A Lively Minded Journey Pt. 2

It was a small room about three or four square meters in size and with nothing to sit on but the bed. The man himself and a small boy who came from the school with me were lying on the linoleum-covered floor. The man motioned me to the bed, partly shielded by a curtain and I sat on the edge of it. The roof was leaking right at my feet and he placed a tin bowl there to collect the drops. 

I would have liked to look around the room but it felt disrespectful to get too curious about my benevolent host’s domestic space. At first, I was uneasy about being in a strange room in a faraway village where I could not speak a word of the language. After a few minutes, however, I chided myself for being stupid. Villagers are typically decorous towards their children’s teachers and it is probably the same courtesy that they were extending to me. How could I meet such a kind gesture with suspicion and mistrust? I, therefore, looked up at my host and smiled. He returned my smile and said a few words to me. Noticing my confusion, he changed into the Twi language and asked why I didn’t immediately run into the village when the rain became evident. I replied that I thought the teachers would return so I was waiting for them. We both laughed at this. Then the man dosed off and I was left sitting on the edge of the bed, still disinclined to look around me. Later, a boy of about 15 walked in, half-naked and wet. He went behind the curtain and took off his wet pants. He sat beside me on the bed, took a container of pomade, and rubbed it into his glowing dark skin. He then put on dry pants and taking the wet ones outside on the veranda, squeezed the water out and hung them on the beams to dry.

I was itching to look around but was determined not to give in to the temptation to get curious. I however glanced up at the roof and noticed that a kind of ceiling was made with fertilizer bags. A window-like opening was created in it for accessing the roof above. The walls were covered with curtains made from old bedspreads. I was getting lost in this when the man shouted. I looked at him almost in alarm but was relieved when I realized it was directed at children playing outside in the rain. In fact, he wasn’t even looking in my direction. Nevertheless, I immediately brought out my phone and concentrated on playing a game so as to prevent my eyes from roaming. And still, the rain poured. It was now about an hour since it started and I began to worry about the streams that we would need to cross to get home. I knew I could swim and was not afraid to dare but still, this was uncharted waters for me and I couldn’t tell what other dangers were in the stream apart from the current. I calmed myself with the thought that at least I would be daring the crossing with five others or spending the night with them in the village if we must. Suddenly I realized I wasn’t hearing the sound of rain on the roof and I looked up. Yes, the rain had ended. As suddenly as it had started. 

After a few more minutes, I rose to leave. My host opened his eyes sleepily when I moved and I turned to him, said 'thank you', and stepped outside. Several children hurriedly put on their school uniforms and followed me. A couple of them put on wet uniforms and I explained to one of the adults in the compound that, it was okay for the children to put away the wet uniforms and put on ordinary dry clothes. I knew there wouldn’t be any effective school activity anyway. This was relayed to the kids and they went back to change into dry clothes whilst I walked out alone. I didn’t even take the teachers' bags.

I found the DTM emerging from another house. When he saw me, he waved and came over. Apparently, he and the teachers were enquiring about me from nearby houses. They had been in and out of three houses before they saw me. Together, we walked over to the school compound with several children. There we discussed the way forward and whereas I was thinking the rainfall was an “Act of God” (AoG) and hence the session could be cancelled and rescheduled, the DTM was of the view that the rainfall was a blessing as it had brought all the people home from their farms, giving us an opportunity to get enough people to attend the community meeting. 

All the children were sent back to inform their parents that the meeting would go ahead. The village crier was also sent to pass the information around. After about 10 minutes, people began arriving. But they were all men. In a short time, we had over 30 men present and not a single woman. I alerted the DTM and he explained to me that the women were now using the opportunity to cook and hence their absence. He called the teachers together to discuss the matter. They eventually called together a couple of young men and explained the need for enough women to attend the meeting. About 10 young men moved back into the village to explain that the meeting requires both men and women to attend. We had to wait another 20 minutes before the women began to arrive. Eventually, we had over sixty people present with more than 30 women. The meeting then started. 

At first, the teachers wanted to do a ‘summary’, but when I overheard the head teacher telling the DTM that they already knew the challenges of education in the community, I immediately intervened. I advised them to stick to the lesson plan saying that it contained all the challenges they think they know about education in the community. “You will find it easier and more systematic than giving a general speech about education challenges,” I told them. The DTM agreed and they began. 

The weather was cold and I could feel myself shivering. Many of the people were in sweaters and pullovers but I was still in my wet shirt. Whenever I felt too cold, I would stand up and walk around the horse-shoe shape gathering once or twice before returning to my seat. After about an hour, however, the sun came out and it got warmer. The meeting went well. The community members were very responsive and asked many questions or responded to questions. At first, the women were quiet and I told the DTM that he should alert the trainers to encourage them to speak up since they would be the ones to teach at the play scheme. This was done and eventually, they warmed up and joined the discussion.

