Once in a lifetime experience.” The words are beginning to weigh on me as time passes. Ever since we hit the halfway point of our trip, the idea of leaving has hidden behind the corner of every moment, taunting me that it will jump out and snatch me away from this. My Fuji camera forever-strapped around my neck is the only tiny comfort for the anxiety of forgetting my life here.
It blows my mind, really. How malleable, adaptable and resilient the mind is. I distinctly remember the 2nd week here sincerely wondering why anyone would CHOOSE to come here. And when I met return visitors who said they couldn’t wait to come back, I was genuinely baffled. I questioned whether I could even believe in a God after seeing the standard of living here. Every sight and smell and sound alerted my senses, straitened my back and stretched my neck. When Dakota ran away and Elle split her forehead open, I cursed my mothering skills. When other traumas occurred (traumas that, for my worried, loved ones’ sakes, I won’t share until I am back in the States), I lost faith in the kindness of strangers.
Now I sit here in the windy shade of a palm tree, amongst the people tumbling in the surf and kicking a soccer ball in the sea foam. I buy two bags of plantain chips from a young girl’s head without a second thought. I admire Elle sitting on her towel in the distance, answering standard questions from the circle of local children crouched around her. “How are you? What’s your name? Where are you from? What’s your mother’s name? What’s your father’s name?” I can’t hear her over the rumble and crash of the giant waves, but I see her animated mouth forming the words. She answers with confidence and clarity, and the children laugh with each other, repeating her answers amongst themselves. It feels like a paradise now. In only these few short months, my trust in people, my faith in God and confidence in my inner-strength have exponentially grown, more sure than ever before.
I try to snap a picture of it, but it’s a futile gesture. The camera frame is too small. The shadows and light are all wrong. The wind is lost. The energy and joy is absent. The fullness of my confidence and simple love of life is not recorded. And so that dark thought of leaving lurks behind the palm tree beside me. It touches my shoulder and whispers in the wind, “Once in a lifetime…”
Every day I have one of those experiences. One that I know is a “This Moment” for only a fleeting second before it becomes a “That Moment,” gone, never to be recaptured no matter what technology I carry around my neck.
Yesterday, “This Moment” became “That Moment” in a jungle in the Eastern Region of Ghana. Scott, Elle and I left our bungalow at 5 a.m. in a small bus carrying 26 people. Our destination was Akosombo, home of the Volta Dam and Lake Volta, the biggest man-made lake in the world. We would make a few stops along the way, including to Accra Mall in the capital of Ghana, Shai Hills animal reserve in the Eastern Region and Adome Bridge over the Volta river. Papa and Josephine left their four children home for the day to join us on our journey. Big John came with us as well, which isn’t a surprise as he’s truly become part of our family. He even stays in Dakota’s old room now. He told us his pastor jokes with him, saying John is a white man now, because his family is white.
Besides the driver, the rest of the passengers were Scotts’ students from the University of Cape Coast. We were the last to board the bus, and Big John took the last seat, leaving Bernard to stand on the stairs near the door. Scott asked him, “Bernard, there aren’t any more seats. Where will you sit.” (I purposely remove the question mark because for some reason Scott doesn’t raise his voice at the end of his questions when he talks to Ghanaians. When I tease him about it, he says he doesn’t notice the difference and can’t hear a code-switch in his intonation).
Bernard happily replies, “I’d love to stand, epitomizing the positive attitude and whine-free fortitude of the people here. As the bus pulled away from the house, Bernard began introducing everyone in the bus. He started with Scott, “the honorable prof.” He prefaced my introduction, “And we know that behind every great man is…”
“BESIDE!!” I yelled out to be sure everyone in the bus heard me. “BESIDE!!” I repeated after a second of confused silence.
The girls in the bus yelled to Bernard “BESIDE!” and the students laughed approvingly.
Laughing good-naturedly, Bernard continued, “Pardon me, BESIDE every great man, is a great woman! This is prof’s wife, Molly. You are welcome, Madame.” He continued introducing every other person on the bus, giving them each the title, “the honorable…” and adding some tidbit of information about them. The fact that this was quite a dynamic young man was clear.
Along the roadside in the early morning hours, lines of women and children carrying buckets and plastic containers filled with water filed from village centers toward their own compounds. The distance of their walks was unclear but oftentimes, we saw no sign of homes after travelling several miles from the water source.
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| Bernard didn't make the photo but Josephine is in the white T. |
In the bus, I fell in love with sharp Bernard. I told Scott that I would hire him as a teacher on the spot if I could. He led the college students on the bus through a series of discussions, subtly satirizing their common educational experience in the British school systems. “We will start by sharing our objectives for our journey today.”
