I am sure many of you are wondering about the cliff-hanger ending of the last blog. So was I. I only found out last Sunday night that the man had passed away, most likely due to blood loss and the long delay in getting him to the hospital. On Saturday, there was an eerie feeling in town. Funerals are held en masse at the end of the month, so most people were wandering around town in black cloth and head wraps. Sunday, too, was a day of mourning. Apparently, funerals here are occasions for copious drinking, so believe it or not, another man was killed when he wandered drunkenly into the street and was hit by a car.
I was glad when those grim few days were over and Monday morning arrived to mark the arrival of a new week. It is my last week in Ghana and I am extremely excited to go home to Israel. I miss my friends more than I imagined I would, but mostly I miss the feeling of being at home. Of familiar food, faces – of feeling comfortable and clean. I am truly surprised at these feelings (and don’t usually write about them in my blog) but I think they are closely tied to the many dramatic life events that have occurred in the past 6 weeks.
I am take advantage of the rest of my time here. I have become very close with my neighbors and will miss them. They are great to laugh with, to cry with, to cook and watch movies for hours… I feel totally comfortable around them, at home – and don’t feel like I have to host, or act as a guest. We can talk about everything from politics to sex or racism. They are very open. I know that keeping in touch with them will be virtually impossible; they don't even have a mailing address.
There have been countless memorable moments amid the long hours I have passed with my neighbors. Whole days spent doing laundry or watching television were spiced up by surprising moments of cultural exchange. They would bring over a machete and chop down plantains from my yard, or fashion a stick from a palm leaf to knock down ripe papayas. When I offered my friend a snack of cheese one day, she asked what it was. She had never tasted cheese! On another occasion, I gave my small boy his first taste or peas.
But if my eating habits surprised them, I, too, often needed to conjure up an adventurous spirit when tasting the neighbors cooking. When Ori was visiting, the neighbors labored hours over traditional foofoo. This dish is made by boiling plantains and cassava. Then, the two are ground together and mixed with a long pole. The result is a sticky white dough that is formed into balls, served with stew, and eaten with your hands. Apparently, I ate it all wrong. They laughed when I chewed the foofoo, telling me that it should be swallowed. I was reminded of how Ori laughs when I chew grape or pomegranate seeds instead of swallowing them whole in much the same way. I marveled, meanwhile, at the my neighbors’ ability to eat every part of chicken and fish – bones, eyes, feet, skin… nothing went to waste on their plates, and I was embarrassed by the large pile of rejected morsels on my own.
In the end, I found that the simplest Ghanaian foods made me happiest. I just couldn’t spring for the haut-cuisine of Ghana which includes “rat,” huge snails and cow skin that can all be found on display at the markets. Instead, I took lunch for 40 cents at a stall every day; it consisted of rice, pasta and spicy pepper sauce. On my last day in Osino, I finally tasted “Osino graphic” which is a local specialty that is known around the country. Women carry it on their heads and sell it along the roadside. It’s a corn based meal similar to cream of wheat, but it is thick and sweet, and boiled inside many layers of leaves. For dinner, I usually had a rice dish. Patrick could cook up an oily-fried rice dish that I loved to eat with ketchup. He, a 17-year-old boy less lazy than myself, would bring out a mortar and pestle tomatoes and hot pepper to make a sauce for the rice. My favorite stews were the ones cooked with canned mackerel, and not with the small salted or smoked fish so ubiquitous at the markets and in the cuisine.
I also learned how to dye batik cloth in the last few days. A Peace Corps volunteer set up a Batik center in Osino about 10 years ago. A woman named Rosemary runs the center as an employee of the local public high school. Students take batik as an elective. She is a kind, astute woman who seems more worldly than many other people I have met in Osino. Her husband lives in the capital city of the Eastern Region, and she spends weekends with him. Her two young sons are named Abraham (who everyone calls “Father” as a nickname) and David. We laughed that 4 month old David has “obruni” hair, and decided it was because King David from the Bible had also been known for his hair; he was a redhead.
While Rosemary spent the day with me patiently choosing colors and patterns, various students and a woman who helps her run her small snack kiosk took care of the children. Villagers came in and out, visiting Rosemary, making batik orders and watching over the children. Once we got more involved in the cloth design, a horde of children crowded around the outdoor art room, eager to learn, watch and generally see what the white girl was up to.
I won’t go into all of the details of batik here – but if anyone is interested, let me know in an email. In brief, we used foam sponges to stamp the fabric with hot wax. Then, we dyed the fabric. Wherever there is wax, the fabric stays white. Once the initial dye is set and dried, we added another layer of stamps and dyed the fabric a second color. It was a long and messy process, but a lot of fun.
Yesterday, I visited a nearby village called Abompe and met up with a Peace Corps volunteer who has been living there for three years. The village is only 4km away from Osino, but it has a very different feeling. The village sits at the foot of some green brown cliffs that offer a stunning backdrop from every direction. At times, they are clear and feel incredibly close – like you could run right to the top. Other times, they are veiled in mist, silhouettes in the distance. The whole village is green and brown – and is free from the traffic and busy highway that bisects Osino and ruins any chance of serenity. In Abompe, there is a small gold mine, but it is not the primary sustenance for the villagers; most of the residents are farmers, with fields around their houses and terraced in the cliffs. They grow cassava, yams, plantains, bananas and maize. On top of the mountain is a large deposit of bauxite which some families use to make beaded jewelry. One main Peace Corps project is to help the bauxite artisans sell their crafts directly to markets and consumers, rather than receiving meager payment from middlemen. Over the past few years, a bead center has been set up and I got a chance to visit and also to learn how the beads are made. A bow drill is used to make the tiny hole and the a stone to polish and shape the beads. It is delicate and slow work, but the artists I met made the difficult technique look easy.
At the close of one of the most touristy experiences of my time in Ghana, I met up with two friends to have a beer at the village spot. Actually, we went to an adjacent village. Our usually “spot” was closed so we settled for beers in another place. Ghanaian Spots serve only drinks. Beers are about 1 dollar for a large bottle, and they sell domestic beers, Guinness and, randomly, Smirnoff Ice. (which might be more expensive, but I have no idea) It felt good to sit with a few friends. The wooden benches and dusty tabletop made no difference. We shared stories, laughed hysterically and felt like rebels for staying out after dark. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t home until 7:30. It was a first for my time here in Ghana! The streets came alive in the evening, in a way that I had not seen or known about. People were huddled in crowds chatting and many stores were still open. My new friend, B, told me that different towns have different habits. Abompe, for example, goes to bed early. But his town, Dwanase, stays up until 11 or 12 hanging out in the streets, listening to music, drinking at spots and chatting . Overall, it was a joyous evening; one that made me believe I could in fact stick around Ghana for a longer period of time.