Thanksgiving and Traditional Wedding

November 28, 2011

So last week we all went to Accra for Thanksgiving at the Ambassador’s; the food was delicious!  We went out dancing and drinking (real whiskey) and were able to stay with U.S. Embassy families.  We got hot showers, real mattresses, soft toilet paper, REAL COFFEE, Cheerios, English muffins; delightful.

On Friday Chris and I headed back to my village because my chief had invited me to a traditional wedding in Bala (2 villages over from Todome).  The subchief’s son was getting married and he invited me to attend and take pictures of the traditional ceremony; it would start at 6 a.m. Saturday.  So at 6, Chris and I arrive at my chief’s house; he, his linguist and us 2 head over to Bala where we are received by the subchief and are introduced to the son who is being married.  The man is obviously in his late 30’s and Chris and I both look at eachother and hope that the wife will be over 20 years old.  So we ask questions and this is the deal we find out:  The couple to be married are already legally married by the state and church, they have children, but until you have a traditional wedding you are not formally recognized in the traditional village/elders.  I still don’t quite understand what this really means, but whatever.

So we promptly drink our first calabash of palm wine by 6:45 a.m. and sit while the men talk and introduce everyone.  We are then told that the ceremony is starting and we would move to the wife’s house.  We get there and the women of the village start arriving hauling water on their heads; the women pour the water in the wife’s barrels while dancing and singing.  The water is poured even when the barrels begin to overflow and this represents giving her love and that she will not have to carry water today.  The women start throwing water on eachother and sloshing about; it was a sight indeed.  Next they take us to the subchief’s family house where we are introduced to more people and are given more palm wine.  After two calabashes of palm wine, I head to the shower house to pee and realize while squatting (and trying not to spray my feet or dress) that there’s a really good chance I’m gonna have diarrhea today (damn American food!).  So I go back into the house where we are then shuffled to the groom’s house to watch the procession of gifts to the wife’s house.  They carry wrapped presents, a chief’s stool, large cooking pots, and these are all presented to the wife’s family (we still do not see the wife.)  After this we go back to the groom’s house where the women have begun to pound fufu.  There are probably 15 women pounding while others are still boiling more cassava.  They’re singing and dancing; there is more palm wine involved. 

Next the men come and fetch me to take photos of the killing of the rams.  Ok.  I’ve seen goats and cows killed in Ghana from afar and I know it is not a slow process because they saw the neck apart with a knife and drain the blood, and the animal screams and it almost makes me cry.  Yes, I know my food was once alive, but the sound and length of pain is what creeps me out.  But, I had never seen this done in a ceremony.  So I get over there and there is a big white ram and brown male goat (he had as super cute beard, too).  A man has a boiling pot of palm soup and maybe 4 men come hauling over the ram.  They hold his legs and his head (they are holding his mouth shut, thank God).  The man by the soup sticks the ram in the neck and begins to drain the blood into the soup and mix it in.  The ram is jerking, but the guys hold him pretty still and he doesn’t make too much noise.  His blood drains pretty slowly though, and one guy is holding up the goat and it’s having to watch all this and I thought that was pretty crappy; poor thing.  Anyway, after most of the blood is out, the start sawing his neck half way off and then lay him to the side; where he twitches about and I about loose it.  I’m not for sure if he was still alive or it was just nerves, but seeing an animal with its head half sawed off and flopping on the ground made me a little queasy; much to the men’s delight.  Next up, here comes the goat.  Once again they hang his head over the pot and the man sticks his neck; his blood drains super fast and kind of in spurts with his heartbeat.  They keep stirring in the blood; I check on the ram and he’s not flopping any more.  Next they saw the goat’s head half off, too, and start stoking the fire.  At this point, I’m buzzed up on palm wine and it’s maybe 9:30 a.m., I’m slightly queasy from watching the slaughter and the knowledge that I’m going to be expected to eat that blood soup, so I decide to go hide behind a shack and smoke a cigarette.  When I get back they have strung up the goat (wrapped around each foot and through the nose) and they are roasting the hair off over the open fire…it was a strange sight.  They roast it for a while and then scrape the singed hair off with a knife; same follows for the ram.

Chris is feeling pretty liquored up, so he decides he wants to pound fufu with the women; which everyone loved.  They had a blast with it.  Next they take us inside the house where women are grinding frankincense with a stone; it makes an army green colored smear that smells really good.  Everyone who is a part of the ceremony is supposed to be smeared with it to show they were there; we all got our smear!  We were then taken into the next room where the groom was dressed and sitting with his 3 sons.  They were smeared all over and dressed in traditional beads and cloth.  People were taking pictures and dancing and being silly.  The groom (and the sons) are not allowed to smile and if they do, they have to pay you money; so people were being goofy trying to get them to smile.

