After warming up enough to sleep, I dreamt that I was back in NC to inspect a newly installed ceiling fan. While home, I questioned why the kitchen counters had been covered. My sister said because Mom was finally converting the dishwasher area into a cabinet.
When I told Dr. Kofi my dream about returning home, he interrupted, telling me that Ghana was my home. I then restated that NC was my OTHER home.
Since Dr. Kofi wasn’t familiar with the area, he had three locals join us for our morning walk. They set a very fast pace.
This morning’s excursion was the first time I saw the rising sun during one of our walks.
The area was so quiet, we heard the buzzing electricity. Even so, no one was foolish enough to enter an unauthorized area.
Some knowledgeable walkers, both local and tourist, pointed out the nim tree. According to them, one boiled its leaves to support immunity.
Another medicinal plant, the soursop tree, grew near one of the hotel buildings. The leaves and fruit were used to treat high blood pressure, inflammation, and parasitic infections.
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When I received my waffles, I was initially excited to see that it had been garnished with strawberries, but upon closer inspection, I saw that the red fruit was watermelon. Still delicious, just an unusual choice for the average American palate.
I returned to the room for final freshening up after breakfast, which was perfect timing. As soon as I’d rolled my luggage to the building’s common area, a hotel van was about to leave. Both my luggage and I rode to the bus. During that short ride to the tour bus, I learned that the hotel was 30 years old, and had started out as a private residence.
Although the road was blocked because of construction, our tour guide knew a work around. Once again, communicative honking helped to negotiate through traffic. Safety triumphed. We Americans underutilize the horn for such purposes and become aggressive with excessive honking.
We freshened up at Yaa Nyarkoa Lodge, Prof. Kwesi Yankah’s place. The slow-moving bathroom queue allowed tour members to pose with Dr. Kofi who was dressed in his traditional attire as the Chief of Development.
At the naming ceremony, the linguist (okyeame) served as an intermediate between the chief and the people. One can’t look or speak directly to the chief in order to prevent spiritual or psychological attack. The linguist sat with a staff adorned with two eagles atop, symbolizing the balance between the physical and spiritual worlds. One of the duties of the linguist was to shake hands with people. The position can be inherited or appointed.
I was randomly chosen to be in chief’s lineage, but everyone was named after good people.
Drummers provided music for the two dancers. Then for the opening of the ceremony, an elder poured of schnapps on the ground as blessing.
Everyone received a new name. Traditionally, the father provides the surname and mother provides the first name. Elder mothers performed the ceremony, using a leaf of wisdom, the water of purity, and spirits for strength. All of us had to taste both water and schnapps to know the difference.
My Ghanaian name: Nana Adwoa Akyene [nah-nah ah-JUWAH ah-CHEE-nay]. “Nana” is an optional honorific title to denote being named after a chief. “Adwoa” is the name given to girls born on a Monday. Finally, the chief’s surname, “Akyene,” means sensitivity to the arts, especially drums. My family reacted as if that last name suited me well although my artistic talents lie in writing and performing.
The precious beads, made of glass, formed the necklace and bracelet. They were heavy and noiseless as one moved, which allowed the wearer to introduce themselves rather than the sound of the jewelry.
More drumming and dancing followed after the ceremony. The dancers invited us to join in. Several of us jumped up to dance with Dr. Kofi and remained much longer after he sat back down.
When we returned to Prof. Yankah’s place, the Kwesi Yankah youth band, consisting of high school marching band instruments and an African bass drum, played a song which had a refrain that sounded like the opening bars of “Joy to the World.” One of our tour guide support staff also played a trumpet in the youth band.
We received fresh coconut water, which had a slight sweetness. Our light early dinner included Ghanaian-styled doughnuts, pineapple, mango, watermelon, bananas, strawberry and vanilla ice cream. We ate under a rectangular pergola with tiled floor while youth band played on.
Later, we rolled up to our hotel, which had overflow rooms across the street. RC threw a sour look in the direction of the narrow spiral staircase to the second floor where our room was located.
Before the hotel employee left our room, we asked him about the hot water strategy. He entered the bathroom, looked into the shower stall and informed us there was no hot water. Instead, he brought us an electric tea kettle.
A bucket with a dipper were already in the shower stall.
I practically danced around the room, getting ready for my bucket bath. RC was amazed by how happy I was.
And why not? I’d spent two and a half years as a Peace Corps Volunteer taking bucket baths, so I knew exactly what to do. I poured the heated water into the bucket, mixed in cool water from the shower faucet until it reached the desired temperature.
First, I washed and rinsed my face while allowing water to drizzle down my body. After wetting the rest of my body, I lathered, shaved my legs and underarms. Then rinsed off.
As wonderful as my bucket bath was, closing/opening the bathroom door was a harrowing experience.
We could only close the bathroom door if the person outside the bathroom pushed against door while person inside the bathroom turned the hook knob. We did that once. I made too many attempts for my personal comfort to unhook door. RC wouldn’t dare try it.
We found an easier way to close the door without the risk of accidentally imprisoning oneself. The person on the outside of the bathroom pushed the door closed and secured it with a piece of carry-on luggage. The person inside the bathroom could easily push the door open.
I found a bonafide movie channel with sound and watched “Ironman” as a disco across the street raged on. RC requested that I turn down the TV. I advised that she could either hear the movie or disco, muting the TV for her to compare. She chose the TV. I was tempted to wear earplugs except I wouldn’t hear the 5:15 alarm for our morning walk.
While we had our bucket bath adventure, which RC admitted was far more enjoyable than she originally thought it would be, other tour members were at the restaurant with the raging disco. Apparently, those with specialized diets, like my sister, brother-in-law and niece, just wanted food. Not sure if anyone actually danced.
Nonetheless, I didn’t mind going to bed early, given the early wake up time. I stared up at the decorated ceiling until I drifted off to sleep to the sounds of the disco.
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