December 21st. About 4 P.M. I venture towards a compound close to mine, where the shrine of the god Adamorobe Ayisi is situated. A group of men is playing their drums and woman hit together little gongs. A fat hearing woman with white powder over her whole body is dancing and transmitting messages of the gods, but not in spoken Twi. No, she doesn’t speak a word, performs dance steps and begins to sign and depict. “Now she’s possessed by a deaf god”, Akosua and Afua explain. When this fetish ‘becomes’ a hearing god, she speaks again.
Traditional religion still lives around here, and its symbolism is closely linked to the history, the family clans, the harvest, the animals which live here etc. There isn’t just one god, but there are many gods and ‘deaf village’ Adamorobe thus also has a deaf god. The needs of these gods and the deceased ancestors have to be gratified by offering them food and beverages (by throwing/hurling them onto the floor) and by adhering to a couple of rules.
But also Christianity has made its entrance here. Not Catholicism (any more); that’s something which wasn’t and isn’t very successful in Ghana, but all other kinds of denominations: Pentecostalists, Seventh-day Adventists, Presbyterians, and loads of others which I had never heard of. Adamorobe has an impressive number of minimally eleven (!). Besides these hearing Christian church groups in the village, a deaf Lutheran evangelist from Accra visits weekly for the deaf.
Because yes, also deaf Ghana has been converted. When you hint to a deaf person in Accra that you don’t go to church, you are often looked at with disbelief, and you become the target of converting attempts which are even more imposing than the marriage pleads of hearing men. A few of the churches in Accra and other places offer translation in Ghanaian sign language, and also songs and psalms are translated in GSL (more SSE when you come to think of it).
A priest who has been trained in Kumasi (another large city in Ghana) applies this approach in Adamorobe. Each week I witness deaf Adamorobers copying songs of this evangelist without even understanding what they are singing. For years, the sermons were, opposed to now, translated from Ghanese sign language into Adamorobe sign language by a deaf person, but this person got ill a few years ago and died.
Another late afternoon in December. Kwasi signs to me that he wasn’t a Christian as a child, and that he cooperated in the traditional rituals. “But I go to church now… so I don’t participate anymore, I do still go and watch, but I don’t eat what they prepare”. You see, during these rituals food is prepared and passed around, and eating it is considered “joining’. During the ritual referred to in the first paragraph, Afua declines schnapps because of her church religion, but Akosua does drink it. Kwadzo, one of the deaf males, is quite active in the traditional religion and gets criticized heavily because of this by the rest.
This criticism does not originate from a belief that these gods are ‘not real’, but by the idea that these are real indeed and that it is dangerous to get involved with them. You’ll go to hell, because it comes down to worshiping the devil: a conviction probably brought over by Christian missionaries. Here in Ghana, however, it is not uncommon to practice both religions, how much of a contradiction this may seem.
Besides that, there are almost daily references to witchcraft: witches are for example jealous family members (like old women) who poison people and a lot of deaths (of deaf as well as hearing people) caused by severe illnesses for example, are explained by means of witchcraft. I get warnings like not to walk on the central (most crowded) path of the village, because “there are too many witches there!”. Or take for example: “Something got stolen from my land, so I threw some eggs and a bottle of schnapps in the river and the thief got mortally ill”. That’s an example of divination. Also, magic is practiced: objects and things like hairs and fingernails are manipulated to serve a goal, so one time a deaf girl told me: “my underwear got stolen, so I was scared to death”.
Those are things come to my attention in stories and conversations and luckily I’m able to interpret them because of my anthropology studies, because otherwise I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to see the larger picture: the Christian god in the heaven and the Akan gods – amongst which a deaf god – who live in and around Adamorobe. The ghosts of the deceased ancestors which wander around us. Witchcraft and magic which are practiced by real people. This world is filled with invisible beings and ‘devilish’ practices, organized in a cocktail which could be very unbelievable to western eyes, but which is very real for the deaf and hearing people here.
24 December 2008
19 December 2008
To marry or not to marry?
One day, many years ago, the gong was sounded in the village. An announcement was made: the deaf cannot marry the deaf anymore, says the chief, because you might get deaf children. This, while at the same time there are a lot of hearing people with deaf children in Adamorobe, and hearing people with deaf parents. There were deaf-hearing marriages as well as deaf-deaf. The last type was therefore forbidden from that point forward.
A few obeyed the prohibition and married hearing people. A few amongst them did not have any issues with it, because “the deaf gossip too much anyway!”. Others were very annoyed with the new rule, because they didn’t think it was an appealing option to marry a hearing person. According to them, the hearing were bad spouses per definition, because lot of deaf people have had failed marriages with hearing people.
We’re standing on the village square. Kwasi exclaims that he, without a doubt, wants to marry a deaf person and I put him to the test: “and what happens when you get a deaf child?”. “I would like that”, he tells me without giving it a thought. He points in the direction of the hills: “And I’ll send it to the school for the deaf over there”. The presence of a large school for the deaf means that a deaf child has a future. Does this mean that these people ignore the chief’s prohibition and still marry other deaf?
Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. A lot of deaf cannot marry each other for another reason. Practically all deaf people here are related: brother or sister, nephew or niece or in laws. In this matrilineal society you are allowed to marry certain family members, but you are prohibited to marry others. The four deaf-deaf marriages presently in Adamorobe, break the rules (which are a bit too complicated to just quickly explain).
One of these ‘wrong’ marriages was the one between Ama and Kofi. On top of that, Ama is at least 25 years older than her husband, which is controversial here as well. After a divorce she had been single for a long time and chose him after he saved her life when she was bitten by a poisonous snake. That incident convinced her to marry her nephew anyway: “My family should not give me a hard time… he took care of me so intensively back then, while they didn’t even bother about me”.