Next, we were taken back to the family house and served fufu and light soup and more palm wine.  While we are sitting there another guy comes in and starts talking; he keeps trying to offer his sister to Chris (as far as anyone knows Chris and I are engaged to be married (it keeps the proposals down)) and this guy doesn’t care that I say we are engaged.  “Oh, he will take an African wife.”  “That’s fine with me, but I want my African husband.”  “No, you can only have one.”  “Oh, brother, OWWW (no).  If he gets, I get; that’s how we roll in America.”  The sister is called and she’s like 17 years old and Chris and I start arguing about it with the guy.  Then we start talking about condoms, and sex and AIDS and he says (Serious as shit!) that AIDS does not exist.  Oh Lord; my chief and me and Chris, and Jon (a man from my village who I really like and he works at the HoHoe hospital) all start calling him stupid and telling him that is the reason why people die of AIDS because they are ignorant…and yadda yadda yadda.  Also in this bizarre conversation, Chris is liquored up and starts telling the men that Sister Boala is all he needs and….(for those of you who don’t know, Chris is as gay as the day is long). Good Lord, he’s flinging hand gestures and my chief and linguist are laughing and applauding my sexual service to my husband…it was completely bizarre.  And then of course they all talk about how palm wine increases stamina…they all smile at me and hand out more palm wine.  MY LIFE IS SOOOOO WEIRD!!!!!

At this point we are taken back to the groom’s house where they have now skinned and cut the ram/goat into big pieces.  Now they will cut 12 pieces for the groom’s family and 12 pieces for the wife’s family.  The innards and other bits will be shared with the elders and others at the wedding.  After a long time of cutting and dividing and counting, the meat is hauled off to be cooked.  I’m not for sure what happened next, but I know we drank more, they fed us rice and stew, and people gave us coconuts to drink.  Next thing is we head back to the groom’s house where the now cooked meat is handed out with the blood/soup/smear.  Chris refuses his, but I took mine.  I got a part of a rib and two big dollops of blood smear in my hand.  It actually wasn’t bad.  And normally goat makes the soup stink (I think) so I figured the blood soup would be super gnarly, but it wasn’t. (and, knock on wood, I haven’t gotten sick from it).  They start to divide up the Akple (rice dough balls) between the families and it’s getting late…like probably 4:30.  So Nana (my chief) is as tired and drunk as we are, so he says we are going to leave.  The actual marriage nuptials haven’t started.  They take us to the wife’s house and let us see her.  She is about the same age as the groom (yeah).  And then Nana says that the subchief is symbolically offering the girl (the one the turd brother tried to give Chris) to us as our daughter.  Ok, great; she was a nice kid and I’m gonna see if I can get her to our girl’s Camp Glow in January.

We go back to the groom’s family house, say our goodbyes, give a contribution and have more palm wine.  The kids give me a string with Plumeria flowers and Chris some bananas.  We play and dance with the kids while we wait for a tro to our village.  They of course sent more palm wine home with us, so we went to the chief’s palace and drank another calabash and talked with him and his linguist.  I hang out with my kids and try to have them teach me this dance I’ve been wanting to learn…if you’ve ever been around me when I’m drunk, you know how I like to dance.  So I’m dancing with the kids in the palace; Chris gets tired of waiting for me and takes my key to head to the house; apparently he was dialing his phone and fell in a ditch/gutter and hit his head (not bad).  When I leave a few minutes later, Gifty decides she should walk my drunk ass home.

So Chris and I are both obliterated and start drunk dialing home.  Thank you dad and Jennifer for listening to my babbles…you have to admit you haven’t got one of those calls in a LONG time!

Chris got a call on Sunday from the guys in Bala thanking us for coming; they asked him to please send thanks to his wife.

J

Ps, the pics are gory.

Village women carrying water to bride's barrels.

More palm wine arriving

Hard core fufu pounding and dancing

Ram getting bled into the soup

Goat being bled

Chris and I with the village big men.

Gory aftermath

Burning the goat (dead) to get the hair off.

Chris pounding fufu with the women.

My chief is on the right, his linguist on the left, and Jon in the middle from my village.

Women smashing the frakinsense

Me and my husband.

Meat divided up (and palm wine of course)

Chris and the women making the soup

Bride and groom

Groom and his boys (and palm wine :)

Me, Chris and our daughter, Sarafine (the bigger girl.) Chris snagged that baby from someone

Burkina and Mali Trip, Fin

We arrive at Segou and Monica, a PCV there who I had met a couple weeks before when she was visiting Ghana, came and met us at the station.  We went back to her place, showered, and then headed out for dinner.  We went to “The Shack” and they had this awesome kebab with white fish from the Niger.  Ohhhhhh, it was so good.  And fried potatoes!  The only fish you get in villages in Ghana is the nasty smoked/dried river fish that makes me gag…that’s what I feed my cat.  This fish was awesome and flaky and ohhhh so good.  After that we went and had a drink and then went home.  The next day was Global Handwashing day and Monica was hosting an event at her house for her neighborhood kids.

