I am not a poet, but TZ seems to have moved me to poetry. My poem is called “TZ”.
TZ,
you inspire me to write
for that I thank you
no, please
only small
your scent wafts out of the kitchen
there are no walls to hide you
if not eaten today
you’ll be breakfast tomorrow
your friends are “not fish”, slimy okru, or bitter leafy
"How do you find Ghana?
you can chop TZ? Then
you’ve done well"
I’m not satisfied
I gag
I swallow you and am glad its lights out
no one can see my grimace
you’ve beaten me again
wana- t’dee
you’re invited
no,please
only small
sour fermented millet
you inspire me
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
NORMAL!?
Recently a friend of mine commented to me about how much he enjoyed reading my first few posts – when everything was fresh, new, exciting, and every little thing got my attention and I felt like a kid in a candy shop. When did life in Bolga become so normal?! Lately I’ve found that I take less pictures and exclaim “ohmy!” less often…on one hand this makes me happy because life in Ghana is now normal and less crazy but on the other hand it makes me sad because Planet Ghana has started to feel like Planet Earth. There will never be a first trip to Africa again. It’s only when I talk with friends from home that I realize how different this is from home. I WOULDN’T TRADE THIS FOR ANYTHING.
Occasionally I am still hit with moments of awe regarding how different my life is in Ghana than it is in Canada. Here are some clips!
Recently while sitting at egg bread with Oliver I saw this truck pull into the tro station and gasped “Oh my goodness”, people looked up to see what was making me exclaim. They said, “Oh, if only Mercedes could see this.”
Last Saturday I was sitting at egg bread (okok, I notice the theme too!) and this man walked by WEARING A POINTED BLACK WITCHES HAT and NOBODY BATTED AN EYELASH (except me and the two other volunteers that I was sitting with and we were laughing so much). This struck me as extremely odd since witchcraft is very real to many people here and being called a witch is a terrible insult and there are witch camps for those accused of being witches.
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Trotros (minivans stuffed to the brim with people!) that constantly break down have become normal. My friend Meghan was recently in a tro that broke several times on the trip from Tamale to Bolga, please check out the name of the car. Also, I was on a tro when the engine was malfunctioning so they left the car on, took the cover plate off and started sticking wrenches in. Oh, to be a mechanic in Ghana.
I came out of my room one morning to find my host father plucking the feathers off some guinea fowls he just bought and dyeing them with green dye so that they would know which fowls belong to them.
Taxis here are now normal to me. If there aren’t four people in the back and two in the front passenger seat, I think it’s luxurious. If the door closes and stays closed, I’m impressed by the cars condition. If/when there is a donkey in the trunk, I think "I’m glad I’m not a donkey". Last week while sitting comfortably in the back of a taxi next to an EWB coworker waiting for it to leave, the driver opens the door to put one more person in and my friend says “But, why?”, I laugh and say, “Because we’re in Ghana!”. Being smushed into the taxi totally cracks me up and I enjoy laughing with the Ghanaians who all know how ridiculously smushed we are but somehow we all fit.
There are so many other things but that's just a snap.
Occasionally I am still hit with moments of awe regarding how different my life is in Ghana than it is in Canada. Here are some clips!
Recently while sitting at egg bread with Oliver I saw this truck pull into the tro station and gasped “Oh my goodness”, people looked up to see what was making me exclaim. They said, “Oh, if only Mercedes could see this.”
Last Saturday I was sitting at egg bread (okok, I notice the theme too!) and this man walked by WEARING A POINTED BLACK WITCHES HAT and NOBODY BATTED AN EYELASH (except me and the two other volunteers that I was sitting with and we were laughing so much). This struck me as extremely odd since witchcraft is very real to many people here and being called a witch is a terrible insult and there are witch camps for those accused of being witches.
.jpg)
Trotros (minivans stuffed to the brim with people!) that constantly break down have become normal. My friend Meghan was recently in a tro that broke several times on the trip from Tamale to Bolga, please check out the name of the car. Also, I was on a tro when the engine was malfunctioning so they left the car on, took the cover plate off and started sticking wrenches in. Oh, to be a mechanic in Ghana.
I came out of my room one morning to find my host father plucking the feathers off some guinea fowls he just bought and dyeing them with green dye so that they would know which fowls belong to them.
Taxis here are now normal to me. If there aren’t four people in the back and two in the front passenger seat, I think it’s luxurious. If the door closes and stays closed, I’m impressed by the cars condition. If/when there is a donkey in the trunk, I think "I’m glad I’m not a donkey". Last week while sitting comfortably in the back of a taxi next to an EWB coworker waiting for it to leave, the driver opens the door to put one more person in and my friend says “But, why?”, I laugh and say, “Because we’re in Ghana!”. Being smushed into the taxi totally cracks me up and I enjoy laughing with the Ghanaians who all know how ridiculously smushed we are but somehow we all fit.
There are so many other things but that's just a snap.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
My Food World
The majority of the food I eat in Ghana comes from about a 20 km radius from my house. My family does compound farming or subsistence farming and really loves their millet based foods (they grow a lot of millet!).
I wanted to show you some of my favourite or most commonly eaten foods here in the Upper East. Please keep in mind these are only SOME of the many, many awesome things to eat in Ghana and this is what comprises the majority of my eating. With that said, welcome to my food world –
BREAKFAST
Bowl Fruit
My neighbor, Sister Clara, makes bowl fruit with my Grandma to generate small income. I love this fried dough and went along one night to help make it.
Gou-kaley
Often, Grandma and Evelyn will eat Gou-kaley (millet flower, ground peppe, shea butter and hot water all mixed up) for break instead of bowl fruit
The Ghanaian Travel Mug
Want your beverage “to go”? This is Nadia drinking tea at the tro station in Tamale. Tea here can mean a variety of beverages so if you want black tea you have to specify “Lipton” because tea can mean Lipton, milo, or Nestcafe. It comes with a lot of Nestle crème/milk, and a healthy dose of sugar (ie: dentists beware!) It took some getting used to, but now I’m hooked!
