Formalities and Hospitalities Pt. 2

When we got to Sirigu the next morning at 6:30, it only took a few minutes to fill a taxi to Bolgatanga and Lise was on her way. We walked about 2/3 of the way back to Natunya before Ben and another guy came to pick Awine and I up on their bikes. They carried us all the way back to their home. I was thankful because the sun was always getting very hot and I had only bought one sachet of water in Sirigu. However, it did not mean it was easy for me, as the balancing act was a major ab workout for me, and my legs also got tired after a while.

After taking our tea, Awine and I went to one of the nearby homes (where we had been given pito the previous morning) to thank them for a guinea fowl they had sent to us. Because Ma had already slaughtered a fowl for us, Awine said we would take it home with us. I found out later that they had tied the bird's legs too tight and it died over night. Lame. While we sat in their compound, they offered me another calabash of pito, which I gladly accepted. There is something quite nice about a big gourd filled with millet beer at 8:00 in the morning, especially when you are drinking it about ten feet from where it was brewed.

This man sent us the guinea fowl. His child has quite the taste for pito. After they gave him a sip of it, I realized he looked wasted. Then I realized that all really little kids look drunk if they think about it. Imagining kids that just learned how to walk as alcoholics makes watching them way more entertaining.

He got dressed up for a photo.

Soon after that, Ben and the other guy came and picked Awine and I up on their bikes. More bumpy riding on the back of Ben’s bike as we rode about 15 minutes to a nearby village for their market day This village was much more compact, and their market extremely lively and crowded. Another one of those moments that really drove home the point: “Joey, dude, you are NOT in America, and nowhere near it.” Awine bought tomatoes (much cheaper here than in Tamale) and I bought about 15 mangos (much sweeter here than in Tamale). I shook so many hands in the hour we spent at that market I felt like a politician. It almost felt like I should be kissing the babies. We also had some kola nuts, the big red nut that is a stimulant and seems very popular among the elder men. After my fourth try with them, I still hate them. They are probably the only Ghanaian food/drink item that I will openly admit to not liking. Ben’s wife was at the market selling kooly kooly, a crunchy ball made from groundnuts and tastes almost exactly like peanut butter cookies. We had seen her making them the day before. I bought some and was shocked at people’s shock. Awine told me that everyone was saying, “hey look the white man is eating kooly kooly.” I saw people pointing at me, laughing. For the last time people, WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM EATING HERE? I swear, every time I eat a local food item other than rice, people are amazed, like I am eating something that I am obviously allergic to. How could I live here for three months and only eat rice? People are always surprised that we have groundnuts (peanuts) in America. It is true, though, that we don’t have other Ghanaian staples in America, like cassava, millet and yams (very different than American yams). Recently in the market in Tamale a young girl passed by me as I was enjoying a small bag of groundnuts. “You are eating groundnuts,” she said matter of factly. It made me laugh. Other times, the assumptions about what I eat are more annoying. One time I went to a chop bar and asked what they had. The woman simply responded, “we don’t have rice, rice is over there.”

Ben's wife making kooly kooly.

On the way back from the market a dog ran past us. I didn’t see it, but I saw the people chasing after it. “That dog is crazy,” Awine said. “You mean, it has rabies,” I asked. “yes, that is why they are trying to catch it.” One of the guys farther behind told Awine that the rabid dog had bit another dog and a child.



For lunch we had a delicious tomato stew with boiled yams (the ones I brought). After eating, I sat around with the young kids as they ate, teaching them how to say, “holla at ya boy,” and “choppin buha!” which I guess is my pidgin Farfar/English way of saying eating yams. I also showed them the Indian kid’s handshake, which was difficult but hilarious to them and the northwest hand slap and fist pound (not the California version).

Choppin' Buha!

Ben and his son, Azaya.

