It’s 5:02 in the morning and the nearly full moon is higher in the sky than I expected. I hear the drums of death banging in the distance, with no sign of stopping. They have been going steady all night. The sun has yet to come up, but proof of its proximity is seen in the sky’s color, one shade lighter than black.
Although it seems that the end of the night came far too quickly, I can hear the first fire start crackling amidst the sinister funeral music, and as I look over the edge, I can make out some of the younger girls fetching water. Next to me, I see Lise and Awine rolling around in their blankets, also trying to fight off the extra early wakeup call. The stars had been comforting as we stared up from the adobe roof, but they were fading quickly, another reminder that we needed to be on our way.
Lise gathered her belongings into her small shoulder bag, and before the sun had come up, we were on the trail heading toward the main road, the funeral drumming slowly drawing closer. Five minutes walking south on the main road and the half a dozen men on a roof top playing drums and flutes were in full view. To our right, we saw men at the burial site, a slaughtered goat laying next to them. As surreal as the scene was in the early morning light, we couldn’t slow down, as we had to get to the next town and back before the sun was too harsh to walk in.
***
On Friday I made sure to get a lot of work done so that I was able to leave work a few hours early. At 12:15 I sent a rough draft of a document I have been working on for weeks and rode my bike home aqap! By 1:30 Awine, Lise and I all had our bags packed for the weekend trip to visit Awine’s family. They live in a small village called Natunya, in
After taking a taxi to the tro-tro station, I bought some yams (not common in his village, but plenty in Tamale) to take to his family. It is rude to arrive empty-handed. The three hour tro-tro ride was expectedly sweaty, dusty and crowded, but that story is worn out.
We arrived in Bolgatanga, and quickly got in another tro-tro to Sirigu. Same story, though Lise and I were given the highly prized front seats, which was a nice relief. Arriving in Sirigu was surprisingly hectic. It was the end of their market day and the small village was bustling on their main road (assuming they have more than one road, which I don’t think they do). Some of the people here have the coolest facial scarring, delicately carved intricate patterns covering their whole face. Everyone was friendly with us since many of the people here knew Awine. Lise and I quickly learned the Farfari word for good evening (zanore…mas o menos) and the proper way to reply to “welcome” (mazim). From there it was a two mile walk (according to Awine, though I think it was longer) to his village. The road was wide and dusty, but flat enough that I could not complain. The sun had given up its torment for the day, leaving the walking conditions quite agreeable, though I was stuck with a heavy bag packed for the weekend as well as a few days in the field for work.
Fifty minutes later we reached hiss village in the dark. Unlike most rural villages I have been to Natunya is extremely spread out. It took fifteen minutes to walk from the main road and downtown Natunya to Awine’s home. When he pointed ahead and said, “that’s my house with the light on,” I was surprised to see light. A couple shops in the main part of town had power, but other than that, none of the houses that I saw did.
For the first time in over a year, Awine was back home. He told me later that he would not have gone until Christmas if it wasn’t for me. It made me glad that I paid for his transit and the yam gifts, because I knew money was the biggest obstacle for him making a trip home.
When we arrived we were greeted by hugs from Awine’s mothers (Yes Awine has two moms, no not like that. His father, who died quite a while ago had two wives). The hugs caught me off guard because I couldn’t think of a single time I have actually hugged anyone since I’ve been here, but they were great.
As were welcomed inside the common area of the concrete home, Lise and I wondered if they had turned on the generator just for us. When Awine’s twin brother started to fiddle with a little TV, unsuccessfully trying to turn it on, we were pretty sure this was the case. We felt bad as we knew the cost of gas here is very high.
Awine’s mom (who I will now refer to as Ma, since her name is Ma something, and Awine calls her Ma) brought us a huge calabash of what looked like dirty water with yellow chunks. Awine explained that this is the traditional drink to welcome strangers with. It was water, millet, shea butter and pepper (chili powder). I was more worried about the taste and offending my hosts than the source of the water. Awine took the first drink then handed it to me. And it was pretty agreeable. Like spicy buttery water and a hint of millet. After we passed the calabash around a few times, the liquid was gone, and all that remained was half a calabash of wet millet grains. We were all given spoons and each ate a few heaping scoops of the soggy grains. The hospitality and sense of tradition we were taking part of made the bland mush taste incredible.
