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.

Living in My New Place

Well, I light mosquito coils between the hours of dusk and dawn when I’m out and about, and still manage to get bitten. I have 3 cats but there is still a mouse in my house. I suppose that’s just the way things go.

I’m really excited to be in a house I know will be mine for over a year and a half! I haven’t lived in one place that long since high school. I think it’s probably time.

So I have a veranda that serves as my kitchen, and clothes washing area. From there you enter into the living room, which has a fully loaded bookshelf. Just the way I like it. From there you enter into my bedroom, which is fully equipped with a shower! I have three adorable kittens, who like to lay on me or cuddle up next to me all night long. I appreciate that when I’m awake they will play, but once I go to bed they join me.

I’m adjusting to no lights. I enjoy the candlelit nights on the couch with a kitten or two on my lap. What I have not started adjusting to is early bedtimes. Especially knowing that I will wake up around 3:30 to take my breakfast, and falling asleep can be difficult after that, one might think I would wise up and let my head hit my pillow before 10 pm, but that hasn’t happened yet. I like to organize, clean things up, and listen to music. The time simply escapes me!

I miss my exercise of walking from the guest house to the village, but there are major perks of being able to open my door and see who is around. After Ramadan I have every intention on working out again. Once we have electricity I will also be able to do my work out video on a daily basis. Yea!

All along when asked I have said there are perks to living in the guest house (outside the village) and there are advantages to living in my house. At the guest house I had lights (AKA cold drinks), a toilet and privacy. Not to mention a Dutch student working on his masters who is a very good cook.

At my house I’m in the village, I wash my clothes by hand (which I predict I might not wear jeans as much as they are a pain to wash by hand), I can come and go as I please, and villagers ultimately see my face more.

I am learning how to incorporate tomato and onions into every dish, as those are the vegetables you can pretty much guarantee will be at market. The fun thing is also having the option for local food at night, as there are sellers in the community around nightfall. This is something I generally take advantage of the day before market, when my vegetables are no more.

One thing I have been asked a few times, is what I will do with the house. What kinds of changes? Well, some of the walls are going to be painted. I also want to move some of the furniture around, see if there is another way I would like things to go. It is a very lived in housel, and I like that about it. I am the fourth PCV to live there, so I need to do something that will leave my mark on the house. The same as what the other volunteers have done. Just as the song goes, “I’ll be leaving my mark like initials carved in an old oak tree.. And leave nothing less than something that says I was here” So, here I go.

Day 11 of ‘Ramadan-ing’

Jochem and I are one day ahead of the Dagombas we live and work worth. We decided to follow Mecca, whereas they follow the moon (But not the sun for when it’s time to start and stop fasting.. Yes, it’s interesting!) So we are 11 days in.

I haven’t noticed a change in peoples energy levels or attitudes yet, but I suppose there is still plenty of time for that. As for myself, there is also no real change to be mentioned. It’s funny to think in terms of buying food at market. Vegetables such as tomatoes can be so time sensitive, especially when you consider I have no fridge to store them in. I can only use them at one point in the day. Although I am forced to skip lunch my appetite for breakfast and dinner has not increased. I have been told over and over again that a bowl of fruit and some vegetables is not a meal, although it is what I tend to be eating these days. My dear friend Adam is the only one who is concerned about me in this endeavor. He fears it will make me lean, which I repeatedly tell him I am perfectly fine with.

It’s nice to be fasting around everyone. We don’t talk about food, what we would like to eat, or the simple fact that we’re hungry. I do get some texts around 3:30 or 4 verifying that I’m awake and eating, but that’s it. It hasn’t been hard the few times I have been around non fasters during the daytime hours and watched them eat and drink. With that being said, I am very excited to get a cold, cold, cold, mineral my first market day after the fast is over. My first trip to Tamale afterwards I have every intention on gorging myself on FanIce (similar to vanilla ice cream), FanChoco (similar to a chocolate flavored icey) AND a FanDango (similar to a orange flavored popsicle) and a burger followed up with a cold coke. It may be a bad sign that I’m planning this out now, but that’s my way.

