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