The next day we wake up and the kids come to learn about why washing your hands often is important.  We played games and then took everyone out to the tippytap (see pictures) that Monica had made.  We came back and colored and drew all our hands on posters.  It was a fun day!  After that we went and got some fish again, and homemade yogurt….ohhhh so good.  We walked along the Niger River to a Bogolan making shop.  Bogolan is also called mudcloth and I love it!  The thread is pulled by hand, woven and then dyed using mud, bark, and leaves.  It’s so pretty.  We hang out and see how it’s made and then we get to try our hand at making a small stencil design.  The guy has you choose a design and then he tells you what it means.  The one I picked means “responsible” and Nivole’s meant “dancer.”  I was looking for a big piece so I could make a duvet cover with it, but they didn’t have one.  There was another shop on the other end of town, so we started heading there.  On the way we stopped at a regular cloth shop and I bought a bunch of printed designs that we don’t have in Ghana.  Once at the Bogolan shop I spent probably 45 minutes to an hour going back and forth on what to buy…it’s all so cool!  But all the really big queen size pieces were not in a pattern I like.  After much contemplation and few evil eyes and sighs from Nivole, I picked a green (surprise) double size cloth.  I figure I can always add a solid border to it or just use it as a throw.  Anyway, mission accomplished!  I left Ghana looking forward to hiking Dogon and buying some snazzy mudcloth!

The next day we slept in and then went to visit a RPCV (returned peace corps volunteer) who married a Lebanese guy and still lives in Segou.  She made homemade angel food cake and it was spectacular!  After that we went to her husband’s hotel where we had brick oven pizza with real cheese… NICE.  After hanging out for a bit, we went home, napped, and then went back to the hotel to eat STEAK!  Real steak…like the kind you don’t have to cook to the consistency of shoe leather in order to make sure you don’t get cooties.  I had a medium rare steak, with potatoes, and a salad…eating is much fun.

The next morning we had to say goodbye to Monica, who we both really liked, with a plan to maybe meet up in Burkina for a safari in March.  We headed to the bus station and waited…we got there at 6 and at 9:30 the bus finally left.  We are destined to arrive in Ouga hopefully by around 9pm…turned out to be 11:30 p.m.  We had texted a Burkina PCV to see what “area” the Ouaga PC house was in was called; and then we were gonna just hope to be able to direct the taxi to the PC house. (I have to admit I was a little worried about us trying to find our way around, without French, in Ouaga in the middle of the night.) The bus unloads and lucky for us there is a taxi, Nivole does a fantastic Instant French on the “area” name, the driver let me smoke in the cab (nicotine was needed), and we successfully found our way to the house with only having been their once. WIN!WIN!WIN!  We were so happy.  Eben, our awesome PCV from our first pass through Ouaga, was there at the house, too!  So we showered and hung out until about 3or so.  Eben said he wants to come visit Ghana in January and that he was trying to put a Burkina safari together for March...you don’t say?  J I love coincidences.  Next morning we walk to the PC office to pay for our night’s stay, hail a cab and successfully explain we want to get a bus to Kumasi, and head to a different bus station, get out and a man comes and speaks to us in ENGLISH!  “Where are you going?”  “Kumasi.” “Come, the bus is leaving.”  A nice AC bus is getting ready to go straight to Kumasi...seriously??? Thank you, Lord.  So we board our nice bus and start our journey around 10 a.m.  At 11:30 p.m. we arrive in Kumasi, take a taxi and get to the PC house a little after 12…yeah Ghana!  We spend the next day going through our pictures (Nivole left one SD card at Monicas!!!) and talking about how awesome our trip was and how we need to get planning a short Togo trip and also the Burkina safari.  Nivole leaves to go to her village (about an hour a way). I stay and set up my women’s products at the PC store and go get a beer and lunch with another PCV who had just got back from Tanzania.  After a good night’s sleep, I get up and start trying to get to the station around 6:30.  I get dumped off somewhere I’ve never been before (I’ve only been to Kumasi once and it’s a big city with a big market and tro/yard) and I can’t find the huge station.  The mate points me in one direction and that doesn’t seem right, but what do I know?  So I start walking.  Then I ask some lady if I was going the right direction for the market and she said no, I was heading to the bus station…there’s only really slow, shitty buses to HoHoe, so I turned around and went to find the tro yard.  I get to Kejetia market and things are looking familiar; find the tro yard, find the Koforidua tro.  Wait for it to fill; I leave Kejetia around 9:30.  Get to Koforidua, wait for Kpong tro to fill.  Get to Kpong.  As I’m walking to the Kpong station, some dude is hissing at me, but I didn’t pay him any attention because I had to pee.  So I get to the HoHoe tro (completely empty) and am talking to the driver when the hissing guy comes and starts trying to chat me up and wants to buy me a drink because I look hot and he wants to be my friend, and… I make it very clear I’m not interested, drop my bags in the tro and head off to the urinals.  The guy follows me.  “Brother, I am going to urinate, you do not need to come.  I have been traveling all day and I am not interested in being your friend.  I will wait for my tro to fill by myself and then will go home.”  “I should go then.”  “Yes, you should go. Thank you.”  I pee.  I come out of the urinal and head back toward the tro and have to pass the taxi stand.  “Oh sister….blah, blah, blah” some taxi driver comes and grabs onto my arm and is yammering about being my friend and all the other taxi drivers are jawing him on.  “Dude, not in the mood.” And I kinda twist my arm away and head back to my tro.  I call Nivole and go into the corner to smoke.  She informs me that according to the news Gaddafi was killed and we should be on alert (we always get put on alert if any white people in the world have done anything controversial in the news) and I should be careful getting home.  Ok, I’ll calm my sass down.  After I get off the phone with her, I check my email and while I’m doing this I hear some guy sucking his teeth repeatedly…I know he can’t be sucking his teeth at me because he’s been doing it a long time and I’m obviously busy on my phone.  “Sister, someone wants to talk to you.”  He sent some other dude over to me.  “He’s been sucking his teeth at me this whole time; why doesn’t his lazy ass get up and come over himself?” So much for the sass reduction.  The teeth-sucker proceeds to tell me how he wants to be my friend and I should give him my number so he can come and visit me.  After much back and forth about how I’m not interested, don’t want him to call, I just go sit in my tro… the guy works at the tro yard though and decides to come sit in my tro, too.  But other people are starting to come and he eventually gets out.  I argue with the driver about the cost of my bag (I’ve stopped arguing and just give them 1 cedi, if they don’t want it I tell them to take my pack out or I’ll sit it on my lap).  We finally agree.  ***Note, the trip from Kumasi to HoHoe is the same trip that caused me to hide in my house for 2 days back in November. I was so pissed off at anything Ghanaian.  It was still just as annoying this time, but I guess I’m more used to it now)***  I get to HoHoe and wait for my tro to Likpe. I drop, go greet Fo Nicho and Esther before I climb the hill to my house…I get in the door at 8:30 p.m.  I walk in, see no huge critters, don’t smell anything dead, my roof is still up… I AM HOME J

