Weighing In

Ghanaian babies are darn cute.  Heads a bobbin’ on their mommies’ backs, eyes big when they spot an oboruni, and feet danglin’ as they are weighed in.

Cute baby

Everyone that knows me is aware of my love of sweet lil babies.  Man, are they cute here.  And in abundance.  Babies everywhere – especially at the monthly “baby weighing day” at Tafo’s hospital.  Clothed in their Sunday best, mother and child (and only one dad, sadly) traipse into the city to weigh in, consult with the nurses, receive immunizations, and learn about various aspects of health, particularly breastfeeding. 

There were 40 to 50 babies, ranging from six weeks to five-years-old, and I fell in love with them all.  Most of them were so well-natured – very little crying, kicking and screaming.  The other funny thing – moms don’t mind if you hold their babies.  They sort of just trust you to hold him properly and not drop him or her on his lil head. 

Baby Weighing

I think it’s because pretty much everyone handles babies here from an early age.  In any case, hanging around Ghanaian families has made me realize how protective Americans are of their families.  We shield are children from the slightest danger and would never trust a stranger (and maybe some people we know) with our children.  Not a stone in their paths.

Of course, seeing my little brother run around with grandpa’s enema device might be a bit unclean and the toddler I saw wielding a machete should probably stick to My Lil’ Pony. I think we have a little to learn from each other. 

Back to my little brother, Kwaku, pronounced “Kwelku.”  This little guy is so darn cute.  He’s one and a half and talks like he’s a forty-year-old preacher.  Well, except he doesn’t really “talk” as much as he makes hilarious imitations of people talking.  People come buy and talk to him all the time.  You can see even the most serious Ghanaian (they exist, sort of) melt to pieces when they do. 

Oh man, I can hear the song the “Yum com kwaw” (not actual name) song on the radio and I know that little guy is dancing his little head off.  Such a cutie.  I won’t go outside though because I owe you folks a blog.  I take my commitment to your reading pleasure seriously.

And now the DJ is singing over the song.  This happens a lot.  Like, every song.  I prefer this to the other Ghanaian radio phenomena I’ve heard though, which I’ve just dubbed the “talk and play.” 

It’s exactly like it sounds.  They play the music for three to five seconds, then talk, play the music again in a similar time increment, continue their sentence, then play again.  This will go on for hours.  Usually, they increase the time they play the song and the time they talk so it’s not as spastic.  I don’t know which is worse.  Knowing your song will be cut off or the false comfort created by playing the song for a minute.

I’ve asked why they do this, and no Ghanaian has been able to tell me.  An American posed that they are using the time to think of what they want to say next.  Could be.  Likely just a difference in style though.  Those DJs sound like they think they’re sooooo cool when they bust a talk and play.

Alright, my followers of blog.  I’m off to sleep in the comfort of my mosquito net.  Yes, you caught me.  I don’t just blurt these out whilst being timed at an internet café.  I blurt these out whilst half asleep after a full day of language class, technical training, and greeting every person I pass.  

We have our language text next Monday, so I won't be travelling to the internet next week, then we're off for more intensive technical training in the Northern Region.  Not sure when I'll be on next.  Don't miss me too much!