Always Knock on Wood

In the continued spirit of Ghana Time, within three hours of arriving at work last Monday I was planning a trip to Kumasi in the afternoon. The head of the clinic attached to WAAF, Dr. Naa Ashiley Vanderpuye, was giving a talk on the basics of HIV/AIDS to a group of Ghanaian educators. Somehow tagging along fell under the volunteer advancement part of our internship; Joanne and I were happy to play tourist in the middle of the week.

Kumasi is the second largest city in Ghana and the capital of the Ashanti region. It is only about 250 km from Accra but the journey took roughly 5 hours (longer on the way home), after the 45 minute departure delay. I think the weekend acclimatized me to Ghanaian driving as I could barely stay awake. Jo, on the other hand, spent the entire time gripping her water bottle and staring in fear/astonishment at the road. Many near-head-on collisions and a body on the side of the road later, we arrived at the house of Elizabeth and Eben. The next day, our educational segment was over before we knew it and Elizabeth arrived to play tour guide. We explored the Cultural Centre, essentially a road lined with traditional gift shops, that is supposed to be better (ie. less aggressive) than the Accra version. The Manhyia Palace is a modest building on a huge piece of land in the middle of the city. It was donated by some British dude three kings ago. There is something about the type of artefacts on display at the museum that makes me chuckle. First off, one of the most holy symbols in the region is the golden stool. Ghanaians love their stools. Every kitchen has multiple and many buildings take on the form. Each new king is blindfolded in a room full of the past kings’ stools and given the name of the one he choses. Stools! I can’t get over it. Other highlights of the palace include the first TV in Ghana, very lifelike effigies of the last three kings and their queen mothers, rings full of golden keys to symbolize importance, and a war gown that makes women barren (the tour guide wouldn’t let me touch it).

At lunch I was boasting about how well my stomach has been handling raw, unpeeled fruits and veggies. Even as I ate the slightly sketchy salad laden with some sort of mayonnaise sauce, I neglected to see how I was tempting fate. Big mistake. Within half an hour I was wishing I had knocked on wood, especially with the washroom out of order. I definitely appreciate sweating out most of the liquids I consume in this country as the state of public washrooms is frightening. I will spare you the details of the facilities and my runny stomach. The most fortunate part was hiding out at Elizabeth’s work, the music school at the Calvary Charismatic Church. (Yes, I took refuge in a church. Desperate times call for desperate measures.) I even got to see a performance of Ghanaian songs with a local xylophone and numerous drums.

Since I’m stubborn and don’t like my body controlling my life, I adopted the strategy of not eating so I could continue to travel. Ghana contains many small towns that specialize in a traditional craft. Bonwire, just outside of Kumasi, is renowned for its kente cloth. Once we got rid of the horde of boys trying to sell us cheap bracelets, we happened upon The Master Weaver. This old man has sat in his hand & foot loom (see picture) everyday for 50 years weaving and teaching over 200 other weavers. It takes him a week to set up the loom, three weeks to make a strip, and four months to make a man’s complete piece of fabric. Yet I bought a strip for 30,000 cedis, approximately $4 Canadian. Eight hours of travel later I was home stuffing bread into my angry stomach.

On Saturday we were off to another traditional craft village, this one outside of Accra, known for its wood carving. I was pleasantly surprise when the sales approach was less forceful, on the condition that you visit every shop in the compound. The variety of craftspeople made for a diverse selection of unique pieces, along with the typical African souvenirs, religious symbols, and wholesome mother/father/child ones. I now have proof that I’ve been to Africa; I am the proud owner of a slightly scary wooden mask. The town itself was very picturesque, old buildings built on steep hills. We also encountered at least five funerals (you can always tell when it’s a Saturday in Ghana). I still haven’t figured out the entire funeral ceremony but I do know it spans many days, involves a lot of shiny black (and sometimes white or red) material, and everyone is invited, as long as you bring a donation.