Tills Beach, Aburi Mountains, and Amedzofe have one thing in common. These are places to rest. Tills beach doesn't give much of an escape from the heat, but the waters help to cool you down. Once at Tills, there is a chance to relax but getting to Tills is another story!
Aburi Mountains offered an easier getaway with a lovely botanical garden to picnic in. My husband never wanted to go on excursions to Aburi because "...we have much nicer gardens in Malaysia..."
I would respond, "We are not in Malaysia- so let us just enjoy what we have!"
Ah, but the most wonderful place of all was Amedzofe. Unfortunately, we only made it there once. My husband was out of town and I visited my friend, Sister Victoria. She was from the Volta Region and as we sat and drank our 'mineral drink' (coke), she shared of how her father was getting on in years and she needed to visit him.
"What is stopping you?"
"It is a long journey." She sucked gently on her straw.
"Let's go together!"
Eyes as big as saucers, she couldn't believe what I was saying. Two days later I was driving up to Amedzofe in a van packed with 9 people. No one had warned me of the steep hill with no paved road. Actually the going up was not too bad; the coming down proved to be a problem. The rains came while we were up on the mountain and the red clay made for a very slippery surface. Even with the brake pedal all the way to the floor, the van kept sliding down the mountain. None of the passengers were aware of the involuntary motion of the van and I kept praying no other vehicle would show up. I just wanted to keep going straight down the mountain and not over the cliff.
Ah, but the actual mountain was breathtaking. We loaded up with bread on our way out of Accra. I purchased sugar, milo, tea, margarine, canned tomatoes and other staples as Sister Victoria said these would be appreciated by her family. (I had asked what I could bring) We were welcomed with open arms and the gifts were ooohed and aaahed over. It was the first time in Ghana I felt cold. I wasn't just cold, I was freezing.
Fog covered the mountain in the morning. It was so thick we couldn't walk around in case we fell off the side of the mountain. (or so we were warned) Days were spent climbing inclines, chasing butterflies, and meeting warm hearted people. Finally we clambered back in our van to journey down the hill. This is when they came. Katrina, my daughter, was the first to see them.
"Mom, look at the parade coming towards us"
Women and children marched towards us. Baskets laden with fruit tittered precariously on their heads. They came straight to the van and offloaded the basket of mangoes, and cassavas.
"Why?"
Sister Victoria said, "This is their way."
These were the people who shared their humble house with us. Gave the little they had to feed us and to make sure we were comfortable. Now as we were leaving they showered us with the fruits of their labor. I decided, I liked their way!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Ghana 2001- shaved legs, sweet smells and other surprising things
Someone pointed out my absence of updating...I have been reluctant to update because I did not want to leave Ghana-2001 just yet. How does one compile an entire year into one or two posts? There is so much which took place in 2001, not just in Ghana but in the world. Looking back at old journal entries for 2001, I see a stadium collapse, beauty,birth, death, rains, joy, family time, 9/11, cancer, and so much more. Out of all the monumental entries, one simple one jumped up at me. It ties in with the last update I did....It says nothing, while at the same time it says everything.
Wednesday, May 30th, 2001
Just stepped out of the shower...had a delicious time with all those flavored shower gels and special smelling lotions.
What is the best feeling in the world? SHAVED LEGS....they feel so smooth! love it! Wet hair...smelling of some kind of fruit....overwhelmed right now with various fragrances. There is the sweet smell of the 'after rain' drifting in from outside. Peeking out the window, I can see leftover rain dripping from drooping branches. Everything sparkles....so fresh....renewed. mmmmmm...good!
The garden looks like I feel!
p.s. and for the other surprising things... a bit of morbid humor happened in 2001- my dear friend, Mr. O (69 years old)- was traveling from the Eastern Region via tro-tro (buslike contraption- which squeezes in more people than it should). The tro-tro met with a tragic accident just before reaching Accra. Dead bodies draped every conceiveable place.
