I have come to where I started this journey, greeted - as I pull up to the Kusun Centre after a nine hour tro tro journey - by a grin of sparks and two boney arms that wrap themselves fondly around me; it is Amasa, the man who removed the hunk of rock from my foot with a razor blade in my second week and drove our drums to the training ground every day. Tettey, leaning against his car gives me a wink and a knowing, confident half smile.
Two worlds apart in the same country.
I walk in a daze through the hallway and glance at each name of the students I studied with in September, scratched out in powder smeared chalk on the bedroom doors - the settled dust of a sudden exit of forcible spirit.
It takes me forever to fall into the peaceful corners of sleep as I re-run the warmth and pulling sharpness of a goodbye in Ejura I won't soon forget.
I walk down Beach Road in Nungua in my final couple of days here, comparing and contrasting the life of two worlds and savouring the sweetness that forever will lay in the creases of my memory.
I feel truly blessed to have spent this time here, and what's more, feel blessed to have those of you in my life who have remained with me in spirit on this adventure.
With all my love,
David
**January 1st - www.loosechangetrio.com will be up and running - check here for more adventures
Friday, December 21, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
This is Africa
I sit down to write this blog with the thought that it will be one of my final entries concerning my journey here in Africa. What an incredible, eye-opening, soul enriching experience it has been for me. I want to start by thanking all of you who have continued to read and take this journey with me. I would look forward every week to reading your comments and emails of love and encouragement that only helped to strengthen my light and sturdy my heart and feet on the unpaved road ahead. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you. My flight may leave in a week's time but my experiences in Africa will continue to carry me in many ways through my life.
I will continue a blog entry about many of the new experiences to come in my life at www.loosechangetrio.com. This is my band's website and the people and projects I have decided on to help here in Africa I will fundraise for with "Loose Change Trio." So, to keep up to date with this progress and the progress of the band, I would invite you to read my new blog on our website. It should be up and running just after Christmas and if not, I ask for your patience until it is.
And now, here lies a few stories of the past two weeks...
Last weekend, I took a good friend of mine who I have mentioned in past entries, Mahadev, on an excurion to Nkoranza and Kintempo falls. On Friday night we stayed in a place called "Operation Hand in Hand" that houses mentally handicapped children who have been abandoned by their parents. Traditionally, it is the belief that a mentally handicapped child is born when the mother has been raped by a water spirit. After birthing the child, the mother will then take the new born to the river's edge so it can be collected by its rightful parents. Now, as education increases on this subject matter, less are being abandoned but it still remains a large problem.
I believe it was seven or eight years ago that a Dutch woman, along with two or three locals, took it upon themselves to buy some property and then collect these children from poorly run and over populated medical facilities that were housing the abandoned, and care for them.
Not without its fair share of trials and tribulations, "Operation Hand in Hand" has currently grown into a gorgeous verdant, tree shaded property with a playground, small swimming pool and fountain, and many different huts used for activities such as music, dancing, napping, movies, art and the absolutely essential, cuddling. It houses over forty children and provides a vocational school where the older children can employ their skills in beadwork, by both making glass beads with recycled bottles they crush and melt into various shapes in the clay ovens, and by stringing together unique jewelery, each piece tagged with the name of the child who created it. They also have a kente weaving room where the children learn to weave shirts and traditional dress. The money from their work, along with the money from traveller's that stay the night, an internet cafe they have started, a small store they now own and the generosity of donors help to fund this amazing project.
We spent the night with one of the owner's, a Chicagoian in his seventies who loved the theatre and Frank Sinatra. We were serenaded for a good portion of the night by this jolly bearded Jewish man who looks for the smallest of opportunities to take the stage and educate the ears of those who are unfortunate enough to not have heard the little known Sinatra tunes that are brimming in every corner of his mind.
School ended on Tuesday with the "Cultural Performance" that was to showcase each class singing the individual songs Nathan and I taught them. And though the children are now in exams, Comfort continues to come after school to Namaskar house for more tutorials. As each day passes, she brings a larger contingent of friends who are all equally as eager to receive extra education.
