The following day, we traveled all the way up to the villages which border Burkina Faso. The first place was Paga and the Pikoro Slave Camp. This camp was also utilized in the Trans Atlantic Slave Trade. People were captured in the north and forced to travel in chains and by foot to the southern coasts where the slave ships ported. Capturers would travel on horse and this journey could take 2-3 months.
Then, we stopped at Catholic Basilica, a church built completely from mud.
The final stop had the greatest impact: the Single Mothers group in Bolgatanga. There are other single mothers groups in the north, mostly comprised of widows, but this group was incredibly unique. We walked into women brushing off benches for us to sit, as other women sat on the floor, their fingers moving a mile a minute, weaving baskets in various colors and patterns. A group of children kept growing of young boys and girls, who stared at us.
An older woman, who's torso was bent at a total 90 degree angle, was escorted in to a seat in the center. After maybe 10 or even 15 minutes of reticence on the women's part, they began to rise and gather. Then they started to sing and clap, and then they danced. One by one, a woman would enter the semi-circle and let the rhythms and energetic movement take over. Knees hit their chests and their hands met the ground, as their feet created poly-rhythms that contrasted the clapping of the group. Then they grabbed us, one by one, until we all were dancing and stomping together, pitifully keeping up with their full-bodied movement.
After we danced, and sat back to our seats, our chests heaving, sweat droplets dripping down our foreheads and big smiles taking over faces, the environment was now set to converse.
Cecilia, the spokeswoman for the group, explained the culture. In Bolgatanga, the land, home and name is carried on by boys. If a father only births girls, the youngest daughter is forced to stay behind and take care of the home and parents. They are not permitted to marry, but they will have children with men who may be married or who understand that they will have no involvement or rights to the children. If a son is born, he is the property of the father and will carry on the family's legacy. These are single mothers.
But these women have gathered for support and have formed a sisterhood of sorts, all the youngest of a family of girls. They are not victims, they are empowered. They basket weave together and sell their baskets in the market to support themselves and their families. Their children play together and weave, as well. These single mothers are sisters.
We learned to "weave." I put that in quotes because all I really did was slow my partner down and force her to correct my mistakes. But it was a powerful experience, nonetheless, and their products are stunning.
That evening, I had my first guinea fowl, a bird similar to a chicken, but more tender and smothered with hot pepper sauce. Ghana's club beer was the perfect pairing.
The next day we departed Tamale, before the sun came up and drove all day to get back to Accra. We did stop early on at Kintampo Falls, where there are three levels of waterfalls.
For the first time and after getting back, Accra felt like home. I was eager to sleep in my bed, looking forward to getting back to some of the restaurants I love and meet with friends I've made. It felt good.
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