Home Sweet Home

"There's no place like home." - Dorothy, The Wizard of Oz

There is something refreshingly sweet about being home. And I am not referring to home in terms of a house, or even a neighborhood, a city or a state, but a country. It is lovely to be back in the States.

I marvelled first thing at how deep the sinks are here and thrilled myself with a long hot shower for the first time in months. In the midst of seeing friends and their little ones before leaving NYC, I also got my hair blown out (ahhhh the luxury!) and gorged myself on Korean BBQ.

I haven't been able to sleep past 7 am and I find myself throughly exhausted by 10 pm. I suppose I should get used to that. I am still processing the trip, still mulling it over. Some part of me feels as if the self that has come back from Africa is a shadow and that I have left shadows of myself in all of the places that I have visited. And another part of me feels so much more enriched, whole, compassionate, resourceful, patient, and... connected... from having had those experiences.

Memories

"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another." - Anatole France

The symbol used in the 0 of Ghana's 50th celebration is known as 'Gye Nyame'. The literal translation is 'Except God' but the metaphorical translation is 'God the Omnipotent.'

Thinking back on the book 'Weep, Not Child'...it offered another perspective to the famous book 'I Dreamed of Africa' (later turned into a movie starring Michelle Pfeiffer) which I found in the Andoh household and quickly read. The latter offers the perspective of an Italian woman who along with her husband feels drawn to Africa and they settle in Kenya, buy land and farm. The former is the perspective of Kenyans who fought in one of Britain's wars because they had to, only to return home to discover their ancestral lands had been parcelled off and sold to settlers. They talk of the day when their ancestral land will be theirs again and seem confused as to why the settlers want to claim land in their country when they have a home country. As a result the Kenyans are now almost squatters or sharecroppers on land that used to be theirs. It definitely adds a sordid twist to the 'I Dream of Africa' story no matter how in love with the country or the continent the author was.

We woke up ridiculously early on Tuesday (4 am) to leave for the airport by 6. In addition to Daddy Andoh's truck we also had a van come by to pick up all the luggage. I have never seen anything like the caravan of baggage carts that were needed for us. I think 6 carts total all packed high with luggage.

We went through 10 checkpoints before we could get on the plane. Because Mommy and Daddy Andoh have friends in high places they were able to accompany us to the point where you had to turn in an immigration form and show your boarding pass before they said goodbye. First we had to go to customs and declare the food; then we went to have the bags weighed; then we had to have the baggage tags stamped, then we had to check-in; then we had to open our baggage. (Unfortunately Eugene thought customs was the last time they would need to look in the bags and he had locked them and didn't know which lock went with which key so it took a while to open the 16 checked bags.) With all those bags we just claimed the ones nearest to us. It took us an hour and a half to get to that point. One of my two checked was mine; the other actually belonged to Evelyn which I found out when they opened it and I saw her clothes, purses and shoes. Did I pack my bags myself? Hmm yes. Does it really matter since we are all traveling together and going to the Andoh household in NYC before dispersing?

After all that confusion we filled out immigration forms and went through an ID checkpoint at which point we said goodbye to Mummy and Daddy Andoh. Then we had to talk with immigration and get our visas checked. Then we had an x-ray. After that we had a patdown and carryon search and everyone who had a rollerboard carryon that was not accompanied by a child had to turn it in to be stowed under the plane. Whew! And then we sat and waited in a hotbox narrow room that was set up like an airplane with a center aisle and rows of seats. We saw all the tourists sporting their new ethnic clothing, jewelry and hairstles, many in overkill mode.

I didn't realize until we boarded and stowed our things, taxied to the runway and took off that I had been holding my breath somewhere in the back of my mind, thinking that something would go wrong with me leaving the way it had before. A while later we bypassed Bamako on the satellite map and I was secretly happy that I did not have to stop back through the city to get another flight.

And then my time in Bamako and my time in Ghana began replaying in my head. The friends I had made, the food I tasted, the sights I saw, the adventures that shocked and entertained me, the customs I learned...was it real? or had I made it all up with my vivid imagination? I assured myself that it was indeed real and I settled back into my seat with no need for the feature films. Rather I closed my eyes and enjoyed the memories that played across the backs of my eyelids.

The Long Way Home

"Do you know the way to San Jose? I've been away so long, I may go wrong and lose my way..." - Burt Bacharach and Hal David

When we came from the market the other day we got kose which is a dumpling made from the dough of ground blackeyed peas. The markets are a cross-section of society and certainly I have not experienced the Ghana that would compare to the Mali I experienced. We heard a news program about the children who work in the market carrying belongings for people to their homes or cars. Many of them are sent down from villages by their parents to make money. They work everyday carrying ridiculously heavy loads on their heads that could surely cause issues with their insides and though they make money they have to pay for a place to sleep, water to bathe and a place to bathe and something to eat. By the time the day is over they have spent much if not all of their earnings so it is a never ending cycle. The place to sleep turns out to be right in the market. Shirley pointed it out as we passed and it wasn't inviting. Dirty and squalid came to mind.

The government is working on a program to get these children back home to their villages. They tried giving them money but it didn't work out. Now they are seeking out the parents and offering them training and seed funding so they can start a business and not require their children to work in such dangerous circumstances. The question is if this is actually solving anything or if more parents, eager for training and seed funding, will send their kids down to Accra to work.

There have been a few lovely meals planned for us recently. The first was at Auntie Naa's house the evening before I was originally scheduled to leave. Auntie Naa is Mummy Andoh's sister. Incidentally Mummy Andoh is also called Auntie Naa but I think they differ in the name that follows Naa for each. At any rate we sat out in the courtyard with music and enjoyed appetizer of chicken gizzards, which my grandmother has never been able to get me to eat but which I found to be quite tasty in Ghana, and buffet of salads, kenke, banku, grilled and fried fish, and chicken. When dusk closed in we doused ourselves with Off and talked while watching the night sky.

The next afternoon was a brunch that I was to have missed if I had caught my flight. However as we all know the flight did not happen. So I trooped with the rest to Auntie Vida's house. I'm still not clear how she fits into the picture so let's just say she's a family friend who loves to entertain. Her house is absolutely gorgeous and airy. We were served fresh pineapple juice and were anxiously awaiting what we were told would be a fabulous lunch.

It was there at Auntie Vida's that I was finally able to reach the travel agent who had purchased my ticket to Mali. I informed him of my situation and he said I would need to get in touch with the airline directly about my return flight from Bamako to NYC. Shirley and all the young adults would be leaving Tuesday morning and i dreaded to think of staying in Ghana indefinitely. Shirley's cousin found a seat on their return flight but it was expensive, though less expensive than previously thought. Since we only had a few hours before the close of the business day we thought it best to address the matter immediately. We excused ourselves, explained the issue and headed for the door and Auntie Vida provided a driver to take us to the airline office.

There I was told that I could either find a way back to Bamako (as if I hadn't tried that already) to try to fly standby on a flight from Bamako to Casablanca to NYC since they are booked through September or pay $1400 to fly from Accra to Casablanca where I could get the original second leg of my flight. We kept going around and around but these were the best two options they came up with. So I decided to take the seat on Shirley's flight since it was the same price but a direct flight. Thankfully they only required credit and thankfully Shirley had enough room on her card and was gracious enough to front it for me. (I am tempted to name my firstborn Shirley, even if it is a boy.) But honestly I didn't relax about the flight until I was actually on the plane...more about that later.

We returned an hour and a half later. Everyone had already eaten but we enjoyed our lunch nonetheless. We had two choices and I ate both simply because I want to try everything. I tried the eggplant stew first and it was very tasty and different from anything else I have had here. Then I tried the palm nut soup which I have had before but you never know if people make it differently. One of the best things about the palm nut soup is the slices of snail in it. Seriously...giant African snail and it is de-licious! I saw them live in the market and was happy I had tasted them before seeing them as they aren't the prettiest creatures. They have beautiful shells too. Funny thing is that I have always seen those big shells and never thought of the creatures who must have called them home. Dessert was delicate crepes.

And then we returned home to begin the job of packing. Friends and relatives came from everywhere ringing the doorbell bringing things they wanted sent to family in the New York region: dried fish, fabric, African herbal soap, black pepper paste, entire suitcases etc. Most of the stuff was not personal belongings but rather communal items and or things for others. I even dumped my stuff out of a smaller tote and into a bigger suitcase to accommodate some of Mummy Andoh's things. I have never seen anything like this packing production and it went on all night.

We watched the news and discovered that a lynching had taken place in a market in the city. Four men stole a woman's purse and jumped in a car. She pursued them with the help of a taxi driver and the pursuit ended in an accident. One thief jumped out with a gun and made off. The other three had no weapons and once publicly branded as thieves in the crowded market, the lynching began. I only know the end result, three men dead, their nude bodies next to pools of blood. One of the three did indeed have the woman's purse and another had a bag full of may different wallets and IDs, none of them his. I was shocked at the mob mentality and shocked that the news would show unclothed dead bodies.

Shirley said when she was young a group of men tried to break into a neighbor's house at night. Somemone woke up and fought them off and the sounds alerted their neighbors who poured out of their homes ready to fight. All it took was one person throwing a kerosene lamp at the would-be robbers and well...their aim was good so you know what happened after that.