The other students joined in the discussion enthusiastically taking turns. Each answer, depending on if it was heartfelt or satirical, brought forth approval or laughter from their classmates. Some other “topics of discussion” were a memory from practice teaching experience, one new innovation they plan to bring to their future classrooms, and what they will give back to their university in ten years when they’ve established themselves financially.” Bernard ended each discussion by praising his classmates for their genius, reminding them of their intelligence and destiny of success. He never forgot to include some faux essay assignment due to him by the next morning answering the discussion topic.
Soon, another student, Sam was standing. He leaned on the seat in front of him and joined in on Bernard’s emceeing. He explained, “In ten years, when I am a rich man. I don’t plan on giving to the university. It is well-established already. I plan on giving back to my secondary school. They will need my help more than the university.”
For the most part, the students spoke English, but occasionally they slipped back into Twi. At those times, Scott would gruffly yell behind him, “ENGLISH ONLY! ENGLISH ONLY!” The students erupted when Bernard jumped to Scott’s side, waving an imaginary stick, “ENGLISH ONLY! ENGLISH ONLY! If I hear you speaking Twi, you will be caned then pushed off the bus to walk back to the university!”
Sam replied in pigeon English, claiming that he had just begun to learn English. This led to a whole repertoire of students speaking pigeon English, making fun of those Ghanaians’ speech who don’t speak proper English.
Their next act (it really did seem as if we were watching some planned entertainment) was music. Bernard and Sam would begin singing some Christian spiritual together and the other students would pick it up, adding rhythmic clapping and echoing. Their voices raised together sounded full and joyous. They invited solos from the bus. Two students and Josephine each sang a Christian song, followed by congratulatory clapping and praising.
The hours in the bus slipped away easily with such fun around us. I couldn’t help but imagine a similar bus trip in America. I concluded that these kids didn’t depend on personal gadgets like Ipods and PSPs to entertain them. They grew up knowing that if they wanted to pass the time with fun, they had to make it for themselves. They had no qualms about laughing at themselves and they encouraged each other to share their talents despite their faults in order to entertain each other. They were clever and quick-witted, intelligent and thoughtful, snarky and hilarious. I couldn’t take a picture of that.
At our different destinations, we filed off the bus and enjoyed our tours. At around 1 o’clock, the student task master announced we had one hour to eat and walk the Adume bridge. The bus pulled up into a roadside village and a hoard of vendors swarmed the bus. The women had plantain chips, ground nuts (peanuts), and boiled eggs on their heads. Some carried loaves of bread or held dozens of snail kabobs in each fist. Some balanced metal basins on their heads filled with small plastic bags of tiny fried fish the locals called, “One man, A Thousand” fish. I saw a glass display case stacked with tasty fried chicken on a woman’s head. When I walked toward her Scott called me back. He reminded me of a recent cholera outbreak and the warning we’d received about eating from the street. Disappointed, I settled for white rice and spicy tomato gravy at a roadside restaurant in a cement, basement-like room.
The bridge rose over the Volta river. The students pointed to workmen carrying bags of cement on their heads across the bridge They explained that the bridge is over fifty years old and it bounces when the big trucks go over so they are fixing it now. Sure enough, our knees gave up and down as the largest trucks passed by. When we walked back to the bus, a little girl pointed to me and announced, “Obruni.” I leaned toward her and pointed to myself, “Obruni,” I agreed. Then, to her surprise, I pointed back at her. “Bebini,” I said. The old men seated around lost it. They turned to each other relating my words and laughing raucously. I was delighted I was understood.
I’d recently been picking up on Fanti. What had always sounded like gibberish was now beginning to make sense to me. First, I could pick up common words and phrases. Then, as if some light was turned on, I realized patterns and could formulate simple rules. I picked up the continuous verb prefix of “ara” and the past tense prefix of “a.” It occurred to me one day how the negative was formed by adding “me n-“ before the verb. I discovered the pronouns “you” and “I.” So, by memorizing common verbs, I could at least attempt to communicate in Fanti. Big John was always willing to repeat verbs over and over to me until I got the pronunciation right, or at least close to right. When my courage was up, I’d experiment with groups of Ghanaians. I usually had to repeat myself three or four times before one person’s eyes would pop then he would turn to his friends and repeat what I had said using their familiar intonation. Praise was never short when I tried.
Volta Dam was another stop. The cement structure was massive and the smooth surface of the lake it created was expansive. The giant boulders in the foggy distance looked like a secret entrance to some sci-fi/fantasy world, or some obstacle through which Odysseus had to pass.
The “This Moment” occurred at the Shai Hills animal reserve. First, we saw a half dozen long-armed baboons begging at the roadside as we entered. One female toted a baby around her gut. We saw gazelles grazing as we drove through the reserve path. When we stopped and disembarked, we hiked into the jungle and emerged beside a monstrous boulder. Walking around it felt just like walking beside some huge hull of a titanic ship. We ducked between a small crevice and entered the squealing dampness of a bat cave. Upside down lines of bats hung on the ledges above us. Some shot here and there through one stream of sunlight beaming through a fissure above. The deeper we went, the darker it got and I noticed too late that my hands were planted in a thick layer of bat droppings covering the rocks I climbed.
