Cab ride to Ghana

I love taking the taxi-cab in DC. Invariably, I’ll meet a driver who will be from Russia, Ukraine, Sudam, Ethiopia, Afghanistan, or any of their neighbors. Last time, my ride from home to Dulles was a treat in real sense. Little did I know that the person who was taking me to the airport would turn out to be a chief of his clan back in home country – Ghana. He explained that he was living in US for more than 25 years. His children grew up in US and from what it sounded – they were similar in tastes and attitude to most of second-generation migrants. Now that they have grown up, he spends six months each year in Ghana.

To me there is no better way to learn about history and culture than through a conversation – through stories and experiences – ideally from the common folk. Reading books, monographs, and records come a distant second. Stories give a flow, a process. For with the water, the river also needs to be clealry visible. Facts, dates, figures, or anything that translates life into series of disjointed snapshots makes it too dry, boring, and disconnected. I love to see myself in that story – move with tides of emotion, pain, joy, and dreams. This trip gave everything that I could ask possibly ask for.

So, I started asking him about cocoa, and he mentioned how big his farm was, how much he has to manage and look after not only for his own farm but for other members of his clan. He has to listen to all the grievances from people and address their problems and concerns. And problems range from crops not getting enough care to someone is having difficulty finding a boy for his daughter. It was interesting to find out that the marriages were still mostly traditional arranged marriages. But he was a bit concerned that young generation don’t wait for their parents to determine whether he or she has come of age to get married. It seems in earlier days; it was unthinkable for someone to do so. I asked him if people ran away to marry, to which, he almost screamed, “No, that’s a big offense.” Why? Because it is important to do a background check to make sure that both parties do not belong to the same sub-clan.

He belonged to the Ashanti clan. I heard about the Ashantis before, the biggest clan who put up a brave resistance back in nineteenth century to the British before they succumbed after four wars and Asantehene Agyeman Prempeh was arrested. After Ghana won independence, 1957, the first African country to obtain independence, like the colonial history of many other African nations, there was a series of coups, when finally John Kufor took over. He is in his second term.

He said the people were extremely pleased with Kufor. He sang high praises for him. He said he was Oxford educated but came from a farming background and has his focus right. He took over a country with a poor economy. In cocoa, Ghana was once world’s leading producer and had slipped to fourth place, but Kufor brought Ghana back to first place. And he did this with very sound credit policy. He did not give hard cash as loans but machinery, seeds, and other necessary stuff in kind – which made sense and avoided the chance of farmers blowing the money away on other things.

From hard politics, I asked him about food and how he had fun. Boy! Did his eyes lit up! Palm-wine it was. He was glowing and his voice was up by few decibels, all excited, and for a moment I wondered - he better doesn’t lose his concentration off the road. He said, “I have two palm trees that no one can touch.” Palm wine is an excellent, slightly sweet dessert Wine containing only about 4% of a natural fermented alcohol. The sap is collected by tapping the African palm tree. This is achieved by making an incision between the kernels and a gourd is tied around to collect the sap which is collected a day or two later. Along with goat meat smoked under a bamboo mesh, and with people playing on the bamboo flutes, and dancing – well that’s the making of his party. It was clear for most people in this part of Africa, palm wine was their favorite poison drink. Every country has its own – that runs the lifeblood and to mess with it will be rocking the very foundation of their existence – Russians and vodka, Germans and beer, French and wine, Scots and Scotch, and Japanese and Sake.

Notwithstanding his praise for current president, he still holds his allegiance to the Ashante king Otumfoi Osei, who seems to be running a parallel ceremonial government.

The airport terminal was drawing near. And as I expressed my desire to visit Ghana sometime – he said he had plans to visit India two months from now. And then plans to go back to Ghana for good. As a typical African, his allegiance was where his ancestors were. He said, “My great-grand father asked me to be a chief one day.” It seemed his spirit beckons him every day back to the sounds of flutes and smell of cocoa.

While I stepped out of the cab, paying my fare, and as he helped me with my bags one more time, I wondered what would it be like when I visit Ghana. I may come across a village where I would find a familiar face, dressed in traditional colorful robe of a chief, surrounded by other folks, sipping Palm-wine in his own royalty. Will I be able to fathom that he once drove a taxi-cab in Washington for 25 years? For now, I wished him well and goodbye, and thanked him for bringing Africa closer to me.