Nana Yaw, Shirley's brother, is an architect and the other Nana Yaw (Eugene or Gino) is a mechanic. Both were called upon during their time in Ghana to put their concrete skills to work. Gino fixed Daddy Andoh's truck and Nana Yaw created plans for two houses (one just behind the one we stayed in) and the other for Eugene and Evelyn and a mausoleum for Uncle Prince's family. Since Shirley, Carol, and others just bought some land he should be busy into the future creating more plans. I asked him what aspects of a house were important in Ghana. He said enough space for entertaining and guests staying over, a shaded spot outside, more than one bathroom including a guest bathroom near the front door so all guests don't have to traipse through the house, and a large kitchen. I think the wrap-around porch would be an excellent feature to transport from the South of the US. Nana Yaw is working feverishly to finish the plans for the house in back before we leave so they can begin construction.

Waiting Game

(hum the theme song to jeopardy here)

I am still in Accra with the Andohs, still furiously trying to figure out how I will get home. Shirley, Nana Yaw, Carmen, and Nina, Nana Yaw (Eugene or Gino), Evelyn and Stephen leave for NYC tomorrow. Hopefully we get my return figured out before they go. If not, I will stay here with Mummy and Daddy Andoh and apply for a work visa. (weak laughter) My experiences have all been learning experiences and this is a lesson in patience and faith.

The packing has begun. When the Andohs arrived they brought not only gifts but also special delivered packages from friends to give to their family members in Ghana. Shirley met with the mothers of Nana (who was my roommate back in Queens) and Nelly to give them things their daughters had sent and to collect things the daughters were requesting, fabrics or special black pepper paste that is better straight from the source. It is also cheaper to send money through family friends who are traveling than to submit to the highway robbery fee that Western Union calls a fee.

We've been eating a lot of fresh tomato, onions, and pepper paste diced together and added on top of dishes, sauce, fish, or spinach. It reminds me of the mixture my grandparents call cha cha, which consisted of tomatoes, onions, peppers and a little vinegar that we would eat over collard greens.

I slept for what felt like forever last night. This morning Carmen, Nana Yaw, and Nina came over from Regina's house as usual and Carmen did Nina's hair (I showed Carmen some simple tricks for doing black hair last week and she has since mastered them; Nina didn't cry at all today). After carmen left the room, Nina curled up on the couch and said she wanted to go home. I held her on my lap and said I knew how she felt and that she would be going home soon enough - what about me?!?

Stuck in Accra

"Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you, And I'm wondering what it is I should do..." -Stealers Wheel lyric

I left the Andoh household right after breakfast this morning. I rose early to shower before a line started and finish packing. I said all of my goodbyes and wondered how I could ever begin to repay the Andoh's for all their generosity and hospitality other than to be generous and hospitable and pass it on. I told Shirley I would give her my phone Sim card as someone else could use it and she said I had better keep it. I said I was out of credit on my phone though and she chastised me asking what I would do if I needed to call once they left me at the airport. Ever the optimist I said I wouldn't need to and we hugged and parted ways.

Had I had to eat my words they would have filled an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I was told that while I could still fly to Ouagadougou, my connecting flight through to Bamako was cancelled. What now? I asked to borrow the phone of an American woman, a public health official, who shared my same predicament to call Shirley and alert her before she got too far from the airport. We were told to wait for more info.

The more info turned out to be an invitation from Vijay Kumar to pay for another ticket to Bamako through Abidjian (Ivory Coast). I don't understand, I said, I have this ticket, can't I use it? Will you honor it? You didn't buy the ticket from me, Vijay says. I can't help you. So now I was thoroughly confused...But the airlines has my money and they have cancelled the flight I was supposed to take...so what provisions did they make for me?

Listen, Vijay says, I can get you on this other flight but I need to know if you can pay. How much is it? I ask weakly. He says it will cost $250 to Abidjian and as only business class is available from Abidjian, $408 to Bamako from there. I am quiet. The other woman offers a credit card and he frowns at it. What is this? My credit card, she says. Oh no..only cash, Vijay says. So if you give it to me I can get you the ticket. He holds his hand out and I'm thinking are you for real? I'm supposed to have $700 cash on me just like that? The woman says she will have to go to an ATM as it is Sunday and the banks are closed. He says she should return quickly. I tell him I have been volunteering all summer and I don't have cash for a new flight. He looks disinterested. What else can I do? I ask. He says you can give me the cash or I can get back to you later after I deal with the flight.

So I wait. In the meantime I decide to go look for a place to buy a phone card to add to my cellphone minutes. One of the airline workers graciously walks me to the place which is not that close to the airport. In walking there I stub the pinky toe of my left foot on the wheel of the cart carrying my baggage. A chill shoots through my spine. I think it might be broken. We walk and walk and the vendor seems to be very far. I am reassured by the fact that we are in open air, still on the grounds of the airport and my "guide" is wearing an official looking yellow glow in the dark vest. He sees me limping and asks what has happened. I tell him and he insists I sit and wait while he takes my money to go buy the card. I can see where the vendor is now and I give him the money and tell him what denomination to buy. If he takes off with it so be it.

He returns without the card but with my money. The only denomination they had was for much more money than I had still in my possession in Ghanaian Cedis. I thanked him for his trouble and he accompanied me back to the airport, with me limping all the while. Shortly after Shirley arrived (she told me she was going to finish running an errand and then be back). Together we tried to make some sense out of what Vijay was saying. Apparently while he assists Air Burkina with loading and checking in passengers he is not an employee of Air Burkina and so should not be expected to be helpful in that manner. He does however own his own travel agency where tickets are bought in cash and you can get where you want to go if your flight is cancelled. How shady is that? While the other American woman took him up on that offer as she had a Monday morning meeting in Bamako that she had to make, her expenses would surely be reimbursed by her company and mine would not.

If I had gotten the flight I would have been stuck in Ouagadougou until Friday when the next flight to Bamako came through and my flight to NYC from there would have been long gone. So I am back with the Andohs, what better place to be stuck, and they are working with their cousin who is a travel agent to find a way for me to use my return ticket to get home. There's some drama in Ghana for you...

Reflections

I've been thinking more about the momument to the slaves at Cape Coast and Elmina castles. It is easy enough to say that this was a sad and shameful part of our history, but I think more importantly, is the realization that there was a time that slavery was socially acceptable. So what makes a thing socially acceptable? And how can we be committed to judging our activities not by the ever-changing morals of society, but by an unchanging moral compass? If religion cannot be that compass, as evidenced by the churches in heavy use in both castles even whilst the slave trade was ongoing, what can serve in its place? Further what modern-day practices are deemed acceptable by society but will not stand the test of time?

As I talk about my time in Mali, I think everyone here is a little surprised to learn that I picked up as much Bambera as I did there but I have known Shirley for 13 years and I know very little Twi. I think it's a tad embarassing for both of us. But the circumstances are indeed different. At any rate, as I have someone who I can speak Twi with frequently if I learn, I have set about to know terms that I will be able to use. And I will make flashcards the same way I did with the Bambera words so as to commit them to memory quickly.

I absolutely LOVE the fact that ice cream is readily available here. The brand is Fan Ice and they sell it in little lovely plastic rectangles and you bite off a corner and squeeze the ice cream out to your heart's delight. It's funny to me that as hot as it was in Mali there was no ice cream (all the power outages no doubt). My stomach was not accustomed to dairy when I first got to Ghana but I didn't care and kept eating the ice cream anyway and soon it learned to adjust.

We were watching tv at Eugene's aunt's house one evening, Evelyn (his wife), Shirley and I were in the livingroom while the family went off to another room to conduct family business. A commercial came on depicting a bunch of kids running in the park on a hot day. Then an adult asked," What's the perfect treat? What's really nice on a hot day?" I said jokingly "Fan Ice" and the next screen showed the Fan Ice brand. Shirley and Evelyn turned to look at me and asked how I had known. I said I was just answering the question and wasn't Fan Ice really nice?

Ghana celebrated its 50th anniversary, the decolonization of the first black African nation in March 1957 with Kwame Nkrumah at its helm. Found a link to an interesting article about the anniversary and particularly ML King's reaction to the first celebration and Nkrumah's thoughts on parallels between African independence and the struggles faced by African-Americans at the time. There are still streamers and billboards around the city and I have even seen a woman wearing a dress whose cloth was printed with the anniversary insignia. I asked Shirley why all the cars I saw had Ghanaian flags. We're certainly used to seeing tons of Dominican, Italian, and Puerto Rican flags in NYC but not necessarily US flags. She said it was because of the anniversary celebration. That must have been some party. I'm sorry to have missed it.

The city of Accra is winding and expansive. Although I can recognize some landmarks I would get lost easily here if I were behind the wheel. So often we seem to turn back on our own path and cross it several times. I find it best to just enjoy the view rather than try to figure out where we are going or from whence we came. Often there are traffic jams that rival those of Los Angeles where no one moves. The best thing to do is get to where you can pull a u-turn and get out of there fast. Many of the traffic jams are due to roving scheduled power outages which also affect the traffic lights. Others...your guess is as good as mine.

We pass our time in the waning hours just before bedtime watching Nigerian movies. In the evenings we can still have as many as 13 people in the house and these movies play all day on Africa Magic Channel. Simple plots about love lost and found, lovers scorned, meddling parents or in-laws, treachery, double-crossing and even black magic. They are hilarious in their simplicity. African soaps...all night long!