Mr. O's body was hoisted onto a truck with the other bodies. On arriving at the Military 37th Hospital- white powder was sprinkled on each body. Due to the late hour, the morgue assistant simply left the bodies lying aimlessly about in the morgue and then he walked out. Several hours later, Mr. O woke up. Apparently he was not dead. After surveying his surroundings, he stood up and walked out the door. Two young watchmen were sitting outside the door when the naked, white powdered-sprinkled Mr. O emerged from the morgue. Needless to say, they shot up from their chairs and took off running. Mr. O didn't have time to explain to them he was not a ghost. :)...aaahhhh, yes, my memories of Ghana!
Wednesday, May 30th, 2001
Just stepped out of the shower...had a delicious time with all those flavored shower gels and special smelling lotions.
What is the best feeling in the world? SHAVED LEGS....they feel so smooth! love it! Wet hair...smelling of some kind of fruit....overwhelmed right now with various fragrances. There is the sweet smell of the 'after rain' drifting in from outside. Peeking out the window, I can see leftover rain dripping from drooping branches. Everything sparkles....so fresh....renewed. mmmmmm...good!
The garden looks like I feel!
p.s. and for the other surprising things... a bit of morbid humor happened in 2001- my dear friend, Mr. O (69 years old)- was traveling from the Eastern Region via tro-tro (buslike contraption- which squeezes in more people than it should). The tro-tro met with a tragic accident just before reaching Accra. Dead bodies draped every conceiveable place.
Mr. O's body was hoisted onto a truck with the other bodies. On arriving at the Military 37th Hospital- white powder was sprinkled on each body. Due to the late hour, the morgue assistant simply left the bodies lying aimlessly about in the morgue and then he walked out. Several hours later, Mr. O woke up. Apparently he was not dead. After surveying his surroundings, he stood up and walked out the door. Two young watchmen were sitting outside the door when the naked, white powdered-sprinkled Mr. O emerged from the morgue. Needless to say, they shot up from their chairs and took off running. Mr. O didn't have time to explain to them he was not a ghost. :)...aaahhhh, yes, my memories of Ghana!
Monday, February 9, 2009
Ghana- 2001-rains
Torrential rain crashes down wiping away the dust, dirt and grime. I love the smell after the rain. I love how green the trees look. Of course there were times when there was too much rain. Floods are never fun; however, on the whole the rain simply washed away the muck.
Things I liked doing when it rained in Ghana....Stay inside and just watch it from the window...I wish I could have snuggled in bed with a good book- unfortunately this was not always possible :)....I tried to have a hot cup of tea and sip on it while working...listening to the rain....Is there anything more soothing? Sometimes, I liked to stand out on the verandah and feel the bits of rain which managed to sneak in through the chicks.
Things I liked doing when it rained in Ghana....Stay inside and just watch it from the window...I wish I could have snuggled in bed with a good book- unfortunately this was not always possible :)....I tried to have a hot cup of tea and sip on it while working...listening to the rain....Is there anything more soothing? Sometimes, I liked to stand out on the verandah and feel the bits of rain which managed to sneak in through the chicks.
white sprawling porches
tropical rain pounding down
washing the dry ground
watery sunlight peeks through
sweet scent of rain lingering
tropical rain pounding down
washing the dry ground
watery sunlight peeks through
sweet scent of rain lingering
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
ghana- 2000- Tombstones
I was trying to think how I could sum up the year 2000 in Ghana. I mean how do you put an entire year in one post? I stared at the blank screen and then I remembered an essay I wrote ... I thought about it... and it will do perfectly. I looked through the blog and as far as I know this will be the first time I am posting this essay to this blog-- Simply titled "Tombstones"
I think being in a third world country puts one in a position to face death and sickness on a regular basis, but I don't think it 'prepares' you for it.
Rushing five year old Stephi to the hospital, speeding against time because she needs a blood transfusion. She makes it in time. Her mother is happy. Her father is thrilled. We are all relieved!!
I drive home through the night, sighing, I think, "This is why I am here!" No sooner has the sigh of relief slipped past my lips and the phone rings.
"We rushed Mary to the hospital"
.... I am back on the roller coaster... Mary is such a sweet lady in her 30's. She always has a smile. She is always full of joy. Mary has AIDS.
