No Popparzzi---Please

Monday August 22, 2005

Well it's Monday August 22, my last day in the world of my new beginning. Seth and I are riding down Aviation Blvd. I am trying to take in every memory...take it in and brand it into my long term mental terminal. Overwhelmed by the potential inability to do so, I pull out my video camera and decide to film the scene on the street. Hawkers have innundated the streets. They carry loaves of bread, apples, plantain chips, tiger nuts, water packs,t-roll....they have aggressively transformed the comfort of our cars to the hustle and bustle of their market. Intrigued at their persistence and work ethic. They carried the weight of their hope on their heads in round baskets. As I aimed my camera toward the front of the car, I saw a young lady holding several loaves of bread. She looked into our car and her arms descended in disgust and her lips seemed to utter words of disapproval. Not sure what was going through her head, I turned my camera toward the right of the vehicle where I captured the completely natural scene of young teenage girls prating cheerfully about whatever was important to them for this moment. Their smiles were broad as they rested their hands on their hips and waved their other hand in the air with feminine confidence. While scanning the sidewalk, I hear an unhappy grunt. Through my lens I see a skinny carmel colored man bend down to grab a stick or stone. Flailing his hand in the air he seemed to be angry as he made a dismissing hand motion. I turned my camera away, but almost as soon as I moved my camera, I felt a sense of mischief and I waved the lens in the direction of this angry man. Of course my mischievous indignation only augmented the mans's anger. Apparently, he along with every hawker on this corner didn't want me to take their picture. It is actually against the law to sell in certain areas. The hawkers however, ignore these rules and sell their goods anyway with hopes of making enough money. Anyone taking pictures is assumed to be an "undercover" benecdict arnold selling proof to the authorities. (a joke in and of itself)

The man has now approached our vehicle as we are still stopped at the stop light ranting and raging in his language. He is joined by several other hawkers who with threatning expressions circle our jeep. Angered by such audacity, I shook my hand behind the window. The man looked down at the lock and reached for the door. I kept my cool, but inside I was like "Dude is crazy!...and Iam about to experience the wrath of his craziness" The door was locked.

Seth argued on my behalf. I don't know what they said exactly, but it didn't calm them down. They insisted on yelling and as we drove away they threw water in and onto the car. As we drove off, I realized that I could have handled that better.I thought, It's a shame. I really just wanted to take a piece of their world back to mine...no harm intended.

The guest house

Friday August 12, 2005

It's Friday. Kodjo and I have come to Kumasi (for me a second time and for him the first in a long time) to visit Aunty (our grandmother), our aunt and cousins. In addition, Kodjo wanted to do some last minute shopping (smile). We went to the Cultural Center and bargained with the peddlers. While there, Kodjo and I purchaseda vase for our father. The vase had an Ashanti symbolthat means, "This is where the battle ends --- Peace". After leaving the cultural center we spent time hanging out with our younger but much older cousin Kofi. He answered our questions and made provisions for us where needed. That night, we went with Kofi and his sister Effua to Kofi's school Universtiy of Science and Technology. There was a Christian fellowship that Kofi was apart of and he wanted us to come. We agreed on the condition of having access to an computer lab with internet. Kodjo and I spent what seemed like hours glued to the screens of turtle computers. Kodjo set up our little brother's Frank's email address and I responded to emails in 15-20 minute intervals....Seeing that 1 hour was on 7,000 cedis...you get what you pay for.

We evenutally joined Kofi in the hall below the internet cafe. The session was coming to an end. The faciliator summarized the session by admonishing the students to be prayerful in the way they spend their time and to what they dedicate their time. It spoke on the importance of QT with God (Quiet Time). It's during this time one can gain the strenght and the answers for life's tough situations. It was here that I experienced the most hospitable service since I've been in Ghana. "And they'll know that we are Christians by our love..."

Afterwards we were greeted by the youth with smiles and handshakes that ended with a slight squeeze and a snap...apparently a handshake of affection. Kofi introduced us to his friends. Kodjo kept an eye on Effua, our 16 year old cousin. She is stunningly beautiful. He watched her, but more specifically he watched the college guys as they shook her hand and welcomed her. I got an opportunity to speak to the leader of the fellowship. I shared a word of encouragement with him as I admonished him to continue in the work of the Lord....May His words continually be your mouth. Deliver them with boldness and in the spirit of Truth....

