From an Obruni's Perspective

My name is Jamie, and I am delighted to be a guest blogger on Ira’s blog. I recently had the pleasure of traveling to Ghana with Ira’s sister, Martha. As I write this from my office in Manhattan, overlooking the Chrysler building and still shivering from my walk to work in below freezing temperatures, I am missing Ghana…a lot.

Our experiences were rich with culture, food and much laughter. And while there are many things I wish to share, I fear that I could write for hours and hours. So I’ll focus this entry on our travels to the North…

From Tamale, we were headed to Kpendua (though I admit I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from the Muslim village where I knew we’d have to “greet” the elders and wear dresses that at least covered our knees).

As “strangers” to the village, we wanted to ensure that we got off on the right foot. So, with Cheri’s (who, if you follow this blog, you all should know is Ira’s fantastic girlfriend) guidance, we set out to purchase a guinea fowl. Sidenote: I am completely terrified of birds (think Hitchcock movie) and I couldn’t believe my time had come to travel, via tro or lorry or whatever other means, with a live bird. Setting my fears aside, we carried on.

We found the bulk market (sort of like the Costco of markets in Africa), a very nice man took us to the right spot and for 8 Ghana Cedis we had found our bird. The man tied the bird's feet and wings and we set off on our merry way. Ira had it tucked nicely under his arm (as I had seen other locals carrying their birds) and we were off to find our lorry, which would take us to Cheri's village. We had not walked for three minutes when all of a sudden the bird flew out from under Ira's arm. You can just imagine the tidal wave of laughter that set off in the market. Two nice men sprung into action, helped gather the bird and plucked the feathers that help it fly. They tucked it back under Ira's arm and we were good to go. The laughter only grew stronger even as we were walking away. Minor crisis averted, but unbelievably funny.

The lorry was waiting in the lot near the market. If I thought the tro rides I had taken previously were uncomfortable, I didn’t even know what kind of surprise I was in for with the lorry. Our bags were hoisted onto the top of the vehicle, which Martha and I estimate was built in the 1940s. Our bags were among the cylindrical wicker containers filled with chickens, approximately 200 yams – that were thrown atop the lorry one at a time – and other random items. As we rode off, I did have a fleeting thought that the roof might collapse onto our heads. Alas, we made it unscathed, just incredibly sweaty and thankful to be up and walking around.

We arrived in the village and presented the Assemblyman with the guinea fowl. In response, he informed us that he had slaughtered two chickens for us as well (which is an extremely nice gesture given the expense). We were to eat dinner at his house that night. Before setting out to greet people, we walked over to where the chicken had been killed. We watched as the "A" man said a prayer and then proceeded to slit the guinea fowl's neck and drain the blood. Martha and I then took one of the chickens and began to pluck the feathers. Yes...this is one of those moments where I thought to myself – “Am I really doing this?” In spite of my aforementioned fear of birds, I plucked a chicken that I was going to eat later that evening. The chicken was still warm and I cannot say the plucking is something I would do again, but I am glad I did it once. Just down the way, while we were still plucking, and the little children were burning the rest of the feathers off, we saw a goat being killed. We also then had the distinct pleasure of watching the men pull out the stomach and intestines and other parts. Wow.

We then spent about 2 hours greeting. The Assemblyman speaks English and helped to translate the things that Cheri did not know. We greeted, among others, the Queen Mother, the Chief and the Pastor. We were met with smiling faces and many well wishes. Just as we had experienced in Ira’s village days before, the people are incredibly warm and inviting. I was pleased Cheri had taught us a little bit of Dagmane so that we didn’t completely embarrass ourselves. We didn’t know much, but I was glad to be making an effort.

Once the greeting was over, we relaxed for about an hour and then headed to dinner at the "A" man's house. He had prepared the birds and some goat, along with fufu and some stew for dipping. I tried it all, and to my amazement, I really enjoyed the goat. Once we finished eating, we asked him to tell us the story of Fire Festival - the real reason we had come to Kpendua for that night. Essentially it's a celebration of a prophet’s successful rescue of his son (if Ira can do it, he’ll post the video he shot of the “A” man telling the story). The "A" man described all of the tradition and the meanings and what we were to expect. He had even prepared four straw torches for us so that we could participate.

Both Ira and Cheri had been to the festival last year, but Martha and I were flying blind. We were anxious and excited and, to be honest, a little nervous. Men, women and children would all carry flaming torches, there would be men with cutlasses and guns that would go off randomly.

