Friday, May 8, 2015

The Irony of Fate

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. 

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