Although, these marriages are controversial, they get criticized, and are not acknowledged or affirmed by their families. Sometimes one changes his/her mind because of that reason: several deaf people have had a relationship with this or that nephew or niece and decided not to go through with it in the end.
So why don’t they just marry a deaf person from outside Adamorobe, for example from the capital? “The Accra women don’t go to the farm”, Kwasi told me, “they just girlishly toddle around”. And it’s expensive. In Accra one marries with a “ring and a gown”. In other words: a Christian wedding ceremony. Here in the village one marries in the traditional way: an agreement between the families, sealed with some hard liquor and some money. Simple and relatively cheap.
A few deaf people here are therefore single, and most of them have been divorced once or several times. It’s quite easy to divorce here, and divorces are very common. The single deaf people face three options which are considered unappealing: marrying a hearing person is something they don’t want (anymore), marrying a deaf family member is prohibited and marrying a deaf person ‘from outside’ is expensive or the perception of life is too different. So you see, finding a lifetime partner here is no walk in the park.
A few obeyed the prohibition and married hearing people. A few amongst them did not have any issues with it, because “the deaf gossip too much anyway!”. Others were very annoyed with the new rule, because they didn’t think it was an appealing option to marry a hearing person. According to them, the hearing were bad spouses per definition, because lot of deaf people have had failed marriages with hearing people.
We’re standing on the village square. Kwasi exclaims that he, without a doubt, wants to marry a deaf person and I put him to the test: “and what happens when you get a deaf child?”. “I would like that”, he tells me without giving it a thought. He points in the direction of the hills: “And I’ll send it to the school for the deaf over there”. The presence of a large school for the deaf means that a deaf child has a future. Does this mean that these people ignore the chief’s prohibition and still marry other deaf?
Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. A lot of deaf cannot marry each other for another reason. Practically all deaf people here are related: brother or sister, nephew or niece or in laws. In this matrilineal society you are allowed to marry certain family members, but you are prohibited to marry others. The four deaf-deaf marriages presently in Adamorobe, break the rules (which are a bit too complicated to just quickly explain).
One of these ‘wrong’ marriages was the one between Ama and Kofi. On top of that, Ama is at least 25 years older than her husband, which is controversial here as well. After a divorce she had been single for a long time and chose him after he saved her life when she was bitten by a poisonous snake. That incident convinced her to marry her nephew anyway: “My family should not give me a hard time… he took care of me so intensively back then, while they didn’t even bother about me”.
Although, these marriages are controversial, they get criticized, and are not acknowledged or affirmed by their families. Sometimes one changes his/her mind because of that reason: several deaf people have had a relationship with this or that nephew or niece and decided not to go through with it in the end.
So why don’t they just marry a deaf person from outside Adamorobe, for example from the capital? “The Accra women don’t go to the farm”, Kwasi told me, “they just girlishly toddle around”. And it’s expensive. In Accra one marries with a “ring and a gown”. In other words: a Christian wedding ceremony. Here in the village one marries in the traditional way: an agreement between the families, sealed with some hard liquor and some money. Simple and relatively cheap.
A few deaf people here are therefore single, and most of them have been divorced once or several times. It’s quite easy to divorce here, and divorces are very common. The single deaf people face three options which are considered unappealing: marrying a hearing person is something they don’t want (anymore), marrying a deaf family member is prohibited and marrying a deaf person ‘from outside’ is expensive or the perception of life is too different. So you see, finding a lifetime partner here is no walk in the park.
5 December 2008
Sign scala in Ghana
It’s 6 A.M. I walk outside to commence the daily village habit of ‘greeting people’. Immediately, I come across a hearing man, and I greet him. He signs: “How are you?” I answer that all is well, and how is he? I sense the next question coming before he even speaks: “Be my partner, I want to marry you because you are so beautiful, with your white skin”. I decline: “No, I already have a partner”. “Dump him and marry a black man! He’s not here anyway, so marry me!”
I already explained that because of the large presence of deaf people in this village throughout generations, a lot of hearing people know and use the Adamorobe sign language (=AdaSL). Parents, children, brothers and sisters, people in the food stalls and people you meet on the paths of Adamorobe, thus communicate in signs with the deaf people who live here, and also with me. The conversation mentioned above is a standard one with (sometimes very annoying) hearing men :p
A few weeks ago I went to Accra, where people evidently do not know Adamorobe sign language. Still, it wasn’t always the case that I had to fall back on written communication. In my blogpost ‘Scala’, written two months ago, I already discussed the phenomena of hearing people who do not know sign language, but who naturally use simple signs (‘gestures’) in their communication style. A lot of people tend to know the example of the Italians with their vast number of ‘gestures’. That’s exactly the case here in Ghana (and at least a large part of Africa) too, but of course with gestures which are extremely different from those used in Italy.
Well, when I went to Accra after having been in Adamorobe for a couple of weeks, I clearly noticed that simple interactions with hearing Ghanese people in Accra went much more smoothly once of a sudden. I’m talking about using gestures like ‘coming’, ‘going’, ‘do you come from far?’. In a youth hostel: “go there to get your name registered and then come back here” and “for how many nights are you staying?”. Also communication with taxi drivers, bus drivers and street vendors went easier. I picked up these gestures in Adamorobe and they worked much better in Accra than my European hand- and footwork. So, while people outside of Adamorobe do not know Adamorobe sign language, my background in Adamorobe sign language helped me – interesting enough – to also communicate a bit better in Accra.