From dinner we set out for the festival with our torches. About 100 yards away, everyone was gathered holding their unlit torches and running around in a circle chanting. We jumped right in and were running around while the dust grew and circled around us. Once the Chief's torch was lit everyone lit theirs as well and headed down the road, running and chanting. There were a number of incredible drummers playing the entire night as well. It was hot, ashes were flying everywhere and Martha and I were trying desperately not to lose sight of one another (or Ira and Cheri for that matter). After about 10 minutes of walking around with the burning torches, everyone heads towards a designated tree and throws their torch into the tree. Once that is done, everyone carries a branch from the tree back to the starting point. It is believed that if you bathe with the leaves from the tree the next day you will be spared from bad things happening in the year to come.

So we were back at the beginning and running around with the leaves now. Guns would go off at random, which I must say was quite frightening considering that the men carrying those guns were quite drunk. We learned later that the guns were shooting glass instead of bullets, but I'm fairly certain being struck with glass from where we were standing would have hurt anyway. The men then split from the women and much dancing ensued. They do a dance called the tora tora. Put simply, the women stand in a line and two at a time they will bump each other's butts. Both Cheri and Martha got in the line, but I was not feeling quite up to it. The night was intense and beautiful and filled with tradition and I was so happy to have been a part of it.

The next morning we were headed back to Tamale. But instead of the lorry we took to get to Cheri's village, this time we had to take a cargo lorry. Yep...it is what you think. We arrived at the station down the road, and there waiting for us was an open truck already carrying two cows with a bike attached to the side and one of those wicker baskets filled with chickens. We boarded the lorry, our bags were placed near the cows and people slowly started to gather in. Just as we thought we were ready to go, we all had to deboard to let a bull on. In order to get the bull onto the truck, several of the men had to rope it in and then hoist it up by the horns and the tail. That, of course, set him off and it took some time to calm him down. Alas, we all got back on the truck and vied for a spot to sit. Let's just say that personal space does not exist on this journey. And people have to sit atop the truck while they hold on to the iron rails for dear life.

We had to stop about ten minutes into the trip to get yet another bull. This one was feisty. It was hoisted up and would not calm down. I know I am not doing this justice, but the men were swinging from the bars trying to move the bull to ensure that it wouldn't trample any of the passengers. Ultimately, they tied its horns to its back legs. With that bull now somewhat sedated, one of the others turned around so its butt was facing the people. And, yes, you guessed it...it started to poop (I understand that poop is a topic often and openly discussed among the peace corps volunteers, so I feel perfectly comfortable writing about it here). Thankfully, a very nice (and extraordinarily strong) man was standing nearby and picked up Martha's backpack and handed it up to a man just above sitting on one of the iron rails. He then picked up my bag and, to the amusement of the other Ghanaians who never carry things on their back, struggled to put it on his back and out of the way of the poop. While holding my 70 pound bag, standing atop a bag of uneven grain, and holding on to the rail above with only one hand, he also successfully kept the cow out of everyone's way. In the meantime, due to the extreme lack of personal space, my right leg was asleep in a way it has never been asleep. I could not feel a thing. Martha's left arm was lodged between her body and one of the rails because, had she taken it out, she would have fallen over. She also had no sensation in her right leg.

We arrived at last at the market - halfway between Kpendua and Tamale. We went directly to the pito bar (hardly a "bar" by any stretch. It was a straw hut that you could not stand up in. It fit about ten people all seated on rocks. Martha, Ira and Cheri enjoyed some pito (a millet beer), but my stomach certainly was not up to the task - though I tasted it. It was extraordinary to be inside, in the shade, with sensation in all of my body. From there we took a regular lorry the rest of the way into town. I felt like I was flying first class on Virgin.

By the time we reached Tamale we were SPENT!! We had a nice dinner and called it a night.

This is just a small snapshot of a two week trip that was laced with incredible stories and experiences. But as you can see, recounting all of it would be too tall of a task for right now (especially since I’m back on the clock).

To Ira and Cheri: THANK YOU FOR BEING THE MOST INCREDIBLE HOSTS. I cannot express how grateful I am to you and to the people of your villages for opening up their homes and for sharing their thoughts and experiences with us. This was a once in a lifetime, perspective changing trip. I know I speak for both Martha and myself when I say that we are extraordinarily lucky to have had the opportunity to travel to Ghana. And we will follow the remainder of your adventures with enthusiasm and jealousy.