Kodjo and I left Kofi and Effua on campus on our way back to the guess house, we discussed our wake up time. We had a lot to do in a short period of time. We were only spending the night in Kumasi and the drive back to Accra was long 3 hours. We agreed to be up and ready by 6:45am, the earliest both Kodjo and I had been up in several days.

We had looked at our rooms before we left to visit. They were definitely not desireable, but we thought, "It's only for the night..."

When the young lady walked us over to our rooms, she opened the door to room 25, which will be my room. The room was arranged more like a very small apartment...it reminded me of the room my mother and I stayed in when I was younger. The first door opened into a hallway that ran left and right. To the left a few steps was toilet room. The door was open exposing, with no shame, a white toilet with a lifted, skinny black seat. It looked like a dirty old man with a 5'oclock shadow, brown teeth and halotosis....there it was this old man, Mr. Toilet, staring at us with his mouth wide open. Next to it was a wash room which had a tub and a sink. The tub, like this toilet was naked....void of beauty and a shower curtain. The sink glistened with rusty streaks where it had apparently drooled for God only knows how long. Turning to go left back the other direction was another door on the left hand side of the hallway. This was the actual sleeping quarter. It had 2 twin beds next to a each other a night stand, table with tv, a bureau and vanity. As the attendant went to turn the television on I was still cringing at the twitching bif cock-a-roach I stepped over in the hallway. I almost missed the big electrical sparks that came bounding out of the socket when she went to plug it in. At this point, I had to chuckle..."You got to be joking me"

We next went to Kodjo's room which basically had the same layout. Except I didn't see any giguntus cock-a-roaches! We looked at each other, " It's only one night"

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Thursday August 18, 2005

"Jackie has arranged for the senior minister to come over and visit tomorrow."

Silence.

"Uh, my dear, did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, I did." I said somberly. We were returning from a visit with a "friend" that I found quite honestly abhorring. Let's just say, she found little pleasure in displaying lady-like qualities. I had expended all of my "cordialness"...I had pulled it out of the crevices and I was tired thus the silence in my response.

Thursday night...around 7:30pm...I hear "her" voice outside my door. I knew that the time was near. Soon, not only would the senior minister be arriving but the vice president of the country. Although, I was happy to meet His Excellency and my uncle the Senior Minister, but I would have to contend with "the lady". The demons she contended with were aggressive and I doubted my ability to be cordial. I began my mental exercise:

Be strong. Don't back down. Be prayerful. The God in you is Greater and by far stronger....

I decided to "accidently" look cute. I had done my hair the night before. I wore a simple navy blue evening dress with silver sandals. It occured to me before their arrival that the house wasn't in the best shape and there wasn't any food. As usual, my father had failed to inform the house help in advance of company. So Jackie and my father decided to order food, have it picked up and serve it to the guest.

The Vice President was the first to arrive...him and his nephew...somebody important but I didn't catch who exactly. The vice president is a very handsome man. He seemed quiet, but his quietness could probably better be described as observant and calculating. I meandered in and out of the conversation as I found myself caught somewhere between roles....doted upon daughter and Miss Hospitality. I began to help Daniel set up and serve the food. Kingdom you have taught me well. I spent a lot of the evening doing such. Eventually, however, I was able to sit quietly in the corner (out of sight...just like they taught us in KWC hospitality school:-0) and listen. Some I will admit, I didn't understand...conversations easily drift in an out of English and Twe. They manipulated these two languages like puppets on a string. With smooth dips and spins, they made the puppets dance upon transparent wisps called air.

Next, the senior minister arrived, Mr. J.H. Mensah. This man is the senior minister of Ghana and he is my grandmother's brother, thus my great uncle. He is considered the "head of the family". He wore two hats this night as well...favorite uncle and HNIC (for those who don't know ---- The Big Cheese). He is in his 70's but he looks very healthy. His portly stomach was stylishly accented by a casual jean shirt and matching boot cut jeans. Everyone was impressed at his casual appearance. Apparently, not many can exude such relaxed comfort while firmly commanding one's attention to his every word.

Mr. Mensah!, my father shouted with great affection. My dear, this is the senior minister of Ghana, the head of our family, my favorite uncle.

"It is an honor to meet you finally. I've been hearing your name...all in the atmosphere...J.H.,J.H.. It's good to finally meet you", I said shaking his hand firmly while flashing a friendly smile.

He agreed with the pleasure to meet me and welcomed me "home".

I guess some of you are asking, why were they even there?