Soon after I arrived here in Ejura, I wanted to do something with my nights that would bring me closer to the boys at Namaskar and help open up their imaginations and english comprehension. One night out of the week I took them to the field to play football, which grew exponentially with all the local kids eager to join and live out their football day dreamings. Another night of the week I took the boys into the meditation room to read a story to them.
Over the last month I find myself reading stories to them most every night upon their beckon call of "Hey, Story Master! Are you ready?" The kids in the room range from nine years old to sixteen and all listen with eager ears, hearts and minds. Two nights ago I read them "Pinochio." They gasped and their eye lids flapped open - like pull down blinds you absentmindedly let go of - at the notion of an old man floating on a makeshift raft in the belly of a whale at the bottom of the sea. The mention of the possible death or endangerment of a main character ellicits this same pure, unbridled reaction that is a blessing to witness.
I will miss these boys.
There are so many other stories and I look forward to sharing them with you when I return home, as well as hearing your own.
Again, I invite you to keep up with my next phase of adventures at www.loosechangetrio.com. The band soon plans to travel over seas to promote the new record that is going to be released in February.
I may squeeze out one more blog here before then, but if not, thank you all again for reading. And now to leave you with an experience that brought to mind the phrase I have heard time and time again here - "This is Africa."
On the red dirt path that runs the course of the neighbourhood, sitting cross-legged, belly overhanging his elastic waistband, a little boy of no more than one or two years of age sits hunched over a knotted coil of metal, knawing the rust off it between his chubby cheeks.
I pass him, first amused at the sight, then stop and turn around shaking my head saying "No" and gesturing for him to remove the thick, infection- born wire from his mouth.
He pauses for a split second, eyes wide at what I have asked him to do, facial muscles taut with attention. Then in one crack of his thoughtful rigidity he throws back his head in a gut-busting laugh erupting his shirt up and over the his naked belly bulge.
He continues to laugh - as I walk away laughing myself - with a knowledge beyond mine, possibly to say, if he could yet form the words, "Hey, buddy, this is Africa."
Sending my warmest thoughts your way,
David
I will continue a blog entry about many of the new experiences to come in my life at www.loosechangetrio.com. This is my band's website and the people and projects I have decided on to help here in Africa I will fundraise for with "Loose Change Trio." So, to keep up to date with this progress and the progress of the band, I would invite you to read my new blog on our website. It should be up and running just after Christmas and if not, I ask for your patience until it is.
And now, here lies a few stories of the past two weeks...
Last weekend, I took a good friend of mine who I have mentioned in past entries, Mahadev, on an excurion to Nkoranza and Kintempo falls. On Friday night we stayed in a place called "Operation Hand in Hand" that houses mentally handicapped children who have been abandoned by their parents. Traditionally, it is the belief that a mentally handicapped child is born when the mother has been raped by a water spirit. After birthing the child, the mother will then take the new born to the river's edge so it can be collected by its rightful parents. Now, as education increases on this subject matter, less are being abandoned but it still remains a large problem.
I believe it was seven or eight years ago that a Dutch woman, along with two or three locals, took it upon themselves to buy some property and then collect these children from poorly run and over populated medical facilities that were housing the abandoned, and care for them.
Not without its fair share of trials and tribulations, "Operation Hand in Hand" has currently grown into a gorgeous verdant, tree shaded property with a playground, small swimming pool and fountain, and many different huts used for activities such as music, dancing, napping, movies, art and the absolutely essential, cuddling. It houses over forty children and provides a vocational school where the older children can employ their skills in beadwork, by both making glass beads with recycled bottles they crush and melt into various shapes in the clay ovens, and by stringing together unique jewelery, each piece tagged with the name of the child who created it. They also have a kente weaving room where the children learn to weave shirts and traditional dress. The money from their work, along with the money from traveller's that stay the night, an internet cafe they have started, a small store they now own and the generosity of donors help to fund this amazing project.
We spent the night with one of the owner's, a Chicagoian in his seventies who loved the theatre and Frank Sinatra. We were serenaded for a good portion of the night by this jolly bearded Jewish man who looks for the smallest of opportunities to take the stage and educate the ears of those who are unfortunate enough to not have heard the little known Sinatra tunes that are brimming in every corner of his mind.