Eggbread
The best way to describe it is an omlette Panini, only better. It’s extra delicious when they use guinea fowl eggs in addition to fowl eggs. The company where I eat my eggbread is also top-notch!
TZ For Breakfast
If (when) there is TZ leftover from dinner, they eat it for breakfast.
LUNCH
My most favourite lunch
This is my favourite lunch. A grilled plantain (30 peswas) and a small package of groundnuts (peanuts) (10 peswas!). It’s best with an Alvaro, a new malt-based drink here that comes in pear or pineapple flavours.
Dege or Yogurt with Couscous (enough for lunch!)
Dege – yogurt from Burkina with couscous in it!
DINNER
TZ
My stable dinner that comes with a variety of soups and stews – all vegetarian
-picture to come!
Yam with Tomato stew
– amazingly delicious!
Rice balls with ground nut soup
-picture to come!
Frafra Potatoes
One day I was presented this as a gift,
Fufu
Fufu is eaten in some places, and is delicious, however I’ve only been lucky enough to try it a few times.
SNACKS
Bumbara Beans
-pic to come
Fresh ground nuts! (also fun to play in!)
Fulani Milk
This is a favourite of mine from the market, Fulani milk and yogurt. Fulani are nomads of Ghana who sell their milk at markets. I buy the milk and make a hot drink, while my family prefers the yogurt with plenty of sugar and millet flour.
Bon Appétit!
I wanted to show you some of my favourite or most commonly eaten foods here in the Upper East. Please keep in mind these are only SOME of the many, many awesome things to eat in Ghana and this is what comprises the majority of my eating. With that said, welcome to my food world –
BREAKFAST
Bowl Fruit
My neighbor, Sister Clara, makes bowl fruit with my Grandma to generate small income. I love this fried dough and went along one night to help make it.
Gou-kaley
Often, Grandma and Evelyn will eat Gou-kaley (millet flower, ground peppe, shea butter and hot water all mixed up) for break instead of bowl fruit
The Ghanaian Travel Mug
Want your beverage “to go”? This is Nadia drinking tea at the tro station in Tamale. Tea here can mean a variety of beverages so if you want black tea you have to specify “Lipton” because tea can mean Lipton, milo, or Nestcafe. It comes with a lot of Nestle crème/milk, and a healthy dose of sugar (ie: dentists beware!) It took some getting used to, but now I’m hooked!
Eggbread
The best way to describe it is an omlette Panini, only better. It’s extra delicious when they use guinea fowl eggs in addition to fowl eggs. The company where I eat my eggbread is also top-notch!
TZ For Breakfast
If (when) there is TZ leftover from dinner, they eat it for breakfast.
LUNCH
My most favourite lunch
This is my favourite lunch. A grilled plantain (30 peswas) and a small package of groundnuts (peanuts) (10 peswas!). It’s best with an Alvaro, a new malt-based drink here that comes in pear or pineapple flavours.
Dege or Yogurt with Couscous (enough for lunch!)
Dege – yogurt from Burkina with couscous in it!
DINNER
TZ
My stable dinner that comes with a variety of soups and stews – all vegetarian
-picture to come!
Yam with Tomato stew
– amazingly delicious!
Rice balls with ground nut soup
-picture to come!
Frafra Potatoes
One day I was presented this as a gift,
Fufu
Fufu is eaten in some places, and is delicious, however I’ve only been lucky enough to try it a few times.
SNACKS
Bumbara Beans
-pic to come
Fresh ground nuts! (also fun to play in!)
Fulani Milk
This is a favourite of mine from the market, Fulani milk and yogurt. Fulani are nomads of Ghana who sell their milk at markets. I buy the milk and make a hot drink, while my family prefers the yogurt with plenty of sugar and millet flour.
Bon Appétit!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Happy Day
Do you ever have one of those days that leave you glowing and feeling like you are 100% in your right spot? Welcome to my day.
The highlights-
I woke up to the sound of Evelyn knocking on my door peering in from the verandah through my window to see me lying flat on my back still in my mosquito net, enjoying the “cool” morning temperature, “The day has broken! The water is boiled! You bring your cup.” We both laugh, she’s been up for a while now and must think I’m insane for sleeping until 7:05 a.m.
After tea and some clean up and work at home, I head to town to fix my bike basket, the men do a great job and they only charge me 1.2 Cedis (90 cents or something insane!). I love not being cheated so I give him 2 Cedis…is this weird? We both leave this transaction feeling totally satisfied.
I feel celebratory so I stop at my friend Oliver’s egg-bread stand. He is awesome. In the craziness of the tro station, where you are constantly shouted at, “Where are you going” (I like to say Bolga because it confuses people and makes me laugh) “White person” “Somiya” “Please buy, I beg you” “Where to” “Taxi” “Somiya” etc. etc…he is a much welcomed retreat and safe heaven. All of his regular costumers know me and chat kindly, and Oliver doesn’t let people come up to me and beg me for money or try to sell me things that I don’t want to buy. I am so grateful for Oliver and for egg bread and his amazing tea and great conversations.
After sitting in a city-wide power outage for about 2 hours I have made a new friend. She is paying for University by working two jobs. One from 8-5 pm and then her own business after hours and will start a distance education Bachelor of Commerce from Cape Coast University while working those two jobs. Rock on.
Got on the internet and read something one of my best friends wrote that spoke to me. I have taken the liberty of copying it onto my blog.
I began to realize that we all have a shared responsibility in helping one another. I believe that growing up means you are able to put others needs before your own, you are able to truly sympathize with others, and you try to make a change in the world. Does it sound idealistic? Sure. Does that mean we shouldn't try to make an impact on our world? I think once I realized that simply because I did not see the immediate affects of what I was doing did not mean I should stop trying, this was the moment I felt I had grown up. Being part of the real world means having to face real problems and deal with them, not just go on living your life, ignoring what is going on around you. Ignorance is bliss simply does not cut it. No one can do everything, but everyone can do something...so it is crucial that we as humans find something we are passionate about and pursue it with all we have got, even when we cannot see any affects from our efforts.
