The longer I live in Ghana, the more often I see numerous
connections between this little hot African county and my home-land, the big
and cold former USSR. How so, you may
ask? Well, here are just a few examples:
·
Children roam free! When I was growing up on
Sakhalin Island, the entire town was like a big playground for me, my brother
and our friends. We visited each others’ wooden cabins, played in abandoned
jeeps strewn around the local airfield, dug giant snow tunnels and picked
cloudberries in the swamp, just off the rickety boardwalk. Our adult neighbors
would watch over us, of course - especially when our parents wanted to sneak
out for a movie at a local “culture club.” By watching I mean cracking a window
open to listen if we made any distressing noises while we slept.
Well, Ghanaian kids roam free too. They
invent their own games, make their own toys from rubbish, watch over one
another and go from house to house to get some food and keep themselves
entertained. They’re super-independent and tough; nothing around here is baby-
or child-proof; they always play with fire or sharp objects that would cause a lengthy
lawsuit in America. What am I trying to say? Well, when I was growing up, I
was also playing with sharp objects (there was plenty of broken glass in those
abandoned jeeps), but somehow I stayed alive and didn’t maim myself or my
friends. Yes, I’ve got some injuries - like a scar on my foot from when I fell
off my bike, or a giant bruise on my butt when I fell from a metal swing (metal
and wood were the only materials from which all playgrounds were constructed
back home), but scars build character. And they have stories to tell. I guess I’m kind of
glad I didn’t grow up in a cushioned and baby-proof America…
·
Sharply defined gender roles. In Ghana, men
clear land for farming, women fetch water and cook. If a man is seen helping
his wife carry groceries at the market, he will be made fun of. Women take care
of children; men take care of building a house for their families. Yet both men
and women pound fou-fou with equal zeal.
Russian culture also has these roles
spelled out since the early childhood. I was always to help my mom with
housework like doing dishes and cleaning rooms, while my brothers melted
plastic toy soldiers in the yard. Just kidding – I was there with them J. But in any case, I
was doing more housework than my brothers because I was a girl.
Russian influence. I’ve met numerous
Ghanaian and other African nationals who studies in Russia or Ukraine and could
converse with me in my native tongue. It’s wonderful! This is why my friend
Abdullai is so dear to me – he can even quote some Russian movies. There are
also a lot of my former compatriots – the other day I met a lovely
pediatrician from Rostov who has been living here for over 20 years, and is
fluent in Twi, Russian and Ghanaian English.
Speaking of movies... My lil’ village life
continues to amaze me. I went to a local barber Koffi (he is also a beekeeper,
but that’s another story), who has a TV in his shop, which plays movies for
kids. So, here I am waiting for my turn, minding my own business, and all of a
sudden I noticed that the city in the movie looked painfully familiar. When I
looked closer I realized that it was…Moscow. Yes, Koffi was showing a Russian
movie – it was called “Black Lightning”, and it was
about a flying car (“Volga” to be precise).
That was the most nostalgic haircut I’ve gotten so far! It’s a small
world after all.
