Planet Pura Vida

Medical Field Project in Kenya

2011-04-11T23:25:00.001-04:00

With my graduate education coming to a close, I am looking forward to my next international trip, this time to East Africa. IDCE has partnered with UHAI for Health, Inc. to participate in a medical field project in Kenya. The team includes several people from UHAI for Health, medical personnel from UMass Medical, Professor Sarkis from IDCE, and myself.

The aim of the project is to conduct screenings for chronic diseases (blood pressure, diabetes, etc.), HIV/AIDS, reproductive health, postpartum care, cervical cancer, and to dispense medications and make referrals to local health clinics and hospitals. This is the 5th year UHAI has conducted this field project, but the first year with IDCE involvement and a component focused on HIV/AIDS and reproductive health. We (students) have also been encouraged to brainstorm about other projects we may want to initiate, like sex education.

Itinerary:

May 20, Depart Washington D.C. via Emirates (layover in New York and Dubai)
May 21 & 22, Arrive in Kenya & rest up from jet-lag
May 23, Thika Village
May 24, Ndeiya Village
May 25, Githunguri
May 26, Nyahururu Village
May 27, Nakuru Village
May 28, Nakuru National Park & Great Rift Valley
May 29, Nairobi National Park & the Bomas of Kenya
May 30, Giraffe Center, Karen Hospital tour, lunch at the Carnivore Restaraunt
May 31, Depart Nairobi via Emirates (layover in Dubai & New York)
June 1, Arrive in Washington D.C.

Saying Goodbye

2010-06-12T11:58:00.002-04:00

We got up just after 5am, to be ready for the community gathering, though I expected the Gong-Gong man would go missing again. He did, and there was no gathering, so Anyo and the chief will have to express their need for library volunteers on their own. We had brown-brown for breakfast again, which is awesome because it’s my favorite. It was so early that we were able to pack the rest of our things, and spend what little time we had left with Michael, Akiti and Cicho. After a month of hanging out with the little ones, Cicho chose this morning to be the first morning he said anything in English: “Yea!” He exclaimed it when he jumped for the most part. It was really cute. He also decided that he would be lovey this morning—he kept gesturing for me to pick him up, and if I was sitting he would come over and climb into my lap. I threw him up in the air, which he adored, and he’d giggle and then ask me to do it again. Cicho and I played chase, and then Akiti wanted the attention. Samantha and Michael were busy trying to catch Samantha’s favorite goat for a photo op. It was a really nice morning, and the kids were dressed very nicely. Cicho had on a white polo shirt (how it was still white I have no idea) and Akiti was wearing a pretty silk dress with flowers on it. Her hair poof was standing tall. I’ll really miss those kids; I hope Mama gets a chance to bring them to the US. When it was time to gather our things, Kosi and Sema helped bring everything to the roadside. We waited a while longer there, at Peace’s storefront, while several people came by to bid us a safe journey—Samuel, the chief’s wife, Rafiki, Peace the hairdresser… and the resident Crazy. For the most part even at the storefront we were engrossed with Cicho and Akiti. Akiti wouldn’t let go of me. She’d stand in front of me, hugging my hands. I think I wasn’t as emotional this time around because I so hoped I would see them again, next time in the US. We didn’t see Kofi or Jessica to say goodbye, but Kosi hung out with us until we got on the bus. We waved goodbye, and Michael and Akiti were smiling their giant smile and waving back fervently. Mama didn’t want to accompany us to Ho because she didn’t want to say goodbye, so Emil and Sema went with us. They helped us into a tro-tro after going through a mob of tro-tro drivers grabbing our arms and trying to grab our bags to help us to their tro-tro. Finally we got to the one destined to take us to Accra. Defying the laws of physics, the driver managed to stuff all of our things into the back, and some under seats, and tied the trunk “shut” with a piece of green string. It didn’t look quite strong enough to hold it closed for the entire three hour ride we were about to embark upon… but then again, the laws of physics don’t seem to apply in Ghana. Sure enough, it held. We waved goodbye to Sema and Emil and began the second leg of our journey.

When we passed the immigration checkpoint, we had to wait for a really long time. Samantha and I went through just fine, but three other men were from Togo and didn’t have a passport. While they were interrogated, I occupied myself with the scene of the nearby vendor table. Women sat around it, selling cassava and plantains… and snails. BIG snails. At first I thought they were conch shells, but then I saw the snail heads sticking out and wiggling around. They were piled into three large bowls. I watched as three snails, one at a time, very slowly, attempt escape. They slowly moved from the bowls, dropped down the table below, slugged to the edge, and dropped again to a lower table. Fascinating. Finally, we were on the move again. I was starving, and feeling very claustrophobic in the middle of the very back seat of the tro-tro. If I wanted to get out, half the tro-tro would have to exit before I could move since the aisles had seats in them that folding down from the bench seat. I put my head down on the seat in front of me. Before long, Samantha was tapping my arm, a lot. I looked up to see the tro-tro had slowed. I leaned around to try to see what the commotion was about, and then I saw it—a GIANT baboon was crossing the road. Crouched, he was still taller than the cars. He walked on his knuckles and waddled his brown naked baboon butt behind him. Once he had crossed, he turned and looked in our direction with a big head, with huge poofy hairy cheeks. We saw a monkey!!! Yay!!!

The tro-tro dropped us at the side of the road, and I thought the driver gestured for us to cross the road to get a taxi to the airport. I looked doubtfully at him, hoping that’s not what he meant, since me carrying my belongings would be a disaster without a proper pack mule. Luckily, a taxi drove up and the transfer was relatively painless. Once at the airport, I managed to drag myself and my things very slowly to a waiting area. The air conditioning was a shock to the system that I wasn’t expecting, so I contemplated changing into a long skirt I had with me. What am I talking about, I had everything with me! But no, I had planned on bringing a change of clothes to change into in Frankfurt, as well as a bathing wipe and deodorant. Don’t want to smell like a tro-tro when I get home. Signing off until further reflections once I’m home safe and sound, bon voyage to me and Samantha!

