Friday, December 16, 2005

You Can't Poop in this Town Without Everyone Knowing...

Warning- this story is not for the faint of heart...

First let me give you the setting. We were currently staying in the Eastern Region, an inland area of Ghana full of mountains and huge forests and farms. They specialize in growing cocoa. We were staying with Mus's cousins, who are cocoa farmers, in their huge house without electricity or runnign water. We were essentially camping with a house- complete with kerosene lanterns and charcoal grills and coolers filled with ice. Now the village they live in has- by my approximation- about 200 inhabitants. I think I talked or waved to every single one of them.

The plan was that we would go to this cetain town, Konongo, because they were having a market that day and we needed to buy some things. So we start walking- there are no specific bus stops here, so you just keep walking until a bus drives by to pick you up.

As we're walking, we come across some men on the road, wearing their farm clothes and carrying machetes. Efia and Ama both knew these men, so they started talking. Suddenly one man breaks off and says, "Obruni, I love you!"

This isn't unusual, for strange men to tease me like this. Everyone starts laughing, and I giggle and hold Mus's hand. The man keeps teasing, "Please, please marry me." And he hugs me.

Everyone's still laughing so I know that I'm not in any danger, but still, I've never hugged a man with a machete in his hand before and I'm a bit nervous. He lets go and keeps talking, asking me if I like crabs- he's going to catch crabs and he wants to bring me some.

Soon, an old man approaches on the road, walkig in the opposite direction. He starts tesing the machete-carrying man, saying, "Are you trying to speak English to the lady? Is that English or jibberish coming out of your mouth? If you can't speak English, leave her alone!" Well, this brought more laughter, until finally the machete-carrying man said, "Leave me alone! She doesn't love you, old man!" He turns to me, "You don't love Grandpa, do you, obruni?" And the old man shouts, "It doesn't matter, she doesn't love you either!"

Soon we hop onto a small bus called a trotro and we arrive in Konongo. Now I never have any idea where we're going, and this was unfamiliar territory for Mus as well, so we're essentially just following Ama and Efia. We hop out of the bus to the side of the road, and I don't see any sort of town, just a few houses. Turns out Ama and Efia had us get down early so we can stop and greet someone, which didn't surprise me since greeting in Ghana is taken more seriously than most Americans take breakfast. It's something that you have to do.

Turns out, the person is a pastor at this church on the edge of town. And it's Sunday morning...

Now anyone who's been to a church service in Ghana would be groaning at this point in the story. Ghanaians take church almost as seriously as they take greetings. Depending on the denomination, a church service can last anywhere from 2 to 7 hours on Sunday. Plus it's packed almost every night of the week for prayer meetings and Bible studies, etc.

But see, even though Ghanaians spend so much time in church, the churches often aren't that nice. Sometimes 4 walls will be the only structure standing when they hold church. Which is hot and sunny.

We were lucky- this Pentecostal church had a roof. Oh, and one ceiling fan. In the huge room, the only small ceiling fan stood right above the pulpit. I'm sure the front row of folding chairs couldn't even feel the breeze.

Oh, and when we walked in, I was told the service was almost over, but I was not deceived. That could mean they were in their last two hours.

So we sat in some folding chairs for awhile, watching people clap and dance, watching the pastor scream into the microphone. It was kind of fun. It was extremely different from any church I've ever been to. First of all, there was the sheer volume of the church service. It was deafening. The atmosphere itself was a cross between an auction and a rock concert. Furthermore, there were no children inside the church.

Soon, though I was hot and thirsty. Mus and I headed outside to the various concession stands, and that's when I found the children- they were lined up outside of the church. I drank a Coke and sat on the ground, and all the sudden I looked at Mus, my face dropping. I could feel that I was coming down with some tourista- and my stomach was ready to run.

Now public restrooms are not a common sight in Ghana. I told Mus that I needed a restroom, and he went in and got Ama and Efia. They decided I would go to the pastor's house to use his bathroom. Ama took me over and- to my horror- this man didn't keep toilet paper. There was no way I could do what I needed to do with toilet paper.

We headed back to the church, and I explained the situation to Mus. He talked to Ama and Efia, but somehow they failed to grasp the urgency of the situation. They insisted we wait since the service was, "almost finished."

Eventually things were wrapped up- after we'd waited in total for an hour. So we head in to greet the pastor...

And we get in line. See, apparently 4 hours is too little time to spend in church- about half of the congregation then stays after the service to talk to the pastor one on one. At Mus's urging, Efia finally pushed to the front of the line and talked to the pastor, who hurried us forward.

I stepped in front of the pastor, and my skin crawled. He was eyeing me up and down like I was a playboy bunny. It was disgusting. I shook his hand, and then he latched onto my shoulder to pray for me and Mus. I was thinking, "don't touch me, don't touch me..." But he let go after a few minutes of praying in tongues for me and Mus- which included the name "jesus" shrieked in such a way that I thought he had just sneezed all over Mus.

I was so mad. I was standing there letting a creep's eyes roam all over my body when I should have been on a toilet, dropping the load of my life.

The pastor released us, and we went on our way. While Mus and Efia got some medicine for me, Ama bought toilet paper. Then she came and collected me from the bench they'd left me at and we proceeded- and I am not exaggerating- to walk door to door in this town asking to use the bathroom. She spoke in Twi so I have no idea what she was saying, but I imagine it was something like, "Hi, this obruni (meaning foriegner) has the runs- can she take a crap in your house?"

Needless to say, I felt like a moron. And hardly anyone had any kind of toilet- and I'm talking about an outhouse style toilet- nothing porcelain, no running water. The town didn't have running water. How these people relieved themselves is beyond me. Maybe they all went to the old lady we finally found and she let the whole neighborhood use hers.

So, essentially, the entire town of Konongo knew that I had diarrhea... Ah, the joys of small towns...