School ended on Tuesday with the "Cultural Performance" that was to showcase each class singing the individual songs Nathan and I taught them. And though the children are now in exams, Comfort continues to come after school to Namaskar house for more tutorials. As each day passes, she brings a larger contingent of friends who are all equally as eager to receive extra education.
Soon after I arrived here in Ejura, I wanted to do something with my nights that would bring me closer to the boys at Namaskar and help open up their imaginations and english comprehension. One night out of the week I took them to the field to play football, which grew exponentially with all the local kids eager to join and live out their football day dreamings. Another night of the week I took the boys into the meditation room to read a story to them.
Over the last month I find myself reading stories to them most every night upon their beckon call of "Hey, Story Master! Are you ready?" The kids in the room range from nine years old to sixteen and all listen with eager ears, hearts and minds. Two nights ago I read them "Pinochio." They gasped and their eye lids flapped open - like pull down blinds you absentmindedly let go of - at the notion of an old man floating on a makeshift raft in the belly of a whale at the bottom of the sea. The mention of the possible death or endangerment of a main character ellicits this same pure, unbridled reaction that is a blessing to witness.
I will miss these boys.
There are so many other stories and I look forward to sharing them with you when I return home, as well as hearing your own.
Again, I invite you to keep up with my next phase of adventures at www.loosechangetrio.com. The band soon plans to travel over seas to promote the new record that is going to be released in February.
I may squeeze out one more blog here before then, but if not, thank you all again for reading. And now to leave you with an experience that brought to mind the phrase I have heard time and time again here - "This is Africa."
On the red dirt path that runs the course of the neighbourhood, sitting cross-legged, belly overhanging his elastic waistband, a little boy of no more than one or two years of age sits hunched over a knotted coil of metal, knawing the rust off it between his chubby cheeks.
I pass him, first amused at the sight, then stop and turn around shaking my head saying "No" and gesturing for him to remove the thick, infection- born wire from his mouth.
He pauses for a split second, eyes wide at what I have asked him to do, facial muscles taut with attention. Then in one crack of his thoughtful rigidity he throws back his head in a gut-busting laugh erupting his shirt up and over the his naked belly bulge.
He continues to laugh - as I walk away laughing myself - with a knowledge beyond mine, possibly to say, if he could yet form the words, "Hey, buddy, this is Africa."
Sending my warmest thoughts your way,
David
Monday, December 3, 2007
The Bone Setter
He is twenty seven years of age, but the generosity of his spirit speaks years beyond this meaningless figure. He learned the ways of herbal medicine and bone setting from his now eighty two year old mother. His name is Kaakyire, meaning "last born" - something you may have already concluded from the soaring gap between the age of this young man and his mother.
Years before, his grandfather - his mother's father - was a bone setter, herbal healer and a fetish priest. Being far removed from his daughter and, I suppose, the rest of his family, he passed on his gifts to a man he befriended later in life, only blessing this other with his gifts while in the final days of his existence in this world. This man continued his work until one day he was met by Kaakyire's mother who had heard of this bone setter through other villagers and having no knowledge of their connection, took her daughter with a caved in collar bone to be healed by this man.
After much discussion during their visit, together, they managed to reconnect the wires of the past, bringing to light that his teacher was none other than her late father.
Years later, when he lay on his death bed, he was to pass on these skills in good faith to Kaakyire's mother, but, either having little time left or sensing no desire from her to delve into this world, neglected to teach her the ways of a Fetish Priest. I am also told that the spirits must choose you to lead such a life of spiritual sacrifice and gain.
Growing up dirt poor, Kaakyire went to live with his sister in Accra for a time where he attended an International school until the age of ten when his sister could no longer afford to take care of him.
He returned to Mampong to live with his mother where he struggled to stay in school, worked when he could and helped his mother with her patients. The knowledge he gained from keenly watching his mother and assisting her started to work its way into his gentle fingers, sapped his muscles with an acute sensitivity and poured into his heart a patience from beyond.
As his mother grows older and, as he puts it, "more grumpy" and jarring with her patients he has slowly taken over. Though at first not fully taking to this work in his youth, through the encouraging words of a volunteer working in the area four years ago, Kaakyire decided to make helping people his life.