We passed a cemetery and Shirley told me there are lots of Ghanian superstitions about cemeteries so it is hard to find people willing to work in them. We passed the gates (the walls were very high everywhere else) and I could see that the place was overgrown with full bushes and trees competing with headstones not just simple weeds. That's still in use?, I exclaimed. Shirley nodded and said Carol marveled in wonder that cemeteries in the States are kept so neat.

Comforts of Home

"Ay, there's the rub!" - Hamlet

So I was wondering what it is about my time in Ghana that is so different from my time in Mali. I mean, sure we go places, we have fun, we take pictures, I eat different foods and experience different things but surely something is missing. And then I realized it is the grit, the take life by the scruff of the neck drama that I experienced in Mali that is nonexistent here in Ghana. I landed and Shirley had a sim card for the Ghanaian cellphone network and a card with phone time on it all ready for me. Whenever I think of needing something, someone has already anticipated the need. I am having a wonderful time, and it certainly feels more comparable to a 4 star hotel with fam and friends than it does to my time in Mali.

Am I being spoiled?
- Sure.
Do I deserve it?
- Sure.
Does this make for an uninteresting blog?
- I don't know. You be the judge. But if my relaxation does dull down my blog then, ay, there's the rub!

I wanted some drama the other day so when Nana Yaw, Carmen and I were at the Internet Cafe I told them to take the taxi without me and that I would do a little exploring on my own. I made sure that I knew how to tell a taxi to get me to the general vicinity of the house and how much it should cost. They wanted to know if I was sure about my decision. Yeah I'm sure. After all everyone here speaks English, how difficult can it be?

Well after nosing around a bit and seeing nothing out of the ordinary I decided to walk back to the house as I can see more when I walk than drive. Whenever I was unsure about which turn to take I looked at the billboards and walked towards the ones that were familiar. Sometimes I walked on a trail alongside the road and other times on the edge of the road. Nana Yaw had said it was about 2.2 miles but it felt much shorter.

I arrived at the house and rang the bell outside the gate and someone, I think it was Eugene, opened it for me. Shirley's dad was in the yard and he said he heard I had gone off by myself, no doubt to find something to write about in my blog. Touche! Shirley's sister Carol expressed surprise that I walked all the way from Swan Lake and said Nana Yaw was mad at me for making him worry about me. Shirley and Nana Yaw reminded her that they used to walk that far to school everyday (uphill both ways as Nana Yaw says) and he said he wasn't mad. So I couldn't figure out if me walking was a bad thing, a good thing or just an unexpected thing. They asked if I took the shortcuts and I said no I couldn't afford to as I only recognized the way by the road.

We went to Cocoa Beach and though it has been rather cool weatherwise we enjoyed lunch overlooking the beach and a stroll. I saw Mummy Anodh talking to a woman and I politely said good afternoon, shook her hand and then kind of moved on. Mummy Andoh asked me if I remembered her niece Wendy's mother and I said yes and she said well this is her, my sister, Wendy's mother. (I last saw Wendy in May when I stayed with the Andoh's the night before staying in the hostel and she was staying there before leaving for grad school in London.) My jaw dropped. I don't know what it was about Auntie Naa that made me not recognize her, perhaps it was the fact that we are in Ghana and I assume I don't know people here. Craziness! I apologized profusely and gave her a big hug.

I found some beautiful pink seashells. The monetary term in Ghana is the Cedi which is pronounced the same way as the word for cowrie shell, an early form of money. They are reissuing the Cedi now to equal 10,000 of the old Cedis. So where you used to have 200,000 Cedis to make 20 dollars, now you will have about 20 Cedis. Good thing too, because changing 100 USD into Cedis would have required 1 million Cedis. Can you imagine what that looks like in your wallet when the biggest denomination used to be 5,000 Cedis? You might need a duffel bag to carry the money you'd need to make a large purchase.

We all enjoyed watching the kids play in the water and on the sand. Who can't enjoy watching kids? The house is bustling with their activity. From 9 year olds Barbara (Nana Gao) and Nana Yaw to 7 year old Jesse, to 6 year old Kelvin (poor Nana Gao amongst all these boys), and then 3 year old Nina who has come visiting from the States with her parents Nana Yaw and Carmen. Nana Yaw and Jesse, Carol's sons, keep to themselves for the most part.

Only recently have they said anything to me other than to answer a direct question, but of course they are always talking and playing amongst themselves. Nana Gao and Kelvin are Regina's kids and they are night and day. Nana Gao is painfully shy and quiet but if you catch her in a rare moment she is full of smiles and talk (like when she is beating the boys at the Xbox games). Her younger brother Kelvin is a ball of energy, literally finding reasons to walk through and around the house many times in a few minutes. He does an excellent impression of a bad guy, deepening his voice and all. It's actually pretty scary. Nina, a pretty typical American child, stands out here because she is talkative but mostly with adults, she tells them no, and she expects to be the center of attention.

We've noticed that Nana Gao and Kelvin do not clean up after themselves or go and get their own food from the kitchen. They simply say I am hungry and wait for someone else to serve them. Since Nana Yaw and Carmen are staying at their house, they are coaching them to begin doing these things for themselves, saying if they want to America that's the way things are done as most people do not have househelp.
Shirley and Nana Yaw said things are different from when they were children as they had househelp growing up but they still served themselves and cleaned up if they spilled something.

Young girls (under 17 or so) here wear their hair shaved very close. A lot of them look like boys unless you see a skirt and the omnipresent gold stud or hoop earrings. Interesting as the girls in Mali all had their full head of hair and it was usually braided in some sort of intricate and elaborate fashion. Shirley says most schools, with the exception of international schools, will not allow girls to grow their hair as they feel it makes young girls vain.

I really like corned beef stew, never knew that I would. It tastes like very spicy pasta sauce with corned beef and a ton of fresh vegetables in it. We ate it with boiled yams. Not the brown outside/orange inside ones from the States but the brown outside/white inside long, tubular ones that are boiled and sliced. I also like palava sauce, sauteed spinach with tomatoes, garlic and onions. I have definitely grown an appreciation for all that can be done with the tomato...

Tidbits from Accra

"A farewell is necessary before you can meet again." - Richard Bach 'Illusions'

I see ressemblances between the Andoh family and the Buendia family featured in Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude. The Buendia family reuses names over and over and descendants start to take on the personality traits of those they are named after. In the Andoh family, given names must be present somewhere in the family lineage, resulting in 3 Nana Yaws, 2 Barbaras (and one on the way if Carmen and Nana Yaw turn out to be expecting a girl), 2 Wendys and one Caroline (Carol) and Carolina (Nina).

The last night that I was in Mali, the moon glowed bright as if was a source of light in and of itself.

Mommy Andoh (Shirley's mom) wears Ghanaian outfits in NYC and western outfits here in Ghana.

As we lunched at the resturant in Cape Coast we looked down on the beach at a man who was swimming completely nude there and seemed oblivious that many others could see him.

Malians and Ghanaians historically traded with each other. The name Ghana is actually the name the medieval Ghana Empire of West Africa (which existed 500 miles north of present-day Ghana) and absorbed into the larger Mali Empire in 1240. Present-day Ghana was settled by people coming down from the Gao and Timbuktu regions of Mali. With the constant interaction and the exchange between the cultures, I wonder how much of our modern concept of nationality holds weight in this case. Or if those who were within the borders of Ghana were just called Ghanaians and vice versa without considering from whence they had come.

For the first time in more than two months I ate some chips, Doritos from a Costco box the Andohs brought with them. After a diet of fresh foods, they did not taste like food, rather like oil, metal and cardboard. Even the spices they were dusted with offered no flavor. I looked at the expiration date and it wasn't for months to come. I left the bag for whoever could stand to eat them.

There is no gas available anywhere in Accra. The Andohs have a gas canister hooked up to the stove and it is now empty. I had just commented to Shirley yesterday that when the apocalypse came I wanted to be in Africa, as people know how to survive without all of technology's amenities. Sure enough, the gas episode is not fazing anyone. They pulled out their small charcoal stove (that everyone in Mali uses) and a fan to give the charcoal proper air and they were back in business.

We visited the University of Ghana, tagging along with Nana Yaw who had an appointment there. The campus looked like a typical campus, was rather large and green, with quite a few traffic circles. The main library was built in the Japanese pagoda style. We spent a lot of time in the bookstore.

I bought more books from the African Writer's Series. Weep Not Child by Ngugi wa Thiong'o, now a Professor of Comparative Literature and Performance Studies at New York University. The book is simple tale about a family who must decide where their loyalties lie when revolution comes to Kenya, if they will join the fight for the land that was stolen from them by settlers or find their salvation in education and patience. Also I read The Girl Who Can by Ghanaian writer Ama Ata Aidoo who analyzes African womens' struggle to find their rightful place in society through a series of short stories. Aidoo was the first female minister (of education) in Ghana and she is now the Executive Director of Mbaasem, a foundation to support African women writers and their work.

Last night we visited the house of the mother of Eugene's friend in the States. SHe welcomed us and immediately started bringing out drinks and then plates for food. We looked at each other a bit astonished as we hadn't planned to eat there but the food was delicious. Banku with fish, and then a spicy soup with whole crab and fish in it. I said this looks like gumbo. My family is from Louisiana and we love gumbo which is a spicy soup cooked with many different types of meats including: chicken, sausage, crab, shrimp, and fish. I tasted it and declared it was gumbo....it just needed some more different meats and to be served over rice.