Last Day in the Village

2010-06-11T11:57:00.000-04:00

We woke up expecting to attend the community gathering at 6:30am, summoned by a Gong-Gong man. However, since the chief couldn’t find the Gong-Gong man, the gathering didn’t happen. I assume this is because the chief doesn’t know how to pick up a mallet and hit a gong. After we had showered and had our brown-brown for breakfast, Emil came to inform us of the missing Gong-Gong man, which subsequently meant another attempt would be made the following morning. I was opposed to having to attend a meeting that would be entirely in Ewe at 6:30am, when we needed to be doing last minute packing and saying our goodbyes the next morning. Though I suggested we (Samantha and I) simply not attend the gathering, Emil decided it should be at 5 or 5:30am instead. *sigh* Mama later explained that our presence and our words (even if most people could only understand through the chief’s interpretation of what we said) would have more effect, more merit, than someone from the community saying the same thing. Mama explained that the community would take us more seriously, and therefore the topic to be discussed (volunteers to chaperone evening hours at the library) would have a better chance at success.

I spent the morning packing most of my things. When I’d finished all but what would be packed the following morning after our showers, I laid down for a short nap. I was restless though, and when I opened my eyes, Jessica was staring at me from the doorway again. She was content to spend a few hours coloring by herself, occasionally asking for a biscuit, which is a cracker; she pronounces it as “bis-quit”. I rested, and every now and then she would come into the bedroom and say, “Christine, medekookoo banana” or just “medokookoo,” and tapped her head, which I figured out meant she wanted to play with my hair. “Medekookoo” means “please.” It was a pretty quiet morning, and when Sema brought us French fries, plantain chips, and 2 cokes for lunch (wow!), we shared with Jessica.

Kofi joined us in the afternoon, though Kofi and Jessica started hitting and not sharing the crayons. Some random children came over too, and we started to lose our patience. Jessica felt she needed some attention, good or bad, and therefore decided to eat a crayon. She had little wax particles on her lips and she was spitting bright orange. We kicked them out, and Jessica and one of Emil’s sons about the same age parked themselves outside our bedroom window and began peeling off pieces of the screen and chewing on it. I had wondered what animal always seemed to destroy the screens in the village. I found out. Bright came over to practice typing on my laptop, and Kosi soon appeared as well to return the New Moon book I’d leant him. He said he really enjoyed the books so I told him that later tonight we could watch Twilight on my laptop.

Tonight was to be our last Anyo meeting. We arrived at Richard’s compound and visited for a short while with everyone. Richard read the comments I’d left in the guest book—most of which were instructive but firm… He asked me what else in the village disappointed me. I explained that my entry in the guest book was only firm because I cared so much about the village, and its people. I explained that the members of the community are fully capable of taking responsibility for their own happiness, and initiative for their own ideas, and that good ideas need constant supervision and effort to become successful projects. I also stated that a library that simply exists does no one any good; it must be used by the community if it will make any positive change for anyone. Emil informed me that the following morning at the community gathering would be a good place for me to “teach the community about why the library is good.” I asked him to tell me why he thought the library was good. He and Walter collectively came up with that it would “help the children learn and practice English.” I agreed, and also noted that it would be a good opportunity for parents to learn with their children by reading children’s books together. Later, Samantha and I discussed the situation that after Anyo decided they wanted a library more than nine years ago, and after it has been built and stocked with books, that they would need an explanation as to why a library should be used by the community.

After our brief Anyo meeting, we walked to the chief’s compound, where the chief and Anyo had prepared a “presentation.” We didn’t know what the presentation would be, and when we walked into the chief’s living room, it still wasn’t apparent. The room was painted a royal blue, and the blue hue from the light bulb in the ceiling made it glow like a seedy bar. There was a very powerful fan oscillating in the corner—the chief must have had the best fan because I could feel it very well from across the room. Next to the fan there sat an old television set, tuned to the opening of the France vs. Uruguay game of the World Cup. Samantha, Sema and I sat on one couch, the chief was to our right in an armchair. Hans, Emil and Walter sat on a couch to our left, flanked by Mama and someone representing the elders. He was in his elderly robe. A younger man that I didn’t recognize sat on the other side of the chief. They spoke for a long time in Ewe, it must have been twenty minutes. I started to think the “presentation” was watching the World Cup with the chief. I was rooting for France because in the opening anthems, Uruguay players looked like an army of blue robots, and France’s players had their arms around each other. I had nothing else to base my favoritism off of, so that would have to do. Plus, France has the Louvre. You could say France started to play dirty, but you could also say that Uruguay just fell down a lot and whined about it. After a while, my concentration on the game was interrupted when Emil started talking in English, which meant he was addressing me and Samantha. Mama and Sema took us into another room, where there was a second, smaller television set also programmed to the game. They had two nicely wrapped packages under their arms—presents! They presented us each with a fancy African dress (more like a robe with a fancy neckline), a headdress, and bracelets. They were absolutely beautiful. This inspired a photo frenzy when we returned to the room filled with men, and since we’re girls and we like our cameras, we took pictures with everyone while we were all dressed up.

After the impromptu photo shoot, we returned to our compound for dinner, rice with a piece of chicken. Bright and Kosi showed up, and I started Twilight on my laptop. The volume isn’t the greatest, so it was generally hard to hear, especially after it started pouring down rain on top of the tin roof. But the boys enjoyed it just the same. Half way through, Michael and Akiti came by and settled themselves to watch the movie with us—Michael was on the floor at my feet, and Akiti snuggled on my lap. After a little while they both started to nod off. Akiti’s small hand was gripped around my fingers, and the tiny poof of hair on top of her head was smushed against my chin. Mama came by to clean up dinner and asked if she could speak with me outside.

Samantha and I have told Mama on numerous occasions that we’d like her and the kids to come visit us in the United States. I also think that if she decided to live in the States, of all the people in the village, she and her children would be able to make it, not only because of their English skills but also their personalities. When she pulled me outside, she asked if I’d said anything to Sema about our plans for her to come to the US. I said no, and that I wasn’t planning to, mainly because for now it was just a nice idea. Mama was worried Sema would be envious of our invitation, though of course we would open up our homes to any of them who came to the US for a visit. Mama said she was calling a friend of hers to get information on Ghanaian passport fees for her and the children. I started to get really excited that she might actually come to the US! We exchanged contact information, and Samantha and I offered to do what we could to help with paperwork (as far as getting a tourist visa for the US… I’m not really sure how that works).

It was late by the time the movie ended, and our room was starting to look bare from all the packing we’d done. I started to think about what I’d like to do in the great US of A when we got back. Shower, have vegetables, sushi, tacos, see a movie… and go to the beach. This time tomorrow, we’ll be on a plane headed for Germany.

