Climbing off the bus I could help but be a bit confused at my surroundings. Where were the loom? The cloth? Anything?. Just another shanty little town with kids bargaining with me other things I never agreed to bye in the fist place. I dug into my bag for loose bills hoping 30 Cedisand bargaining would get me all the material I wanted. After my sleepiness wore off my natural Boston instinct kicked in an I was ready to leave the group and explore myself until I notice that my Conrad Rachel had drifted off and the group separated into two. Panford insisted that I fallow him in the second group no and despite not wanting I guess there was a first time for everything so I fallowed along. I was a little confused that this Kente weaving community wasunusually small for something said to be home to the finest Kente in the area. I expected busy streets and looms on every corner.
Clumsily meandering through side streets fallowed by street kids still trying to push uselessparaphernalia in our faces, the group finally came to a stop in a clearing were the buildings seemed to open up into haphazard plaza and we were reunited with the other half of our group. To the left of me I could scarcely see a commotion going on infront of a wooden long house. Shortly after I learned that is where the –serious- kente weaving took place.
Once inside the long house all small time hustlers were locked out and the weaver took there place. Some were between the noses and the shoving in the narrow walk way of the long house I was able to recognized some familiar American accents. I didn’t really miss physically being home at all but I still felt good to know fellow black Americans were in the vicinity. It’s a weird feeling knowing your not completely at home in America but still sticking out in Africa. I guess I just missed tho familiarity, being able to speak to a black person that used the same type of English I do and shares a similar sense of humor.
The path along the walls of the long house were barely big enough for two people to walk side by side. Making my way around the one big room, It is impossible to ‘just look’. Weavers are ready to sell and the patterns and colors were unheard of. Eager to find the perfect purple material to bring home to my girlfriend I couldn't resist toughing ever one I saw, comparing prices. but people there don’t just tell you the price and let you walk away. The have to pull out the whole 6yard long piece of fabric and give you a million reasons why you should buy it from them. Of course me not having the “you must buy” from me bit, I try to reject as kindly as possible and go about my way taking as few snap shots as possible to avoid being the obnoxious tourist. Not having the slightest clue about fabric and dress making made it all worst as I tried to negotiateprices. My base length was 2 yards but of coarse everyone wants to tell you the best type of dress u should try to make and of coarse its going to need 6 yards of material and of coarse the only person with 6 yards of that particular material is them. PHA..i wasn’t having it.
Aggravated that my chaperons failed to communicate the fact that this would be our first stop, Ihadn’t had the chance to change money, but of coarse this was all my fault because I didn’t have the syllabus and/or didn’t hear them correctly or some other non sense excuse they continually use to pass the baton of blame from administration on the me the student. Yea right. Any how, Isettled on just being satisfied with my pictures since I didn’t barley have enough money and apparently there was no way we were coming back to this place again.
Hats off to the great communication and planning.
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