By popular demand, photos are now posted on Snapfish for you all to see! Enjoy! Click HERE to view the entire album. Preview below.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Photos from Saviefe Gbogame
By popular demand, photos are now posted on Snapfish for you all to see! Enjoy! Click HERE to view the entire album. Preview below.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Our Last Week
10/22/08
One week from now, we will be in a plane over the
Saturday is the last big Market Day before we leave, so we’re taking Sema and Beatrice out to Ho for “girls’ day.” They don’t know it yet, but we’ll be buying them a few small gifts as a “thank you” for the excellent care they’ve given us over the past month. We’ll probably get some fancy fabric they can use as a wrap or a shawl, and probably some jewelry. We’re still not sure what to get Tony, so hopefully Sema can help us with that. We’re already planning on putting together a small package around the holidays for Cassandra, Kosi, Grace, and Jessica. Once I get back home, I’ll be on the lookout for a small Lilo & Stitch backpack for Jessica, books for Grace and Kosi, and possibly a soccer ball. We’ll be sending photos with this package as well.
On Sunday, the village is holding a Farewell Ceremony for us, which will include LOTS of drumming and dancing. We will also be presented with small gifts from the ANYO Group as appreciation for our efforts. Monday is our last day in the village when I’m sure we will try our best to soak up our life here in a desperate attempt to hold on to the many friends we’ve made. Tears will be shed, I’m sure, and it will be incredibly difficult to say our goodbyes, especially to the children, and also to Tony, Sema and Beatrice. I honestly wish I could bring Jessica home with us.
Tuesday morning we will take the bus to Ho for the last time, and board a tro-tro or another bus to
I’ll post an update once I’m home, as well as photos of course, so until then, wish us well and I’ll see you all very soon!
a teacher falls seriously ill
This morning we as we waited for the bus to Ho, there was a lot of commotion at the roadside. A taxi was flagged down by the villagers and Tony, along with the JSS headmaster spoke with the driver. One of the JSS teachers, Victor, has fallen seriously ill overnight. He, in his 30s, seemed the picture of health yesterday as he taught the students as usual. This morning when he woke he wasn't able to speak. I saw him lifted into the taxi, sitting between the headmaster and another man. As they drove by me on the way to the hospital, I saw the headmaster was holding Victor's head to keep him steady. His head just bounced, limp from his neck. "Sickly" cannot describe his state properly. His skin was gray, his mouth was open and his eyes closed. No one knows what happened, or what sickness he's come down with, but honestly it does not look good...
Sad News
10/22/08
Since our return home from
Tuesday: Market Day!
10/21/08
The day began much like any other, though we were exhausted from our trip the day before. After our bucket showers, which I was incredibly appreciative of after the weekend’s living conditions, we had breakfast and headed to the roadside to wait for a tro-tro. The men who seem to spend the entire day perched on the ledge of a building at the roadside saw us coming and called to us to hurry up. One had already stopped and was on its way toward Deme but stopped again to—get this—tighten the back left wheel. We seized this opportunity, ran up and hopped in. Because the tro-tro was already full, we didn’t have to stop at the usual other villages for more passengers. We made it to Ho in just an hour and went straight to the bank (where one of the tellers recognizes me and calls out “Chris Brown!” when I walk in) and internet café to do some research for our upcoming sex education presentation (where someone else called out “Christine Brown” but I honestly have no clue who they were—I turned and said hello but did not recognize them one bit!).
Sema was planning on coming to the Market that day so we called her after we finished our research, asked where she was, and arranged to meet her a few minutes later at the entrance of the market. The entrance of the market is marked by a couple cinderblocks separating the dirt walkway between two street vendors. The cinderblock entrance is wide enough for 2 people to fit through, and you step 2 feet down to the market area. The walkways in the market are dirt pathways littered with trash and people sitting with baskets of goods for sale. You bump into a countless number of people as you meander your way through the vendors. Produce vendors monopolize the entrance of the market, casting out aromas of pineapple, herbs, spices, and fresh vegetables. This is also where you can buy cans of flake tuna in oil… one of the few ingredients used in our meals. As you walk through the market, people carry all sorts of things on their heads—baskets 3 feet high filled with anything from yams and cassava to clothing to bread to luggage bags. You might see a man push a wheelbarrow through overflowing with toothpaste with aloe, and over-the-counter drugs. At the first major “intersection” you come to, men on both sides of the walkway pound metal pots with large metal spoons in a special rhythm. People hiss and click to get your attention, and soon you’re ducking under vendor stands in another direction. I don’t know how we would have managed to get everything we needed without Sema’s guidance and knowledge of the Market Day layout.
After a very successful and cheerful shopping day at the market, we each got a small ice cream treat (I found a pineapple popsicle!) and waited by the tro-tros for the Saviefe-bound vehicles to appear. The tro-tros gather and pack themselves in a large dirt lot covered with trash and empty water pouches pressed underneath footprints. As I may have mentioned before, there is no concept of a trash receptacle anywhere in this city, or in the villages for that matter. I cannot express how much trash lay on the ground. People throw things out of windows or just drop whatever trash they have to the ground without a second thought. However, the trash isn’t the worst part of the tro-tro lot. The stench of rotting garbage and old urine permeates the air, and no matter where you stand, or how hard you try to breathe from your mouth, you cannot escape the vomit-inducing smell of waste.
After waiting for a short while (maybe an hour), the first tro-tro going to Saviefe arrived. Looking up in hopeful relief that our ride had finally come, I was overcome with the feeling of nervous disappointment as I realized this was the same tro-tro that broke down three times 10 days before… This tro-tro is meant to seat 27 people with 5 rows of 5 (including the fold out seats in the isle) and room for the driver and one person in the passenger seat. We boarded the tro-tro with the same seats we had before, though Denise was the one hanging out of the window this time. When all was said and done, we had 32 adults, 1 child around the age of 10, 3 babies, 1 guy on the roof, and 2 guys hanging on the back. A relatively small family of monstrous size reddish-orange ants crawled all over the ceiling right above our heads. After a couple freak outs, and a couple dead ants at the hands of Sema and me, we were on our way. Denise admitted, “Wow, you really do fall out this window,” and “ouch, it really does hurt when you hit your head against this thing.” Yep. I wasn’t exaggerating…
One of the guys hanging on the back of the tro-tro was Ernest, the same guy who led us to
Monday- The Long Journey Home
10/20/08
I did not sleep Sunday night due to my anxieties of sleeping in a bed infested with biting insects, not to even touch on how diseased the foam mattress and pillows must be under the questionably “clean” sheets. I had a headache at this point from dehydration and exhaustion and stress, and decided we should try to get back to the village on Monday instead of spending more money for another hotel and more food. If we got back to the village, I could sleep in my own bed, under my own mosquito net, and could take a bucket shower with my own pretty blue bucket in our clean cement enclosure, and eat good, free food. I made it my mission to get us back to the village. I had 25 cedis, which would cover my bus fares from
It was a long day to say the least. I had some delicious coffee with breakfast, minus the ant I picked out, and was ready to bid farewell to the coast. We walked to the Castle where we were told we could find the busses that go to
We waited on the Metro Mass Bus for about an hour before it departed
I’ll pause here to say one final thing about tro-tros. A tro-tro is a unique extension of travel here that really deserves a few more descriptive words (if you can believe it) for you to fully comprehend the atrocity of compact budget modes of transportation. As mentioned before, a regular tro-tro is made to seat 11 people, but often manages to squeeze upwards of 19 or 20 adults into every possible open space—defying the laws of human physics. Every person may have 10 to 11 inches to sit. Surpassing the bonds of physical closeness you ever imagined possible, you’re pressed shoulder-to-shoulder literally like the infamous task of “how many marshmallows someone can possibly fit in their mouth.” If you’re leaning forward (usually over whatever cargo you are carrying on your lap) you may be lucky and able to move your arms at the elbows in a curling motion. Usually the only other things you can move are your toes. Denise had this glorious experience recently, though her trial was significantly more difficult as she was seated next to an incredibly well-fed woman. Everyone’s bags are piled high with cargo and occasionally topped with children. The ride is pretty noisy, not because of people, but because of the rattling metal pieces that are actually holding the vehicle together. The gages don’t work so you can’t tell how fast you’re going, or if you have enough gasoline to complete your trip. There are no seat belts, and only occasionally do they have rearview or side mirrors. The only thing guaranteed to work on a tro-tro is the guy collecting your fare, and the sheer strength of the guys hanging on the back who inevitably help push the tro-tro up a hill.
I was sitting in the middle row just behind the driver, and Denise and Tolga sat in the back row. The driver’s seat was separated from the rest of us by a metal wall with a wire mesh opening at the top. I think this tro-tro used to transport prisoners or something. A vendor was trying to sell children’s French books, and would read aloud to us, “Good day, sir; Bon jour mousier.” Denise bought some plantain chips from a woman carrying them atop her head. They were good but thinner than I’d imagined them to be. I sat, reading my book, as Denise and Tolga chatted about anything and everything… for the entire 3 ½ ride back to Ho. I finished my book about halfway through the ride, and tried to sleep sitting up between the two men also occupying my row. I was unsuccessful.
We finally arrived in Ho and took a taxi back to our village. We surprised everyone with our arrival on Monday afternoon since we were planning on arriving on Tuesday. We arrived around 4:30pm, and Kosi immediately ran up and offered to carry my tote bag, and Jessica carried my drum. With little Jessica leading us by the hands, we walked straight to Sema’s house to say hello. There’s just no way we could stay away. Sema and Beatrice were happy to see us, as was Jessica who seemed a little less sick, but still not 100%. We had dinner of boiled cassava and palava sauce (the boiled cocoa yam leaves) and crawled into our clean beds, under our clean mosquito nets, and fell asleep, so glad to be home.