I am so honoured to have her in my life.
Farmer Group Meeting – Riding my bike to the meeting I pass women from another farmer group that I work with and they see me and smile real genuine smiles and say “Ayinsonba!” to me (my local name).
My farmer group meeting went well and the women are really starting to think about ways to be INDEPENDENT rather than waiting for good to come to them and are searching out for it on their own. They have applied to the Ministry of Food of Agriculture for some equipment but are coming up with a plan of how to buy it on their own if it doesn’t come and how to build their dreams for themselves even if progress is only in baby steps.
After ending the meeting because of some pretty intense rain clouds, I stop to buy a few small things and the heavens open up on Bolga! The rain is POURING down, lightening like you have never seen before and I am grateful to understand what it means when people talk about the rain in Africa. I sit inside the store with the store keeper in the dark (the power went out) watching the lightening show. I couldn’t have asked for a better seat!
When I get home Evelyn tells me we aren’t having TZ because of the rain, instead we will have tea. I’m not sure if she’s joking - tea for dinner? Is she pulling my leg? I go to my room and find some random items to bring to our indoor picnic! I find two packages of biscuits (left here by Carissa, an EWBer who stayed for the weekend I think?), a coconut (a gift from Carissa from Tamale), and some groundnut cake (think peanut butter brittle). We are all sitting in Evelyn’s room. Evelyn produces bowl fruit from the morning to add to the mix and starts pouring out tea. “Ahh, dinner is fine tonight” says Evelyn and smiles her beautiful smile. I laugh and ask if we can do this again before I leave, she is still laughing and replies “OK!”. Sometimes I forget that she’s only one year older than me because she has three kids.
When Shaman and Amelia leave to sleep they both tag me and say “Sister Clara, Ta-co-lay” (Claire, Tag – you’re it!) and leave. I love these girls.
Godfred is colouring in his colouring book with four waxed crayons and 6 pencil crayons. I think of the boxes of crayola that kids use at home. I go back to my room and get the two pencil crayons that have been hanging out in the bottom of my backpack for several years now and offer them to him. It is magical to watch his beaming face and careful colouring.
The highlights-
I woke up to the sound of Evelyn knocking on my door peering in from the verandah through my window to see me lying flat on my back still in my mosquito net, enjoying the “cool” morning temperature, “The day has broken! The water is boiled! You bring your cup.” We both laugh, she’s been up for a while now and must think I’m insane for sleeping until 7:05 a.m.
After tea and some clean up and work at home, I head to town to fix my bike basket, the men do a great job and they only charge me 1.2 Cedis (90 cents or something insane!). I love not being cheated so I give him 2 Cedis…is this weird? We both leave this transaction feeling totally satisfied.
I feel celebratory so I stop at my friend Oliver’s egg-bread stand. He is awesome. In the craziness of the tro station, where you are constantly shouted at, “Where are you going” (I like to say Bolga because it confuses people and makes me laugh) “White person” “Somiya” “Please buy, I beg you” “Where to” “Taxi” “Somiya” etc. etc…he is a much welcomed retreat and safe heaven. All of his regular costumers know me and chat kindly, and Oliver doesn’t let people come up to me and beg me for money or try to sell me things that I don’t want to buy. I am so grateful for Oliver and for egg bread and his amazing tea and great conversations.
After sitting in a city-wide power outage for about 2 hours I have made a new friend. She is paying for University by working two jobs. One from 8-5 pm and then her own business after hours and will start a distance education Bachelor of Commerce from Cape Coast University while working those two jobs. Rock on.
Got on the internet and read something one of my best friends wrote that spoke to me. I have taken the liberty of copying it onto my blog.
I began to realize that we all have a shared responsibility in helping one another. I believe that growing up means you are able to put others needs before your own, you are able to truly sympathize with others, and you try to make a change in the world. Does it sound idealistic? Sure. Does that mean we shouldn't try to make an impact on our world? I think once I realized that simply because I did not see the immediate affects of what I was doing did not mean I should stop trying, this was the moment I felt I had grown up. Being part of the real world means having to face real problems and deal with them, not just go on living your life, ignoring what is going on around you. Ignorance is bliss simply does not cut it. No one can do everything, but everyone can do something...so it is crucial that we as humans find something we are passionate about and pursue it with all we have got, even when we cannot see any affects from our efforts.
I am so honoured to have her in my life.
Farmer Group Meeting – Riding my bike to the meeting I pass women from another farmer group that I work with and they see me and smile real genuine smiles and say “Ayinsonba!” to me (my local name).
My farmer group meeting went well and the women are really starting to think about ways to be INDEPENDENT rather than waiting for good to come to them and are searching out for it on their own. They have applied to the Ministry of Food of Agriculture for some equipment but are coming up with a plan of how to buy it on their own if it doesn’t come and how to build their dreams for themselves even if progress is only in baby steps.
After ending the meeting because of some pretty intense rain clouds, I stop to buy a few small things and the heavens open up on Bolga! The rain is POURING down, lightening like you have never seen before and I am grateful to understand what it means when people talk about the rain in Africa. I sit inside the store with the store keeper in the dark (the power went out) watching the lightening show. I couldn’t have asked for a better seat!
When I get home Evelyn tells me we aren’t having TZ because of the rain, instead we will have tea. I’m not sure if she’s joking - tea for dinner? Is she pulling my leg? I go to my room and find some random items to bring to our indoor picnic! I find two packages of biscuits (left here by Carissa, an EWBer who stayed for the weekend I think?), a coconut (a gift from Carissa from Tamale), and some groundnut cake (think peanut butter brittle). We are all sitting in Evelyn’s room. Evelyn produces bowl fruit from the morning to add to the mix and starts pouring out tea. “Ahh, dinner is fine tonight” says Evelyn and smiles her beautiful smile. I laugh and ask if we can do this again before I leave, she is still laughing and replies “OK!”. Sometimes I forget that she’s only one year older than me because she has three kids.
