Ghana Part 3

When I walk down the street, all the little children cry “OBRUNI!" "white girl white, or white girl red!” Look mama, white girl, they cry. I giggle and say hello, trying hard to remember the difference in how to say “good morning,” “good afternoon,” and “good evening” in the local language. So far, all I have really mastered is eh-yeh, which means “I’m fine,” and “m-dasseh” which is thank you.
People call me and E sisters and if only one of us is around, they inevitably ask us where our sister is. Since her Ghanaian name is Yaa, like mine, they are thinking of calling me either “Yaa-Squared” or “Yaa Junior,” but I may opt for the warrior name that one of my co-workers gave me at the bank- Yaa Ofuriwaa.
I have a lot of fun at the bank job. People are always joking around, laughing, poking into our office to grab a drink from the fridge. I also do a good deal of directing, managing and teaching but this is made easier by the incredible patience of the people here. There is so much patience for tedious tasks here, no rushing or stress in the work place; it is inspiring! But it is also a necessity – here is a bank with no network, no internet and wads of cash stored in its safe. Messages and deposits are delivered by messengers to various branches. The water flows only sporadically and there is one bathroom for at least 30 staff. One of my favorite unusual features is that the men wear fancy suits, short, wide ties and pointy, leather shoes, but the women wear hand-tailored dresses made from yellow and green fabric featuring the insignia of the bank! They even had one made for my boss and offered me as well!
I brought some of the bank staff gifts from Israel; they are thrilled. They recognize my name from the Bible and are excited that I come from the Holy Land. Still, one guy looked at me – just after thanking me for my Jerusalem magnet - and said, “you know, you really shouldn’t be killing so many Palestinians.”


Yesterday I ventured alone to another village to visit the bank branch there. It was an adventure! I climbed aboard one of the shared taxi-vans and squeezed in between at least 15 other passengers. We passed endless jungle, tiny villages and saw the road lined with bright red jugs of palm oil. Along the way are signs encouraging safe driving, saying “A hug is waiting for you when you get home.” After about 40 minutes of bumping and squishing, I arrived in Nkawkaw (pronounced Incocoa) There, I met with the bank manager and director to help advance our project.
Around 3 o’clock, the manager asked if I was hungry. I was starving, but knew we had big dinner plans, so I asked for a snack. Peanut butter ground-nut soup? He offered. No way could I handle that! So we settled on fried yams. Within 15 minutes I was served up a plate of piping hot yams, accompanied by the crispy golden head of a fish. I had no idea how to eat it. I tried the cheeks, and sought meat from within the poor guy’s skull, but in the end I had to abandon the effort. The yams were great, tasted more like yucca or potato, and were served (*of course*) with a really spicy sauce. I ate this all with my hands, sitting among my coworkers on the corner of a desk within the main room of the bank.
After my snack, I shadowed one of the susu money collectors. The susu agents travel from stall to stall collecting money from all different businesses in the community. The money is deposited into the bank, for which the susu collector receives 2% commission. They are not the most reliable group and seem frequently to be sick. Still, I am having fun getting to know them and build a relationship with them. Many are female and most young, hoping to save money for school or their own families and businesses. From the few people I have talked to, it seems that saving money for higher education is a major priority.


I wandered through the Nkawkaw market with one susu collector. There was a man fixing near-ancient televisions and radios, a place to buy coal for cooking traditional foofoo dough (a popular dish made from plantain and maize flour.) There were spare parts, refrigerators, gas valves and tires, goats and an architects office, pottery, palm oil and huge swaths of fabric for less than 2 dollars. I took it all in. But there was also raw sewage flowing down open sewers along the sides of the streets and the smell of fried fish at stalls and on the shared taxi. Women and young children wander around everywhere advertising the goods that sit piled high upon their heads – oranges, water, chocolate milk, bananas…
After work, we get groceries for dinner and head home. When shopping, we need to keep very small change on hand. 10 cents is far more useful than 10 dollars. I wanted to buy a plastic water sachet the yesterday, but only had a 1 cede coin. The girl had no change. (1 cede is equivelent to 85 cents. The water cost 5.) We must also use very small change for our meals, which cost about 1 cede, for both of us. Coming home yesterday, we saw what I thought was a snake in front of our door. Turns out, it was an extraordinarily large (and dangerous) form of caterpillar or centipede. We shoved it away with a stick and ran inside.
Tonight we had our neighbors over for dinner. There are three teacher who live next door, guys about my age. They came by along with one of their girlfriends and P., our “small boy,” a 2-meter tall 18-year-old who helps out with cleaning and chores. The term “small boy” or “small girl” is somehow not demeaning. E is eager to learn to cook Ghanaian cuisine, so we loaded up with groceries from the one small stall in town. They prepared a spicy-hot fish stew with okra, green peppers, onions and garlic. The fish – head and all - was deep fried in bright red palm oil and then the vegetables (boiled first) were added in. This stew is served with a dough-like dish called Banku, which is made by mixing water, fermented corn meal, and plantain flour. It is then slowly worked into sticky paste over a coal fire. I watched in awe as our friend stirred it using all of her strength and body weight. She latched two metal rods to the side of the metal cauldrin, and used them to brace her feet against as she vigorously stirred the boiling goo. Foofoo is made the same way, but does not have the malted taste and smell of banku.

Dinner took around 2 hours to prepare. Each of us received a softball size serving of banku with fish and stew poured atop – and thus were expected to dine with our hands. The flavors were good, although the dough was a bit too fermented for me. The incredible spicyness precluded me from enjoying the meal. I will have to adapt – and fast.
We played around with a digital camera, posing and taking pictures. Then we talked politics a bit. I learned about Ghana’s political history and the latest elections, and we all shared in our unebbing enthusiasm over Obama’s win. We all agreed: it’s still hard to believe he is actually president.
For dessert, I served up some poprocks chocolate from Israel and watched in joy as our guests were shocked and then giggly over the sugary explosion in their mouths. They begged for more and took turns covering their ears to listen to the popping chocolate, and then leaning over to listen to the crackling of eachothers' mouths. I will have to bring more soon!
It was a wonderful evening; we all exchanged numbers and it feels great to be building a community here. My small boy already told me he will be sad when I leave and that we will have to email.
I reminded him – and myself – that this was only my third day in Ghana.