Thursday, May 14, 2009
Dipo Festival...
A few weekends ago I went with two Fulbrighters to the Eastern Region to Krobo-Odumase. Each year this village, and many of the other neighboring villages in the area hold a festival for adolescent girls called Dipo Festival. Dipo is a puberty rite festival and signifies a girl’s transition from childhood to womanhood. From what I understand the ceremony actually starts on a Friday and ends on a Monday, but I was only able to see the events of Saturday and Sunday.
I got up early on Saturday morning and caught a trotro to the village and was there by 7am. There were nearly 50 girls that participated in the ceremony this year and when I arrived most of them were in the village center wrapped in traditional cloth waiting for the days’ ceremony to begin. Apparently the day before, they all had part of their head shaved, leaving only a large circle of hair on the top of their heads; the sides and back had been shaved. The priest came and talked to the girls and they were all given a calabash bowl (traditional) with soap, a towel, and a piece of red cloth. They all lined up with the calabash on their heads, from shortest to tallest and marched “down to the river”. I was told that I could not go with them to this part of the ceremony and it is probably better as they were going to bathe. They came back with the red cloth around their waist, symbolizing the fertility of the girl/woman. That was all for Saturday. The girls were to go home and prepare for the next day, which would be a little more intense, especially for me.
The ceremony is traditionally for girls that are roughly 12-16 years old; puberty age, and signifies that they are now women and can marry. However, because it is relatively expensive for a family to send a girl through the ceremony, many families will send all of their daughters through at the same time, regardless of age, because it is less expensive per girl. This year the youngest girl was only 4 or 5 years old and the oldest was 22.
On Sunday, the ceremony did not begin until 1 or 2 in the afternoon. When I arrived, the girls were again in traditional cloth and were dancing as the mothers and aunts drummed and drank gin (sometimes I was not sure if this ceremony was more for the girls or more for the mothers and aunts). After nearly an hour of dancing and drumming, all of the girls were served what looked to me to be banku with palm oil (a large glutinous ball with red oil poured over it). After they had all eaten they got in a circle and stripped down naked. At this point I felt a little bit uncomfortable and looked around to see that there were no other males in the area besides the village elders and little children. I asked Gifty, a lady who had been explaining to me some of the finer points of the festival, if I should go and she not only told me that I should stay but began pointing at certain girls that I should look at who were a bit embarrassed to be naked. I felt uncomfortable.
Fortunately, the mothers and aunts made a circle around the girls and put white cloth around their waist and then began to put strings of beads around their waists. Instead of wearing two or three strands of beads, the girls were wearing hundreds—some of the younger girls were crying because the beads were so heavy. After nearly an hour of dressing the girls, they all lined up, shortest to tallest and began to march through the village with all of the women walking with them.
They walked for about 30 minutes through the village and then the jungle. At one point Gifty told me that when they return they will be carried by a man. She asked me jokingly (or at least I thought) if I would like to carry one of the girls; “Sure” I responded. After awhile Gifty told me that I and the other men could go no further as the girls were approaching the “sacred stone.” From what I could gather, the girls, one by one, approach a traditional fetish shrine, where a priest directs them to sit on the “sacred stone” three times. If they are not a virgin, they will not be able to sit on the stone. When they are finished, they leave, find the man that is to carry them, hop on his back and together, they are off, back to the village. I watched and cheered on the first 10 or 12 girls that came out and were carried past. Then, in a blur, Gifty yelled that I should bend down so that the little girl coming would get on my back. I did as I was told, but actually laughed and continued to think that this was all a joke, I started to walk and was sure that they would stop me after 10 or 15 steps…20 or 30 steps…40 or 50 steps. Nope. I soon realized that they were serious and I would be carrying this girl all the way back to the village. As soon as this realization began to sink in, I looked around to notice that the other men were running with the girls. I began to run and as I did the girl on my back began to bounce up and down, each time strangling me with the arm that was around my neck. I kept running and as I turned a bend, I saw in front of me a stream that I would have to run through. I did, and my shoes were soaked and squishing and squeaking with every step.
For the next 10 minutes of my life I was running through the jungle with a three-quarter naked African girl on my back, wearing 40 pounds of waist beads, strangling me with one arm as she was trying to hold a piece of cloth on her head with the other hand, and a leaf in her mouth so that she could not talk. After we got out of the jungle, we still had to run through the village to the main square. Little did I know that this was a huge cultural event and all the townspeople had turned-out to line the streets to cheer everyone on. Each time I turned onto a new street the crowd went crazy and yelled “brofono” (“white man” in Krobo, the local language) and many people ran alongside for a minute. One woman ran alongside yelling things to me in Krobo which I could not understand at all. Eventually, she said the word “wife.” I had no idea what she meant, but I would soon find out.
