We had porridge for breakfast, and started with a cold bucket shower when Mama interrupted with an extra bucket of boiled hot water. We added it to our cold water in our buckets. It was almost too hot, but it did feel good. As soon as we dressed and ate, I realized it was only 7am… we really had nothing on the agenda except for a few interviews and conducting another study session with the Primary 4-6 kids this afternoon. We both laid back in our beds and rested while the fan blew. I dozed for 10 or 15 minutes, and then stared out the window. The curtain blew in and out, and the sky behind it turned from the light grey of an overcast morning to a dark grey of a coming storm.
I looked out the front room and saw Kofi situating a large metal basin on some steps to catch the rain water. The wind whipped around in several directions, the sky became very dark, and by 7:30am, the rain poured from the sky, pounding down on the tin roof. I tried to close the window slats as much as possible, but some rain was still pouring down the sides onto my bed, so I stuffed some hand towels to catch the water. The rain came down heavily for 30 minutes, and then subsided to a steady pace for another hour or two. By 9:30 or 10am, the rain had mostly stopped, and had left behind a new cool air, free of humidity. The sun stayed behind the clouds, leaving the grey haze to engulf the day into a lazy vacation from everyday work.
For most of the morning I just sat just inside the front door, with the breeze flowing in with the curtain, and read my book. The kids (Kofi, Michael, and my favorite—Maufuamo) arrived to color. Mama and other children sometimes call Maufuamo by her nickname, Akiti, which in Ewe means “little,” because she is so petite for her age (4). Around 11am, Emil came by to be interviewed. It went very well, to my slight surprise, and he volunteered more information than I’d asked for, and spoke about 50% more than the other interviewees. I also mentioned to him topics I wanted to discuss at tonight’s Anyo Meeting, mainly the library issue and the lack of interest or care on the part of the teachers. I also wanted to ask at the meeting about the money Anyo received from BRIDGE for our volunteering with them, but decided I would wait to just bring it up tonight. Bismark told me Anyo received 200 cedis, and that it was their decision alone what do with it. I wondered what constraints there might be; I wondered if it had to be involved with community decision making, or just Anyo; I wondered if they were restricted in any way from using the money on themselves. If so, I had a plan.
After the interview, I was getting really hungry. I did have a small granola bar to tide me over midmorning, but it was wearing off and my stomach was growling constantly. Mama brought us lunch, a plate with another covering the top—usually this signified a small omelet between the two plates, but something seemed different. As I looked at the plates, the one on top that covered the food seemed… higher than usual. She also brought a small container of freshly cut pineapple—the same pineapple we picked up in Ho on Monday. I lifted the covering plate to reveal our lunch. Samantha and I gasped and stood for a moment in shock with our mouths gaping open. We exchanged glances, a few times, and then sat down quietly and both seemed to whisper, “oooooh.” Mama had brought us French fries!!! Pineapple and French fries, we must have been really good to deserve this. Or Mama just likes us a lot. We ate everything. The fries were really good; we didn’t have ketchup but salt was enough. The pineapple tasted ever so fresh, sweet and juicy with almost a coconut essence. Samantha and I decided that this was for two reasons. First, Mama had been worried we hadn’t been eating enough because our stomachs (and secretly some of our taste-buds) couldn’t handle it. Second, Sema was with us in Ho on Monday and witnessed us devour a plate of French fries with a side of jollaf rice and a vegetable pizza. She must have told Mama what we ate and how much we looked forward to it every time we went to Ho. I felt guilty that Mama thought we didn’t like her food. We do! It’s just hard on our stomachs, and it’s hard to eat the same thing every day, and when almost everything is made with palm oil that effectively lubricates the digestive tract more than necessary, it’s hard to indulge the gesture. My guilt slowly faded with the intake of French fries and pineapple.
The rest of the day was pretty quiet. No more interviews, and the kids didn’t bother us too much… Samantha and I had originally wanted more human contact here, but with the vast numbers of ankle biters constantly in our room and in our faces, we were starting to think differently about our previous wish. By 3pm I had read almost the entire second half of my book (New Moon from the Twilight series). I know I’ll probably finish the book tonight, and I’m kicking myself for not purchasing the other two books in the series to read afterward. I can’t stand the suspense!
At 4pm we walked to the schoolyard, and my anxiety was already giving me heart palpitations. I don’t know why children make me nervous, but they do, especially in large numbers, especially when there are no other authority figures around, especially when English is lost in most of their ears. I was picturing the madhouse on Monday, being suffocated by 75 excited children. I was silently panicking, again, as we walked toward the schoolyard. We were 15 minutes early to survey our impending doom, and surprisingly I didn’t see the same mass of children. We walked to the library and waited a few minutes. Soon, I saw two young girls come down the path toward us. Several others joined, and when we settled on the steps of the Primary School, perhaps only a dozen children surrounded us with eager eyes. This was MUCH more manageable.
