I broke a door yesterday. Literally, not figuratively. It was a large, brown, wooden door and it came off the hinges. Let me tell you the story.
We started our Monday in Kumasi and mid-morning we headed back to the Ghanaian Cultural Center to shop and pick up beautiful batik prints we created on Sunday. I hopped off the bus and joined others as we went into a craft shop. The shelves were full of carved statues and woven treasures. I window shopped for a few moments and decided to ask the shopkeeper if there was a public washroom nearby. Restrooms have sometimes been hard to come by so I was pleasantly surprised when she said she had one in the shop I could use. I proceeded to where she pointed in the back corner of the shop to a large brown door actually made of wood-the good, heavy kind of door. I was impressed. I absentmindedly opened the door and stepped in.
Problem #1- Ghana has decided to play continual jokes on North Americans by placing small ledges and minuscule steps in every building. I lost track after day two of how many times I stumbled or tripped up or down these tiny stairs. Stubbed toes abound and I do not live up to the meaning of my name. Anna ironically means one of grace. Nothing will make you feel stupid like taking a step expecting there to be a flat floor and suddenly you fall because your balance and weight are thrown off by a few inches.
I digress, behind Door #1 was an unexpected step. This time it was about a foot instead of 2 inches. I stepped into the room and lost my balance needing to grab the edge of the sink to stay upright. I glanced behind me to make sure that no one saw. I got lucky. In front of me was now a second door and a toilet. Problem #2-I needed to close the second door because the first door did not have a lock and I did not want a situation where the door was opened to a crowded shop. I walked to the second door and without a thought grabbed the handle to pull it closed behind me. As I grabbed the handle the upper door hinges came apart and the entire door fell on top of me and squashed me against the wall with my two hands pressed against the door! Surprise quickly turned to panic. My thoughts went something like this, “I broke the door! I broke it! Oh no! What do I do?! Do I try to push it back up? Can I put it back on the hinges and it will magically repair itself? It’s heavy. Oh gosh, it’s so heavy! Wait, what if I can’t fix it? How do I get it off? If I let go is it going to fall flat on the floor? Will a massive bang occur to alert everyone that I broke the door! Do I need to pay for the door?” The thoughts continued to race and my breaths became a little bit more desperate. I hadn’t felt this much panic since I was in second grade at Hollis Hand Elementary School and threw up on the hallway floor and didn’t know how to hide it before another kid or teacher saw me. The whole picture was being seared into my mind; added to the file folder in my brain that held my most embarrassing moments.
I tried to set the door upright. It wouldn’t stay. I tried to lean it against the wall. It would not lean. It was still attached at the bottom hinge but the hinge was not strong enough to keep it upright. My thoughts of using the restroom immediately left me. Nothing will make you able to wait to use the restroom than the conundrum of how to get a 100 pound door back in its hinge. I thought about calling for Phillip. He is kind and helpful, also very strong, and I knew he would laugh, but would happily help me. I just didn’t know how to call for anyone. So I kept at it. I tried to wedge the hinges back into their rightful place. Nope. I felt sure people had to hear me scraping this massive door across the floor as I attempt to lift it to a new placement. Finally, after what felt like 13 years but was probably of total of two minutes, I was able to balance the door by essentially trying to close it back in the doorframe. It was a momentary fix, but gave me a short respite to identify Problem #3.
Problem #3- I had to tell the shopkeeper. I walked quickly out of the bathroom and right to this kind woman. I blurted out, “I’m so sorry, I think I broke your door when I was using the restroom. It came off the top hinges. I’m so sorry!” She was kind, as I have learned Ghanians always are. She smiled and said, “Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to get that fixed!” Relief poured through me and I immediately had to share my harrowing adventure to fellow cohort members. Rica’s laugh made me breathe a little bit more deeply. She has a great laugh.
I have a point. Very quickly this ridiculous story that I will not soon forget became a metaphor for my time here. I did not really know what I was walking into. I did not know that I would stumble many times, tripped up by the new atmosphere I was in. I am a European American. I stick out here. I want to do my best to evaluate each step and every word I say, but I have stumbled. Those around me have been so gracious with my questions and thoughts. I have felt welcomed in so many spaces, and because of that welcoming atmosphere I have learned a ton. Right now that knowledge feels like a literal door holding me down. Our time here is almost complete and again my mind is racing with questions as it did just yesterday, “What do I do now? Was I present enough? What do I do with all my pictures? How do I absorb the experiences we had in the dungeons of the enslaved and then translate that into a classroom lesson? What about all the new questions I have?” My heart is full but my mind is trying to perfectly balance the door of knowledge and questions I have acquired.
Balancing the knowledge is going to take time. It will take longer than the two minutes it took me to balance the wooden door on a street in Kumasi. Conversations will be paramount. Journaling will need to continue. Connections with our cohort will be helpful and further reading is a non-negotiable. I feel a responsibility, a weight to share my experiences. I feel a responsibility as a history teacher to make sure that the stories of all people are told in my classroom. I feel a responsibility to lift up the narratives of the African Continent and Ghana in particular. I recently heard a quote and I admit that I do not remember exactly where this quote came from but it said, “Wisdom is knowledge, rightly applied.” The end goal is wisdom and my time here and the wrestling I am doing with all I have learned will lead to that wisdom. The door of knowledge will eventually find the rightly applied hinges.
Anna Kerr, History teacher, Spring Woods High School, Houston, Texas