A short time before the phone call I went up to Aburi mountains with Mary. She was cold and I let her use my jacket. We kept joking with each other. Mary bubbled over with energy; what is she doing being rushed to the hospital? Didn't she only have a small problem with her stomach?
The phone rings again; now the ride swoops down. She is dead. I feel like I'm on one of those rides where the thing loops around and you are upside down.......what do you mean she is dead? I just talked to her!
No time to think. There are coffins to pick out, a dress to sew, something simple but elegant for her to wear in the casket.
Now I take out my jacket and I can't look at it the same way. I look over at Daniel's overstuffed green chair. I dragged it down to the hospital so Samuel could be comfortable the last day he was with us. Every time he tried to lean back he couldn't breathe. His heart would pound like a horse gone wild. He was exhausted. Everyone was exhausted taking turns allowing him to lean on us...that is when I thought of the chair...it didn't go back all the way, so it allowed him to rest while sitting up. Samuel was relieved when he leaned back in the soft chair. We said good-bye to him, he couldn't speak, but his eyes said everything. He smiled and closed his eyes and then he was gone.
The tombstones lining the pathway of my lifetime are not made up of rock and marble....no...they are made up of jackets...chairs...sweaters....shoes.....handbags......little
dolls.....raggedy stuffed animals....memorials to those who have gone on ahead of me....reminders that life here on earth doesn't last forever.......maybe it is a reminder (after all) of what I am doing here in Africa.
I think being in a third world country puts one in a position to face death and sickness on a regular basis, but I don't think it 'prepares' you for it.
Rushing five year old Stephi to the hospital, speeding against time because she needs a blood transfusion. She makes it in time. Her mother is happy. Her father is thrilled. We are all relieved!!
I drive home through the night, sighing, I think, "This is why I am here!" No sooner has the sigh of relief slipped past my lips and the phone rings.
"We rushed Mary to the hospital"
.... I am back on the roller coaster... Mary is such a sweet lady in her 30's. She always has a smile. She is always full of joy. Mary has AIDS.
A short time before the phone call I went up to Aburi mountains with Mary. She was cold and I let her use my jacket. We kept joking with each other. Mary bubbled over with energy; what is she doing being rushed to the hospital? Didn't she only have a small problem with her stomach?
The phone rings again; now the ride swoops down. She is dead. I feel like I'm on one of those rides where the thing loops around and you are upside down.......what do you mean she is dead? I just talked to her!
No time to think. There are coffins to pick out, a dress to sew, something simple but elegant for her to wear in the casket.
Now I take out my jacket and I can't look at it the same way. I look over at Daniel's overstuffed green chair. I dragged it down to the hospital so Samuel could be comfortable the last day he was with us. Every time he tried to lean back he couldn't breathe. His heart would pound like a horse gone wild. He was exhausted. Everyone was exhausted taking turns allowing him to lean on us...that is when I thought of the chair...it didn't go back all the way, so it allowed him to rest while sitting up. Samuel was relieved when he leaned back in the soft chair. We said good-bye to him, he couldn't speak, but his eyes said everything. He smiled and closed his eyes and then he was gone.
The tombstones lining the pathway of my lifetime are not made up of rock and marble....no...they are made up of jackets...chairs...sweaters....shoes.....handbags......little
dolls.....raggedy stuffed animals....memorials to those who have gone on ahead of me....reminders that life here on earth doesn't last forever.......maybe it is a reminder (after all) of what I am doing here in Africa.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Ghana- 1999- Seeing in the Dark
There is nothing unusual about the electricity going off in Africa; however, something special happened one night when it went off. Sometimes it takes the lights going off for me to notice important things about those I love.
Life stops for no one, it just slows down once in awhile so that I gain a proper perspective. The sad thing is I often struggle with the slowing down and want to rush on ahead. When I rush I miss the opportunity to discover priceless truths about those around me.
The electricity had been off most of the day and it hadn’t come on when it was time to go to sleep. The humidity made it so easy to feel uncomfortable. I kept tossing and turning, attempting to find a better position. When I rolled from my back to my side, my back peeled itself away from the sheets and then my side re-attached itself firmly to the bedding.