Coloring and Airplanes

2010-06-10T11:57:00.001-04:00

Sema brought us ground nut soup for breakfast, also known as “brown-brown.” We ate the entire bowl, and a banana each. Today was pretty relaxing. After breakfast and our bucket bathing session, we got dressed, got ready for the day, braided our hair… and then took a nap. I slept for a long time, having crazy nap time dreams about sitting in the airport, and seeing random people. When I opened my eyes around 11:30am, Jessica was staring at me. I really wasn’t that out of it—she was stealth like a ninja entering without making a single sound! I sat with her while she colored for a while. She wrote all of her numbers, which she’s gotten better at since we’ve been here. At first she would write the mirror images of numbers, but now she wrote them correctly except for the number nine. Samantha was reading in the other room, and I was glad to have one-on-one time with Jessica. She wasn’t in school because her mom couldn’t afford the lunch fee. Over the course of the afternoon, I gave Jessica 3 bananas and a bunch of crackers. I started drawing a little bit, two scenes from Oasis, one of which was the turtle sitting on our table. Then I channeled my inner child and replaced my pencil with an array of crayons. I drew a sun, a mango tree, and then Jessica, Michael, Akiti, Cicho, Kofi, Samantha and I all holding hands. Cheesy, I know, but it was cute. Jessica got a kick out of it. After that I instructed Jessica on the fine art of crafting paper airplanes, and the even finer skill of flying them. She would stand on the top of our front steps, and squeal as it went further and further. If it didn’t go as far as the one before, she would say, “no,” and shake her head and try again.

Mama and Cicho brought us lunch (boiled cassava with pasta in palm oil with onions). Cicho was wearing his usual red shirt that said “six” on it. He and Jessica chased and played. After Mama left, I was tired and asked Jessica if she wanted to go home for a little bit and come back later. She looked as if someone had just murdered her puppy. It was wrong of me anyway to ask that; I should appreciate what little time I have had with her, and what little time is left. I sat with her outside for a while, and soon Kofi appeared with Fafali in tow, both wanting in on the paper airplane action that Jessica was showing off. It was a fun afternoon. All in all, Jessica was with us for 6 hours.

After Kofi began monopolizing the paper airplanes, Jessica started petting my head and my French braid. I asked her if she wanted to play with my hair and she smiled, “yes!” She went and found my brush (a step up from the flashlight she liked to use on my hair the last time I was here) and began concocting some hairstyle that more and more started to resemble what hair might look like after an electrocution. She was enjoying herself though, and if she pulled too hard, her little raspy voice would say “sorry, sorry sister Christine.” Three upper primary girls came by to say hello and took interest. They separated parts of my hair, two of them braided, and Jessica played. Michael appeared and started coloring with Kofi. It was a party! It was almost 5:30pm so I asked everyone to leave so we could visit the chief. I pulled out the hair ties, along with some of my hair that had been tangled among them, pulled back my hair, and Samantha and I walked with Emil over to the chief’s compound.

The meeting with the chief was relatively calm and uneventful. We discussed the logistics (sort of) behind getting volunteers for the library, which would include our presence at a community gathering the following morning… at 6:30am. We visited a short while, and then returned to our room to wait for dinner, which was jollof rice with 2 small pieces of chicken. I realized as I finished my piece of chicken that I was eating it more like a hungry monkey rather than my usual pickiness. After dinner, I grabbed my laptop and movies, and we headed over to Mama’s compound for a movie night with the kids.

Movie night was a blast. The kids had eaten and had their baths, so cuddling was flea-free! We sat in Mama’s living room area on fabric chairs in dark wooden frames. The cushions were covered in purple plastic. I placed the laptop of the coffee table and we gathered on the couch to experience Disney’s Tarzan. Cicho was asleep on the floor, Akiti was on my lap, and Michael was situated between Samantha and me. Michael would jump at the slightest thing meant to surprise or startle an audience. Akiti bobbed her head to all the background music. Mama joined us soon after the movie started, which added to the fun. She liked to ask questions about what was happening throughout the movie, something I probably do myself too often. After the movie, we visited for just a little while. I showed some pictures on my laptop that I had downloaded from my phone, including a picture of the White House in winter, and a picture of my Chicken a la CB dinner I invented (Sean helped a lot though and should be given much credit for the recipe). We talked about how long Mama would be living in the village (another year and a half she expects), and so I asked if after that she’ll be living in the US. We did talk about visiting though. The last time she checked, about five years ago, Ghanaian passport fees were about 11 cedis each. They can’t be much more than that now I would assume, but I know the airfare will trump any looming passport fee. I would love to have her and the kids come visit though, and preferably stay…  I hate the thought of not seeing our favorites again.

Last Day in Ho + Ideas

2010-06-09T11:56:00.000-04:00

We had ground nut soup for breakfast, which I liked, though I probably ate it too fast. Sema had boiled some water to put in our shower buckets so we actually got to bathe with warm water! We heard the bus’ horn as we left our compound, and jogged up the path to catch it before it left for the next village. On the way, we accidentally caught the attention of the resident crazy man. He got excited and ran over to us, blocking our way to the bus. He grabbed Samantha’s hand (she was in front of me) and when she passed him, he turned to me. I was not in the mood this morning to be polite. I tried to fake left and go around him, but he grabbed my chest which threw off my plan. I took his arm and threw it to the side. When we got on the bus at 7:50am, he stood in the doorway staring at me with his creepy smile. It made me shiver.

By 9am we had reached the village of Etodome… a mere 6 miles away from Saviefe. *sigh* I knew it was going to be a long ride. The agenda for Ho, considering our limited funds, was simply to use the internet and talk to Bismark, since he promised he would be in the office. I wasn’t really expecting him to be there, but I was still disgusted when we checked both at 10:15am, when we got to Ho, and at 12:15pm, when we left. As Samantha so eloquently noted, he has been as useful as two sprained ankles in a 5K race. Since we didn’t have enough money for lunch, we headed back to the bus stop and were early enough to catch the bus back to the village, saving us 40 peswas of our usual combined tro-tro fare. We were not early enough to get seats. All were taken, so we perched ourselves on the rear wheel well, something that, combined with the treacherous roads of the rural Volta Region, nearly broke our tail bones.

As the ride began, some woman was throwing an absolute fit because she either got on the wrong bus, or was charged extra because she wanted to get off somewhere unusual. The argument between her, the driver, the attendant, and the other passengers was for the most part in angry Ewe, though one old man did yell out, “This is not your personal car!”. The rest of the ride was quiet enough, though I was wondering if I’d be able to stand afterwards. Luckily, a few people got off and an old woman pointed me to an open seat. Samantha sat, and I on her lap, trying unsuccessfully to “think skinny,” since I knew the bumps in the road caused my entire weight to crush down on Samantha’s bladder… It’s lucky that we did grab that seat because it had started to rain pretty hard. One stop later, and 10 tiny children, maybe the age of 4, climbed aboard, soaking wet. They clambered about and sat on the floor, exactly where we had just been. They looked at us in awe. Resembling the baby sea turtles in Finding Nemo, 2 stops later they all squealed “Bus Stop!” in unison. It was cute. Finally another seat opened up and I snagged it. My back was killing me, as was my neck from tossing and turning all night. I was cranky and hungry and was ready to leave Ghana. I couldn’t deal with this bus any longer.

