Yamoransah Village

Every kilometer we drove from Accra seemed to cross a time zone, not in the sense of clock time, but in the sense of calendar time.

Years.

Frederick Antwi had invited us to his home in the village of Yamoransah. We left before sunrise. It would take us nearly three hours of difficult driving to reach his village. We ran out of asphalt long before we ran out of road.

Decades.

They knew we were coming. They were waiting for us. Brother Antwi’s family was anticipating our arrival and I had no idea what to expect. Time travel has interesting side effects.

Centuries.

As we climbed from our SUV, stiff and sore from the long journey, Brother Antwi’s mother-in-law was sitting on the stone step beside her home. She had the regal air of an African Queen, the matriarch of her village.

I asked her if I could take her picture.

“She doesn’t understand,” Brother Antwi said.

“Would she mind if I took her picture?”

“No,” he said, crossing the threshold. We were meant to follow.

I raised my camera and looked through the lens. She stared at me with cloudy eyes. I took my eye from the lens and looked at her from around my camera. I held my camera out and used a hand signal to seek her approval.

She stared back at me, proud.

I looked through the lens once more and I could see the cataracts, which obscured her vision. I could see the lines written on her face, lines which told stories of childbirth, hunger, famine, war and survival. I could feel a tolerance mixed with profound sadness. But I could not cross the barrier to understanding. The journey, for me, was much too far and much too hard. This temporary visit was not enough for me to expect her acceptance. I could take her image with me but I could not take her story. My vision was clouded by cultural cataracts.

Brother Antwi waved at me to follow him. The moment passed. I tried to say thank you with words she didn’t understand. Frustrated by the barriers between us, I nodded my head in salute. Slowly she nodded her head in response. Her lips did not open, but the corners of her mouth turned. I hope it was her smile.