Well the details of the visit 1)I won't share for discretion sake and 2)it may prove to be too difficult to explain such details.
But in brief, it was an "informal" meeting to discuss the fair probability of the VP's name being included in the list of presidential candidates. Although this seems minute and commonsensical in American practices, it is indeed a very controversial issue. My father, the rebel agrees with his right to be considered even though he is a Muslim (not Ashanti) and from the North---these are major issues.

Oh, I didn't outline the guest list in totality. Let's go back. Including the VP and the Senior Minister, we have the representative of the Ashanti King which is deep but not as deep as having the Minister of Tourism? This guy is actually an opposing candidate for president! I wasn't watching the presidential debate on TV, I was sittin' next to the moderator! You know what I mean?!

What role does my father play in all of this? Because he is not a MP (member of Parliament) but he is tied to big members of parliament (nephew to the president & the senior minister, brother of the deputy minister of finance & the president's secretary----he himself is the chairmen of one of Ghana's leading banks and "informally" he is a financial consultant to the Ghanain government). The statement of his support could actually speak to the statement of 'their support". My father, however, is a rebel ...he likes to call himself "an independent thinker". So his position is controversial within itself.

In the midst of all of this there is Ghana's "Condaleeza Rice", the one I spoke of earlier. She arranged the meeting. Apparently, she is an organizer in her own right. The clash between us was intense. In the spirit, it was like clashing horns each ungiving but one definitely weaker. She kept erroneously pulling me away trying to keep me from the group or attempting to convince me that I should "like her" At one point standing in my father's kitchen after she literally pulled me away from my father's embrace under the deception of needing my help, we stood on opposite sides of the island staring at each other. She, hissing out empty statements of her "influence, power and connections" and me dryly responding, "Really". Each dry response, made her skin crawl. She saw that I was not impressed, then she attempted to tap my compassionate side by announcing her sadness due to her inability to have children. This, she had told me 2 nights ago when I first met her. Again, my expression did not shift. I was listening to the voice of my spirit, while watching her....its every move. I wanted to bluntly share my sentiments but I restrained myself....I did however ask her after she gave me her list of important nothings, "Are you content?".........Spirit, soul and body....are you content?"

She slurred some response...the gist of her response was Yes, but of course, it wasn't true.

Very calmly and directly, I shared with her "Despite all of your things, connections etc....you seem to have a hole...an emptiness..."

Oddly enough she agreed, but again she hissed and slurred what appeared to be mumble jumbo....the discourse of intoxication.....I was unable to understand or go much furhter. I attempted to escape. "What is it that you needed? I would rather go...."
She insisted that I stay and 'get more of her". In addition to serving...and listening, I spend a large portion of my time praying. I saw, what I believe to be an example of the serpent in the garden...beguiling...causing dissension.....stirring up confusion. Needless to say, my spirit was vexed, but I soon discerned that the spirit(s) in her were also vexed...bothered...angered even at their unsuccess in my seduction.

Finally, the Ashanti representative came and "rescued" me not before telling me that my Ashanti name Sewaah was a strong name...every Sewaah is a strong woman...she knows what she wants....

"I do know what I want", I said as I led them to the front area for "dismissal"

By the time my father and walked in the house from saying goodnight, it was 3am.

My father and I debriefed the evening....at least the part that he was privy to.

Can't do it captain!

Monday August 15, 2005

I have been disgusted with a particular freedom known to Ghanains. Relieving oneself in public is apparantly highly acceptable here even for women! I can't tell you the number urnine fountains I've seen on the side of a very busy street or road. In America, we all know that in cases of extreme emergency, peeing on the side of the road....tucked away behind a tree....or a bush...away from the mainstream...is acceptable, but here they stand on bustops, corners, middle of traffic circles, next to food stands...you name it. Any place public....that's where you pee. Excuse my bluntness, but I want to convey how crude this practice is. At least turn your back to the stream of traffic and marketeers on the street...right? WRONG! I've seen men relieve themselves facing traffic!

I have never in my life been in a place where you can travel for over 3 hours and never pass a proper bathroom. Do you know how painful it is to travel on either an unpaved or poorly paved roads with a bladder full waiting for the sight of a remotely possible place to go the bathroom?! OH MY GOD!

I informed the driver, "Listen, I tried to wait, but I have to use the bathroom. How far away are we from home?"
He said were were about 15-20minutes, but traffic would make it longer. With or without traffic, we were more than 15-20 minutes away. We drove a little longer. I saw a few places that looked like possibilities, but they were on the other side of the split level highway. The driver finally said to me, "If I pull over here, you can't just go right here?" Mind you, "right here" is an open space with no trees, just very tall grass against a looooonnng line of sitting traffic!