In a far end of west-Accra I was visiting, I witnessed a conversation between Joseph, a deaf man, and a hearing woman who came from her farm. They knew each other. She wanted money from him and a teasing conversation followed. He made several signs which I recognized from Adamorobe: ‘cheating’, ‘partner’, ‘man’, ‘farm land’, ‘money’ etc. When the woman had left, I noted that that and that and that sign also is used in Adamorobe. He explained that once in a while, he speaks to deaf people who have never been to school and that he then also uses these signs, that they are ‘gestures’ which many Ghanaians know and use.
All of this got me thinking. I remembered a conversation with Sam, a deaf African academic, who once told me that it felt strange to him, to treat village sign languagues like AdaSL as completely separate languages, because AdaSL incorporates a lot of ‘gestures’ which hearing people use too. However, AdaSL is not merely a collection of gestures like those the Italian use, but it is way more complex and contains specific signs which an outsider does not understand. Joseph, the deaf man mentioned above, has been to Adamorobe. He said that he did not understand a lot of AdaSL, in opposition to most hearing people who have been brought up in Adamorobe.
About the strict opposite of AdaSL and everyday Ghanese gesture, is GSL (Ghanaian Sign Language), the Ghanese sign language which is taught in the school for the deaf. This sign language has been strongly influenced by ASL, the American sign language, because a Afro-American, Andrew J. Foster, set up the deaf education in a large part of Africa, with Ghana as starting point. GSL has very plain facial expressions, minimal mouth gesture and does not use the Ghanese gestures mentioned above. It’s a completely different language. By many Ghanese deaf people, GSL is seen as ‘real sign language’, a language with status, linked to literacy, because it is the school language. ‘Village signs’ are ‘common’ in their eyes and ‘not real’ and according to the educated deaf which I met in Accra, the deaf (and hearing) from Adamorobe therefore cannot ‘really’ sign.
Two years ago I spent 3 months in Bolgatanga, north-Ghana, for my volunteer work in such a deaf school. There I got a basis in GSL. For me, GSL was a thousand times easier to learn than AdaSL because the grammar had more resemblances with western sign languages. But even though AdaSL was a lot harder to learn, I feel that living in Adamorobe gave me a mini crash course in Ghanese culture-and-language-integration, much more than my stay at the deaf school in the north.
I already explained that because of the large presence of deaf people in this village throughout generations, a lot of hearing people know and use the Adamorobe sign language (=AdaSL). Parents, children, brothers and sisters, people in the food stalls and people you meet on the paths of Adamorobe, thus communicate in signs with the deaf people who live here, and also with me. The conversation mentioned above is a standard one with (sometimes very annoying) hearing men :p
A few weeks ago I went to Accra, where people evidently do not know Adamorobe sign language. Still, it wasn’t always the case that I had to fall back on written communication. In my blogpost ‘Scala’, written two months ago, I already discussed the phenomena of hearing people who do not know sign language, but who naturally use simple signs (‘gestures’) in their communication style. A lot of people tend to know the example of the Italians with their vast number of ‘gestures’. That’s exactly the case here in Ghana (and at least a large part of Africa) too, but of course with gestures which are extremely different from those used in Italy.
Well, when I went to Accra after having been in Adamorobe for a couple of weeks, I clearly noticed that simple interactions with hearing Ghanese people in Accra went much more smoothly once of a sudden. I’m talking about using gestures like ‘coming’, ‘going’, ‘do you come from far?’. In a youth hostel: “go there to get your name registered and then come back here” and “for how many nights are you staying?”. Also communication with taxi drivers, bus drivers and street vendors went easier. I picked up these gestures in Adamorobe and they worked much better in Accra than my European hand- and footwork. So, while people outside of Adamorobe do not know Adamorobe sign language, my background in Adamorobe sign language helped me – interesting enough – to also communicate a bit better in Accra.
In a far end of west-Accra I was visiting, I witnessed a conversation between Joseph, a deaf man, and a hearing woman who came from her farm. They knew each other. She wanted money from him and a teasing conversation followed. He made several signs which I recognized from Adamorobe: ‘cheating’, ‘partner’, ‘man’, ‘farm land’, ‘money’ etc. When the woman had left, I noted that that and that and that sign also is used in Adamorobe. He explained that once in a while, he speaks to deaf people who have never been to school and that he then also uses these signs, that they are ‘gestures’ which many Ghanaians know and use.
All of this got me thinking. I remembered a conversation with Sam, a deaf African academic, who once told me that it felt strange to him, to treat village sign languagues like AdaSL as completely separate languages, because AdaSL incorporates a lot of ‘gestures’ which hearing people use too. However, AdaSL is not merely a collection of gestures like those the Italian use, but it is way more complex and contains specific signs which an outsider does not understand. Joseph, the deaf man mentioned above, has been to Adamorobe. He said that he did not understand a lot of AdaSL, in opposition to most hearing people who have been brought up in Adamorobe.
About the strict opposite of AdaSL and everyday Ghanese gesture, is GSL (Ghanaian Sign Language), the Ghanese sign language which is taught in the school for the deaf. This sign language has been strongly influenced by ASL, the American sign language, because a Afro-American, Andrew J. Foster, set up the deaf education in a large part of Africa, with Ghana as starting point. GSL has very plain facial expressions, minimal mouth gesture and does not use the Ghanese gestures mentioned above. It’s a completely different language. By many Ghanese deaf people, GSL is seen as ‘real sign language’, a language with status, linked to literacy, because it is the school language. ‘Village signs’ are ‘common’ in their eyes and ‘not real’ and according to the educated deaf which I met in Accra, the deaf (and hearing) from Adamorobe therefore cannot ‘really’ sign.
