YOU ARE OLD AND SHE IS FAT

I returned from Kumasi a few days ago.  I’m finishing my last couple of classes.  Janyn left a few days ago and there is only a short time until I leave as well.  As I reflect on this trip, I am in my room with an open window.  It is raining.  An event for a California woman!  There is thunder and lightening.  It reminds me of the storms in Saint Lucia.  It also reminds me of the worst drought conditions in California’s history.

The Africa World Airlines agent instructed us to be at the airport two hours prior to boarding.  We stuff our backpacks lightly knowing there will be souvenirs to bring back.  We have decided to stay two nights to fit everything into the schedule. 

The roads there are treacherous.  A bus ride would take about six hours assuming no breakdowns.  The plane takes a half hour.  Once again, time efficiency prevails.  Kumasi is a big city with over two million people living there.

After landing, we quickly find a taxi and we are off to the Golden Tulip Hotel.

After checking in and dropping our things, I call Ashley to figure out how to get to her village.  Her neighbors will make fufu for us tonight.  The taxi drivers are expensive and Ashley says that her neighbor will come for us for a fraction of what the taxi is demanding.  It is an opportunity for him so we quickly agree.

About an hour later Esther and Ashley are in the hotel lobby.  James is waiting outside.  Esther is a slight woman and shy, someone I know I will like.  The Golden Tulip is said to be the nicest hotel in Kumasi.  There is a doorman at the door and people waiting to help us.  There is also a casino, a restaurant and nightly entertainment.  It is apparent Esther feels a bit uncomfortable.  But she is also excited to be there.  Ashley whispers, “she likes the air conditioning”.  I smile and watch Esther looking around the large reception area.  Although composed, I can feel her thoughts.

Ashley and Esther go outside to get James.  They come in through the hotel revolving door, all three of them in the same compartment. This is James and Esther’s first experience with a revolving door.

We invite them into the hotel bar for a drink.  Ashley tries to help them order.  They want to order ice cream to bring back to their village. Ashley patiently explains that by the time they get back to their home it will be melted.  It is a forty-minute drive.  Maybe they are confused because there is some concoction of ingredients sold on the street as “ice cream”.  It does not melt.  It is sold by women who carry it on top of their heads.  

After our drink we pile into James car.  Our first stop: pick up the children from school.   It is hot.  Janyn, Ashley and I get out of the car.  James and Esther go inside to get their three children.  We feel as though we are in a fishbowl.  All the children are staring at us.  I sneak a quick picture of the cute little kids in their school uniforms.

 All eight of us pile into the car and head for home, Sanfo Aduam.  It is called that because as we look at the highway, the community of Aduam is on the right and another community, Sanfo is on the left.

James drives into a long driveway with big gates and parks in front.  Just beyond the gates is a a large home.  It is unoccupied and only used occasionally when it is rented for a party or funeral.  James, Esther, the three children and Ashley live in the back. I would describe it as a duplex.

Ashley has one room with her bed and refrigerator.  There are candles in the window to adjust for the undependable electricity.  She shows us  new dresses she had made by a local seamstress. 

The bedroom and kitchen are not connected. Her kitchen is outside the bedroom door in another room.  There is a shared bathroom next to the kitchen.  It is used for taking bucket baths.  There is no running water.  The facilities are behind any tree or hidden area available. Water is stored in large buckets to do dishes, wash hands or bathe.

Ashley hand washes her clothes.  When she was at my house in Accra she did her laundry in our washing machine, the first time she’s used a machine in a year.  It takes so little to make a Peace Corps Volunteer happy.

James and Esther live on the other side.  They have the same situation: a large room where James, Esther and the three children sleep and an outside kitchen.

Esther begins preparing the fufu.  She cuts and boils cassava roots and plantains.  She clips vegetables from her garden and Ashley contributes mushrooms from under her sink.  A farmer came by and contributed the cassava.  Ashley is helping him learn how to grow mushrooms.

I have a lot of questions about mushroom gardening and she patiently explains the process.

While Esther begins preparations, Ashley, Janyn and I walk over to the store to buy fish for Jasper, Ashley's dog.  She cooks a concoction of fish and rice for his dinner.

A couple of boys come from the neighborhood to help with the fufu.  Ashley explains, “They won’t stay for dinner.  They come just to help.”  This is consistent with what I have observed about Ghanaian culture.  People are communal.

A large heavy pot is used to kneed and pound fufu.  Esther puts cassava into the pot adding a bit of palm oil to her hands.  Two people work in unison to make fufu; a pounder and a driver.  The driver kneads and folds the fufu adding small bits of water while the pounder uses a large bamboo stick to pound it.  There is a rythum.  We ask Esther, “have you ever had your hand hit?”  “Yes, once”, she responds.  The cassava and plantain mixture resembles bread dough.  As Esther drives she extracts small slivers of bamboo from the dough.