Burkina Mali Trip, Part Deux

So we woke up early and started walking in the direction we were told the station was.  We walked for a long time and finally got there after doubting our directions a bit. We sit around and wait for the tro to fill and then make the hour drive to Bandiagara where our guide, Omar, was supposed to meet us.  I got his number from a PCV; about 90% of his treks are with PCV’s…he speaks English.  So he meets us and we go to a restaurant to sit and talk about our trek.  Omar is freaking awesome!  He is super funny and I personally think incredibly hot…he’s married L.  Anyway, as it turns out, the price he quoted me on the phone was for both of us, whereas I thought it was each…WIN!  The driver comes and we start the hour or so drive into Dogon Country.  Nivole and I were in such good moods, just goofin’ and cracking up in the back seat.  We realized that at this point we had a 24/7 babysitter for the next 4 days!  No more “Instant French” needed!  The drive is really gorgeous; the rock formations, colorfully dressed ladies walking to the market, baskets on their heads, and babies on their backs.  We arrive in Dourou and we go to the roof of a campement/house and wait for lunch to be cooked (couscous…yum).  Omar takes us out to look through the village.  Word got around there were tourists and the ladies came out with their indigo dyed cloth.  We didn’t really wanna buy anything because we knew we’d be carrying it on our backs for the next 4 days, but we both ended up buying a cloth for a good price (and we were really happy we did because we didn’t really see any more indigo in Dogon except in a touristy village and it was expensive there).  As we’re walking around on the rocks, Nivole asks about where people go to the bathroom and Omar says the people go to a certain part of the rocks and go, there’s only one or two latrines in the village, “That’s why it’s so stinky!”  And with his funny accent it was hilarious…and we repeated that for the rest of the trip when we walked by stinky stuff (which was a lot).  So after we ate, he said they’d laid mats down in the shade and for us to go rest and we’d start hiking around 4 when the sun cools down.  So we go flop down in the shade, but the flies were really bad and we couldn’t really rest for swattin’ (ewww, poop flies for sure).  After a bit, a kid brings over tea.  Tea is a thing in Mali.  They make this REALLY strong tea with lots of sugar in it, serve it in a shot glass and you drink it like a shot.  They pour the tea from a little teapot and hold it way above the shot glass so the tea cools a little as it falls in the glass so you can shoot it.  It’s some kind of Chinese tea and you boil it and drink from the tea leaves three times….so the first one is super strong.  We always drank it after lunch and after dinner.  I’d be flopped on my mat and a guy would randomly appear with a tiny little tray and my shot of tea…it was funny.  Oh, and one place put mint in it and it was delicious!!  So, Nivole and I were just laying there doing nothing and I brought up the fact that she said she was gonna braid my hair before we went (and I had indeed reminded her about it for the last 3 days and she never got around to it).  It was really hot and it would be much cooler and also I wouldn’t have to wash my hair…trust me, that is very appealing when bucket bathing.  So, Nivole started braiding my hair.  The villagers that came by thought it was incredibly interesting and hilarious; I was just happy to be able to feel a breeze on my head!