Two years ago I spent 3 months in Bolgatanga, north-Ghana, for my volunteer work in such a deaf school. There I got a basis in GSL. For me, GSL was a thousand times easier to learn than AdaSL because the grammar had more resemblances with western sign languages. But even though AdaSL was a lot harder to learn, I feel that living in Adamorobe gave me a mini crash course in Ghanese culture-and-language-integration, much more than my stay at the deaf school in the north.
3 December 2008
The tattoo
A few deaf people here have gotten a tattoo on the inside of their lower arm. In print: their name, and the name of the village, Adamorobe. (Also see: photosite Elena Rue). I had not seen such tattoos on hearing people yet. On the last day of October – I had been in the village for two weeks – I started a conversation on the subject. I asked Kofi: “You have that tattoo on your arm, why don’t the hearing have one, and the deaf do?” He started to explain that they serve the purpose of not getting lost outside the village. He knows how to get to Accra – the capital which is situated about ten kilometres further on – and he knows how to get to different other places. He learnt getting around from Samuel, an older deaf man from Accra who has lived in Adamorobe for a long time already and who tutored the deaf bible studies, and who also took them to the capital.
Well, to try to get somewhere here in Ghana, you arrive at huge, seemingly chaotic ‘lorry stations’ filled with mini buses (‘trotros’) scattered among the place: the buses we sack in Europe, are used here as public transportation. You mostly get to the right bus by asking around. “The bus drivers do not recognize the sign for Adamorobe”, Kofi told me. And writing down the place name is not that obvious. Kofi is a farmer who never attended school. Samuel taught him how to write his name, but to remember ‘Adamorobe’ is more difficult. Therefore, he shows his tattoo to people at the bus station and that’s how he gets to the right tro-tro. “I don’t want to go to my land each day again over and over again”, he explains to me. It feels good to get away sometimes. And to, at those moments, show everybody that he, Kofi, travels to and from Accra on his own.
A few weeks later I heard a story about Kwadzo, who is tattoo-less. He once got lost and spent months away from home. I asked him to tell me that story. He had to go to a cocoa farm (a lot of people from Adamorobe have worked on cocoa farms outside Adamorobe or have emigrated there). He knew the way, but when he signalled he had to get off the bus, the driver just kept on driving. He ended up somewhere he did not know his way. He walked around for quite a while before he ran into the police but he did not succeed in communicating where his home was. He worked on a piece of land for a couple of months, which the police helped him obtain. One day, the police finally found out where he was from and he was taken back. Everybody was ecstatic that he was not dead. So there you see. A tattoo can keep you out of a hell of a lot of trouble.
A few days ago, at a funeral, I saw a woman with a similar tattoo. A hearing woman. I peeked at her arm to read what was written underneath her name: “Oyibi”. Oyibi is a village near Adamorobe. This meant that those tattoos are not something specifically from and for the deaf people. A hearing person who speaks, can without a doubt tell a bus driver or a police officer the name of her village. For a moment, I was confused.
Once of a sudden, I remembered a conversation with Kwame, the first to have such a tattoo. He told me that he got it under pressure of his father, when he went to work in a cocoa zone outside of Adamorobe. Because – as his father told him – if you die in a bus crash (there are quite a few fatal incidents here), how will they know who you are and where to deliver your body? In Europe they look in your wallet. To find your ID. So maybe those tattoos are just like a kind of passport, and they get a more broad meaning and function for the deaf?
Well, to try to get somewhere here in Ghana, you arrive at huge, seemingly chaotic ‘lorry stations’ filled with mini buses (‘trotros’) scattered among the place: the buses we sack in Europe, are used here as public transportation. You mostly get to the right bus by asking around. “The bus drivers do not recognize the sign for Adamorobe”, Kofi told me. And writing down the place name is not that obvious. Kofi is a farmer who never attended school. Samuel taught him how to write his name, but to remember ‘Adamorobe’ is more difficult. Therefore, he shows his tattoo to people at the bus station and that’s how he gets to the right tro-tro. “I don’t want to go to my land each day again over and over again”, he explains to me. It feels good to get away sometimes. And to, at those moments, show everybody that he, Kofi, travels to and from Accra on his own.
A few weeks later I heard a story about Kwadzo, who is tattoo-less. He once got lost and spent months away from home. I asked him to tell me that story. He had to go to a cocoa farm (a lot of people from Adamorobe have worked on cocoa farms outside Adamorobe or have emigrated there). He knew the way, but when he signalled he had to get off the bus, the driver just kept on driving. He ended up somewhere he did not know his way. He walked around for quite a while before he ran into the police but he did not succeed in communicating where his home was. He worked on a piece of land for a couple of months, which the police helped him obtain. One day, the police finally found out where he was from and he was taken back. Everybody was ecstatic that he was not dead. So there you see. A tattoo can keep you out of a hell of a lot of trouble.
A few days ago, at a funeral, I saw a woman with a similar tattoo. A hearing woman. I peeked at her arm to read what was written underneath her name: “Oyibi”. Oyibi is a village near Adamorobe. This meant that those tattoos are not something specifically from and for the deaf people. A hearing person who speaks, can without a doubt tell a bus driver or a police officer the name of her village. For a moment, I was confused.
Once of a sudden, I remembered a conversation with Kwame, the first to have such a tattoo. He told me that he got it under pressure of his father, when he went to work in a cocoa zone outside of Adamorobe. Because – as his father told him – if you die in a bus crash (there are quite a few fatal incidents here), how will they know who you are and where to deliver your body? In Europe they look in your wallet. To find your ID. So maybe those tattoos are just like a kind of passport, and they get a more broad meaning and function for the deaf?
