Funeral for a Friend: The trip to Pepease

Saturday

A close friend of the family passed away in late August, and this past weekend was the funeral. Eric is the Godfather to Sean, and Sylvester and I are Godparents to his daughter, Ashley. So, when Eric’s father passed away, it was with no second thought that we would all be attending the funeral celebration.

As is the custom in Ghana, the deceased is buried in his village of birth; in this case, it was the village of Pepease, a trip of about 110 miles. We figured, given stoppage time, traffic, road conditions that it would be a 4 hour drive. It took more than 5 hours. Ugh.

Sly and I woke up at 3:30 to prepare the kids, as we expected to leave around 4:30. Unfortunately, our car battery had other plans, and we couldn’t get the car to start; a quick call to our taxi driver and he came over and jumped us. Meanwhile, the kids were being awoken for their showers and to get dressed. If you’ve never done it before, it is NOT easy waking up a kid when the sky is still pitch black. There were complaints and grumbles from every corner. Finally, at about 5:10 we were ready to go.

Sly and I are very good local drivers – we can find our way around no problem, but if we have to stray off the Tema Motorway, we’re in deep doo doo. Fortunately, Ekow our taxi driver was coming with us, and would lead the way. Before the sun even rose at 5:45, all of the kids were sound asleep, including Michael who NEVER SLEEPS IN THE CAR. Ha!




Getting out of Tema was not a problem; the real problem was getting out of Accra, or Achimota to be exact. They are constructing a new roadway, and in Ghana, it is different from anything you’ve ever seen before. The construction site is not a pedestrian-free zone; in fact, there are more pedestrians than construction vehicles! Here we are bouncing through pot holes big enough to put a kitchen sink, dodging crazed tro tro drivers trying to get to a fare before the next guy and trying to avoid running down the hawkers who dance between the traffic with huge bowls of pure water sachets, bags of sliced paw paw, fried plantain chips, Fan Ice and yogurt perched precariously on their head. I am ever so glad I’m sitting in the back seat and not driving, even if I have to have Alex’s very heavy feet in my lap. Bear in mind, all this is going on at around 6:30 a.m.

It is only as we get into Nsawam that the construction stops and traffic thins. The hawkers are ever present, only now the pickings are different; hawkers are primarily selling Nsawam bread (2 cedis for 2 loaves!), fried turkey tail, fried yam with shitor and local daily newspapers. You can tell where you are in Ghana just from the fare being sold by the hawkers.

After Nsawam, famous for its prison, we have a fairly long stretch of road with minimal traffic, though the pot holes are never ending. There is only a single note-worthy rest stop, and that is the Linda Dor in Koforidua, but because the kids are still sleeping, we blow on past. As we go farther north, we encounter lots of little palm frond covered kiosks selling the local fruits and vegetables – cassava, plantain (in huge green bunches!), tangerines, hot peppers and snails. Okay, so that’s not a fruit or vegetable. But it is for sale, and these suckers are huge!!! You'd need at least a pound of butter and a couple of heads of garlic for escargot.


Well, we got to Nkawkaw (how do you like these names, by the way? Real tongue twisters, ain’t they) which is at the base of the Kwahu mountain range. We’d have to take the switchback road to the top of the mountains. The road heading up was being repaired (so what else is new) and we had to drive very very slowly. Meanwhile, taxis were racing down the mountain like it was a slalom course. Again, I am very glad I sat in the back seat.

The kids were in awe because they could see that the top of the mountain was in the clouds (not really, just it was kind of foggy/hazy up there).

As we neared the top, we saw signs for the hotel we were going to stay at, so we planned to stop first and freshen up a bit, before we headed over to the church. It was near 11:00 am when we got to the hotel – The Modak Royal Hotel – the only hotel exclusively for royals, according to the website. I looked around, but didn’t see the Queen of England or even a Queen Mother for that matter, so I can safely presume that you don’t have to be royalty to stay there… you only have to have 38 GHC cash, payable in advance.

As it was near lunch, we went to the terrace bar and ordered some food and drink. When we got there, we were the only ones in sight, so we assumed (wrongly, as it turned out) that service would be quick. The waiter had to run back and forth between the terrace and the restaurant, which was in the next building over. Our drinks got to us okay, but the food took an interminable length of time. And while we waited, the place got packed. First, in came a group of ten people, then six, then three more and finally another three. And mind you, only a single waiter! What really is annoying is that funerals in this town are only on specific weekends in each month, so it's not as though the hotel management is not aware that a funeral will be going on and hire some extra help. That would make sense.

Anyway, 50 minutes later, and still no food – and I ordered simple stuff like pizza, hamburger, fries and Chinese beef fried rice. I can’t wait any more. It’s hot. I have a headache and feel achy because I think the PMS fairy is on her way. Alex is whiny and hungry. I tell Sly I’m going to the room, let them bring the food to me there. Fortunately, about 5 minutes later, the food is coming through the door.