  So around 4 we strap on our bags and start our 5km hike for the day.  It was really peaceful and beautiful.  There was no one around…except Omar of course J  We arrive at our overnight village around sunset.  The family we were staying with was nice (or seemed to be as we didn’t speak the same language) and they showed us the flat roofs we’d be sleeping on that night.  They had put mats and strung up mosquito nets and we were both really excited about sleeping out under the stars (no electricity anywhere around makes for excellent stars…but we had a full moon that night, instead of stars).  We took turns bathing (under the moon, of course) and settled down around the outside table to eat dinner.  As we sat we started asking Omar about the Dogon culture.  There are still arranged marriages and the mothers usually arrange them when you are a small child, but you don’t know who they’ve arranged it with until later.  There are still menstrual huts where women must sleep and cook when they are menstruating and they cannot touch men during that time.  They still do full clitoral circumcision for the girls when they are around the age of 2.  When boys are around 13, the men round up the of-age boys and they are circumcised in a long ritual.  Waiting until they are that old is a way to show they are strong men to endure the pain.  Also, “when we are at the ritual, the men of the village teach us how to make sex. Because you cannot have sex before your circumcision.”  “Uh, how do the men show you how to make sex?”  “With a stick and a calabash with a hole in it.”  “Oh.  Do the girls get any instruction from the women on how to make sex?”  (Without the clit not very enthusiastically, I’d say.) “No, the women teach them things at their ritual, but they learn sex from their husbands.” Of course they do.  So we talk about polygamy, sex before marriage, contraception, etc.  It was a very informative evening and it was really great that he was so open to sit and talk (and laugh and argue) with us about his culture.  So we get ready to go to bed and Omar has some guys carry our packs over to the roofs and then we see why; you have to climb up the ladder made out of a log with chunks taken out as the steps…it was awkward.  So we make it up to the roofs and it was so nice.  After some friendly banter, lots of giggles, and a few snorts, we fall asleep under the full moon.

Next morning I decide I have to pee and was dreading climbing down that damn ladder.  As I try to dismount the roof with some sort of finesse, Nivole proceeds to crack up at my awkwardness, which makes me start laughing uncontrollably and I just had to kinda hang off the side of the roof while I composed myself, tried not to wet my pants, and find the ladder…I got the hang of it by later that morning…there’s a system to it.

So we go and take breakfast at the house and then walk through the village.  We keep walking past the village and from far back you can see the awesome view off the escarpment.  IT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL!!!!  The rock cliffs, the sand dunes, the mud village below us…it was phenomenal.  I love when I get to places in nature and it’s just this overwhelming feeling of “Holy crap this world is so amazing and I’m so lucky to get to be a part of it.”  This was the beginning of my favorite day of the trip.  So after we hung out and took a bunch of pics (and walked through the pooping areas J) we went back to pick our packs and start the morning’s 5km hike.

We hike through the beautiful rocks, can look down over the dunes, come to an agricultural area, and then on to the village we’ll take lunch at.  We walk around the village, eat, and then are shown to our mats that have been laid out in the shade of this big rock formation.  We climbed around and took pictures for a while and then settled down, read books, and napped a little. I kinda woke up and was staring at this bright blue sky with a few whispy clouds, set against the orange of the rocks.  There was a slight breeze, a few birds were flying high overhead and I was just overcome with emotion.  I had this great conversation with myself about life, and the earth, and God, and life’s incomprehensible, but definite plan, and I was just filled with gratitude and awe. I’m pretty sure I’ll remember how I felt at that moment for a long time to come.  It was nice.

Around 3:30 we loaded on our packs and began to climb up further on the escarpment. Once we got on top we were coming into a small village; there was woman walking down the red dirt path, carrying something on her head, walking a goat (by a rope), and her little son walking behind her.  It was a really neat image.  Then the little boy saw me and came running back and grabbed my hand and decided to be my walking buddy.  He didn’t try to talk or laugh, just walked and ate his fruit while holding my hand.  Kids make me laugh.  The mud village was really beautiful in late afternoon sun.  We pass through the village and after a few kilometers we come to the descent.  There’s a large ravine we have to make our way down in order to reach the village at the base of the escarpment.  So we start climbing down; then there are parts where you have to cross the ravine and they have the tree trunk ladders that you have to crab crawl across.  Next, is “rock stairs” to climb down.  After some sweating, complaining, and few loose rocks, we make it down right at dusk and the moon has already risen over the dunes in the distance.  We all eat a bunch and then fall asleep pretty early that night. 