15 November 2008
‘The deaf are friends’ and ‘the hearing are bad’
On a Thursday morning around 7.30 I went to the house of a few deaf people (a ‘house’ here consists of ‘rooms’ around a kind of open air courtyard where people cook, wash, chatter, eat,… and often contains different families). Ama, Kofi and Kwaku – three deaf people – were in a small shed peeling corn. I knew the corn probably came from the land of Ama and Kofi and checked with Ama: “Whose corn is that?” She confirmed my suspicion: “Kofi’s and mine”. I asked: “Then why is Kwaku working too?” Ama laughed and answered: “Ah :-) deaf the same, you know? He stopped by to say hello, saw us peeling the corn and started helping out.”
One evening. I’m in the same house as the one mentioned above, talking to a few deaf people. Once of a sudden, Kwabena comes in and tells us that Kwadzo, another deaf man, gave him a serious beating. Kofi exclaims appalled: “But you’re both deaf, then why is Kwadzo fighting with you? (with an upset face) The hearing you can kill, that’s only fair, but the deaf are the same, you have to be friends with the deaf”. (To put this into perspective: he didn’t really mean the thing about ‘killing the hearing’, he was just angry ;-))
The end of my previous blog post already hinted in this direction: there is a strong connection between (at least some of) the 40 deaf people who live in this village. These people tend to work together on the land, tend to go and see each other for conversations, tend to marry each other etc. The anecdotes above are only two of a whole series I have already jotted down.
It’s one of the first days here. I’m sitting on a hill on the piece of land of two deaf people. We’re catching a breath from the walk up to there. Kofi is quite quiet. Once of a sudden Ama tells Kofi he has to talk to me, that we’re both deaf, and thus the same, and that that means he has to talk to me.
One night. Kwasi was very enthusiastic. He said he wanted to give me casava because we are both deaf. He shook my hand and said enthusiastically: “We are both deaf, you are white, but do I push you away? No! We are friends, both deaf”. He repeated this time after time: “You are white and I am black, but do I push you away? No!”
Thus, ‘Deaf the same' seems to ease my ‘integration’ here (although I have to mention that a hearing linguistic researcher seemingly also got a warm welcome here in the past). I am always welcome at the deaf people’s homes. Quite a few of them tend to visit me here, they make sure my water barrel is never empty, they join me when I don’t know where to buy something, they teach me their signs, etc etc, and they repeat constantly that I am just like them, ‘deaf the same’. Even though I am very different at the same time: white, highly educated and in their eyes ‘rich’. You see, I am very well taken care of and sometimes it’s difficult (more about that later on), but never ever boring. I never feel alone and some even say that they don’t want to let me leave. Sometimes it’s amazing to me.
On the other hand, as you can suspect after reading Kofi’s ‘killing’-quote cited above: there’s a strong negative feeling towards the hearing here. “The hearing are bad” seems to be a kind of expletive (‘cliché’) here, just as “deaf are the same/friends”.
A lot of deaf have bad relationships with the hearing. Elements which re-occur in their stories they tell me when I ask why the hearing are supposedly so bad, are the following: hearing men don’t give their wives any money, hearing women steal money from their deaf men, hearing scold deaf people, insult them and do not treat them respectfully.
That means there’s a downside too: when I interact with hearing people (to get to know their viewpoints), the deaf are apprehensive and want to protect me (in an exaggerated way). A large part of the hearing men I encounter, ask me to marry them (yes, typically Ghanaian) and then they without exception exclaim: “The hearing are bad!” When a hearing person approaches me and starts a written conversation in English, they give me an annoyed look and repeatedly warn me that all the hearing are cheats and that I’m better off ignoring them completely; even though I translate everything that is written in signs to not exclude them and even though the conversation is absolutely innocent: for example about a local tradition named Odwira. In other words: there is a huge deal of suspicion towards the intentions of hearing people. So even though the deaf greet the hearing in a friendly manner, and communicate with them in local Adamorobe sign language daily, in the conversations amongst the deaf, that suspicion towards the hearing is very clearly present.
Why this is so interesting? I previously mentioned that because of the large presence of deaf people here because of the spread of a deafness-gene, a local sign language had originated throughout the centuries which also a lot of hearing people master (on different levels). There are different villages know with similar situations; in Mexico, India, Bali, Israël and still in some other places. Well, some ‘Deaf Studies’ theories state that in these places, deaf are less (or not at all) inclined to seek each other’s company. This because, in these places there are little or no communicational problems with the hearing people, because they know how to sign. In other words: that the deaf only seek each other’s company when communication between the deaf and the hearing fails. But that is not the case in Adamorobe. There is a connection between the deaf, that much is sure. One of my research goals is finding out where that connection comes from, how it came into being or is motivated.
Does the ‘deaf-the-same’ or ‘deaf-are-fiends’ intuition only originate from the above mentioned negative experiences with hearing – that the deaf are driven towards each other? Or are the deaf also tied to each other on a different level, not directly linked to negative experiences? In Adamorobe, there are different very diverging ways in which the difference is made between the deaf and the hearing. The deaf go to a deaf school separately and have separate church services in sign language, the deaf perform patrol work, the deaf as a group perform or performed cultural presentations and storytelling on festivals… Might there be a kind of universal (Deafhood-)intuition which drives the deaf towards each other? Anyhow, the bond which can exist between the deaf goes way further than language and communication, and that is also the case in Adamorobe, that has become very clear to me, at this stage already.
