I’m staring idly out the window. It’s overcast in Accra today—Mother Nature’s aftermath of a torrential rainstorm from the previous night. And I have Just A Band’s “Usinibore” on blast in my headphones—Benjamin Lebrave of Akwaaba Records introduced me to them. I’m jammin.
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| Unrelenting vigor! |
The past 2 weeks or so have been action packed. Well, the action mostly commences on the weekends. Such is the life of a workingwoman! Why does my spell check say workingwoman is one word? I never knew! In any event, on June 18, which was the previous Saturday, my work took on Tullow Oil in a friendly football match. I was less than friendly, however. I did a great job yelling and screaming at our opponents. I was also fantastic at jumping in pictures with sweaty footballers to make it appear as though I played with an unrelenting vigor. I have to admit, I did not touch a football the whole today. It should be noted that Tullow Oil showed up in their fancy uniforms with some fancy footwork. But we, the West Africa Trade Hub, have the Fancy Food Show—I’m serious. So they can have their fancy back! We didn’t stand a chance. We knew it. We played, anyways! Onwards and upwards my football soldiers!
After the match, I meandered around the Osu area waiting to take some newly arrived Obrunis to a fast-paced, vibrant market in Accra, Makola (and around). I managed to walk from Oxford St. to Independence Square, then the Osu Cemetery and back. It was nice to take a solo walking tour across Accra. I used to have this idea about walking across Africa. That, of course, was a microscopic taste of what it would be like. But, needless to say, it still seems like a good idea. If anyone is interested, you know where to find me!
After my tour was finished, I crashed a funeral. That’s the best segue I could come up with for this story. I was hoping there would be free food. In fact, I was told there would be free food! I later realized it was just a ploy to get me to show up. Can you imagine? And while everyone was decked out in their funeral attire, which traditionally means hand sewn fabrics crafted in combinations of black and white, black and brown or red patterns, I showed up sweaty, in football shorts and a Borderless t-shirt from the football match earlier. I am learning that life is all about timing. That was really bad timing.
The white saviors finally arrived in Osu, an agreed upon meeting point, where we would begin our market journey. They really were my saviors because they were the perfect excuse I needed to ditch the funeral. And they were white. I love irony, what can I say? The highlight of that trip was eating Waakye, pronounced waa-chay (the "ky" in Twi makes a “ch” sound in English), out of banana leaves! In all my attempts at Ghanaian immersion, I had never done that.
So, that long narrative was just one day. I still have 2 weeks to cover! Should I keep going? I think I shall. Next item on the agenda: Accra by night.
I am single, 22, and I live in Accra. This part of my life is called: go have fun! Fun, I had. This past Friday I went out with 2 girlfriends. We went out. To Monsoon, Champs and Bella Roma, specifically. All I can really say about that night is it involved lots of free drinks, too much tequila, a charismatic manager from Champs and a cleaner from the US Embassy. This can be like Madlibs, you fill in the rest.
Saturday was spent reenergizing my exhausted self. I did laundry. I am only including this tedious bit of information because I did not do it by hand. I did it in a washing machine, in the house I am staying. Did I mention I am staying in Cantonments? A very wealthy, residential area just before you reach Osu. My neighbor drives a Masarati. This is the elite of the elite. I feel a bit out of place. There is a guard who opens the taxi door for me when I come home. He turns the outdoor lights on when dusk is approaching. Just thought I’d set the scene for you.
When I think of Ghana, I picture some kind of cubist image that only has a certain number of pieces completed; and even in its completion it is not quite clear what each part could mean or represent; the possibilities become infinite, relative to space and time, they become my own interpretation and meaning. In coming back, every experience I have here becomes an opportunity to make the image whole. My time here is cubist, in a way. There is a plethora of possibilities to be perceived and received. The 2009 Lauren-in-Ghana would throw up if she found out the 2011 Lauren-in-Ghana was living in Cantonments. But I am after that image of wholeness, the organized confusion that makes you think and delve into a deeper level of self. Cantonments is another part of the whole. Put simply, we cannot essentialize a country to one experience, one moment in time, one trip. By we I mean myself. So, that’s “On Living in Cantonments!”
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| Benjamin and myself, the djembe apprentice! |
Then there was Sunday. As in yesterday. I invited myself to help my friend make drums, djembe drums specifically, at his shop in the Art Center. The Art Center is this interesting craft market behind Tema Station. It’s known for its aggressive vendors, but if you can stick it out you will find that most of these people are very interesting and more than willing to take you under their crafty wing. So, that’s what I did. I thought I’d be able to make a drum. That’s not exactly how it went. Benjamin, one of the apprentices (by the end of the day everyone nearby called me apprentice, too), had me double weaving a ring that would be placed at the top of the drum to hold it in place. What he made in 10 minutes took me almost 2 hours.
Of course, I am a little less focused when there is hiplife music playing and did more dancing than working. But the point was, I was there! I thought this would be a good idea...
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| Gives new meaning to "green" transportation. |
...And it was until the guy pushing me did not hesitate to trek up a small, rocky passageway that led out of the market to the main road. After my very hard work and sweat, I produced two rings. Clearly, I am a great asset to their shop. Not. But they rewarded me anyways. Edmond, Kwaku, and Benjamin had a jam session with a total of 7 drums. For me! Okay and for their own enjoyment because they really looked like they were in a state of transcendence when they played. Why wouldn’t you be, though? Those drums are powerful, bold, and willful. You do what it tells you to do. It usually will tell you to dance.
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| Edmond, Kwaku, Benjamin! |
In their moment of spirituality, I realized how incredible the day had been. It never gets old—meeting people and forging genuine connections with them. It always breathes a new sense of vitality into me. This is what I love. Finding new ways to interact with people. To challenge yourself, to be afraid to push yourself, but to do it anyways. So we were feeling irie, as Kwaku says, and in the spirit of Jah, we went to feed the gateway to our souls: our stomachs! On our trek to get something to eat, however, I came across a bar that overlooked the coast. They served palm wine. Kwaku wanted to get irie, I was going to give him irie. We drank palm wine out of a calabash. Danced small small. Laughed plenty plenty.
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| Benjamin and our irie friend, palm wine! |
We finally discovered a chop bar with food, which is hard to find in Ghana on a Sunday. Went back to the shop with our black plastic bags filled with rice, stew and fish and chopped with our hands. Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end so glamorously. That food has made the bathroom at my work and me best friends. But it shall be well, because in Ghana, it always is.
In the very profound words of the Jamaican dancehall and reggae artist, Demarco, I love my life.
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| Life is a blur when you're having fun! |
