I recently stayed in a rural village on top of a mountain. Wlitodzi is its name. We arrived after a 2 and a half hour hike up an absurd incline. Lets just say I was drenched in sweat by the time we reached the top (in Ewe top=todzi).
The village is built upon a plateau that expands for miles. On one side is the Volta Region in Ghana, on the other side is Togo. There's no road ascending to the village from the Ghanaian side and the one from Togo could take hours upon hours to drive up. On top of not having a road, the people also do not have a health clinic, thus, they must carry sick, diseased, or women in labor on stretchers down the mountain (which most Americans could never climb!). This incline is no joke. I even had to pay someone to carry my stuff up. I couldn't even fathom a carrying a person in pain up or down the grade.
This is one of the reasons I visited Wlitodzi. My friend Jeremy wants to help complete the unfinished clinic (that the district assembly just randomly stopped building and funding). He wants to introduce NGOs and ecotourism in the village in order to help the people suffering. In fact, during my stay I met a man who was truly suffering; his chest revealed bones, his face was aged, and there was a giant bulge in his lower stomach; the man could hardly move. However, he did manage to tell us, "Look at me, I am sick, I need help." This was my first time I have been confronted with such a situation. It was so nonchalant, yet extremely impacting.
It was first really hard being up there because not only do you see the lack of resources that the people have here, but I couldn't really speak their language, Ewe. I learned a small amount towards the end of the weekend but I went through this dilemma of not wanting to put a strenuous amount of effort into learning the language, but I wanted to speak the language (since I am awful at naturally picking up languages, it was a choice I had to debate). Even teaching at the local school, a teacher has to translate what I said. But this was more so because the kids could not understand my "accent". It was very frustrating not being able to directly connect and speak to the people around you. Yet, these feelings diminished as I found more English speakers in the community and I became more comfortable acting out what I wanted to say.
Anyways, this village has become my first village experience where I have just been able to sit and relax while observing how the people operated. The women were always at home watching the kids (there were like 6-10 kids per every family compound). Together, the kids and the women would sweep the rubbish off the dirt grounds (basically over 5 times a day, you'd find someone sweeping with a giant palm leaf broom), they would clean the clothes and dishes, and they would cook 3 meals a day (mainly fufu and stew) as well as collect water from the nearby river 2 times a day (morning and evening). Each small compound of clay houses holds a large family (aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc.) and it was common to find families spread out in the community due to its polygamist views...I must have met twenty brothers and sisters (whom I later found out had different mothers...thank god!). The house I stayed in had really friendly next door neighbors and the children would all play together. It reminded me of my childhood in America, only under extremely different circumstances. For example, it takes about 3 hours to prep a meal by the wood fire (in their clay built kitchen)and there's no television playing in the background or wine and appetizers for mom to munch on when cooking. There's barely any toys that the kids play with, so I saw them play with knives, machetes, sticks, palm leaf brooms, deflated futballs and even trash bags. The kids were probably my favorite people to watch. I missed having the imaginations and tender heartedness that they have.
Man, is life different here...
No bank. No post office. No cell phone service. One bar. Two or three "everything" stands (also known as "convenient stores"). No cars. No senior high school (only a junior high and primary school). No policemen or law enforcement. Just houses made of clay harvested from the ground, acres and acres of dense farmland, a surplus of fruits (literally rotting on the ground), and people that make-do with these living conditions. It's as if, sometimes, they don't even know there's more out there. As if, this is how life is. And believe me, the people there are living their life to the fullest. They laugh, sing, dance, work, play, learn and love the people around them. The community in Wlitodzi is wonderful. Not once was I called "obruni" or was I asked for money. If people approached me it was just to send their greetings. I didn't feel like a tourist, I felt like a visitor. I was there to hang out with the people and to feel apart of their household.
Overall, to be an outsider yet let into a community is truly something else. My experience there was nothing like Accra. It was a weekend in a rain forest of fruit trees. The community is a secret garden that's been overlooked by both colonists and Ghanaians. It was a land of fertility. Yet also a land of constraints and suffering.
This was my adventure to the "top of Wli", Wlitodzi.