Cape Coast: Part II

"Man was born free, and he is everywhere in chains." - Jean-Jacques Roussea 'The Social Contract'

Ghana is the only African country with three slave castles. Therefore the majority of the African diaspora, blacks who did not travel of their own volition from Africa to the Americas including: Brazil (which has the largest number of blacks outside of Africa), the Caribbean islands (Barbados, Trinidad and Tobago, Jamaica, Haiti, etc.), and the US, have ancestors who came through Ghana at one point.

We visited two of Ghana's three slave castles. Cape Coast (1630) was the smaller of the two. It was originally built by the Swedes as a fort for missionary operations and trading and was taken over by the Dutch, the Portuguese and the English. The castle went from harboring traders of shells, ivory, spices and gold to traders of human beings.

As we walked along the tour we were led down a hallway. The guide shared with us that the slaves would have traveled through a tunnel rather than the way we were going but that the tunnel was blocked off shortly after the slave trade was abolished (though it still continued underground). The end of the hallway led to a massive door with heavy lacquered wood. At the top was a sign that said in block letters: "Door of No Return."

The guide swung it open and we moved from the dim hallway into the bright sunshine, with the salt spray of the ocean just in front of us sprinkling our faces. Some vendors had food items to sell and I thought they couldn't have been settled in a worse spot. We looked at them blankly. The guide had closed the door behind us but there was no ship waiting to take us away. Instead we just stood there, hearts pounding. And then he had us to look up and see that they had since posted a sign on the other side of the door reading: "Door of Return" and we gratefully clambered back inside.

Elmina Castle (1482) was a much bigger and grander affair built and maintained by the Portuguese. The contrast of its massive whitewashed limestone walls with the blue of the ocean reminded me of a photograph from a vacation hotspot. As the castle was not intended to hold slaves, the areas for captives had bars but were above ground and had lots of sunlight. Both castles though had special rooms to hold "terrorists" and "trouble makers" who incited riots, rebellions and uprisings amongst the slaves. These special rooms had no ventilation or light source and were stifling hot even though the door remained open (for us) and the weather outside was cool. Trouble makers would stay inside without food or water for up to 72 hours (with the door closed and locked) and many of them would die there.

A commemorative plaque inside both castles read:

In Everlasting Memory

Of the anguish of our ancestors
May those who died rest in peace
May those who return find their roots
May humanity never again perpetrate
such injustice against humanity
we, the living, vow to uphold this

Cape Coast Part I

"No one knows when the hour of Africa's redemption cometh. It is in the wind, it is coming. One day like a storm, it will be here. When that day comes, all Africa will stand together." - Marcus Garvey

At Shirley's place in NYC, Ghanaian culture is but one of the many cultures present, but here in Ghana, the Andoh household has its context. Being here answers so many unasked questions, some that I didn't even perceive that I had.

Friday morning a bunch of us got ready to take a trip to Cape Coast, two hours away, where Shirley and all of her sisters attended Holy Child, a Catholic boarding school, and Nana Yaw attended St. Augustine's. The driver came to the house with a Land Crusier and 8 of us piled in....Stephen, Shirley and Evelyn in the third row, myself, Carmen, Nana Yaw, and 3 year old Nina in the second and Eugene in the front seat with Atta.

The road wound through several villages and was punctuated with periodic rows of speed bumps which made it difficult to sleep.

Holy Child was on top of a green hill overlooking more hills and the ocean. Shirley showed us her dorms and her classrooms and we took a picture of Nina next to a statue that said when you educate a woman you educate a nation.

Then we drove to Cape Coast castle, a huge white affair, with ancient cannons ad rusted cannon balls facing the waterfront. We stopped to eat at a waterfront restaurant before going inside. I ordered banku and fish. Banku is a starch, fermented cornmeal, with a thick consistency. It is served in a ball with fried fish and pepper that looks like fresh salsa. I appreciate the variety of starches here, other than just rice; kenke a sliced fermented cornmeal in a circular patty, boiled yams, banku, fufu, a pounded flour that makes a slightly sticky cookie dough consistency meal to be eaten with soup, and also rice.

At the castle we visited the museums and then did the tour. It was very sobering to see the signs 'male slave dungeon' and 'female slave dungeon.' When we descended into the dark down the stone ramp, the smell was dank and the dark oppressive. You could hear people shouting in surprise and fumbling for pocket flashlights so as to avoid panic. The little light that came in was from three small windows at the top of the room. At the bottom the dungeon opened up to a room 20x15 with 3 inch shallow drainage ditches for liquid waste running throughout it. At the corners were deeper ditches for solid waste. We were told that between 50 to 150 men would be held in the dungeon at a time. We looked around at our small tour group of 20 that crowded the space and gasped. Captives were kept there chained together from 2 weeks to 3 months without being allowed to bathe. Imagine the stench!

Just on top of the male slave dungeon was a church for the slave traders... Our guide said that we would note these hypocrisy in the fact that Christianity and the brutality of slavery went hand in hand, but we would leave the judgement up to God.

Hello Ghana!

"There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the passion of life." - Federico Fellini

I have never been happier to see familiar faces as I was when I left the Accra airport and saw a sea of people waiting for loved ones. I scanned the crowd and kept walking and then there was Eugene, family friend of the Andoh's (my adopted family)waving. I smiled as I could not wave and we made our way to each other and there was Shirley, my college roommate/sister from another mother, who had been hidden behind the crowds. We talked, stuffed my bags into the SUV, and then drove along. They asked me my impressions of Ghana and I said it was too dark to tell.

I entered the house and ran to hug Mommy and Daddy Andoh and then Shirley's sister Carol whom I had never met but recognized from pictures, and all the various nieces and nephews whom I recognized as well. The Andohs are in Accra for the commemoration of the one-year anniversary of Shirley's older sister Barbara's death. The ceremony took place the week before I got here but the house is still packed like a family reunion with siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles at every turn and children underfoot. I was duly warned that the children would not understand my American English if I did not pronounce my consonants, especially my t's. The house is a self-contained fortress behind a wall and gate. It has a generator for blackouts and its own water tank and a garage full of other luxuries that the Andoh's shipped from NYC, many to give away and some to make life easier at home. After chatting for a while, I ate, got ready for bed, and pillow-talked with Shirley before dropping off into the sleep of babies.

In the morning Shirley's sister Regina was there, the one I met randomly on a NYC subway train when she recognized me from Shirley's pictures, and Shirley's brother Nana Yaw, his wife Carmen, and their daughter Nina, whom I know well. Carol's kitchen works in quick order with Carol and her house help Esther serving up toast and eggs and tea for breakfast at top speed.

Luckily there are quite a few sitting rooms, one having been recently transformed from a terrace to hold Barbara's furniture, and people seem to choose the one where others their age are; the one with the dining area and a tv that is hooked up to the Xbox just brought from the States belongs to the kids during the day; the one with the office and another television belongs to the young adults, and the third that is just off the front door and has a third refrigerator full of drinks and ice cream belongs to the Andohs who receive a ton of company, as can be expected. At night the space transforms, bedrooms are assigned to couples, and singles bring out airbeds and mattresses and choose couches.

I was eating when Shirley's uncle, her father's brother, came over to the house. He was wearing a black and white kente (for ceremonies or mourning) in the traditional way over one shoulder, the other bare. After he sat for a moment he announced in Twi that he was not here for evil, that when someone in the family dies, the family must get together and decide what is to be done with the things. Nana Yaw sat between me and Carmen, the only non-Twi speakers, to translate for us. Shirley's mother and father left the room to confer and came back to announce that Shirley would be given the responsibility to look after her older sister's things. The uncle asked Shirley if she would accept the responsibility and she tearfully agreed. We all started reaching for tissues.

Then Eugene began pouring alcohol for the libation, and Shirley's uncle said a blessing and poured the contents of the cup onto the floor. Eugene poured more into the cup and this time the uncle drank it, and then Eugene repoured and it was handed to Shirley's father and then her mother, and then Shirley and so on around the room. Once alcohol was poured into the cup we either drank from the cup or poured it on the floor. Carmen and Evelyn, both expecting children, poured their libations onto the floor, and so did I as it was early morning and I had not yet eaten.

The morning light revealed a much more westernized, much more developed capital city than Bamako. Yes Accra still has buses like Sotrames, open sewers and crazy driving where horns rather than brakes are used and walking vendors but it also has tons of greenery, a great deal of people who are not living hand to mouth, a majority of people wearing western-style clothes, more sidewalks, a variety of car makes and models. Also the Sotrames have cushioned seats with backs and not hard wooden benches; the cyber cafes have the newest flat screen monitors and dozens of computers not five; the power outages are planned and publicized...I could go on and on...

Goodbye Mali

"Goodbye is the saddest word I'll ever hear..." -Celine Dion

After cleaning we walked to the river again. Our normal spot was full of boys fishing with pieced together sticks, homemade floating buoys, string and bait. The clouds were thick, full and only slightly tinged with color like a meringue and the sun was warm but not too warm. We could hear birds calling and frogs in the undergrowth of the reeds. Behind us a man in a blue garment and straw hat ressembling an upside down bowl with a brim around it weeded his hillside garden.