Around 2 a.m. the rain starts coming down and we have to abandon our rooftop slumber.  We relocate to some lean-to thing to finish out the night.  The next morning a “massage” guy comes by.  He had came by the night before and showed us his paper with a message written in several different languages.  He had learned the art of massage from his medicine man-father.  Basically he rubs you down with eucalyptus-like stuff and shea butter.  Ok, it was cheap so why not.  I found it funny to be sitting on a mud roof, in a Muslim community in my bra and pants with some old, nub-toothed man rubbing on me…it felt good, but left my skin feeling greasy and I was worried I’d sizzle like bacon in the sun. After the messages, we set off on another 5km hike to Ende which is Omar’s hometown.  We get there and hang out a bit and then hike up to the Telem cliff houses.  The Telem people lived in Dogon a long time ago; they lived in the cliffs to protect themselves from wild animals and invasion.  It was really quite amazing how they had grain storage built into the cliffs. 

We talked to Omar and told him we wanted to take a donkey ride the next day if it was possible.  Starting in the Upper East of Ghana we saw a bunch of donkey carts and Nivole thought they were so great; I had bought a turban cloth and wanted to wear my turban…donkey ride to the dunes took care of both.  Omar had taught me some card game and I completely kicked his butt the night before, so he owed me. He borrowed his brother’s donkey and off we went.  It was silly, but lots of fun.  After our donkey ride and doing some laundry we packed up and hiked the next 5km to our final village of Teli.  Here we climbed up and looked at some more Telem cliff dwellings and just relaxed.  We were going to get ready for bed, but we heard a bunch of drumming.  “It’s wrestling.”  Wrestling is a big deal in Dogon…maybe Mali?  I dunno, but definitely Dogon; Omar had mentioned it a couple times over the trip.  So we go walking up to the base of the cliff and there in the sand, the villagers (mostly men) have formed a circle and young boys (7-10 years old maybe) are wrestling in the moonlight to the sound of the drums.  It was a really neat scene.  I was happy when Nivole leaned over and said, “Maybe I’ll let you plan all my trips, Jeanna.  This has been pretty great; even though you been trying to kill me with all this hiking stuff.”  J  So one last night on the roof and early the next morning the driver came to pick us and take us back to Bandiagara.  We had to say goodbye to Omar in Teli as he would walk back to his village.  I was really sad to say goodbye to him; he was a really cool person.  I gave him a hug goodbye because I’d really miss talking with him about stuff…Nivole swears I was just trying to cop a feel.

We went to Bandiagara, picked our bush taxi to Sevare and then found the bus station and got on our bus to Segou.  Halfway through the ride we stop off at rest stop; I get off to get us kabobs and bread and Nivole wants to go to the bathroom.  The latrine line is really long so she says she’s gonna walk down (maybe 2 blocks) to the other place we had stopped on the way to Sevare.  “Don’t let them leave me.”  Ok.  So they start honking for us to get back on the bus, and still no Nivole.  I was hoping by the time everyone loaded she’d be back, but no.  So as the bus starts to move I start yelling, “Driver, driver, stop!!”  Yes, I am at the back of the bus, and yes, I’m yelling in English, but anyone can see I’m distressed.  A few people turn around and look at me, smile, but do nothing.  I stand up on my seat and start waving my arms, “Driver, stop! My sister isn’t here!”  They keep going and now we are on the main street. DAMMIT!  So we are going to pass the place Nivole went to pee, so I decided if we didn’t see her I’d just jump up and grab our bags and get off.  I couldn’t leave her on the side of the road and since no one apparently noticed me freaking out (I’m loud, flailing, and a completely different color than everyone else…how can they not notice me?)…  And then we stop and everyone gets off the bus for a 30 minute rest stop at the place Nivole is.  They knew this; the stupid white girl didn’t…and so it goes.

Burkina and Mali Trip, Part I

October 19, 2011

Back in Ghana!  We had an awesome trip to Burkina Faso and Mali.  Despite crapping in a hole for 2 weeks, sleeping in a different place everyday for the first 12 days, not speaking French or the local language, sweltering heat, hiking 25 km with my pack, and many hours spent on (mostly non-AC) buses (I’ve calculated approximately 92 hours of buses/tros/bush taxis), this may actually go down as my favorite trip so far.  We had so much fun!

After a 14 hour bus ride, 3 hour tro ride, we stopped in Bolga Tonga, which is in the Upper East Region of Ghana, to visit Emma, one of my fav PCV’s.  When we were still in Accra, Nivole was talking to another PCV about a shrine that is near Bolga Tonga; it’s a topless shrine.  “Jeanna, we gotta do titty shrine!”  And if you knew Nivole you would understand why this is so funny; it’s completely out of character for her. Hey, it’s vacation, I’m game…as long as there’s not creepy Ghanaian men staring at my sparkling, white boobies; I get harassed enough in Ghana when my clothes are on.

