Zebilla as a tourist 3

The dance troupe- three men, four boys, plus a woman accompanying the musicians. Additional percussive shakers are tied around the ankles.

One engagement was made in advance, with a troupe from a neighbouring village, Boya, which regularly performs traditional West African dance and music at weddings and funerals.  While singing simple messages of living a good life, men and boys danced to complex and changing rhythms, with much energetic foot stamping and highly athletic body gestures, the women occasionally joining in. We were seated near to the Elder of the extended family, and next to his two beautifully dressed wives, while the rest of the family and later returning school children gathered to watch, applaud and share food and water.

Musicians from Boya- two percussive players, and one single string violin type instrument.

One boy performs- the chief's two wives can be seen in the background.

When individuals were invited to perform, the women joined in- with equal strength and with grace.

Never too young to start- one of the dancers attaches the percussive beads to his son's leg.

Zebilla as a tourist 2

Rosie tries on her sundress, while Grace folds her second dress,  and Love, Grace's daughter, prepares her mobile phone to take a photo.

In the market- serving palm nuts at Fatima's space.  (Yams in the background)

Rosie adds onions to the pot,  Fati grinds chilli peppers, garlic and tomatoes to make a  paste,  Mouda fans the charcoal to increase the heat of the fire, and Wassila watches and learns.

Ready to share a meal with my work counterpart, Haruna, his wife  Haleema and daughter Hassana.

The children I have come to know were delightful, and keen to greet the new “Nasallah” (white person), though a little crestfallen, expecting Rosie to be a young child they could play with, not an adult.

Small details of daily routines I accepted as normal needed explanation.

 Fluttering noises across the zinc roof overhead were guinea fowl. Grunting or crunching meant pigs, goats or donkeys were eating the dried remnants of crops immediately outside our windows. Strange huffing sounds came from billy goats as they attempted to mount and mate with the females. The electricity, phone network and internet will function for most, but not all the time. Water is precious, to be used sparingly. Absolutely everybody will greet, will stop and ask after your health. Socializing is also conducted via the mobile phone, any time from dawn onwards being acceptable.  At the market, a shop or a food stall, ask, “What do you have?” and not “I want….” Whenever there is a problem, explain your difficulty, then trust, as collectively a solution will be found. Do not use a watch- judge time by the length of shadows, plan activities by the day, not the hour.

Zebilla as a tourist

Eric- our taxi driver -ready to collect Rosie at Tamale airport.

Zebilla, a market town on the main road from Bolgatanga linking Bawku with the Burkina Faso border, is not on anybody’s tourist trail.

Everybody has their purpose, their work, their function- for some principally to get through the day finding enough to eat. Therefore visiting Zebilla means either watching or joining in: this was our experience as my older daughter, Rosie, came to visit for five days.

From the saddles of our bicycles Zebilla’s people, domestic animals and landscapes could be seen, observed and appreciated.”Joining in” meant buying food on the street, choosing fabric and visiting the seamstress for discussion, measurement and later a dress fitting, serving at the market, learning to cook Ghanaian style and sharing family meals with typical hospitality and generosity.

Fresh oranges are shaved of their zest, their lids removed, and then enjoyed as a refreshing snack.

Seasons- update

As the dry season progresses and the cooling effects of the Harmattan diminish, the days grow uncomfortably hot.
This week Bolgatanga has recorded afternoon temperatures of 40 degrees centigrade- uncomfortably above body heat!

Besides taking plenty of cold water, favourite for cooling off and refreshment are a non- alcoholic drink, Malta, which is sweet, but with the biting bitterness of malt, Alvaro, a fruit drink also malt flavoured, and Fan Ices.

Fan Ices- in strawberry, chocolate, vanilla or orange fruit (the last called Fandango) are sold in the bus parks by boys on bicycles.

At the Spot bars....

Loneliness

Prompted by an article in The Guardian about new levels of loneliness including the painful loneliness of loss and bereavement, conversations with  neighbours and work colleagues reveal surprise and shock that in the UK an elderly person may die alone in their home, the body not be discovered for days, even longer.