For the first time I started to get sad and nostalgic about leaving. I learned so much during my time. I met many wonderful people and some not so wonderful. And somehow I had connected with the land and with the people and though I was ready to move on, it would not prove effortless to do so. We searched for the last two kittens, having found a home for them too. When neighbors found out what we were doing they told us where the kittens were, dirtied from the mud of recent rains.

They mewed all the way to Constance's place. The one we left there, had been 'borrowed' by a customer who had mice and we demanded that he return it in exchange for the other two.

...The second to last day Rodney and I went out to dinner to eat. We found ourselves in the upscale part of Bamako, frquented by tourists, foreign nationals, and English-speakng Malians. I joked to Rodney that I wouldn't know how to act in a restaurant anymore. We liked the menu at the first one we saw, Le Relais, and sat down to eat at a table covered with a pristine, white tablecloth next to a window paned in glass and put white cloth napkins on our laps. Ah the luxury! We giggled to ourselves the whole time. We were given bread and butter and tall chilled glasses by jacketed waiters and then our sumptuous meals came. I had Pasta Arriabiata and Rodney had mashed potatoes, rice pilaf, and sauteed vegetables. Of course we spent what we normally spend in 7-10 days all in one evening, but it was a nice way to spend the second to last evening. We certainly had a one-sided view of what life in Mali was like, living as we did, but the truth is that most Malians would nt be able to afford the restaurant meal so we experienced the country as residents and not visitors...

After dropping the cats off at Constance's we returned home and started cooking. Another big pot of stew and big pot of rice and fried plantains and sodas. I cooked an extra pot of rice just to be safe. As we were cooking Andrew came to the kitchen door and said he was leaving. We had invited him to join the party knowing that he wouldn't leave for the airport until around midnight, but it was only 7 and he said he had already taken his bags downstairs and was now saying goodbye. Ok goodbye we said. Bon voyage! Safe travels to you too he said. And then he was gone. We were quiet for a few moments and then Rodney turned to me and asked who does that? Who just leaves for good without a moment's notice? That's rude! I said Rodney are you really that surprised? He's been rude the whole time. C'mon we have a party to get ready for...

The time for the party came and went and no one arrived. Ah yes...the concept of time. Half an hour later Maxime and Constance came in. Constance was wearing a dress and heels and looked a little nervous. Maxime had slacks and a traditional print shirt. We waited and no others came so we served food at the table American style. I got up to get more soda and spied Tacao in the hallway, also dressed very nicely looking nervous.

I had to convince her to go in the livingroom. She said she was ashamed and embarrassed. Of what I asked? She couldn't or didn't explain. So I told her that we were friends and just like I had to trust her plenty of times, she had to trust me. She accepted and I ushered her in and introduced her and served her plate. Just as the first crowd finished, Amadou and Mamadou came in and we served them too. The timing worked out because we only had 4 plates. We sat around and talked a bit but people who were usually talkative with us proved shy in front of others so it was a little awkward.

I thanked them all for coming, and for their hospitality and kindnesses towards us. I explained that there was no way to explain what that had meant to us but that the dinner was a token of our appreciation. They all smiled and said thank you. And then they begain to leave. Maxime and Constance took us over their house where they surprised us with a store bought cake inscribed with 'Au Revoir' and cider. We ate and toasted each other and slapped at mosquitoes into the night.

The next morning I awoke early with a stomachache (probably from the cake) and I stayed in bed until the last possible minute. Rodney kept coming in and worrying me about when I was going to finish packing. Tacao came over and did a extravagant intricate henna design on my feet to bless my travels. I told her I couldn't do my hands too as I still needed to pack and the henna has to dry. SHe came back in my room with me and helped me finish packing. Rodney and I stocked her with extra toiletries and things that it did not make sense for us to try to carry home.

I took one last walk down the street. I said goodbye to Moses at the Togolese restaurant, goodbye to Amadou, Mamadou, the baker and the young teen at the phone card stand, goodbye to Safi and her daughter Awa, goodbye Ouima and her nieces and nephews, goodbye to the all the guys around the cyber cafe and the mechanic shop and then down to Constance's store. I didn't say goodbye to her, rather see you later. She told me to go by the house to say bye to the kids. I did. They all followed me back to the store, Papi (Michel), Sophie, Jean, and Bintou, the 13 year old house help. And then Maxime arrived. He drove me back down to the apartment to load my things where I said goodbye and talk to you later and so glad you were here I couldn't have done it without you to Rodney who handed me a tupperware full of food for the trip.

Everyone waved as we rode past and I waved all the way down the street. Sophie burst into tears which broke my heart. Even as we were 10 minutes away I hear 'fanta' and looked out the window. Ouima's sister Safaraou was on the back of a moped heading somewhere and she happened to see me. At the airport, Maxime gave me a book of Malian artists with a lovely inscription from his whole family and kissed both my cheeks. After running back after him to get the money he had exchanged for me, I was on my way to Ghana!

Solidarity

"I hope you had the time of your life..." song lyric

My last days in Mali seemed to have passed ibn a blur, now looking back, although at the time the minutes felt like hours. That always happens to me when I am looking forward to something.

There was no agenda, just spending time with all of my favorite people and doing the things that I liked to do. Unfortunately our trip to Dogon country was cancelled last minute in a manner that did not allow us to resume plans on our own. That was disappointing but such is life.

Rodney and I were both through with Andrew in our last days. We decided to hang up our benefactor coats and let him rough it and get his own food and water the last few days. He literally spent whole days in his room with the door closed to the point where Rodney texted him to see if he was still in there and even resorted to shutting off the fuse for the room to see if that could make him come out.

In his defense, maybe he was licking his wounds after I shared with him my very truthful but not so positive perception of his behavior during our time in Mali. I said that perhaps it was too late to change what had occurred here but that he could take this as a lesson for moving forward in life because my guess was that he didn't have many friends if he treated everyone the same way he treated us. Really though I don't think it phased him. He is still at a point where everything is about what he wants and not what is fair and he worries not about the consequences of his behavior. We did try though.

Rodney and I decided to have a get together at our place for all the people who had been so nice to us. We realized quickly that a lot of them did not know each other and so tomake the get together less awkward and also to be realistic, as we couldn't feed hordes of people, we settled on inviting 5 people over, Constance, MAxime, Amadou, Mamadou, and Tacao. We could have invited Xavier (Moses), Safi, Ouima, and Safararou etc. but these were people who were likely not to come alone and ultimately we had to draw the line somewhere.

I washed the muddy terrace. Tacao had come over a few days before and frowned at it asking why I didn't clean it. Well I did but everytime it rains and wind blows, more thick mud. I'd rather hose it down but no garden hose... And why am I the one that has to clean it? Realizing that our guests would frown upon me once seeing the terrace I got out a mop bucket and began to mop and scrub at the stubborn mud spots. Within a second I was perspiring. Tacao came over and indicated that she would halp. I thanked her but refused. So she came over and took the large rag away from me. What I had been trying to do was use the large squeegee on a stick to swish the large rag around, similar to mopping back home. Different ball game folks!

She dipped the rag in the water, wrang it out with her hands (I had been trying to avoid that close contact with the water) bent at the waist and began moving the cloth around the floor with her hands. MUCH more effective! So I imitated her. Then she swished more water out of the bucket onto the stubborn mud spots and squeeged them too. In this manner we cleaned the entirety of the terrace, the steps and the garage. Rodney kept trying to get her to leave with him but she said no that we were cleaning. Grateful again! The terrace was sparkling when we finished and ready for our grand party...

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

"You can't walk alone. Many have given the illusion, but none have really walked alone. Man is not made that way. Each man is bedded in his people, their history, their culture, and their values." - Peter Abrahams

The interplay between men and women is always everpresent in discussions and in interactions here. And of course, marriage is the pinnacle of that interplay. Rodney and I have talked about the idea of cross-cultural relationships. Our time here as made is so very evident that such concepts are extremely difficult to navigate in reality. Both parties come to the relationship with different expectations and different ideas for how the marriage should work (as if there weren't enough problems with that within cultures.) And when those expectations are not met, the partners are either faced with disappointment, a sense of failure to meet certain standards (their own failure or that of their partners), anger, frustration, or even the ridicule of their peers.

Rodney said he was dating a woman in South Africa who mentioned that if they were to get married his uncles would have to fly there and negotiate with her uncles how many cattle they would give the family for her hand in marriage. Rodney, aside from not being ready to talk marriage with her, thought the idea was preposterous. Why should he pay the wife's family for his wife? Would that mean he had bought her, literally? While the idea was distasteful to him, the idea of not receiving a dowry was distasteful to the woman, whose family paid to educate her well, to standards higher than most around her, and who had come to expect that they would one day be receiving cattle for her hand in marriage. What other cultural landmines would lay beneath the surface of the road they might travel together or their joint life journey?

And Maxime's friend came into the store the other day and tried to convince Constance that she should be at home. She had told me before that Maxime didn't want her to work. The friend said at the very least she should close her boutique at 4pm when normal business hours ended and go home and tend to the family. I asked him if the family was not tended to and he said that wasn't the point. That a wife's place was at home. Constance ignored him and I'm sure it's nothing she hadn't heard before. But also being Malian and being raised in Mali she was well aware of the resistance she would be facing. And then I think of all the people who have tried to convince me to marry while here and I think that they would have absolutely no idea what they were in for, if I was foolish enough to take someone up on that idea, and I guess that goes two ways.

