Taking and Giving

“Oh, oh oh. This is not fine. This is very, very bad,” my chief said as he studied the hole in the back door of my house.
The chief coming to see my broken door was the last in a series of events. A few weeks earlier, I had gone to Tamale for a meeting. I told my counterpart and my neighbors I would be gone for the night and I would come home on the first bus in the morning.
There is a short walk (less than five minutes) between where the taxi drops me and where my bus picks me up. I was carrying a duffel bag on my head and a backpack as I walked from the taxi to the bus. I saw someone approach me from the corner of my eye, and as I turned to see who it was a man grabbed the bag off the top of my head and ran into a nearby alleyway. Some people on the street saw what happened and tried to catch the man, but were unable to.
I was upset, and decided to return to the Peace Corps office instead of going to my site. I turned around to go back to where the cabs were. A few moments, a man came out from behind a wooden stand at the market place. “Come here,” he said and started walking toward me. I began to walk toward the street, away from the man. Two men on a motorcycle came and grabbed my backpack, dragging me for a short distance as they tried to remove the bag. The three men disappeared, and a crowd of people who were nearby but not quite close enough to help gathered around me. Somebody gave me cab fare to go back to the office. I was sore all over but unhurt other than a large bruise on the back of my left knee and a small cut on my neck from where my hat was taken.
I reported the incident to the Peace Corps office, which promptly sent medications, helped me file a police report, sent me my own bank account number so I could withdraw funds, and made a new ID for me. Because of Christmas and various other causes, my medications took 11 days to arrive. I have asthma, and I was not willing to go back to my site and away from the local hospital without getting my inhaler replaced, so I had to remain in Tamale for the entire time.
I scrounged some old clothes from around the office. My friend Dan gave me an extra toothbrush he happened to have. After the bank opened, I bought some basic supplies, like underwear. I made a point of walking around town every day while I waited for my medications. This was important, because walking around town was terrifying and exhausting for me at this point. Tamale is a busy city, with lots of people and lots of motorcycles. I was startled any time either a person or a motorcycle got too close- which happens every few moments in Tamale. It’s unavoidable.
The day after the robbery, as I was out walking, another man started walking toward me. “Come here,” he said. I shuddered and turned away. He caught up to me and explained that he was the man who had paid my cab fare the previous day. He had recognized me and wanted to ask if I was OK. I hated myself for not greeting him immediately, for being afraid of everything. I wanted to go back to my site so I could be with my friends and start to fix my head, but I was still waiting for my medications.
Three days after the robbery, I happened to see my stolen hat for sale. The man argued that it wasn’t mine, even though it had a spot of paint on it from a project I had done earlier. I didn’t want the hat back, but I was really angry with the seller. Then another seller shook my hand and scratched my palm with his finger. When someone scratches your palm, the person is propositioning you for sex. It is a remarkably insulting gesture. I still wanted nothing more than to go back to my site and my friends, and I was still stuck in Tamale waiting for medications.
Finally, my medications came, and I was able to go home to my site. On the bus, I was thinking about which carpenter I would need to call to let me into my house, since I no longer had a key. It turned out not to be a relevant issue, because when I got there, there was a hole in my door- the house had been broken into while I was gone. My house had been robbed. This probably happened because no one was watching my house since I was only supposed to be gone for one night.
I felt disappointed. Depressed. I had been so excited to be with people I trusted, and my trust had been broken.
After a few moments to get myself together, I went to tell Achiri what had happened. His family was happy to see me; since my message had not gotten to the village, they were wondering why I had been gone for so long. I explained the situation and together we took an inventory of what had been taken. I asked Achiri and Madame Shera if there was any reason for me to stay in Ghana. “Be patient,” Madame Shera said. “God is there. Just wait.” It didn’t sound like a good reason. “They will do something,” Achiri said.
A few days later, the chiefs and elders and some other important community members came to my house. After the Imam said a prayer, the chief formally apologized for what had happened, particularly the part that happened in my village.
They presented me with a 100 ghana cedis, a bundle of yams and a guinea fowl. This was a huge gift. They also put several new locks on my doors.
The message was clear- that my community was there for me, and that they wanted me to stay. It meant a lot.
Even with the generous gift, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay. Peace Corps Service is hard, and I felt like I had been working hard (without amenities like running water, air conditioning, internet access, or even a real salary), and I got repaid by being mugged and having my house broken into.
It took some time, but I realized that I was not seeing the situation correctly. The truth is that I could have been mugged or had my house broken into anywhere. The truth is that nobody in America except my closest family would have reacted with as much compassion as the leaders of my village. I seriously doubt that the mayor or any other important community figure would have come to my house to apologize if this had happened in America. The truth is that these incidents happened because of a few individuals, and they do not represent Ghana as a whole. I’ve been in Ghana for a year and a half, and I know that the majority of the people here are kind, generous, and protective. I have never lacked for anything because my Ghanaian friends have taken care of me. Ghanaian strangers have taken care of me too. The truth is that no matter how I keep score, Ghana has given me more than it’s taken.