When Shaman and Amelia leave to sleep they both tag me and say “Sister Clara, Ta-co-lay” (Claire, Tag – you’re it!) and leave. I love these girls.
Godfred is colouring in his colouring book with four waxed crayons and 6 pencil crayons. I think of the boxes of crayola that kids use at home. I go back to my room and get the two pencil crayons that have been hanging out in the bottom of my backpack for several years now and offer them to him. It is magical to watch his beaming face and careful colouring.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Village Stay - Dagaare Festival
For the past two and a half months I have been living just outside of Bolga in a beautiful Zwaurangu. From my compound (house) I look out at the gorgeous Tongo Hills which are home to some small remote villages. I have often wondered what it would be like to live even further away from Bolga and all of its comforts.
So it was with great excitement and a touch of nervousness that I sat behind my friend Mershack on his moto as we drive away from Bolga and turn off the main road toward the hills. The road becomes unpaved, we drive on. It’s starting to get dark and the view is astounding…we keep driving and the unpaved road becomes more and more narrow and slowly becomes nothing more than a rocky hilly pumpy “path”. It’s dark out and I hear drumming. I wonder how far away the village is that I will be staying at for the next days and silently say a little prayer for our safety on the moto. The drumming is getting louder and louder and eventually we arrive at the Chief of Tongo’s Grand Palace. If you’re thinking Buckingham - think again. There are at least two hundred people dancing and drumming and celebrating outside of the palace, which actually looks more like a dilapidated building that is falling apart before it is even finished being built. I realize I am suppost to be impressed by this palace and show due respect. Mershack explains a bit of what’s going on and about the festival of “Dagaare” that has drawn crowds of people to celebrate in thanksgiving to the Almighty and to their ancestors for their harvest. There is lively dancing and it seems like an awesome party. Through a window I can see the Chief sitting with the elders –the Chief has his own personal fanner! I want to be a Chief.
I thought this was the end of my journey, but we get back on the moto and continue traveling further into the hills and finally arrive in the pitch black to a hord of children and adults welcoming us to the village, taking my things and carrying them away. Someone grabs my hand and gently guides me into the compound, making sure I don’t trip as there are no lights. Mershack leaves and as his moto lights fade into darkness I wonder what to do next. I am given tea and made to sit on the one chair they have. It’s a pretty sweet chair – it’s a wooden recliner, with a view of the big bright African night sky. A girl could get used to this.
Eventually we say goodnight and I go to my room – I put a prayer mat on the ground, hang my mosquito net to a string and settle in for a sound nights sleep. WRONG. Apparently the party has moved and outside my door is a roaring African drumming party. I had been told to go to bed so I’m confused and lie in bed enjoying the sounds and laughing about how insanely unique this is! I pull out “A Long Walk to Freedom” and read with my head lamp…by about 2 am I wish they would stop because I’m tired. It eventually dies down and I am woken at about 5 a.m by the gentle pounding of maize and people bringing water from the borehole. Do these people not sleep?
I go outside and am immediately offered tea. After tea I am brought to greet the Junior Chief. He also has a personal fanner. I bring him gifts and tell him my mission for coming to his village. I am then asked to come and see the gift from the Chief – a guinea fowl to be slaughtered in my honour. I watch Mr. Ben (the man in the village who speaks the most English) with a mixture of horror and fascination as he raises the guinea fowl into the air and says some prayers. His other hand is holding a big kitchen knife. He cuts the fowls neck and then throws it on the ground, blood is coming out and it’s flopping around on the ground. Despite my best effots, my face expresses more horror than honour and the children watching me laugh.
The rest of the day is uneventful and spent with me being followed around by about 30 children EVERYWHERE I went. For lunch I am fed a rice ball and soup with a big chunk of guinea fowl in it and a big piece of fish, I manage to get them to excuse me of fish but keep the guinea fowl. It tastes pretty darn good and is probably the freshest piece of meat that I have ever and will ever eat in my life. I think of my dad’s stories of “funny bird” and laugh.
Since it is the festival, nobody is doing much – no hard harvesting and no school. I find ways to become friends with the girls, mostly by asking them questions and answering theirs. Eventually we congregate to watch the Chief exit his room and sit down to watch the festivities.
At night I am ready for the drumming and dancing – I know the girls will take care of me and enjoy several hours of dancing around with them. People see me and exclaim, “Somiya! AHH! You’ve done well.” There smiles are amazing, they seem to love my effort and you can’t help but return their warm smiles. By about 10 p.m my long pants and long sleeve shirt are soaked with sweat and I escape to my bed, full of gratitude and thanksgiving.
So it was with great excitement and a touch of nervousness that I sat behind my friend Mershack on his moto as we drive away from Bolga and turn off the main road toward the hills. The road becomes unpaved, we drive on. It’s starting to get dark and the view is astounding…we keep driving and the unpaved road becomes more and more narrow and slowly becomes nothing more than a rocky hilly pumpy “path”. It’s dark out and I hear drumming. I wonder how far away the village is that I will be staying at for the next days and silently say a little prayer for our safety on the moto. The drumming is getting louder and louder and eventually we arrive at the Chief of Tongo’s Grand Palace. If you’re thinking Buckingham - think again. There are at least two hundred people dancing and drumming and celebrating outside of the palace, which actually looks more like a dilapidated building that is falling apart before it is even finished being built. I realize I am suppost to be impressed by this palace and show due respect. Mershack explains a bit of what’s going on and about the festival of “Dagaare” that has drawn crowds of people to celebrate in thanksgiving to the Almighty and to their ancestors for their harvest. There is lively dancing and it seems like an awesome party. Through a window I can see the Chief sitting with the elders –the Chief has his own personal fanner! I want to be a Chief.