I have still been trying to wrap my mind around 15 year old, 8th grade Ouima getting married. She told me about the 15 outfits a tailor is currently creating for her. But when I gave Ouima and her sister Safaraou my contact information, Safaraou said that while she would email me, Ouima had neither email nor a cell phone. I guess she wouldn't at this point but I hope that gets rectified soon after she gets married. But what leverage is she coming into the relationship with...no job, no money, no phone, little education, no accomplishments on her own. And I know it is my Westernized background that leads me to think this way, but God help her if her husband is not generous with her.

Tacao was telling us that her father died when she was young leaving her mother and brother and herself without a man in the house. Her mother, a science professor who used to travel regularly to Canada and France, got remarried to a man who already had one wife and went on to marry two more, for a total of four wives. While he forbade Tacao's mother to work, neither did he give her money. The family lived on handouts from relatives and that is why 20 year old Tacao has refused to marry to date. She says it is most important that she gets an education and a good job so she can support her mother and younger brother. So while she studies she works braiding hair and doing nails and henna designs at her cousin Amadou's phone card stand.

Yet Mamadou, Amadou's friend, says that men are the ones that suffer from the Malian idea of marriage. Everything that is purchased for the house and the wife and the children, the man must buy, he says. Now I ask you, who is really a captive of this situation? Mohammed who is from Algeria says the same thing. That Malian women don't want to work but want to stay at home and spend a lot of money (Mohammed is divorced from a Malian women). Which comes first, the chicken or the egg, the women wanting to stay at home or the men insisting? The men giving money or the women wanting it? And if people want to move outside these constrictions is there room for that.

And with the women staying at home all day, many men in Mali don't cook. I mean at all. And they say this proudly. Rodney replies that he thinks everyone who eats should know how to cook, even if they don't cook, so they can be self-sufficient and not vulnerable to another. But then to me, Rodney says that women in Mali can't afford to be too busy to cook for their man because their competition will. I said that is true, but most of the women here do that and still their husbands are committing adultery right and left anyway so what gives.

When Mamadou said that men are the true captives, having to pay for everything for their families, I agreed. He was surprised. I said yes whenever you keep someone in prison, you yourself have to be in prison to keep them there. That if societal constraints were lessened reduced, partners could feel free to work together to set up their households in a manner that best worked for them. That rather than a woman waiting for her husband to give her money she could find work if she so desired. But as long as the great majority of men have the only household money (and thus power) and their wives are restricted to the house, the concepts of equality, partnerships, and a robust workforce will not change and the development of the country will continue to face roadblocks.

Note: Yesterday Rodney, Tacao and I went to the river and found a litter of three abandoned kittens. We called Constance if she wanted one for Sophie and brought it back. (A lot of people here are unnaturally scared of cats. They think they are withces.) The kitten began adjusting to its new home, walking amongst the cabinets and feet and chair legs in the store and drinking milk Constance had set out for it. I felt bad for the others we left but one of Constance's friends is interested in having one as well so we will go back. No one wants the female kitten though as she could get pregnant and have a litter. Life is hard for females of all species...

Back to the Beginning

"You cannot teach a crab to walk straight." - Aristophanes

The landlord came over to fix the lights in our bedrooms and the kitchen. Four days before leaving, he finally comes to fix the lights we complained about when we arrived 7 ½ weeks ago!! What do you make of that?

We had our goodbye/thank you get together on Friday at Mieko’s house. Andrew organized his own ride there shortly before I arrived home as he said he didn’t know what the house plans were. I questioned why he had arranged something with someone else rather than arranging with his own roommates. That we have always gone to events together from the house. He said he assumed we had taken care of our own arrangements. I said no that once again we had considered him without him considering us and I asked why he would assume something without confirming with us. At any rate, Rodney had to go straight there as he left work late. And Andrew left me at the house to ride on a moto with his work colleague to the party that I helped organize. Gotta love it! So after taking my time so as to allow myself to release my frustration with him (yet again) I hopped into a taxi that ended up having engine problems. I was able to find another taxi but the ordeal wasted precious time and I arrived 45 min late.

Turns out the get-together wasn’t much of a party. Rodney says that when he arrived, Coumba and Sogonna were there as were Andrew and Kadiatou (Andrew’s colleague from work) and Andrew was reading a magazine while the three ladies looked at each other. Awkward! Rodney tried to facilitate a conversation but his French language skills aren’t on the same level as Andrew’s. Mieko served dinner and Coumba and Sogonna left after half an hour and I arrived shortly afterwards. Rodney made me a plate and Mieko asked where I was coming from since I had chosen this occasion to wear a Malian outfit. I said I was coming from home. Kadiatou frowned and whispered to Andrew shaking her finger. I guess she realized that he had her pick him up while leaving someone else at the house who was going to the same event. Rodney and I both noticed that he opted to leave with us though and not with her. I thought about telling him to go ahead and ride with her because he certainly wasn’t invited to share my taxi but I bit my tongue.

Mieko gave us all the leftovers and while Rodney and I packed them up, Andrew waited in the livingroom. She called him to come and help but he didn’t. And when we had trouble carrying everything he carried only the salad and the cookies, the two lightest things. I decided then and there that I would no longer concern myself with being thoughtful where he was concerned. The program is officially over, though we don’t leave until Tuesday. I did my job as Group Leader, and I actually extended myself a lot more than others thought was necessary given the circumstances. And I’m done with that. He’s in for a rude awakening for the next few days because I will no longer be sharing my food, cooking skills, labor, water or energy with a cad. ANd thank goodness I no longer have to!

Limitations

"Once we accept our limits, we go beyond them." - Albert Einstein

I left early for work and, in doing so, got a ride with Rodney and his coworker. They dropped me off at the Tour D'Afrique, a traffic circle with a monument to Africa in the middle of it and flags from all 54 African countries surrounding it. Rodney had assured me it was a 10 minute walk from that monument to my job.

Forty minutes later I arrived at work. Why did I keep walking and not hop on a Sotrame? Well for one I was convinced that I would get there any second, and after that it was to prove a point that I believe would be lost if I didn't time the walk the whole way. For the record it took me 43 minutes. Rodney apologized and said he guessed he was getting jaded with distances like the Malians. (When a Malian tells you something is 5 minutes away, run to the nearest Sotrame or taxi.)

I arrived just in time to take pictures of Coumba leading a module of a training session. I was heartened to see more women in this one, including Sogonna's little sister. After the module Coumba and I left to attend Sogonna's defense of her thesis on youth views on family planning in Commune VI in Bamako. We piled into a classroom at Ecole Superieur ANSUP (a university) in the Quartier du Fleuve (River District). Sogonna sat before a panel of two jurists, which became three an hour into the session.

I was surprised how hard and uncomfortable the benches in the classroom where, that windows were broken out and had not been repared so that people could jump in and out of the windows if they so desired, except that we were on the second floor, and so that holding class in the rain might be a near impossibility. But also some of the windows onto the interior hallway were also broken, allowing all of the hallway and courtyard noise from several levels to come into the classroom and drown out most of what was being said. Definitely not an environment conducive to learning.

Well Sogonna appeared nervous at times, presenting her thesis. And several times people came in and greeted the jurists while she was talking and then walked out. Are you kidding me? And then the jurists had their turn to present every problem they encountered. That went on and on and on and I started wondering if they would accept the thesis even though most of their issues were trite things like a missing s, or the annex and bibliography being combined. They asked everyone to leave and conferred and when we were invited back they congratulated Sogonna on the acceptance of her thesis. We had soda and pastries and took pictures.

On the way back home, Ouima called out to me. I went and sat with her and her nieces and nephews for a while in the shade of the tree in front of their house. And then Ouima suggested we show each other dances. She was particularly interested in the bellydancing Shakira does in her videos and I was interested in traditional Malian dances. I suggested we move into the courtyard (away from the eyes of the street) and we amused ourselves dancing until we were exhausted. Ouima announced it was time to eat. We washed up and sat on chairs in the courtyard ringing a large bowl on a stand. She gave me a fork which I appreciated and uncovered lunch... okra stew with beef!

God no! I'll eat anything but slimy okra stew where the sticky, viscuous sauce stretches from the plate to the spoon and slips in goops down my throat, eliciting my gag reflex. Come on Julayne you can do it! They are going to think you are rude if you don't eat. I reached forward and got a bunch of rice on my fork. The next bite was not so lucky, there was stew also in the bite. I forced myself to focus. Chew....now swallow...swallow!...try to swallow again!! Eat, eat! Ouima urged, as is polite to do. I smiled and nodded and got another forkful with some sauce on it. She pointed out a piece of meat and said I should eat it. I did, again chewing and swallowing with extreme concentration. You haven't eaten much, Ouima complained, pointing out the large dents in the bowl in front of everyone else, including the toddlers. You're right, I said. I just ate and I'm not very hungry (not exactly a lie if you count the pastry at Sogonna's graduation). I thanked her for the meal and moved away from the bowl to allow them to finish. Phew! Another disaster averted.

Bare Necessities

"Someone deprived of the basic necessities of food and clothing has no reason to love his country; he cares little whether his state prospers or perishes. Thus, the state stands to lose if national wealth is concentrated in the hands of a few, and to gain if it is distributed equitably. Where there is gross disparitybetween the life standards of the rich and poor, it means the state has reached the brink of disaster." - Gabra-Heywat

"Sanaoulolo" by Malian singer Ami Koita on YouTube
Don't you just love technology?

