"The goat is a wicked animal."

"The goat is a wicked animal." -- Megabuio Ameevor

Goats. In Woe alone, the population easily surpasses the alley cat per capita ratio of any major US city. Tall goats. Old goats. Plump goats. Unbelievably fat goats. They are everywhere. A few are tethered to trees or stumps. Others are “free range,” roaming the streets and the fields, scrapping through anything they can get their mouths on. Granted, this is not feeding time at the local petting zoo. These goats are not overly hyperactive around people, so there is no need to move name tags, wallets, small children, hats, and stuffed monkeys out of reach. They do, however, scavenge everything else. Grass. Trash. Crops. Grave sites. Tro-tro’s do not slow for them. People turn a blind eye. I asked Megabuio how the village addressed the goat surplus.

* If you were a farmer and could capture the culprit, you could take it to the elders of the village (or to District Assembly if the goat caused excessive damage), and they would assess the situation and decide on modes of support and repayment.

* If you intentionally harm a goat, the same punishment will fall on your family. If you cut a goat’s ear as a deterrent, within your family, a child would be born with a disfigured ear. If you brake a goat’s leg, someone in your family will experience the same injury.

Since I’ve been here, I have seen two goats hit by tro-tro’s. One was square rolled over. The one cried and screamed, and no one seemed to mind. All of us yevus, however, just stood there in astonishment. (John had just bought a knife at market, and debated putting it out of its misery. No sooner had we agreed that he would probably not be able to deliver a swift death, the little goat got up and hobbled off crying.) Megabuio’s response to injuring a goat with a car:

* The goat should not have been in the street. There is no punishment for that.

He followed up with a comment on how it would be better if goats were edible, laughed, thanked me for my question, and retired to the office. Ok.--so there we are for goats.

As for Megabuio, he is the CCS site director here in Woe. If you have ever seen The Neverending Story (the first, not the awful successors), imagine Falcor, the Luck Dragon, but 65 years-old and Ghanaian. A guardian, wise in his ways, a bit sarcastic, and full of wit and humor. He is graying a bit, and has a developed cataract in his right eye, but he is always smiling. All of his characteristics reflect his amusement with the world--which is so endearing. He takes our questions with a laugh, and mocks us with a high-pitched “Yes?” when we call him. Thankfully, he takes my curiosities on goats, polygamy, fishing, architecture, and every other topic of Ghanaian life with patience, always sitting down for a discussion and waiting for my questions to exhaust.

Within Ghana, each regional assembly as chosen one clan to induct visitors. “Lucky for you, Megabuio is part of that clan,” he says, always referring to himself in the third person. So I am now, and will always be a member of the Blu clan. As for my Ghanaian name: Aku Korkor (spelled “k“ - backwards ‘c’ - “k” - backwards ‘c’) Sefakor (again a backwards ‘c’).

Aku: Wednesday born Korkor: second consecutive daughter within the family Sefakor: the ‘truth’ consoles

I am learning Ewe (ey-wey), slowly but surely. The women in the market cheer when I respond correctly to “Yevu, Afua?” (White person, how are you?), and clap and hoot when I ask how they are in return, “Ey, mufua. Wo ha efua?). The kids still yell and wave, but once we get through “How are you?” and “What is your name?” we have tapped the extent of their English. Although the kids on the beach were probably right, I had a interesting time yesterday trying to explain to them that my shoes were not the safest place to keep dead fish and crabs while they played.

* * * *

There was a party in the compound last night for some of the volunteers who are leaving. Including all of us, the drumming group, and people from the community, there were easily 150+. In the Volta Region, everyone dances the Agbadza (known amongst the volunteers as ‘the chicken dance’).

* bend your knees and get your butt out a bit (you will be in a slight squat) * with the music, alternate picking up your feet (not stomping or full removal from the ground, just keeping time) * arms: this is the part that throws everyone. Angle your arms so your elbows are behind you and your hands are about waist height. There are three parts, that work in conjunction with one another. 1. Back: alternate in time pulling in (pulling your shoulder blades together) and pushing out (arching your back like a cat) 2. Elbows: with your back, your elbows will move back and forth (imagine you are holding a broom handle behind you, parallel to the ground, and your elbows can slide along that axis) 3. Hands: held just in front and along side your torso, move your hands from mid-chest down to waist height. Your hands will be fairly relaxed, although some dancers do add snaps of flair.

So, all together: You are squatting, alternating your feet, shifting between two positions with your torso. 1. Back tucked in (shoulder blades together) - elbows back and together - hands up 2. Back pushed out (shoulder blades apart) - elbows apart - hands down

The villagers really enjoy watching us (the Yevu’s) dance. We are not very good at coordinating all of the elements. We are all equally clueless. You can dance, you can get laughed at by a huge crowd of people, but you still don’t know how ridiculous you actually look. I think we’re all too nice to one another to be honest. J Some of us can’t move our torso but flap our arms “in time.” Others don’t have the back-up-forth-down combination right, and end up moving swinging bent rigid arms forward and back. I kept getting called out last night: small children, some of the nurses from the hospital, a woman from the village. My quads were burning but every time I sat down, someone else would pull me up. (The Agbadza is almost like a continuous wall sit, except that you get to move your arms to music and it never stops. Feel the burn!) After an hour or so of dancing, Megabuio stopped dancing for the farewell ceremony. We each had to stand up and introduce ourselves in Ewe. I was the last in line, and was cheered when I stood up. (There were a few nudges and chicken wings made in the crowd.) Then Megabuio was talking about our being a part of the community (in Ewe, so I‘ve been told).

Some of us are here for three weeks… Some of us are here for five months. (Whoops from the crowd.) Will the five month individual please stand up. Sefakor has only been here for three weeks. Look at how she dances: with such grace and confidence. Imagine where she will be after 22. (Again, whoops from the crowd.) She will be a native very soon.

Now, when I was taking ballroom, I had extreme difficulties with “style and grace,” clumping around on the floor as best I could. Little did I know it would just take a chicken dance for me to find my niche. Chicken dance = grace. It’s almost an oxymoron. So much for my being inconspicuous in a crowd.

For a quick bout on my placement, since I haven’t really written about that yet. For all of my concerns, I will be fine. Woe is not so developed that I have deficiencies I can‘t address. I have broken down my placement into research stages, so that even when I leave, someone will be able to continue the work.

* materials study - photographic documentation - written description: quality, process * map of Ghana - map material orgin: manufacturing process, transportation, etc. - list imported materials/orgins * document tools and methods of construction - tools and uses - history + evolution * research building archetypes * construct a village plan - label archetypes - identify zones (if possible) - population - future growth, etc. * individual structure/compound study - type - location - materials - residents (including qualitative analysis) - plan/section/dimensions

I just met with the country director yesterday, and he is really happy with my plan. I am heading to District Assembly and Ghana Telecom early next week to compile any village plans and drawings they have on file. School gets out in a few weeks, and Besa is going to organize a ‘troop’ of high school students to help me survey. He will look for students interested in planning and architecture, so this survey and research can also be an educational experience.

Things are going well. I am excited to get moving. It is a little weird, since the group I came in with is leaving. We started with a house of 16 volunteers, and as of Monday, we will only be two. New volunteers will come in next week, but I’m not sure how long they are staying. “I am no longer a Christian. I am a Godest.” --Besa