It was Easter Sunday, 2009, and my bony carcass was surveying one of the most marvelous and magical locales I have ever witnessed. The Kejetia market in Kumasi, Ghana is the largest market in West Africa. I have also heard it said that it is the largest open air market in the world. Given that the far end of the market disappears over the horizon, I would be shocked if its not in the top five.
Christianity is an integral part of society in much of Ghana. Chances are that if you're not hearing some awesome drumming, you're passing by a chapel emanating beautiful voices in inspired unison declaring their faith through the power of song.
So, of course Easter Sunday is one of the largest events on the calender and as a result the massive market was positively subdued by local standards. By Western standards it felt busy, but I immediately sensed that it was not the teeming cauldron of human endevour that it normally is.
I'm a little sad that the market is not its usual vibrant self, but the relative quiet presents an opportunity to drink it all in, to banter with the locals, and to savour the sheer enormity of this incredible place.
One issue I'm very sensitive about when traveling is taking pictures of people. People the world over deserve the right to privacy, and our day to day existence is not some freak show paraded for our collective need to satisfy some voyeuristic vacuum. Besides, I'd already had two incidents in Ghana involving using a camera when I shouldn't have.
As I strolled the market with wide eyes, I passed by this lady, and something sparked.
She was selling yams and obviously bored. Our eyes met, and I smiled and nodded at her. She said hello and we engaged in some small talk. I asked if I could take her picture, and she posed for me. I gave her a small dash (tip) and as I did so she held out her hands to me, which I instinctively accepted.
She looked me directly in the eye and said to me, "I love you". Deeply touched, I returned her stare and I said " I love you too". I began to release my grip, only to feel her hands tighten and her eyes grow more intense.
"No" she said, "I mean it, I really, really love you". In that moment I feel something shoot through me as the depth of our impromptu exchange dawns on me. I look her back in the eye and tell her that I mean it, too.
We release our grip. My buckling legs bid farewell as my welling eyes turn away. I marvel at the sheer aliveness of the people I have met in Ghana.
And I know I'll often stop and think about them.
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