I’m Not Just Another Solmia

As I wake up, I’m confused and disoriented, and I almost forget where I am. Lying in the yard, there’s a bustle around me: a rooster crows right beside me, someone is sweeping, and people are chatting. It’s 5am, the sun has risen, and my village stay in Vea has begun.

I've decided to come to try to better understand the realities of farming, how people live, and what it means to be part of a farmer group.

I lazily get up, but after a nice cold bucket shower and about 20 greetings to members of this household, I am wide awake. I’m staying with the Akampae family, which I’m told is the biggest extended family in the village; all the many wives, their children, and their childrens’ children actually form an entire community.

Some members of the farmer group I work with in this village come to welcome me, and I’m briefed on some of the farming activities that will be happening throughout the day. My first stop is rice thrashing. I’m pointed toward a cluster of houses with instructions to “follow that sound”. I arrive to find a bunch of people, two who I recognize from the farmer group. There are 3 or 4 guys on each side whacking stalks of rice with big sticks. I ask to join in. I want to show them I’m not just another solmia or white lady, I haven’t come just to watch, really I want to experience how beneficial it is to work in a group. So, I’m handed a smaller stick, and they make space for me. The rhythm is motivating, and with each raise of the sticks and combined “let’s go” I feel encouraged to keep it up; but the sun is blazing around 40 degrees, and after 5 minutes, my hands start to get sore, my arms grow weak, and I fall out of sync. They notice, tell me to stop, and reassure me “You have done well”. I am forced to sit down and watch, and oh how I feel I have let them and myself down – I wanted to prove I wasn’t just another solmia.

But, determined to take part in other activities, I make my way down to the rice fields. I can see Vea Dam in the distance and I think how fortunate they are to have access to this water to irrigate the land. There are 2 seasons here: the wet season from around May to August, and the dry season for the rest of the time. For farmers who do not have access to a source of water like Vea Dam during the dry season, they must rely on the wet season to grow enough to sustain them throughout the year. It’s now the end of June and it has rained only a few times. Some people haven’t sown yet, others have but lack of rain has hindered the seeds from germinating so they will have to re-plant, and some have planted on time.

I meet a man and a woman harvesting the rice with sickles. As I greet them, other people gather near. Now I have an audience. This activity looks easier than thrashing, I'm confident too - I’ve just got to grab a bunch of rice stalks and cut them off at the bottom. I want to prove I can endure this task, that I am not just another solmia who has come to watch, and I am determined to learn about this activity and to show them all the benefit of working in a group. I ask for a sickle, bend down, grab, and...Oh, but the stalks are tough, I’m not familiar with the technique, the bent-at-the-waste position is uncomfortable, and of course it’s hot! So after I complete one pile (and they complete 3) after 15 minutes, I decide to stop. I thank them for the opportunity, rest briefly under a tree, and snap their picture before heading back to the compound where I’m staying. Again, I’m discouraged, I would’ve liked to demonstrate my strength and endurance, how a bigger group could really make a difference in their production, and that I am not just another solmia.

As I arrive, I meet one of the women going to fetch water. I tell her I want to help, so she puts down her big aluminum bowl and returns with a smaller plastic container. But this is an activity I’ve had experience with over the past month that I’ve been living with Vanessa in Bongo. I’m confident, and I try to explain that I want a bowl like hers, but she laughs and pulls me along. I’m frustrated, I would’ve like to show her that I’m not just another solmia.

That evening, I am invited to another compound, and I sit down to help some girls pick off caniff leaves from the stems for bito soup. I tell them it’s my favorite and that I’ve been helping my host sister cook it. They get excited and curious, and I’m encouraged and happy to demonstrate my Ghanaian cooking skills. The result is a tasty success, and I start to think maybe this is one activity where I’m not such a solmia. But that night and the entire next day I am violently sick.

As I write this, I’m resting under a tree while the head of the household plows his field without my help. I’m still recuperating from being sick, I’m weak, I’m sunburned, and I’m aching all over. I realize the people in this village are so strong, they are so used to these strenuous activities and harsh environment. I suddenly feel proud of myself, I’m not just another solmia.