His patients come to him warily at first for he is a young man and they are used to the time tested, worn in ways of his mother. They come to him with little or no money as they have scoured every other option available before coming to him. When the hospitals have deemed these people untreatable, often suggesting the amputation of a limb, they come to Kaakyire to be healed of their affliction. And Kaayire does exactly this: he has people walking that were told would never walk again or using arms that were previously pronounced dead weight flesh and bone.
People will pay them with whatever they have - whether that be a bit of money, a tea pot or nothing at all. Kaakyire does the work because it makes him feel good to know he is helping others and it gives him a sense of self respect that carries his name through the town on the jubilation's of the healed. He says he does his work for God and draws strength from the scripture that tells of Jesus helping the lepers - only one of the ten coming back to personally thank him.
Nathan and I watched him work on a four year old boy who had been pushed down in the school yard and snapped clean the wrist in his bone. The boy's father cradled him between his legs while Kaakyire gently examined the bone with his fingers, making sure it was still joined the way he had set it - as kids often rattle it out of it's puzzle piece fit again - and then rubbed his arm with herbs, wrapping it in a banana leaf, then a strip of rubber to trap the heat of the herbs which are to meld the bone and finally, wrapping it with gauze and setting it with wooden sticks.
He says the business of bone setting will never truly be his until his mother blesses it so, and until then, he continues to tread in her domain, abiding by her rules until the day comes when it will be passed on - heart, soul and history - to him.
Today, a week after I started this blog, Nathan and I have visited him yet again after he invited us for a traditional meal of Foufou, beef, stew and fish. We were able to meet his girlfriend who is a true light and joy, as well.
Since starting this particular blog I have had so many adventures but because of internet time constraints, I will only impart a few of them to you and hopefully get to some of the others next week.
Nathan and I were encouraged by Dada (Ananda Marga Monk- proprietor of the school and Namaskar house) to impart to our students two songs they could incoporate into their morning assembly with a positive message and disciplinarian movement. The first Nathan and I agreed to teach was "This Little Light of Mine" which they now sing every morning.
The second was one I adapted from a english translation of a Sanskrit mantra. I added some lyrics I was writing from a new song of mine and made it into a blues marching rhythm.
They are singing both songs in assembly now along with the required National anthem, the Lord's Prayer and the pledge of allegiance for Ghana.
We took the time to explain the meaning behind these songs to the children and encourage them to sing it from this place of knowledge every morning. The songs impart the messages of love, togetherness and inspire them to shine their light of purity and goodness to the world.
It satiates the heart to hear these kids sing these songs with such enthusiasm, vigour and with a sense of joyful abandonment. Today, during the boys' Sunday meditation and song at the house, I could hear them incorporating "This Little Light" into those they sing every Sunday.
Now for a journal entry of late - this concerns the kindergarton children outside the front gate of our school:
The girls squat and lift their skirts and the boys either lift a pant leg or pull their waist band down an inch. They stand in a circle amongst yesterday's charred garbage. The boys who only marginally managed to pull their waitband down have sent their urine flying in great yellow arcs because of the way it's still strapping their upward facing penis to their waist. They turn as they pee, peeing on each other, none seeming to mind, some not even noticing, as they bumble in step and conversation between one another in their communal grass toliet.
Thanks for reading and I apologize for not getting this blog out sooner. And thank you to all those for last weeks comments. It is a special thing to have friends and family wave a flag of encouragement and faith in your face when your vision can become a little cloudy at times. So again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for you love.
David
Years before, his grandfather - his mother's father - was a bone setter, herbal healer and a fetish priest. Being far removed from his daughter and, I suppose, the rest of his family, he passed on his gifts to a man he befriended later in life, only blessing this other with his gifts while in the final days of his existence in this world. This man continued his work until one day he was met by Kaakyire's mother who had heard of this bone setter through other villagers and having no knowledge of their connection, took her daughter with a caved in collar bone to be healed by this man.
After much discussion during their visit, together, they managed to reconnect the wires of the past, bringing to light that his teacher was none other than her late father.
Years later, when he lay on his death bed, he was to pass on these skills in good faith to Kaakyire's mother, but, either having little time left or sensing no desire from her to delve into this world, neglected to teach her the ways of a Fetish Priest. I am also told that the spirits must choose you to lead such a life of spiritual sacrifice and gain.