I could hear everything so clearly: the night sounds, the next door neighbors. I listened to my husband’s rhythmic breathing. He was still awake.
Listening to his breathing, my mind wandered back to a short feature film I had seen earlier that day. “Jacob's Harvest” was a simple film about a family struggling to come to terms with various problems and trials. There were two brothers featured and one always appeared to be getting the short end of the stick because he was the more responsible one. He seemed to be missing out on life because of his strong sense of duty and obligation.
At one point in the film the old farmer asked his adult son "It's not easy always being the responsible one, is it?"
Lying there in the darkness thinking about what that man had said, tears slipped down my cheeks. The farmer’s words made me think of my husband. He has always been the responsible one; never running away from what he needed to do. He had many opportunities to do easier jobs. He had chances to escape hardships, but he always chose to stick with what needed to be done. I cried for the many times that he plodded through life not getting proper recognition or praise when he actually deserved it.
Rolling over, I touched his arm lightly and he responded immediately, turning towards me.
"What?"
"I saw something today that moved me."
"What was that?"
In the retelling of that particular part of the film, I told him of how it reminded me of him. I said, "I know it isn't always easy for you to be the responsible one. I just want you to know that I appreciate you and I’m proud of you. I love you for everything you have done and continue to do. You could easily give up on everything and walk away, but you don’t. Thank you."
Not saying a word, he reached over and touched my face. I couldn't see his eyes in the dark, but I could feel him looking at me. After what seemed like an eternity, he said, in his usual practical way, "Thank you so much for understanding."
No more needed to be said, except to say goodnight. More words would have cluttered the moment.
I realized I had never really seen him as I saw him right then. My heart burst at the seams with pride for him. That picture of him has stuck with me. He is absolutely the best man I have ever known. He has taught me so much just by his life and the way he lives it.
The electricity went off long enough for me to slow down and really see this man who lay next to me night after night.
Life stops for no one, it just slows down once in awhile so that I gain a proper perspective. The sad thing is I often struggle with the slowing down and want to rush on ahead. When I rush I miss the opportunity to discover priceless truths about those around me.
The electricity had been off most of the day and it hadn’t come on when it was time to go to sleep. The humidity made it so easy to feel uncomfortable. I kept tossing and turning, attempting to find a better position. When I rolled from my back to my side, my back peeled itself away from the sheets and then my side re-attached itself firmly to the bedding.
I could hear everything so clearly: the night sounds, the next door neighbors. I listened to my husband’s rhythmic breathing. He was still awake.
Listening to his breathing, my mind wandered back to a short feature film I had seen earlier that day. “Jacob's Harvest” was a simple film about a family struggling to come to terms with various problems and trials. There were two brothers featured and one always appeared to be getting the short end of the stick because he was the more responsible one. He seemed to be missing out on life because of his strong sense of duty and obligation.
At one point in the film the old farmer asked his adult son "It's not easy always being the responsible one, is it?"
Lying there in the darkness thinking about what that man had said, tears slipped down my cheeks. The farmer’s words made me think of my husband. He has always been the responsible one; never running away from what he needed to do. He had many opportunities to do easier jobs. He had chances to escape hardships, but he always chose to stick with what needed to be done. I cried for the many times that he plodded through life not getting proper recognition or praise when he actually deserved it.
Rolling over, I touched his arm lightly and he responded immediately, turning towards me.
"What?"
"I saw something today that moved me."
"What was that?"
In the retelling of that particular part of the film, I told him of how it reminded me of him. I said, "I know it isn't always easy for you to be the responsible one. I just want you to know that I appreciate you and I’m proud of you. I love you for everything you have done and continue to do. You could easily give up on everything and walk away, but you don’t. Thank you."
Not saying a word, he reached over and touched my face. I couldn't see his eyes in the dark, but I could feel him looking at me. After what seemed like an eternity, he said, in his usual practical way, "Thank you so much for understanding."
No more needed to be said, except to say goodnight. More words would have cluttered the moment.
I realized I had never really seen him as I saw him right then. My heart burst at the seams with pride for him. That picture of him has stuck with me. He is absolutely the best man I have ever known. He has taught me so much just by his life and the way he lives it.