As I was sitting outside the house, waiting for Awine to finish bathing, two men on bicycles came up and the one in front greeted me in perfect English. He was wearing an elegant fugu, the traditional smock that can be very expensive. He asked if I knew who he was.
“No,” I said.
“I’m the chief, I live over there,” he said, pointing.
Before I could get up to shake his hand and introduce myself, he continued, “Why have you not come to visit me?”
I stuttered, “Umm, I…guess I didn’t know.”
He had a smile on his face, though this conversation did not feel good-natured.
“Where is Awine?”
“He is bathing.”
“He should have brought you to meet me first, don’t you know I am the leader of this village,” he said, sounding angry, though I could tell he was simply trying to assert his power and intimidate me. I did not like it, but what could I do? I mean, he’s the chief. “Where are you from?” he continued.
“America.”
“America…so Barack Obama is your leader.”
“Umm, yeah, I guess, so if you came to America, you would have to meet him first right?” I missed his point.
“I am the Barack Obama of this village, I am the president.”
“Oh…I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”
“Where will you go if you have a problem here?”
I wasn’t sure if this was a trick question.
“Umm…you?”
“Ah-hah,” he said.
I was looking around, wondering where everyone else was, hoping that somebody would rescue me from this awkward situation.
“Are you going to the funeral?” he asked.
“Yes, we will go when Awine is finished bathing.” The two rode off on their bikes.
I had asked Awine about the chief the day before. We could see his enormous compound from where we slept. He said the chief died several years ago, and they currently had a “standing chief” until they decide on a new one. How someone becomes chief in a village differs from place to place, and Awine’s explanation of how it worked here did not make any sense to me. When he came out, I told him about the chief’s visit. Awine didn’t care. “If he says anything to me, I will f*** him off,” he said. I had never heard Awine swear before, and he seemed really annoyed. “He cannot talk to you like that. Why do you have to see him? He just acts like he owns everything.”

Soon after, we made the fifteen-minute walk to the funeral. When we got there, a fairly large crowd had already gathered. The old man that was being honored had died several years ago, but it took this long for his family to save the money for a proper funeral. Awine had told me to bring my camera since he had already asked the family if I could take photos. I did not feel very comfortable taking photos at the funeral since it was not for any sort of journalistic purpose, but Awine really encouraged me when we got there. Plus, it was hard to really resist taking photo of this elaborate ceremony. The drums and flutes had already started, and the first thing I saw when we got close to the compound was a sacrificed cow laying in front of the entrance. Each leg was broken and cut open at the knee and it’s neck was sliced halfway through, and bent to expose the inside of the throat.


All of a sudden a string of about 15 ornately dressed “war dancers” came barreling out of the compound, screaming war cries and waving about huge spears and bows and arrows. They wore fugu, hats decorated with cowrie shells and horns, and decorations made from leather and animal fur. They looked fantastic and terrifying, which I think was the point. As soon as they all left the compound, Awine insisted that I follow him inside. The ground was covered in mud and hay, and a slaughtered bloody goat lay in the center. Women were walking around the middle of the compound, some in bras, some topless. The war dancers started to make their way back in, at which point Awine led me out.

I took a couple pictures, and Awine and I were quickly summoned to where the village elders were sitting, in shade covering built right outside the compound. We bowed our heads and shook hands with each of them. They were dressed in their nicest fugus and hats, and gave us intimidating looks. Awine and Ben spoke with them for about five minutes, giving me no hint as to what was going on. Eventually Awine had somebody bring them a jug of pito, and he explained that they had not gotten the word about me coming with my camera. I felt awful, but it turns out they were fine with it, and now they wanted their picture taken. I obliged, not wanting to incur the wrath of the village elders of Natunya. I also insisted that I bring them some kola nuts. So I went and bought them a dollar worth of kola nuts, and they were grateful. As we stepped out of the shelter, I turned and was face to face with one of the warriors. He was huffing and puffing at me, making a lot of noise and pointing his spear in my face. I knew this was part of the persona that comes with the costume (and maybe I was in his way too) but I was genuinely scared. I kept my composure and quickly stepped aside avoiding any deep wounds.

