Time

"You whites, you are always looking at time," says the young Ghanian in response to my inquiry who, despite the tasks and chores his path was to lay for him that day, offered to lead me around to eight different banks that didn't accept my interac card. And so we do - we are always looking at time. This is possibly one of the biggest differences between our cultures. Nothing runs on time in Ghana. And which is the bigger evil I keep pondering: running our lives according to a clock that's hands can obscure the more important things in this world, or the chaos of disorganization because nobody shows up for anything according to an agreed hour.
The other day a few of the volunteers and I were invited to meet the mother of a student that frequents our house. On the wall of her mother's tiny room that houses five children hung two clocks, obviously for nothing more than ornamentation as both had hands that stood still, fixed on meaningless numbers, drawing your eyes to nothing more than the pretty background of flowers on the face of one, and the decorative wood carving of the other - and I believe this is one of the most important lessons I will take from Ghana.
"We are waiting for the Lord," he serenly tells me from his stone carved dwelling. "Waiting for the lord" - the ultimate affirmation that this culture sets up meetings based on arrival times of 'God only knows when.'
Yesterday, Nathan, Mahadev (a young man I go running with on the weekend), Eric (a young man I teach guitar), and myself embarked on a journey to the Abasua Prayer mountain, where I heard the above phrase spoken. It is on the Atwia Escarpment and it's high season is during December when students are on break from school and many people, from all over Ghana, come to the mountain to pray within its spiritual surroundings and atmosphere.
Visitors are to see the chief if they desire to dwell on the mountain over night and he will assign them one of the many shelters that has been put up underneath the craggy overhangs of the mountain - shelters awkwardly cut from wood and mud bricks to fit into the natural alcoves of the rock face. People usually stay for a week but some for up to a month. On the top of Abasua are many permanent residents' where people live full time. All of these are equipped with a large church of a particular denomination of Christianity.
Much of the hike is through the forest where you see how people are living in harmony with their environment, attaining water from that which collects and runs down overhanging vines, using the surrounding fertile soil for tomatoes, banana trees, Cocoa trees, etc.
At the top, we witnessed more acts of devotion, from people violently yelling scripture and prayer at the heavens atop bare rocky plains, to the singing of those deep within the shadows of the foliage, to peacful bible readings under the shade of a tree.
We hiked to seven different camps although, there are eight. We were told that evil spirits inhabit camp six and that if one is not spiritually strong they will leave the mountain inhabited by one. Apparently witches (those who seek to destroy the happiness and good fortune of others), and certain Juju men (fetish priests) are known to travel that way to attain the powers of the wicked.
The hike was gorgeous and invigorating and from the top you had a good view of many of the surrounding villages. We licked the seeds of raw cocoa and sucked sweet nector from the milk bush, led by our spastic thirteen old guide. To top it off, everybody was very welcoming when we arrived at their camp - "welcome" - such a wonderful word when spoken to you in a country or place not your own, a word that I must remember to use more often.
And now to return to the theme of this blog - when we were to return home, we were stuck with the fact that because this is such a rural area taxis will sometimes drive in there, but rarely will you be able to find a taxi out. And so we began our three hour hike home, after the hike of the Abasua Mountain, through four different villages with not a lorry station in sight.
To conclude, patience is obviously the over riding virtue to be derived from all of these circumstances, the last of which is our lightless existence of eleven days and counting, with no electricity.
Thanks to my mom and dad who never fail to comment on a blog. Your words and encouragment fill me with so much light and love it's difficult not to leave the wooden computer cubicle with a smile.
Love,
David