Growing up dirt poor, Kaakyire went to live with his sister in Accra for a time where he attended an International school until the age of ten when his sister could no longer afford to take care of him.
He returned to Mampong to live with his mother where he struggled to stay in school, worked when he could and helped his mother with her patients. The knowledge he gained from keenly watching his mother and assisting her started to work its way into his gentle fingers, sapped his muscles with an acute sensitivity and poured into his heart a patience from beyond.
As his mother grows older and, as he puts it, "more grumpy" and jarring with her patients he has slowly taken over. Though at first not fully taking to this work in his youth, through the encouraging words of a volunteer working in the area four years ago, Kaakyire decided to make helping people his life.
His patients come to him warily at first for he is a young man and they are used to the time tested, worn in ways of his mother. They come to him with little or no money as they have scoured every other option available before coming to him. When the hospitals have deemed these people untreatable, often suggesting the amputation of a limb, they come to Kaakyire to be healed of their affliction. And Kaayire does exactly this: he has people walking that were told would never walk again or using arms that were previously pronounced dead weight flesh and bone.
People will pay them with whatever they have - whether that be a bit of money, a tea pot or nothing at all. Kaakyire does the work because it makes him feel good to know he is helping others and it gives him a sense of self respect that carries his name through the town on the jubilation's of the healed. He says he does his work for God and draws strength from the scripture that tells of Jesus helping the lepers - only one of the ten coming back to personally thank him.
Nathan and I watched him work on a four year old boy who had been pushed down in the school yard and snapped clean the wrist in his bone. The boy's father cradled him between his legs while Kaakyire gently examined the bone with his fingers, making sure it was still joined the way he had set it - as kids often rattle it out of it's puzzle piece fit again - and then rubbed his arm with herbs, wrapping it in a banana leaf, then a strip of rubber to trap the heat of the herbs which are to meld the bone and finally, wrapping it with gauze and setting it with wooden sticks.
He says the business of bone setting will never truly be his until his mother blesses it so, and until then, he continues to tread in her domain, abiding by her rules until the day comes when it will be passed on - heart, soul and history - to him.
Today, a week after I started this blog, Nathan and I have visited him yet again after he invited us for a traditional meal of Foufou, beef, stew and fish. We were able to meet his girlfriend who is a true light and joy, as well.
Since starting this particular blog I have had so many adventures but because of internet time constraints, I will only impart a few of them to you and hopefully get to some of the others next week.
Nathan and I were encouraged by Dada (Ananda Marga Monk- proprietor of the school and Namaskar house) to impart to our students two songs they could incoporate into their morning assembly with a positive message and disciplinarian movement. The first Nathan and I agreed to teach was "This Little Light of Mine" which they now sing every morning.
The second was one I adapted from a english translation of a Sanskrit mantra. I added some lyrics I was writing from a new song of mine and made it into a blues marching rhythm.
They are singing both songs in assembly now along with the required National anthem, the Lord's Prayer and the pledge of allegiance for Ghana.
We took the time to explain the meaning behind these songs to the children and encourage them to sing it from this place of knowledge every morning. The songs impart the messages of love, togetherness and inspire them to shine their light of purity and goodness to the world.
It satiates the heart to hear these kids sing these songs with such enthusiasm, vigour and with a sense of joyful abandonment. Today, during the boys' Sunday meditation and song at the house, I could hear them incorporating "This Little Light" into those they sing every Sunday.
Now for a journal entry of late - this concerns the kindergarton children outside the front gate of our school:
The girls squat and lift their skirts and the boys either lift a pant leg or pull their waist band down an inch. They stand in a circle amongst yesterday's charred garbage. The boys who only marginally managed to pull their waitband down have sent their urine flying in great yellow arcs because of the way it's still strapping their upward facing penis to their waist. They turn as they pee, peeing on each other, none seeming to mind, some not even noticing, as they bumble in step and conversation between one another in their communal grass toliet.
Thanks for reading and I apologize for not getting this blog out sooner. And thank you to all those for last weeks comments. It is a special thing to have friends and family wave a flag of encouragement and faith in your face when your vision can become a little cloudy at times. So again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for you love.
David
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