Esther and James are teachers, although James is currently unemployed and looking for work.  They live a rugged life in this small and modest home, but they have also filled it with things that are surprising; an IPad, television and a fairly nice car.  I like hanging out in their yard.  Making fufu feels like having a BBQ in the United States; fufu is a social activity.

The children are in the yard with little to do.  The girl wraps her stuffed animal on her back imitating the way mothers carry their babies in Ghana.  It is amazing to see a baby wrapped in a cloth, securely fastened on their mothers backs.  Babies here are very content and are rarely heard crying.  There are few toys and the children get bored and want to sit on adult laps, play with Janyn's phone or do anything to get adult attention.  Ashley is excited to have someone taking pictures of her and the neighbors to record some of thee memories.  She says, "selfies just don't do it".

Janyn brought chocolate peanut butter cups for Ashley as well as a bit of coffee.  Ashley asked Esther if she could give the children a piece of candy.  Esther responded, “Yes”.  Ashley gave her a piece too.  The kids weren’t really impressed and Esther disliked it and spit it out.  The children were covered in melted chocolate and begging for water.  Ashley says, "It's always a big disappointment when I give them a treat".

Of course, this was a big relief.  Why?  Because now it is time for Janyn and I to eat fufu.  

Fufu is put into bowls and taken into Esther's kitchen.  She has prepared a ground nut soup which is poured on top of the fufu.  There are not enough bowls for everyone so Janyn and I quickly agreed to share.

It is eaten with the left hand – no utensils.  Yes, soup eaten with the hand.  The objective is to take a piece of the fufu and scoop up the broth using your right hand as a spoon.  The broth, as with most Ghanaian foods, has lots of palm oil in it so it is very oily, making for a most interesting dining experience. 

Fufu is not chewed, but swallowed and tastes very much like raw bread dough with a very tasty broth poured over the top.  Janyn took one bite.  As you will witness, she tries very hard to be polite, but in the end fails.  I was far more adventurous and ate about six bites.  I kept thinking it would get better.  I’m a slow learner.  However, we did better than Esther eating our Peanut Butter Cups.  We managed to not spit it out.  Ashley likes it.  I suppose it’s an acquired taste.

I did enjoy the vegetables and fresh mushrooms.  The broth was spicy and tasted good.  Jasper wouldn't eat the fufu - just the broth.

It was getting late and time to leave.  We took a few last pictures of Ashley, the family, the kids and friends.  

They walked out the gate and quickly we found a tro-tro back to Kumasi.  Ashley came with us to see the sights the next day, but also enjoy a couple of nights in the hotel with hot showers and a breakfast buffet.

Oh, are you wondering about the title of this post.  Well, it’s a simple explanation.  

Janyn and I asked if we could help chop vegetables, do the dishes or make the fufu.  Esther responded, “No, you are old”.  I think it was her way of showing respect and I found it a bit amusing.  

Ashley looked over at us and said, “Don’t worry, I’m fat”.  Ghanaians are very direct.  

Ashley said, "you should title your post 'You are old and she is fat!" Good idea Ashley!

Up Close and Personal

I am teaching tonight.  Marketing.  I need to be home by 3:00 to be ready for the 5:30 class, although my students are on Ghana time.  No self-respecting Ghanaian actually gets anywhere on time.  I have one punctual student; she is Israeli.

Once again, efficiency is important so we do the only sensible thing: hire a taxi for the day.  I cannot imagine doing this in the United States.  It would completely empty out my bank account.  Here, it’s different.  Janyn and I hired Joseph at an amazing low price for us, but an amount that likely made a big difference to him; a win-win.

Our first stop is the National Museum.  I have been waiting for Janyn to arrive to visit this museum.  It was opened in 1957, one day before Ghana received its independence.  It is filled with culture, arts, crafts and slave trade history.  As with almost every Ghanaian museum, pictures are not allowed.  The pictures here were lifted from the internet.  It is a small museum, but interesting.

There is an example of the first cloth made from pounded tree bark.  There is a display showing Kente Cloth weaving.  An older cloth is shown next to the new cloth.  Old Kente is made from thread colored with natural dies they could make.  The newer cloth is colorful using modern dies.

There are a few carved stools.  They are sacred and to be used only by important people.  There are displays of gold and wood carvings and masks.  There are also statues, carvings and various items from nearby countries in Africa.  There are displays of musical instruments and a hut depicting a typical kitchen in the “olden times”.  Nothing seems to have a date.  It’s just said to be the “olden times”.