 

When it concluded a little after 1pm, I was eager to begin our return journey but some community members had other ideas. Word soon got to me that we were invited to the house of the landlord of the head teacher. So we went straight to this house and were ushered into a room. I was told it used to be the head teacher’s room but is now used as a store room for books and charts and other school supplies. However, the window was only covered by a cloth curtain and rain from the east is easily blown into the room. In this room, chairs were set around a table and we were asked to sit down. A woman and a young girl then brought in four covered bowls and set them before us. I might have known. I muttered under my breath. The man of the house came in after the table was set and informed us that he had something small prepared for us to eat before we go. Turning to the corner, he pointed to three tubers of yam and said those were for me to take home. I am not a stranger to the hospitality of rural folk but I had not expected this. The teachers and the DTM were obviously not as surprised as I was and when I mentioned that it was too much, they assured me it would have been much more if it was harvesting time. I thanked the man profusely and he left us to discover the content of the bowls.

 

Opening them we found the two big ones were filled with pounded yam (fufu) and the two smaller ones held the soup. There were also four bottles of 5-star energy drinks to quench our taste. I was hungry at the time but the balls of pounded yam were so big I secretly feared that the man might have wasted his resources. In hindsight, I can assure you that it was not the case. In my culture, it is customary for guests not to eat all the food set before them. I, therefore, rose halfway through the first bowl. This did not seem to be the case there however and not a morsel of fufu or drop of soup was left. Then we said our thanks and departed.

Back in the centre of the village, I was busy buying two bowls of gari whilst the DTM and the teachers were talking to a man who had walked up to them. When I returned, I was informed the man had brought some tubers of yam for me! Oh no! This is too much, I protested. But I also realized that though I may not want to encourage it, it was too late to refuse it. I had not said a word at the meeting except in whispers to the DTM and so I could not understand their generosity towards me. When I mentioned it, the teachers and the DTM assured me that just being there was inspiration enough.

Having said our thanks, the head teacher packed the 7 tubers of yam behind his motorbike and tied them up. Then we set off. One of the teachers who was riding alone led the way, followed by the head teacher who had a passenger and my precious yams tied at the back. The teachers had told us the story of a man who came to the village, was given 15 tubers of yam which he tied behind his motorbike and rode all the way to Kpassa only to find there were only 3 tubers left! The rest had fallen all along the road during the bumpy ride. Therefore the DTM said we should follow after our yams so as to keep an eye on them. Another teacher riding alone was at the rear.

 

If I have described the ride from the stream to the village in the morning as rough, I apologize. The return ride was way worse! The usual twist and turns, muddy portions and thick vegetation bordering the road was made worse by the recent rain. The lead rider was our compass in navigating the track. A couple of times he got stuck and we all had to stop and wait for him to pull his motorbike out. Upon all that, we were still riding at incredible speed. The motorbikes and our own feet were a fine mess by the time we arrived at the stream.

This time, more water had gathered from the rain and the stream was overflowing. We all stopped at the bank and the lead rider took off his trousers and waded into the middle of the stream to check the depth. It was waist-deep! He soon returned to prepare for the crossing. Obviously, we could not now just pull up our trousers to cross. We had to take them off. And so we did. And we had to carry the bikes across too. We pushed each bike mid-way through the stream and then lifted the back up. There were four bikes and 6 of us. Dividing 3 to a bike, each group made two trips to carry the bikes across the stream. Interestingly, this part of our journey appeared to have been more interesting to us than the other parts.  Instead of crossing in fear and trembling, it was with much-animated joy. One of the teachers even went back and took a dive in the deep part of the stream for sheer pleasure and for a moment I contemplated joining him.

 

Safely across, we hastily dressed up, mounted our motorbikes, and took off again. In another 20 minutes we were back in the village at the junction and this time, we went left instead of right, where we came from in the morning. It was explained to me that we were using a different route which would be longer but would avoid the second stream. And so we arrived at Kpassa by this second route. True, we did not cross a stream again but of pools and puddles, rills and gullies, bumps and jolts, we had more than enough to spare. It was after we arrived back on the main road of the town that I pulled my trousers down to cover my shins. 

Yours Truly crossing the stream

The return journey had taken less time than we used in the morning. This was not because we came by a shorter route but because our speed was different. When at last the head teacher and his colleague stopped in the town and handed over my yam and gari, I couldn’t help commenting on our speed and adventures along the way. We shared a short laugh and departed, each eager to get home. Back in my hotel, I tried to put all this down whilst it was still fresh in my mind. I only succeeded in capturing the main points. I could feel the jolts in all my joints and bed had never been more inviting than it was that evening. 

It did not take me one minute to fall asleep. I woke the next morning feeling achy but it wasn't anything a little stretching couldn't iron out. As I stretched, I couldn’t help telling myself; this was a lively-minded journey, a journey after my own heart! And I am ready to do it all over again.

I am told that on a coming judgment day, God would be asking everyone to give an account of their life. If he would have the time to listen, I would certainly be telling him this and many other tales. I am sure if any of the angels were to eavesdrop, they would be envying me the thrill and the satisfaction of such an adventure!

If you missed the beginning of the tale, follow this link to read it

• Expectations of the day
• A journey into the East
• The jungle race
• The village and the school
• The missing Teachers, and
• The Rainstorm