Buduburam

On the cloudy afternoon of Friday July 17th, I spent four hours in a pocket of the world most people will never experience first-hand. But it’s not quite right to say I feel “lucky”…grateful? moved? touched? Once more, I’m stumbling over words, which I frequently find insufficient to describe my recent experiences. Or maybe I just worry (over-anxious creature that I am) about misusing them, unintentionally miscommunicating, or god forbid accidentally offending someone or being guilty of cultural ignorance.

Okay, back to Friday afternoon. After a bit of a tumultuous and time-consuming trek from tro-tro to dying taxi to traffic, three of us (with two more trailing far behind) arrived on the side of a dusty highway. It was my first time, though fortunately my companions had visited two days before and knew the ropes. A small man wearing a small black backpack, a tight yellow tee shirt, and grinning ear to ear waved his hand wildly as he came bopping over to greet us. Houston, a former child soldier in the Liberian Civil War, now runs an afterschool program for about 50 children at the Buduburam Refugee Camp 27 miles west of Accra. Toting enough peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to fee the kids, we trooped into the densely constructed camp, heading for the schoolhouse. Chickens and goats meandered along the liter-strewn lanes, the stench of sewage and swarms of gnats infused the air, and deep, questioning eyes lapped up our glaringly white skin. But with a nod, smile, and “how are you” the inhabitants clustered around teal, pink, and sunny yellow huts, jamming to “hi-life” (the popular local reggae/pop/rap fusions) stations on the radios, beamed and offered us welcome.

A little background: The refugee camps were opened by the UNHCR in 1990, but with the end of and supposed stabilization after Liberia’s two Civil Wars, in April 2007 all administered services were withdrawn. Many refugees returned to Liberia, but many stayed, and do not want to go back to their country of origin. I can’t imagine what it must feel like, how disempowering, fragile, and infuriating to be moved around at other’s discretion, your own will hardly considered. Ghanaians do not feel kindly towards the Liberian refugees, and the Government of Ghana has told those still living in the camps to “go home”, warned them against protest demonstrations (which caused quite an uproar earlier in March and April this year – see: http://allafrica.com/stories/200804080259.html), or assimilate in a relatively hostile Ghanaian society. 40,000 Liberians have lived there, and currently around 26,000 remain.

On our walk through the camp, Houston told a few children we came across to send word and begin gathering the others in the group to begin “Fun Day” (the agenda every Friday). We stopped by a supply shack, and bought enough bagged water for at least 60 people for just $1.60 – bagged water being the drastically cheaper alternative to bottled water, yet still a luxury for the refugees. It was at first jarring how the girls and boys, strangers to all of us and visa versa, leapt upon us in ecstatic welcome. Grabbing, clinging, rubbing, stroking, pinching…they were all over us, from hellos to goodbyes. Some of the sunniest – and grubbiest – children I’ve seen in a long time, that’s for sure. I was a magnet for the adolescent and pre-adolescent girls, who swarmed around me, admiring (with touch and words) my hair, my fingernails, my face, my clothes. At an early point in the afternoon, while I engaging in some silly dance, the sweet things started chanting “Oh Annie, Oh Annie, Oh Annie” – a complimentary and cute cheer sung ad nauseam for the remainder of our stay. Mostly, the kids were female. First, a few of them sung solos for “the guests”. Then we walked (well, I stumbled, with six girls hanging on to some portion of my body) to a dusty open clearing, where a few potato sack races were followed by a kickball game with the soccer ball we brought them. Simultaneously they posed for and eagerly took photographs with our cameras, giggled and gossiped, and – though it took a few tries – taught me their favorite clapping games. It was the most delightful day I’ve had in ages. I already relish spending time with kids, and the immediate attraction, the instant and uninterrupted bond and fascination between both them and myself was really spectacular. I can’t wait for next Friday: Fun Day, Round II. As worn out as I was by sunset, when we began our journey back into the city, it was that utterly enriching exhaustion that actually sustains me through the drudgery of the week ahead.