At the Hospital in Ghana

The following events occurred on the 7th and v8th of January 2010.


So I finally went to the hospital in Cape Coast to have my stitches removed. Once I arrived Ephious began asking friends of his what hospital he should take me to. Central Regional Hospital was the one recommended because most foreigners go there. Since I am a foreigner here it made sense.

The hospital is in the Pedu area of Cape Coast. To get there we had to take one taxi in to town and then go to the taxi stand in town and get one of the cars going to Central Regional Hospital. Once again these are the cars where you have to wait until every seat is filled before you can leave.

Ephious took me around 12 or 1pm on the 7th of January. We were directed to the treatment room. A nurse there told me that I have a clean wound and it would be best for me to return at 8am the next morning when the utensils were sterilized. Ephious and I both left confused because they had a waiting room full of people now. If the utensils weren’t going to be sterilized until tomorrow morning what were they using on people right now? We gathered they were using the utensils that were totally sterilized and she didn’t want to use those on me. I was thankful for that but part of me did feel bad for those who weren’t getting the same treatment. There’s a lot I don’t know about how this country works so I just followed instructions.

I woke up early on the 8th and got there just after 8. There were already 5 people in the waiting area waiting to be seen. I found a seat and decided to do some people watching. They were all speaking Fante the language spoken in this area of Ghana. Everyone speaks English but they all also speak their first language as well. As I watched people’s interactions I didn’t understand what they were saying but based on their body language I could guess what was going on.

An older blind man was there with his niece or granddaughter. They were arguing about something and involving the entire waiting room. Every time he spoke the people around me would giggle to themselves. His mannerisms reminded me of my Grandfather when he got up in age and had to depend on others for his care. No matter where you are in the world people are just people. We are all more alike than different.

The nurses came out to open the treatment area. They were speaking Fante to everyone. Of course I didn’t understand. One of the nurses looked at my face and saw that I was confused. She instructed me to stand up and I noticed all the other people in the room were as well.

The nurses then led everyone in the room in a devotional. First they started a praise song that everyone knew. I knew it was a praise song but I couldn’t understand the words. I was just so shocked that everyone knew all the words. Next they took what I gathered were prayer requests from everyone in the room then a woman standing near me led everyone in a prayer.

As I said I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying this entire time but I have been in and led enough devotional services to know one when I see it no matter what language it is in.

After the devotional the nurse we had spoken with the previous day pointed at me and instructed the other nurses that I would be going first. She remembered me from the day before and wanted me treated before everyone else.

I was taken into the treatment room with four employees, one man and three women. One woman wrote my name in a big book, another woman put on gloves and grabbed tweezers and a scalpel after telling me to sit down. The nurse who remembered me and the man held on to my ear so the woman with the utensils could work.

They were all really nice and funny. At one point the nurse who remembered me had to run out for something and she tripped and fell through a screen. It looked like it really hurt so we all turned around to see if she was ok. She said she was fine and jumped up to go out the door to do what she was doing. As I turned around the three left in the room were falling over laughing. Of course it made me start laughing. Then the woman with the scalpel still shaking tried to get back to work on my ear. I told her to get her laugh out completely before she came back at me with that scalpel. :) Then the nurse who fell came back in laughing herself and looked at me and said “Are you laughing at me!!!” I must have jumped really high because she surprised me. And with that the room roared with laughter again. The girl with the book was laying down across the book shaking with laughter the man was propping himself against a counter in a corner holding his stomach and the woman with the scalpel had turned all the way around looking at the wall still laughing.

Everyone got themselves together and they asked me how I got hurt. I explained the story to them and they all looked at me very confused. Their main question was how I got close enough to a dog for it to bite me on my ear.

Dogs in Ghana are not treated the way dogs in the US are treated. So someone having their face close enough to a dog to have their ear bitten just didn’t make sense.
They then asked me if I considered myself a white man or a black man. At the moment this question was asked the nurse was tugging on my ear and one stitch so she could cut it off. Quite a painful moment I must say.

I told them I considered myself to be a black man. They asked “What makes you say you are a black man?”

To which I asked “Well how do you see me?” They all started speaking their language to each other and I heard a word I know “obruni” which means “White Man”. They then looked at me and said “We consider you a black man”

Now to be fair all foreigners are called obruni here. Ephious has lived here for two years and he gets called an obruni all the time.

I haven’t tested this theory but I feel they are really asking if I see myself as an African. The answer to that is no. I feel connected to this continent yes. I know I have ancestry and heritage here. I look at the faces of people here and I always think I see someone I know. I have decided it is probably because of the facial features that are similar to people I know back home. But the truth is I am a fish out of water here. I mess up cultural things daily. I always forget to only use my right hand when handing someone money or greeting people. It’s very disrespectful to use your left. When I eat fufu, a local dish you are supposed to eat with your right hand, I usually use a fork if I am in the house. Why? Because eating it with my hands burns my fingers. Fufu is a really hot soup like dish. When I am out in public I’ll use my hands but in the house I get a spoon. Make fun of me if you want I don’t like burnt fingers. :)

So with all that said I am not an African. I’m an American. And if being an American makes me an Obruni then so be it.

With all of that this is the time of my life and I wouldn't have it any other way.
:)