So it was Fire festival this week. From what I hear, it is a major festival… thinking that my chief is the paramount (big cahuna) chief, I thought it would be great in my village. Nope. Wow. It was so lame. I was expecting men to be fling fire around while dancing and women to be joining in as needed. Instead it was a few men throwing fire for a minute and leaving and women chanting and dancing for like ten minutes. Okay, they do that almost every day. Not anything new.
The only difference there was the fact that I was there with another Peace Corps volunteer. Only in Ghana (Africa, probably) could a white person be stared at by children and older people for over an hour when a festival of dancing is going on. You thought you would feel awkward with people staring at you on stage… think about being stared at watching people on stage. Don’t do something inappropriate… they ARE watching.
So. I found out that the Dagombas (which is more than half my village- but we are still in Gonja land) celebrate Fire Festival like crazy. Someone in Tamale died. Which means it was way more exciting. Good to know for next year.
Yes… Running towards the cannon fire is a good thing here. Gun fire is a good thing. Unless (well, they still celebrate) it is symbolizing death (which I cannot tell the difference still). Needless to say, almost everything I was taught about survival in the U.S. is completely irrelevant here. Examples: hitchhiking, running towards gunfire, playing with fire, burning everything you own and sticking it down a pit of feces, sleeping with a candle burning, sticking things in sockets (yes, I have been shocked), etc.
I know this would be hard for you all to believe… but I am always having some sort of wound here. Once one is healed (or almost) another comes into existence somehow. Either I fall, my dog bites me, I burn my hand, or bugs attack me like crazy. By the time I finish I figure my whole skin will be a pink color from scares all over. I should constantly be on antibiotics. It would actually be adequate to my life.
One thing I learned the past few weeks: being a Peace Corps volunteer means you become really good friends with other volunteers. I came thinking I would not know a lot of them. Or that I should not because I would not be doing my job. But the truth is, I need them (just as much as they all need the rest of us). Ghanaians, yes, I do have friends who are native. But even with them you cannot be yourself. You might love and like some of them but you still might not be able to tell them about the real you or let them know about your experiences (not like they would understand a lot of it). So having friends to go to that have the same background (not really if you only take American experiences into consideration) is a major necessity.
Almost everyone here is like me but not. It is hard to explain. So I will try. They are from all over the country. They have different degrees. Different families (again, mine is abnormally normal… yay!). Things we have in common: we want to help people, travel, we don’t care about money (most the time), we have no idea what to do with our lives, and (I am sure there is more)...
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