Saturday, December 11, 2010
It was yet another educational day in the Ashanti Region of Ghana. I attended the wedding of one of the junior school teachers. Everyone, including several students, were in their best duds and I noticed, yet again, how colourfully the men’s clothing is and how handsome it looks, and the variety of styles; North American men’s fashion could use a little African-izing!
The ceremony was nice and quite short, compared to their regular church service of 3+ hours. The bridal procession had much less prominence in the service than what I’m used to (no parents walked down the aisle, there was only a maid of honour and best man, and the procession came down the aisle during one of the hymns, almost unnoticed). The bride’s dress seems to hold just as much importance; it was gorgeous, right down to the lace train and embroidered gloves.
The reception, however, was a bit of a painful ordeal. It ended up being kind of like an auction, with the MC driving people to donate more and more money. It was all about giving money, which is why, I later learned from Samuel, that many people do not attend the reception afterward. I found it crass actually, the way it was done, and even how people acted (I do realize that I am a bit of an uptight Canadian within a forward, boisterous culture of people). There was very little in the way of toasting (there was only one quick one), or ceremonial honouring of the couple, and no parents, siblings or close friends spoke. The whole reception was one money garnering performance after another: a girl came up and sang (a traditional song I gathered from the audience’s enthusiasm, which sounded only shrill and without rhythm to me) while people came up and rubbed money on her body before dropping it onto the ground. Then there was music and guests came up in an undulating, gyrating procession, depositing money in a plastic tub as they passed. This was followed by the MC (in a tight hot pink dress), for an hour and a half at least, basically “auctioning off”
the balloons (you get a pin to pop one for each denomination donated) decorating the2 posts in front of the table where the couple sat. The starting bids were 20 cedis, a lot of money in a country where the average working professionals hardly make more than 200/month and the majority of people, scraping by with a few cedis a day.
I had been given an envelope earlier within which I had given a gift of 40 cedis so I felt like I didn’t need to go up in front of everyone (I was feeling a bit shy among all these people I didn’t know and in this atmosphere of an almost aggressive sort of energy) and pop balloons (which scare me a little anyway).
The bidding (going down from 20 cedis all the way to 50 pesewas/cents) went on for so long and just felt so awkward that I ended up giving some money to Martha who was there so she could go up (she got a kick out of doing it), but then, on my way back from the guests’ side of the courtyard to the bridal party side (that was where I was with Julianna), someone shouted to the MC about the “Abruni!”, and more and more people joined in. I felt so embarrassed and put on the spot, not to mention a little angry and how crass this whole thing seemed, but did, manage, with a fake smile, to drop my money in the tub, and only slight wincing, to pop the balloons. The whole balloon popping ordeal went on and on, with a final under-inflated balloon being the last to go, yet the MC not allowing it to be popped even when people were coming up with more money than asked… I was baffled by the whole scene and tried my best not to show the intense frustration and discomfort I was feeling. I was also feeling a bit “out of it” as I had no idea what was being said all morning or afternoon, until I went to sit by Samuel who kindlt obliged. Prince is much more sensitive to the plight of a non-Twi speaker like me than Julianna, and will translate for me.
I can spend an entire day with Julianna, being surrounded by, or in the middle of, as at the hairdressers, impassioned Twi conversations and only get involved if I interject and ask, which often precipitates laughter, especially by Julianna’s older “sisters”, which makes me hesitant to do so.
I was so glad to get out of there when the MC finally gave away that final withered balloon to a high bidder. The reception ended without warning or ceremony. I felt kind of badly for the couple as they just sat the entire time, simply watching the goings on, garnering far less attention than the balloons and the MC. It was just plain odd.
I returned home with Julianna by way of a trotro (minivan bus), but not before being asked by a rather mouthy woman at the wedding (I think she may have been the one who pointed the abruni out to the MC to single me out for money), to be her friend, asking for me to “help her”, asking for the very bracelets (cheap bangles given to me by an Indian exchange student) I was wearing. Again, the use of the word “friend”, denoting “someone who can do something for me”, has made me really think about the concept and what this word means really.