We got home and found a new bunch of bananas on the table—surprise! I ate one and some crackers. So did Samantha. Mmm lunch. Not two minutes after we’d arrived back home, did Michael come running up to say good afternoon. I swear he’s a spy, haha. Kofi came by too and colored for a little while. Soon it was time for our last JSS study session so we headed for the compound. It went well; there were some very eager and attentive students who enjoyed the activity. We picked out groups of short stories, had them read at their own pace, and then get into their groups to discuss and write a summary. Though most students cheat and write directly from the book for their summaries, they were reading, and they were enjoying it, which is what mattered most. I have to say, JSS students are so much better behaved than the Primary kids. They’re better for my health, I don’t feel like I have an ulcer when I leave the JSS students.  It was raining, and Bright walked with us back toward our end of the village, talking about the reproductive health interview he’d participated in.

When we got back to the room we dried off and I realized I had to pee. I tried to be stealth with the rain, attempting to avoid more wetness as much as possible. It was a feeble attempt, as when I jogged to the outhouse, the door was wide open. I asked Kofi’s mom if anyone was using it, and the conversation lingered in the rain something like the following:
CB: Oh is someone using the toilet?
KM: No
CB: So I can go in?
KM: No
CB: Who’s using it?
KM: Kofi
CB: But… Kofi is right there… (standing pantless beside his mother)
KM: Yes
CB: So I can use it
KM: Yes
CB: So no one’s in there?
KM: Yes
CB: Ok so I’ll go in?
KM: No
CB: uh huh…
And then I just bolted for the door. As often as I seem to walk in on men pooping in the outhouse (for some reason it never occurs to anyone to shut either of the two doors to the outhouse or the stall inside…) I figured one more possibility wouldn’t matter.

It was raining still when 5:30pm rolled around. We were supposed to go to the Anyo meeting but I wondered how punctual everyone would be, or even if the meeting would be cancelled due to the rain. At 5:45pm we walked over to Richard’s. Only Richard was there, with a couple young guys who always hang around his place for shots of whiskey. I tend to forget that Richard acts as the village bartender. A few moments later, Hans appeared in the doorway, and I was tragically hopeful that the meeting would still happen. Soon, the rain picked up and poured down heavily. It was so loud under Richard’s tin roof; I had to raise my voice next to his ear to ask him about his eye. The swelling goes down slightly when he takes his pain medication, though the pain continues to agonize him at a fixed rate despite the efforts of Western medicine. He lifted his lid to show me his eye. It looks the same—red, swollen beyond belief, the pupil and coloring around it is almost an exaggerated blob of what used to represent his eye color. It looked as though the eye would explode at any moment. It took all my might not to wince in horror, even though I had seen it a few weeks before.

Two men rode up on their motorbike, soaked to the bone. They each took a shot of whiskey, greeted us, and then left. At first I mistook the revving of the motorbike’s engine as distant thunder. Emil arrived, and soon the other men who frequented Richard’s bar left. The rain had died down slightly, and I realized that there wasn’t going to be a meeting. Walter wasn’t there, and neither was Sema. So, I asked Emil if he would accompany us to visit the chief tomorrow to discuss volunteers to chaperone evening hours at the library, to which he agreed. I also explained that the library still needed benches for the students to sit on, and the lights needed to be fixed, since they would be incredibly necessary for evening operations to work. I also brought up an idea I had come up with earlier in the morning…

The focus group with Anyo was very successful, and noted malnutrition as a very significant health challenge in the rural areas. Because the diet is “one-sided,” since most people eat either banku or fu-fu everyday for every meal, essential vitamins from fruits and vegetables are severely absent. Originally, Anyo’s seed money from BRIDGE was to be used to start an income-generating farming project. Of course the idea of any project that could generate income is a great idea in theory, but as I’ve had some hard realizations about development throughout this trip, great ideas in practice are much harder to implement successfully. If Anyo did generate some income, there would be disagreements on who should spend the money, on what, how, and what for. This was exemplified in Richard’s objection to use some of an emergency medical fund for his own eye, when four others in the village also had eye problems. So what project could actually do some good?

A vegetable garden seemed like a good solution to me. It would be run by Anyo Group, and sell vegetables for very affordable prices, not for income or profit, but merely enough to keep the garden growing, to buy more seeds, fertilizer, top soil, etc. I don’t know exactly what vegetables would thrive here; if there were any other than cassava, I would have thought someone would have figured it out by now… but then again… maybe not. I drew pictures and described various vegetables—tomatoes, carrots, onions, beets, spinach, peas, green beans, and peppers. We made a list of possible try vegetable seeds to buy, as well as materials that would be needed. We decided that chicken wire mesh fencing would be needed, as well as wood for the fence frame and gate. Lord knows as soon as those vegetables start growing, the goats will be all over it. Emil, Hans, and Richard seemed very pleased and somewhat excited about the idea. They said they would definitely try it. I suggested that once the garden becomes successful, they could ask a few children at a time to help harvest the vegetables, or tend to the garden. It would present an ideal opportunity to teach the children about vegetables and nutrition. There’s an organization, a bank really, that has been introduced to the region since my last visit—the Agricultural Development Bank. I have mentioned it before in these posts, but as I understood it, it served to give loans to farmers, and could act as a savings account for farmers as well—a financial option not previously available to farmers with no collateral. Emil, Richard and I discussed the ADB, and I suggested they should contact their regional office to bring a resource person in to teach Anyo about how to farm these vegetables. If the project became very successful, Anyo could expand it with a loan from the ADB. Richard also suggested bringing in a resource person to teach members of the community about nutrition.

Though it wasn’t an official Anyo meeting, I thought the visit was very productive. I started to regain some of my original enthusiasm for small scale projects in the village. Richard asked me to write down my postal address, email, and phone number. I couldn’t quite remember the correct country code for dialing the US from Ghana, I knew it was either 001 or 011. Richard giggled as he dialed my number into his phone, similar to the way my friends and I did in elementary school when we were getting ready to prank call someone. He tested it first by itself, then with 011, and finally squealed with glee when 001+ my number connected him to my voicemail—something they don’t use here. I guess I’ll find out when I check my messages at home how long the call was connected, I’m sure I’ll be able to hear his squeals and giggles even though he held the phone away in surprise. It was like a child who prank calls someone, and when the person answers, the child forgets what to do, and tries to hand the phone off to someone else, laughing all the while. It was histerical.