Kakum & Cape Coast Castle
10/19/08
Sunday was a very productive tourist day for us. Our first stop was
As a side note, we came across a sign that said “USA Movies,” and were hopeful that perhaps there was a movie theater we could visit that evening. We found out that it’s an outdoor lot where they project one movie, usually Nigerian, each night.
After we were back in
They had a small museum with artifacts and descriptions about everything from the history of
We toured castle, beginning with the dungeons where they used to keep 1500 slaves for 3 months before shipping them off overseas. They kept 200 men in one small cell with only 3 small windows at the very top for light and ventilation. There was a small hole close to the ceiling which carried down British voices singing hymns in the church atop the dungeon. Calling to both Heaven and Hell it seems… They defecated on the floor which ran down through the next room of 200 men. The women were held separately, but in similar conditions. The British would choose the most beautiful slave for the General. They would bathe her, clothe her, feed her, and take her to the General. If she refused to be raped, they would place her in the punishment cell, a small space of maybe 20 feet by 5 feet at its widest, for 1 week. Up to 50 women could be held in that space at a time. If a British soldier got a slave pregnant, she could live outside the dungeon, with the soldier until she gave birth. Once she gave birth, she would return to the slave dungeon, and the child would be sent to the first school built—the
The tour was powerful to say the least. You read about the slave trade and you learn the stories and you know of the horrible treatment that these people endured. But standing where they stood, in their dungeons, and looking at the same dark walls that haunted them during their 3 months in
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Switching gears a bit…
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Inside the castle courtyard, several vendors had stands selling all sorts of drums and wood carvings—my favorite type of souvenir that I had been looking for. I picked up some key gifts for my family and a small drum for myself. Afterward, we went to the
Denise and I sat in the corner of the open-air restaurant and ordered food—I had vegetable coconut curry with jallof rice and a pineapple pancake for dessert. While we were waiting for our food Denise began to teach me how to play gin or rummy. Neither of us are sure which game it is. After we ate, a deaf guy (age 22) named Kofi approached us. I’m not sure what prompted him to approach, but lucky for us (and him) Denise knows a little bit of sign language. She spelled words she didn’t know how to sign, and we used a pen and paper for those complicated sentences. He sat down and we taught him how to play gin or rummy. We played a few games, and then decided to head back to the hotel. We walked to save money, got a little bit lost on the way, but eventually found our street and our hotel.
A young guy who worked at the hotel was admiring my ONE bracelet and asked if I wanted to trade for his Ghanaian style beaded necklace he was wearing. I agreed, knowing I have more ONE bracelets at home, but was pleased to trade for something instead of just paying money. It’s more personal that way.
Cape Coast
10/18-19/08
Once we had Denise all drugged up, we gathered our things from the hotel and took a taxi to the STC station. Usually when you wait for a tro-tro or any other bus, you are waiting for an undefined amount of time, hopefully gazing down the road anticipating the arrival. This is referred to as Africa Time. STC busses are the only busses in
Our hotel in
After setting our stuff down we attempted to walk around town. This led us toward the beach where a group of fisherman were tying lines and occupying themselves with the fishing boats beached on the sand. The beach is nice where the tide comes in, but as soon as you step above where the water would hit, you can’t put your foot down without stepping on some piece of trash. Anything you could imagine to be thrown away was littered all over the beach.
We managed to find Oasis—a restaurant further into town, owned by a German-Turkish lady. We sat outside and I actually began to feel like we were on vacation. An open-air arena was right next door and seemed to be setting up for some type of performance. A tall guy with short braids came over to greet us, asking if we were American. He was really nice and easy on the eyes as well. He introduced himself as a musician in the performance tonight and asked if we’d be around for it. We made small conversation and eventually he left us to our meal. The salty air was relaxing and I watched the dusk sky turn the palm trees into dark silhouettes, and then I watched the moonlight illuminate the right sides of the leaves and trunks. You could see so many stars—it was really beautiful. Denise was feeling extremely tired from the day of travel and her medication so we grabbed a taxi back to the hotel, sharing it with two Belgian girls who were in Cape Coast for the week on vacation from their volunteer placement in Togo.
In general, the locals in
Visit to an Iranian Clinic
10/18/08
Shortly after 8am Saturday morning a guy who worked at our hotel, Ernest (age 26), offered to walk us to the nearest clinic so Denise could see a doctor. Her sinus infection had gotten considerably worse overnight and she was absolutely miserable. He kindly walked us all over town before our third attempted clinic was finally open and accepting patients. (Because it was a Saturday, many clinics were closed.) The clinic was Iranian, called Red Crescent. I think this is similar to Red Cross—operates in the same manner as far as helping people who have no other option. The waiting area was packed with at least 200 people. This was discouraging because we had no idea how long we’d have to wait, or if we’d catch the STC bus to
Of course, two white girls walking into this clinic, especially with Denise looking as sick as she did, drew some attention. The clerk asked where we were from and whether or not we were volunteers. Denise filled out a short form, paid 2 cedis, and was told to wait her turn. Looking around for a few minutes, we wondered if maybe we should try another clinic. Ernest was still with us, and recommended trying another clinic since waiting could take all day. Just then, the Iranian doctor appeared and called us forward. We (me, Denise, and Ernest) followed him up the stairs and into an office. A nurse led Denise away and took her vitals while Ernest and I discussed literature he’d studied in college. Before long, Denise was in talking with the doctor and talking about the possibility that she’s contracted malaria. Just in case, the doctor prescribed her a Malaria treatment kit, along with cough syrup and some other medication for her sinus infection. Because we’re volunteers, the medication was free.
As we exited the waiting area full of the same sick people who hadn’t moved from their seats, I felt ashamed that we had been rushed to the front of the line. Several people in the back of the room by the door watched us intently as we left. Even so, I was glad we got medicine for Denise and could be on our way. I was also grateful that Ernest walked us around. We wouldn’t have known where to go otherwise, and he was really helpful.
Accra for the Night
10/17/08
After the presentations, since it was Market Day, we were able to catch a tro-tro to Ho at 11:15am. Once we got to Ho, we saw a guy we recognized (Ernest) from our tro-tro that broke down three times one night. He led us to where the busses meet before heading to
I should mention here that Denise had become increasingly ill over the last day and a half. Her slight cold from Jessica had turned into a full-blown sinus infection. I really sympathized for her because it really sucks to be THAT sick and far away from anything familiar, including modern medicine. We decided that while in
When we arrived in
Our hotel room was probably the worst hotel room I’d ever stayed in (up until that night), but definitely a treat in the scheme of things. The staff was really friendly, AND our room had a ceiling fan! The room had 2 screen windows that opened one to the hallway and the other to the stairwell, which proved quite noisy throughout the night and in the morning. There was a mirror and a chair and dark blue curtains with a white pattern. The two twin beds had both a bottom AND a top sheet and I had a nice squishy pillow. The shared bathroom down the hall was fairly clean, had a small sink with running water, the toilets actually flushed (if you weren’t running water in the sink) and one stall had its own toilet paper! The showers were 2 stalls, raised about a foot above the rest of the floor, which we didn’t use, but all in all, I was quite pleased with our $9/person accommodations.
We walked to a Chinese restaurant (with arctic AC) for dinner, and on the way a random guy asked where we were trying to go. We told him and he offered to walk us there. He waited until we were seated, found a piece of paper to give us his email or phone number or something (I can’t remember because I didn’t really look at it before I threw it away) and left. It’s strange, you meet really friendly people who are more than willing to help you out or show you the way, but afterward they want to be best friends, and exchange phone numbers, even if we’re not going to be in Accra again. What am I going to say? How’s your family that you’ve never told me about? Very odd. In the morning we had breakfast at the hotel, and I had coffee! They had real cream that I could add which made it delicious. I had 2 cups of the instant coffee and mixed in sugar and cream, and was in such a good mood to start the day.
JSS Presentation #2
10/17/08
The second presentation went very well. We stressed how important it is not to give up on their goals of higher education. We outlined the steps needed to progress from JSS to
Friday, October 17, 2008
The Plan
10/16/08
Friday morning we give our 2nd JSS presentations, after which, we will catch a ride to Ho (it’s market day again) hopefully by 12:30 or 1pm. We may stop in the internet café for a few minutes, but eventually get a ride to Accra (2 ½ hours away). We’ll stay in Accra Friday night, and Saturday morning we’ll get a ride to Cape Coast (3 hour drive) for our vacation-weekend: including the Cape Coast Castle, Elmina, and Kakum National Park, where there is a canopy walk (350m long, 40m high, wood and rope walkway suspended between 7 trees).
Friday morning we give our 2nd JSS presentations, after which, we will catch a ride to Ho (it’s market day again) hopefully by 12:30 or 1pm. We may stop in the internet café for a few minutes, but eventually get a ride to Accra (2 ½ hours away). We’ll stay in Accra Friday night, and Saturday morning we’ll get a ride to Cape Coast (3 hour drive) for our vacation-weekend: including the Cape Coast Castle, Elmina, and Kakum National Park, where there is a canopy walk (350m long, 40m high, wood and rope walkway suspended between 7 trees).
Waterfall: Tourist or Ghanaian?
10/15/08
The night before our waterfall trek, the village band decided to practice until 10:30 or 11pm. We were “serenaded” to sleep with loud drums, singing, and a particularly boisterous trumpet.
We woke up late, at 4:15am. Sema had already arrived and was preparing our porridge. We showered with our buckets in the dark under the stars. Divine came to the compound at 5:10am and waited for us to be ready to walk to the roadside. We planned on catching a car to Bame by 6am, in order to get a tro-tro by 7 to drive us to Hohoe. At 5:30am, we sat at the roadside waiting for a car to drive by. *Hurry! Get up and get ready! We have to go WAIT!* Our nonsocial guide didn’t say much, and sat on the opposite side of the road. A tro-tro drove by and surprisingly was FULL so it kept going. At 7:15am, we finally caught a tro-tro going to Kpeve, so we hopped on. Once we got to Kpeve, we took another tro-tro to Hohoe, and then a taxi to the waterfall. The journey was miserable and everyone lies to us because we’re white. They think we have money so they try to cheat us.