"I'd rather not", I said with all the tact I could muster.
"You can't just go right here?", he said again ignoring my previous response. After 2 more "I'd rather not's", I finally had to say NO!

He asks me what we did in the US when you had to go the bathroom and you're driving. I exclaimed, We have rest stops, with bathrooms! Gas stations have BATHROOMS! You can imagine my bladder was talking not me.

Even when we arrived at a full gas station and the driver asked the cashier where I could use the bathroom, she directed me to the side of the building. Foolishly, I thought....like the US the gas station restroom is on the side of the building, but I was sadly mistaken. Because it is so acceptable to pee outide, she was telling me to go and squat around the back of the gas station, which was I might add dark and trashy. Aggrivated, I climbed back inside the jeep determined to hold it until we reached home.

The driver pulled over to what seemed like a club. "Try this place." He said.
"Do you have a bathroom I can use?", I said with puppy-dog eyes squirming with child like desperation. The clerk got up to show me where I could go to relieve myself. He led me to a small storage-like space to an open space with a toilet in it. It was a cluttered, dirty space with junk everywhere. The surrounding trappings didn't seem to make sense or have any relation to one another. I saw what looked like a big rat, but it was a large yam, a mopad bike, tools....and other stuff. I looked at it and decided to do a mind over matter thing. I looked up from the collage of mess to find the man standing there.

"Could you close the door, please?"
He went to close the door, but he was on the wrong side! Something grabbed him, maybe it was the fire in my stare and he suddenly understood that he needed to be on the other side of the door.

Thank God for anti-bacterial wipes!

I have many other horror stories of things I've seen. Here are a few:

I saw a woman....a woman on the corner of a traffic circle....I couldn't believe my eyes. She had lifted her dress in the middle and was squatting. She was peeing in public!. She squatted, she jiggled her hips like she was dancing and then she lifted her right leg to shake dry! Where is the dignity?

We were taking a tour of the Elmina Castle. We had reached the top of the castle overlooking the Ocean and several boats. This jerk...(he behaved poorly the whole tour)unzips his pants and ....you guessed it....PEES from the top of the castle! Can you believe it?! I couldn't. I was silenced with disgust.

I guess you take the good ...you take the bad....there we have the reality of this world called Africa.

Things will be different

Monday August 15, 2005

I was thinking tonight, I miss home, but home will be much different for me. Not only because I moved but because I have a new system of people that I must incorporate in my life.... a new priority. My uncle DK "jokingly" rendered an inebriated soliloquy on my new mandate as the woman of the house. He said that he gave me permission to take charge of my father's house. As the oldest I have a traditional expectation to "take care of things" and to look out for not only my siblings but for my father as well. I have so many new relatives that live all around me...practically down the street or up the road.

I hope I handle my new priority correctly....keeping my relationships that I already have and developing the new ones properly. It seems difficult. I don't want my friends and lovedones to ever feel neglectd or loved any less. Nor do I want to become slack in my responsibility to my new family.

The mantle feels heavy but its not burdensome.

What did you do today?

-I showed Daniel (the house help) how to use the dish washer.
-I had Daniel to gather fresh flowers from the yard so that we could have a nice arrangement for the company this afternoon.
-I negotiated a deal on Oxford street.
-I reprimanded Frank (8 year old brother) for demanding a gift from his brother. I told him to ask and to be content either way...if the answer is yes or no because he doesn't have to do it.
-I taught Effua (6 year old cousin) how to play a counting hand game. She's good.
-I offered Bible passages for my father to read.
-I said grace during my outing with Kufuor (cousin) and Kodjo (brother).

Seems small, huh? But it's the small things that matter. That is what I am learning. It's the small teachable moments that are large and longlasting. It's the small things that one remembers even when their eyes grow dim and their faculties have become aged.

That's what I did today.....Who knows what tomorrow holds....?

On the Way to Takarodi

Thursday August 12, 2005

Takarodi is a coastal city where my Aunt Dorothy lives (the oldest girl of my Grandmother's 9 children). I've never met or spoken with this aunt. She is a round faced, full-figured woman. She has a bad knee and has delayed surgery. As she rubbed her knee in obvious pain, she didn't explain why she has delayed it, but the look in her eyes seemed fearful. Perhaps she feared the idea of surgery and preferred to see what healing time would bring.

aunt Dorothy for the last few years has been caring for my youngest half brother, Frank. He's.....eight years old. (Another chapter...) Well anyway, the trip to Takarodi seemed spontaneous to Kodjo and I, but we later found out that it was planned and it was on this trip that we relocated our brother Frank to live in Kumasi with a family friend.