When we finally arrived back at the town square, I set the girl down and turned to look at her for the first time—her eyes were as big as watermelons either out of excitement, or fear, or a little of both. Before I could say anything to the girl, the mothers and aunts started to dance around me and sing. I danced with them for a minute and then they told me that the little 9 year old girl that I had just carried, name Nakwua, was to be my wife.
As questions flashed through my brain about how fast I could run out the town, or if I could somehow disappear without anyone noticing, I found one of the village elders and he assured me that, although at one time it had been a custom that the man who carried the girl would marry her, that in the modern world, and especially in my situation, that was not expected.
I later formally introduced myself to Nakwua and her mother and thanked both of them for the incredibly unique experience. In return, they both thanked me and seemed genuinely appreciative of my help in the festival…I also explained that I would not be marrying Nakwua, and they both laughed and understood.
As we left to go back to Accra, I realized that I did not see another white man during my entire time in Krobo and at the festival. There were some females who took pictures, but no other men. This year, I was the only white person to participate in the festival, and it is possible that I was the first white man to participate in the festival…ever. It was an amazing experience, I am still not sure if it really happened or I just dreamed it, but regardless it is something that I will not soon forget.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Return Trek from Tombouctou...
I got up at quarter to 4, threw the rest of my things in my bag and went outside to wait for the 4X4 that was to take us back down to Mopti. The 4X4 showed up just before 5 and we left for bumpiest 12 hour ride of my life. We crossed over the Niger River and went south through Dogone country in Mali where an escarpment juts out of the Sahel forming a monolithic mountain range of sorts and is very stunning and quite pretty. The ride was hot and long but, with the exception of a 15 minute delay for a flat tire, uneventful.
Around 5 we arrived in Mopti and went in search of a bus that would take us to Burkina Faso. Unfortunately, we had missed the last bus to both Bobo or Ouaga, the two major cities in Burkina Faso. However, the aged attendant at the station told us that we could catch the bus to Koutila and from there we could get a bus to Ouaga, and we could even, with a little luck, catch it that same night. We waited around for about an hour before the bus showed up, but when it did we bought our tickets and were rushed on the bus to get the best seats as we were told the bus would fill up fast and leave “very soon.” Two hours later we left Mopti.
The trip from Mopti to Koutila took nearly 8 hours. The road was not bad, but the bus itself needed to be in a museum (or junkyard); plywood on some of the windows and most of the floor, seats that most of the padding had been ripped out long ago and would shift when a bus hit a bump, and a driver who seemed as if his foot was keeping beat to a song. We would accelerate like mad for 5 seconds, then he would take his foot of the gas for 5 seconds, then back on, off, on, off…this went on until after 3am when we finally arrived in Koutila and, of course, there were no more buses of any kind still running to Burkina Faso. We asked when the first bus would to Burkina would leave and they told us around 8. We found a nearby guesthouse and crashed for a couple of hours after having traveled for nearly 24 hours straight (the guesthouse ended up being terrible with a dirty shower, no toilet paper, a room filled with mosquitoes, and an owner who in the morning tried to overcharge us). We got to the station just after 7 only to find out that the first bus out would not actually leave until 11, but it would go all the way to Accra. We bought our tickets and found a place at the station to camp out for a few hours. After we had been waiting for less than an hour we were told that the bus would not leave until 2. We waited.
And waited.
2 came and went. At 3 we got a bus and were finally headed towards the Mali/Burkina border. We reached Ouaga after 3am and stopped in the station. Usually we stop in a station for 10-15 minutes so that people can stretch, get something to eat, or go to the bathroom. This time though the driver got off and most of the bus did too. I asked what was going on and was told that the driver was tired and so we would stop here for 6 or 7 hours. I asked what we were to do and the lady told me “wait.” We got off the bus and found a table that during the day was used to as a stand to sell whatever. I set it up, laid down, put my turban over me, and went to sleep. Sometime shortly before dawn, I was awoken by a man with a huge stack of fresh bread, apparently I was using his bread stand table as my bed. I got off only to realize that my entire right leg was asleep. I stumbled through the station until I found another table that was unoccupied, climbed up and fell back asleep.
Around 8 am we were all back on the bus and heading south towards the Burkina Faso/Ghana border and eventually towards Accra. It was very interesting to watch as the scenery changed from the brown, sandy, barren Sahara Desert when we left Tombouctou, to the sparse vegetation of the Sahel as we journeyed through the remainder of Mali and Burkina Faso, to the lush green as we continued in o central and southern Ghana. We reached Accra after 3am and it was good to not only be back in Ghana, but back in Accra as well. The trip as a whole was amazing. The return trip took all of three full days on the road and was by far the hardest traveling of my life; more that 50 hours in three days were spent moving in either a bus or a 4X4 over potholed roads, in less than luxurious vehicles. When all was said and done, I had a great time and I will remember the positives much longer than the negatives.