Partly a feature of lack of transport, of money to buy land or to build, of education and career, but also a deliberate choice of way of life, the pattern of extended families living together in a compound continues for the majority in the Upper East region of Ghana. Those who move away to study, or when directed to take a government post, will be offered shared accommodation, never a single occupancy residence.  Stopping, calling round or phoning to greet and ask after everyone’s health is part of the daily routine, and takes precedence when arriving at work, for example. In Africa, everyone is his brother's keeper.

“Aren’t you lonely?” I am asked, when mentioning that fellow housemates are away for a day or longer.

I say that with a mobile phone and the internet, I keep in touch with family and friends back at home, that there are volunteers nearby plus my Ghanaian friends. I don’t attempt to explain the actual pleasure of periods of time alone, and that this is not the same as loneliness. I choose not to reveal the occasional peering over an edge into a pit of despair, as thankfully these pass.

The children from one family compound- with my friend Fati.

When I then ask, to one who reveals he grew up in a family of ten children, what it was like at home each day, he holds his hands up, recalls constant arguments and noise, and goes on to describe how he saved, bought land and began building his own family home.

A woman sells prepared food by the roadside- washing bowls and pots- while carrying her sleeping baby on her back. Women carry out the household tasks, take  the main responsibility for bringing up the children and perform an estimated 80% of agricultural labouring. 

What is not discussed, but does happen here, as anywhere, is where the celebrated features of extended family living break down, through individuals not taking their share of responsibilities or a dominant individual inflicting misery on others,  but where individuals are trapped within, unable because of poverty,  disability, lack of education and alternatives to escape. And surely this must be a lonely place too?  For women, with restraints associated with poverty, lack of education, compounded by the traditions and religious conventions of male dominance superseding legal rights( for example ownership land), staying within the collective family fold is the only viable option.

Loneliness-and its fellow traveller boredom, are draining inflictions when circumstances entrap.

But for anyone happily free of such ties, they become the impetus for action, for change, for seeking out and finding.

Seasons.

Mid January- scene taken from the hills above Zebilla, marking the border with Burkina Faso. The hazy air is due to the Harmattan winds blowing sand from the Sahara. The Zinc roofs of the houses reflect the sunshine.

In northern Ghana there are two seasons: the rainy season lasts from April to August/ September; the dry season takes up the rest of the months. During the latter period, unless they have access to irrigation, for local farmers, this is a “rest” period in terms of cultivation, but for anyone with the means, building work to extend the family home is carried out. Dried and stored maize ensures a staple food source for the duration.

The simple predictability of the dry season weather, with temperatures cooler before and just after dawn  (especially when the Harmattan wind blows down from the Sahara) gives a pattern and stability to each day.

Late September, and the maize crop is taller than the children

By early November the maize has been gathered, but the grass remains  for grazing animals.  A road in Zebilla.

Late January. The parched ground leading to a compound, with  scorched stubble. Dwarfing the settlement, a fallen boabob tree.

Our neighbour hires a builder, who makes bricks from sand and cement.  Once moulded, they are watered twice a day until completely dried, then stacked ready for construction.

Harvested maize, drying within a compound.

Husks are stripped by hand, and saved for fuel.

Family compound- the building in the foreground is the grain store.  Dried sheaves provide fodder for animals.

So long, Farewell………….

.

Change, with new introductions and fond, sometimes tearful, farewells, is a normal part of life.

As a volunteer, with maybe 6 months, a year, two years in a placement, relationships with family and friends, the routines of home which combine to give a semblance of stability and permanence, are truncated and fragmented, with “Change” being the permanent feature.

Friendships between volunteers, and with Ghanaians are precious, some fleeting and brief, some with life-long potential, but typically involving the inevitable “Goodbye.” And so, “Farewell” events form part of any volunteer’s social calendar.

The three original housemates:- Emma, Nicole and Janice- at Emma's Farewell  and house Christmas Party.  (As from next week- I will be the only volunteer left in the house, for the time being.)

Emma is presented with a traditional Ghanaian smock- a gift from colleagues to take back to England.

Friends and work colleagues at Nicole's Farewell evening for "Sisters Together"

Leela wanted everyone to dress up as a Super-hero for her Farewell- and set the standard.

James wears his Super-Ted outfit. The bear costume is a Christmas gift posted out by an intuitive Aunt. My choice of colours represents the women's suffragette movement. G.I. Jane can be glimpsed in the background.