Some funny things and funerals

Im not sure if I’ve mentioned before that I have chickens. My Peace Corps assigned project is chickens, so it makes since that I would have some, right? Anyway I have ten Cockerels. That means their purpose is to grow big and then be eaten.  They are confined to their pen at this time, and they are about 14 weeks old. I think they are ok to sell or eat at around 24 weeks. My chickens are pretty scary. Whenever I go to feed them, which is three times a day, they all peck at my fingers, hands, and arms. They all run over to the door when they see me coming and get really aggressive. Today they were jumping at the door so that when I opened it two of them got out. When I grabbed them and put them back in the chickens inside were pecking them too! They act like they are starving…they are seriously deranged. Also, they make a lot of the same noises as the velociraptors from Jurassic Park, which doesn’t help. They are all white with empty light blue eyes, and kind of remind me of the evil chicken from courage the cowardly dog. I cannot wait for these chickens to grow up so that I can eat them!

Something I didn’t know before I came to Ghana is that by plucking out tail feathers of male chickens, they will grow bigger. The same is true for castrating the other livestock. I walked out of my room the other day to see my Ghanaian mom holding down one of the baby sheep so that they could perform this operation. They used a straight up razorblade, which they normally use for cutting hair and nails. It was seriously disgusting. I gagged a bit as I watched them finish and managed to say “Wow that was gross”. The vet’s response was “Yes now it will grow fast”, which made me laugh. They don’t know the word gross around my village. He thought I said grow fast.

I have been violently ill for the past week. Seriously my stomach hates living in Ghana. I am certain my potential life span is being shortened by serving in the Peace Corps, but it’s so rewarding! Right?

There was another funeral in my area. This time it was in the next village over, the one behind the river. It is so weird that when you’re living in Ghana and you heard thumping bass all night long, you know it’s a funeral. Funerals go from Friday to Sunday, three days long, all day. I still having exactly attended the entirety of one so I can’t describe all that goes on, but I went to this one on Saturday. Everyone comes out, family and people nearby. A lot of people come from out of town, they come from Somanya (the Krobo capital) or Tema or Accra. Its kind of annoying because I am trying to attend the funeral to show respect and everyone from out of town is so surprised to see a white person, so everyone is looking at me and trying to talk to me or at least call me Obruni. And I’m just trying to be a part of my community. So tons of people come, and they turn the house where the person died into the place for the funeral. They put up a frame of sticks and use palm fronds to make sort of an awning, and everyone sits in plastic chairs facing the coffin, which is in the center of everything. The chiefs and elders and important people are behind the coffin. They rent huge loudspeakers and have a microphone. Because it’s a large gathering, people bring all kinds of food and drinks to sell. This is also one of the only times I see a lot of people drinking alcohol. The teens/young adults always make it out to the funerals. Its kind of sad it is this way but funerals are a big event for people in the village. There is not a lot that goes on in the village, and often times you don’t meet new people if you don’t travel. At night at the funeral they play music for dancing so its kind of like a time to meet someone and hook up. One time when I was going out to dance someone said to me, “Awesi are you going to the funeral? Don’t love some boy!” And one of my favorite farmers, when I asked him where he met his wife he said it was at a funeral. I was not feeling well so I only attended this one for a short time on Saturday morning, and didn’t get the chance to dance. What I did see was the part where they bring the immediate family up to the coffin to cry. It was really awful. I didn’t really know the woman, but I did greet her every time I rode by on my bicycle. I do see her husband all the time and we always talk.  One of the children, a grown woman, kept wailing, “Ohh my mother who gave birth to me!” and It was hard to watch. I was tearing up. After this goodbye they go and bury the body, putting the coffin in the back of a trotro. The family rides in another trotro and everyone else walks to the cemetery, which is actually just a certain place where they bury people. I didn’t go this time but I went last time there was a funeral and I was horrified to find that people stand all of the other graves (which are mounds all around) while they are burying the next person. It can also be difficult getting the coffin into the ground by manpower. Funerals are definitely different here than the ones I’ve been to in the U.S. They are a sad time, but also a certain excitement hangs in the air for the night.