Blake and I led a one hour session on Moringa at training. We spoke to about 45 new trainees and at least a dozen Ghanaian Peace Corps trainers about all aspects of Moringa. Aside from a loose outline, I pretty much winged the presentation and I feel that it went very well. A number of great questions were asked and I was reminded again of how much I've actually learned while in Ghana. Questions such as "How do we plant the seed?" shocked me at first but also made me realize that despite my title as an Agro-Forestry Volunteer, I really didn't have much experience planting anything before I arrived. The new group seems great and will definitely be a good addition to Peace Corps Ghana. After 5 week, they have not had anyone leave. I wonder if it's that they all really like it or if they're worried to be the first person to go. In our group, it took only 36 hours or so for somebody to leave and the stigma was gone almost immediately. We shall see.
I went straight from the training site to Cape Coast to meet up with Cheri and two of her friends from America. I saw Elmina Castle (I didn't see it with my Dad) and though the tour wasn't as thorough or interesting, it was still shocking to think that 12 million slaves had walked through the same grounds and 8 million of them were shipped away alive. Aside from the 12 million that actually arrived at Elmina (it started out as a trade hub for gold and other minerals) countless more died during the southern trek. Some walked for as many as 8 months before arriving at the coast. The numbers are astonishing and the cells are frighteningly small. At Cape Coast Castle, 200 men were held in a single room for 3 months before being shipped off. A mark on the wall (as high as my knee) shows how high the feces, vomit and urine would get before the slaves were moved. Men literally wasted away in their own filth below a ceiling that served as the floor on which other men attended church services. Simply amazing.
After Cheri's friends left, she and I went back to Bormase for some farming and relaxation. She and I helped the family harvest Cassava. We helped Paul and Tekuor (pronounced like Techwoah) on four round trips from farm. The four of us loaded sacks and baskets with the heavy tubers and walked the 400+ meter bush path with the loads on our head. 11 year old Paul (he looks maybe 8) easily matched me with the load he carried.
Cheri also helped me weed my Moringa farm. The Caterpillar rope (that's the name of the evil weeds that dominate my farm) has been completely cleared from half of the farm and I'm motivated to finish the job when I return.
On October 30, Stephen, Lydie, Maku, Eva, Tekuor, Paul, Cheri and I traveled to Krobo mountain for Mayim, an annual Krobo festival. The first Krobo people to live in Ghana moved from Nigeria and settled on Krobo mountain in the late 1800s. Every year, Krobos from around the area climb the mountain and celebrate their ancestry. The crowd was very young and excited. Compared to the festivals in Cheri's village, the feel was completely different. Up north, traditional clothing is worn and since her village is nearly 100% Muslim, there is no alcohol present. At Mayim, people wore provocative clothing and were drinking heavily.
Our Bormase group met up with some of Stephen's friends and started our hike. It was scorching hot and the mountain was steep but not terribly strenuous. We hung out with at least a hundred other Ghanaians at the peak and relaxed while enjoying the day. We sat for at hour or two before hiking back down. As usual, I heard greetings of "Obruni," and "Blefono," the whole way down. Being able to respond with somewhat witty replies in each language really diffused the situation and lightened the mood. I'm not very strong in Krobo and I'm quite weak in Twi but any response works when I'm expected to be completely clueless.
Once we all reached the bottom, we met at a central location before breaking off in small groups to join the huge crowd for some dancing and celebration. At one point, Cheri and I decided to go into the heart of the crowd so that we could get a true sense of the celebration. Up to that point, we had been a bit reserved for fear of having our pockets picked. To avoid such a situation, I took my wallet and camera from my pockets and put them in my backpack. I gave the backpack to Paul with the idea that he'd stay with the group and protect my items. When Cheri and I got to the middle of the crowd, we turned to find Paul only a few paces behind us with my bag slung across his chest. Recognizing the danger of the situation, we immediately started back to our central meeting point. On the way, several groups of Ghanaians stepped in front of us to engage Obrunis in dancing. No more than twenty feet from the rest of our group, a woman started shouting and pointing at a commotion nearby. When I got closer, I saw that Paul was holding my backpack but had had the small pocket ripped open by a thief. My personal items were strewn on the ground and I could see random items in various hands. I pushed and grabbed and even ripped the shirt of a man while retrieving my camera. The melee didn't allow me time to think so I have no idea whether I was scuffling with friends of foes. I guess a 6'3" blond guy in a sea of sub six foot Ghanaians serves as a beacon of hope for thieves.
In the end, my wallet and a small white first aid kit (must have looked nice) were gone and the thief got away. While taking stock of my items, we realized that Stephen and Tekuor (she's 11 or 12) had left the group. It was getting dark and we had no way to figure out where they were. In the end, we decided to walk to the roadside and hope that they'd have a similar idea. We came across Tekuor in the company of a pair of helpful strangers and found Stephen at the roadside. A potentially disastrous situation resulted in only a lost wallet and money. Nothing irreparably damaged.
Since then, Obama has been elected president and I can't think of a thing to complain about.
Love to all.
1 comment:
Hello there!
Your reflections on the slave dungeons is so poignant. It is still shocking to me that people visit them and do not feel the horror in their bones of those millions who were captive.
Keep writing!
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