Soon after we were served our dinner of t-zed (short for tuo zafi, meaning “hot food” in the Hausa language, it is a millet porridge and staple to those in the northern regions of
Awine has a sister in
After dinner we sat in front of the house with the family and chatted. Well, none of them really speak English, so Lise and Awine and I chatted next to the family, and I tried to learn the kids’ names. The Ghanaian/African family structure is extremely confusing to me, as it seems like there was a constant flow of family coming and going, all being introduced as some different member of the family. I can’t really begin to explain it because I don’t understand it, but there were a lot of women and children, and a couple men usually present.
Awine showed us to the traditional compound where the three of us would be sleeping. This home is Awine’s uncle’s, but I think his brother lives there too. Actually it seems that everyone just kind of lives everywhere and I am not sure if spaces are really designated. We climbed up a set of six steep adobe stairs up to the roof of one of the rooms in the compound. Looking down, we saw the courtyard of the compound, where wives and children were laying out sleeping mats as they got ready for bed. Lise and I talked about how arriving at night is the best, since you get to see everything brand new in the morning.
We woke after sunrise, though Awine was already up and socializing with the family. Lise and I lazed around for a bit, peeking over the edge at the women cooking and the kids doing chores. Since we had met everyone at night, we couldn’t really recognize the people we saw. When they glanced up at us, we weren’t sure if they were seeing us for the first time.
The Compound.
The big cones are grain silos, storing millet, the small cones are chicken coops.
Awine's uncle. He is proof that EVERYONE, even in Africa has at least one eccentric uncle.
After taking tea, Awine took Lise and I on a walk. We visited several households of friends of his. We were welcomed very warmly by everyone we met and in one house they brought us calabashes of pito, the local millet beer. Awine told us that he could not take pito. A while back he fell off a house, and went to a local doctor who helped him. The doctor said he had to repay him with a goat, and until he did so, he could not take pito or else he would fall again. Looking back on it, I don’t know why I told him this was nonsense and he should just have the pito and he’d be alright. But I am actually really glad I just left it.
Visiting Awine's neighbors in their compound. From top left to bottom right: Ben (Awine's twin), Awine, Lise, guy that speaks a bit of English, super smiley guy that buys me pito the next day (not smiley in photo),...guy in blue and white shirt...Guaranteed that dog on the bottom left is gonna be eaten within the year. The people in this area are known for their love of dog.
Because the village is so spread out, it took a long time to move from home to home. Eventually we reached dam, which Awine said should have been huge, but looked like a small pond since the contractor in charge of the project “chopped the money”. Kids were playing in the pond and women were fetching water from holes dug next to the dam.
Awine said there were crocodiles in the pond, but we needed to wait for one of the men who calls the crocodiles in order to see them. Within minutes a man came by and made a loud noise that I can only spell “ard-d-d-d-d-d-d”. Sure enough, we immediately saw a croc pop its head out of the water. After some discussion on what to do next, some of the kids ran and caught frogs. More debate among the people by the pond, and they decided to make a seaweed leash for the frog’s leg. They then tied the leash to a rock near the edge of the water, close to the crocodile. The croc came closer, and it was obvious that he wanted the frog, but with so many people gathered around, it was not going to come out. Finally, the kid just threw the frog to the croc. Within ten seconds, the frog was back on land. The kid caught the frog again, and tossed it out. A brief chase, a splash, and I am pretty sure the crocodile got his meal.
We walked around the water for a while, and saw a few more crocodiles poking their heads up. Eventually, Awine decided to jump in with the kids and splash in the water. I had read a week before about bilharzias, the disease that plagues almost all bodies of water in sub-saharan
By the time we got back, lunch was being served. Ma had apologized the night before for not slaughtering a fowl for us on arrival, since it was so late. She made up for it by slaughtering one that morning, and made our groundnut soup with it, accompanied by rice balls, which they grow locally.
