In the crevices of my hood is a bread seller. His container is the haven from which I enjoy the ever so hot bread whose aroma wafting through the community, is hard to resist.
But today he’s gone. With only a table with a few loaves of bread to draw the attention of passers-by. The land owner is almost done developing his land and needs the environment to look as lush as the modern apartments he just put up.
In the crevices of my hood, I notice a young family. Husband, wife and 3 beautiful children under 8 years old. Often, I see daddy bathing the children or cooking while mummy washes the clothing or simply rests. And I notice how the children run to welcome daddy home with excitement, jumping about like tadpoles that just realised they have becomes baby frogs (as if I know how it feels to be a tadpole growing into a frog lol).
I see them spread over the chippings that are used for the construction of the huge building at whose entrance they put up their beautiful little home of pieces of wood and other materials.
Today, their structure was demolished. They put their clothings in front of an abandoned shop, covered them with plastic bags and continued their lives at the same spot but in the open. The only thing that seemed to change, at least for the children, was the roof that was no longer over their heads for the joy with which they welcomed daddy then, is still ever so present.
In the crevices of my hood, there are transitions from tenant to tenant. In kiosks and make-shift structures that are almost death traps, new occupants move in almost as soon as old tenants move out. It’s almost as fast as the the hot bread seller counts his profits.
A family of 4 moves out with their sick dad and 2 teenage boys and 4 ladies move in with 3 toddlers. The death trap to me, becomes the new home, a roof over their heads.
In the crevices of my hood, are small-scale businesses that sustain some of us in the “main hood”. Hausa koko here, some spaghetti, the bread seller, the fruit seller and some “mortellement bon” nkate cake peanut caramel. The day non of these show up is the day I have to actively think about what options are available to me.
In the crevices of my hood, new kiosk communities spring up almost as fast as others are demolished. In between magnificent buildings are tiny structures, home to construction workers, rubbish collectors, food vendors, shop keepers and others in town seeking greener pastures or simply opportunities to make money to carry on other life projects.
In the crevices of my hood, I see families around the dinner table, literally on stools and small benches;
I see children running after one another, coming up with creative ways to have fun.
I see men sit around drafts playing for a win, on benches beside the lotto kiosk for discussions.
I see women braiding their hair and men having their beards trimmed.
I see both men and women nursing their babies, cleaning the compound or cooking and sometimes marvel at how different my view of some gender roles in such places have been till now.
I hear greetings shouted across the street from one person to another in a similar fashion as insults are screamed at one another from one roof across 3 others to the fourth.
In the crevices of my hood, items I would have considered waste find new owners and new uses. Every material, plastic, glass, wood or metal finds new purpose such as old roofing sheets as bathrooms, big plastic bags as “curtains” for windows, and even old clothing to “seal” cracks that might be entry points for rodents.
In the crevices of my hood, I realise, that while everyone deserves the basic necessities of life, humans generally do not need much to live a happy life. Money as the measure of the good life then, seems too shallow. Laughter, joy, neighbourliness and contentment and good health are qualities we all need.
In the crevices of my hood, I notice my own privilege which I was blind to.
I come to the awareness of the different levels of ordinariness of the “ordinary Ghanaian”.
And I realise that my life is enriched in many ways unimaginable