Our guide at the waterfall walked incredibly fast, for any person—not just a Ghanaian. We essentially walked through the African jungle up a trail through lush green vegetation. Some sides of the mountains were clay cliffs, the other side covered in trees. We saw several gigantic millipedes, and a couple rivers of ants, probably 8 ants wide marching across the paths. The guide pointed out black berries that you can eat, and showed us mahogany leaves that you can chew to ease an upset stomach. We also saw a cocoa plant—a yellow fruit with giant white seeds that are pretty tasty. We walked over aged wooden bridges with the water rushing beneath us. Moss and other plants covered the rock walls at our sides and water dripped from all over. After 45 minutes we reached the base of the lower falls. You could feel the water in the air from a good distance away. We were wet standing 150 feet from the falls. It was loud and beautiful. Divine suddenly lit up and was yelling in excitement as he ran toward the base of the falls where we were standing. We found a vine looped from a tree that we decided to climb and hang from for some key photographic opportunities. It was high up so I needed Denise to lift me up to wear I could grab hold and pull myself up. She did drop me in the mud, but I forgave her. Wet and muddy, and smiling from ear to ear, we headed back down the trail through the jungle.
There were a few stands at the entrance of the trail that sold jewelry, bags, fabric, and my favorite—wooden carvings. Men sat carving new pieces and I perused the stand. I found a most perfect wall hanging—a tree with an elephant stretching its trunk up to the leaves.
On our way in, we saw a sign for the “Waterfall Lodge: The German Couple Will Welcome You.” We walked the 250m from the road down a path that was truly Africa: huts with thatched roofs and fire-pits. At the end of the dirt path, we came to an opening overlooking the mountain with a view of the falls. There was an open-air pavilion with a young Ghanaian setting up chairs. At the end of the pavilion was a large enclosure—the habitat for Cocoa, the couple’s African Grey. The pavilion had wooden lounge chairs lining the outskirts looking out toward the falls. The ground was soft and covered in lush grass. A volley-ball net hung to the left side, and wooden tables were scattered under the pavilion. Small round bungalows, painted a rust-red with thatched roofs, rested in the shaded area behind the couple’s house, and a campground was situated back there as well. Their menu was like a dream. We had a salad (a real salad) with a vinaigrette, and we split two dishes: chicken, pineapple, and rice (with curry powder) and beef with sautéed onions and tomatoes with French fries. I had a coke, and we had fruit salad and crepes for dessert. We were truly on vacation. After a leisurely and very filling 3 course meal, we sat and took in the view for a while. I went to use their bathroom, which was a clean, tiled bathroom with a flushing toilet, supplied toilet paper, a sink with running water, and a mirror! It was great.
Reluctantly we made our way back down the road away from the lodge and caught a taxi back to Hohoe. From there, after witnessing a small altercation between two tro-tro drivers over who had the right to take us as passengers, we boarded one and were taken to Kpeve. The tro-tro was actually pretty nice, we were only at 15 passengers, which left room for me to put my feet up on the ledge in front of me. This one had upholstery and a working radio, and the remnants of a cup-holder was visible on the back of the seat next to the driver. Once we got to Kpeve, taxi drivers tried to convince us there were no more tro-tros, and we could only get back to Saviefe via taxi (and a cost of 15 cedi). At this point, we literally had 4 cedis left and I was sick of taxi drivers trying to cheat us and manipulate us. With plenty of attitude I yelled, “That is ridiculous! Of course there are more tro-tros, its only 3 o’clock!” I don’t know why I thought that…Denise quietly corrected me, saying that it was 5:30pm. Oh well. Either way, we caught a tro-tro, but it would only take us as far as Bame.
It was getting dark, and there were no more cars or tro-tros or taxis. We started to walk. It’s a 9 mile trek from Bame to Saviefe along a dirt road through the African farmland and brush. It got dark quickly but Divine had a small flashlight. We were equipped with 2 ponchos, 3 cliff bars, and my water bottle containing only 8 oz. of water. Denise started to sing to keep our spirits up and I tried not to think about why the farmers always carry guns into the fields. (It’s for a weasel-like animal that happens to be nocturnal.) We couldn’t see anything past the glow of the flashlight except when the night sky occasionally lit up from some lightening.
2 ½ miles in, we came up to the village of Etodome, where one of the volunteers lives with Divine’s cousin, Titus. We figured if nothing else, it would be a nice break so we stopped to say hello. Titus emerged, shirtless, from a thatched covering, with his 7 young brothers and sisters. He offered to accompany us for the rest of the 6 ½ miles to Saviefe, which surprised us, but we were happy to add his company to our entourage. Titus put on a shirt, and his brothers and sisters (all under the age of 15) walked us, holding our hands to the edge of the village, and departed with hugs all around. The next 6 ½ miles consisted of brief conversations between Titus and me, and then Titus and Divine would chatter away in Ewe while Denise and I walked in silence. Mosquitoes were plentiful and annoying, biting at my neck and ankles and bare arms. My flip flops were worn and I felt every jagged stone I stepped on. Occasionally we would trip over rocks or ditches that we didn’t see in the dark. A government vehicle drove by, but wouldn’t stop. I guess they’re not too concerned with distressed people. I was quiet as I became increasingly aware of my right knee and left hip that were aching in pain. Toward the end of the walk the moon cast a dull light over the road, and after a while we began to recognize some landmarks from our usual walks. We heard drums in the distance, and felt some relief as Saviefe was only maybe another 30 minutes away. Denise started to sing again as we came upon the outskirts of our village.
We walked into the compound and hopefully called, “Family?” Sema and Beatrice emerged from the house, ran over and hugged us, squealing in excitement that we’d returned. It was late, and we were dirty, but dinner was waiting for us on the table, which by that point was great because we were hungry again. We said goodnight to Divine and Titus (who has family in Saviefe and was going to sleep with them). I used a damp white washcloth to run along my arms and legs to clean up. It was literally dark brown when I was finished. I was sweaty and achy, and ready for bed. I downed another 16 oz. of water (the contents of 1 water pouch) and crawled under the net and fell asleep.
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The next morning we got up a little after 6am, and began our bucket shower routine, scrubbing extra hard with our soapy water. After breakfast, we decided to skip Ho and just do work in the village. At 8am we took a two-hour nap, and spent the rest of the day relaxing and reading, enjoying village life once more.
The night before our waterfall trek, the village band decided to practice until 10:30 or 11pm. We were “serenaded” to sleep with loud drums, singing, and a particularly boisterous trumpet.
We woke up late, at 4:15am. Sema had already arrived and was preparing our porridge. We showered with our buckets in the dark under the stars. Divine came to the compound at 5:10am and waited for us to be ready to walk to the roadside. We planned on catching a car to Bame by 6am, in order to get a tro-tro by 7 to drive us to Hohoe. At 5:30am, we sat at the roadside waiting for a car to drive by. *Hurry! Get up and get ready! We have to go WAIT!* Our nonsocial guide didn’t say much, and sat on the opposite side of the road. A tro-tro drove by and surprisingly was FULL so it kept going. At 7:15am, we finally caught a tro-tro going to Kpeve, so we hopped on. Once we got to Kpeve, we took another tro-tro to Hohoe, and then a taxi to the waterfall. The journey was miserable and everyone lies to us because we’re white. They think we have money so they try to cheat us.
Our guide at the waterfall walked incredibly fast, for any person—not just a Ghanaian. We essentially walked through the African jungle up a trail through lush green vegetation. Some sides of the mountains were clay cliffs, the other side covered in trees. We saw several gigantic millipedes, and a couple rivers of ants, probably 8 ants wide marching across the paths. The guide pointed out black berries that you can eat, and showed us mahogany leaves that you can chew to ease an upset stomach. We also saw a cocoa plant—a yellow fruit with giant white seeds that are pretty tasty. We walked over aged wooden bridges with the water rushing beneath us. Moss and other plants covered the rock walls at our sides and water dripped from all over. After 45 minutes we reached the base of the lower falls. You could feel the water in the air from a good distance away. We were wet standing 150 feet from the falls. It was loud and beautiful. Divine suddenly lit up and was yelling in excitement as he ran toward the base of the falls where we were standing. We found a vine looped from a tree that we decided to climb and hang from for some key photographic opportunities. It was high up so I needed Denise to lift me up to wear I could grab hold and pull myself up. She did drop me in the mud, but I forgave her. Wet and muddy, and smiling from ear to ear, we headed back down the trail through the jungle.
There were a few stands at the entrance of the trail that sold jewelry, bags, fabric, and my favorite—wooden carvings. Men sat carving new pieces and I perused the stand. I found a most perfect wall hanging—a tree with an elephant stretching its trunk up to the leaves.
On our way in, we saw a sign for the “Waterfall Lodge: The German Couple Will Welcome You.” We walked the 250m from the road down a path that was truly Africa: huts with thatched roofs and fire-pits. At the end of the dirt path, we came to an opening overlooking the mountain with a view of the falls. There was an open-air pavilion with a young Ghanaian setting up chairs. At the end of the pavilion was a large enclosure—the habitat for Cocoa, the couple’s African Grey. The pavilion had wooden lounge chairs lining the outskirts looking out toward the falls. The ground was soft and covered in lush grass. A volley-ball net hung to the left side, and wooden tables were scattered under the pavilion. Small round bungalows, painted a rust-red with thatched roofs, rested in the shaded area behind the couple’s house, and a campground was situated back there as well. Their menu was like a dream. We had a salad (a real salad) with a vinaigrette, and we split two dishes: chicken, pineapple, and rice (with curry powder) and beef with sautéed onions and tomatoes with French fries. I had a coke, and we had fruit salad and crepes for dessert. We were truly on vacation. After a leisurely and very filling 3 course meal, we sat and took in the view for a while. I went to use their bathroom, which was a clean, tiled bathroom with a flushing toilet, supplied toilet paper, a sink with running water, and a mirror! It was great.