This was Natunya’s market day, so after lunch Lise and I took the walk into town. We pretty much just sat under a thing built for shade, while we drank water and a local cocoa and ginger drink sold in a plastic bag. We also got mangos (about a nickel each!). The market consisted of a group of about 15 women sitting under a tree, and a couple shops selling pito. While I was picking out my mangos, a woman with a beaming smile came up to me and opened up a bag to show me what looked like hamburger patties. “WHAT!?” I yelled. Everyone laughed at my reaction and a couple women even mocked me, repeating, “what?!” They only cost about a dime, so decided it would be worth the risk. I couldn’t imagine that they would actually have hamburger here, but it looked just like it. Was it a hallucination? Predictably, yes. It turned out to be a bland, mashed millet patty. Even holding it and looking at it up close, it looked just like a hamburger, but I couldn’t even eat it. I think it could be sold to vegetarians pretty easily though. They deserve/love that kind of crap.
Before leaving the market, I bought a gallon of pito to share with the family. It was much more expensive at $1.60 than the gallons in Upper West, at $.45. I wanted to get two gallons, but Awine said one should be enough. The truth was that I was just really in the mood to relax in the shade and just sip pito from a calabash for the rest of the day, and I knew I would need my own gallon for that.
Back at the house, Ma, Ben (Awine’s twin) were playing Mancala, though they call it something different, and the rules are different than the Resource kids at Adams Elementary School taught me two years ago. Jeez I miss those kids. They showed me how to play and I caught on quickly, though I was not very good at this way of playing. I’ll be glad to revive my love for the game when I get home though.
After a few rounds, we started playing a board game that seems more popular with the kids everywhere. It is kind of like sorry, but there is a dice, not cards. Eventually some of the elders that live nearby came and I figured that meant it was time for the pito. Ben’s wife brought out some calabashes and mugs, and we distributed the drink. They were all thankful, and kindly requested that I take their photo. A Dutch girl I had met in Tamale told me that I would have trouble taking photos of people in the rural areas, but I actually have found that people are more upset if I don’t take their photos.
Lise was planning to meet some Canadian friends in Bolgatanga the next day to go to
Just before dark, I remembered that I had brought my slackline, but had not used it. I grabbed the ropes out of my bag and quickly found two trees about 15 feet apart and set up the line between the two of them. Awine and his brother had followed me, though after just a few minutes of walking across the line, I had attracted about a dozen more village kids and teenagers. Slacklining is fun, but entertaining alone for only so long. So I asked who wanted to try next. Nobody volunteered, so I grabbed one of the confident looking guys close to my age, and pushed him towards the rope. I held his hand as he climbed up. He wobbled pretty bad and everybody laughed hysterically when he fell. I had better luck with the small kids, and gave each of them at least one turn, holding their hands as they walked the length of the rope. After holding their hands and letting them turn the other direction, I let go, to see if they could do it on their own. The only one to make an unassisted step was a lanky young girl who everyone called “flamingo” because of her long legs. I could tell people doubted her, but she did very well, and I was really impressed. I picture coming back to the village in a year and seeing a bunch of kids tying ropes between trees and walking across. Kind of like the scene in
Dinner that night was served in the dark as they had run out of gas for the generator. Lise and I were both glad. Our dinner was t-zed with bra, a groundnut based vegetable stew, and guinea fowl. As we started to hear the funeral music in the distance, and I thought about my day, I definitely had one of those moments of deep appreciation for what I have been blessed with. I looked over to Lise and said, “hey, look at your life right now.” She said, “I know, I’ve been thinking this all day.” It was so good to share this feeling of wonder and gratitude with someone else who really appreciated this moment.
As we layed on the roof that night, Lise said, “let’s look for…what do you call in English the stars that move across the sky really fast?” I couldn’t resist. “Oh, we call them ‘crazy stars’.” After seeing a shooting star, I told her what they really were called, but we decided that “crazy stars” is way cooler.
please come home so i can make mad passionate love to you.
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