Oh crap. I totally forgot to tell them exactly how I wanted my food. Silly of me to ask for a hamburger and fries without telling them that we wanted no lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise or fried egg on it! And how stupid for me to assume a simple margherita pizza would have only cheese and sauce – of course they have to put on green peppers and black Greek olives (not pitted naturally). And, d’oh, why didn’t I tell them not to surround my “Chinese” beef fried rice (with spaghetti noodles added to it!) with egg salad.

I have lived in Ghana for 4 years 9 months and 23 days, and have been coming back and forth between the U.S. and Ghana for almost 2 decades. You’d think I would know better. Ghanaian restaurateurs and cooks have a singular common belief: More is better!! I knew I should have ordered the “Beef or Chicken Fajitas (Italian dish)” from the menu! (I learn something new every day! Here, I thought it was the Mexicans who had invented fajitas!)

Anyway, after lunch we quickly washed up and changed into our Day One funeral attire. Each of the kids wore a plain black bottom and a black and white top, I wore a black and white kente dress and Sly dressed in traditional Ghanaian apparel – namely, a pair of white shorts with a huge black and white kente woven cloth which he draped over his shoulder. No, I did not get a picture of him. I want to keep these teeth.

The church was only a few minutes away from where we are, and we would have missed the turn off if it wasn’t for Eric’s nephew, Yaw, who recognized our van and directed us to the driveway. That Nissan Quest is indispensable; I don’t know what we would do without it.

Three funerals were underway inside the very packed church, so we waited outside in the grass. Along with us were probably another hundred sympathizers who milled about, laughing and chatting, buying ice cream or fruit from the hawkers who were all doing a fairly brisk business. We parked our van under a tree which fortunately protected us from the sun, but did nothing at all to help with the ant problem. Ants were constantly crawling up our feet and legs, and before you knew it you’d be slapping them away and scratching at the bite. Ants like me. I must be very sweet or something. This is my leg three days after the ant bite.



We bypassed the cemetery and went straight to one of the reception sites, this where the food was being served. Michael, being the “foodian” of the family, went straight to the serving line and came back with chicken and Jollof rice. I don’t eat Jollof, so I opted for kenkey and fish which Alex invited herself to share. I truly can’t think of a single starchy food that Alex won’t eat. If it’s something that going to raise her blood sugar by 10 points, she’s gonna have it! Urggh!

It was now nearing 3:00 pm and I was definitely feeling anti-social at this point, as my headache was in full bloom despite the four Advils I’d taken at the hotel. I needed a bed in an air conditioned room and I needed it NOW. I think Sly sensed this, so for the preservation of my health and sanity (and his life), he suggested I take the kids back to the room. Good idea.

The A/C was cranked up to full blast, and I confiscated one entire twin bed. The kids all shared the other. They were (blessedly) fairly quiet, and kept the noise to a dull roar. The television held them enthralled with a channel called the Trinity Broadcasting Network – lots of kiddy religious stuff, including Davey and Goliath (remember that one!).

I only got about an hour of nap time before the sound of hushed sobs woke me up. I found out afterward that Alex was running on the paving stones outside of the room and slid part ways down the hill on her knees (Ouch!!). Sean tried to "help" her by taking her into the bathroom and suggesting that she allow him to hose down her legs to get her knees clean. So he puts her in the tub and runs the water out of the hose. Of course, she started screaming that it hurt (and it probably did). She was having none of it. Sean, being Sean, told her that it was fine, but that “within 8 hours you’ll be dead from the infection.” Screaming starts up again and now I am fully awake. **sigh** Sean, what a kind brother. “Always prepared,” that’s one of my mottos, so I had band aids. Bleeding is stopped, she’s covered. She’ll live. This is it 3 days later.



By now, Sly is back to the room taking a breather from his running around and we go to the restaurant to eat. Dinner is (thankfully) non-eventful, since I remembered to be very specific when I ordered the chicken, fries and rice. It only took 30 minutes for the chicken and fries, and 45 minutes for the chicken and (hard) rice. Amazing.

When we get back to our room, Sly departs once again to the funeral (personally, I think he’s having too good a time, if you know what I mean), and we’re on our own yet again. The kids are so tired from the long day that they don’t even argue when I say it’s time for bed at 9:00 pm. Me? I’m oblivious, between the Advil and the Nyquil I took I’m off to la la land. Sly better make sure that he knocks on the door really hard and loud, if he wants to come back in later.

Sunday

We get up early enough to go eat breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Two meals come with each room and we just take whatever they dish out. Someone will eat it (I hope). Sean eats the beans (after he pulls out the onions), Mike eats the eggs (after he picks out the peppers) and Alex eats the bread. See? Everyone was happy. Just bring me coffee, even fake Nescafe, I need the caffeine.