Samantha read a couple stories and asked the children who the characters were. This was a challenge. Earlier this morning Sam had told me her plan, and I mentioned I thought it might be too advanced. She scoffed and exclaimed that of course it’s at their level, and that she wasn’t asking them about Shakespeare. Mainly as a direct result of my anxiety I have with children in large numbers, I shrugged and let it pass. After the study session, Samantha walked warily beside me, almost defeated, and with an expression of exhaustion and pity and helplessness, she said she was really disappointed at the level the children seem to be at in school. Throughout primary school, they do not read stories, they do not read poems, they do not write. Teachers speak at the children in English; the children don’t comprehend, but simply answer “yes,” to any question posed: Is this right or wrong? Yes.
Samantha and I have talked at length about the children here. In sum, there is a very small chance a child will grow to their potential, truly using their mind as it is intended. Village life translates into parents always being too busy to talk to their children, to teach them, encourage them, guide them, play with them. Most mothers I see are expressionless or they are reprimanding the children. Mama is the only mother I have seen that actually smiles at her children. This is evident when all of the children are so eager to show us what they’ve colored in hopes for some small glint of recognition, satisfaction, praise, attention, and encouragement. They don’t receive any of those things other than in our front room… People don’t have much—no dictionaries, no books, no toys, no games, no puzzles. Children are left to their own devices for entertainment and affection from the age they can walk. It is next to impossible to foster cognitive development—no chances to encourage ideas, creativity, imagination, problem solving. Adults that grow from children in this type of environment almost seem lackluster about expending any effort on brainstorming ideas, or coming up with creative ways to solve problems. If the solution isn’t an obvious one right in front of them, then the problem doesn’t get solved and people accept their fate as it is. I can’t express how utterly disappointing and discouraging this is. So many children showed up on Monday because they WANT to learn. They WANT to read. They WANT to grow. Show me that same passion in American children, I dare you.
The Anyo Meeting was a relative success, depending on what actually comes from it. I tend to overlook the details that have been frustrating Samantha, mostly because I’ve accepted that things don’t necessarily follow logic or progress here. The meeting ran on African time—starting 40 minutes late. It was a slow acceleration into the topics for the meeting. Walter conducted the opening prayer for the meeting. Then Emil read back, very slowly, the minutes recorded from last week’s meeting. I thought that was stupid, since it was only a week ago, and the topics for the meeting revolved around Samantha and I, and everyone in Anyo was well aware at this point what we were doing. I sat and stared at the ground, fighting the urge to roll my eyes before we could actually begin. I explained I was planning on visiting the chief tomorrow to discuss the library. I then went on a rant about community responsibility and ownership and investment of a community library. I explained I understood voluntary labor, even in the slightest manner of simply chaperoning the library for a couple hours, is hard to come by when everyone is so poor, and lacks time to devote to something other than work, chores, or their family. I suggested the library be open from 4-6pm or 5-7pm on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays—three blocks of 2 hours per week. Only 6 volunteers would be needed to each spend 2 hours in the library, twice a month. I thought that was reasonable, but I planned on leaving the specific details up to the chief. Members of Anyo asked if we should instead turn to the teachers to handle the library, which sent me into a second rant about the teachers. The teachers honestly don’t care. They haven’t even set foot in the library to see what is readily available to them. The headmaster is just the same. I boldly stated that if they don’t care, then they should find another profession, because while they are a teacher they need to conduct themselves properly to foster education and child development (which there are books about in the library!). Anyo agreed with me, and supported my decision to involve the chief. Walter, the chairman of Anyo, will accompany Samantha and I tomorrow to the chief’s compound.
The last order of business was the money from BRIDGE. Apparently, this is the first time Anyo has received money from BRIDGE… which makes me wonder about the last time I was here, when they were also supposed to receive money. I agreed to speak with Bismark about that on Friday when we go to Ho again. Anyo said it will be used for seed money for a farming project (maize). I suggested that 150 cedis be used for seed money, and the other 50 cedis could be used to start a pilot program for emergency medical treatment, using Richard as the first guinea pig for the program. The money is Anyo’s money—not the village’s, not the chief’s, and only Anyo can decide what to do with the money. Emil challenged that 4 people in the village have similar problems to Richard, and what would they think if we used the money for Richard instead of them? This reminded me immediately of the scholarship problem. I explained my position very clearly, that it is better to help one or two people, rather than help none because of petty bickering and jealousy. I used more words and time to make that explanation clear. I said the seed money could yield profits that would contribute to the emergency fund, and the fund would be used on a case-by-case basis, based on urgency and need. It wouldn’t pay 100% for anything, but could contribute to the costs of medical treatment. I said that because this would be a pilot program, Richard’s candidacy was appropriate since he was a member of Anyo AND his condition is the only one in the village with as much pain and severity at the moment. Richard agreed to go to the eye center on Wednesday to get a second opinion and a new quote for treatment, and we would go from there.
After the meeting, Hans walked us home, stopping at the mill for us to see how it worked. Inside a shed were two large machines, with belts moving at an incredible speed. It was extremely loud. Only one mill was running—the one for cassava. The other mill was for corn. Large basins were spread across the floor, four of which were filled with peeled and cut logs of cassava. The other 3 were filled with the white fluff of ground cassava that had already been through the mill. A small girl crouched in front of me with her face next to the machine, and her arm up inside it, constantly pulling out the white fluff. I wondered if this was dangerous. It smelled funny, sweet in a way.
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