I thought this was the end of my journey, but we get back on the moto and continue traveling further into the hills and finally arrive in the pitch black to a hord of children and adults welcoming us to the village, taking my things and carrying them away. Someone grabs my hand and gently guides me into the compound, making sure I don’t trip as there are no lights. Mershack leaves and as his moto lights fade into darkness I wonder what to do next. I am given tea and made to sit on the one chair they have. It’s a pretty sweet chair – it’s a wooden recliner, with a view of the big bright African night sky. A girl could get used to this.
Eventually we say goodnight and I go to my room – I put a prayer mat on the ground, hang my mosquito net to a string and settle in for a sound nights sleep. WRONG. Apparently the party has moved and outside my door is a roaring African drumming party. I had been told to go to bed so I’m confused and lie in bed enjoying the sounds and laughing about how insanely unique this is! I pull out “A Long Walk to Freedom” and read with my head lamp…by about 2 am I wish they would stop because I’m tired. It eventually dies down and I am woken at about 5 a.m by the gentle pounding of maize and people bringing water from the borehole. Do these people not sleep?
I go outside and am immediately offered tea. After tea I am brought to greet the Junior Chief. He also has a personal fanner. I bring him gifts and tell him my mission for coming to his village. I am then asked to come and see the gift from the Chief – a guinea fowl to be slaughtered in my honour. I watch Mr. Ben (the man in the village who speaks the most English) with a mixture of horror and fascination as he raises the guinea fowl into the air and says some prayers. His other hand is holding a big kitchen knife. He cuts the fowls neck and then throws it on the ground, blood is coming out and it’s flopping around on the ground. Despite my best effots, my face expresses more horror than honour and the children watching me laugh.
The rest of the day is uneventful and spent with me being followed around by about 30 children EVERYWHERE I went. For lunch I am fed a rice ball and soup with a big chunk of guinea fowl in it and a big piece of fish, I manage to get them to excuse me of fish but keep the guinea fowl. It tastes pretty darn good and is probably the freshest piece of meat that I have ever and will ever eat in my life. I think of my dad’s stories of “funny bird” and laugh.
Since it is the festival, nobody is doing much – no hard harvesting and no school. I find ways to become friends with the girls, mostly by asking them questions and answering theirs. Eventually we congregate to watch the Chief exit his room and sit down to watch the festivities.
At night I am ready for the drumming and dancing – I know the girls will take care of me and enjoy several hours of dancing around with them. People see me and exclaim, “Somiya! AHH! You’ve done well.” There smiles are amazing, they seem to love my effort and you can’t help but return their warm smiles. By about 10 p.m my long pants and long sleeve shirt are soaked with sweat and I escape to my bed, full of gratitude and thanksgiving.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
A Day In My Life
It almost seems impossible to write this blog, no day is the same and they certainly aren’t typical. Even if I think I am headed for a “normal” day, something will happen to break my theory into a million little pieces.
At about 5:00 a.m the friendly family rooster starts doing its thing. Stupid rooster. I stay in bed. I realize I could get out of bed, but the night owl in me thinks 5 a.m should only exist for sleeping. At about 6:30 a.m I get up and spend some time in prayer. Some mornings I go for a run or I do some exercises that some of the EWBers are doing. Morning is my favourite time of the day here – it’s relatively quiet and the temperature isn’t ridiculuous. At about 7 am the husband leaves the compound on his moto, this is my cue to roll off my sleeping mat and out of my mosquito net, grab my cup and greet the family. I greet my family with a hearty “Blika!” and get shy smiles and gigles from Shaman, Amelia, and Godfred and warm smiles and questions regarding my health and sleep from the adults. For some reason, the children are shy around me in the morning and it is all they can do to respond “nambah”. Evelyn (the mum) starts to heat water on the charcoal, I go get some bread or “bowl fruit”. Bowl fruit is as delicious as it sounds, but it’s not fruit at all. It’s fried bread dough and Tim Horton’s has got nothing on it. I exchange morning greetings with my neighbors as I walk the dirt path to the bowl fruit ladies house, her name is also Clara! I love my morning walk because I pass people who know my name and greet me with “Sister Clara!” or “Blika!” and a smile. I also get to go past my favourite little boys house, his name is Michael – most often seen sporting snow suit pants, hot pink sunglasses and a mischievous grin.
I help prepare our morning “tea”, which is actually Richoco (Cadbury instant hot chocolate looks like instant coffee), dried milk, and a bit of sugar. I put the ingredients into the cups and stir while Evelyn adds hot water. After a round of “Sister Clara, you’re invited.” and “Npusia, you are also invited”. We silently drink and eat, the girls using spoons to scoop it into their mouths. I love this. It’s me 20 years ago…or last week when nobody was watching! Haha. Often Evelyn will also prepare a more typicial breakfast, ground millet, pepe (chili pepper) and water. I prefer the kids breakfast as the later tastes like taking a bite of wet spicy flour -it sits in your mouth and is hard to swallow. Every morning the woman go get water from the borehole but they don’t let me come because it’s the rainy season and the path is “not fine”. I have stopped asking to come because the answer is always a smile and no. I have gone to get water twice when I was first here and am definitely not as graceful as they are – in fact, I don’t need a bucket shower after I help get water ;)
I take a bucket bath and stand in front of the fan until I’m relatively dry. I have no mirror and two pairs of pants.
