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.”

·         

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.