Real Women Have Curves

One day I am awoken by a rapping at my door, and Abenaa comes in to tell me that 'brarBush' (brother "Bush", yes nicknamed after our locally adored former president- I haven't figured out why yet) wanted to take me to get "Muslim porridge" and would I bathe? I hurriedly put on some clothes saying I'd bathe when I got back, thinking that we were getting the dry porridge to prepare here shortly. Well, we did not leave for another 45 minutes, though I had been under the impression we were in a hurry. Once in the car, still a bit groggy, I watched our residential area fade into slum and then urban dwellings- narrow streets with open sewers waiting for unaware drivers to steer their tires into and hens waiting for unaware food to peck at. The porridge operation was in full swing at this hour; girls and women behind huge tubs of what looked like really thin cream of wheat, but more of a cement color. Not altogether appetizing... And the woman up front was swiftly pouring bowlfuls of the porridge into bags, one at a time in such a methodically predictable manner I could see she had been doing this same series of actions for a while. So we got our bags of porridge and some fried dough balls and started home... or not.

I will divulge here for a moment because the porridge was quite a new experience. A bag is portable, it is penetrable, it is easily thrown out the window and it can hold hot substances, all of which make it perfect for serving porridge in. But I had never sucked my breakfast out of a bag before. Especially not a whitish, creamy breakfast out of thin clear plastic. Anyways, you just rip a hole in the corner and are rewarded with a gingery, warming, slightly sweet meal. And more than I could eat for less than 50 cents.

To make a very long day short we drove around Accra, stopping at some living barracks to meet friends, going to a restaurant to meet more friends, stopping by the office, eating, meeting more people, buying a coconut from one of the many cartloads, picking up friends and dropping them off, getting ice cream, driving the same streets over and over until I began to predict where we would end up, which felt like an accomplishment. For the first hour and a half I kept assuming the next stop would be home. I didn't know what to say to all these people but to reiterate the pathetically small phrases I speak of the local language. I hadn't really dressed for a day out and still felt tired, but eventually I relaxed into just observing. Fortunately, this is something I am quite fond, as you all might know, and there is no shortage of action in Accra.

I have heard the saying "real women have curves" and if this is the case, then Ghana is a hot spot for feminine reality. Yes, this place is a land of curves. Beautiful black fleshy fronts and behinds (trying to keep this PG) accentuated by fitting, colorful Ghanaian dresses. I appreciate seeing this different idea of beauty though at first I was surprised to see that the four final contestants for "Ghana's Most Beautiful" TV show were not the western ideal of slimness. It is obvious that the local diet, heavy on carbohydrates and meat, both fried in various forms, does not make it easy to be otherwise, but it is just as obvious that the beauty image is completely satisfied the way things are. So on the streets there are always innumerable women carrying baskets and glass boxes of savory bites on top of their strong necks. Then there are the numbers of lean, muscular men hauling carts of frozen yogurt or coconuts or brush. Alleys with broken streets, hens pecking across, smoke hazing the other end. Canals of sewage with scavenging white stork-like birds and children- green hues of algae and palms, the reflective tones of water and sky, and always a haze at the end of the view. For hours I watched it all go by, to a soundtrack of honking and hissing, (the way to get one's attention) occasional heated Twi conversations when we were taking someone somewhere and Soldier Boy (a rap song, for those of you over 25) when we weren't. It was not until dinner that we returned, wind blown, eyes open, full of new sights and tastes, sticky with smoggy sweat and satisfied.

However, if I've misheard the saying all these years, and it really goes real women have curls, then I'm afraid Ghana is becoming the western media. Fortunately I was aware of this before I came to Ghana. See, there were 30 Ghanaian teens coming to the US to study through the same program as myself who I got to meet in Washington DC at my pre-departure orientation. All the girls had long heads of mini braids, but one girl's hair was a dirty blond, so I asked another girl if it was a natural color. She looked at me funnily then said that none of it was- all of them had extensions, of course. As I came to understand, it is mandatory that girls buzz their hair until they are out of high school (this I will not be made to do, I have been told). So I realized quickly that the women here do not really have a problem with sporting artificial hair. And I am pretty sure that almost every woman here does. Whether using straight up wigs, extensions or profuse gels and sprays, most hair has the same unnatural stiffness and shimmer. The best I've seen so far was a 3 or 4 year old girl, in church, with her little dress and a wig that was black with shimmery red/gold highlights cut in a short business-woman sort of way.

Curves and curls, hues and haze whizzing by me, and I notice how kids have to entertain and take care of themselves and each other, and how few birds there are here- pigeon type ones and large crows that have white bands around their necks, but not in the ample amounts one might expect with so much to scavenge. And then I see that this world is a scavenging world. The street animals and people alike, all finding what is there, competing for survival. I will try to capture what I am saying in pictures, only, it feels like I am violating the subjects in some way. As one of the other AFSers said, it's not like they are tourist attractions, they are people living their lives. We are all people, living our lives, writing our own stories with every decision we make.

As always, I hope this finds you all in peace and health