Next, we planned to hike to the highest point of the reserve. We escaped the scorching sun beneath the canopy of jungle green as a group, but as the rocky forest floor got rougher and steeper, the group naturally separated, leaving Elle, Scott, Josephine, Papa, Big John and I behind. Each turn of the path led to a steeper and rockier terrain. We each took turns holding Elle’s hand. Soon, her little feet couldn’t navigate the sharp, rocky path so we carried her, one by one. Around the next bend, the grade of the mountain got so steep, we couldn’t even carry her. One of us would climb a few feet and reach back. Another positioned below would hand Elle off. Another would climb a few more feet and turn for another hand off. Josephine piped up as we struggled up the mountain, “We can do all things…” Giving up and turning back was not even discussed. That is, until we came upon the last peak of the mountain.
The jungle floor disappeared. All that remained were massive boulders stacked atop one another. Vines climbed the jagged edges. This was not a hiking path anymore. It was a vertical climb. The only way to make it would be to use fjssures in the rock as foot holds and grip the vines to pull ourselves up. Sizing up the obstacle, Big John turned to me, “Give me Elle.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know, Big John, what if you fall?”
“I won’t fall. I can do it. Elle will be okay with me.”
“How can you do it? You need both hands to hold the vines.”
“Give her to me. We can do it.”
He seemed so sure about it I handed her to him. I stayed right at his heels as he began his assent. Elle was in his left hand and he grasped the vines with his right. I heard him tell her over and over to hold him tight. She did. I scrambled up one rock at a time, pulling my weight up by gripping the vines. Josephine and Scott followed. Papa stayed behind. The hike to that point had left him dizzy and tired.
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| Big John is in the back and Josephine is up top. |
When I emerged from the shade of the jungle, my breath caught. Over the rounded surface of the boulder I saw the savannah spread out before me forever. I crawled across the hot surface, took Elle in my arms and sat beside Scott. We sat in awe, and gazed and gawked and inhaled and exhaled. I swear the score from The Lion King blew through the wind. That image of Africa I had had in my mind; the one from the Discovery channel, with the British voice narrating the savage attack of the graceful gazelle by the ferocious lion…this was it. And I was here.
I handed Elle to Scott. I stood on the boulder jutting the furthest out into the African sky and just stared out at the vastness of it. I looked out over the savannah and recognized the moment for what it was, a once in a lifetime moment, a “This Moment” and then a “That Moment.”
Josephine took Elle down. I’m honestly not sure how she did it. But she did. “We can do all things…” All the students, Papa and Big John were out of site as Scott and I made our way down. My sandals were worn on the bottom so the steep grade of the rocky path, covered in dead leaves made for a slippery descent. I calculated each step, making sure I had a branch or vine to stabilize myself when my sandals slipped from beneath me. The students yelled up to us, tracking our progress. I whistled back each time they called. Within a few yards, I realized my shoes were a hindrance. I took off the sandals and continued the hike barefoot.
That “once in a lifetime” feeling overwhelmed me again and I yelled back to Scott, “Can you believe I am hiking barefoot through an African jungle?”
Scott called out, “I know! This is that once in a lifetime thing we’ve been talking about!”
I tried to convince myself, “I AM hiking barefoot through an African jungle!”
I curled my toes around the jagged rocks, descending the mountain. The hot surface and sharpness of the stone burned the soles of my feet. Thick green foliage and rustling leaves filled my senses. I yelled, “I’M HIKING BAREFOOT THROUGH AN AFRICAN JUNGLE!” I yelled it again, “I’M HIKING BAREFOOT THROUGH AN AFRICAN JUNGLE!” It somehow made this extraordinary experience more believable. I would never, ever, in a million fantasies about my life, have envisioned this moment. “I’M HIKING BAREFOOT THROUGH AN AFRICAN JUNGLE!” I repeated it over and over with each step, laughing at the wonder of this moment, then laughing at the sound of my laughing at the wonder of this moment! “I’M HIKING BAREFOOT THROUGH AN AFRICAN JUNGLE!”
Scott called out again, “This is something your son should be experiencing!”
Then “This Moment” became “That Moment.”
The path evened out and I pushed my feet into my sandals. We walked out of the shade into the open savannah sand and scorching sun. We travelled to a shady spot with benches and Scott posed for pictures with his students. They crowded around him and I snapped a photo. I captured their smiling faces, but I could never capture the pride I felt for him in that moment. In that moment, I could never fit into the frame the overflowing gratitude I felt for the so many “Once in a Lifetime” moments he’s given me!