Reluctantly we made our way back down the road away from the lodge and caught a taxi back to Hohoe. From there, after witnessing a small altercation between two tro-tro drivers over who had the right to take us as passengers, we boarded one and were taken to Kpeve. The tro-tro was actually pretty nice, we were only at 15 passengers, which left room for me to put my feet up on the ledge in front of me. This one had upholstery and a working radio, and the remnants of a cup-holder was visible on the back of the seat next to the driver. Once we got to Kpeve, taxi drivers tried to convince us there were no more tro-tros, and we could only get back to Saviefe via taxi (and a cost of 15 cedi). At this point, we literally had 4 cedis left and I was sick of taxi drivers trying to cheat us and manipulate us. With plenty of attitude I yelled, “That is ridiculous! Of course there are more tro-tros, its only 3 o’clock!” I don’t know why I thought that…Denise quietly corrected me, saying that it was 5:30pm. Oh well. Either way, we caught a tro-tro, but it would only take us as far as Bame.
It was getting dark, and there were no more cars or tro-tros or taxis. We started to walk. It’s a 9 mile trek from Bame to Saviefe along a dirt road through the African farmland and brush. It got dark quickly but Divine had a small flashlight. We were equipped with 2 ponchos, 3 cliff bars, and my water bottle containing only 8 oz. of water. Denise started to sing to keep our spirits up and I tried not to think about why the farmers always carry guns into the fields. (It’s for a weasel-like animal that happens to be nocturnal.) We couldn’t see anything past the glow of the flashlight except when the night sky occasionally lit up from some lightening.
2 ½ miles in, we came up to the village of Etodome, where one of the volunteers lives with Divine’s cousin, Titus. We figured if nothing else, it would be a nice break so we stopped to say hello. Titus emerged, shirtless, from a thatched covering, with his 7 young brothers and sisters. He offered to accompany us for the rest of the 6 ½ miles to Saviefe, which surprised us, but we were happy to add his company to our entourage. Titus put on a shirt, and his brothers and sisters (all under the age of 15) walked us, holding our hands to the edge of the village, and departed with hugs all around. The next 6 ½ miles consisted of brief conversations between Titus and me, and then Titus and Divine would chatter away in Ewe while Denise and I walked in silence. Mosquitoes were plentiful and annoying, biting at my neck and ankles and bare arms. My flip flops were worn and I felt every jagged stone I stepped on. Occasionally we would trip over rocks or ditches that we didn’t see in the dark. A government vehicle drove by, but wouldn’t stop. I guess they’re not too concerned with distressed people. I was quiet as I became increasingly aware of my right knee and left hip that were aching in pain. Toward the end of the walk the moon cast a dull light over the road, and after a while we began to recognize some landmarks from our usual walks. We heard drums in the distance, and felt some relief as Saviefe was only maybe another 30 minutes away. Denise started to sing again as we came upon the outskirts of our village.
We walked into the compound and hopefully called, “Family?” Sema and Beatrice emerged from the house, ran over and hugged us, squealing in excitement that we’d returned. It was late, and we were dirty, but dinner was waiting for us on the table, which by that point was great because we were hungry again. We said goodnight to Divine and Titus (who has family in Saviefe and was going to sleep with them). I used a damp white washcloth to run along my arms and legs to clean up. It was literally dark brown when I was finished. I was sweaty and achy, and ready for bed. I downed another 16 oz. of water (the contents of 1 water pouch) and crawled under the net and fell asleep.
*************************
The next morning we got up a little after 6am, and began our bucket shower routine, scrubbing extra hard with our soapy water. After breakfast, we decided to skip Ho and just do work in the village. At 8am we took a two-hour nap, and spent the rest of the day relaxing and reading, enjoying village life once more.
Village Life
10/14/08
I want to take a moment to thoroughly describe my living conditions and the daily village life. I’ll begin by saying everything is a process, but I actually have become accustomed to most of it.
I’ve already gone into detail about the transportation system and how much it sucks… to summarize so far: Tro-tros are the main method of transport, affordable, and providing an equal amount of discomfort to all passengers. They are always over capacity with seated passengers packed tighter than stock animals. You can’t move your arms or knees and you try to lose yourself staring out the window instead of being utterly aware of the 19 sweaty bodies pressed together in one van. Yesterday I saw a tro-tro, packed full on the inside, and carrying a load on the roof matching the vehicle’s height and width. A goat was also strapped to the front of the roof-top heap of belongings.
There is constant noise everywhere, even when you try to sleep during the night. There are noises from roosters, goats, sheep, people, and the village band including drums and a trumpet. There are noises I didn’t even know goats made, but they do, all day long. Children and adults alike run past our window, their footsteps noisily crunching the ground as they scream or yell to another person down the way. This begins at 4am, lasting well into the night. Sometimes you can hear someone’s radio or TV, and every other day or so, a van or truck will pull into the village, blaring a loudspeaker to make announcements or encourage some type of action in Ewe. There is always someone outside our bedroom window trying to look in, or speak with us, or they’re just standing out there relieving themselves against the wall.
I’ve never in my life been around so many farm animals. They’ve really just become part of the background here, contributing to the soundtrack of daily life, and wandering past my feet if I sit outside. The baby goats, if they’re not sick, are actually pretty cute, about the size of a 12 week old puppy. Male goats, whether just a baby or a full adult, have testicles bigger than most human men, that swing as the trot through the village. Roosters are usually red or white, chickens are all colors. I especially like the look of black chickens, whose feathers are black like oil—they shine in the sunlight and reveal blues and purples and reds and greens within the black. Goats and chickens will walk into any open door, so you need to shoo them out. Gee, Christine, what animals did you see in Africa? Lions, elephants, giraffes? Oh no, but I did see a lot of goats and chickens and sheep!
The air is hot and humid, even at night, which makes the thought of a handheld fan just divine. The bank in Ho has air conditioning so it’s always a treat to go exchange money there. My skin is always wet, whether from sweat or humidity. The dirt in the air then sticks to me, especially after applying sunscreen which is essentially an adhesive for all things disgusting to attach themselves to my skin. I hardly get a moment where I feel clean except for the 30 seconds after I’ve rinsed myself during my bucket shower, before I put dirty clothes back on to walk back to the room.
You need water from the well to bathe, and also to fill the “flush” barrel in the outhouse. I’ll explain. You may assume getting water from a well is fairly simple, if you’ve never attempted it before. The bucket is plastic, so it floats. If you just drop it in, it will float on the surface and you won’t fill the bucket. You have a few options. You can drop the bucket from above, holding it upside-down so it lands open ended into the water. Then when you pull it up, you’ll have water. Alternatively, you can drop the bucket and jerk the rope sharply from side to side, causing the bucket to swing as well, eventually grabbing enough water to sink the bucket. The most common method, however, is to swing the bucket down so the bottom of the bucket knocks against a metal hook about half way down the well. When the bottom of the bucket hits the hook, it flips upside-down into the water and sinks. You need to do this 3 times to fill the shower bucket. About 8 shower buckets will fill the “flush” barrel in the outhouse.
We despise getting up in the middle of the night to pee. This, like all other things, is a process, and not a pleasant one. When we first go to bed, we brush our teeth and wash our faces, wash off our feet in a bucket, and then we apply insect repellent all over. We’re sticky and sweaty as we sit on the edges of our beds brushing off our feet. I awkwardly bend back, underneath the mosquito net, which I then tuck in by the sides of the foam mattress. A couple hours later, I wake up, realizing I need to pee, and I contemplate the odds of tricking my body into going back to sleep. With no luck, I sit up, un-tuck the mosquito net, awkwardly bend underneath it, carefully placing my feet directly into my dirty flip flops. I re-tuck the net, fumble to find a flashlight, and tear off some toilet paper from our roll. I go outside, shutting the door behind me to discourage any farm animals or rats or bugs from entering. I walk to the outhouse, slide the latch open, push open the door, and shine the flashlight at the light switch. I close the door, and twist a bent nail sideways to catch the door, essentially locking it from the inside. I go into a stall, check for spiders, and squat carefully, to avoid actually touching the seat. Then, outside the stall, but still in the outhouse, I open the large barrel full of water, scoop with the gray bucket that lives on top of the barrel, and pour the water into the toilet bowl, which is the “flush.” I un-twist the nail to open the door, turn off the light, and exit, latching the door behind me. I wash my hands in a bucket in our room, un-tuck my net, brush off my feet, bend under the net, re-tuck the net, and lay, sweaty and gross, staring out the window listening to the goats until I fall back asleep. The other night, I had to get up 3 times. I was irritated with my body’s inability to hold on to water.
The bucket showers are exactly that—I get a bucket of water to bathe with. It’s pretty simple and goes quickly. I stand in an open-air concrete cell with my bucket of water, and a small empty bucket you would use to make a sandcastle. I scoop with the little bucket, pouring water over my head to rinse. Then I lather up with shampoo, soap, and face wash. I rinse again with the little bucket to complete the process. My towel is draped over the cement wall and I set my clothes (that I’ve sweated through the night in) on top of my flip flops in the corner to avoid them getting wet, which does occasionally happen anyway. After I dry off, I put on my dirty clothes, brush off my feet, and step into my flip flops to return to the room.
I’ve become a village-body, similar to a homebody. I really don’t like to leave the village, for any reason. Even if I’m lured by something that might be fun, like a tourist attraction, or visiting Ho with the added bonus of using the internet café, I really dread the process of leaving our village. The people are nice here and transportation proves to be such a pain in the ass every single time, it makes you wonder if it’s really worth all the trouble.
