Ten little monkeys jumping on the bed

I have discovered that as my time lengthens in Africa, I find myself asking the question, “Is this real?” Every other day in Ghana brings another surreal experience. These days have occurred often in my life but never so frequently. Reality has become so dreamlike that I have often wondered if I am sleeping in my bed in Cottonwood Heights. Well, now that that preface is over I will explain myself…

This past weekend I stayed in a monkey village. Yep, a monkey village. A remote West African village in the middle of the jungle. It all began when the group loaded on our bus early Friday morning. We made our way across Ghana into the Volta region where the large Lake Volta resides.  During the four hour drive, I witnessed more of the poverty that seems to strike all areas of Ghana. After traveling to several countries around the world, you may think that I would be more immune to the sights of poverty but this is far from the case.  Every time I drive through those small impoverished communities, a great burst of pain hits my heart like a torpedo.

We were delighted to stretch our legs and exit the confinement of the bus when we arrived at Wli Waterfalls. It was a short hike through the jungle to the falls where we tasted cacoa seeds (the fruit that chocolate comes from) and found enormous spiders in convoluted webs and eight-inch-long millipedes crawling across our path. Suddenly, we heard a deafening roar that increased in volume the closer we got. A humongous waterfall crashed down into a pool of dark green water surrounded by lush trees and plants. The amount and power of the cascade made me feel like a miniscule ant battling a fire hose. We waded through the pool and felt the displaced water cut into our skin. A crowd of bats hovered above the falls. Another scene from Indiana Jones. After our afternoon with Wli Waterfall, we ate a Ghanaian dinner of chicken, rice, noodles, and fresh fruit. I must admit that I am a little apprehensive when I eat chickens over here. The reason-I see thousands of sickly, featherless chickens eating garbage and running around this country. But nevertheless, I still enjoy the food.

The group becoming drenched by Wli Waterfall



Bailey and I after swimming in the pond

We loaded back in the bus for another two hour drive. I was captivated by the beauty of the soft pink and orange sun making its gentle descent beneath the thick foliage. I was a little frightened as we raced through the jungle in the depths of the dark night. I swear I could have seen nearly every star in the stunning night sky. We finally arrived at the monkey village and were warmly welcomed. We were immediately invited to join the village in drumming, chanting, and dancing. I had a blast dancing around in that tight circle, attempting to learn their complicated steps, and shaking my body. If there is one thing that Africans have perfected, it is the art of dance. They are so talented! I was surprised to see that everyone in the village dances. Young people, elderly people, children that can stand, even mothers with babies tied around their backs. Everyone dances. For a brief moment, I felt like I belonged there. Spending every night dancing to African beats with my close family and friends. Tiny black faces popped out from behind the trees, the huts, the benches, blending into the darkness of the night. Suddenly, we found ourselves surrounded by children who were either completely naked or dressed in traditional kente cloths. Megan gave out glow sticks that they graciously accepted. After the dancing was over, we had the choice to stay in a compound or in the natives’ homes. Of course, I chose a native home. Our guide, Emmanuel, directed us to our new home. Bailey and I were taken to a small concrete hut that belonged to an old, single, blind man named Wilson. His home consisted of a door, a small living room, and a couple mini bedrooms. Apparently, he was one of the richer men in the village. I was quite freaked out by the size of the mammoth spiders that crawled around the front door causing me to wonder what I got myself into. Wilson showed Bailey and I our room for the night. I can only attempt to describe. It was enclosed by concrete walls, chicken wire on the windows, heavy curtains over the window that creepily rustled in the warm wind, a mattress that was made of a faulty version of memory foam, and a mysterious trap door that led to who knows where. I honestly felt like I was in a haunted house. We were exhausted but laying down on the mattress revealed that sleep would be a quite difficult to come by. We laughed at the sketchy situation we found ourselves in. Here we were in the middle of the West African jungle, surrounded by hundreds of monkeys, sleeping in a blind man’s house, with no locks on the doors, and spiders the size of our hand. The thought that kept popping up in my mind was that “I don’t even know where I am on a map” ha ha. I laid down on the mattress and felt so strange not even having the option of using a sheet or blanket. We listened to the eerie sounds of bats, goats, monkeys, and chickens encircling our form of shelter. Several hours later, a light sleep ensued until we woke up to go to the wash room. Wilson had assured us that he didn’t mind if we used his small wash room in the middle of the night. The only difficulty…the wash room was located inside his bedroom. Bailey and I both woke up at 3:30 AM to use that wash room. We tiptoed to Wilson’s room and found that he was already in the washroom! We waited a while until we heard him snoring and acted as if he was an aggravated lion trying to get some sleep. Hilarious! I couldn’t sleep at all once we laid back down so instead of counting sheep, I sang “ten little monkeys jumping on the bed” until I fell asleep dreaming that there were actually monkeys jumping on that bed. A little more culturally appropriate.



A young drummer taking a break

Trying to keep up...they are the most excellent dancers!



My bed for the night...Yikes!

We woke up from our shallow slumber at 5:30 to go see the mona monkeys. As we arrived at a clearing in the forest, we began to see one pair of eyes, two pairs of eyes, fifteen pairs of eyes pop up in the trees overhead. Suddenly, we were surrounded by at least a hundred monkeys. Emmanuel gave us bananas which we held firmly in our hands and extended our arms. I was shocked when monkeys began to jump and crawl down my arms to peel open the banana and get a taste. They would fight over our bananas and some of the mischievous ones would even steal a whole banana and run away, banana clutched against their chests, like football quarterbacks! It was astonishing! I never imagined that I would have monkeys perched on my arm eating breakfast. Very surreal!

