realized he was only wearing a smock. No shoes, no pants, nothing but a smock.

                I turned back to Issahaku, shrugged, and continued with our conversation.

Relationships?

Relationships are a funny thing here in Ghana. For instance, one time I was walking and got approached by a man carrying a bundle of 5 cutlasses telling me that he wants to love me. It also seemed like he had been drinking a bit, mind you this was at 7 in the morning. Naturally he was a complete stranger I had never seen before. Love you? I don’t even know your name, add to that, you don’t know mine! What do you do? Yes, I fake being married but that hardly works to deter men. It’s almost as if you have to have your husband in tow for them to believe the lie. This was easier for me when my fake husband was in the country and I often did my travels with him. Obviously I couldn’t get away with this lie in my village, where I am still being pursued.

Take my husband for instance. Yes, I call him that because every time he sees me I hear ,”My wife!”. Never mind the fact that for weeks he didn’t even know my local name, and the fact that we are still having the conversation of ,”When you go to your hometown of South Africa you will bring me” and the fact that the next time he will yet again forget that I am not from South Africa.

I often hear from him, “Tonight I will come to your place” and my response is always, “No, that will not be nice”, “Why?”, “Because it’s not nice”. Or another common one is, “Go to my house. The food is there. The fish is there (Note: Most people know that I am not eating fish in Ghana. I can’t get over the head still being attached and the bone structure in place. I don’t like eating something when it looks the same as it did when it was alive. It creeps me out)” In my small village I still don’t know where he lives, and I had to be told by my friend that he’s a fisherman. His name? I often forget that as well. I always have to remember that it is similar to my friend Abdullah, ah yes, Abdulli.

Our interactions are generally brief, leaving me feeling exposed (The conversations generally gather a crowd) but feeling light, because it’s just hilarious. There’s not much more to it than that. Sometimes the comic relief comes at the perfect time when there’s a bit of tension in the air. Sometimes it makes a light day just a bit lighter. Either way.

He is not the only person in my community who calls me their wife. At this point I’m not sure how many husbands I have, nor do I know how many times I have been proposed to. It’s funny to think of the proposals, oftentimes they happen before your name is asked. Obviously the love is so genuine!

These things don’t happen in America. Quite frankly, it would be seen as creepy but here it’s laughable and at the same time old. You know it can’t possibly be genuine, as it is often meant as a joke. That is the culture. It’s just interesting to experience something that feels so strange, so different than what you’re used to.

Celebrating the Sallah

The Day of the Sallah Celebration

Contrary to my original plan, I did stop fasting after completing 30 days. I rested one day before the village completed their 30 days. Some did try to convince me to do another week of fasting. I refused. I was satisfied that I had made it 30 days, that was enough for me on my first try.

As with most everything that goes on in the village by way of celebration, I was not sure exactly what to expect on this day. From pictures of Katie’s time in the village I had seen pictures of the prayers. I knew Yahaya would be cutting up some slaughtered goats or sheep. I had heard of the sharing of food. That’s about all I knew to expect, which in honesty that’s truly most of what goes on. Sticking true to Ghanaian character I couldn’t get a guess at the time the morning prayers would take place. That hardly matters when it will always be later than expected.

I was around when the procession started, so I fell in line behind the chief, the elders and the like and followed with my camera in hand, ready for action. They went to the football field at the local primary school and had three long lines of men, and about 50 feet (mind you I can’t guess distance for the life of me) there were two rows of women, preparing to pray. There were children scattered around watching. Most children and adults were wearing their new outfits for the occasion.

If you’ve never seen a community of Muslims gather for prayers I’m sure my description can’t do it justice. Calling it synchronized praying wouldn’t do it justice. The hands do the same things, they put their foreheads to the ground at the same time, stand at, you guessed it, the same time. The Arabic prayers they recite seem as if they are coming from the same mouth. Ok, maybe I wouldn’t take it that far. But it is something to watch in awe. Coming from my church back home, you almost have to allow a minute to pass when you tell people to stand for prayer, as people obey but not always seemingly to willingly. The prayers I have witnessed seem so fine tunes, as they are so rehearsed (5 times a day for a lifetime can do that I suppose).

After the prayers were completed we dumbly followed the procession, as if we weren’t aware of where it would take us. Naturally we wound up back at the chiefs palace. I wasn’t feeling that we should follow, so instead I headed off with Zulka and Jochem and continued to wander the village. When we made our way back to my house we were accompanied by much food. I (We) were given more food than what I can eat in a week. I kid you not. We made the best indents to the food as we were able. Neither of our appetites can compare to that of Ghanaians, even when we try.

Throughout the day I was trying to get pictures with everyone I could, which is to say all the guys I hang out with on a regular basis. I was pretty successful, if I do say so myself!

As with many celebrations in the village large speakers were brought in, people gathered in a circle and in the middle people came out one by one to dance. That is how the day ended. Well sort of, I was brought more dinner by more families. Jochem left, and it was me vs. the food.

