Kids These Days
At the end of school each day, the kids listen to their
names called for attendance, saying The Grace, and close their eyes as Kwame
says the closing prayer for the day.,
Yesterday, Wednesday, as we waited for the girls to finish
sweeping and the roll call to end, Grace Mary came up and started playing a
hand clapping game, something about the things the grandmother does to help get
us ready in the morning like brushing teeth, helping to bath, and helping to
dress, each accompanied by its own hand motion. It was great fun. After holding
hands with two of them as they said Grace, I had 4 wrapped around my waist
during Kwame’s prayer. That, my friends, was beautiful.
We had music after school since the kids were out Thursday
and Friday in preparation for next week’s mid-term exams. Some of these guys are catching on quickly which
is pleasant, fun to work with, and still definitely challenging. Yesterday’s
highlight was Komlavi’s correct playing of Mary Had a Little Lamb because he recognized
the notes on paper, could name them, tell me how many beats they each got, and how
to finger each one.
about a month
There’s about a month left until I say goodbye to Ghana. And
I don’t want to think about it. I mean, I absolutely can’t wait to see my
family and eat Mom’s food with lots of veggies and variety. But I don’t
want to go. I don’t wanna. You can’t make me. The amount of travelling I’d love
to do and haven’t yet is unreal. The next few weeks will be packed. I think my
finals schedule is going to actually work more or less in my favor, which is
great! The girls after school yesterday reminded me why I enjoy being at MOP.
They’re kids and they just love on you.
Makola Market!
Saturday, 3 Nov., I went to Makola Market, the largest in
Accra, by myself. I set out to find fabric, a violin, and maybe a journal. The
fabric I got from the same woman some friends and I went to last time. She’s
great, super nice and friendly. After, I started walking. After asking a few
people for directions, I made my way to Zongo St. where all the music shops
were. I found a violin [Rohm, I think] that was of pretty good quality, but didn’t
buy it. Didn’t have the money then, but am considering going back to get it.
So, I finished and started making my way back to Tema Station. And took a wrong
turn. I think I turned a junction [intersection] too early, but didn’t go back
and hoped that where ever I was going would eventually loop back to the main
streets of Makola. It didn’t. I walked for at least 20, maybe 30 minutes. At
first it changed from the many people selling (used?) Western clothes and
electronics to plumbing, toilets, and shovels then to shoes. I wish I’d had the
guts to take a picture because you can’t imagine the mounds unless you see
them. Walking past an eighteen-wheeler that blocked the street revealed a
dirtier, seemingly smaller part of the neighborhood, so basically where you got
closer to the homes. The asphalt road had more potholes, I think, and looking
to the right down an alley saw a few guys bent over the shoes spread on their
tarps. Continue walking. Pass a seamstress’s shop where uniforms and their
fabrics were hanging [I’d been wondering where all the uniforms were made; I
was relieved to see them for some reason and am not sure why], the paths are a
bit narrower, avoid falling off the sidewalk, start to smell the upcoming piles
of spoiled fish [this is how they’re eaten in fish stew] with the required
flies. Come to a kind of street crossing so there’s a more open area, see the mounds
of shoes about a foot or two deep, continue walking and hearing all the men
calling “Akos, Akos,” one of the Ghanaian girl names, continue to ignore them
and say hi to a few of the ladies. Pass chickens and pidgins in cages, tables with
pigs’ feet/legs (laid out in the open...) and meat being hacked as someone
comes to buy it, stop and make a friend. Yes. Because this is Ghana and you can’t
not make friends. Her name was Afia, maybe late 20s; she sat in front of her
little shop selling some candies and phone credits. We spoke a little Twi and I
tried to ask if Tema Station was nearby. She said yes, smiled, and pointed. I
said thank you, good bye, and left. I was nowhere near Tema. I’m not sure how
much she actually understood, but then I don’t know how much I understood her
either.
I said I wish I’d had the guts to take a picture. This was
another of those moments. Oburonis in Makola Market, that’s one thing; it’s
expected and sure you stand out, but it’s as much a tourist thing as it is the
everyday market for the Ghanaians. But this… I was obviously out of
place. I felt like I was intruding. This wasn’t the main market, but more for
those who lived in this small but dense neighborhood. I was walking past
people’s homes. Seeing the shanties, the nonexistent drainage [and therefore
stagnant sewage and garbage that collects in the gutters across Accra],
smelling everything... this isn’t far away from the city either. Calling Makola
the heart of the city is probably accurate to a certain extent; there’s so much
life and energy, it’s very close to the Kwame Nkrumah memorial and some of the
big down town places, and yet there is this massive neighborhood of people who
have a much different life from the politicians, the people in charge of the
city, me. I kept walking and finally came to a wider cleaner road lined with
ladies selling their bowls of large, fresh vegetables [these are always so
beautiful and is something I’ll definitely miss when I leave]. This met up with
an actual street where I told a taxi driver I didn’t want a ride and he walked
away and left me alone [which was surprising; there wasn’t any pestering at
all!] Behind him were about 5 guys leaning on their motorcycles. The closest
one called me and I almost turned away…BUT I had no clue where I was and, well,
why not? So I got a 5ish minute motoride back to Tema Station, the other guys
telling my driver “small, small,” to go slow. I may or may not have been saying
I would die and that I didn’t know how to get on as he started the engine. The looks
on their faces was great! They had these huge grins like, “Silly oburoni. She’s
got no clue.” it was so cool. Doing
my first motorcycle and motoride at once was really exciting and, by the time
he dropped me off, I didn’t want to stop!
**Please note: My driver wore a helmet. The second hung on
the front of his bike the entire time. He didn’t offer and I didn’t ask. oops. Don't tell Mom. :P
No comments:
Post a Comment