The mood of this tour changed drastically as we entered the slave exhibit.  This was sobering and a deep feeling of empathy has come over me as I go through this part of the exhibit. There is a map on the wall showing people captured captured near the coast.  They were then forced to march deep into the forest for days to reach their processing destination. Most were young boys and girls. Many had no food or water.  Once processed, they marched back through the forest to the coast to enter the door of no return.  I wonder how many people died during processing.  To enter the door of no-return and the conditions endured on the ships is almost too much to imagine.  It is emotional.  It is devastating to see the chains used for legs and necks. 

Years ago, I went to the African American Museum in Los Angeles and experienced a slavery exhibit.  I stood in a boat that was upright to experience how much space each slave was allotted.  I listened on headphones to the words of slaves.  I know this history, but each time I see an exhibit, it is always the same emotional experience.

After over an hour we are headed to Jamestown.  I know little of it, other than it has a lighthouse and it is one of the poorest communities in Ghana.  I have no idea what to expect.

We arrive and meet the guide that Joseph found for us.  He will take us on a tour of the fishing village and up into the lighthouse.  The village sits on Government owned property.  It is densely a populated fishing village inhabited by Ga, indiginous people of Coastal Ghana.  Their language is Ga.  Our guide indicates we can take pictures, but we must ask him to make sure it is appropriate.  I understand why as I look at the colorless landscape.

We pass by the children’s orphanage.  It dark with no apparent electricity.  Children can be heard from the echoing walls within.  I try to imagine what it must be like inside those walls, but can't.  Instead, I reflect on my own life, knowing I will never be able to relate to the children within the walls of darkness in the orphanage.

We are taken down to the shore to see fishing boats in various stages of decay, although they tell us it is a “manufacturing facility”.

We move through the boats and into the area where fishermen are untangling nets and proudly showing us their catch of the day.  "Please take a picture!" one man says while showing us a rare large catch.

We pass by women making 'one pot' stews over coal fires.  It is a busy atmosphere in the heart of the village.  Music is playing, pots are clanging and people are talking.  

A woman pounds and kneads fufu, a traditional Ghanaian dish which I will talk about in a later post.  She smiles and asks if we have eaten the dish yet.  "No" I respond. "We are going to Kumasi tomorrow and will try it there".  She smiles and it is apparent she approves of our adventuresome attitude.

As we pass through a narrow row of homes, we come across a woman nursing her baby while sitting on a chair perched in the dirt.  She gently takes her breast from the infant and hands him to me. Both Janyn and I hold this adorable child.  

He is wearing little socks that have "USA" imprinted on them.  He is soft and content.  

The photos were taken before the mother said, "You can have him".

There are fish everywhere in various stages of processing and decay.  Women are smoking them, drying them, cleaning them, cooking them and eating them.  Some less desirable fish and parts are left on the ground for animals, but I see no animals, other than one pitiful cow baking in the sun. There is also a brand new litter of puppies.

I wonder where the animals are who will eat the scraps.  The smell permeates the village; a smell so pungent that I cannot relate it to anything I’ve ever experienced before.  My hair and clothes are being soaked with the smell.

There is a large pile of smoldering trash at one end of the village adding to the unpleasant smell and contributing to the pollution in the air.  I wonder about the average age in this village.  I cannot imagine living an entire life within the confines of these conditions.   

As I pass the villagers, to my surprise the word I hear most is "Akwaaba"; the Twi word for welcome.   I imagine the guide shares his reward with the people in the village, although I cannot be certain.

While the men fish, the women prepare food, do laundry and care for the children.  It is a hunter-gatherer lifestyle.  There are a few women who sell vegetables laying in the dirt next to the village "market".  I wonder where they grow vegetables.  There is only sand and gray dirt here.  The village is large and organized.

And then there is a surprise, sitting in the middle of this fishing village by the sea, something unexpected that brings a smile.

After a sobering experience, we walk over to the lighthouse, pay a small fee and climb to the top.  It is an amazing sight to see Jamestown from the top of the lighthouse.

As we climb down the stairs, Janyn wants to take one last picture of the steep spiraled stairs descending ninety-three feet to the base of the lighthouse.  As she points her IPhone it falls from the case and drops….at least thirty feet!  Our guide rushes to retrieve it.  It is in perfect condition and works as it had never been dropped.  A testament to Apple products!  

We must get back as it is getting late.  We miss the tour of Fort James as it is not open, a slight disappointment.  Fort James was built by the British and used as a base to attack the Dutch Fort Crevecoeur.  Ghana used it as a prison after gaining independence.  Many forts are still in existence in Ghana.   

As we drive home, Janyn reviews the pictures and says, "I think my IPhone is broken, all my pictures are black and white".  Upon closer look, her pictures are fine.  There are only small dots of color here and there in many of the Jamestown pictures.  Visually, Jamestown is colorless.

This has been a day that's been up close and personal.  It's been interesting, reflective, and deeply touching.  There are so many reasons to be grateful for this day.