One evening. I’m in the same house as the one mentioned above, talking to a few deaf people. Once of a sudden, Kwabena comes in and tells us that Kwadzo, another deaf man, gave him a serious beating. Kofi exclaims appalled: “But you’re both deaf, then why is Kwadzo fighting with you? (with an upset face) The hearing you can kill, that’s only fair, but the deaf are the same, you have to be friends with the deaf”. (To put this into perspective: he didn’t really mean the thing about ‘killing the hearing’, he was just angry ;-))
The end of my previous blog post already hinted in this direction: there is a strong connection between (at least some of) the 40 deaf people who live in this village. These people tend to work together on the land, tend to go and see each other for conversations, tend to marry each other etc. The anecdotes above are only two of a whole series I have already jotted down.
It’s one of the first days here. I’m sitting on a hill on the piece of land of two deaf people. We’re catching a breath from the walk up to there. Kofi is quite quiet. Once of a sudden Ama tells Kofi he has to talk to me, that we’re both deaf, and thus the same, and that that means he has to talk to me.
One night. Kwasi was very enthusiastic. He said he wanted to give me casava because we are both deaf. He shook my hand and said enthusiastically: “We are both deaf, you are white, but do I push you away? No! We are friends, both deaf”. He repeated this time after time: “You are white and I am black, but do I push you away? No!”
Thus, ‘Deaf the same' seems to ease my ‘integration’ here (although I have to mention that a hearing linguistic researcher seemingly also got a warm welcome here in the past). I am always welcome at the deaf people’s homes. Quite a few of them tend to visit me here, they make sure my water barrel is never empty, they join me when I don’t know where to buy something, they teach me their signs, etc etc, and they repeat constantly that I am just like them, ‘deaf the same’. Even though I am very different at the same time: white, highly educated and in their eyes ‘rich’. You see, I am very well taken care of and sometimes it’s difficult (more about that later on), but never ever boring. I never feel alone and some even say that they don’t want to let me leave. Sometimes it’s amazing to me.
On the other hand, as you can suspect after reading Kofi’s ‘killing’-quote cited above: there’s a strong negative feeling towards the hearing here. “The hearing are bad” seems to be a kind of expletive (‘cliché’) here, just as “deaf are the same/friends”.
A lot of deaf have bad relationships with the hearing. Elements which re-occur in their stories they tell me when I ask why the hearing are supposedly so bad, are the following: hearing men don’t give their wives any money, hearing women steal money from their deaf men, hearing scold deaf people, insult them and do not treat them respectfully.
That means there’s a downside too: when I interact with hearing people (to get to know their viewpoints), the deaf are apprehensive and want to protect me (in an exaggerated way). A large part of the hearing men I encounter, ask me to marry them (yes, typically Ghanaian) and then they without exception exclaim: “The hearing are bad!” When a hearing person approaches me and starts a written conversation in English, they give me an annoyed look and repeatedly warn me that all the hearing are cheats and that I’m better off ignoring them completely; even though I translate everything that is written in signs to not exclude them and even though the conversation is absolutely innocent: for example about a local tradition named Odwira. In other words: there is a huge deal of suspicion towards the intentions of hearing people. So even though the deaf greet the hearing in a friendly manner, and communicate with them in local Adamorobe sign language daily, in the conversations amongst the deaf, that suspicion towards the hearing is very clearly present.
Why this is so interesting? I previously mentioned that because of the large presence of deaf people here because of the spread of a deafness-gene, a local sign language had originated throughout the centuries which also a lot of hearing people master (on different levels). There are different villages know with similar situations; in Mexico, India, Bali, Israël and still in some other places. Well, some ‘Deaf Studies’ theories state that in these places, deaf are less (or not at all) inclined to seek each other’s company. This because, in these places there are little or no communicational problems with the hearing people, because they know how to sign. In other words: that the deaf only seek each other’s company when communication between the deaf and the hearing fails. But that is not the case in Adamorobe. There is a connection between the deaf, that much is sure. One of my research goals is finding out where that connection comes from, how it came into being or is motivated.
Does the ‘deaf-the-same’ or ‘deaf-are-fiends’ intuition only originate from the above mentioned negative experiences with hearing – that the deaf are driven towards each other? Or are the deaf also tied to each other on a different level, not directly linked to negative experiences? In Adamorobe, there are different very diverging ways in which the difference is made between the deaf and the hearing. The deaf go to a deaf school separately and have separate church services in sign language, the deaf perform patrol work, the deaf as a group perform or performed cultural presentations and storytelling on festivals… Might there be a kind of universal (Deafhood-)intuition which drives the deaf towards each other? Anyhow, the bond which can exist between the deaf goes way further than language and communication, and that is also the case in Adamorobe, that has become very clear to me, at this stage already.
3 November 2008
'The same'?
Anthropology has striking resemblances with the work detectives do, now and then. In AdaSL (Adamorobe sign language) there’s a very specific terminology for different kinds of fish preparations, different vegetables and crops, a complicated system for communicating about money etc. But for family ties the terminology is quite simple. The sign for ‘the same (as the opposite of ‘different’/’difference’)’, ‘sister/brother’, ‘friend’ and ‘cousin (m/f)/aunt/uncle’ is one and the same sign: two fingers you turn around and shake from left to right. It didn’t take me long to figure out the first three meanings, but that that particular sign also meant ‘cousin (m/f)/aunt/uncle’ only became clear to me after a week of confusion. What a huge revelation it was, and at the same time it was quite discouraging :-)
Also take into consideration that most deaf people cannot write their name (even today not all deaf/hearing children of the village go to school yet) and even if I get a hold of names from a hearing literate person, it’s not possible to derive family ties from them, because people here seem to have two first names (and not even always the same ones) and no surname (or don’t use it?). Several hearing people who can write, note down names the way they sound, which can vary every single time, meaning that the name Asabea can also be Esabia for example. Sum up the fact that it seems fairly normal here to divorce and re-marry, which makes that a large number of people already have been married a few times in Adamorobe with deaf/hearing people and have deaf/hearing children with different people. Add the fact that people often marry people with whom they have family ties. Put all that together and you can start to imagine that family trees here are not simple!