This trip to Elmina and to Takarodi exposed so much....flaws...deeper disappointments...courage....fear...faith....It was during this trip that I met the 5th offspring of my father's loins. It was this trip that I confronted my father's unpleasant ways. It was this trip that I gazed in the eyes of demons of slavery and oppression. It was this trip that I walked the Kakum walkways 30 meters upon forest land.

In my journal I recorded what I saw....on the way to Takarodi:
* I saw tall trees reaching higher than their other vegetative friends. Their height indicated a maturity like...years of successful growth..... yet somehow it didn't seem to be done....growing that is. It was as if it was reaching for the sun with its long bare trunk and it leaf-filled branches that sprouted only from the top.
"One day, I'll touch heaven, ascend into the clouds, and leave my earthly roots behind."

*I saw people scattered throughout the green abyss on the side of the road. On occasional glances out of the window I would spot movement in maize fields or in a field of grass. There were people in there. Sometimes it was a man with rich black skin exposed to the sun carving a piece of bamboo into something to sell. Sometimes it was a woman in traditional apparel cutting stalks of maize. Other times it was child on their way to market with bright yellow plantain chips (those are good) or kola nuts mounted upon their heads. They swung their arms with great optimism. It amazed me that in the midst of what seemed like NOTHING emerged color, emotion...LIFE

I saw many other things.... Ironically, despite the initial reaction to all that I saw, there was a recurring theme..........HOPE.

High and Lifted Up

Wednesday August 10, 2005

Kakum National Park is a tourist attraction of Ghana. My father told me about it several weeks before I came to visit. He mentioned something about walking on a bridge....being really high up....how exhilarating....I must admit I paid little attention. He mentioned it again when I got here. I told him that I wasn't too certain I could stand the height. He brushed passed my subtle but real expression of fear by saying ..."Hey, if I can do it, you can do it!"

Quietly, I tucked my secret fear of heights in my imaginary back pocket. I thought to myself, well as long as he goes with me up there, I guess I'll be fine and if I don't think I can handle it, I won't go.

Well it turns out that this National Park has SEVEN... count them... SEVEN canopy bridges over a plush green bed of trees, animals and other vegetation several meters up! When we arrived, I confessed to Kodjo that this may be an adventure that I will have to forego. Me and high heights were not the best of friends...if you know what I mean. He laughed and pacified me by telling me that he too was scared of heights. I found comfort in this common fear but when the question was posed, Are you going to do it? I was the only one being summoned for an answer. Obviously, my partner in crime wasn't that afraid after all.

I didn't answer, hoping that my silence would scream for me and I would be exempt from this pressure. It didn't work. My father handed me my canopy number and suddenly my power of choice was lying limp somewhere on the floor and my fate was sealed. I was going to have to pass over the bed of green pastures. As I strung the roped card over my neck, it was as if I was was lowering my head to embrace a yoke...a yoke that would only becomes light when I confronted my fear face to face. I could not free myself from this yoke until I had crossed over the green sea.

O, God! If it be possible, please let this bitter cup pass from me."

Climbing the mountain into the forest, was a serious workout. Slightly out of breath, my body remembers what it feels like to move vigorously. I trudged up the rocky steps, and even though I was ascending to my death, I much needed workout took my mind off the fatality of my plight.

My father trudged on with egotistical joy and my brother, well I think he used to the upward climb time to prepare his mind. By the top we reached the top, many people had built up their anticipation. Children approached with fearless vigor and adults were filled with the spirit of the dare-devil. Did anyone feel as I? SCARED TO DEATH!

One by one each member of the tour stepped out onto the slender plank of wood cupped by a dingy white net that was draped between two large trees. I wanted to go behind my father, but his eagerness caused him to take flight before this chick was ready. With hesitation, I made a movement towards the plank and several other tour members flooded in front of me. I finally step to the mouth of this 7-fang monster called the Kakum Walkways. I waited for the lady in front of me to get at least half way across. She was a full-figured woman. She had slide on mules, a natty weave, a skirt and a clutch purse. For a moment, I thought to myself, Was this a spontaneous trip for her? Surely she didn't think she could cross over 7 walkways suspended over miles of forest dressed like she was going to the club" The bridge began to shake and make weird noises. My eyes widened and I felt my courage leaving me.

"I can't do this!" I thought.

"Don't worry about your weight...it can hold you" the tour guide yelled out.