The electricity went off long enough for me to slow down and really see this man who lay next to me night after night.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Ghana- What I miss
Okay, no more doom and gloom- life in Ghana was not all near death experiences and dead bodies. If the experiences were put on a scale, the good days far outweighed the bad days.
Each country is made up of people. Places are fine and things are great but ultimately it is the people who make up a place. They give the place meaning and life. Remove all the people and what is the value of the beautiful sunset or sunrise? What meaning does the historic building have anymore if you can't share it with someone? Ghana has some of the most beautiful people you will ever meet anywhere.
Of course you have your odd ducks, but what country doesn't? On the whole- the Ghanaian people are known for their hospitality- After all, where did the famous "Akwaaba" come from? A word symbolizing welcome in all the senses of the word.....welcome to my country...welcome to my city...welcome to my home.
Another trait found across the board in Ghana is their generosity. If they are eating a meal and you walk up- the instant response to your presence is, "You are invited." It doesn't matter if there is only a small portion of food on their plate or a large one..."You are invited." And it is not an empty invitation because on most occasions the invitation is accepted and the food is shared.
The most captivating aspect of a Ghanaian is their joy. Laughter rings out readily across a courtyard. Even in their disagreements, a smile will play on the edge of someone's lips and before you know it the entire group is laughing. The fight forgotten and a joke made cushioning the problems yet to be shared.
In the many years I lived in Ghana, I saw so many places. I experienced a great many things. When I left Ghana, I did not miss the beautiful beaches, the historic landmarks, the quaint shopping spots. The only thing I miss is the people.
Each country is made up of people. Places are fine and things are great but ultimately it is the people who make up a place. They give the place meaning and life. Remove all the people and what is the value of the beautiful sunset or sunrise? What meaning does the historic building have anymore if you can't share it with someone? Ghana has some of the most beautiful people you will ever meet anywhere.
Of course you have your odd ducks, but what country doesn't? On the whole- the Ghanaian people are known for their hospitality- After all, where did the famous "Akwaaba" come from? A word symbolizing welcome in all the senses of the word.....welcome to my country...welcome to my city...welcome to my home.
Another trait found across the board in Ghana is their generosity. If they are eating a meal and you walk up- the instant response to your presence is, "You are invited." It doesn't matter if there is only a small portion of food on their plate or a large one..."You are invited." And it is not an empty invitation because on most occasions the invitation is accepted and the food is shared.
The most captivating aspect of a Ghanaian is their joy. Laughter rings out readily across a courtyard. Even in their disagreements, a smile will play on the edge of someone's lips and before you know it the entire group is laughing. The fight forgotten and a joke made cushioning the problems yet to be shared.
In the many years I lived in Ghana, I saw so many places. I experienced a great many things. When I left Ghana, I did not miss the beautiful beaches, the historic landmarks, the quaint shopping spots. The only thing I miss is the people.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
1998-Ghana- Dead man talking
"Mom, there is a dead man in front of our gate."
Katrina was not quite ten when she woke me up to tell me about the dead man in front of our gate. She mentioned it casually, as if she was mentioning there were flowers growing outside our window. It took me a moment to focus.
So it wasn't a nightmare...it really happened!
The naked man lay crumpled on the pathway in front of our house. I ran back in the house to get a blanket to cover him.
"No, no you must not put the blanket on him. This is a police case."
The police didn't come for more than 6 hours. No one was allowed to touch the body. The body cried out to all who were willing to listen, "Why did you allow this to happen?"
So it wasn't a bad dream...it really happened!
It all started the day before. We arrived back from town to find the neighborhood in an uproar. A thief broke into one of the houses but they left some of the goods behind a wall. The idea must have been to come back at dark to retrieve the loot. An impromptu neighborhood committee agreed to lay in wait for the thieves. At around 6 pm the two unsuspecting fellows crept over the wall only to be ambushed. One of the men managed to escape; his friend was not so lucky.
How does one recreate the scene? I was alerted to what was going on by shrieks and blood curdling, gleeful chanting. I ran to the gate to see what was going on outside and discovered throngs of people. There was an odd feeling in the air. I knew something wasn't right and I questioned those nearest me as to what was going on.
