As promised, I will describe the orphanage.
The grounds are enclosed by an outer wall, maybe six feet high. Inside, three cinderblock and cement buildings make up the compound.
Here is a quick description of the building. I tried to insert a picture to help, but it will not work. Sorry.
The Main House: Everyone lives in this building. The first floor is shared by the children and Mama and a common sitting area doubles as Mama's sowing room as well as a TV lounge. The second floor is reserved for volunteers. Doors line the long corridor and one bathroom is shared by all. Josh and I have taken his old room, Room 1, which has a double bed (Josh's) and a bunk bed (I took the bottom). At the top of the staircase a sitting area is filled by a long table, two cushioned chairs, a small shelf filled with old games and school materials and, finally, a bookshelf with a small collection of donated books. This is where we take our meals and come to relax every evening.
The Kitchen: Self explanatory, I would think. Although, I guess it is very different than any kitchen I've seen back home. The room is bare except for a sink, a camping-style cooking range, and a large cauldron-style cooking pot. Definitely not the full kitchen one would think is required in order to feed 30-odd people on a daily basis.
The Dining Hall: A small doorway separates the kitchen and dining hall and much like the previous room there isn't much to look at. A long, wooden table with bench seats is where the children take all of their meals. After dinner, when all of the plates have been washed under the spouts of one of the large water tanks on the premises, this room becomes a study hall. The children bring out their schoolbooks and we help them finish any homework they may have for the night.
Cheeney's Room: Cheeney is the oldest one here, having just graduated from high school not even one week ago, and therefore, gets her own room away from everyone else. If I had to describe her in one word I think I would choose “grown-up.” She appears older than her age, mostly because she has the attitude and whit or a twenty-odd year old women. More to come later.
Although I haven't used the outdoor shower yet, Josh has whenever the water decides to stop running (which is often).
By this point the children's very distinct personalities are no longer a mystery to me. I could probably spend a whole blog post describing each but that would take me into next year, at least. So, I think what I will do is describe individuals when certain events, injuries and accidents occur. More to come, I promise.
THE FUNERAL
Josh and I had decided to visit Doctor, the man who runs one of the local private hospital, called St. Patrick's. Doctor is an older man, maybe in his very late fifties or very early sixties. He wears thick glasses which make his already large eyes appear even larger and at times he mumbles, making it hard for me to follow along in conversations. We sat around and spoke about the clinic, about the Cuban doctors that had left the clinic on very short notice (some tension here), and finally, after two beers Doctor stood up and announced that we should get going if we were going to make it the funeral on time. Josh and I just looked at one another, a little shocked at the pseudo-invitation, but we both silently concluded: I guess we are going to a funeral...
A few weeks before leaving for Ghana there was an article in the New York Times about Ghanian funerals. With a large diaspora living in NYC it seems that they have become quiet popular weekend events in the city. The more I read the less funeral-like the events sounded. On average, the funeral is the most expensive “purchase” in a Ghanian's life – or, afterlife. More is spent on the elaborate, handmade caskets than the cost of a car. Last year in Kpando, one man's family had a brand new house constructed just for the funeral and guests included Nigerian movie stars. You see, death is celebrated on a scale we reserve for weddings and graduation parties.
The funeral we attended was in honor of one of Doctor's former patients, a woman, who had recently passed away. By the time we arrived the funeral had already been in full swing for three days. Two large tents overflowed with guests, some eating, some dancing in a large circle to the rhythm of drumming, and some just talking. Our party was led to a patio and a table and chairs appeared out of a back room. It seemed that Doctor was a 'guest of honor' because not long after we sat down bottles of expensive whisky and gin were brought to our table and drinks were poured. Then, one by one, the family members came over and shook our hands, starting with Doctor, and some words were exchanged.
If I had to describe the atmosphere, I would liken it to a graduation party back in the States. Purely and and simply, it was just one big party. Very anti-funeral... All around people were laughing and dancing and most of the women were dressed in matching, bright yellow and red dresses. I just sat there and took it all it.
As we left, Doctor told us to come by the clinic the following day. There was a surgery scheduled and he promised it would be very interesting...and it was...
STAY TUNED.
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