Around 5 we arrived in Mopti and went in search of a bus that would take us to Burkina Faso. Unfortunately, we had missed the last bus to both Bobo or Ouaga, the two major cities in Burkina Faso. However, the aged attendant at the station told us that we could catch the bus to Koutila and from there we could get a bus to Ouaga, and we could even, with a little luck, catch it that same night. We waited around for about an hour before the bus showed up, but when it did we bought our tickets and were rushed on the bus to get the best seats as we were told the bus would fill up fast and leave “very soon.” Two hours later we left Mopti.
The trip from Mopti to Koutila took nearly 8 hours. The road was not bad, but the bus itself needed to be in a museum (or junkyard); plywood on some of the windows and most of the floor, seats that most of the padding had been ripped out long ago and would shift when a bus hit a bump, and a driver who seemed as if his foot was keeping beat to a song. We would accelerate like mad for 5 seconds, then he would take his foot of the gas for 5 seconds, then back on, off, on, off…this went on until after 3am when we finally arrived in Koutila and, of course, there were no more buses of any kind still running to Burkina Faso. We asked when the first bus would to Burkina would leave and they told us around 8. We found a nearby guesthouse and crashed for a couple of hours after having traveled for nearly 24 hours straight (the guesthouse ended up being terrible with a dirty shower, no toilet paper, a room filled with mosquitoes, and an owner who in the morning tried to overcharge us). We got to the station just after 7 only to find out that the first bus out would not actually leave until 11, but it would go all the way to Accra. We bought our tickets and found a place at the station to camp out for a few hours. After we had been waiting for less than an hour we were told that the bus would not leave until 2. We waited.
And waited.
2 came and went. At 3 we got a bus and were finally headed towards the Mali/Burkina border. We reached Ouaga after 3am and stopped in the station. Usually we stop in a station for 10-15 minutes so that people can stretch, get something to eat, or go to the bathroom. This time though the driver got off and most of the bus did too. I asked what was going on and was told that the driver was tired and so we would stop here for 6 or 7 hours. I asked what we were to do and the lady told me “wait.” We got off the bus and found a table that during the day was used to as a stand to sell whatever. I set it up, laid down, put my turban over me, and went to sleep. Sometime shortly before dawn, I was awoken by a man with a huge stack of fresh bread, apparently I was using his bread stand table as my bed. I got off only to realize that my entire right leg was asleep. I stumbled through the station until I found another table that was unoccupied, climbed up and fell back asleep.
Around 8 am we were all back on the bus and heading south towards the Burkina Faso/Ghana border and eventually towards Accra. It was very interesting to watch as the scenery changed from the brown, sandy, barren Sahara Desert when we left Tombouctou, to the sparse vegetation of the Sahel as we journeyed through the remainder of Mali and Burkina Faso, to the lush green as we continued in o central and southern Ghana. We reached Accra after 3am and it was good to not only be back in Ghana, but back in Accra as well. The trip as a whole was amazing. The return trip took all of three full days on the road and was by far the hardest traveling of my life; more that 50 hours in three days were spent moving in either a bus or a 4X4 over potholed roads, in less than luxurious vehicles. When all was said and done, I had a great time and I will remember the positives much longer than the negatives.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Tombouctou...
After finally getting off the boat, we were still not in Tombouctou, but rather in the village of Kabara, about 20 kilometers from Tombouctou. Apparently there used to exist an off-shoot of the Niger river that ran straight from Tombouctou into the Niger, but it has since dried up. It took us an hour or so of haggling, but we got transport to Tombouctou itself. Three full grown adults, two fairly large backpacks, and one motorcycle. I’m not sure how we managed to fit, but we did. We arrived in Tombouctou (finally) and found a place to stay. As soon as we checked in, a city guide greeted us with “Welcome to the middle of nowhere.”
For the next few days we explored “the middle of nowhere” and the city that is Tombouctou. Tombouctou is often associated with the furthest corners of the globe, and rightfully so. The city sits on the cusp of the world’s largest desert and is hot and dry all the time. Despite the streets of sand, the mud buildings, and the remoteness of the place, it boasts a history that is second to none in terms of historical and geographic significance. Well before Europeans had stepped foot in Tombouctou or had even sailed to what would become known as the Gold or Ivory Coasts, Tombouctou was a bustling metropolis that housed one of the largest, if not the single biggest, collection of Islamic texts in the world and was home to a university population of more than 25,000 students. The importance of Tombouctou was very much derived from its geographic location on the northern most bend of the Niger River and the northern most point on the southern border of the Sahara to the Sahel. What that means is that it was the most centralized location for trade. Muslim traders from the Middle-east could reach the city and transport goods both up and down the Niger River. Therefore, the city began first as a trading center, but soon became an academic institution in and of itself as well. A Malian proverb states that “Salt comes from the north, gold from the south, but the word of God and the treasures of Wisdom come from Tombouctou.” Today, the city is but a shadow of the grandeur of what it once was. The ominous Sahara Desert has threatened to over run the city with sand and UNESCO has worked during the past decade to help save the city, its ancient books, and its history.