We take walks on most days that we’re hanging around in the village. It breaks up the day and provides a small opportunity for exercise. Walking down the road, in the village people have yelled out, “Sista Christine!” or “Nava kaba,” which means come back before it is late. People from the village we meet along the way will stop and greet us, ask if we’re ok and when are we coming back. The other day we were walking and saw our family returning from the farm. We stopped and chatted for a moment before continuing. A man on a motorbike stopped to ask if we were volunteers and what we were doing in our village. His name is Mike and said he would come visit us in the village and hopefully his wife will make us fu-fu before we leave. The next day he saw us by the roadside in the village and stopped to say hello again, first yelling “Sista Christine!” in recognition, which was really nice. When we’re walking along the empty road we usually start singing old Disney songs or sappy songs from the early 90s. As much as I love the people in the village, it’s nice sometimes to separate ourselves from the politics of every greeting for every person we pass by.
When we’re in the village all day, we usually take naps, and read, work on presentations or computer training for a couple hours (tops) and then go back to reading or playing with the kids. It’s a pretty decent way to spend the day.
I want to take a moment to thoroughly describe my living conditions and the daily village life. I’ll begin by saying everything is a process, but I actually have become accustomed to most of it.
I’ve already gone into detail about the transportation system and how much it sucks… to summarize so far: Tro-tros are the main method of transport, affordable, and providing an equal amount of discomfort to all passengers. They are always over capacity with seated passengers packed tighter than stock animals. You can’t move your arms or knees and you try to lose yourself staring out the window instead of being utterly aware of the 19 sweaty bodies pressed together in one van. Yesterday I saw a tro-tro, packed full on the inside, and carrying a load on the roof matching the vehicle’s height and width. A goat was also strapped to the front of the roof-top heap of belongings.
There is constant noise everywhere, even when you try to sleep during the night. There are noises from roosters, goats, sheep, people, and the village band including drums and a trumpet. There are noises I didn’t even know goats made, but they do, all day long. Children and adults alike run past our window, their footsteps noisily crunching the ground as they scream or yell to another person down the way. This begins at 4am, lasting well into the night. Sometimes you can hear someone’s radio or TV, and every other day or so, a van or truck will pull into the village, blaring a loudspeaker to make announcements or encourage some type of action in Ewe. There is always someone outside our bedroom window trying to look in, or speak with us, or they’re just standing out there relieving themselves against the wall.
I’ve never in my life been around so many farm animals. They’ve really just become part of the background here, contributing to the soundtrack of daily life, and wandering past my feet if I sit outside. The baby goats, if they’re not sick, are actually pretty cute, about the size of a 12 week old puppy. Male goats, whether just a baby or a full adult, have testicles bigger than most human men, that swing as the trot through the village. Roosters are usually red or white, chickens are all colors. I especially like the look of black chickens, whose feathers are black like oil—they shine in the sunlight and reveal blues and purples and reds and greens within the black. Goats and chickens will walk into any open door, so you need to shoo them out. Gee, Christine, what animals did you see in Africa? Lions, elephants, giraffes? Oh no, but I did see a lot of goats and chickens and sheep!
The air is hot and humid, even at night, which makes the thought of a handheld fan just divine. The bank in Ho has air conditioning so it’s always a treat to go exchange money there. My skin is always wet, whether from sweat or humidity. The dirt in the air then sticks to me, especially after applying sunscreen which is essentially an adhesive for all things disgusting to attach themselves to my skin. I hardly get a moment where I feel clean except for the 30 seconds after I’ve rinsed myself during my bucket shower, before I put dirty clothes back on to walk back to the room.
You need water from the well to bathe, and also to fill the “flush” barrel in the outhouse. I’ll explain. You may assume getting water from a well is fairly simple, if you’ve never attempted it before. The bucket is plastic, so it floats. If you just drop it in, it will float on the surface and you won’t fill the bucket. You have a few options. You can drop the bucket from above, holding it upside-down so it lands open ended into the water. Then when you pull it up, you’ll have water. Alternatively, you can drop the bucket and jerk the rope sharply from side to side, causing the bucket to swing as well, eventually grabbing enough water to sink the bucket. The most common method, however, is to swing the bucket down so the bottom of the bucket knocks against a metal hook about half way down the well. When the bottom of the bucket hits the hook, it flips upside-down into the water and sinks. You need to do this 3 times to fill the shower bucket. About 8 shower buckets will fill the “flush” barrel in the outhouse.
We despise getting up in the middle of the night to pee. This, like all other things, is a process, and not a pleasant one. When we first go to bed, we brush our teeth and wash our faces, wash off our feet in a bucket, and then we apply insect repellent all over. We’re sticky and sweaty as we sit on the edges of our beds brushing off our feet. I awkwardly bend back, underneath the mosquito net, which I then tuck in by the sides of the foam mattress. A couple hours later, I wake up, realizing I need to pee, and I contemplate the odds of tricking my body into going back to sleep. With no luck, I sit up, un-tuck the mosquito net, awkwardly bend underneath it, carefully placing my feet directly into my dirty flip flops. I re-tuck the net, fumble to find a flashlight, and tear off some toilet paper from our roll. I go outside, shutting the door behind me to discourage any farm animals or rats or bugs from entering. I walk to the outhouse, slide the latch open, push open the door, and shine the flashlight at the light switch. I close the door, and twist a bent nail sideways to catch the door, essentially locking it from the inside. I go into a stall, check for spiders, and squat carefully, to avoid actually touching the seat. Then, outside the stall, but still in the outhouse, I open the large barrel full of water, scoop with the gray bucket that lives on top of the barrel, and pour the water into the toilet bowl, which is the “flush.” I un-twist the nail to open the door, turn off the light, and exit, latching the door behind me. I wash my hands in a bucket in our room, un-tuck my net, brush off my feet, bend under the net, re-tuck the net, and lay, sweaty and gross, staring out the window listening to the goats until I fall back asleep. The other night, I had to get up 3 times. I was irritated with my body’s inability to hold on to water.
The bucket showers are exactly that—I get a bucket of water to bathe with. It’s pretty simple and goes quickly. I stand in an open-air concrete cell with my bucket of water, and a small empty bucket you would use to make a sandcastle. I scoop with the little bucket, pouring water over my head to rinse. Then I lather up with shampoo, soap, and face wash. I rinse again with the little bucket to complete the process. My towel is draped over the cement wall and I set my clothes (that I’ve sweated through the night in) on top of my flip flops in the corner to avoid them getting wet, which does occasionally happen anyway. After I dry off, I put on my dirty clothes, brush off my feet, and step into my flip flops to return to the room.
I’ve become a village-body, similar to a homebody. I really don’t like to leave the village, for any reason. Even if I’m lured by something that might be fun, like a tourist attraction, or visiting Ho with the added bonus of using the internet café, I really dread the process of leaving our village. The people are nice here and transportation proves to be such a pain in the ass every single time, it makes you wonder if it’s really worth all the trouble.
We take walks on most days that we’re hanging around in the village. It breaks up the day and provides a small opportunity for exercise. Walking down the road, in the village people have yelled out, “Sista Christine!” or “Nava kaba,” which means come back before it is late. People from the village we meet along the way will stop and greet us, ask if we’re ok and when are we coming back. The other day we were walking and saw our family returning from the farm. We stopped and chatted for a moment before continuing. A man on a motorbike stopped to ask if we were volunteers and what we were doing in our village. His name is Mike and said he would come visit us in the village and hopefully his wife will make us fu-fu before we leave. The next day he saw us by the roadside in the village and stopped to say hello again, first yelling “Sista Christine!” in recognition, which was really nice. When we’re walking along the empty road we usually start singing old Disney songs or sappy songs from the early 90s. As much as I love the people in the village, it’s nice sometimes to separate ourselves from the politics of every greeting for every person we pass by.
When we’re in the village all day, we usually take naps, and read, work on presentations or computer training for a couple hours (tops) and then go back to reading or playing with the kids. It’s a pretty decent way to spend the day.
Grumpy
10/13/08
Time in Ghana is really just a concept on which to base vague intentions. For example, we were told that church lasts an hour and a half. This was a lie. It lasts 3 hours, at least. Tony said his meeting in Ho this morning with the election board would take 30 minutes… After an hour and a half, we called and he said he was almost done. We asked if he would be finished in 30 minutes more. He said again, “almost done.” But what does that MEAN?!?! 30 minutes later, he walked into White House.
I’m sitting in the shaded patio area of White House now, waiting for some vegetable pizza and French fries. I already had my coke, and took my malaria medication on an empty stomach which is causing some dizziness now. Denise and Tony walked up the hill to do some internet training while I wait here for our food. It’s nice to have some time alone. After some time of waiting, I decided to try and call home with the cell phone we bought. The connection wouldn’t go through to my mom and when I got my dad’s voicemail at his office I was slightly discouraged. Staring out at the paved road in front of me, the beaded curtain lining the patio swayed slightly in the small breeze. The air is thick today. There’s something in my eye irritating my contact. All I have as a mirror is the reflection of my American cell phone. Even if I saw the problem, my hands are filthy—I’d probably just make it worse. I’m grumpy today. I didn’t sleep much last night, and the roosters never shut up.
Playing with our Ghanaian phone on the tabletop, I decide to try again. I dial my father’s call phone and he answers. I say “hi,” and wait for him to recognize my voice. He excitedly replies, “Christine!” I can hear the smile in his voice. He’s tickled pink and speechless as he searches for words—picking the start of one sentence and then switching to another to ask me something else. His reaction was just what I needed. It made me really happy to talk to him and hear his voice, and of course I was smiling ear-to-ear, sitting in the otherwise empty patio. I get lost in the sound of a familiar voice and suddenly it cuts out—the connection is lost—sending me back to the sights and sounds a world away. After a few more attempts, we were reconnected long enough to say a proper goodbye. The conversation made my day (and his too) but I could tell I was slowly getting grumpy again.