So, we headed to Tonga Hills where the shrine is and we had a great hike around the area; there are lots of cool rock formations.  We also toured the compounds and the chief’s compound.  In the upper regions the huts are round, whereas where I live, they are square.  These compounds are made of mud with thatch roofs and some flat mud roofs.  They are surrounded and joined by mudwalls that make it look like a maze inside…it was really cool.  Next, we started the walk to Titty Shrine; this is an animist culture and they still do animal sacrifices.  Half way up the mountain you have to remove your top, shoes, hats, sunglasses; basically naked from the waste up and the knees down as this is how the people used to climb to the shrine back in the day…only in a loincloth.  So we strip down and start climbing behind our guide, Kingston, the medicine man already climbed up, and a medicine man in training was behind us.  It was way less creepy than I thought it would be; they didn’t really stare.  I was worried about scrapping my boobies on the rocks, though…I need these bad boys!  We get to the cave/rock/shrine area and are told to lay down flat on the rock and look over the crack to where the medicine man is sitting amongst all the bones, feathers, and other offerings.  It was really interesting; and nice to be flat on my belly (chest hidden), and the cool rock felt really good against my sweaty skin.  So after we get stories from the medicine man, we climb down, dress, and climb rest of the way down and head back to town to go stay with Emma.

Next morning we wake up and head to Paga. We get a room, lunch, and then haggle to rent a taxi for the day to take us to Sirigu where they make pottery and also paint their mud compounds with red/black /white patterns.  It was really cool.  I love going into the different houses and compounds, it’s so neat!  Next we went to a slave village and then back to the room to rest up before crossing into Burkina the next day!  

So the next day we walk across the Ghana border (surprisingly smooth…I had all these visions of assbags in uniforms extorting money) and start walking in the no-man’s land until we come to the Burkina border and are faced with our first French speakers…eek.  But since they worked the border they had some English and everything went smooth.  Then we walked up to where we would be able to catch a tro to Ouagadougou (Capital of Burkina and probably the coolest city name!)  We’re walking along and some guy comes up and grabs ahold of the top of my backpack; like not trying to steal it, but just being weird.  So I grab his hand loose and start off again.  He grabs ahold really hard and won’t let go and is mumbling in French (I think he was drunk).  I had both hands trying to pull him off and Nivole was pulling on him too (he was really strong…it kind of scared me how weak I was against him)  So we’re both mouthing off in English (no good) and I start looking around and see some other men over by their big rigs and I kinda throw my hands up and say “Hey, are you guys gonna help us or what?”  They didn’t understand me, but I heard them clicking and clucking their dislike of the guy, and at the same time some other man came over and yelled at the guy and he let go and we went on walking.  “Jeanna, you and your shiny skin…why did I travel with a white girl?”  Thanks Nivole.  We catch our tro and are then dropped in Ouaga about 3 hours later.  Taxi drivers talking to us in French….uh…uh…  We need to tell them to take us to the Peace Corps office, but have no idea how to work that.  I show the guy my PC  patch on my bag; after discussing (in French) with several other drivers, he decides he knows where he’s going.  I’m pretty sure he doesn’t, but I know we don’t know, and it’s hot, and a tro almost ran me over (seriously, felt the tire on the side of my leg and the mate shoved me out of the way through his window), so…  We start driving around and have a good time trying to act out what we are trying to say; after stopping 2 times to ask random people and a couple phone calls, we arrive at the PC office…it’s freaking nice!  Completely nicer than our office…we were jealous.  We meet up with some of the Burkina PCV’s and they help us reserve bus tickets for the next day, took us out to eat steak sandwiches and yogurt, did some shopping and just came back and relaxed at the house. The PCV’s took such good care of us! They made life so much easier. 