Richard asked when we should have the final Anyo meeting before we head off, and I suggested Friday night. He handed me a familiar book, with “Guest Book,” written on the cover. I remembered Denise and I had written messages to Anyo at the end of our last visit, thanking them for the experiences and their friendship. I suddenly realized that this was the first of our last goodbyes. Though I miss home, and was fed up with how things had turned out in the village after my last visit, the people make it memorable and I’ll always have a place for them in my heart. Unfortunately, gatherings like tonight don’t happen often. Usually Mama is the one to socialize, occasionally Sema will accompany her. I will be sad to say goodbye to Anyo this time. I’m not sure if I’ll be back here again. I’d like to transport Richard and Mama and the kids back to the US though. When I left before, I was sad to say goodbye, but I think deep down I knew I would return. This time… I’m not so sure. I would like to say that I will, perhaps with more experience, more guidance to offer, more projects to start and actually get to oversee… but who knows? It’s hard to accomplish anything in less than 6 weeks. It takes a month usually to just get acclimated again, to the village, to the culture, to the people, and to understand their needs and challenges. I can’t imagine being in a place in my life again where I have the luxury of abandoning responsibility to come live here for any length of time. Though, the last time I said goodbye, Richard did say that whenever I got married, they would send someone from Anyo to attend. Maybe not that exactly but maybe if I get wealthy (unlikely considering my future in non profit work) I can bring Mama and her kids out for a visit. And then maybe they can stay and be my next door neighbors. And maybe Richard can come too and teach me how to sew.  Life in dreams…

Feeling Better

2010-06-08T06:58:00.001-04:00

I woke up feeling much better, not 100%, but still so much better than the day before. I had a little bit of porridge for breakfast, and managed to eat most of a banana (my first meal since breakfast yesterday). Samantha and I dragged ourselves out of the compound to confront Believe about the exorbitant price she was charging for our garments, and to request more alterations. I hate confrontation of any kind, and I didn’t want to outright accuse her of cheating us, but part of the problem I knew had been and was going to be the language barrier. I think Believe lets on that she understands more English than she actually does. Either way, I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. Mama had said she didn’t want to come with us because after we leave, Believe would have it in for Mama, which of course we didn’t want… but at the same time I wanted Mama’s support.

The meeting with Believe went better than I expected. We sat down, and I explained that two years ago, she only charged me 2 cedi per skirt, and that 35 cedi for two skirts and a dress was much too expensive. She nodded and smiled, so I continued, trying to find simpler words… just in case. I explained we didn’t have that much money left and we could pay her 5 cedi per garment, which was more than fair. She agreed, though I think she was slightly embarrassed. I then went on to specify some alterations: replacing a shiny ribbon as the band of the top of the skirt with a simple piece of leftover fabric; She had cut the dress in two pieces to shorten the length, and hadn’t put it back together yet. I seized this opportunity since I didn’t like the way she had placed the fabric for the top of the dress differently than the skirt of the dress—I asked her to convert the skirt of the dress into a skirt just like the others, and I would use the top part as fabric for my own projects when I get home. I’ll be much happier with three skirts instead of two skirts and a misshapen dress. The skirts I must say have turned out well so far, so I’m looking forward to the final product. Samantha went on to specify her alterations, and then we explained that we would need it all by Friday night since we’re leaving on Saturday morning. This was the point where surprise crossed Believe’s face, putting a time crunch pressure on her work that I’m sure she’s never felt before, given the widespread adoption of “Africa time”. As we were finishing up our discussion of alterations, Mama walked over, with Cicho following reluctantly behind her. He was sleepy. She had come to see how I was feeling and saw us so she came over, but kept her distance as to not interfere or let on that she supported our ambitions to lower the price.

After we finished at Believe’s compound, Mama and Cicho walked with us back to our compound. Cicho was getting cranky while Mama cleaned up after our breakfast and emptied our trash with her hands (had I known they didn’t just dump the wastebasket upside down I would have been more neat with the way I threw away banana peels and Q-tips…). I showed Cicho a book we had lying on our table, The Fox and the Hound. He immediately left his cranky mood aside and became elated as he turned the pages. After every turn of the page, he would squeal and giggle, and clap his hands. Mama finished cleaning up, prompting Cicho to tease her. He would lift the curtain over his head and walk until his face pushed against her face. They were both laughing, and it was really nice to see. As I may have mentioned before, Mama is one of the only adults I ever see playing with and enjoying their child. Mama said they needed to go, and Cicho rediscovered his cranky side. He walked halfway through the compound, picked up a small stone and walked back… Mama apparently has dealt with this decision before and exclaimed, “If you throw that stone at me I will beat you!” He threw it. Mama just shook her head, and said, “Bye Cicho,” as she continued to sit on our step. He picked up a rock this time, bigger than his little fist. Mama reminded him of her previous threat, this time with more conviction. He came to the bottom of the step, arm back holding the rock by his ear, ready to throw it in her direction. He paused, visibly considering his options, and slowly lowered his arm and put the rock down on the step.

After Mama and Cicho left, Samantha and I watched Marie Antoinette on my laptop, and then savored our fan for a little while until lunch time. I was hungry, which was a good sign, but also slightly uncomfortable. We were brought French fries for lunch, which pleased me. Though, when Samantha gave me a significantly smaller portion than hers, I scoffed in protest. But she was probably right, I shouldn’t push it. We relaxed the rest of the afternoon; I caught myself up on blogging, and Samantha read a book. Around 2:30pm, Michael came over after school. We asked if Mama knew where he was and if he’d been home yet; to both questions he answered the usual “yes.” He colored for a really short while, sat on the chair next to me, and next thing I knew he had fallen fast asleep. At 4pm, it was time for the Primary 4-6 study session, so I woke him up—drool dripping from his chin, and eyes tired and red, poor thing. We walked him home, and headed for the library and school compound.

