Timber Market Madness

Two girls about 12 years of age stopped to gaze at a mob scene in the Timber Market in Jamestown. Sim was in the middle of a jostling crowd with fifty outstretched hands. He was the only one who would own up to having any CDs left to give out, and people were loudly demanding that he give them one.

I was on the periphery enjoying the view because, as I told them, "I am finished." That is, I have no more CDs. The two girls stood before me, one with fifty bags of water balanced in a bowl on her head and the other balancing a bowl of food but without any cloth beneath the bowl. It seemed to roll around on her head as she talked, and she was skilled enough to keep it centered.

They asked politely in English what was going on, and they wanted audio CDs, these two girls. I suspected they might not be Songhai, and the CDs were in the Zarma language. I had heard many times this week, "I cannot hear Zarma." These amazing people are all tri-lingual, but Zarma is not widely spoken.

"Are you Songhai?" I asked them, and they said yes. But I was suspicious. Here in the Timber Market people were now claiming to be Songhai so they could get a free CD.

"Mate gum," I said to them, a traditional Zarma greeting (or close). They went wide-eyed and dissolved into giggles without upsetting the balance of their burdens. I realized then that they were indeed Songhai and that this was very likely the first time in their lives they had heard a white man speak Zarma. I am one of only a very few white guys on the planet that can greet someone in Zarma (more or less).

I became one of the 50 demanding CDs from Sim who delivered some of the last two to the girls. We hurried out of the market lest we cause an even bigger scene. Everywhere the Songhai people walked carrying CDs others wanted to know what they had in their hand and where they got it. Hence, the discreet and private conveyance of the initial CDs to a small, select group of men that Gomer, the missionary, already knew turned into people hurrying down the dusty roads between long racks of rough lumber looking for white people bearing gifts.

After eight days, we're still learning how to do this properly.

Earlier, one veteran laborer in the vast Timber Market in the Jamestown area of Accra had estimated for us that 1,000 Songhai work there. I think they all tried to get their hands in Sim's backpack.

Even Muslim men wearing long shiny robes and round caps and toting prayer beads wanted CDs. They could have been--and probably were--suspicious of these white Christians. But they were also curious, I am sure, about the contents of a CD about Jesus.

I longed to snap some pictures, but my camera stayed in the backpack until I saw a king-size wooden bed sitting in the middle of the road between the lumber racks. Following the lead of one of the Songhai who thought his wife might be interested in the bed and took photos with his cell phone, I whipped out my camera and caught the bed and its craftsman with hundreds of boards in the background. The Timber Market may be the size of eight or ten city blocks. The scale of African life is way to wide and deep and high to capture in a photo or a film. All of my senses are under continual overload everywhere I go.

The poorest residents of Accra live in the Jamestown area, the center of which is James Fort Prison. It is an ancient structure on the seashore where slaves were held before their transport across the Atlantic. Ghana was one of the favored areas for slave traders. What a sad and tragic part of Africa's history--and the history of the world.

Some of our team members have taken African names like Freckles, Peppers, and Fran. Our youngest member, Kristen, is now "Fourcows." We should have her officially engaged before the end of the day. Suitors are everywhere.

Suitcases are bouncing down the terrazzo staircase. People from all over the world come and go at the Baptist guest house with dizzying rapidity. My coffee needs refreshed as the world wakes up, and my last day in Africa (this trip) opens before me.