One thing I am considering (and actually think I will make happen) is stopping fast one day late, so my last day of fasting will be the same as everyone in my village. I want the day of the festival to be my first day where I can eat and drink while the sun is out. Jochem and I have every intention on being in the village for the Ramadan Festival. I’m not sure what all the festival has to entail, but I am thoroughly looking forward to it. As already stated, I like having things to look forward to.

My First Day of Ramadan

Jochem and I woke around 4:15am and started to take food and water. I think I can say that for the both of us we were excited that something we have been looking to was finally happening. We talked excitedly as we ate bread, mangos, had water and juice. Back to bed around 5, but first we had to brush our teeth as we are also not supposed to do that during the day.

I got to the village earlier than normal (as of late). I was scheduled to go to a neighboring village to assist with malaria education alongside the peer educators we had educated a few weeks back. 

All worked out, I got ahold of my contact in the village. We were set to do the education after Friday prayer. I caught a ride in a tipper with Megan and Liz. Together at the back we all got thrown every time we hit a bump, which on a dirt, unkept road, is common. I thought it was a great ride. 

I was so proud of our peer educators as they stood in front of their village and taught them about malaria and how to protect themselves and their family.

On our way back we got a ride with a Motorking, sitting in the back with some tied up cows. This ride was scarier as we sat on the edge gripping the railing for our life. After getting thrown around a bit the driver slowed down, but on that dirt road it was still a bumpy, unpleasant, ridiculous ride that I’m glad I got the chance to experience.

At this point in the day I was starting to really notice my hunger and thirst but there was nothing I could do, it was only somewhere around 4pm. I wasn’t getting angry yet by watching others eat, which is good. Jochem came to the village and we gathered some food to break the fast with, besides the watermelon Julie had given us. We took sweet bread and wagashi, to take before dinner. We were both so excited about this, that I didn’t mind the dull hunger pains I was used to at this point.

When we first took water, it was the most exciting and delicious thing. Then the feasting began. And it was good.

Day before the beginning of Ramadan

I woke early and sat with Jochem while he took breakfast before work. We were trying to plan out what we will take for breakfast tomorrow. He wants to take something heavy, thinking it will help prevent getting hungry before sun set. I don’t agree, in total. He joked we should take fufu. The funny thing about that is that yes, fufu is heavy, but it doesn’t keep you full for long.

In Mecca they are starting Ramadan on a Friday (I’m not sure what the date is in the Islamic calendar) and the Muslims in Ghana are going by the moon. By this I mean the Muslims here are not going to be starting the same day as those everywhere else in the world. Jochem and I had already decided we were going to start when Mecca started, on Friday. When I told the guys this they all teased me, ‘Are you in Mecca? No, you’re in Northern Ghana. You need to start when we start’.

I’m starting to wonder how my personality might waiver as I fast. I think I will get grumpy, and try to find ways to pass the time before the night falls. I’m also curious if I will get used to the feeling of hunger, and by the end of the day be convinced that I am in fact not hungry. I think it will be harder to not take water than food. One thing Jochem and I noticed was that we are going to be taking a short weekend trip towards the end of Ramadan. I think there’s a chance at that point we will be so hungry we don’t enjoy ourselves, or want to do the things we are out to do anymore. I’m also nervous we could miss the end of Ramadan in the village, and miss the celebration. I feel the need to be in the village for the celebration.

This will be an experience! I can tell you one thing, I need to find out if you’re allowed to chew gum. If not, I’m going to be in pain.

Preparing to “Ramadan”

With less than a week ‘til the fasting I am anxiously awaiting to see how the month will unfold. I am eager to participate in the religious event, although I know it will be a lot harder than I am imagining it to be. But when else will I have such an opportunity to participate? I have never done such a thing, go from sun up til sun down without taking anything food or water. I am thankful this religious event does not occur during the hot season. If it did I don’t think I would be physically capable of participating.