My stomach was growling at this point. Denise and Tony returned, just as the waiter placed Denise’s food on the table. She ate it. I sat. I waited. After they took her empty plate away, I waited more. Then I went up to the bar area and asked the kid how long it would be. He replied, “Almost.” Great. I waited more. Finally my pizza appeared and lasted approximately 7 minutes on the table before it was gone.
Denise and I walked to the market with Tony. I need to mention here that shopping with a man is a bad idea, unless he’s a friend. Tony led the way, stopping at several places HE needed to go to, including the pharmacy, and another place that looked like it sold fertilizer or something. This was annoying because it reminded me of my father or grandfather dragging me to Hechinger’s when I was too young to object. It’s like when you’re a child and your parents (for some reason unknown to a sane person) decide to take you with them to a carpet store. Honestly, there’s no reason for that.
At any rate, we followed Tony as he did his errands and picked up things here and there. We told him we needed to get toilet paper, fabric, beads, and water. Describing cinnamon and peanut butter was a trying ordeal. I’ve concluded they don’t have cinnamon in Ghana. Peanut butter we were not willing to give up on though. I had seen a jar last week in the market of something that looked similar. Tony had no idea what we were talking about, so we continued weaving through the market for other things on our list. Suddenly, we saw a jar of what looked like peanut butter. It’s actually a jar of ground nut paste, which is essentially the same thing, only smoother and softer (like honey) and is made of ground-nuts. Not “nuts that are ground,” but the nut is called a “ground nut.”
Moving on, we did get toilet paper and water. Tony had no idea where to go for the fabric or beads so we were on our own. Walking through, I started to recognize a few stands, and going on instinct, took a few specific turns through the pathways. I found the bead lady that Denise wanted, but we were unsuccessful to find the bracelet lady. We had Tony call Sema to ask where the fabric was. He led us in the direction. His pace is very slow and leisurely, a stark contrast from trying to keep up with Sema’s purposeful strides last week. It also is contradictory to his impatient manner. We arrived at the fabric stand only for him to pace around and try to force me into buying a particularly ugly piece of fabric. I became increasingly frustrated with both him and the saleswoman. I left the stand abruptly and resolved to try again with Sema after a week or so. Tony was eager to leave the fabric stand only to lead us to the tro-tro stop, so that we could stand, waiting for a tro-tro. This clearly was a brilliant idea—to leave the market unsatisfied so we could stand somewhere and wait. Honestly, I’m tired of being polite. Stop being so goddamned impatient when all I want to do is buy some fabric to make things for a couple people back home. You want to rush us off just so you don’t have to stand by the fabric? Then go off somewhere and wait for me until I’m finished.
The ride wasn’t awful. I had a seat by the window and had enough room in front of me to set my backpack down under my legs. This tro-tro, like so many others, is devoid of any upholstery. Ceiling, walls, and floor of the vehicle is simple metal. Sometimes painted, sometimes rusted, and with some effort, the windows usually open, sliding roughly along their rusted metal siding. I’m unaware of the anatomy of a tro-tro, but something—either the engine or exhaust or some unknown car part—was causing the floor beneath my feet to become extremely hot. The bottom of my backpack was hot to the touch, so I moved it to my lap, and set my feet back down. The heat radiated from beneath my flip flops, causing them to actually stick a little to my feet. This wasn’t from sweat—I do believe my flip flops were in the slow process of melting. Every now and then my foot would slip off the sandal and touch the burning metal. After a while, we were close to the village, and looking behind me, Tony, Denise, and I were the only ones left in the tro-tro: a rarity.
Our sack of water had burst on the floor, our individual water pouches scattered and hot to the touch. People are always standing at the roadside of the village (the prime gathering spot) so when we pulled up, Divine and another boy, Hope, helped bring our water to our room. As always, I was more than pleased to be back in the village. It was dark now and we sat on the stoop watching Kanye West videos on my ipod. Dinner was uneventful—some type of flake fish and yellow rice resembling rice-a-roni only by looks. I picked at it, and decided to make a PB&J sandwich with our newly acquired ground nut paste.
People were in our room for a while, alternating between young adult and child. Grace likes to hang out in our room, but lately has been pretty quiet. You try to engage her in conversation, but it’s like pulling teeth to get her to respond. I know she’s still learning English, but there are some things I know she knows, because she’s spoken about these subjects before—like school. The problem is, she doesn’t know how to handle not knowing the answer to a question. Instead of admitting she doesn’t know, or asking for clarification, she either stares at the wall and ignores you, or she’ll bashfully bury her face in her hands. Denise took some time to explain some things to her and was able to get some responses. Denise tried to explain that it’s ok if you don’t know something, but I’m not sure that point was absorbed.
Bright (age 18, but in JSS form 1) appeared for some computer training and I took this opportunity to ask him about other students and their motivation for Senior school. I also asked what the situation was as far as kids having sex, to which he had some interesting comments. In his opinion, girls don’t really think they have a chance at university, so their actions now don’t matter. Also, parents don’t have money to give the students for the school day, for instance the 5 or 10 pesos lunch that is available on the school grounds, provided by some women from the village. Some boys will give money to girls, but strangely enough, Bright indicated that it’s the girls who become sexually aggressive toward the boys. During this conversation in our seating area, I became repeatedly distracted from noise coming from the bedroom. Denise had been working on the computer, and a small group of children had gathered at the window, trying to have a conversation with her. It was so noisy, I burst in the room, immediately seeing an adult figure (along with the children) standing at the window. It was dark so I couldn’t see who it was (though it ended up being Sema’s brother—he’s a little slow in the mind). I yelled, “Are you an ADULT or a CHILD?” He laughed, like he does at most things, and I slammed the door.
Outside the night sky became the playground for a lightening storm. The air was cool and refreshing so we stood outside for a while just watching the sky. The lightening would crack and glow between layers of clouds, illuminating the outer cloud’s edges, and displaying rays of white, light blue, and purple from within. The rain came down fast, so we turned off the computer and sent Bright home with my red poncho, which he returned the next morning before school, dry and folded inside one of his text books. After the rain storm, a cool breeze came through our window, giving us a nice break from the humidity.
Time in Ghana is really just a concept on which to base vague intentions. For example, we were told that church lasts an hour and a half. This was a lie. It lasts 3 hours, at least. Tony said his meeting in Ho this morning with the election board would take 30 minutes… After an hour and a half, we called and he said he was almost done. We asked if he would be finished in 30 minutes more. He said again, “almost done.” But what does that MEAN?!?! 30 minutes later, he walked into White House.
I’m sitting in the shaded patio area of White House now, waiting for some vegetable pizza and French fries. I already had my coke, and took my malaria medication on an empty stomach which is causing some dizziness now. Denise and Tony walked up the hill to do some internet training while I wait here for our food. It’s nice to have some time alone. After some time of waiting, I decided to try and call home with the cell phone we bought. The connection wouldn’t go through to my mom and when I got my dad’s voicemail at his office I was slightly discouraged. Staring out at the paved road in front of me, the beaded curtain lining the patio swayed slightly in the small breeze. The air is thick today. There’s something in my eye irritating my contact. All I have as a mirror is the reflection of my American cell phone. Even if I saw the problem, my hands are filthy—I’d probably just make it worse. I’m grumpy today. I didn’t sleep much last night, and the roosters never shut up.
Playing with our Ghanaian phone on the tabletop, I decide to try again. I dial my father’s call phone and he answers. I say “hi,” and wait for him to recognize my voice. He excitedly replies, “Christine!” I can hear the smile in his voice. He’s tickled pink and speechless as he searches for words—picking the start of one sentence and then switching to another to ask me something else. His reaction was just what I needed. It made me really happy to talk to him and hear his voice, and of course I was smiling ear-to-ear, sitting in the otherwise empty patio. I get lost in the sound of a familiar voice and suddenly it cuts out—the connection is lost—sending me back to the sights and sounds a world away. After a few more attempts, we were reconnected long enough to say a proper goodbye. The conversation made my day (and his too) but I could tell I was slowly getting grumpy again.
My stomach was growling at this point. Denise and Tony returned, just as the waiter placed Denise’s food on the table. She ate it. I sat. I waited. After they took her empty plate away, I waited more. Then I went up to the bar area and asked the kid how long it would be. He replied, “Almost.” Great. I waited more. Finally my pizza appeared and lasted approximately 7 minutes on the table before it was gone.
Denise and I walked to the market with Tony. I need to mention here that shopping with a man is a bad idea, unless he’s a friend. Tony led the way, stopping at several places HE needed to go to, including the pharmacy, and another place that looked like it sold fertilizer or something. This was annoying because it reminded me of my father or grandfather dragging me to Hechinger’s when I was too young to object. It’s like when you’re a child and your parents (for some reason unknown to a sane person) decide to take you with them to a carpet store. Honestly, there’s no reason for that.
At any rate, we followed Tony as he did his errands and picked up things here and there. We told him we needed to get toilet paper, fabric, beads, and water. Describing cinnamon and peanut butter was a trying ordeal. I’ve concluded they don’t have cinnamon in Ghana. Peanut butter we were not willing to give up on though. I had seen a jar last week in the market of something that looked similar. Tony had no idea what we were talking about, so we continued weaving through the market for other things on our list. Suddenly, we saw a jar of what looked like peanut butter. It’s actually a jar of ground nut paste, which is essentially the same thing, only smoother and softer (like honey) and is made of ground-nuts. Not “nuts that are ground,” but the nut is called a “ground nut.”
