An hour into our ride and my bicycle ran a flat. Great. Stuck in the bush with a flat and no pump. Game over. We’re done for. Bring on the lions. However, the great thing about Ghana is that you can ask most anyone for help and they’ll do their best to accommodate you. We saw a compound, and were warmly welcomed and 30 minutes later, we were on our merry way with my puncture fixed (after taking an offering of a gourd-full of pito, local millet beer, of course).
Another hour passed. We were lost. Lost in the bushes of rural Ghana. Now we’re done for. This is it, bring on the hyenas. Saakuu assured me that he knew the way, and so I just kept following him, deeper and deeper into the Savannah. We kept riding and came to another compound and voila, were pointed on our merry way (after taking an offering cool borehole water, of course).
We emerged from the maze of trees and grass to discover a veritable ecosystem of human life. At the centre of the community lies a pretty steep hill on which all compounds are built. The mother compound like I’ve never seen before. Most of the time, compounds are individual. This one was a dense amalgamation of homes. Along the slopes rise the maize that seems to be doing pretty well, sparked jealousy in Saakuu and I.
We are warmly welcomed by our hosts, whose kids run to us to collect and guide our bike inside. “Fo ziema!” I greet the family and they all start laughing in shock at my Daagare. “A sorbe song?” (how was the journey?), O bay song! (fine!), more laughter. “Fo morah!” the mother says (you’re doing well!). I run through the regular list of Ghanaian greetings (how’s the house, how is work, how are the children, how is your husband, how is your health) and with each greeting the woman becomes more and more hysterical, as if each question were a bullet.
A number of kids poke their head around the compound door and spy me, others come in to watch the adults conversing but really they’re just here to ogle the hairy white man. We exchange stares as I look at them with curiosity, trying to see myself in their eyes.
As it was getting late and the sun was setting we have plenty to do. It was market day in the village and the rain was threatening. Whenever there’s a market, I’m there. No exception, I don’t care if I get washed away. Let’s go. So we got on our bikes, Saakuu and I, Kakper and son on our backs and we headed off to market with the storm growing stronger in the sky. That’s the thing about this part of Ghana. You are always looking to the sky to see if, finally, the rains are coming. We arrived at dark, to a small gathering at the side of road where small fried bean flour cakes are being sold with hot pepper and salt in giant leaves. Men and women take pito and apeteshie, local gin from palm, inviting us to join.
The next morning, the community members started coming to welcome Saakuu and I. Before I was up there were already 10 people sitting and drinking pito in the compound. There’s nothing like taking pito and having a marriage proposal (“You should take me and send me to your place!”) by a 70 year old woman with a baby on her back before 8am. At 9, we headed to the centre of the compounds to meet the chief. It’s custom to greet the chief, and buy him a drink if you plan on staying the night in his village. I had time to ask him two questions. What is the biggest problem in the community? He informed me that there are only two boreholes for a population of nearly 500, both of which are spoiled. The community relies on rain water, river water and a nearby swamp to meet all of its needs. What are you most proud of? To which he simply replied: we don’t give up on each other.
We were off to visit the farm, managed to gather a few shea and ora fruits (I have no idea what the English name is but it can be described as a sweet and sour aril fruit, for those of you have taken a botany class). We even caught a rabbit for dinner! On the way back, we found a few of the scarce trees. Liga, that Saakuu uses for his xylophone keys. He get them from Kakper no cost, as the tree is relatively abundant in this area (Kakper and Saakuu’s family have a close history and friendship of reciprocated assistance. Apparently my presence has only helped to strengthen the ties between these two men. I think the white man card shows just how serious Saakuu is about his business, or so he has told me. The biggest frustration I’ve had is not being able to communicate. Kakper is the most adorable man, with the most contagious laugh and warmest eyes. Some things don’t need to be said.
I watched as Saakuu and Kakper carved away at the pieces of wood, revealing a rich- mahogany like wood beneath a dirty grey bark. While the rabbit was being smoked and the TZ was being stirred, and the keys being carved, I climbed up on the roof of the compound to get a look at the entire village and surroundings. Beyond the farms lay the Black Volta. In the distance you can start to see the lights of the communication towers of lovely little Lawra town twinkling.
After dinner, we headed over to the community’s most well known xylophonist. In the dark we followed the sound through the maze of the compounds to the heart of the village. Saakuu was invited to join. Their instruments not only speak to each other but inviting dancers to the fire. As the rain dance song was played, I was pulled into the centre to join the other men as they quickly move their torsos to the sound of the beat while hopping on alternating feet. I’ve got it down. I couldn’t tell if they wanted me to dance and were laughing because I was doing the wrongs moves, or dancing the way women do. In any case, when in doubt, it’s because you’re white. “You’re doing well!” fellow dancers shout.
Too hot from dancing around a fire boiling away some shea nuts, we went back to our compound. After a refreshingly cool bucket bath by moonlight I was in bed under a holey mosquito net. Tomorrow we would head home with just as much as we came with. Offerings of rabbit, eggs, chicken and all the keys that were carved strapped to our bikes. Another day, another adventure.
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