This morning as I was on the Sotrame I started thinking about how little I had described the experience. You know that they can get very crowded and that they are tinderboxes in the heat. But did you know that they have both a driver and a "collector" who sits in the back and collects the money. He also hangs his head out the window calls out the names of the neighborhoods where they are headed, although somewhat intelligibly, and identifies people a mile away who want to get on. When this happens, he bangs on the side of the vehicle to get the driver to stop, jumps out the side door while the vehicle is moving (the side door is only closed when it gets crowded or when it is raining) and accompanies the prospective fare back to the Sotrame. If they are carrying a heavy bucket he takes it for them so they canboard quickly. Often the Sotrame will start moving again once the passenger is seated but before he is back in his spot and he will run after it and jump back on. Sometimes when it is crowded there is no place for him to sit so he hangs on to the side of the Sotrame with his lower half inside. When the Sotrame closely passes other vehicles he will duck his body inside. Craziness! And that's before you get to a major hub where a lot of the Sotrame's stop. The collectors all chase prospective fares and try to get them to get on their Sotrames and not any others (often times two Sotrames will be going the same place and they are very much competing with each other to fill up their vehicles and get the most fares.) Quite a way to start the morning amidst all that hustle and bustle.

A few nights ago Sophie was up all night throwing up. Constance took her to the hospital in the morning where she was given two shots to help her system fight malaria. She was better later that afternoon and she asked Constance to send a package of cookies home from the store. And that's in Bamako where there is a hospital, and people are likely to be able to get to it with relative ease. I shudder to think what happens in rural outreaches in the same case.

I asked Constance what she thought about excision - female circumcision. She said that she didn't believe in it. That it may be tradition but enlightenment has shown that it is dangerous and therefore we should act as if we are living in 2000s and not the 1800s. She said she would not excise her daughter. I asked if she was worried about someone else doing it and she said that doesn't happen in Bamako. The subject of excision is really hush hush here. Everyone knows that it is practiced but no one really talks about it. There are posters in the clinic proclaiming that parents should refuse to excise their daughters, but I don't know if everyone there agrees with that stance or if they just think that is the politics of the place they work. And even if parents refuse it, in many parts of Mali, another relative can legally take the child to be excised even if the parents are against it. So what protection is that? Rodney says he met a man whose two year old daughter had a life-threatening infection from being excised. And Constance said one of her cousins died at the age of 12 shortly after being excised. Furthermore, those that don't die can have other complications including the hemorraghing to death, transmission of HIV, painful intercourse, an increase in future risk of infections and severe complications during pregnancy.

I sat with Constance in her boutique for hours and then a friend of hers came in with a bag. I lit up because I could see that there were Koras inside. Are we going to play, I asked. Her friend nodded and said yes and handed the bag to Constance. She pulled a Kora out and handed it to me. I was getting ready to tell her that I didn't know how to play it, when I read the writing on the skin on the front of the instrument: Julayne (Fanta Cisse). The other said Rodney (Moussa Samake). My mouth was open for what seemed like ages. Of course, thank you, you shouldn't have, oh my god came out of it finally. Constance just smiled like she'd hit the jackpot. She said she'd told her friend to go get the koras the day before. And for all I know she could have said it in Bambara right in front of me and I'd have been none the wiser. Rodney was equally pleased with his when he dropped by the boutique later.

Rodney and I have been going through all of our pictures. We will be putting them online where you can access them with just a link. He has pictures of camels and outdoor classrooms and the sparse rural north. That was something to see. Can't wait to share it with you. We started packing yesterday so we would know ahead of time if we were going to have problems with our baggage. It seems like everything will fit though. My bags lost a lot of weight in toiletries so that's good.

The other day a man borrowed credit from Constance on the premise that he would pay her back when his money transfer came in later that day. But his transfer didn't come in as expected and when he wanted more goods she refused. He said he was upset with her. And she said he had been upset when he came in, that he must not have gotten the money he was expecting, but that it had nothing to do with her. Then he said he wasn't going to patronize her store again. She walked past him carrying a lot of sodas to restock the fridge. That's fine with me, she called over her shoulder, but I wonder what storekeeper you think will extend you the credit I extended you. He thought about this while fuming. Constance's friend told him not to say things he didn't mean out of anger and encouraged him to sit down and relax a while. He did and five minutes later we were all debating something completely different. Turns out we started debating in English because the man did not speak French well, neither does Rodney, and Constance's friend teaches English so he was fine. So Constance finished stocking the fridge and then she asked us if it was right that we were sitting in her store debating in a language she couldn't understand? She wanted to know if we thought that was normal? We apologized and began switching back and forth with people speaking what language they could and having others translate.

I saw a man last night sitting out on a bench on a main street, one with overhead lights, and reading with a stack of books next to him. I thought he was waiting for a Sotrame, but it turns out he was just taking advantage of public electricity to do some night reading.

Heard on the Street: The director of an NGO that will remain unnamed was recently in an accident that totaled the car, an expensive luxury model. Rumor has it that the accident was karma for having misappropriated funding from the NGO to buy the luxury car and build a stately mansion from the ground up from which only the director and family were to benefit.

Landlocked

"I think I can. I think I can..." - The Little Engine That Could








Seven weeks down, one to go, and of course, the last week is already proving the most difficult. It's obviously a period of transition. Projects are ramping down and connections are ramping up. But my mind is already in Ghana, where I will be next week, and this process is a bit frustrating for me.

I am actually starting to feel the effects of being landlocked if that's possible. At every stage in my life I have always lived near a major tidal body of water. Part of that was intentional having grown up in California with the ocean playing a significant role in my life and well-being. And here in Mali, I am beginning to feel claustrophobic. Seriously. Perhaps I am used to movement of water as well as of things in my life and the pace is considerably slowed down here.

My next door neighbors come out of their apartment early in the morning and set up chairs, a stereo, and paraphernalia for tea. There they remain all day, watching the comings and goings of the street, perhaps crossing the street if they run out of tea, or to get in the shade of a stand there. When I leave for work they are there, as when I return. When I leave again for the evening they are there, as when I return. No matter the time of night it seems they are there holding court in front of the building. How can they just sit there day in day out just drinking tea and greeting people who pass by? These are young people! Some of the country's human capital is wasting away in my driveway...call the authorities!

Yesterday I wore a Malian outfit and noted the different reactions to me. Normally when I get on the Sotrame I say 'Aw Ni Sogoma' (Good Morning) and those on the bus respond with 'Nse' if they are female or 'Nbah' if they are male. Yesterday absolutely no one responded...a first. And instead I got curious looks. The same thing transpired when I transferred to my second Sotrame. In addition when I said the same thing I say everyday to get off the Sotrame there seemed to be confusion. I was asked to repeat myself again and again. Finally they stopped the Sotrame said something in Bambera about my pronounciation and laughed. That's never happened before but then again it was clear before through my dress that I was definitely not Malian.

On the way home I walked through the gas station across from Constance's boutique and she said she herself did not recognize me until long after she had been looking at me. Maybe there is something to the idea that the more you resemble something else, the more the parts of you that do not resemble it stand out. Maybe my pronounciation was not nearly so noticeable or unforgiveable as when I look more Malian. Like approaching infinity, the closer you get, the more distance you find you still have to cover. And how hypocritical am I being too when I want to fit in, but I also don't want to in some cases and I have no problem letting people know that I am not from here and I find their behavior toward me unacceptable. (Recently used when a guy grabbed my arm in an effort to keep the conversation going as I was walking away.) At any rate, Constance insisted I looked like a real Malian, and that I take a picture for my mother and my friends who read my blog so here goes.



Rodney says Constance had the right idea in mind when she opened her store. It makes her self-sufficient in a way that many other women are not. And it provides a way for her to be out of the house meeting people and living life. When I told Constance about Ouima she too expressed concern that 15 was too young to be married. That is the general sentiment in the city, though in Gao where Ouima is from that is a normal practice, and sometimes the girls are as young as 12. Recently a national law was passed to ensure that girls are not married before the age of 14 but how can it be implemented in these remote outreaches where officials do not necssarily agree... I asked Constance what a 15 year old would do once married. She said cook and have babies. Yeah ok, then what? I feel like I have stepped back in time.

The joke was on Constance with that tirade she launched on the guy who had asked for me. Turns out he is Zimbabwean and not Nigerian. Well then why do you hang out with Nigerians, she asked. He said they are his friends and Constance said he should watch the company he keeps or perhaps he is in Mali to sell drugs too. (Yikes! No inter-country issues here!) He insisted he is in Mali on legitimate business and that he eventually wanted to return to Zimbabwe and become president. Constance looked at him, laughed and said Are you sane? Aw, Constance don't be a dream killer.

Last night Maxime came by the store just before closing. He said he was going home. Constance asked him if he would take Jean, who was already sleeping, with him. He said when have you ever seen me carry babies around? Mohammed (who is from Algeria and is pictured above on the right) said Maxime that's your son! Maxime turned to me and said Tell her I am a man and babies do not concern men. Would you expect your husband to carry babies? I said actually yes I would. Where I'm from both fathers and mothers concern themselves with their babies. It's not too much to ask for you to carry your own son home in the car so Constance doesn't have to carry him on her back later is it? He said men here do not carry babies. And that was that. Constance had said nothing else. But I noticed she packed up a lot later than usual. I asked if Maxime wouldn't be waiting and worried and she said no, but sure enough her cell phone rang and he wondered what was keeping her. I have an idea he left her with Jean to ensure that the range of things she could do would be limited. And I have an idea that she came home later than usual just to let him wonder. Just my own thoughts...

