A moment in time

The scorching sun beats down through the cracked window- a Ghanaian cab driver’s version of air conditioning. Red clouds billow behind us as we wind our way along the long dirt road leading to the camp. I wipe at the sweat trickling down my back and curse the bus for breaking down several times. In typical African fashion, our three-hour journey has stretched into seven and a half. Time is not on my side today.

I arrive hours behind schedule and meet my host for the day who leads me down a narrow path into the village. I am surprised by its quaintness; not at all what I had envisioned. Blossoming trees surround the mud huts scattered throughout and a sense of calm envelops the community at Gnani witch camp.

I am introduced to a frail woman named Ekua. She does not know her age. My translator tells me she is likely in her late seventies and has been here longer than most. For Ekua, the camp is a refuge.

Like most of the elderly people living here, Ekua has been suspected of murder and witchcraft, a practice punishable by isolation. Accusations alone are enough to be banished from where you belong.

Ekua removes her hat and brushes her wispy white hair aside, pointing to a scar that stretches from her right temple along the length of her scalp. She runs her delicate fingers through the crevice as she talks; a part of her past that is as heavy as the basins of water she often balances on her head.

I do not need a translator to understand the pain in her words.
They beat me till I bled, she tells us.

Her wounds run deeper than the scar on her battered body. Her lip quivers; tears well in her sunken eyes. I stand in front of a woman who once put her strength into caring for others: now it is used to scrounge for food and water. I will never know her full story, but I know I will never forget her face.

An image of my grandmother comes to mind- someone just as fragile and gentle. I turn away to wipe away tears of my own.

In just two months I will see my family. Ekua has not seen hers in twenty years. Her children have grown and now likely have children of their own. Gnani is a place where time seems to stand still.

If Ekua listens closely she can hear the faint ticking of minutes turning to hours, hours turning to days and days turning to years- time spent wondering whether her loved ones will come for her.

Until the ticking stops. And life stands still.