Village Stay: Sumniboma

The landscape in Sumniboma is richer than a postcard. I cant figure out why no one has built a spa resort to capitalize on the green hills, rock outcroppings, gorgeous baobabs, bubbling springs and picturesque community. Not to mention the views: from the hills surrounding it, it feels like you can see the whole country for miles on end, clear, sharp, and serene.
The Fulani cowherders sing unabashedly, waving and smiling as they direct their grazing herd. The Mamprusis and Frafras that live here are the most welcoming people I've ever met in a country renowned for its friendliness. They are hard workers, but have dedicated every scrap of their time and patience to my sunburned, wide-eyed days in their village--just like they have doggedly and staunchly put time and effort into the development of their community since 1998, I later found out. The Baptist pastor made himself my tour guide and translator. A local volunteer development worker named Doris has stayed with me in the room I am borrowing, translating, following me on my journeys, and insisting on carrying my things; she has two jobs (neither of which are paid), an infant son, an elderly mother to care for, and an injured leg, and she still followed me limping up the escarpment, spiting my concern with dogged courtesy. The man acting as my landlord, personal guard, and pack mule every time I go to lift my backpack, turns out to be the next in line for the chieftancy of Sumniboma, and one of the most important people in the hierarchy of the community.
I have intruded on and disturbed market transactions, the chief's house three times, innumerable infants terrified of strange pale faces, every class in the local mud school, people at farm and work, and virtually every house in the community. For all my irritations, I have been rewarded with groundnuts, a chicken, a hand-made fan, six eggs, a ram from the chief, and more happy visitors than I know what to do with. They called a meeting of the whole community to ask me to give them words of hope, and the opportunity to ask questions of each other. For my benefit alone, they brought out the ceremonial drums, and three dozen women raised their siren voices together, weaving traditional dances between the young men with clicking cowrie belts and traditional dancing boots. It is an honour that is rarely given, and I am certain is not deserved in this instance. Everyone I meet thanks me for coming to their community, even though I am an immense complication in their already difficult lives. They tell me that even the head of the NDC (a popular national party in the upcoming election) who was born and raised in Sumniboma and is stalwartly supported by its people despite that loyalty sometimes sacrificing their own interests, refused to stay the night in the community even for his brother's funeral. He stayed at the Chesterfield lounge, and had his meals brought in from Nalerigu; hard to believe, when the food I have eaten in Sumniboma is some of the best I have ever put in my mouth.
It is impossible that I am the first outsider to see the immense value in this small community, but all indications the people of Sumniboma give me say that is indeed the case. But I know for certain that I will not be the last; Sumniboma is a shining example of why I am here in Ghana, and why I want to do the work I am doing now, and the work I plan to do in the future. They are an entire community working with what they have to improve their futures, and they do it brightly, tirelessly, and constantly. They are an entire community of Dorothys, the central figure of the inspiration EWB draws on.
They have recharged my batteries.