The Village Stay (in long)

One of the downsides about living in a district capital is that it takes you very far away from some of the people that EWB is trying to help the most. My mission for this summer is to help build the capacity of the District Water and Sanitation Team, an office at the District Assembly, which is the local government. The hope is that by helping the DWST do their jobs better, it will further help the people that need the help the most.

But who are these people? I live in town that is fairly developed. It gets a lot of NGO attention. Most of the people speak english, the children go to school, many of the women have jobs... while the water crisis in Savelugu still exists, the people here have many options for their future, and the people truly have hope for development and lives in which they can provide for themselves and their children, and even live comfortably with luxuries like fans or air conditioning, or TVs and DVD players.

The week that I spent in the rural community has been the most informative week since I got here. I set it up with the Assemblyman (like a city council, I think) for the community. Not only is he within my age range and really easy to talk to, he also works as a teacher in the community and was really enthusiastic about having me come. He wanted to show me the real community. He wanted me to experience how a person really lives in rural Ghana, and was also excited to show me off to his friends and neighbours.

For the time that I was there, I lived in a small compound (where they had all squished together to give me my own room) with the Assemblyman (Hassan), his father and his father's wife, and four of his siblings. The children in the community had taken a liking very quickly of standing outside the door to my room watching everything I do including putting on sunscreen, looking in my Dagbani language books, or writing in my journal. The family I stayed with had some plots of land about five kilometers away where they grow maize and beans, and Hassan had another small bit of land where he wants to grow soy as a cash crop.

The first day was quite the indication of the amount of work to come. Hassan related to me eagerly that there was a compound in the community that was having the courtyard area be paved for the first time, and that we could go watch. Believe me, it was nothing like I thought it would be. Take away the ideas of cement trucks and industrial machinery... the term that he used was "communal labour", and I can't think of a better way to describe it. The work of taking care of the compound is the woman's work, and about 45-60 women came to help out at different parts of the day. Gravel had to be gathered from the pits just outside of town to the compound, water needed to be brought from the dam, and when all the materials had been brought to the courtyard, the gravel needed to be laid out, mixed with water, and pounded into the ground until it was hard and smooth.

The most amazing part was the way it happened. These women would all work together to bring the gravel and water to the same place. The ones that were too old or not strong enough to be the porters were cooking to feed all the people gathered. Then when it came time to do the pounding, all of the women (maybe 30 at this point) would start on the same side of the compound with their mallet like object that can be seen in the picture, and rhythmically struck the ground over and over in time with their singing and movements. It was like watching a dancing, and it didn't take long for me to wrap some material around my legs (protecting my pants, which I pulled up around my knees -- I was going to get DIRTY!), find a spare mallet, and join in.

Hassan was beside himself, taking pictures with my camera, and exclaiming that he didn't want me to overwork myself the first night there -- he really thought I would just want to watch, not participate.

It was a great way to start the week. I immediately got introduced to many people in the community, and the news spread like wildfire. I could almost understand the words that came with the excited laughs and hand gestures; "there's a Salaminga here! and she worked hard!" From that moment on I was invited to many things with the women, including make Shea butter.

Making shea butter is a multi stage process that takes many days and a lot of hard work, and I arrived just at the right time to observe most of the steps. They were collecting the Shea fruit (tama) from the trees at the farms, and transporting it back. They were steaming the fruit off the nut. They were drying the nuts in the sun, and then pounding them to revel the Shea beans (Kpihi Kpilinga) inside. They were boiling the beans, and then further pounding with the mortar and pistol. They brought it to the corn-mill to further bring the bean to a flour. Then, and this is the part that I helped with, they added the flour to water and mixed it to a paste. They then added hot and cold water alternatively (I did not understand the pattern, nor how they which to add when), when finally, after mixing for what seemed like hours, the liquid sank to the bottom and the fluffy substance rose to the top. The liquid is disposed of, and they further do a combination of boiling and mixing (which I did not see in its entirety, so I'm not completely sure) until it separates again into the butter/oil (kpihi kpam) and another liquid which isn't used. The butter is then made in excess and securely stored -- this would be the butter that they use to cook with for the rest of the year, or until the Tama has once again started to fall from the tree. What I found interesting about this entire process was that no woman ever did any part of the process alone. Even if someone's friend has already completed the process for their stock of the fruit, they would be found pounding the nuts or mixing the flour. They would be helping the rest of the people in the community.

In some communities, the Shea Fruit means wealth and prosperity; companies such as "The Body Shop" buy the butter for their lotions and other products. Unfortunately, it can't mean wealth for everyone; from what I understand, the market is already saturated. These people instead use it for their every day cooking needs, and don't need to rely on buying oil from larger markets.

I also farmed, met The Chief of the community, and helped fetch water. Those stories are for another day... this entry is getting long enough.

What I really wanted to relate to the people reading this, though, is the strength of the relationships in the community, how much help people will give each other, and how hard every works for the good of the village. Even with only one week there and my limited Dagbani skills, they made me feel included and welcomed, and were sad to see me go. It was an amazing week, and I'll never forget it. I've got enough pictures that I won't be able to!