As we explored the city we were hounded by locals (the Tuareg) trying to sell us cheap jewelry and guided tours. Despite the hawks and the oppressive heat (it can easily, and often does, reach 115 degrees) the city was neat to explore. Tombouctou is home to three of the oldest mosques in West Africa and most of the other buildings are made in a traditional style from mud. Many of the doors of the houses are decorated with carvings and silver and are very impressive. The market was interesting and worth seeing as well as it was filled with slabs of salt from the desert. Quite possibly the most entertaining of our time in Tombouctou was a camel excursion out into the Sahara. Just before sunset one evening we dickered with a guide and he finally agreed to take us into the desert on camels. The trip was awesome. It was my first time on a camel and my first time into the Sahara, plus the sunset was beautiful. We walked out for a while with one of the Tuareg leading the camels and then stopped for a short break (when we stopped the Tuareg, as usual, tried to sell us jewelry). After playing in the sand and taking pictures, we got back on the camels and rode back in the dusk to Tombouctou. On the return trip I talked the guide into giving me the reigns and letting me “drive” the camel myself. I had a blast.
When we returned to Tombouctou, we went out in search of dinner and found a little street vendor who sold a number of different dishes. “Fatima” or “Fati”, as everyone called her, made us some noodles and red sauce, French fries (“Fati’s Frites”) and the best salad I have ever eaten in all of West Africa, restaurants included. After eating a very nice dinner, we did some wash one more time, packed our bags, and went to bed early as the adventure would continue the next morning at 4am when we got set to make the longest trek ever back to Accra.
For the next few days we explored “the middle of nowhere” and the city that is Tombouctou. Tombouctou is often associated with the furthest corners of the globe, and rightfully so. The city sits on the cusp of the world’s largest desert and is hot and dry all the time. Despite the streets of sand, the mud buildings, and the remoteness of the place, it boasts a history that is second to none in terms of historical and geographic significance. Well before Europeans had stepped foot in Tombouctou or had even sailed to what would become known as the Gold or Ivory Coasts, Tombouctou was a bustling metropolis that housed one of the largest, if not the single biggest, collection of Islamic texts in the world and was home to a university population of more than 25,000 students. The importance of Tombouctou was very much derived from its geographic location on the northern most bend of the Niger River and the northern most point on the southern border of the Sahara to the Sahel. What that means is that it was the most centralized location for trade. Muslim traders from the Middle-east could reach the city and transport goods both up and down the Niger River. Therefore, the city began first as a trading center, but soon became an academic institution in and of itself as well. A Malian proverb states that “Salt comes from the north, gold from the south, but the word of God and the treasures of Wisdom come from Tombouctou.” Today, the city is but a shadow of the grandeur of what it once was. The ominous Sahara Desert has threatened to over run the city with sand and UNESCO has worked during the past decade to help save the city, its ancient books, and its history.
As we explored the city we were hounded by locals (the Tuareg) trying to sell us cheap jewelry and guided tours. Despite the hawks and the oppressive heat (it can easily, and often does, reach 115 degrees) the city was neat to explore. Tombouctou is home to three of the oldest mosques in West Africa and most of the other buildings are made in a traditional style from mud. Many of the doors of the houses are decorated with carvings and silver and are very impressive. The market was interesting and worth seeing as well as it was filled with slabs of salt from the desert. Quite possibly the most entertaining of our time in Tombouctou was a camel excursion out into the Sahara. Just before sunset one evening we dickered with a guide and he finally agreed to take us into the desert on camels. The trip was awesome. It was my first time on a camel and my first time into the Sahara, plus the sunset was beautiful. We walked out for a while with one of the Tuareg leading the camels and then stopped for a short break (when we stopped the Tuareg, as usual, tried to sell us jewelry). After playing in the sand and taking pictures, we got back on the camels and rode back in the dusk to Tombouctou. On the return trip I talked the guide into giving me the reigns and letting me “drive” the camel myself. I had a blast.
When we returned to Tombouctou, we went out in search of dinner and found a little street vendor who sold a number of different dishes. “Fatima” or “Fati”, as everyone called her, made us some noodles and red sauce, French fries (“Fati’s Frites”) and the best salad I have ever eaten in all of West Africa, restaurants included. After eating a very nice dinner, we did some wash one more time, packed our bags, and went to bed early as the adventure would continue the next morning at 4am when we got set to make the longest trek ever back to Accra.
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