I hop on my bike and head to the office, it’s about a 10 minute bike ride made longer by the frequent greetings and maneuvering around pot holes full of red/brown water, goats, chickens, and the odd biker, moto or taxi. When I arrive at the Office, the watchman takes my bike and parks it for me, locks it, and gives me the key. We talk and I climb one flight of stairs to a big empty room. I come here to work because there is nobody here, there is a ceiling fan, and I keep hoping that someone else will come to work. Most of the Agricultural Extension Agents (AEAs) spend their time in the field or goodness knows where. Occassionally someone will poke their head in and greet me. I get picked up here by Extension Agents and we go to the field together. This usually involves a lot of waiting…waiting for the AEA to show up and waiting for the farmer groups to be gathered together. Each farmer that shows up will bow and greet you and take a seat on a bench or a root or the ground. The AEA and I are given plastic seats or a bench for ourselves. Refusing this is futile, although it feels incredibly strange to be sitting on a bench when an 80 year old is sitting on the ground. Meetings start with an opening prayer in Fra-fra, I’m not sure what is prayed and to whom it is prayed as the groups are composed of Christians and Muslims – I guess since both faiths believe there is only one God so they are ok with this. I have a hard time picturing this happening in Canada. After working through the Curriculum card and different issues that the group is having, the meeting is ended with a closing prayer and some dancing. The woman are so lively and sing and dance with so much Soul. This dancing usually involves me trying to copy them and everyone laughing. I look and feel pretty ridiculous, but when in Rome…
Some days I ride my bike into Bolga (downhill on the way there!) to meet farmer groups. The bike ride in is a bit scary, you’re sharing the road with a lot of things and I often find myself distract by something happening on the street and hit a pothole. I have taken to wearing my sunglasses on the way to town for eye safety – the cars and trucks and tros pass at such speeds that eye protection is definitely necessary. After meeting with farmer groups, I take this opportunity to go on the internet (the only building that I’ve been in with AC!), buy some fruit, stock-up on things, etc. Bolga is busy and full of people and I am always happy when I’m leaving the city heading back to my host family in the country. It’s uphill for most of the way home and I am always sweating like a maniac by the time I reach home. Despite being hot, I head into my room and put long pants and a long sleeve shirt on – no mosquitoes please!
By the time I arrive home, it is normally time to eat dinner “together”. You find somewhere to sit on the ground or a bench. Nine times out of ten, we eat TZ, which is hot fermented millet. It sounds a lot better than it tastes…In the words of Crocodile Dundee, “You can eat it…” TZ comes with a soup or a stew (one contains oil the other doesn’t). You take off chunks of TZ and dip it into the sauce. You aren’t supposed to chew it, but I haven’t figured out how to swallow the lump whole yet. They always give me a lot more than I could ever possibly eat. I stopped asking for less when I was told , “We can’t give you less or you’d look like a beggar.” I eat until the third gag reflex and am silently thankful that we eat in the dark. If I bring home plantains, we occasionally have these for dinner and tonight I had a rice ball with ground nut (peanut) soup. This is my first interaction with a rice ball and I ate half of one. Evelyn tells me that she eats three –I have a hard time picturing that and laugh. I think I would literally EXPLODE if I ate three rice balls. I told her that my pants won’t fit when I get home and that I can’t possibly eat any more. She laughs. I enjoy eating with Evelyn. We have slow discussions, each of us picking our words carefully and laughing when we’re unsure how to explain to one another. I have learned that she met her husband during secondary school. He was at Polytechnique and it was an arranged marriage. She got to know him for three years before they married – basically she met him in what we would call 10th grade and married him after 12th grade. I try to picture myself married at the end of high school – yikes.
After dinner I go into Evelyn’s room – this is where the TV is and this is where everyone goes after dark. It’s a small room and it is seriously 10 degrees hotter in her room than outside. I stay here playing with the kids, talking and trying to catch some of the news before retreating to a bucket shower and sitting in my room in front of the fan and read, write, type or listen to some music.
At about 5:00 a.m the friendly family rooster starts doing its thing. Stupid rooster. I stay in bed. I realize I could get out of bed, but the night owl in me thinks 5 a.m should only exist for sleeping. At about 6:30 a.m I get up and spend some time in prayer. Some mornings I go for a run or I do some exercises that some of the EWBers are doing. Morning is my favourite time of the day here – it’s relatively quiet and the temperature isn’t ridiculuous. At about 7 am the husband leaves the compound on his moto, this is my cue to roll off my sleeping mat and out of my mosquito net, grab my cup and greet the family. I greet my family with a hearty “Blika!” and get shy smiles and gigles from Shaman, Amelia, and Godfred and warm smiles and questions regarding my health and sleep from the adults. For some reason, the children are shy around me in the morning and it is all they can do to respond “nambah”. Evelyn (the mum) starts to heat water on the charcoal, I go get some bread or “bowl fruit”. Bowl fruit is as delicious as it sounds, but it’s not fruit at all. It’s fried bread dough and Tim Horton’s has got nothing on it. I exchange morning greetings with my neighbors as I walk the dirt path to the bowl fruit ladies house, her name is also Clara! I love my morning walk because I pass people who know my name and greet me with “Sister Clara!” or “Blika!” and a smile. I also get to go past my favourite little boys house, his name is Michael – most often seen sporting snow suit pants, hot pink sunglasses and a mischievous grin.
I help prepare our morning “tea”, which is actually Richoco (Cadbury instant hot chocolate looks like instant coffee), dried milk, and a bit of sugar. I put the ingredients into the cups and stir while Evelyn adds hot water. After a round of “Sister Clara, you’re invited.” and “Npusia, you are also invited”. We silently drink and eat, the girls using spoons to scoop it into their mouths. I love this. It’s me 20 years ago…or last week when nobody was watching! Haha. Often Evelyn will also prepare a more typicial breakfast, ground millet, pepe (chili pepper) and water. I prefer the kids breakfast as the later tastes like taking a bite of wet spicy flour -it sits in your mouth and is hard to swallow. Every morning the woman go get water from the borehole but they don’t let me come because it’s the rainy season and the path is “not fine”. I have stopped asking to come because the answer is always a smile and no. I have gone to get water twice when I was first here and am definitely not as graceful as they are – in fact, I don’t need a bucket shower after I help get water ;)
I take a bucket bath and stand in front of the fan until I’m relatively dry. I have no mirror and two pairs of pants.
