Shopping Spree

"Having trouble tellin' you how I feel, but I can dance, dance, dance" - Lykke Li song lyric

Oh life goes in and out, roller coaster, up and down, and I am just trying always to dance my way into myself. As I spend the morning in a strangely quite house catching up on my fellow exchangers I feel both that I am part of a much larger network of similar experiences, and too that I am so so so alone here in completely my own situation, my own adventure, and I can't quite wrestle it into words to share.

But as always, it is best to being with experience.

Well, roller coaster indeed, I had two days of complete overload and stimulation which dumped me into a weekend of fatigue and a small cold. On Thursday I went shopping for some clothes...
The day began with a mango. The better part of a mango, and tea, with the usual powdered milk, which in itself has been strange to get used to. Dairy is not really practical here... anyway, the market. The market is situated in a 'trotro' station, trotros are like minibusses, so it is a mecca of trade with a constant flow of people coming in and leaving, and of course vehicles driving through the throngs, weaving between the umbrellas, under which there are goods like presents under a christmas tree. And people constantly parading their wares; belts to sponges, sunglasses to sim cards in one's face, and I simply keep an eye on Auntie Essi as she parts the red sea with her calm poise. One thing I realized, as I stood before a heap of shoes that all looked roughly the same, trying to find some that both fit, weren't too old looking and were ok for church, or walking, not really knowing what I needed or wanted, and having new ones thrust on my feet by another Ghanaian man, asked are they ok? yes they look nice, yes you buy, yes you like? are they ok for you? well, at home I can say yes they are ok, but I don't really want them, but here, Ok means that they are suitable and therefore worth getting... so I did a lot of, wait, no I don't want them... anyway, I realized that to go shopping at a place like that, I would need to have a clear idea of exactly what I needed and exactly how much I was willing to spend on it. Bargaining was an art. The whole experience was heated and flustering, except the bargaining, done by a skilled Auntie Essi who would then speak softly and not look at the man, softly and firmly, both with equal tones, until she would be still, and then tell me how much money to fork over. I could not understand a word of it, not even the rates they were talking about because they speak with the old money lingo, which I can't really translate into cedis yet. At one point when I had just made some slightly hasty decisions and was feeling quite flustered, trying to keep up through the noise and narrow paths between baskets of dried fish and piles of old electronics, Essi took my hand, softly. I have never been thrown a life ring or rope, but that hand, those calm fingers amidst the blur was a life saver as much as any other.

I could go on. We went to another part of town where ladies sold things out of their hand bags, until the cops drove by, and then we all hid our money and looked around like we were unassociated. And all I could think was, where does all this stuff COME FROM? I mean the sheer mass of plastic and cotton, the piles of second hand clothes and new shoes, it is just unbelievable. I asked Essi, and she just said, mass production is everywhere now, and shrugged.
I mean, I used to get totally overwhelmed shopping at Ross... this place makes it look like a "chique boutique"!

Friday I had drumming lessons until afternoon, then when I was picked up brother Bush told me we were going to the wedding. Now I had been told there was a wedding, but I had been told that this day was not really the wedding but the "engagement" and that the festivities were in the evening, so needless to say I was a bit unprepared. There is a theme here, and the lesson is: always be prepared Justine for spending time out on the town. So the rest of the day I spent at the reception for this wedding which involved sitting, sipping minerals (the local word for soda), listening to Twi, feeling disgruntled that I had not worn my new dress, and generally waiting because, as I was informed by an uncle, the whole thing was not going according to plan. Apparently the couple were of a certain region that likes to do things at night. So we got there- to an open courtyard bar- at three or so and waited until after dark- 6:30-7 for the bride and groom and everyone else to get there.... And I went to buy fish with my uncle, that was the best. We drove to "Oxford st" (you know why they call it Oxford, he said, because everything is so expensive) which might be called a main drag- a touristy spot where I saw many obrunis. So we just drove and when we passed the fish guys our driver hissed them over and the barganing began. As we sat in the car, four or five Ghanaian guys with buckets of different fish were all trying to make theirs look the most appetizing and cheapest. Talapia is a specialty fish, but we got red fish- the biggest one, more than a foot long, which my uncle cooked the following day in a delicious stew of tomatoes, oil, peppers, spices.... it is taken with banku, a sour, sticky, pasty mush of fermented corn that is not entirely terrible but not all that great either.

After winning some points by dancing- it was great, the aunties got up and laughed, hailing me with their swaths of cloth- we ate. And as I was finishing my plate, the drink guy (who made sure everyone had ice, alcohol or minerals) brought me a plate of food larger than my first and told me to eat all! eat all! else I charge you big money! Then we go dance, and you make sure to move your waist! and I said, o yes, but see sah, if I eat all I will no be able to dance! and it was all very humorous and in good fun. After the supper my uncles and brothers went to play pool and listen to live music, jazz and high life and I did dance, to the Ghanaian rhythm and hummed to myself when the song was a version of "Lean on me" and later, "Hard days Night".

On another note, I have found a really good friend, also named Afia. She is my "dad"s niece and has graduated senior high school but is taking French courses and plans to go to university. We both enjoy reading and I've asked her to recommend some good African authors, and we have both found a friend in each other. Today she showed me how to fry plantains, which is one of my favorite dishes, and she has promised to teach me more Ghanaian cooking, as she loves to cook herself.

I have begun to feel so incredibly privileged, that I am studying abroad, have been abroad before, can go home and even come back sometime... I don't know how to express the feeling because I don't know how if feels, just a big question mark. Why? circumstance. Fair? Un-qualify able. But it has made me more certain that I must give it back in some way, must make the effort to walk toward the middle ground, walk toward the center of the see-saw. In a way that is what I am doing, but not completely.

one more note: Laughter. laughter here is a spirit, a fairy, a jinn coming from the depths of these Ghanaian souls. It has a way of completely taking over the bodies around me so that the girls crumple as it rolls out of their mouths. Abenna begins to laugh, she stumbles to the wall, sighing, leans on the tiles to regain herself, or on each other, or on the floor, I absolutely love watching people laugh. I can't say I've completely every released my own Genie of Laughter, no, I remain upright in my humor, but one day, I know, one day I will laugh that thing right out of my throat and forever more laughter will be a full body experience.

Another note, on the irony of life as relates to the everlasting struggle for beauty. In Ghana they bleach their skin to become fairer, whilst we waste our money and time in tanning salons. Needless to say, both have terribly ugly long term side effects.

The picture I took on the first day out of my hostel window, of central Accra in early morning on a deserted street.

Asomdwee, peace.