I am not… meant to handle mobs of children. A few well-behaved, sweet ones like Michael, Jessica, Kofi, Mawufemor and Cicho are a breeze. But when there are 40 or 50 loud and energetic children, a scene of utter chaos ensues. We gathered the children in the library again, and Samantha is meant to lead the sessions. Though I love Samantha very much, she doesn’t really have any ounce of a disciplinary figure in her. She asks in a sweet voice if what she had planned is ok. Half of the children don’t understand and run amok anyway; the other half behave and do what they’re asked and try to explain it to others. But for the most part, even if they do understand, they don’t listen. Tearing apart the shelves with books, it looks like a tornado blew through the library. You tell them choose one book and we’ll do an activity, and they grab one book, look through, throw it on the floor, and go back for another. They surround you like vultures, and pretend they never got a book or a crayon or a piece of paper, when they really have gotten a few. When you only have enough paper and crayons for every child to have one of each, it’s frustrating when you recognize some kids have already had their share, you tell them no and tell them why, and they snatch it anyway when you turn your head to look at the mob of children that have backed you literally into a corner. Usually of the two of us, I’m the one who raises my voice loud enough for all the children to hear, and I’m the one who says anything with conviction enough to be respected, and the children usually fall in line. I’m sorry if I sound like a dictator, but seriously… MOBS. At any rate, I gave up. Not feeling 100%, and not being born with enough patience to deal with this situation, I sat down and waited for it to be over. Granted, I was cranky. The kids were generally happy and excited; it went fairly well despite the chaotic mess they left behind.

Exhausted and hungry, we went back to our compound and rested and waited for dinner. We had jollof rice; I had just a small scoop, again trying not to push my luck with my stomach. Bright came by to see how I was feeling, as did Mama and Sema. Shortly after dinner I was ready for bed. Our last Market Day is tomorrow, and therefore my last entry until I update this when I get home… probably on Monday I’ll update it, and maybe post some pictures. I start my journey home in only 4 days!

Sickness

2010-06-07T06:58:00.000-04:00

I was wrong. I should mention here that this entry may be slightly graphic regarding bodily functions, so if you’re squeamish or don’t want to know me that well, feel free to skip to the next entry. Getting sick sucks; getting sick when you’re not home sucks even worse. But being sick in a remote village in West Africa is awful. These were the longest 24 hours I’d spent in Ghana. During the night I had to get up four times to visit the outhouse. Number 2s resembled ink. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t vomit. The nausea and cramping and stomach pains continued through the night, and on throughout the day. I realized I had a fever. In the morning I tried to have a tiny bit of ground nut soup, but it came back up later. I felt a little better after I vomited, but it didn’t last long. I restlessly lay in bed for most of the day, sweating profusely between my trips to the outhouse. Every time, I was sure there was nothing left in my body, but 45 minutes later, I would be proven wrong. I felt like death, and according to Samantha, I looked like it too.

Details are fuzzy but I do remember Mama, Hans, and Emil standing in our room speaking in Ewe with concern, and deciding if I should go to the hospital, or medical assistant in the village. Hans and Emil were asking me questions about my bowels, and though I appreciated their concern, I detested having to provide so much embarrassing detail about my number 2s to them. I should mention that during the worst of it, the idea of a hospital with an IV to rehydrate my weak body did cross my mind. Though I wondered how I would get there. I didn’t know where it was. I imagined tracking down Samuel and his tro-tro, or perhaps they would fasten a cart behind a motorbike and put me on that. I dozed off I think as I remembered the numerous interviews I’d conducted, and how every one of them said there wasn’t enough qualified medical personnel in the case of emergencies and sickness… I wondered if the medical assistant they spoke of meant the hairdresser. Throughout the afternoon I drifted in and out of consciousness, though I remember thinking a lot about Cast Away, and how Tom Hanks was so upset when he lost Wilson to sea. And how can you remove a tooth just by hitting it with a rock? Wouldn’t it just break the tooth? I also thought about Free Willy, remembering a dream I had two nights prior that involved me, Sean, and Christina Zeender swimming in a pool at night with two orca whales. The orcas were significantly smaller than they are in real life, though in the dream they were still significantly larger than us. I wondered about the trainer who was killed a few months ago in Florida by an orca. So how did they film Free Willy? How could they be sure that whale wasn’t going to kill the little boy? Or did they use a mechanical whale?

Mama brought me some pills to take, and a rehydration packet to mix with water. The pills were chewable but tasted disgusting. One of them had aluminum hydroxolite and magnesium or something written on the side. The rehydration packet had the same ingredients as my rehydration tablets, but it also had something to act as glue… to help stop the “running” of the insides. Samantha took the liberty of filling 25 oz. of water in my water bottle and mixed the rehydration substance in. The resulting product was brownish-green, resembling brackish water. It was supposed to be orange flavored I’m assuming… but the taste was like warm salt water from the ocean, with a hint of orange… I could only sip two or three sips at a time before needing a break before my gag reflexes prompted an unnecessary vomiting episode.

Later, Mama and Sema brought plain rice for me to eat. I managed to eat a banana, and 4 small bites of rice. I knew my stomach wasn’t ready for anything yet. But Mama sat there and said I should finish half of the brackish substance before she would leave. Ugh. The strain of dealing with illness was hard enough, but to keep up my manners and be polite while trying to tell them to leave me alone was impossible. I sipped, steadily, forcing every swallow. While they stared at me, I suggested Samantha show them pictures from Cape Coast, in order to take the attention off of me. They admired the pictures as I stared at the rice in front of me, thinking only one word, “impossible.” Luckily, Mama asked if Believe had finished making the skirts, which gave us an opportunity to show Mama and Sema a couple “finished” garments and ask if the price was unfair. Mama and Sema criticized the work, pointing out details that should have been fixed or completed before giving it to us. They also agreed that the price for my two skirts and dress (35 cedi) and Sam’s skirt, dress, and two shirts (45 cedi) was a ridiculous amount. They said that 5 cedi per garment was more than fair, and that tomorrow we should send the items back to Believe and explain clearly that we will not pay that much. The idea of confrontation made me nervous, but I was happy to know they thought it was overly expensive too.

With Samantha’s adamant promise that she would make me eat more rice and make sure that I drank the brackish grossness, Mama and Sema took their leave and said they would return later. Sometime in the evening I vomited the rehydration substance and the little bit of rice and banana I did eat. At that point, I poured out the rest of the 14 oz. of brackish stuff on the ground. I hated to lie to Mama, but I literally couldn’t stomach the thought of drinking any more. When Mama and Sema did return later that night, I was half asleep. I heard mumbling, and Samantha promising to come get Mama if things got worse in the night. They had left a small 200ml bottle of chilled coke on the table for me. I drank a little when I woke up around midnight. I continued to toss and turn; I couldn’t get comfortable. The fever was still going strong, though I felt like it had lessened a little bit since the afternoon. I may have vomited again… I’m really not sure. But I did manage to sleep through most of the night, only getting up to pee, which I hoped meant the worst was over.