I hop on my bike and head to the office, it’s about a 10 minute bike ride made longer by the frequent greetings and maneuvering around pot holes full of red/brown water, goats, chickens, and the odd biker, moto or taxi. When I arrive at the Office, the watchman takes my bike and parks it for me, locks it, and gives me the key. We talk and I climb one flight of stairs to a big empty room. I come here to work because there is nobody here, there is a ceiling fan, and I keep hoping that someone else will come to work. Most of the Agricultural Extension Agents (AEAs) spend their time in the field or goodness knows where. Occassionally someone will poke their head in and greet me. I get picked up here by Extension Agents and we go to the field together. This usually involves a lot of waiting…waiting for the AEA to show up and waiting for the farmer groups to be gathered together. Each farmer that shows up will bow and greet you and take a seat on a bench or a root or the ground. The AEA and I are given plastic seats or a bench for ourselves. Refusing this is futile, although it feels incredibly strange to be sitting on a bench when an 80 year old is sitting on the ground. Meetings start with an opening prayer in Fra-fra, I’m not sure what is prayed and to whom it is prayed as the groups are composed of Christians and Muslims – I guess since both faiths believe there is only one God so they are ok with this. I have a hard time picturing this happening in Canada. After working through the Curriculum card and different issues that the group is having, the meeting is ended with a closing prayer and some dancing. The woman are so lively and sing and dance with so much Soul. This dancing usually involves me trying to copy them and everyone laughing. I look and feel pretty ridiculous, but when in Rome…
Some days I ride my bike into Bolga (downhill on the way there!) to meet farmer groups. The bike ride in is a bit scary, you’re sharing the road with a lot of things and I often find myself distract by something happening on the street and hit a pothole. I have taken to wearing my sunglasses on the way to town for eye safety – the cars and trucks and tros pass at such speeds that eye protection is definitely necessary. After meeting with farmer groups, I take this opportunity to go on the internet (the only building that I’ve been in with AC!), buy some fruit, stock-up on things, etc. Bolga is busy and full of people and I am always happy when I’m leaving the city heading back to my host family in the country. It’s uphill for most of the way home and I am always sweating like a maniac by the time I reach home. Despite being hot, I head into my room and put long pants and a long sleeve shirt on – no mosquitoes please!
By the time I arrive home, it is normally time to eat dinner “together”. You find somewhere to sit on the ground or a bench. Nine times out of ten, we eat TZ, which is hot fermented millet. It sounds a lot better than it tastes…In the words of Crocodile Dundee, “You can eat it…” TZ comes with a soup or a stew (one contains oil the other doesn’t). You take off chunks of TZ and dip it into the sauce. You aren’t supposed to chew it, but I haven’t figured out how to swallow the lump whole yet. They always give me a lot more than I could ever possibly eat. I stopped asking for less when I was told , “We can’t give you less or you’d look like a beggar.” I eat until the third gag reflex and am silently thankful that we eat in the dark. If I bring home plantains, we occasionally have these for dinner and tonight I had a rice ball with ground nut (peanut) soup. This is my first interaction with a rice ball and I ate half of one. Evelyn tells me that she eats three –I have a hard time picturing that and laugh. I think I would literally EXPLODE if I ate three rice balls. I told her that my pants won’t fit when I get home and that I can’t possibly eat any more. She laughs. I enjoy eating with Evelyn. We have slow discussions, each of us picking our words carefully and laughing when we’re unsure how to explain to one another. I have learned that she met her husband during secondary school. He was at Polytechnique and it was an arranged marriage. She got to know him for three years before they married – basically she met him in what we would call 10th grade and married him after 12th grade. I try to picture myself married at the end of high school – yikes.
After dinner I go into Evelyn’s room – this is where the TV is and this is where everyone goes after dark. It’s a small room and it is seriously 10 degrees hotter in her room than outside. I stay here playing with the kids, talking and trying to catch some of the news before retreating to a bucket shower and sitting in my room in front of the fan and read, write, type or listen to some music.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Making Shea Butter
Last week I got to help my host family make shea-butter. The experience was…long! and awesome! It’s too bad you can’t share scents with people over the internet because the smell was ridiculously delicious.
DAY 1
Step 1: Buy de-shelled shea nuts that from the market.
Step 2: Wash said shea nuts
Step 3: Wait for the sun to move so that you can work and only be dripping beads of sweat rather than baseballs of sweat.
Step 4: Watch grandma sit down and take a rock and start pounding one shea nut at a time. Ask if you can help and wait for the laughter to die down. “Do you think you’re able?” My options are to be amused but slightly insulted (I know I can’t carry 50 pounds of water on my head, but how weak do you think I am?!?) and watch her pound or take up the challenge and show them what Canadians are made of (thank me later). I am excited to work on this because I will be spending time with Grandma. Grandma doesn’t speak English and I see this as a chance to bond with her. So I pick up a rock and hit the first nut. The rock comes back up and I look at the nut – it looks the same. I have to use more force. I try again and examine a squished nut. One down, a big bucket full of nuts left. Grandma and I, and occasionally Amelia and Shaman (the two four year olds) continue pounding the nuts until we are interrupted/saved (depending on your point of view) by a rain storm.
When we are about half way done, Grandma asks to see my hands, touches them and laughs non-stop. “Hey! What’s so funny?! Let me see yours!” I exclaim. She shows me her hand and I start to laugh too. No wonder it doesn’t hurt when they pick up coals or put their hands into boiling water – they’ve got some seriously awesome thick skin. When the rain lets down we continue pounding shea nuts until dinner. After a short break for dinner I want to go to bed but I am determined to show them how stubborn I am.