Apparently, the lady was not convinced. She turned around about 10 steps in.
We clapped and yelled out, words of empty encouragement. I was next. What if the bridge begins to move, sway, make noises? What if I can't find enough courage to finish and I freeze in the middle of the bridge? Who will come and rescue me?

It was clear that I did not come here to sight see, look at the trees below or look for forest animals. I came to cross over. I fixed my eyes on the platform ahead. At the end of each walkway bridge is a platform much like that of a tree house. Here many stopped, took pictures or admired the view.

Placing my hands on the net bridge, I took a deep breath and placed my right foot on the plank.

"One foot in front of the other. Stay focused. Walk at an even pace. Keep your eyes on the platform ahead. " These are the things I said to myself. I was moving. It's not too bad. Then, the bridge began to sway ever so slightly. The next person had stepped onto the plank. "Jesus,Jesus,Jesus. Father, in the name of Jesus....Keep me Lord..." I began to whisper a sincere prayer aloud. My eyes were fixed, my breathing controlled and my lips tucked in. I am out here now and there's no turning back. The yoke would remain heavy until ....I passed over.

I made it...to the first platform. Here many stopped, took pictures and or admired the view. Here I paused only long enough to embrace the big tree that greeted every crosser, take a another deep breath and take my first step again. Although each bridge was different,I approached each bridge with the same solemn sobriety. Some bridges had twisted boards that did not lay flat on the net. Other bridges were hung in a clearing exposed to the nakedness of the air while others were shielded by the loving arms of great trees. The most threatening bridge, however were bridges numbers 3 and 4. Bridge #3 ascends in the air! And bridge #4 maintains that height. I was afraid of the beauty that lay beneath my feet. I didn't know if the loving arms of these strong trees would really embrace me if I came plunging into them. I didn't know and more importantly, I didn't want to find out.

Although my brother was ahead of me and our driver, Seth was behind me, my demeanor remained fixed. I could not allow anything or anyone break my concentration of survival. So when Kodjo took my picture or Seth continuously laughed at me, I didn't flinch. I had to cross over. I had to cross over.

The last bridge and my father is waiting camera in hand. I am unmoved by his face. It's not over until my feet touch stable ground. When I step over the threshold, I collapse onto the bench with a large sigh of relief, my nerves jumping up and down like jumping beans inside the pit of my stomach.

You did it, girl!, he smiles at me.
I smile back nervously and tears fill my eyes....
I wipe my eyes with quick control. I am smiling but my I am a nervous wreck!

We walked down the mountain. My knees are weak,my heart is pounding, my mind is racing but my heart content.

I did it. I crossed over! I crossed over.

Elmina

Tuesday Night August 9, 2005

My father, Kodjo and I have decided to take a 2 day trip to the beach in a city called Elmina. It is Tuesday night, we've already checked in to Elmina' Beach Resort Hotel, and we are ready to eat. We ventured out on the narrow roads of Elmina to see what we could see. Which in my opinion, could not be much because the street lighting is poor. However, my father's has been impressed in times past with the liveliness of the town. It was true, everyone was out. The people spilled out of their windows onto their porches into the streets. They were everywhere selling goods, playing games, blasting music.

Maybe it was my headache that influences my lack of excitement about what I saw. I felt slightly but significantly uncertain. Fear had found a seat next to me in the Big Red Isuzo where it had not really fit before. Somehow the scenes reminded me of an innercity block after hours, a place visitors shouldn't visit. The air reeked (sp?) of fish and dirty saltwater. The boats were still out to sail and even they carred a luminous feel.

Earlier Kodjo and I had gone for a walk along the hotel beach line. In the distance, we could see boats. Simple and long with Dutch shoe curves on both ends and demarcation of flags and strange symbols. It was like a scene fro m a movie except I was watching it for real---ships packed with "live cattle" strong men, fragile women and even children, sore from God-forbidden positions and raw from the white man's slashes...."I think they are fishing boats," Kodjo's voice piercing my thoughts snatching me out of my ancestor's nightmare.

The boats were coming in.

My father mentioned a lagoon off the side of the road. Again it excited him, but I remained silent grinding my teeth partly to soothe the throbbing in my temples and partly at the thought of reptilian beasts in the night. Not interested.

As we rode around, my own philosophy came to haunt me, "Look for the beauty everywhere." So I looked up to my left and there high into the mountains stood "the Castle" There are actually several castles and forts along the coast of Ghana. This particular Castle is called St. George. A silohuette against a very black sky, it stood quietly like the spirit of a strong man...a dead man ....watching even in the night ....seeing everymove without blinking or shiftin its eyes. The castle has an ominous presence and somehow the people of Elmina found safety in it.

