but it lacked the rain forest’s primordial complexity.
Minessi lived in one of the small stuccoed houses gathered around the center of town. She could usually be found in the communal courtyard outside her hut, washing laundry or preparing
fufu.
The women of Afranguah made
fufu
by pounding boiled cassava or yam in a large bowl, made from a scooped-out tree stump, until it acquired a smooth elasticity. While the Ghanaians loved
fufu
, most foreigners found it an acquired taste, due to the peculiar consistency. The proper way to eat it was to take a fistsized handful and swallow it down without chewing. Since doing this produced a gag reflex in the uninitiated, we novices took smaller bites, chewing it like gum until it broke apart.
The women threw their entire bodies into the pounding
.
Using heavy wooden pestles four to five feet long, they repeatedly flung their arms high above their heads and brought them down with tremendous force. Each time I watched Minessi do this, I was struck by the extraordinary grace and dignity of her movement. While most of the women in the village were short and stocky, Minessi’s figure was tall and tapered, with wide hips and a long, elegant neck. Her arms were lean, sinewy ropes. Her pounding looked like a ritual expulsion—a fierce, elegant dance.
On a typical day, Minessi would look up from her pounding as I approached. She’d smile her languid, unhurried smile and unstrap Yao from her back. Her near-black skin was smooth and lustrous; her wide-set eyes tilted slightly upward. It was obvious where Yao got his looks. The schoolteacher Amoah, an effusive, genial man whose hut was next to Minessi’s, would greet me each day with a warm cry of “Sistah Korkor, you are welcome!” Amoah’s three children would run up to me, and we’d trade exuberant greetings in Fanti. Then I’d sit on the low stool in front of Minessi’s hut, take Yao in my arms, and rock him, singing softly in his ear. He’d explain a few things to me in his own language, a kind of universal babyspeak, which resembled neither English nor Fanti so much as the call of a rapturous bird.
Minessi spoke a bit more English than the other women in Afranguah, which is to say that her vocabulary extended beyond basic greetings. Our conversations went something like this:
MINESSI: You like Yao!
ME: Yes, I do.
MINESSI: You like Yao too much!
Then she’d begin to laugh. Her laughter was like a thunder-storm, starting as a rumble, low and distant, occasionally building to a full-on roar. Soon I’d be laughing with her, and Yao too. The three of us spent a lot of time like that, laughing together for no reason at all.
“Minessi, listen,” I said one day, holding Yao’s mouth close to her ear. His breathing was raspy and labored. Minessi listened for a moment, then looked at me, confused.
I imitated the breathing, exaggerating it for effect. She gave me a long, wary look, then shrugged. I let the subject drop, but not before kissing Yao’s silky forehead and whispering in his ear that he was trying to scare me, and he should cut it out right away.
Two days later, as Minessi took her daily stroll past the construction site, she stopped and gestured to me. I set down the short pile of cement blocks I was balancing precariously on my head and skipped over. She looked at me for a moment with an anxious, indecisive expression, then whispered in my ear that she would like some money to buy medicine for Yao. Could I bring some to her house tonight?
Sure, I told her, how much did she need?
But she didn’t want to talk about it now, in front of everyone. She hurried away before I had a chance to kiss Yao.
When I arrived at Minessi’s house that afternoon, she was neither pounding nor sweeping. She was sitting on the front step, quite still, with Yao in her lap. Amoah saw me approach and called out “Sistah Korkor!” as usual. Hearing this, Minessi sprang up and dragged a stool out of her hut for me to sit on. She then
Minessi lived in one of the small stuccoed houses gathered around the center of town. She could usually be found in the communal courtyard outside her hut, washing laundry or preparing
fufu.
The women of Afranguah made
fufu
by pounding boiled cassava or yam in a large bowl, made from a scooped-out tree stump, until it acquired a smooth elasticity. While the Ghanaians loved
fufu
, most foreigners found it an acquired taste, due to the peculiar consistency. The proper way to eat it was to take a fistsized handful and swallow it down without chewing. Since doing this produced a gag reflex in the uninitiated, we novices took smaller bites, chewing it like gum until it broke apart.
The women threw their entire bodies into the pounding
.
Using heavy wooden pestles four to five feet long, they repeatedly flung their arms high above their heads and brought them down with tremendous force. Each time I watched Minessi do this, I was struck by the extraordinary grace and dignity of her movement. While most of the women in the village were short and stocky, Minessi’s figure was tall and tapered, with wide hips and a long, elegant neck. Her arms were lean, sinewy ropes. Her pounding looked like a ritual expulsion—a fierce, elegant dance.
On a typical day, Minessi would look up from her pounding as I approached. She’d smile her languid, unhurried smile and unstrap Yao from her back. Her near-black skin was smooth and lustrous; her wide-set eyes tilted slightly upward. It was obvious where Yao got his looks. The schoolteacher Amoah, an effusive, genial man whose hut was next to Minessi’s, would greet me each day with a warm cry of “Sistah Korkor, you are welcome!” Amoah’s three children would run up to me, and we’d trade exuberant greetings in Fanti. Then I’d sit on the low stool in front of Minessi’s hut, take Yao in my arms, and rock him, singing softly in his ear. He’d explain a few things to me in his own language, a kind of universal babyspeak, which resembled neither English nor Fanti so much as the call of a rapturous bird.
Minessi spoke a bit more English than the other women in Afranguah, which is to say that her vocabulary extended beyond basic greetings. Our conversations went something like this:
MINESSI: You like Yao!
ME: Yes, I do.
MINESSI: You like Yao too much!
Then she’d begin to laugh. Her laughter was like a thunder-storm, starting as a rumble, low and distant, occasionally building to a full-on roar. Soon I’d be laughing with her, and Yao too. The three of us spent a lot of time like that, laughing together for no reason at all.
“Minessi, listen,” I said one day, holding Yao’s mouth close to her ear. His breathing was raspy and labored. Minessi listened for a moment, then looked at me, confused.
I imitated the breathing, exaggerating it for effect. She gave me a long, wary look, then shrugged. I let the subject drop, but not before kissing Yao’s silky forehead and whispering in his ear that he was trying to scare me, and he should cut it out right away.
Two days later, as Minessi took her daily stroll past the construction site, she stopped and gestured to me. I set down the short pile of cement blocks I was balancing precariously on my head and skipped over. She looked at me for a moment with an anxious, indecisive expression, then whispered in my ear that she would like some money to buy medicine for Yao. Could I bring some to her house tonight?
Sure, I told her, how much did she need?
But she didn’t want to talk about it now, in front of everyone. She hurried away before I had a chance to kiss Yao.
When I arrived at Minessi’s house that afternoon, she was neither pounding nor sweeping. She was sitting on the front step, quite still, with Yao in her lap. Amoah saw me approach and called out “Sistah Korkor!” as usual. Hearing this, Minessi sprang up and dragged a stool out of her hut for me to sit on. She then
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