We continue working in the dark. We finish and Grandma smiles her million dollar smile, “toma, toma” (work, work) and I respond “nam-pah”. Despite sitting on the ground pounding nuts for an entire day I am so happy because the Grandma and I are friends now!
DAY 2
Step 5: Fry the pounded shea nuts in a big pot so that they are ready to bring to the grinding mill. They use the word fry but no oil is used, you basically just heat them up and stir a lot.
Step 6: Go to the grinding mill and bring back what looks and smells like a delicious pot of chocolate frosting. I want to eat it. I act out eating it to see if we can, but am told no, it doesn’t taste good. I guess it’s like when I open a bottle of vanilla at home.
DAY 3
Step 7: Invite Grandma’s friends over so that they can help be human electric mixers. Uhh, I realize this is the wrong word choice. Basically they are about to stir like maniacs for an insanely long time.
Step 8: Use your hands to mix the frosting-like shea nut mixture. While doing this you are breaking up any clumps that you see and making it smooth. This is awesome – it’s like playing with your food! We mix and kneed while hot water is being added.
At some point I stop helping because this stage takes talent. As water is added, the material changes in colour and texture. It’s quite incredible to watch. The women keep mixing and adding water. Occasionally the water is separated from the solids. Each time the solids look more and more grey in colour and more and more oily looking. After several hours of adding water, stiring, and separating material, they are left with something that looks a bit like quicksand and smells like a mild chocolate.
Step 9: Sit infront of a fire (fires are hot) on a hot day in a structure that retains heat and stir a pot of quicksand.
Slowly the quicksand melts into a brown liquid and it starts to boil and bubble. We stir and sit and wait for about 2 hours and slowly white bubbles start to appear.
Eventually the women know it is done and scoop off the foam that has formed. The liquid below is “shea butter”. At the very bottom of the pot are the dregs. Both the dregs and the foam are discarded of and the oil is sifted and left to harden.
The shea butter before it hardens:
The shea butter after it hardens:
What an experience! Shea butter lasts for up to a year and the family will use it in cooking. I just had a bowl of rice for dinner that had shea butter in it. You can buy balls of shea butter in the market for about 10 cents. Considering the cost of the shea nuts and the cost of bring them to the grinding mill, there is literally no cost for the labour.
DAY 1
Step 1: Buy de-shelled shea nuts that from the market.
Step 2: Wash said shea nuts
Step 3: Wait for the sun to move so that you can work and only be dripping beads of sweat rather than baseballs of sweat.
Step 4: Watch grandma sit down and take a rock and start pounding one shea nut at a time. Ask if you can help and wait for the laughter to die down. “Do you think you’re able?” My options are to be amused but slightly insulted (I know I can’t carry 50 pounds of water on my head, but how weak do you think I am?!?) and watch her pound or take up the challenge and show them what Canadians are made of (thank me later). I am excited to work on this because I will be spending time with Grandma. Grandma doesn’t speak English and I see this as a chance to bond with her. So I pick up a rock and hit the first nut. The rock comes back up and I look at the nut – it looks the same. I have to use more force. I try again and examine a squished nut. One down, a big bucket full of nuts left. Grandma and I, and occasionally Amelia and Shaman (the two four year olds) continue pounding the nuts until we are interrupted/saved (depending on your point of view) by a rain storm.
When we are about half way done, Grandma asks to see my hands, touches them and laughs non-stop. “Hey! What’s so funny?! Let me see yours!” I exclaim. She shows me her hand and I start to laugh too. No wonder it doesn’t hurt when they pick up coals or put their hands into boiling water – they’ve got some seriously awesome thick skin. When the rain lets down we continue pounding shea nuts until dinner. After a short break for dinner I want to go to bed but I am determined to show them how stubborn I am.
We continue working in the dark. We finish and Grandma smiles her million dollar smile, “toma, toma” (work, work) and I respond “nam-pah”. Despite sitting on the ground pounding nuts for an entire day I am so happy because the Grandma and I are friends now!
DAY 2
Step 5: Fry the pounded shea nuts in a big pot so that they are ready to bring to the grinding mill. They use the word fry but no oil is used, you basically just heat them up and stir a lot.
Step 6: Go to the grinding mill and bring back what looks and smells like a delicious pot of chocolate frosting. I want to eat it. I act out eating it to see if we can, but am told no, it doesn’t taste good. I guess it’s like when I open a bottle of vanilla at home.
DAY 3
Step 7: Invite Grandma’s friends over so that they can help be human electric mixers. Uhh, I realize this is the wrong word choice. Basically they are about to stir like maniacs for an insanely long time.
Step 8: Use your hands to mix the frosting-like shea nut mixture. While doing this you are breaking up any clumps that you see and making it smooth. This is awesome – it’s like playing with your food! We mix and kneed while hot water is being added.
At some point I stop helping because this stage takes talent. As water is added, the material changes in colour and texture. It’s quite incredible to watch. The women keep mixing and adding water. Occasionally the water is separated from the solids. Each time the solids look more and more grey in colour and more and more oily looking. After several hours of adding water, stiring, and separating material, they are left with something that looks a bit like quicksand and smells like a mild chocolate.
Step 9: Sit infront of a fire (fires are hot) on a hot day in a structure that retains heat and stir a pot of quicksand.
Slowly the quicksand melts into a brown liquid and it starts to boil and bubble. We stir and sit and wait for about 2 hours and slowly white bubbles start to appear.
Eventually the women know it is done and scoop off the foam that has formed. The liquid below is “shea butter”. At the very bottom of the pot are the dregs. Both the dregs and the foam are discarded of and the oil is sifted and left to harden.
The shea butter before it hardens:
The shea butter after it hardens:
What an experience! Shea butter lasts for up to a year and the family will use it in cooking. I just had a bowl of rice for dinner that had shea butter in it. You can buy balls of shea butter in the market for about 10 cents. Considering the cost of the shea nuts and the cost of bring them to the grinding mill, there is literally no cost for the labour.
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