Page 37 - Obruni In Ghana | Amber Lockridge
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OBRUNI IN GHANA 35
it was in my bag all the way across the room. If I wanted it, I would have to ask for it in Fante. With a deep breath, I made the attempt.
“Me po okyo, to book yi wo bagno wo ho na fa me book fri no”.
I hoped this sounded something like “Please, put this book in that bag and bring me the other book in it.” One of the women did place the book I held into my bag, probably the result of gestures and guesswork, but did not remove the second book.
Now I was really stuck. There was nothing to distract me from the pain and the agony of impatience. They had removed my glasses so I was, for any relevant purpose, blind as well. I tried meditation, sitting tall and breathing deep, but the numbness crept back into my feet. I could swear that bones were beginning to poke through the skin of my butt.
Soon I was shifting leg positions like some strange dancer. I rocked back and forth, first on one hip, then the other. I tried reflecting on pain philosophically. After all, it was only a sensation.