Long Day of Travel Back to the Village

2010-06-06T06:57:00.001-04:00

There’s not a whole lot to say for the day. We got up at 6am, and I showered before packing up my things. At 7am our taxi driver who had dropped us off two days prior was waiting for us. He took us to the STC bus station, where we waited… and waited… Finally at 8:30 someone came to the window to sell tickets. I was starting to feel really nauseous, and prayed that I wouldn’t get sick on the bus. This time, the bus’s air conditioning didn’t work very well so the three hour ride was hot and not well ventilated. I think I slept some, but I’m not sure. I wasn’t feeling well at all. When we got to Accra, it had been 4 hours since we left our room in Cape Coast, and I had drank plenty of water, trying to aid my aching stomach… so I had to pay 20 peswas to use a toilet near the bus station. We took a taxi to the tro-tro station, and boarded a tro-tro bound for Ho. That three hour journey was better; I sat by the wide open window, and we had a little more leg room since we were sitting in the front row—I put my backpack under my knees and propped my feet against the driver’s seat in front of me. By the time we got to Ho, it was about 2:30pm, which on a non-market day means you’re SOL for finding a tro-tro headed for Saviefe. We walked for a while before we found some taxi drivers that began to fight over who would take us, for an over-priced amount of 18 cedi. It was either that, or walk, and I was not about to embark on that endeavor, especially feeling as awful as I did. Finally we got back to the village, just before 4pm. I was starving and nauseous at the same time—we hadn’t eaten anything all day, save for one Clif Bar and two granola bars for myself, and 4 Clif Bars for Samantha. We were hoping for jollof rice, and after resting for a short bit, we got our wish. Sema brought jollof rice with a few of those thin meat-like patties. By 8pm, we were exhausted and ready for bed. I was hoping that I’d feel better in the morning, thinking it was my lack of food that was the problem.

Cape Coast

2010-06-05T06:56:00.003-04:00

The morning was much sunnier than the day before. I saw a delectable item on the menu for breakfast that I just had to order: pancakes! They were delicious. They were like giant crepes, thicker but not as fluffy-dense as American pancakes. There were some sautéed bananas with them, and I ate 3 of the 4 crepes. The last one I gave to Samantha because the bread, jam, and cheese breakfast she ordered looked like what you would get on an airplane—tiny prepackaged individual servings of jam and spreadable cheese substance, and 2 pieces of untoasted thin wheat bread.

After breakfast we headed to Cape Coast Castle, where the sun really came out in full force. I had been to the castle before, and everything was just how I remembered it. The castle was originally a fort, and exchanged hands numerous times before landing its infamous reputation as one of the largest slave trading posts on the West African coast. The dungeons were incredibly dark and equally depressing. Five compartments made up the male slave dungeon, holding 250 men in each compartment. The compartments couldn’t have been more than 20 feet wide, by 35 feet deep. For 2-3 months, men were held, unable to see daylight which caused temporary blindness when they were escorted out. They sustained with what little food and water was provided, and slept in months worth of filth—vomit, urine, and feces. When the dungeons were excavated, it was found that the pool of filth that slaves slept in reached a foot and a half off of the floor. Women were kept separately, in two chambers of between 400-500 women in each. Conditions were similar. Both male and female dungeons held slaves roughly between the ages of 13 and 30. Though there was a separate entrance in the female dungeon for soldiers to select the most beautiful ones for their nightly pleasures. If a woman refused the advances, she was thrown into a smaller cell, usually holding ten women all for the same reasons. That cell was 2 feet wide by 10 feet long. If women became pregnant from the rape of a soldier, the woman would be sent off to be cared for by a nurse in a home nearby until the delivery of the baby. Once the baby was delivered, the baby was taken to the church to be raised as an orphan and educated in the first formal school of Ghana, in Cape Coast. The mothers were sent back to the dungeons. If anyone tried to escape or fight back, they were sent as an example to the cell for the condemned. The room had no windows, no opening for light or air. They were given no food or water, and within two or three days, the occupants died. Once transported to the slave ships, people were packed like sardines, literally, with each person sitting between the legs of another for the journey to Europe or the Americas. Many were shackled together, so if one person either fell overboard or committed suicide by jumping off of the ship, the entire line of shackled slaves would follow. If a woman became pregnant from a rape on the ship, she was thrown overboard—no one wants to buy a pregnant slave. Many people died. Because of the food shortage on ships, dead bodies were mixed in with food to feed to the slaves. Of the 25 million or so slaves that survived the ships’ voyages, it can be said that upwards of 88 million people had died, either on the ship or within the walls of the Cape Coast Castle. Disturbing, humbling, and heart wrenching, the informative day was well worth it, even the second time around.

After the tour, we stopped at some stands inside the castle walls that were selling various curios as souvenirs. I found some beautiful artwork that I couldn’t afford, but settled for some smaller more simple pieces. We ate lunch at the Castle Restaurant right next door. I had vegetable coconut curry, which was really good, and a glass of pineapple juice. We watched the waves, and some kids wrestle and play on the sand. Before long we decided to head back to the bungalow for a short nap. Before we walked back though, Samantha stopped to buy a small drum. While she was busily haggling her price down, a woman motioned for my water bottle. I poured some of my water into a baggie she held open, one meant to hold the soy skewers she was selling.

It was so nice out we cut naptime short to sit on the beach. Kids came by selling pure water, oranges, and other things. We watched a group of guys play soccer on the beach, which seemed somewhat challenging when the tide started to come in. There were some fisherman boats behind them; I couldn’t tell if they were coming or going. The same group of kids appeared, this time to show off in front of other tourists. They did back flips and back hand springs, over and over and over. I ordered a sandwich—a poor decision on my part, I only ate half of it. A boy named Samson approached selling oranges and asked if I remembered him. He gave us guidance earlier that morning as to which way the castle was. He had asked me to buy oranges from him and I said maybe later. Since he found us, I happily bought two oranges for us, and one for him. Three oranges are only 50 peswas. He looked at the half sandwich that lay on my plate and asked if he could have it. I obliged. Another child brought a turtle over and put it on the table. Shortly afterward, we moved to a palm covering inside the walls of Oasis since it was getting dark. There was a new group of students or something who had just arrived. One girl was sitting in front of me, and I could see over her shoulder that she was sketching the scenery. It made me wish I was back in the practice of sketching and drawing. I feel like I used to be pretty good, but lately every time I pick up a pencil, I’m disgusted with the lack of vision, more so with the disappointing product. There were some evil little children whose parents neglected to see the importance of supervision. While the parents busied themselves with their beers and adult conversation, the children began throwing large stones at the sleeping puppies. I was livid, though I felt if I told the children to stop, it might start a fight. Clearly, animal care is handled differently here. I couldn’t stand it so we went back to the bungalow.