Moving on, we did get toilet paper and water. Tony had no idea where to go for the fabric or beads so we were on our own. Walking through, I started to recognize a few stands, and going on instinct, took a few specific turns through the pathways. I found the bead lady that Denise wanted, but we were unsuccessful to find the bracelet lady. We had Tony call Sema to ask where the fabric was. He led us in the direction. His pace is very slow and leisurely, a stark contrast from trying to keep up with Sema’s purposeful strides last week. It also is contradictory to his impatient manner. We arrived at the fabric stand only for him to pace around and try to force me into buying a particularly ugly piece of fabric. I became increasingly frustrated with both him and the saleswoman. I left the stand abruptly and resolved to try again with Sema after a week or so. Tony was eager to leave the fabric stand only to lead us to the tro-tro stop, so that we could stand, waiting for a tro-tro. This clearly was a brilliant idea—to leave the market unsatisfied so we could stand somewhere and wait. Honestly, I’m tired of being polite. Stop being so goddamned impatient when all I want to do is buy some fabric to make things for a couple people back home. You want to rush us off just so you don’t have to stand by the fabric? Then go off somewhere and wait for me until I’m finished.
The ride wasn’t awful. I had a seat by the window and had enough room in front of me to set my backpack down under my legs. This tro-tro, like so many others, is devoid of any upholstery. Ceiling, walls, and floor of the vehicle is simple metal. Sometimes painted, sometimes rusted, and with some effort, the windows usually open, sliding roughly along their rusted metal siding. I’m unaware of the anatomy of a tro-tro, but something—either the engine or exhaust or some unknown car part—was causing the floor beneath my feet to become extremely hot. The bottom of my backpack was hot to the touch, so I moved it to my lap, and set my feet back down. The heat radiated from beneath my flip flops, causing them to actually stick a little to my feet. This wasn’t from sweat—I do believe my flip flops were in the slow process of melting. Every now and then my foot would slip off the sandal and touch the burning metal. After a while, we were close to the village, and looking behind me, Tony, Denise, and I were the only ones left in the tro-tro: a rarity.
Our sack of water had burst on the floor, our individual water pouches scattered and hot to the touch. People are always standing at the roadside of the village (the prime gathering spot) so when we pulled up, Divine and another boy, Hope, helped bring our water to our room. As always, I was more than pleased to be back in the village. It was dark now and we sat on the stoop watching Kanye West videos on my ipod. Dinner was uneventful—some type of flake fish and yellow rice resembling rice-a-roni only by looks. I picked at it, and decided to make a PB&J sandwich with our newly acquired ground nut paste.
People were in our room for a while, alternating between young adult and child. Grace likes to hang out in our room, but lately has been pretty quiet. You try to engage her in conversation, but it’s like pulling teeth to get her to respond. I know she’s still learning English, but there are some things I know she knows, because she’s spoken about these subjects before—like school. The problem is, she doesn’t know how to handle not knowing the answer to a question. Instead of admitting she doesn’t know, or asking for clarification, she either stares at the wall and ignores you, or she’ll bashfully bury her face in her hands. Denise took some time to explain some things to her and was able to get some responses. Denise tried to explain that it’s ok if you don’t know something, but I’m not sure that point was absorbed.
Bright (age 18, but in JSS form 1) appeared for some computer training and I took this opportunity to ask him about other students and their motivation for Senior school. I also asked what the situation was as far as kids having sex, to which he had some interesting comments. In his opinion, girls don’t really think they have a chance at university, so their actions now don’t matter. Also, parents don’t have money to give the students for the school day, for instance the 5 or 10 pesos lunch that is available on the school grounds, provided by some women from the village. Some boys will give money to girls, but strangely enough, Bright indicated that it’s the girls who become sexually aggressive toward the boys. During this conversation in our seating area, I became repeatedly distracted from noise coming from the bedroom. Denise had been working on the computer, and a small group of children had gathered at the window, trying to have a conversation with her. It was so noisy, I burst in the room, immediately seeing an adult figure (along with the children) standing at the window. It was dark so I couldn’t see who it was (though it ended up being Sema’s brother—he’s a little slow in the mind). I yelled, “Are you an ADULT or a CHILD?” He laughed, like he does at most things, and I slammed the door.
Outside the night sky became the playground for a lightening storm. The air was cool and refreshing so we stood outside for a while just watching the sky. The lightening would crack and glow between layers of clouds, illuminating the outer cloud’s edges, and displaying rays of white, light blue, and purple from within. The rain came down fast, so we turned off the computer and sent Bright home with my red poncho, which he returned the next morning before school, dry and folded inside one of his text books. After the rain storm, a cool breeze came through our window, giving us a nice break from the humidity.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Educational Finances
10/12/08
Primary and JSS are now free for children to attend, however Senior Secondary School (SSS) still has tuition the parents must bear: 180 cedis per semester. After SSS,
There are no scholarships—only student loans, and only for university. You cannot be granted a loan for SSS, and you won’t be granted a loan as a farmer. A farmer has no collateral to offer the bank. A JSS student, whose parents are farmers without enough savings to send them to SSS, is out of luck. They must work and try to save enough to go to SSS later… To put things in perspective, Tony (a teacher) is paid 200 cedis per month. A farmer with 1 crop might make 40 cedis a month for that crop. When you look at the math, and the lack of support and opportunity for farmers and their children, its no wonder the farming communities are plagued with poverty. Even the kids don’t have a fair chance.
Sunday
10/12/08
This morning began very chilly with rain clouds hovering overhead. This weather reminds me of being wrapped in a blanket on the couch back home, with a cup of chai, watching movies. Our breakfast was cocoa—a soup made of cocoa, corn powder, water, and anise. We dropped a sugar cube in each of our bowls and essentially had hot chocolate soup for breakfast! We skipped out on church today to some work on this week’s JSS presentation.
The sun finally came out so Denise and I went on a long walk down the road toward Bame. We noticed a large tree at the edge of the village bearing an incredibly odd fruit. The fruit resembled Granny Smith apples, the size of basketballs! The few people we passed were very friendly and stopped to shake our hands and exchange a greeting in Ewe. A motorbike slowed enough for both passengers to say “hello, how are you sistas?” and a truck stopped to wave, then high-five me, and ask where we were going. I guess the sight of two white girls traipsing along the African dirt road is cause for concern for some. This brings me to another point—when people recognize that clearly we’re not Ghanaian and we don’t speak Ewe, they’ll say “hi,” “hello,” or “how are you,” sometimes addressing us as “sista,” which is really nice—it’s a sense of inclusion, and especially being s far from home, I really appreciate it.
We returned home from our walk and worked more on the presentation for JSS. We were starving at this point and very curious as to when lunch might be. Divine appeared and asked what our plans were for when we wanted to finally go to the waterfall. We decided on Wednesday, and asked if Titus might want to go also and just then, Beatrice appeared with our lunch! My stomach was literally growling, and Divine just sat there, and continued talking. Denise and I kept exchanging worried looks, as if to say, “Will he ever leave?” He wasn’t about to. He continued to bring up an entirely new subject—one that would occupy the next 20 minutes. He asked if it was possible for him to go to school and be employed in the
Tony came in after lunch and we began discussing financial options for students wanting to continue to university. Details in the next post.
We spent the afternoon in our compound, resting and playing with Jessica. She had on a pink jumper and blue Velcro tennis shoes. Her hair was parted down the middle with two poofs of hair tied with bows sitting atop her head, giving her a Minnie Mouse-like appearance. If you’ve ever watched Disney’s Lilo & Stitch, Jessica’s demeanor would remind you of Lilo—adorably destructive. She hits crayons and sticks on stone until they break, and when they do, she lets out of cute little raspy giggle. We’ve unsuccessfully attempted to stop some of this behavior—like when she threw a large snail against a rock and broke its shell. She was in an extra destructive mood today so I was surprised when she reappeared from her part of the compound, holding a baby doll, ever so gently. She gingerly placed the doll in my lap and if the doll slipped or fell to the ground, Jessica immediately became concerned, brushed her off, and very carefully set the doll back on my lap. As a side note—this doll played a song when you pressed her belly: “I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world…” Definitely not something I expected to hear on this trip! Later, we saw Jessica walking around the village with the doll strapped to her back like all women in the village do with their babies. It was really cute.
I enjoyed my daily afternoon nap and we headed over to Walter’s house for another session of computer training. On the way I realized that Denise is well on her way to literally naming half the farm animals in our compound—including the two spiders in the bathroom (Fred and Shiela, I’m told). We passed a group of children—Grace, Selom, and Jessica included. We then became witness to a slight brawl between them. Jessica was pushed down over a wood and stone barrier, and some other girl starting hitting Selom with intent to kill it looked like. We broke up the fight, picked up Jessica, and tried to console the others. In the end, they gave us high-fives and were smiling again. We were a few minutes late to our computer training, but in
Afterward, we headed home to eat dinner with the numerous fruit flies and house flies that have set up camp in our room. I’m lying in bed now, sweating and constantly adjusting my pillow. It’s so hard that if I rest the side of my head on it too long, my ear starts to throb in pain as if the weight of my head is causing the hard, flat pillow to bruise my ear. I can’t sleep. I’ve suddenly switched back to normal (
The African West Virginia
10/10/08
Ok I actually had to draw myself a little map to completely see the connections, which will be slightly harder to convey through words, but essentially, this entire village is related.
I’ll start by saying that Cassandra (Jessica’s mother) is cousins with Sema (28). Therefore, Sema is related to Kosi, Grace, and Jessica, who all refer to her at Auntie Sema. Sema is also cousins with Beatrice. Divine (22) is cousins with Titus (22), whose mother is cousins with Beatrice, therefore Divine is cousins with Sema also. Sema is cousins with Tony’s wife, therefore also cousins through marriage with Tony (39). Tony’s wife’s brother is the chief, who is in turn related to Sema, Beatrice, Cassandra, Divine, and Titus, and the kids.
