Nandom = Home

Please pardon my 3-week silence. It wasn't for lack of activity nor laziness. I somehow survived this long without Internet access. I'm surprised I'm stayed sane for that long. So though I'm back home, trying to re-accustom myself to quiet suburban life, I'll write about my adventures during my absence.

I spent July 18th - July 21st in Nandom, my parents’ hometown. It’s a small town in the Upper West region, close to Burkina Faso border, aka the middle of nowhere. There’s really nothing to do there but drink pito, a kind of beer that they brew here, and sleep.

Ok, maybe I’m being a little too harsh. After all, when my parents talk about home, they’re talking about Nandom. This is where it all started. This is where my family comes from. Both of my grandmothers still live here: my mom’s mom in town, where I stayed, and my dad’s mom in the village.

This is on the way to the Nakaar house. It was a joke that any woman who married into the Nakaar family would have to know how to swim because the path to the house would flood and become a river whenever it rained.

I visited my makum, my dad's mother, who’s 88, give or take a few years. She doesn't speak English, but for some reason she likes the phrase "very good," which she pronounces "velygoo." It was cute. In addition to giving her medicine I brought, I gave her a shirt with "Yale Grandma" on it. I hardly get chances to give my relatives cheesy gifts like this, so I couldn't resist doing so when the opportunity presented itself.

Even though my parents speak Dagaare, the language they speak in this area, I was raised speaking only English, a fact that completely baffles people here, my relatives included. My understanding is limited to words like “come” “move” and “have you eaten?” Some local girls who called me "Sista Ruth," were eager to give me Dagaare lessons, so I picked up a few more words. I’m happy to say that while I’m still far away from being fluent, I know more than when I came here.

My uncle bought me a guinea fowl and a cock as a parting gift. I wasn’t around for the actual slaughter, but I could hear their dying squawks of agony. It was pretty gruesome but if it’s any consolation, they were REALLY good, after being cooked of course.

So however boring I may find Nandom, I've come to realize that it's important for me to return here, because if I can't call any other place home, I can call this place--where there's nothing to do but drink pito and sleep--home.