We made it to Wenchi around 12:30pm. It was a really “interesting” town. We officially named it Wacky Wenchi. It sounds harsh, but I’ll explain. Upon arrival, we stopped to look at the map and had just bought a round of Fan Yogos, when a man named Ben approached us and began to enquire about our trip and final destination for the day. I told him we’d just decided to stay in Wenchi and he then proceeded to tell me he lived down the street. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to ask if there was any chance he might have “a small space for us to rest our heads for the night” (that became my token line for finding accommodation ;). In typical Ghanaian-hospitality style, he automatically agreed to host us.
He walked us to his sister’s house where we were introduced to the family, invited in to watch the best of Ghanaian soap-operas (they are classic!), given water, and warmly reminded that we are “invited and welcome to feel free.” As we rested, his sister and nephew pounded some fufu and heated up a stew for us. It turned out to be some of the best fufu I’ve ever had! The beef was delicious and the stew really flavorful and well-balanced. Although there was a significant communication barrier, things were going well, until Ben’s brother in-law showed up and started asking us if we knew Ben. I had to explain that we’d met Ben earlier and he was kind enough to invite us to stay the night. Mid-conversation, Ben arrived and asked us to get up and follow him to town, so that we could really get to know Wenchi.
The minute Ben stepped outside to wait for us, his brother in law (town pastor), tells us to sit down and wait for his wife. I thank him, but explain that Ben is outside waiting and we need to go to town with him, but that we will return briefly. His expression became very serious and he said “you don’t know that man. You sit down and wait for my wife. Don’t follow him. Only listen to my wife.” At that moment, I couldn’t help but state the obvious and said “but that’s your wife’s brother and your brother in-law, is there a problem?” The situation only became more awkward when he refused to acknowledge that Ben was his brother in-law, and instead just focused on the fact that we needed to listen only to his wife.
I was then exchanging all kinds of glances with Frazer and Armando, hoping I could read their expressions and that we could somehow telepathically communicate and figure out what the hell was going on. The sister finally arrived, so I went over to ask her whether or not Ben was her brother and if everything was okay. In the most relaxed nature, she confirms that Ben is her brother and that everything is fine. Next thing you know, we are all (the pastor, his wife, her “brother” Ben, his sisters and us) walking to where they’ve decided we should stay the night. As we are walking in the front with the pastor, he begins the previous dialogue, “Do you know that man? No, you don’t know that man, so why would you follow him to town. You don’t follow people you don’t know!” That last statement just took me over the top and I replied “No, we don’t know him, but we don’t know you either and we are following you to a random house. We are not from here, therefore we don’t know anybody and have had to trust and follow strangers, as we’re doing now. Is there a problem?” I’m pretty sure he only understood half of what I said, but finally said everything was okay.
Next, we arrive at Ben’s and his sister’s father’s home where we stayed the night. Now imagine this: we are all (including Ben and the pastor) sitting in a small living room where we were told to greet their father. We sit there awkwardly, smiling and nodding as they go off in Twi, only stopping periodically to have us re-greet the father and remind us that it is his home. We thanked the father for hosting us, only to be reminded 5 minutes later that “this man, he owns this home,” again, we thanked them and the dialogue looped around and around in the same fashion at least 5 times!! I was then relieved to remember that Frazer also understands a bit of Spanish, so I just muttered to the two of them “familia de locos.” (family of loonies)
When I think about Wenchi, I can hear “familia de locos” echoing in my mind, because that really sums it up. It was beyond cultural differences. The family was particularly unusual. In any case, they took us out for drinks at night and gave us a place to sleep, so for that we are grateful. But it was the only town we ever stayed in where things just felt uncomfortably off.
By
Margarita Gonzalez
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