There was an edginess about this town. The sound of the ocean was different. Ferocious, angry waves crashed against rocks and banks just a few feet away so that the sound of fiery was always overhead.

We decided to stop to eat at a bed and breakfast place. Supposedly it belonged to one of my father's associate friends, a member of parliament (he seems to know everyone). Outside of Coconut Grove was an eating area. Let's eat here, my father said anxous to remain connected to the heartbeat of the town. A stone wall separated us from a loading area. The boats from earlier had docked. They were sleeping, and I didn't want to rouse them...Any sudden moves and I might find myself taken captieve by its oars and surrounded by a merciless body of water.

The natives were alive yet their vitality seemed different than mine...they were charged by a different current and I couldn't relate.

While ordering and waiting for our food, an old beggar came to the wall that separated us from the sleeping boats. He said something in his language. Kodjo and I looked to our father for interpretation. I looked at my father, his dark face slightly lit by the dim lamp dangling from the building...I searched his face for a clue and for what seemed like several minutes, he was expression was blank. Then suddenly like a bolt of lightning, he begins belting out words that even I knew were different than words I had heard him speak before. The exchange was harsh. The old man looked surprised and dumbfounded.

Kodjo chuckled, "Entertaining", he probably thought.
I smirked with a furl between my brow. "Certainly this is not the kind of attention we want in this town---besides you're gong to wake the sleepy boats".

The waitress discretely summoned the security guard. In response to the security guard's presence the old man back away from the wall just a few feet making him less intrusive but clearly visible. The guard paced the court behind me keeping watch as it were, but his presence only augmented my own feelings of disccomfort.

Apparently, the old man said, "Follow me" ...as if we were stupid, American tourist who he could get lots of money from. Insulted by his assumpton, my father called him a foolish old man at least that's what he said he said. He spoke in fante, a dialect known to the region. I believe he spoke this way to add salk to the wound of the old man's miscalculation, 'Not only do I speak the language, I speak the King's language." So prideful.....

The man lingered in the shadows of the night looking at the sleeping boats. I suspected that my father's loud locquaciousness would only result in a monetary handout. I was correct.....20, 000 cedis, the equivalent of 2 american dollars, yet it satisfied the troubled old man and he disappeared into the shadows of the night.

Dinner finally came. I enjoyed my meal, but my father complained about the portion size. He complained to the server. I challenged his rational for making such loud complaints to one who cannot make a difference....speak to the one who can and don't shoot the messenger." We defended our points and again, Kodjo found himself entertained by the exchange. My fearless opposition surprised him. My father lives his life rarely confronted by anyone.

We left and made a stop to an internet cafe. The Kodj-myster has an internet addiction. Even though I wasn't interested in checking my email, I felt he shouldn't venture alone. While he attempted to get online, I walked the parimeters of a small rectangular and admired the artwork on the wall. It was funny ...a run down internet cafe ...cafe is an overstatement with about 12 computers had beautiful artwork on the wall. The artists may be local, but their gorgeous. Each painting had an artistic beauty to it, hard strokes of bold colors...Market women, beach scenes, afrocentric visuals.... I took each paiting in to my soul and found the beauty in this small town called Elmina.

Kodjo never got online, my father came to to retreive us and we ve back to the hotel.

Sunday Morning

Sunday August 7, 2005

On my way to church, I met Kwame, a young brown skinned fellow with a round, squarish head. He asked me if I was going to church. I guess my it was apparent with my sundress, large bible and cute mules. I pointed up the hill to make sure he knew that I was going to church not the mosque that peered over the sunrise to our right. He nodded and informed me that he too was going to church. We walked together.

He was amazed to see an American going to church! We spoke cordially. He told me that he was a 2nd year student at the Legon University and this would be his last Sunday before he had to return. I told him briefly of my visit to Ghana and my vocation in the states.

Excited to be going to church in Ghana, I had gotten up at 7am to make the 8oclock service. I recalled in my mind the beautiful ediface and how the nice the gentlemane was who gave me a personal tour. The English service is at 8am, he told me. I looked forward to celebratory music and a good message.

When we arrived, the Twe service had already begun in the outside sanctuary. I could hear the excitement in the speaker's voice. We walked through the parking lot, past the snack bar and the administrative offices. It was at this point that Kwame informed that he sang in the choir. He went in the door that led to the choir stand and I into the sanctuary.

