Fulani

This week I am back in the village for the first time in months.  From All Volunteer Conference to Grassroots Soccer Camp in Bimbilla to Mushroom training in Accra and an all staff conference for my supporting project.

I’m met by everyone with, “I’ve been missing you.”

“Yes I know, I traveled.”

“Are you here?”

“I am here, now.”

Being away makes you appreciate things.  I was happy to throw myself into this life again, knowing in a few short months it’ll all be history.

My site has changed a lot in the last few months, we have lots of new neighbors.  One lady does hair so I go out and sit under the neem tree while she ties up hair do’s.  We sit and talk and remove greens from their stalks.

Yesterday I walked down to the Fulani house to buy milk.  Its rainy season and milk are producing!  This is one of many reasons rainy season makes me so, so, happy.

The Fulani are the nomadic tribe, you can find them all over Africa driving cattle across every landscape.  If they settle, the settle apart from the main village.  At our place, a few Fulani families have built huts across the road from the village of Wuba.

I love the Fulani the most.  The are the ultimate homesteaders.  They hold their own and never ask anybody for anything.

 

They also get hated on a lot, like most traveling tribes of the world.  Aaaand as much as I admire them, they kinda earn it.  They marry young, thirteen and fourteen year olds and they rarely send their kids to school, especially the girls.

I’ve heard things said about the Fulani, like how they belong in the Bush, how they can speak to the plants and animals.  But this is why I adore them, especially when I think how the Fulani, they must know every bush path in our district, every path they’ve ever walked.

Anyway, I went down to buy milk from them.  They make me feel so welcome in their home.  Somehow, I never feel awkward or misunderstood at their compound, they love that I am there but they do not dote either or try to make me feel comfortable by offering me seating or drink or food.  We just sit on the concrete floor of their circle mud huts talking in my broken Dagbani.

Today I took a visitor down there as it was on our way to the dam side.  She was so impressed with my language although I stressed how little I actually know.

It is fun talking to them.  We gave them two bottles and I told them, “Milk, tomorrow.”  And we bargained a little on price, but I didn’t know that’s what we were doing until a few minutes into the conversation.

They are always so happy to see me at their place and its only just occurred to me that it ls probably because no white person has been to their house, ever.

They have come to my house selling a raw cheese product called wagashi.  Maybe they have seen me in their village when I come to teach Numeracy.  And I think white people have walked through Wuba when they come to Kings Village and want to see what a real live African village is like!  But no one visits the Fulani.  Why would they?  The Fulani don’t own land, so its not like they are big farmers.  No aid comes to the Fulani, no whites.

Then I came!  They adore it, I adore it, and I’m going back tomorrow.

On that note, today I made my own butter!  And this week I made English muffins.  Since the cedi is dropping rapidly due to inflation, I can no longer afford brown bread and could never afford butter in the first place.  I feel so pampered.