Nonetheless, it is important to understand those family ties because deafness is located in families here, and this whole village (or a large part of it) seems to consist of families. That means that if you want to try to understand the social relations between deaf and hearing people, you’ll have you find out who’s related to whom and in which way. Of course I’m not occupied with that the whole time, but now and then I am. (What I àm mostly learning and experiencing here, I’ll blog later on: I have to start somewhere and other things are still to chaotic to put into words correctly, for now).
How, in the end, you succeed in working your way through the family trees? You keep on asking questions: “So, that person is also born from her mother?” – “Yes” – “And him too, that guy we passed yesterday and who did a little dance for me because he wanted to marry me?” – “Yes” – “So who is the eldest?” – “No no Annelies, you don’t get it, they are ‘the same’, but she is not the first born or later born”. Ok, so they are cousins.
Once, I tried communicating with an old deaf woman about the question if a certain dead deaf woman (with many deaf offspring) was her sister. That wasn’t working out too well, because the whole time she thought I was referring to her mother. Because yeah, that’s another issue: the sign for woman, girl and mother is also one and the same. Sometimes I’m afraid it will make me old before my age. With bits and pieces of information, I get there, and I double check regularly with several deaf/hearing people and in different situations. It has already become clear to me that there are at least 40 deaf people in the village centre of Adamorobe, who originate from at least 5 large deaf families (with easily 5 deaf children who are adults now, have gotten married, and have children of their own), who get married amongst each other and who often have direct family ties.
After a short conversation about which large families are related, I want to carry out a double check and I ask 5 deaf people surrounding me: “So you are all ‘the same’?” (‘the same’ this time used in the meaning of ‘cousins’)? “Yes”, signed Ama, “we are all “the same”. “Her too?” I pointed at a deaf woman of whom I had just been told that she was not directly related to them. She answers: “Yes, all of us!” I give her a defeated look. A boy explains: “We are all deaf, that is why we are all ‘the same’ – his facial expression shows me I have to interpret the sign as ‘friends’ this time. I want to start with: “But…” but I smile, shrug my shoulders and nod. To completely or even partly solve the puzzle, I’ll need some more time. :-)
Also take into consideration that most deaf people cannot write their name (even today not all deaf/hearing children of the village go to school yet) and even if I get a hold of names from a hearing literate person, it’s not possible to derive family ties from them, because people here seem to have two first names (and not even always the same ones) and no surname (or don’t use it?). Several hearing people who can write, note down names the way they sound, which can vary every single time, meaning that the name Asabea can also be Esabia for example. Sum up the fact that it seems fairly normal here to divorce and re-marry, which makes that a large number of people already have been married a few times in Adamorobe with deaf/hearing people and have deaf/hearing children with different people. Add the fact that people often marry people with whom they have family ties. Put all that together and you can start to imagine that family trees here are not simple!
Nonetheless, it is important to understand those family ties because deafness is located in families here, and this whole village (or a large part of it) seems to consist of families. That means that if you want to try to understand the social relations between deaf and hearing people, you’ll have you find out who’s related to whom and in which way. Of course I’m not occupied with that the whole time, but now and then I am. (What I àm mostly learning and experiencing here, I’ll blog later on: I have to start somewhere and other things are still to chaotic to put into words correctly, for now).
How, in the end, you succeed in working your way through the family trees? You keep on asking questions: “So, that person is also born from her mother?” – “Yes” – “And him too, that guy we passed yesterday and who did a little dance for me because he wanted to marry me?” – “Yes” – “So who is the eldest?” – “No no Annelies, you don’t get it, they are ‘the same’, but she is not the first born or later born”. Ok, so they are cousins.
Once, I tried communicating with an old deaf woman about the question if a certain dead deaf woman (with many deaf offspring) was her sister. That wasn’t working out too well, because the whole time she thought I was referring to her mother. Because yeah, that’s another issue: the sign for woman, girl and mother is also one and the same. Sometimes I’m afraid it will make me old before my age. With bits and pieces of information, I get there, and I double check regularly with several deaf/hearing people and in different situations. It has already become clear to me that there are at least 40 deaf people in the village centre of Adamorobe, who originate from at least 5 large deaf families (with easily 5 deaf children who are adults now, have gotten married, and have children of their own), who get married amongst each other and who often have direct family ties.
After a short conversation about which large families are related, I want to carry out a double check and I ask 5 deaf people surrounding me: “So you are all ‘the same’?” (‘the same’ this time used in the meaning of ‘cousins’)? “Yes”, signed Ama, “we are all “the same”. “Her too?” I pointed at a deaf woman of whom I had just been told that she was not directly related to them. She answers: “Yes, all of us!” I give her a defeated look. A boy explains: “We are all deaf, that is why we are all ‘the same’ – his facial expression shows me I have to interpret the sign as ‘friends’ this time. I want to start with: “But…” but I smile, shrug my shoulders and nod. To completely or even partly solve the puzzle, I’ll need some more time. :-)
24 October 2008
Adamorobe – the beginning...