Feeding the mona monkeys

Emmanuel took us through the jungle to describe that several decades ago, the villagers believed that the monkeys were in touch with God and worshiped them as sacred creatures. A European explorer came in to eradicate their beliefs and spread Christianity which led to the hunting of monkeys and destruction of much of the forest. Luckily years later, another man visited that helped the villagers to construct a new set of beliefs that enabled them to practice religion AND respect the monkeys. They began to protect the monkeys and forest from harm and live in harmony. Now the village is deemed a monkey sanctuary. I thought this was super cool that the natives use and feel united with nature. We were taken to a humble woman’s mud hut who served us breakfast consisting of soggy rice porridge, white bread, and amazing freshly ground hot cocoa. Lacey and I even had the honor of using Christmas mugs. Ever heard the expression “Christmas in July”? Well, we felt we were celebrating the holiday on the surface of the sun as we sang Christmas carols and it was wonderful. The sun had finally come up and allowed us to see the village. Malnourished children with skinny limbs and protruding stomachs ran around butt naked or half dressed. Women stirred in large vats over open fires. Mud huts were constructed of concrete, clay, mud, palm fronds, and sticks. People were sweeping their dirt “yards” with dried palms. Animals roamed free. As I looked at the huts, I had to wonder how sturdy they were and how much protection they provided from natural elements.

 



Home sweet home



Stepping on stones across the muddy trail

Friends are made instantly here

These heavy bowls filled with water are carried on their heads!

Our original plan was to hike a huge mountain to the top of a pretty vista but this was eliminated when we determined that the road was too rough to get there by bus. Instead, a few of us decided to rent bikes and take a ride down the dirt road. I was surprised to find that the bikes were being donated by villagers. This truly touched me that they were willing to give up their personal bikes for my use. While we waited for them to round up enough bikes, we talked to the ladies filling up their large bowls at the well and watched them work. One lady was even carrying a baby on her back while doing this! The women here never fail to amaze me. Once the bikes were ready to go, we began up the dirt road. We passed by villages that seemed to get more authentic every 200 yards. We got to the bridge that is erected above a river that filters out of Lake Volta. The river was very high and causing flooding on the bridge so several people were working very hard. Something that you should know….nearly every Ghanaian I have met has been full of lean muscle. Not from using the Bow Flex machine or having an expensive personal trainer but from manual labor that they engage in EVERY single day just to sustain life. We saw an extremely large black spider that made my heart pound on the bridge. It could jump about an inch and a half off the ground! The greatest thing about the whole bridge scene was watching an elderly woman hacking at the dirt with a pick axe, like a maniac, as she shouted orders in a tribal language to the men standing by. She was old and dressed in a traditional African wrap, yet looked stronger than all the men. I definitely would not get in her way and decided that I would wish to be like her if I lived in that village. On our ride back, we observed many interesting things. First, we saw five young naked children carrying small pots of river water on their heads. Emmanuel challenged me to try so I put the pot on my head and struggled greatly to let go with both hands. The kids laughed at my battle. Emmanuel told us that some times the children have to fetch water 20 times a day depending on the need. The walk alone is 15 minutes one way. Sometimes they will fetch a few loads before school and finish after. They start this chore at the age of five. I think the only chore I had when I was five was to sort the silverware! Next, we stopped at a village to watch a weaver at work. A young man was using an intricate loom to weave beautiful kente cloth. We were told that weavers have to do an apprenticeship for a while before they can begin to work. It takes 6-7 hours just to make one small scarf. I was enthralled by the speed and organized fluidity of his hands and feet that pulled the levers. Incredible! These villages were very far from anything I had ever seen. The closest I had ever come to these sights was a National Geographic magazine. Dirt floors, mud huts with no electricity or running water, everything made from nature, native supplies and tools for cooking, cleaning, and sleeping. We found a hut where a woman was busy cooking. I will try to attempt to explain what I saw but it is difficult. The floor was made of stone. There was a large clay mound with three prongs on the floor that supported a charred black pot over smoldering coals and firewood. The woman was sitting on a wooden stool with her feet up on metal rods that held down the two sides of another charred pot over an open fire. In the pot was a thick, white substance that looked like moist dough. She told us it was banku, a Ghanaian dish made of ground kasava root meal. The woman had a long wooden spoon that she used to rapidly whip the banku around in the pot. She offered to let me try so I took the wooden spoon, sat on the stool, and placed my feet on the rods. Good grief, the banku was a trillion times thicker than it appears and I got tired after a few turns. She got right back to work whipping it up like an Olympian. Apparently, this mixing process takes about 20 minutes and is then mixed with a special stew made of vegetables, plants, and dried fish. I thought of how strange it is to get a strenuous workout just in order to feed your family for one meal. No fast food exists here. Lastly, we examined a mud hut and were told they construct the huts out of a lot of clay and branches of the teake tree. I saw a small foot poking out from a hut an looked inside to find a pretty girl working in the dark. These people are at one with nature and work so hard just to see the next day. I was very amazed and touched by their demanding way of life. We drove back to the village and prepared to leave. We handed out small candy and toys to the curious children. It was awesome to watch their faces light up as they received our petite gifts. Surreal. I honestly believe that one of the fulfilling accomplishments in life is bringing a sincere smile to a child’s face. I was quite sad to say goodbye and watch them chase our bus as we drove away.

The African bike riding crew



Obviously I need more practice!



Starting at the age of five



The intricate kente cloth weaver



A lot harder than it appears



Making banku



Breakfast with the group

The last leg of the trip merely included a very exhausting and smelly drive back to Accra. I very much enjoyed my time in the monkey village. It gave me a greater understanding of Ghanaian life and opened my eyes even wider to the blessings I enjoy each day. I am always fascinated to visualize and experience the ways that others live. I was also glad to see that although life is far from easy for these people, they are happy. Happier than most Americans. And that is a goal we are all striving for :)