Sunday Rodney scored a kilo of green beans at the market and I made a huge vegetable stew with lots of green vegetables. I haven't seen this much green in ages. It looks, feels, and tastes like heaven! Andrew only came out of his room on Sunday to eat the breakfast that Rodney cooked and the lunch/dinner that I cooked.

Fa came over briefly yesterday while she was borrowing her brother's moto. I saw her zip past the boutique and I started on my way home because I knew that's where she was headed. When I got there she was outside. She said she couldn't stay long, that she just wanted to say hi. She came up briefly where we ran into Andrew. After I introduced them he said hello and then walked off. Later she said that she didn't like him, that he wasn't nice. When I asked her why (because I wanted to hear it from her mouth) she said that she said when you meet someone you should show some interest in them. That his behavior had been rude. Indeed!

Amadou, who sells the orange cards, was telling me that Rodney and I seemed to enjoy people and that meant we could go anywhere in the world. That as long as you enjoyed people, they would take an interest in you and vice versa. Then he recounted that while Rodney and I have sat out evenings with him and his friends, debated, played checkers, listened to music and just swatted mosquitoes, Andrew only comes to get a phone card and does an about-face on his heel and leaves immediately. Amadou says that if Rodney and I needed anything people up and down the block would come to our aid, but that Andrew would be in for a rude awakening. Tacao, Amadou's cousin, came over to chat with Rodney the other day and Andrew left her standing outside a locked door in the dark while he went to tell Rodney someone (as if he didn't recognize her) was here to see him.

Saturday night though Andrew did heat up some of the odds and ends we had together in the house and fry some potatoes too to make a meal. I told Rodney I was happy that he was trying and he said let's be honest about what he did here. He heated up food that we made and paid for and sliced a potato or two and cooked it. Well, when you put it that way...lol!

Note: Right about now I would do just about anything for a hot shower with excellent water pressure, sushi, lots of leafy green vegetables, korean bbq, a freshly baked cake with frosting, a massage, manicure and pedicure...

On the River

"You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty." - Mohandas Gandhi



















I have officially seen it all...two men on a moto, sandwiching between them a hog-tied sheep. A live sheep! Are you kidding me?

For a full week now, we have not had water in the taps during the hours between 7 am and 11pm. It makes for an exhausting, hot, sticky, smelly, and frustrating day. Sometimes there is water available in the downstairs spout, the one in the garage. So we fill up bottles and tote them upstairs and use them for all sorts of needs. Today there was water all day long. I am keeping my fingers crossed that it stays that way for the duration of our time here.

Recently I have heard Malians complaining about their diet. Rice, rice, rice, they say. Every day rice! (I thought I was the only one longed for more variety.) Granted there are potatoes and beans, as well, but even then... I have definitely gained an appreciation for being able to eat foods when they are out of season.

When I was sick and Constance brought me tea several nights ago she also brought a plate of food that I couldn't even think about eating at that moment. I thanked her and put it in the fridge. The next day I went to eat the plate of food and it was nowhere to be found. You guessed it! Andrew ate it.

When I confronted him he said he thought it was left over from the night before. I said it was, but it wasn't yours. He said he thought I had cooked and left the plate for him. I said Andrew I was in bed sick all day, I haven't been cooking. Furthermore when have you ever seen anyone cook meatballs or any meat in this house? He said he didn't know. I said well when you don't know you ask someone. There is plenty of community food that you could have eaten but you went straight for something that you weren't sure about and devoured it. He brusquely offered to pay me back the value of the food and I accepted.

Rodney said he liked how Andrew ate food that was clearly not his and then only apologized and went to his room without offering to somehow make amends somehow whether it be a replacement dinner or a refund. Glad I was persistent and tapped on his door so we could come to a real resolution. Rodney and I figured it was probably because the water was out in the taps and he was being lazy and didn't want to have to heat up other food and then go downstairs to get water to wash out the pots.

Friday we had a meeting with the head of Africare in Mali. On our way back Rodney and I stopped at Constance's boutique and chatted with her. Just as we were going to leave and go home to heat up some food she insisted we stay and eat there. And she uncovered a platter of a Senegalese rice and fish, with eggplant, yam, carrot, cabbage and a hint of tamarind and lemon. I asked Constance to eat with us and she said that we should eat. I asked what she was going to eat and she said not to worry about her, that she was at home. We scraped every last bit of food out of that platter. Not only was it delicious but it was nice to eat something that we didn't have to toil over. So then Rodney and I simultaneously got the same idea.

An hour later we were back at the boutique with a meal for Constance. Now it's not a meal I would write home about (well technically I guess I am) but we fried plantains, made grits and served over the grits the "boot" sauce we made on Sunday with everything but our boots in it. Seriously, it's a tomato sauce with tomatoes, lentils, potatoes, onions, garlic, eggplant, peppers, carrots, and lots of spice. Well Constance loved it so much that she called Maxime to come from their house to come taste it. Another of her friends tasted it and said he wanted the recipe. Are you kidding? And they had never thought of eating grits in that way. They boil them with milk and sugar and eat it as a dessert. I guess though we eat the same things a slight difference in how you cook it can make it interesting to someone else.

I hung out with Fa yesterday. She is so spirited and fun that I always enjoy myself. She and her sister Aisha turned the music up and we danced. Fa asked me to translate Celine Dion's "Goodbye" for her and though I did on the first go round she made me listen to it many more times. The pics above are her but she took her braids out in case you can't recognize her. Somehow we got to talking about the US and she and her sister told me in school they learned that we had 52 states. No we only have 50 I said, that's why there are 50 stars on the flag. They said really? And then honestly I started to doubt myself. What could possibly be confused for the other 2 states? Puerto Rico sure but the other??? Rodney said maybe it was the US Virgin Islands. Not sure but interesting...

Fa told me that Ouima, the 15 year old with whom I can talk very little with, is engaged to be married to a cousin who asked for her long ago. He is a 32 year old doctor so at least she will be living well, but my god the marriage takes place in a month. A 15 year old getting married? She's in 8th grade for crying out loud. (There is a picture of her above as well in a green top.) The funny thing is when I first met her I asked if she was married and she said no I'm only 15. I'm still a child. So when I found out I said Ouima, I heard you were getting married and you didn't tell me. I upset with you. She said it wasn't true. For a second she had me, but then when I asked about the details I had been told, she alternated between denying it, giggling behind her hand, and asking who had told me. So I said congratulations and best wishes for her marriage (what else is there to say) and she said thank you.

This morning Rodney and I got up early, took some food on a hike and ate it on a hillside overlooking Bamako. Nice view, very relaxing. Then he showed me around the dock area where small wooden boats are made and pitched with tar; trucks come in to get wet sand for construction purposes; and everything is bustling.

As we walked near the water some men offered us a boat ride. We declined because of a language barrier and we thought they were looking to be paid. Then as we continued to walk along the banks we saw them out on the water and waved to them. They pointed to an area where they could dock and indicated that we could still come out with them. So we took them up on the offer and joined them and a small toddler out on the boat.

Everything is beautiful when you're on the river. We saw people using large flat rocks to wash their clothes and lay them out to dry, children swimming. Even one of the men in our boat jumped in to swim and came back with two fish that someone had given him. One woman was singing and washing her clothes with a friend. This sounds so cliche, but her voice was beautiful and I could have listened to it all day. We docked and they told us they were going to wash so we scrambled up the hillside to give them some privacy.

In the distance there was a gorgeous house overlooking the river with a wraparound porch. My God that would have to be a lovely view night after night. When one of our friends joined us later he said the land we were on is owned by Salif Keita, a famous griot who recently did a remix of his 1989 song "Nou Pas Bouger (We Won't Move)" with popular urban Malian group L'Skadrille. The song is in protest of the French government's repressive policy toward immigrants, specifically those of African origin and 17 years later it is still relevant enough to have been remixed and re-released. It is very popular here.

Since I have been in Mali my mom has ordered some African films through Netflix and enjoyed seeing some of the relationships and issues I have described. The following movies are set in places as far apart and varied as Mali, Senegal, South Africa, and Chad but they come with mom's recommendation. Yesterday is about a Zulu woman struggling to raise her daughter in rural South Africa, who is further troubled when she learns that she has gotten HIV from her husband who is away working in the city. (I saw this one and it is excellent!) Moolaadé depicts a Senegalese village as it tackles the issue of female circumcision. Life on Earth: 2000 Seen By... is about life in rural Mali and a man who weathers a world disaster in a bucolic village. A young man in Mali travels to find his uncle in hopes that he might be able to help him solve his problems in Yeelen. Mandabi is about a Senegalese man who hits one bureaucratic roadblock after another as he tries to convert a money order from a wealthy relative to cash. Abouna is about two boys in Chad who set out to find the father who has abandoned their family; and, Xala is a Senegalese comedy about the trials and tribulations of a man with three wives.

Also a new book recommendation The Marabi Dance by Modikwe Dikobe. It tells the story of youth in South Africa caught in the gap between the old world and its ways and the new world post-colonization.