July 21st, 2009 | 
Author: .
It seems like all things point to Ghana this month. First, as mentioned in my previous post, Obama visited Cape Coast Castle one year after I too had been there. Then, as I began to revive this blog, a friend interviewed me for “The Ones Who are Mad to Live” regarding my volunteer experience. Last night, with thoughts of Ghana lingering after the interview, I took my djembe, hand hewn in Ghana, to my first African drumming class in America. I carried with it a mere hint of a memory of my one lesson at the Accra Arts Center last July.
Last night’s class, offered at Albany’s Grand Street Community Arts Center, was just five dollars, a small price to pay for a perfect reintroduction to the djembe. I knew would it be fun. What I wasn’t expecting was Saeed Abbas, a Ghanaian master drummer… from Accra no less. Saeed has been teaching children with special needs in Seattle for several years while Village Volunteers, the Seattle-based non-profit I work for, helps people with special needs in Ghana. Serendipity strikes again.
Only after an online search did I learn that Saeed has played with the National Dance Ensemble in Ghana and performed in theaters and festivals all across the United States, including Washington D.C.’s Kennedy Center. He has played for “dignitaries” such as President Clinton, Queen Elizabeth 11 and Tony Blair, and here he was guest teaching me “Fanga Alafia” in a drum circle of 9 on his way back from playing a Rhode Island festival. What a gift!
The lesson was very easy going in feel, if not challenging in technique. I felt a bit inexperienced and shy at the start but we were making music in no time. It was good to join others in song, especially one about peace and welcoming.
My friend Kate came too and we shared notes over dinner afterward so as not to forget the rhythm and lyrics. I wrote “Fun guy a laughia” which was a fun interpretation but not quite right. Hammering out the rhythm with battered hands on my drive home, I used the wheel center for the bass and the outer ring for slaps. Kate and I also traded lyric pages and YouTube Videos once we returned to our computers. By this afternoon, I could finally sing and play simultaneuously using the correct words.
I learned the true value of my drum when hearing it with the others. I knew it was special for sentimental reasons, but the sound is so alive. When I designed my drum, I wanted its voice to be one of peace, unity, knowledge and strength. In Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire, Adrinka symbols visually represent concepts or aphorisms and these are often carved into the drums. To that end, I chose the following:
- Bi-nka-bi: “No one should bite the other.” A symbol of peace and harmony, this symbol cautions against provocation and strife. The image is based on two fish biting each other’s tails.
- Sankofa: “Return and fetch it.” This symbolizes the importance of learning from the past.
- Hye wo nyhe: “That which does not burn.” This symbolizes imperishability and endurance and derives its meaning from traditional priests that were able to walk on fire without burning their feet, an inspiration to others to endure and overcome difficulties.
Peace, unity, knowledge and strength were certainly prominent themes last night. What a wonderful celebration of my one year anniversary, if only in my own mind.
Posted in Ghana | 
Tags: Accra, african drum, Albany, djembe, Fanga Alafia, Grand Street Community Arts, music | 
No Comments »
.
One year ago, this month, I landed in Ghana. It was a time of great hope there as presidential candidate Barrack Obama spoke of change. Regardless of which side of the aisle one cheers for, if any, the fact of the matter is that Obama was a hero to Ghana long before becoming president. McCain was seen as one more Bush while Obama’s face was seen on tee shirts, posters and on the cover of books sold on every Ghanaian city street.
Fast forward exactly one year…
I’m watching President Barack Obama on AC360° as he walks through the Cape Coast Slave Castle, feeling the power of a place I too visited. It is powerful too, that place, hauntingly powerful. You don’t have to be black to feel it. You don’t have to be an African to feel it. You just have to be there and know of people’s suffering and strength still in those walls to feel it. There is connection there from past to present to future, from black to white and every color inbetween, from country to country, and from generation to generation as children like Obama’s daughters learn about their ancestors’ slave history.
This coincidental connection of place and time has drawn my attention to a meaningful anniversary, one which reminds me of the goals I used to have, goals I have achieved, goals I have yet to achieve and new goals I have since laid out – all based on a journey I took one year ago.
In honor of this anniversary, my latest goal among many is to revive my writing, to tend to the importance of my own experience, to share it with anybody who cares to follow and, most importantly, to honor those friends made throughout my journey who have significantly shaped the person I am today.
I thank you for being a witness to my story.
.
My apologies for the lapse in writing. I have worked extremely hard at what feels like “spinning my wheels” since my return from Ghana. The one thing I looked forward to most upon my return was writing, yet it has consistently been forced to the bottom of the to-do list. For now, I offer you this excuse - I mean exercise - in frustration.
When I reached home on August 2nd, I was jumping out of my skin. I wanted to compile all I had learned in order to preserve my memories and allow every one I know to live vicariously through me. Most of all, I was desperate to find a way to empower my new Ghanaian friends. To do that would require money. To raise money required awareness. I got right to it.
First, I made a video of my time spent with the children at Have’s RC Primary School. My hope was to show the enormous mount of need there in order to raise funds for a new building. I put this short film together in about three days. Having never done it from scratch, much of that time accounted for my learning curve. Still, it looked nice enough and I was feeling pretty proud. I decided the best way to get the word out is to use, well, YouTube. I mean really, isn’t YouTube the new evening news?
I downloaded some software to convert the file into an acceptable format and all was going well until…
.