When I got back the guest house, I promptly took a long nap. I got up early this evening to get cracking on my exam correcting (it will take me several hours) but then Samuel came by for study help (finally I can help him with- science!) and we worked for a few hours, had a late supper of palm nut soup on rice balls (along with a green bean salad I actually made myself- imagine) and talked for quite some time about his life. This kid has had it rough but keeps the faith somehow that God will provide. His father beat his mother regularly, so she left, which is why he ended up living with his father and stepmother (who beat the children, most likely out of her own unhappiness) as a child. He then came to Kumasi to Junior High where he lived with his headmistress until her children were at high school and university age and she could no longer afford it. He somehow completed his junior high school, living with his mother, who had 4 other children with her second husband (a man almost 60 years her senior! He is no longer alive obviously), who somehow feeds them on a salary selling biscuits and toffees (candy) on the roadside. Samuel was telling me about a time she was hit by a motorcycle! He, too, worked as this trade, selling handkerchiefs (everyone uses them here to wipe their sweaty brows) and gum until he was almost killed by a car. You see, there are vendors who sell from little stands or tables along the roads and then there are others who carry their wares on their heads and sell to the cars as they pass by, and especially when they are stopped I traffic. However, when the traffic begins to move, you often see these poor people running to receive the money from the clients in the cars, buses etc.. and this is where the danger lies, not to mention the strain of such a job. I have seen people jogging with their loads on their heads to catch up to vehicle as arms wave for them to come or, as I described, to get their measly 5 or 20 pesewas…
So, after Samuel was finished junior high school, he was trying to make money to go to senior school and ended up finding jobs which merely sustained him barely. First, he was working as a gas pump attendant, until he was told that females can turn more profit, overfilling the tanks and getting away with it somehow, so the wealthy owner then promised he would hire him sell the packs water for him, but to come stay at his place until it was set up, which never happened. Instead, Samuel ended up as a houseboy (surreptitiously), for 20 cedis a month, cleaning the couples’ cars each morning, as well as doing all the washing (by hand remember) and ironing for the household , which, with 4 children, is a lot, as well as cutting wood, hauling water etc.. Samuel told me that he was also helping out a mason during this time, so was able to learn about masonry, but couldn’t continue with the demands. He was working hard in the hopes the man would help support his education. He soon realized the character of his new boss when he played football one day with the family children and was pulled aside by the couple to be told that he was not part of the family, was not their son, would never be and therefore should not to try to be, to not take the bus to church with them, not to sit with them in the home etc.., he was living in the houseboy’s room and that was what he was expected to be. He ate separately from the family, given the leftovers after they had eaten. It sounds just like how the whites treated the blacks not too long ago. Isn’t this interesting in a sad, perverse way? I continue to hear stories of and witness (Prince is not at all innocent of this either) how the privileged Ghanaians seem to treat the less fortunate as second-class citizens, with arrogance and, sometimes cruelty, if not, at least indifference, and seem to forget that they, once too, struggled. Samuel tells me that this is the reason, he thinks, that Ghana has not progressed, even being such an old country; as their own people fail to support each other. Samuel did tell me a story of kindness in the midst of this. His boss’ brother, a doctor from the U.S., came for a visit and noticed Samuel reading and studying on his own (even though he wasn’t in school) and slipped him some money before leaving. It is such events that have kept Samuel trusting in the midst of all this struggle, sadness and abuse (which is what I call much of the treatment he’s received).
Samuel was then hired (with the help of his brother) to work with a carpenter, to learn the trade, and was promised 1 cedis a day, but day after day, was told that there was no money to give him! It was at this point that he went through his confirmation at church, and with this, was matched with an older congregate member, Prince, to look out for him (kind of like a “big brother” program). This is when he was offered to work at the school, as a librarian (for 30 cedis a month) and then, subsequently, as the “water boy” and jack-of-all-trades as they learned about his manual experience. It was through Pam and Alice, the UK administrators of the Adumasa Link Project that built the well and school here, that Samuel was offered housing and meals at the school. They basically pressured Fei once they learned about Samuel’s situation, asking that he stay in and take care of the guest house when it was unoccupied (which is the majority of the year when UK exchange students aren’t here doing volunteer work or Alice or Pam aren’t here for their few weeks every so often), or, in the little room where he is now. I am amazed that this was not offered before, considering as he acts as the school’s “go-fer”, Mr. Fix-it, washing Julianna’s car, running here and there at his own expense etc.. before he was bussing in and back from his mother’s place which cost 30 cedis a month, leaving no money for food. Now, at least, Samuel has food at the school and, through Julianna, was encouraged and supported to attend senior school this year. The money he makes from selling the water to the community from the school well goes to Julianna to go toward his school fees. Somewhere in here he is also putting aside 5 cedis a month into the school credit union toward his education! Amazing.
Anyway, I am tired. I have a big day tomorrow of 3 hours of church, which I am really not looking forward to it, truth be told (can’t call in sick this time) and then I must do this marking. Samuel will be back again to do more studying and, I am sure, I will have more visitors. I had a new, younger lot tonight, with whom, while I “peeled” the beans, I sang “Old McDonald”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and “The Wheels on the Bus”. I was reminded of what I have been told me I used to say, as a child, sitting on Ron's lap (usually with muddied pee soaked bottoms, poor guy) before he was married to Mom, “Sing Uncle Ronnie, sing”, as that was what was requested of me tonight, “My friend, sing” as I was given a ginseng “toffee” from yet another new “friend”.