Being who I am, I am taking it up as a personal challenge to see how long into Ramadan I can fast. I fear I will get a lot of pressure early on to break the fast. On the other hand, my counterpart is excited I will be participating. He sees this as the opportunity for me to convert to Islam. Either way, I will decide when I stop. I think it would be something great if I were able to go all 30 or so days without cheating or breaking fast.

It’s hard to imagine going from sun up ‘til sun down without taking food or drink of any kind, but that is what I’ll be doing. Some of the guys in the village like to say it won’t be a problem for me, they don’t believe that I eat anyway. Which from what they generally see of me, is an understandable thought. I do as my old roommate says, I eat like a rabbit. Plus, in the village I can only take so much of my rice when ever few bites I chomp into a rock. For the sake of my teeth, I hardly eat in the village.

I keep asking guys different rules according to Islam. My counterpart Mohammed was saying that women breakfast around 7pm where men have to wait until 9pm. I thoroughly did not believe him, and instead asked Mohammed AKA Assembly who said that depending on the weather people either break fast at 6 pm or 6:15 pm. I have also been told you take breakfast at 4:30am and need to be done by somewhere 5:15am. According to Assembly you take breakfast between 3am and 4am and need to be done by 4:30 am in time for the Fajir prayer. I hear different accounts, some I believe over others, some I’m not so sure about.

The Funeral of the Chief

In America when you hear a funeral you can pretty much assume people will gather to mourn together in a half day event where some sort of ceremony will be performed and then the body will be put in the ground. After that, you pretty much call it a day.

When I think of a funeral I might think of grieving, sadness and people mingling together catching up with others. In Ghana you have guns, dancing and drummers.

In America a funeral generally occurs in the same week the person died. My late chief died on May, 5 2007. When chiefs die in Ghana they are buried in the night so no one knows they have died, and as you might guess the funeral is much, much later. Why? I don’t know the answer to that quite yet.

The funeral was a weeklong festivity.  As already stated, there were plenty of guns being fired, there was drumming and dancing. Drummers would follow you until you danced or gave them money. Per usual I was running around like mad taking pictures. I would have old women pushing me forward so I had a better vantage point. Whenever one of my guy friends was involved I would take as many pictures of them as my memory card would allow. There will only be one funeral this big in my village while I’m here, and I had to insure I had proper documentation.

Traditional dances were performed by women and men. There were some dances that occurred during the day and others late into the night. There was a night where the dance started at 9pm, and continued past when I went to bed at 5am.

During this week my village of about 800 people was popping at the seams, there were hundreds upon hundreds of guests. There were family members of the late chief, chiefs there to show respect to our current chief, people from neighboring villages, and more.

One thing I have started getting used to is the first thing a guy might ask me is to marry him. I have learned to quickly say, “Ii, n je yidana” or “No, I don’t want husband”. At the funeral I was not quite sure what to say when it was a visiting chief asking to marry me. Or I had a women tell me to become her husband’s third wife. She was saying that I would love it. The first wife would do the washing, she would do the cooking and I would have to do nothing. I was quick to turn her proposal down, but true to most other proposals I have received she did not back down easily. She introduced me to first wife thinking that would help her argument. It did not.

I made friends with a girl who was there for the funeral. She had me quite confused for a bit. She was related to the late chief, that much was clear. She told me he was her father, but then while we were together she introduced me to three men she said was her father. Then she told me the current chief was her brother, and that she had two brothers. Well, I met her two brothers while we were sitting under the tree. I asked if her father had more than one wife, which might help explain something. She said her father had only one wife. It ended up coming out of the wood work that the late chief was her father’s oldest brother and the current chief was his first son. I pieced it together, but it took some time. In a culture where your moms sisters kids are generally called your brothers and sisters, and your dads other wives children are your siblings, things can get confusing.  In our first week we learned sometimes you have to ask, “Same mother, same father?” and now I know exactly why you need to ask such a clarifying question.