In short, it was a great day. It was fun to be roaming the village with everyone being in such high spirits. It was nice being able to eat during the day again, and I was not the only person to be thinking that either. Until next year!

A Day in the Village

Now, I don’t have any major projects starting up, or anything that takes a large chunk of my day consistently. With that, I do have somewhat of a schedule. It’s not so much, but it is something.

I wake up generally around 8, which to the Ghanaians is very late. If my friends would leave my house earlier than 11 or 12 then maybe I would wake up earlier. But for me, 8 is not so late. I start off by sweeping my house, and picking up anything that may be lying around from the day before. When I feel that my house looks presentable, I make myself look the same.

When I leave my house I will take a book with me, if no one is around and the village is quiet I will read. First though I greet people. Adam is normally around so I will sit outside his shop and talk to him for some time. From there I will venture deeper into the village to find my small man best friend, Zulka. I generally spend a few hours at his house, either carrying him around greeting everyone we pass. When we do these village walks Zulka is generally on my back and following, all holding onto one of my fingers I will have 3 to 10 children. It is hard for me to go a day without doing the old camp song “Baby Shark”. When it’s not the kids requesting the song, it is the adults. I really wish I remembered more songs from my week at camp all those years ago! We will end up playing, running around, which is good for all of us.

After a few hours of that I will end up going back to Adams place and sitting around with the guys for a while. If Assembly, Mohammed, Abdul and or Abdula are around then we will play one of our card games, depending on how many people are around.

Before I know it, it will be somewhere around 6 or 6:30, which equals time for me to enter the house and start preparing my dinner. (I know I haven’t included what I do for lunch. This is because I moved into the village after Ramadan started, so I haven’t been eating in the middle of the day). At some point in my meal Adam is bound to come over, bringing with him dinner for my three kittens. Depending on the night and the status of my computer battery we may watch a movie, or listen to my iPod and talk. After he goes I will wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen to the best of my candle lit ability.

It’s not much, but that is how my days tend to work. I will wander the village, play with children, and hang out with my guy friends. I enjoy it when there are meetings to attend, and look forward to when I hold educational sessions of my own. But for now this is what I have. And I am happy with it. I am content and fully enjoy my small village.

A Week Left to Ramadan

The guys find it shocking that I don’t count the amount of days that I have fasted. At this point I know it is somewhere around 25 days, but I don’t count the days as they pass by. It is not beneficial to me. I know that when my alarm goes off at 3:30 in the morning I need to get up, prepare my breakfast and go back to bed. I know it helps to not think of food or water throughout the day, if I can avoid it.

I know when I break fast at the end of the day my stomach appreciates it if I eat fruit first, then prepare my meal and then eat something more substantial.

Now, being an American I can’t get the whole day without food or water without thinking of foods I would love to eat. There are many downsides to this, as you can imagine. I think the biggest downfall to it for me so far is I think of American food I would love to eat, but won’t have access to for the foreseeable future. What I really want is to walk through the grocery store dropping everything bad for you into my cart, Poptarts, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Captain Crunch Crunch Berries, ingredients for Puppy Chow, bags of candy. To stop on the way home, pick up Chinese, then pizza. Afterwards run to Dairy Queen and get maybe a Hot Fudge Sundae, or maybe get a Turtle Sundae at Culvers. If I go to Culvers, or Red Robin, or anywhere they’re sold I need cheese curds or mozzarella sticks. Don’t forget about the cheeseburger, that is also important and needed. It’s a sick fantasy that gets me nowhere. The only “fast food” you can find near me without going to Tamale is rice. As I’ve already said, it’s best if I don’t think of food.

With having one week of fasting left it makes counting days seem sillier. I know that when the moon is not there at night, the next day the fasting is over and we will have the Sallah Celebration. I know that Jochem and I fully intent to going all out on a Western meal when we are able to. Along with this, I look forward to the day I go to Tamale or market and can eat again. Until that happens though, I immerse my thoughts into my day and how lucky I am to be in Northern Ghana and in my village. Despite my fantasies of grocery stores with every kind of fruit I could want, there honestly isn’t any other place I would want to be. I wanted to join the Peace Corps for so long, and my application process was so long I can’t help but be thankful for this place I have ended up in. So, unlike the others around me, I don’t count my days but I count my friends and the number of ways that I am lucky for the life I live. This helps me get through 14 hours of not eating or drinking, but still being as active as possible. This helps me remember that although I may have a bad moment, it’s worth it. Something amazing happens when you take a step back from your life to evaluate what you have, don’t think about what you don’t. It doesn’t do any good to think of what you don’t have, it only makes you lose perspective on what you do have. I look forward to the end of fasting, the same as everyone around me, but I hope I maintain my perspective. That is one benefit that I could not have anticipated when I swore to participate in this religious event.