Wednesday, 22nd October, 6.30 PM. Adamorobe, a village situated in a valley in between green hills, densely grown with cassava, banana palms, coconut palms, corn, mango trees and plenty more. At the edge of the village, the river Adamorobe makes its way. I’m sitting in a pitch-dark room, lit by candles only. Power is down for the umpteenth time, but my laptop has still got battery power left for about an hour. Next to me are two small children who seem to be intrigued by what I’m typing. In the meantime I’m hoping that I’ll find internet somewhere tomorrow, in a city a bit further on.
On the 15th of October, I landed in Accra (after a detour via Bombay to meet up with my boyfriend) and I came straight here. This means my doctoral research has begun. Finally!
I’m living in a spacious room with green walls (painted in two different tones, paint probably ran out ;)) in an empty but large house. The owner comes from a family with 5 deaf brothers and sisters. I’m the proud owner of a socket outlet, a light source, a fan, a latex-foam mattress on the floor, a garden chair and a wobbly mini-table. My belongings are in a corner, divided over different plastic and other bags. My ‘pièce de résistance’ is a huge barrel with water which a few deaf women fill up once in a while with pumped water they carry here on their heads. With this water I wash myself, cook food and flush the toilet.
In a while, I’ll be heading to the neighbours - by flashlight light - where almost ten deaf people live in the same group of houses. It was not possible to go and stay with them, because they are housed very small. Regularly though, I have deaf visitors and every day I go for a round of ‘saying hello’. On every little walk, I tend to stumble upon deaf people. There are about 35-40 deaf people in this one village and almost all of them were born here, in different families with deaf as well as hearing members. The sign language which is used by the deaf as well as the hearing, originated in the village itself and is at least 200 years old. The sign lexicon is about 100 percent different from the sign languages I already knew. Although, by now it has already gotten easier to read, because a few deaf people are very active in teaching me their signs, which results in the fact that in one week, I’ve already mastered more than 200 of them.
I’m permitted to use the kitchen of this house, which means I can make an omelette or cook pasta once in a while, but there aren’t a lot of opportunities to cook in a ‘western’ way; about the only vegetables sold around here are tomatoes and onions. This means I survive mostly on traditional Ghanese grub: fufu and banku (mashed dough balls which are eaten with an either spicy or slimy ‘soup’), cassava, eggs, fish and once in a while rice and white, fuzzy, low-nutrient bread. De woman of the house supplies me with a plate of such food each day, I venture to a ‘stall’ to buy prepared rice or a ball of banku once in a while and sometimes, I’m offered something there and there. Yesterday, I received 10 huge, slimy living snails from Bosmophrah, a deaf man (and they were surprised that I didn’t know how to prepare them, which lead to me getting a lesson in ‘squeezing slime out of slugs’ – I can assure you it was a greenish experience).
This is a ‘real African village’, with strong traditions and a lot of stories, dramas, a lot of deaths, complex family relations, bad sicknesses, gossip, extreme joy and extreme sadness, and last but not least: witchcraft-stories. And the one thing that makes this place really special and intriguing, is the century-long presence of deaf people, and the communication and relations between the deaf and the hearing. I have already come across numerous interesting potential research themes. More about all of this later on: definitely to be continued!
On the 15th of October, I landed in Accra (after a detour via Bombay to meet up with my boyfriend) and I came straight here. This means my doctoral research has begun. Finally!
I’m living in a spacious room with green walls (painted in two different tones, paint probably ran out ;)) in an empty but large house. The owner comes from a family with 5 deaf brothers and sisters. I’m the proud owner of a socket outlet, a light source, a fan, a latex-foam mattress on the floor, a garden chair and a wobbly mini-table. My belongings are in a corner, divided over different plastic and other bags. My ‘pièce de résistance’ is a huge barrel with water which a few deaf women fill up once in a while with pumped water they carry here on their heads. With this water I wash myself, cook food and flush the toilet.
In a while, I’ll be heading to the neighbours - by flashlight light - where almost ten deaf people live in the same group of houses. It was not possible to go and stay with them, because they are housed very small. Regularly though, I have deaf visitors and every day I go for a round of ‘saying hello’. On every little walk, I tend to stumble upon deaf people. There are about 35-40 deaf people in this one village and almost all of them were born here, in different families with deaf as well as hearing members. The sign language which is used by the deaf as well as the hearing, originated in the village itself and is at least 200 years old. The sign lexicon is about 100 percent different from the sign languages I already knew. Although, by now it has already gotten easier to read, because a few deaf people are very active in teaching me their signs, which results in the fact that in one week, I’ve already mastered more than 200 of them.
I’m permitted to use the kitchen of this house, which means I can make an omelette or cook pasta once in a while, but there aren’t a lot of opportunities to cook in a ‘western’ way; about the only vegetables sold around here are tomatoes and onions. This means I survive mostly on traditional Ghanese grub: fufu and banku (mashed dough balls which are eaten with an either spicy or slimy ‘soup’), cassava, eggs, fish and once in a while rice and white, fuzzy, low-nutrient bread. De woman of the house supplies me with a plate of such food each day, I venture to a ‘stall’ to buy prepared rice or a ball of banku once in a while and sometimes, I’m offered something there and there. Yesterday, I received 10 huge, slimy living snails from Bosmophrah, a deaf man (and they were surprised that I didn’t know how to prepare them, which lead to me getting a lesson in ‘squeezing slime out of slugs’ – I can assure you it was a greenish experience).
This is a ‘real African village’, with strong traditions and a lot of stories, dramas, a lot of deaths, complex family relations, bad sicknesses, gossip, extreme joy and extreme sadness, and last but not least: witchcraft-stories. And the one thing that makes this place really special and intriguing, is the century-long presence of deaf people, and the communication and relations between the deaf and the hearing. I have already come across numerous interesting potential research themes. More about all of this later on: definitely to be continued!
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