Cultural Integration is EXHAUSTING

Man oh man, what a crazy week. For those of you who know anything about Ghanaian culture, all I have to say is: Damba + Fulani issues(X2) + Nurses tryin to get me involved in the teachers sleeping with the students = Oh my gosh, I thought I might die from stimuli overload.
Damba- only the best festival/celebration in the Northern Region. In Gonja land, the major celebration took place in Damango. Rumor had it that all the chiefs were going and I would not miss anything here, so I hopped on a FREE (air conditioned- what? Yes, I said it!!) ride to join my village there. Although I missed the beginning of the festival (slaughtering the cow and opening prayers and whatnot), I have to say I was amazed at the magnitude of the festival. When walking up to the paramount chief’s palace (the head of all the chiefs in Gonja land- used to live in Kusawgu but got promoted… I might have to explain the cheiftancy rules when I fully understand it), I was reminded of festivals in the states. There were tents, speakers, stands where food and drinks were sold, and even two moon bounces for the children. Again: what? Yes, that is correct, they have moon bounces- I took video if you do not believe me!!
Back to the Damba. I learned it is to celebrate the New Year. A little late on their part, but let’s face it, most of the people do not even know what year it is let alone the month or day. No one ever knows when the Damba will take place (something having to do with the moon, but I think it is more when the chief wants it, the chief gets it), therefore, I did not know it was going to happen till a few days before. Like I said, by the time I got there, I already missed about a day of celebration. The day I arrived, there was a lot of speeches, a huge snake wrapped around a JuJu man, lots of drinking (by the mere fact that there were a few volunteers together), and canons and guns being shot off. All the survival instincts learned over the past 24 years- out the window. Going towards the canon and gun shots is a good thing here. Man, I am going to get into some trouble when I get back to the states (what do you mean you are supposed to run away from those loud noises?!). Although there was not much going on that night, we did not get to bed till about four in the morning. Eesh. Thought those days were behind me. The next morning, we were up and out of bed by six (yes, in the morning). We got food, took baths, and went to see what was going on at the chief’s palace. Not much. So, we went to greet my chief (who was once in Yappei, which is where a current volunteer lives- again, I will have to explain later). After that, we had lunch and went back to take a nap and bath again to cool down (hot season is not fun). Around six at night, we went back to the chief’s palace, greeted and saw the inside of the Paramount chief’s palace, and got dinner. Nothing was going on again, so we searched for a pitto place (local brew- kind of like tea but with alcohol in it…). After that, we went back to the chief’s palace and started dancing! From about 10 P.M. to 3 A.M. we danced in big conga lines. At about three, we decided to go back to the house to gather our things and wait for the bus to come at five. Interestingly enough, the bus came and I got to my site and in bed by seven (it should have taken us three or four hours to get home). That was Damba in Damango.
Even though I was exhausted, I decided I should not sleep all day and go to the clinic to see my nurse friends (especially since I needed water badly). Upon arriving, I found a police officer there and a Fulani woman. Evidently, she was attacked by another Fulani man, who was now in the jail in my village. Since they did not know the severity of her injuries, they could not post bail (not like they could afford it) or start the trial. I do not know the whole story, but that was the gist of what I got. Along with that, another Fulani man was injured in a bicycle, moto, knife accident. From what I gathered, the injured Fulani was on a bicycle with his knife when a moto (also driven by a Fulani) ran into him. Somehow, the knife ended up in the Fulani’s hand, injuring it pretty badly. The issue now is that the injured Fulani cannot work (they are all farmers and cow herders- kind of need their hands) and wants the guy who was on the moto to pay him A LOT of money. Fulanis are not rich, in case you were wondering. They are looked down upon by Ghanaians. They are nomads and basically considered servants to the Ghanaians.
Well, I was supposed to have a smaller Damba celebration yesterday at my site. Of course, it did not happen. But here is the run down of how it would go: the chief would slaughter a cow in front of his house, all the villagers would go around the village and round up the elders (somehow I am included as an elder), and we all would dance-march over to the chief’s house. There, we would continue to dance all night. Same song. Same beat. I wish I could record it. Amazing how entertained they are by just two steps in a dance and the same beat all night! I love it! ALL NIGHT.
Last part of the equation: the nurses talking to me about the girls sleeping with their teachers. If you all have heard, that is a touchy situation in Africa. I refuse to even react to it. I wish I was braver about that, but I guess I am more selfish than some people. I should have told the nurses that THEY need to handle that. Not me. No matter how much I try to be a part of the community and how many friends I have, I will never be as comfortable to touch on that issue as they would be. That is a citizen issue, not an issue a volunteer could tackle.