"We are going to beat the thief!"
That night the crowd was the judge, the jury and the executioner all rolled up in one. Daniel tried to go out and stop them but they were so 'high' on a thirst for blood that they wouldn't listen to reason. One minute Daniel was there in the midst of the people and the next minute the mob swallowed him up. Pushing through a wall of people, I found him slumped over on the ground. Someone hit him. I'm sure they didn't mean to it was just the frenzy of the moment. Dragging him back towards the gate, I thought we would never make it. We made it.
We were advised to go in our house.
"You do not understand, this is Ghana. This is our way!"
Maybe if we had a gun, or a water hose, or something to disrupt the crowd things would have turned out differently. We had nothing. We begged. We pleaded. Our voices were drowned out by the chanting and the cheering. Mob mentality took over and reason was pushed into the dark corners of the night.
This is not a dream...it really happened.
The sun rose, the birds chirped, my children skipped out the front gate stumbling over the dead man. His skull sunken in from the many rocks hurled at him. His body screamed at me, "Couldn't you have tried harder?" I had no words.
I stood vigil with my blanket in hand. The police arrived. They questioned people but no one knew what happened. The loud chanters and the screamers from the night before were silent. They had no words.
It really happened!
The body was tossed into a land rover. The police drove down the bumpy road with the body bouncing around in the back. I watched the vehicle fade away in the distance.
I will never let it happen again!
Katrina was not quite ten when she woke me up to tell me about the dead man in front of our gate. She mentioned it casually, as if she was mentioning there were flowers growing outside our window. It took me a moment to focus.
So it wasn't a nightmare...it really happened!
The naked man lay crumpled on the pathway in front of our house. I ran back in the house to get a blanket to cover him.
"No, no you must not put the blanket on him. This is a police case."
The police didn't come for more than 6 hours. No one was allowed to touch the body. The body cried out to all who were willing to listen, "Why did you allow this to happen?"
So it wasn't a bad dream...it really happened!
It all started the day before. We arrived back from town to find the neighborhood in an uproar. A thief broke into one of the houses but they left some of the goods behind a wall. The idea must have been to come back at dark to retrieve the loot. An impromptu neighborhood committee agreed to lay in wait for the thieves. At around 6 pm the two unsuspecting fellows crept over the wall only to be ambushed. One of the men managed to escape; his friend was not so lucky.
How does one recreate the scene? I was alerted to what was going on by shrieks and blood curdling, gleeful chanting. I ran to the gate to see what was going on outside and discovered throngs of people. There was an odd feeling in the air. I knew something wasn't right and I questioned those nearest me as to what was going on.
"We are going to beat the thief!"
That night the crowd was the judge, the jury and the executioner all rolled up in one. Daniel tried to go out and stop them but they were so 'high' on a thirst for blood that they wouldn't listen to reason. One minute Daniel was there in the midst of the people and the next minute the mob swallowed him up. Pushing through a wall of people, I found him slumped over on the ground. Someone hit him. I'm sure they didn't mean to it was just the frenzy of the moment. Dragging him back towards the gate, I thought we would never make it. We made it.
We were advised to go in our house.
"You do not understand, this is Ghana. This is our way!"
Maybe if we had a gun, or a water hose, or something to disrupt the crowd things would have turned out differently. We had nothing. We begged. We pleaded. Our voices were drowned out by the chanting and the cheering. Mob mentality took over and reason was pushed into the dark corners of the night.
This is not a dream...it really happened.
The sun rose, the birds chirped, my children skipped out the front gate stumbling over the dead man. His skull sunken in from the many rocks hurled at him. His body screamed at me, "Couldn't you have tried harder?" I had no words.
I stood vigil with my blanket in hand. The police arrived. They questioned people but no one knew what happened. The loud chanters and the screamers from the night before were silent. They had no words.
It really happened!
The body was tossed into a land rover. The police drove down the bumpy road with the body bouncing around in the back. I watched the vehicle fade away in the distance.
I will never let it happen again!
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