Today, we are all dressed in our Day Two Funeral Attire, which is the “family” cloth purchased especially for the deceased family and close friends. It’s lovely white seersucker with black print on it. I notice though that our seersucker runs vertically and yet some of the others with the same cloth it runs horizontally. I think it was our tailor who goofed, because the print looks like little black birds… and everyone else’s bird is flying and ours looks to be dive bombing. Oh, well. It’s only for this one time. This is the cloth we wore. Note that Ashley's dress is different, as she is a granddaughter and the grandchildren were provided with this cloth.



Our first stop after breakfast is the family house. We stop in and do the obligatory handshaking thing with everyone there. As we sit down, we find out that this is Eric’s father’s family’s house, so Eric’s mother is not here, and she is who we’ve come specifically to see. We need to find his mother’s house, so we get Yaw to drive us over to wherever it is.

Eric’s mother is one of the tribal elders for Pepease, so she was kind of “holding court” when we got there. Again, we followed tradition, entered and shook everyone’s hand and then sat to wait for the chance to announce our intentions. We could only stay for a short while, since we had to drive back to Accra, and we would leave during the church service and wanted to come and extend our sympathies. All of this was said by Sly to Kwase, who is Eric’s older brother, for him to relay the message to his mother. The elders who were there thanked us for coming, and offered us drinks – soda, beer or gin. It was not yet 9:00 am, by the way.

From there, back to the father’s house for more food and beer (it’s a never-ending vicious cycle, ain’t it?). Everyone was getting ready for church and dressing in their black and white outfits. There had to at least have been 40 or so people in the family compound, but it was a big enough place that it wasn’t cramped at all.

Now, this is not the place for potty humor, but I just have to share it here, since it happened at this point. After the majority of the family had left for church, there was a little boy walking around the compound naked. He couldn’t have been more than 2 years old, I guess. That’s not so unusual. Nudity is not really the issue here that it is in the States. But what this kid did was really unusual. In his left hand he held a water bottle cap, and his in right hand he held his penis. Squirt!!! Fill up the cap, toss it on the ground. Squirt!! Fill up the cap, toss it on the ground. At this point, we’re (well, me and kids) laughing hysterically (it really was funny – that kid has got great bladder control!) but Sly is not amused. He calls to the mother who grabs the kids and swings him up into her arms and she just keeps chatting away with the women she was talking to (like they couldn’t see this kid pissing into the bottle cap from 5 feet away?). Sly goes over to her and tells her that she should take the kid and wash him down (I should hope so, really) and tell him that what he did was wrong. (Meanwhile, I kept thinking, “Funny, but wrong” from Steve Martin in Cheaper by the Dozen. Not helpful, I know).

We kill another half hour here and head on back to check out. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and Sean wants to be home in time to watch the Liverpool-Chelsea match on television.

I wish I could report that the trip home was uneventful, but I can’t. The car broke down after about 2½ into the ride. The radiator hose was broken (we found out) and we were overheating something fierce. Ekow, our driver was vigilant in filling the radiator with water and we managed to nurse our way home. By 5:00 pm, we were pulling into our driveway in Tema.

Despite all of the hassles, headaches and bug bites, none of us would have missed this last chance to show our respect to a very dear man.

Rest In Perfect Peace.

Friday at Accra Central. Organized chaos.

Ghana has not been immune from the worldwide economic troubles. Yesterday, I paid nearly $1.50 for a beer at an Accra Central chop bar. Can you imagine? I remember when a Star beer was 60 cents. Okay, so it’s a big beer, twice as big as a Heinie, but still, that’s a lot of money in this economy.

Accra Central on a Friday is an amazing place -- crowded, colorful, noisy, smelly, even a bit dangerous. But only for a couple of obronis. Yesterday, a new found obroni friend and I ventured to the big city to do some shopping. Leslie is a high school math teacher (they call it maths teacher here) who is here in Ghana for a year on a Fulbright teacher exchange program. She is teaching at Tema Secondary School, just a hop skip and a jump from where we live, and also my husband’s alma mater.

I picked her up at the school and ventured to Accra the long way around, meaning the Beach Road between Tema and Accra. When you want to move at a fast clip, you have no choice but to take the Tema Motorway. Unless there’s an accident, and there have been significantly less accidents since they removed the cattle bridge a few months ago, the Motorway zips along at speeds of 70 and upwards. Some Ghanaians consider it their own personal Autobahn and rocket past at 100 mph. Fools, all… you never know when a cow is going to cross the road.