“Joey, dude, you are NOT in America. You are in AFRICA!”

The elders of Natunya+Awine

Awine and I went back into the compound, and he insisted that I join him up on the roof where the drummers and fluters were performing. Yeah, I said fluters, what? I did not want to, as it would make me even more on display than I already was, simply being the first white guy in the village in who knows how long. But it was either follow him up, or remain alone on the ground with the scantily clad women. I followed, and luckily it gave me a much better angle to photograph the dancers. Otherwise I would not have had any decent images.



I really just wanted to sit and enjoy the ceremony and sip pito, but Awine and I both needed to get back to Bolgatanga soon. Before leaving, though, I wanted to have a calabash of pito. They were selling it (along with kola nuts, small snacks, sachets of gin, etc.) right there outside the compound. As they poured it for me, I tried to pay the $.15, but a friendly bearded man that I had met the day before had already bought it for me. As much as I was feeling the hospitality of this little village, Awine was feeling the effect of being with the white man. He said that being seen with me makes others assume that he is rich by association, and asks him to buy them drinks. That is usually how it is for me, but I guess when the people can’t ask me for money or drinks in English, they have to turn to Awine.



We only stayed at the funeral for about an hour, before we had to head out. That morning I had told Lise how much I was enjoying the funeral music, even though it didn’t stop all night. She said it was more disturbing for her since her friend, who is working in a small village in the region, told her that these all night funeral celebrations result in a lot of teenage pregnancies.




Back at the house, I packed my things and thanked Ma profusely for her hospitality. She speaks a bit of English, but we had Awine interpret our conversation for us. She apologized for not being able to slaughter an animal for every meal. She said that if I come again (preferably not during the dry season) and give more notice, she will tell everyone in town that her son is coming, and they will have a big feast for me. Ma is the sweetest woman ever, and it was a privilege to be considered an honorary son.

Awine with Ma (right) and one of his aunts.

Luckily, as we headed down the trail to the main road, Ben picked up my pack, and rode it all the way to Sirigu for me, so I only had to carry my shoulder bag. Part way there, we saw some of the village boys walking to Sirigu, and Awine had them carry the rest of our bags. In the villages anybody older than you can basically tell you to do whatever you want. This is a pretty sweet setup for me, as I could have asked any of the young boys to fetch me whatever I needed from town (Awine did this, but I never did) but as a guest, nobody would ever ask anything of me. On the way, we passed another funeral. They were also doing the war dance, though not as many people were in attendance. Awine explained this and said that since this family did not have as much money, they didn’t slaughter as many animals, which brought fewer guests. I want my funeral to be a party, but I don’t want anyone coming just because we slaughtered hella animals.

About a third of the way to town, Awine got a passing guy to pick me up on his bike, and Awine caught a ride soon after. I sat where Ben had put my bag. I gave him one of my mangos, and two to the guy that had given me a ride. I had two left, and as we waited for one of the tro-tros or share taxis to come, I ate one and started on the second. About three bites into the second, with my hands and faced covered in sticky mango, a taxi pulled into town. There was an immediate sense of panic and Awine told me to run.
“My bag?”
“Just leave it! Run!”
Awine got to the taxi a step ahead of me and he jumped in, pulling me in with him, as we beat a crowd of about ten other people trying to get in. I still had my mango in my hand and my shoulder bag. A teenage girl squeezed in on my right, and a stocky young guy pushed in on Awine’s side. Three were sqeezed in up front. Ben shoved my pack into the trunk. After a bit of mechanics work on this barely moving heap of rust, three guys gave the taxi a hefty push start and we were on our way to Bolgatanga.

On the way there, we came so close to hitting some war dancers performing at a funeral. I could see them dancing up ahead, and moving toward the road, but figured they would yield to us. Even though our driver was holding down the horn for about ten seconds before getting there, they were so much in their zone that I don’t think they realized we were there until we were slamming on our breaks. I figured we would get speared, but they let us pass peacefully, probably a bit shaken up themselves.