Next day we go to the bus station to buy our tickets to Bobo (the PCV’s had called and reserved us tickets and also got us the cab).  So I give the lady my ID and say I have a “reservaTION” in my best French accent (which Nivole is now calling instant French and has become one of our favorite jokes).  The woman starts saying a bunch of stuff that we don’t understand so Nivole says yes, 2 tickets.  Which really turned out to be a 2-way ticket each; we didn’t need a return ticket….oh well.    So we each wasted about $10 US because we don’t speak French.  (Later that day I learned “aller sim” means one-way…I shall not soon forget that!)  Half way to Bobo is a rest stop where a PCV told us you can buy whole rotisserie chickens…so I stay on the bus to watch our stuff and Nivole gets out to pick the chicken and some bread.  She comes back with a whole chicken chopped up and swimming in rotisserie grease and 5 little crusty French breads…YUM!!!  I love that we were sitting on a bus pulling a chicken apart with our hands and using French bread to wipe off our greasy fingers.  I ask Nivole how much it cost.  “I didn’t understand what the lady was saying.  So I’ve developed a method.  I hand them money, if they don’t look happy, I hand them more money…I do this until they look happy and give me change back.”  Works for me; this is one of the many makeshift methods we come up with on this trip to compensate for our ignorance of the language...most of them worked at least some of the time J  So we get to Bobo, and call the taxi number that a PCV in Ouaga gave us.  They wrote down what to stay to the driver in French and spelled it out phonetically for us.  Nivole gave the first try…I nearly peed my pants laughing at her “Instant French” the only thing that sounded right was, “wee, wee”…and no taxi came.  So then I gave it a try…I sucked too.  So then I practiced a little while and then called a second number they gave us, and this guy did show up…excellent.  We got to the PC rest house and then got directions to a bus station where we could buy our tickets to Mali for the next day.  Instant French (I hope you all realize this just means a really crappy, strong, French inflection/accent) and some smiling got us tickets no problem! Holla…we were feeling brave and proud and decided to try our luck navigating the grand marche (market).  We wobble around the MANY stalls until we end up in the cloth section.  Nivole picked some cloth for her mom and I end up buying some Bizzan cloth that has really intricate sewing.  The guy quoted me some really ridiculous price (using a calculator to communicate the digits because we don’t know French numbers…see how much fun this can be!!!) and I just kept saying no and that I only had this much money on me, so no matter if it’s worth more or not, I can’t spend more…after about a ½ hour I got my price! One of the guys who came up spoke a little English so that was awesome.  He then led us over to the old mosque (built in 1880) and we toured that.  But to tour it you have to leave your shoes outside.  Nivole did not want to leave her shoes. “Haven’t you seen Slumdog Millionaire?  I’m not walking home in this nasty place without shoes!”  The Bizzan guy said there was a guy there to watch our shoes.  “He’s probably the one who’s gonna steal them!”  After I promised that if the guy stole our shoes that I would give her my Bizzan shirt, Nivole agreed to go in.  It was really pretty; sticks and mud.  It was getting evening so the sun was setting on the white/cream mud and it looked beautiful.  We came out and our shoes were there, but of course the guy wanted some money.  I didn’t have any coins smaller than 500 CFA, which is $1 US, so that’s what I gave him, but I lied to Nivole and said I gave him a 200 CFA piece because she was already pissed that we had to pay someone to watch our shoes.  I figured it was worth $1 to me to get to keep my shirt (later I confessed that I gave him 500 and she was like, “ I knew you were lying!!!!!”  We are kinda like a married couple…I could do worse…). We went to dinner by the PC house and I got this drink called “ochada” that a PCV told me about.  It’s kind of like soymilk; it’s white and made out of a bean or seed or something and sold in a bootleg water bottle.  It was DELICIOUS!!! And I never found it again in Mali or Burkina L

The next morning a taxi came and picked us and took us to the bus station.  On the bus they played a Malian music concert on the TV and I enjoyed the 5 or so hours listening to the music and looking out the window.  We knew we had to drop in a town called Bla and that it was about half way to the bus’s destination, so when we got to some town about 4 hours in, I asked the mate if it was Bla.  He shook his head no, but now he knew where we needed to drop.  Some time later the bus was stopping and he said Bla, so Nivole and I grabbed our bags and jumped down.  Then 2 other mates jumped off the bus and told us to get back on (which was good because we were not at a junction and I knew from the map we should drop right at a junction).  So we got back on and the mates were yapping to me in French and I said I had no French.  So they start yelling at Nivole (in French) basically saying she should help her white girl.  “I’m just as dumb as she is. I don’t have any French either.”  They thought that was hilarious…white girl and black girl, dumb, dumb, dumb.  So they next stop at the junction and tell us to get off and laugh and wave goodbye to us.  I start saying “Sevare” and several guys lead us to some hut, we buy tickets and wait until a bus pulls up and they tell us to get on to go to Sevare.  We get on and this bus is sooooo jankity.  There are at least 4 different types of seats that have been welded in, no open windows, just 2 little lift skylites for air and they kept the front and back door open for breeze, big gas jugs filled the aisle as to make more seats.  Various things were strapped to the top; both living and not…and we’re off.  It took FOREVER to get to Sevare because we stopped in every village to drop people and unrope their stuff from the top.  The exhaust fumes kept backing up in the bus (we were at the back)…it made me feel sick and it rained a couple times so they shut the skylites, which really made it stinky, but the scenery was gorgeous and I just listened to my ipod and smiled most of the way.  5 hours later it’s getting dark and we’re still not to the town we need.  I tell the mate we need Sevare and he shakes his head, ok.  We were staying with an Italian couchsurfer who told us we needed to drop by some hotel when we first started going through Sevare as the actual station was way on the other side of town.  It’s dark, the windows are all dirty and you can’t see out, and we had no idea where we were, so we just got down when some other people did.  We had to go buy phone credit and then call the couchsurfer.  We had her talk to some guy and tell him where we needed to meet her and then he took us there and she came and picked us.  This may seem like a long line of dribble you don’t need to know about, but I think it’s important to see how this trip wouldn’t have been so awesome if: 1) we knew what the hell we were doing and could speak, 2) if random people didn’t constantly help us!  So we hang out with Marta, get some food, go to bed, and wake up early to head to Dogon country!