I have submitted a personal account of my Ghanaian visit to the Village Volunteers blog:
July 9th
Mez
A young woman came to the porch with a large tray of wrapped corn on her head and I was offered a piece. It was luke warm, which was perfect in the scorching heat. Was this Florence, my cook, and was this considered lunch? In case it was, I didn’t want to ask as though it weren’t enough.
I carefully unwrapped the plastic bag and savored each kernel one row at a time. The cob had been steamed in saltwater and tasted divine. Fresh from the refrigeration unit, Salomé also brought two cold water bags to go with it. (Note: Rather than using water bottles with caps, you chew a hole in the corner of a half liter plastic bag and drink.) After perspiring in the heat all day, I was truly grateful for both.
Taking a break from gluing tea boxes, leaning back against the wall to enjoy her own food, Salomé asked, “Do you like mez?”
July 9th
Straight to Work
I suppose I didn’t have to do anything other than rest my first day, but instead, I joined a boy named Julius on the well-worn wooden porch bench. Julius was busy with a thin stick applying strong smelling rubber cement from a coffee can to a printed and die cut piece of cardboard. He told me that he was making bags for tea.
I asked, “Can you teach me how to make these boxes?”
He looked up from his work with a smile and a nod, appreciating the gentle hint, and agreed to show me. Applying the glue to the cardboard himself, he taught me to wait until it dried to the right consistency before folding in the edges and forming the box. We then pressed doubly on the glued portion to ensure a good seal. Before stacking the the finished product, I rubbed away the external dried glue to keep one box from sticking to the next. It didn’t take long before we had achieved a certain rhythm working in tandem.
July 9th
The Welcoming Committee
A young boy about 13 years old ran top speed toward us with sweat pouring down his brow. He introduced himself as Jimmy. I shook his hand and said hello which was followed by his customary “You are welcome!” I introduced my travel mates to him and slowly worked through my own name since Paul, EDYM’s director, mistakenly told people I was called Kimberly. I said with my most gracious smile, “I’m Kim. Just K-I-M.”
“Kem? Ah, Kem! Kem! I see!” He enthusiastically shook my hand again. “You are welcome!”
I was not going to let Jimmy carry even one of my bags so we all climbed back in the car, Jimmy on Emily’s lap in the front seat. Driving a few hundred feet up the road, Christian parked and unloaded my things. We were met by Emmanuel who I later learned is Jimmy’s uncle and Paul’s brother. A slightly older boy, also named Christian, soon came too. As they all tried to navigate the rocky, uphill footpath, each with my 69.5 lbs (x2) of donations on duffel wheels, I said my goodbyes to the others and caught up.
July 9th
Leaving Accra
After breakfast, Gunadiish and Christian lugged our bags into a vehicle, helped us to buy phone cards and exchange money. The nearest bank told me that only the main office in central Accra will cash travelers checks. Unfortunately, that was just too far away. I headed instead for the nearest ATM.
Having tested my new Visa check card by making a purchase in the US, this was an interesting time to learn that my card has a different pin number than my husband’s with whom I share the account. Mine I do not know. Nothing could be done about it today, nor will there be an opportunity this week. With the vehicle loaded up as tightly as the night before (minus Gunadiish who wished us luck and said the seatbelts in this vehicle were working) we set off on a three hour journey toward the Volta Region… to a village with no banks or ATM’s. With a small bit of money on me, I’m not in too much trouble but I’ll need to sort this out by next weekend.
.
I’ve found my way back online after two weeks with little withdrawl… or so I thought. Signing on actually gave me butterflies.
I have been writing a great deal and will begin posting soon. For now, I can tell you that I have been working hard AND playing hard. I sleep little, eat a lot and today I met the village chief for the first time. He invited me for a celebration on Thursday in honor of my presence and in gratitude for all the items you have sent with me. Tomorrow I will be making donations to the school but I have been working on the farm otherwise. Amazing work they do there!
You wouldn’t believe how much I have been learning. I love it here and will certainly feel a geat deal of sadness when I go. More news soon.
I hope you all are well.
Love,
Kim
Tim, I tried to Skype but you aren’t connected. Web service here is touch and go at best. I’m pasting this from the memory stick… Glad we planned for that. I don’t now when I’ll next be in touch. Cell phone is acquired and I will buy minutes for it today. I’ll be in touch ASAP and I love you.
I Made It!
As I write, I am in Accra at the home of Gunadiish, the In-Country Coordinator (an all around jovial and hospitable guy). Since he guarantees that I’ll pass out shortly, as most early morning arrivals tend to do, I won’t fight the moment when exhaustion trumps excitement. For now, that hasn’t happened.
How It All Went Down
JFK’s Delta terminal was a madhouse yesterday, teeming with those who were stranded like me the day before. I found my way to the automated check-in kiosk but was told I had to see a ticket agent. That’s when I discovered that Accra has it’s own check-in area, with good reason. The number of bags people were transporting was astounding. One guy was charged nearly $500 with the new fees and he was less than prepared for the big surprise.
Once checked in, I met a family in security. Better stated, they met me. Two young boys going to Ghana had a million questions about where I was going and why. By the end of our conversation, I had been adopted. They were from Long Island so I scored points for having a husband from Brooklyn. When we got to the gate they were sure to tell their mom, “We need four seats, three for us and one for her.” I then heard stories about how their aunt and uncle owned a bank in Accra. “They don’t just work there, they own it. That means we’ll get FREE MONEY when we get there! FREE Money!” I didn’t have the heart to tell them anything different.