As I walked past the 2 information desks, I attempted to scurry in a tiny corner, but the usher quickly redirected me to a closer seat. I sat in the 3rd row from the pulpit chairs. (The pastor and guest preacher chairs actually comprised the first front row of the church). When I came in, there was a young man pacing the floor in the front of the sanctuary with one hand over his ear and the other gripping a microphone. He was praying fervently and vehemently for the power of God to rest in this place and made known among us.

When he finished the praise team began to sing. They sang melodiously and the band played skillfully. I wanted to dance....a praise dancer always wants to dance during praise and worship. I closed my eyes instead so that I could listen to the music. Again, the songs were in Twe and I felt left out like someone was telling me a wonderful secret, but I just couldn't hear it. I wanted sing what they were singing. I wanted to feel what they were feeling. Eventually I dismissed my musical frustration, closed my eyes and clapped my hands with the island sounds.

The Pastor spoke very candidly on the importance of hearing God. For those who want a text, he came from John 10:1-6. He gave several ways that God speaks and he challenged us to hear God in every thing that we do.

The message simple but it challenged me to ask God to let me hear Him in a different way. There are so many ways He can show Himself...Open my eyes to see, my ears to hear and my heart to receive.

Surprisingly, Kwame met me outside the visitor's quarters and he walked me home. A gentle fellow, he spoke of his conversion through a friend who now has gone astray. We spoke of my acting and how I want it to bring glory to God. I promised to email him to see how his studies were going, as we shook hands. As I turned towards my father's house, the guard swung the gate open for me and with my head down I walked gingerly over the cobblestone. I thought to myself, this has been a good day and it's not yet 12pm.

African Hip Hop

On Saturday August 6, 2005, my cousin Kufour and brother Kodjo ventured out for a night on the town. Daniel, the house help, informed me that there was a concert at Accra's International Convention Center. I mentioned to him how I liked creative entertainment and he remembered.

I in turn told Kodjo and Kufour and we set out for our nightly fun and entertainment. The building is very nice. A red carpet was stretched across the series of multiple steps, the lights were brightly shining and the young people were "dressed to impress"....ladies with their mid-driffs and clear heel mules...men with their fly collar shirts and boot cut jeans. We took our time observing the scene. Of course my male company discretely eyed the ladies and I ....well I was just enjoying the observation. The crowd was young and excited to hear the featured artist Obour. Many came with their children, many came with their dates, some came hoping to find a date and still others weere just there. Oh, how I have grown.

Anyway, the line to get in the auditorium was wrapped around the large foyer. In the middle of the foyer was an elaborate mural of trees, monkeys and other things. Standing on that wall were 3 figures-2 men with gold skirts and large swords and 1 with a grass skirt and odd paintins on his face and chest. They stood there still like the manicans I thought they were until the one in the middle facitiously shook the tale of hair he held in his hand. This concert was the first concert that I've been where the star comes out in the foyer with his fanfare walks around and makes a speech. The crowd loved it, we took pictures and some (those who understood the language) listened to his words of gratitude.

We finally get in and oblige ourselves to the cushiony seats. The concert begins after a 40 minute history video on Obour. The entire concert was in Twe (tree), the common language of the Akan people. All 3 of us were lost! We were left to just enjoy the music and watch the crowd's reaction. There were at least 12-15 acts before Obour....By the time he made it to the stage, it was 11:30 and we told our driver that we would be ready by that time. We stayed longer to at least get our money's worth.

Obour is an elaborate fellow who has won the heart of Ghanain music lovers and parliament. Apparently he keeps the culture fresh before his listners. A lot of his music deals with Akan life or Ghanain life and culture. His entrance was extremely elaborate. He came in being carried on a royal carpet with a large red and gold velvet umbrella followed by a man carrying the golden stool of kingship. His dancers were dressed with matching outfits. It seemed a bit sacriligious if you will but of course the crowd loved it. His songs seemed boring, the few I did hear, but that may be because I am an old head and I was ready to lay my head down by this point. His dancers, however were all that! There were dancers in almost every act...good ones, but his dancers were excellent. They moved in sync and with such precision. They kept the song pumped even when the song didn't seem to go anywhere. Again please understand the disadvantage...I couldn't understand the language. I was engaged by their movement and their smiles. The movement was hiphoppish...popping, movements of illusions mixed with a African flavor.They obviously had skills and I was thoroughly impressed.

We were glad to have our nite life experience...get out mingle with the townies as they say....