Music and Mud
January 14, 2006
It’s funny how much little things can affect you in a foreign environment. Moods swing randomly and sporadically from feeling comfortable to feeling totally out of place. Most of the time I’m pretty happy being here, doing my thing. Once in a while though the foreignness of everything overwhelms me and I just want to curl up. Which I usually do, for a little while. Then it passes, and I do something that makes me incredibly excited about being here, and this experience, and all the things I’m seeing. Finally, equilibrium sets in again and I feel, for the most part, comfortable in my environment.
My weekend has been packed, and I think keeping busy keeps me on the excited side of the emotional spectrum, allowing just enough downtime to recharge and fully engage with this place. Yesterday I got up early, showered, dressed and headed into town for a church picnic. A couple of people in my office are in the choir at the local Catholic Church (the Frafra in Bolga are Catholic) and invited some of us interns along. The other obroni (ie white people, in Tre, the Ashanti language), or solmena (ie white people in Gurundi, the Frafra language), in the office are all women, Vanessa, Zuzanna and Stefani. Vanessa and Zuzanna are CUSO cooperants, over on an exchange that is a requisite part of the international development program at U of T. Stefani is interning for six months here on a CIDA internship. We are all at CENSUDI, and, funnily enough, will be joined by another Canadian intern this week.
So we all arrived, on time (which in Ghana means about a half hour late) at the Catholic Service Centre, awaiting the arrival of Mabel (pronounced Maybelle) and Peter, who had invited us. Peter arrived at 9am, about a half hour after us. Mabel probably rolled up around 9:30 or 10am. Despite all the groaning about how we could have slept in (I had stayed in the night before, so wasn’t too unhappy about getting going early), sitting around until a trotro (picture a miniature bread van, jam-packed full of people) came to pick us up gave us the opportunity to learn some hymns.
While I am an avid cynic of organized religion at home, there is something about Ghanaian religion that makes it . . . different. People believe, not only in God, but in signs, speaking in tongues, and magic. Magic is real here. So religion, while distinctly Christian or Muslim, is different from what we would consider religion at home. And everything is spiritual. As we were loaded onto the trotro at 11:00am a prayer was said, asking for our safe journey. Every meeting, workshop, initiative or journey starts and ends with a prayer. Then people started singing. And I’m not talking about the staid, stiff hymns of euroamerican worship. These were real West African vocal jams. Lead singers, harmonies, and a celebratory sense of purpose. Mabel had prepared us with a couple of hymns (which she kindly wrote the words to) so we were able to join in a little. I never thought I’d have fun singing about serving the lord. I think the act of singing, as much as the words, is what people appreciate. It provides, even for an outsider, some sense of unity. Like we’re all in this together. Which I guess is the point of religion, really.
So we arrived (and prayed before getting out) at the dam, a beautiful body of water that irrigates many of the fields in this area, and, I think, provides water for Bolga. We spent the day eating, dancing (even more important, here, than singing for people, and something kids do almost before they walk), playing football and volleyball. It was probably the hippest church picnic I can imagine, as many people there were drunk by the end.
We hitched a ride back home on the back of a big old flatbed lorry, and headed home to change. Then last night dinner was sausages and chips (I miss potatoes constantly, I hadn’t realized how much I depend on them for my starch needs, I really think I’m addicted) at my local pub, New Lifeline, with Mabel, Vanessa, Zuzanna and Stephanie and their friends Aziz and Amy, and off to the Black Star Hotel, which runs a nightclub on Saturdays. A little dancing, a little dodging the overly-friendly police officer who wanted to find out where I live so he can come visit, and the night was over. All in all a good day.
January 15, 2006
Tap. Tap. Knock. Knock. Bang. Bang. “Uncle Mattew, Uncle Mattew!!” Please let them go away. “Uncle Mattew!!” Giggle. Knock. Bang. “Uncle Mattew!” Giggle. Tap. Quiet. They’re gone. Knock. Bang. . .
“Emmy, Uncle Mattew likes to go out drinking on weekends, stay out too late and sleep in. That means he doesn’t come answer your knocking at 7am on Sunday morning.”
I was polite and the girls received it well, and we actually hung out for about an hour before I got tired again and passed out again. It’s all about setting boundaries, I suppose, even when they’re six (or three). Today I went to Zuarungu, a village just outside Bolga, to see some natural building. Actually, we got there when they’d finished for the day, but saw some foundation work they’d done. Basically the same principle as cob, only no straw. And really far less necessity given that the structures are far smaller, and less permanent. There does not seem to be a philosophy of permanence here.
I was given a tour by John, who works next to me (and above me) in the office. He showed me the foundation, and described the building process. Basically, they make balls of clay/sand and slap them on the wall. Pretty simple, really, and they build 1.5 -2 feet a day. John then took me to his home, which is almost complete, and he’s sprayed with cement (it really does last longer that way, as the summer rains are heave and there’s no limestone here for a decent plaster). I met his uncles, who are the patriarchs of the compound. Apparently they’d done a ceremony the night before involving pito (the locally brewed millet beer, which is actually pretty good) to check in with the ancestors. All the uncles were doing the rounds today to insure that all was well, that the ancestors were appeased. They invited me back, and were all very sweet men, and I think I’d like to take them up on it.
So I saw the buildings, and John explained to me bricks (shaped in boxes, dried in the sun and then mortared together with mud) vs. hand building (much more like cob), showed me how layers are added, what the timeline is. It was all very interesting, but I’m starting to sense that mud building is less about knowledge of materials and more about cultural design. John explained to me how compounds work. Traditionally based upon a polygamous Ghanaian family structure, each wife is given a house (with a male house upon which it’s centred). The sons are then allowed to build off their mother’s house, while the daughters go where they’re married). Compounds are thus patriarchal in descent, and familial in terms of connection. John’s compound is 4 families (including his brother and two distant cousins, all descended from the same great grandfather). He then told me that there is a compound in Tongo (a village not too far from Bolga) that is 500 families!!! I’m amazed by this number, and at this point really excited to see a house, a building, a living structure that houses 500 families. Incredible. It has become my next Ghanaian goal (just wait till Dogon country!).
So John showed me around, and meeting his family was a special privilege. I then headed back into town, remarking on how Ghana really is a motorcycle country (Mike assured me of this before I left, and I believed him then, but moreso now that I’ve toured around on a bike). We went back to the office, and I bumped into Stef, who was waiting for John (who was stuck in the village as he had funeral arrangements to make, which is a really big deal here) to do some work. We had lunch and chatted, and I headed home.
Dinner this evening was with Tony Allthorp, who’s on a district capacity building project (DISCAP), and a very interesting guy. I met him in Accra when I first arrived, and spent my first day in Bolga with him. He wasn’t feeling too well, but we had palm nut soup with grasscutter, the local rodent (something like a cross between a large rat and a bunny). It was tasty. A surprising amount of meat on them. Tony keeps his fridge well-stocked with beer, which is always nice, but an evening with him always makes for a long next day, which is, I suppose, what tomorrow will be.