But, I digress (as usual). Leslie loved the fact that we were taking the scenic route. She got to see the ocean finally (she knew it was somewhere close by, but had no idea how close – a mere 5 minutes away!). As we approached Nungua, I told her about Evelyn, my “potato lady” who owns a tiny produce stand across from the Regional Maritime Academy. When we lived in Nungua, we stopped there a lot for fresh produce, namely potatoes, because we knew that from her they wouldn’t be soft or rotted. Now that we live in Tema near the motorway we don’t often come around, but when we do, we either stop and buy something, or beep the horn when passing. It’s funny, without fail, as soon as she hears the distinctive sound of our Nissan Quest’s horn, she spins around or looks up from whatever she was doing and grinning, from ear to ear, waves wildly with both hands. Sure enough, she was there yesterday, and grinning and waving to beat the band. I love that lady.

So, off through Nungua we traveled. It was really neat driving with Leslie. It’s like looking at Christmas through a kid’s eyes. Leslie was “Ooh, look at that” or “Oh, what’s that place?” It was kind of fun to play the tour guide, pointing out the place with the fantasy coffins and watching the vendors go by carrying all sorts of things on their heads.

After about an hour in traffic, we arrived at the parking lot near High Street. No matter if they’re packed, when the guy sees our Nissan he knows it’s us and always squeezes us in. Somewhere. It was the same yesterday. He directed me to this tiny spot and I edged my way in. He asked me where “daddy” was. I told him that “daddy” was home and I was free for the day with some money in my pocket. Oops! Must remember to zipper my mouth, next time. Before I could even take two steps away from the car, he tells me that he will be traveling for a funeral that afternoon, and hoped I could help him with “transportation.” Soft touch that I am (and also to safeguard my car!), I offered up 2 cedis. That’s about $2, and more than he probably makes in a day.

You’ve likely read about my shopping experience at Melcom, so I won’t go back into it. Except to say that I still cannot understand WHY THEY CANNOT RESTOCK THE STORE AT NIGHT??!! Every aisle is crowded with shoppers and an equal number of clerks who are bent over boxes and stocking shelves. You can hardly move. After about 15 minutes of madness, we gave up and left, without a single purchase there.

From there we went to Methodist Book Store for Leslie to find some books for the students she tutors. I picked up a couple of used books for the kids, but nothing for me. Paperbacks not written in this or the previous decade are of no interest to me, nor do I find it scintillating to read books with big-bosomed raven-haired vixens.

We walked across the street into Rawlings Park, which has turned into a giant flea market and decided to stop for some refreshment. Beer, Coke, sausage on a stick and beef kebabs. Total price GHC 5.90. Total rip-off. But such is the economy here. Everything has gone up in prices.

We had good seats at the restaurant, right in the firing line. Every single hawker with a bowl on his or her head had something to offer the two obronis. Batik and wax print shirts, only GHC 5 – perfect if we weighed about 250 lbs each, but anyone with a Body Mass Index of less than 25 would be lost in these shirts (I’ve a BMI of about 20, and Leslie probably even less). Oh, BTW, this site calculates your BMI for you and it’s pretty simple. No maths teacher needed.

We also had a couple of bead vendors pass by – one person was selling bootlegged 8-in-1 and 9-in-1 videos with Chinese subtitles, another sold kitschy wooden signs that said something like Jesus Loves Ghana, and a very large woman with a huge bowl of kitchen sponges on her head. Everyone else got a dabi (no), but we stopped the sponge lady. I really needed a new kitchen sponge. Naturally, the obroni price was GHC 3 for 5 sponges, but the obroni counter-offer was GHC 2, which was still probably more than they would have cost an obibini (black person). Oh well.

From there I found a guy selling football kit out of his station wagon. Well, Sean as you may know is a football freak. Not the U.S. kind, but the European/U.K. kind with actually kicking of the ball at all times. Sean loves Chelsea (the team, not Clinton), but loves individual players and I asked if they had Rosicky. I was informed it was Rosisky. Anyway, he plays for Arsenal and he’s #7. They had a brand new shirt and shorts set for GHC 20. Now, that’s not really a bad price. It’s running way higher than that on eBay and I wouldn’t have to ship it. But, since I knew I was getting the obroni price, I countered with GHC 15 and we agreed at GHC 17. Not too terrible. And, guess what, it is NOT Rosisky… I was right, so there!

Leslie was anxious to take some pictures of the market, but Ghanaians don’t usually like for people to do that, so she just bought something and then took the vendor’s picture. That worked out fine. One guy, who was carrying a string of dead rats and mice was willing to take a little gratuity in exchange for the picture… guess Leslie didn’t need a dead rat. Just kidding. He was selling rat poison. But it was pretty funny, in a gruesome kind of way.

After the rat guy, it was getting too hot and too crowded, so we made our way back to the car, battled the Friday funeral traffic, and within an hour we were back to our little hamlet. We arrived home dirty, tired, sweaty, smelly (at least, I was), slightly sunburned and with a blazing headache (again, me). Tema, home sweet home.