They don’t introduce each other as family, but when we ask if they’re related, they refer to each other as brother or sister, and anyone older than them are aunties or uncles, despite them actually all being cousins. This presented some confusion in the beginning but now we’ve got the connections straight.
Wedding Day
10/11/08
We were up with the roosters, as usual, as 5:30am. We took our bucket showers and got dressed. Breakfast was porridge and eggs loaded with peppers and onions, really good—and my source of vegetables for the day! Sema walked in with one the seamstresses from the village, who was going to make long skirts for us with the fabric we bought on Thursday. With a baby strapped to her back, she took my measurements and my fabric, and then did the same for Denise. She was young, maybe mid-late 20s, and missing a couple teeth. One tooth in the upper front of her mouth was much longer than the others, and jutted out sideways through her lips, about ¾ of an inch. The wedding actually begins at 9am, but we’re going to wait and go around noon. The drumming and dancing can last about 6 hours, so the fact that we’re missing only the church ceremony part, which will be entirely in Ewe, is not so bad. The skirts should be ready between 11am and noon.
It rained off and on all day long—more rain than the usual afternoon storms. I read my new book all morning (Water for Elephants), and Denise slept—she wasn’t feeling well. Lunch was sliced boiled cassava, a tomato-onion mush, and more of the sausage-like patties of egg and canned corned beef. After lunch, Sema appeared with our skirts, which cost us 2 cedis each to make. It started to storm while Sema and Beatrice left to get dressed. Someone in the compound had a radio that was turned up so we could hear it—soft jams from the 80s and 90s, including Boyz II Men, Westlife, Elton John, Bette Midler, Bryan Adams, and “A Whole New World,” from Aladdin. It was nice to hear something familiar, and we sang along to every song.
After about a half hour, the rain had taken a break and the four of us walked up the road to the next village, Deme. We saw Hans and he introduced us to his daughter, Forgive. Louis (the old man who gave us liquor distilled from palm wine the last time we came to Deme) appeared in a traditional African robe, as he was the father of the groom. He led us through the mass of people to our seats, and as we followed, a large woman dressed in a white robe and head wrap, printed with a black and gray pattern, smacked her lips in a dramatic air-smooch as I walked by—about 5 inches from my face. Another older woman stood facing us, walking backward as she watched us, literally through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars.
Louis led us to our seats under a fabric tent, right next to the head table with the bride and groom! The scene resembled our welcome ceremony, but times ten. There were more people than you could imagine, from all three villages of Saviefe: Gbogame, Deme, and Agorkpo. A group of young men were drumming and everyone was singing and dancing. A few notable women (one dressed head to toe in gold satin) were demonstrating their version of African booty-poppin’. About 30 people danced around the drums in a large uniform circle, twirling their handkerchiefs in the air. A woman came around and handed me a cold glass bottle of coke and a small slice of wedding cake, cut into four pieces. The cake was really good—reminiscent of rum cake and coffee cake at the same time. I was very careful to use only my right hand to eat and drink. A table was set up on the sidelines displaying rice and banku for people to partake in. With a crack of lightening, it started to POUR. The rain was relentless, falling hard and plentiful over the celebration. It didn’t stop anyone—everyone continued to sing and dance to the drums in the pouring rain. We were soaked, but having a blast.
Later, everyone dispersed and we followed Louis back to his house. The bride and groom sat in chairs facing the entrance. We were seated next to them. Several people came in, greeted us, and congratulated the bride and groom, which is when we realized we were seated in the receiving line! This was a little strange, so when I asked Sema about it later, she explained that the bride and groom wanted to be our friends because they like our skin color. I guess that’s nice enough, but I still felt like a monkey in a zoo. Everyone greeted us with “mia woezo,” (you are welcome) and we replied, “yoo” (thank you). One guy walked up, who actually pretty hot but lost MAJOR points when he greeted us: “yavoo, yavoo.” I shook his hand, about to say “yoo,” and stopped short looking at him with confusion, and asked, “What?” He clarified, “Yavoo, yavoo. White, white.” I said, “Yea. I know that,” and took my hand away. “Yavoo” is not a greeting. What do I say to that? I think next time someone (an adult) says “yavoo,” I’ll just reply with “ameyibo,” which means “black” in Ewe. The kids, now that we introduced ourselves in their classrooms, will call out our names instead of yavoo.
Louis gave us more palm wine liquor and we had our pictures taken with the entire wedding party. It seems we were the guests of honor—I had no idea we were so important. We met one woman, related to the bride and groom somehow, who lives in
Once home, I read more of my book and Denise took a nap. Dinner was plain noodles accompanied by a plate of cold baked beans, canned carrots and chopped tomatoes. I wasn’t very hungry but the dinner wasn’t very appetizing either. I picked at it and settled for two pieces of bread with jam, and tea. After dinner a boy from one of the JSS classes, Bright, came over to learn about the computer. He left at 7:30 and shortly after, we fell asleep.
October 10, 2008
After the Primary presentations, we went home and rested a while. We tested our new phone—Denise called her father to change her return flight to mine, a week before her original flight. I called Laura and we talked for a few minutes. Pretty soon, the children arrived, so we played with them for a while. Jessica was brushing my hair as I attempted to read, and after a while I noticed she was just shining the flashlight in my hair. Three kids from JSS came by to ask about computers. Denise opened the laptop and showed them MS Word. They were amused, and then asked, “How do you play music?” so Denise showed them iTunes, which occupied them for a while. At 3, we told them we needed to work, to prepare for our 4pm meeting with ANYO. They left and both of us fell asleep for a quick nap.
With 5 minutes to 4, we walked over to Sema’s house. We wondered if it would be a short meeting since clouds were yet again moving in. When we came to the backside of the house, there were no chairs set up for the meeting. It was 4:01, so we were early, but still chairs are usually set out for everyone ahead of time. Sema and Beatrice walked out of the house, surprised to see us, and exclaimed, “The meeting is postponed because of the rain.” We walked by Richard’s house (which is also the bar with the sign above the entrance: “Kindness Can Kill”) and Walter’s house to inform both of them their next computer training time. Right as I turned out of Walter’s yard, the rain came pouring down. We ran back to our house—me, Denise, Sema, and Beatrice. It felt so good to finally run again and stretch my legs. If it’s not raining, and still light out, it’s almost too hot to run. We burst into our room, with the curtain flying behind us.
As we waited out the storm, we showed Sema and Beatrice the fabric we bought in the market, and wrapped it around us to show our plans for skirts, and held up the other fabric we want to make into bags. Beatrice bounced around the room chattering to Sema in Ewe, smiling and saying, “Oooh, fine! Fine! Fine!” We brought our beads to show them, and Beatrice got all excited that we had beads for our hips! She took mine and immediately started adjusting the length of the beads to fit around my hips. When it all tied together, she handed it to me for me to slip on over my head and down to my waist. Several children were in the room, and were immediately shooed out as soon as I stood there to put on the beads. I guess you’re not supposed to put on those beads in front of other people… oops! One of the many cultural slip-ups on this trip. We showed Sema and Beatrice pictures of snowboarding and pictures from the
We began reading over the JSS papers we collected as Tony walked in. He sat with us for a while and told us the children were really going to benefit from all we were doing. While presenting to the students, we were unsure about their responses, and were wondering if they were really absorbing what we were trying to tell them. From reading the papers, and from Tony’s expressed pleasure and gratitude, I really think the students were listening, and took what we had to say to heart.
Around 6:30pm, Divine walked in, a half hour early for his computer training. We hung out for a while, talking about the JSS papers, and other questions Denise and I had about the village. We still have no idea how much a farmer makes in a year, or how much it costs to live here. In talking with Divine, we realized a farmer can save, at most, 300 cedis per year. You can rent a room in the village for 3 cedis per month, or an entire house for maybe 6 or 7 cedis per month. As a farmer, you generally have a few crops to sell, but in just selling corn, you might be able to make 20-30 cedis per month. We set him up on the computer and let him practice on his own (he had some experience before but needed practice typing) while we ate dinner.
Dinner was really good—white rice, pasta with tomatoes and onions (and oil of course) and small patties made of egg and canned corned beef, which tasted like breakfast sausage. As we were finishing an orange for dessert, Divine’s cousin, Titus (22), walked in. We all talked while Divine continued his typing practice. Titus spoke much better than Divine, who has a slight stutter. As much as I love the kids here, it was refreshing and almost energizing to hang out with people our own age, and who could speak English so well. Titus’s father happens to be the counterpart of one of the other volunteers, Michelle. They live in Etodome (which means between 2 rivers) about 6 miles away. During our phone testing earlier, we ran out of phone credits, so we agreed to buy more the following day from Divine. In our conversations, we mentioned how it’s so strange to us to wake up with the roosters. Titus gave us a look and asked, “Why don’t you just sleep through the roosters?” We replied, “You can DO that?!” and he said, “Of course! If I don’t have anything to do that day, I can sleep late—til 6:30!” I couldn’t help but laugh.
We said goodnight and got ready for bed. Denise had noticed a lone chicken who wanders the compound at night. We saw it again, and Denise turned to me and said, “what about Clarissa?” The look of confusion on my face prompted her to clarify: “For the chicken. Do you think Clarissa is a good name? Or koko?” About to roll my eyes, I stopped, and thought, ok, Denise likes animals, and empathizes with them, I’ll humor her. I said “Koko, since ‘kokolo’ is the Ewe word for ‘chicken.’” She agreed and we went to bed. Later, I listened as Denise agonized over killing a mosquito that found its way into her net. She didn’t want to end a life of something that was so clearly struggling to survive. I stayed mostly silent during this. Denise then began talking about how the poor little lonely chicken must feel, and maybe an animal snatched up her eggs before they hatched and that’s why she wandered, lost in the compound all night, or maybe she doesn’t have any chicken friends. I sighed, and managed to fall asleep without making jokes, listening to Denise ponder the mental anxiety of a chicken.
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