I brushed my teeth in our tiny sink with running water. If ever someone doesn’t appreciate the little things in life, send them to Africa. I have never been one for religion, but more and more when I’m in Ghana, I find myself praising Jesus for the small graces of the occasional luxury of running water, a fan, or a cold drink of water. There was a toad in the outhouse, which immediately reminded me of the Discovery Channel-wanna be show that was televised at the STC station, particularly the segment about deadly frogs. The entire show was a condensed version of an educational snippet of nature. At the most, four sentences were devoted to describe a different species, ranging from the wrath of the North American skunk, to the vampire bats of South America, to snakes and frogs, and jellyfish and coral, all of which makes you never want to take a nature walk again in your life. South America is seriously no joke. Not only are you in danger of being shot amid a miscommunication surrounding cocaine possession, the frogs are out to get you too. And God forbid you play like a monkey in the jungle because Tarzan might shoot you with a poison frog dart. They kept showing the same clip over and over, as if it would have more effect—a naked man in a loin cloth blowing his dart at a monkey, and then the monkey falls to the ground in death… so educational and… uplifting.

Rain, Rain, Go Away!

2010-06-04T06:56:00.003-04:00

We got up at 5:30am to leave Avenida Hotel for the STC bus station by 6am. It was raining lightly but steadily when we left. I hoped the rain would only last for the journey at most, and the sun would come out when we got to Cape Coast. We waited at the station for what seemed like forever. Apparently our bus has broken down and was being worked on at a shop… or something. While we sat, I stared at an old boxy television that was sitting in a cage, literally, attached the wall above the ticket window. The television showed really old dubbed telemundo, really bad Ghallywood and Nollywood (Ghana and Nigeria film industries) Movie of the Week trailers, low budget music videos with women dancing in the corner of a room, and a Discovery Channel-wanna be, which was particularly entertaining.

Our bus was air conditioned, and we got our own seats, which made the three hour journey to Cape Coast much nicer than the usual tro-tro jaunt. We got to Cape Coast, and took a quick taxi to Oasis. The service leaves something to be desired, particularly friendliness. The woman I spoke with when we arrived about my reservation seemed disgusted and annoyed that I had addressed her at all. The room was cute—bungalow style with a tiny sink and mirror in the room. The floor was tiled with broken pieces that made the floor look mosaic like. There were three twin beds with mattresses situated inside cement frames that were also cemented to the floor. Green mosquito nets hung above the beds, which at first glance looks like you’re supposed to sleep in those as hammocks. The outhouse was well lit and clean, and just a short 30 feet from the room. The outdoor shower was a cylinder shaped structure, painted red, yellow, and green on the outside. The inside was tiled, instead of the usual cement as décor. The spout had running runner, as did our sink. I can’t tell you how glorious it was to brush my teeth with running water, and to stand under a showerhead and let the water actually get all the shampoo out of my hair. Though, we couldn’t shower yet since it was raining. I mean, I guess we could have, but it was cold.

The rain continued throughout the day and evening, leaving us with nothing to do since our goal was to walk around the castle. Because of the rain, we didn’t see any other tourists out. I was wondering if we were the only ones staying at Oasis. The day was pretty boring since we couldn’t do anything. We ate lunch, sat by ourselves under a covering while the rain poured down heavily. A good thing about Oasis was that they had dogs. One mama dog with two pups, they looked like shepherd mixes. One pup was all white, so I named him Bruno (for obruni, which means white). The other was black with tan markings, like the “black tri” markings of some Australian shepherds. The pups were really sweet, and lay by our feet under the table. The ocean surf was really loud, and every now and then there was an explosion of forceful waters doubling back over rocks and colliding with each other into an eruption of waves. The rain made it cold, so we were shivering, including the pups. I hadn’t prepared for chilly weather. We took a nap.

We woke up at 8pm to go have dinner. At that point, it was more crowded in the restaurant area. There were white people everywhere—I wondered where they all came from. But similar to Ryan’s Irish Pub, when there’s a popular ex-pat spot, usually most yavoos are there. We sat with a nice Finnish couple who had been backpacking and staying in hostels throughout Europe, Asia, and Africa since October. She was a part time journalist, sending in a story every now and then. The money could be stretched for a month’s living expenses in hostels, and he seemed to be along for the ride. There was a drumming performance going on that we listened to. We were all too cold to get up and try to see the performance. Between sets, the bull frogs continued with their own loud rendition of music. I never knew how loud bull frogs were, but good lord they are loud. It was almost 11pm (we were up late!) and we went back to the bungalow to sleep. I turned off my alarm :) and fell asleep as the drumming outside turned to hip-hop club music until about 1am.

Accra

2010-06-03T06:55:00.001-04:00

It seemed the bus ride to Ho was the longest ever. It was the first non-market day we travelled to Ho, and because of the lack of tro-tros, the bus stopped constantly to let people on and off. From Ho, we caught a tro-tro to Accra. The three hour journey included scenes of desperately skinny cattle with ribs protruding from their sides, an array of fantasy coffins for sale on the side of the road, and an immigration checkpoint where we (the whites) had to get off the tro-tro with our belongings, show our passports and explain what we were doing in Ghana and why we were travelling, walk ourselves across their checkpoint border, and re-board the tro-tro. A little excessive, but whatever.

Once we were in Accra, we walked maybe a mile to a guesthouse, only to find they had no rooms available. They pointed us in the direction of another, more expensive guesthouse, but at the time it seemed like our best option. We walked, again, to the Avenida Hotel whose rate put us 7 cedi over budget for the trip. But the up-side was we had a ceiling fan and our own bathroom in our room! The toilet flushed, and the sink and shower had running water, and though the sink drained from a hole in the wall where the shower was, it was delightful. We had rice and chicken as a late lunch, a quick rest, and then headed for the STC bus station to purchase our tickets for the next day’s travel.

After we bought our bus tickets, we walked around for a bit. Sam bought a little Ghana flag, and I bought a Ghana soccer jersey, though it’s a bit small. We had hoped to eat dinner at El Gaucho, a place named in my guidebook for good tapas and game meat, including zebra. We walked around for what seemed like forever, and even got directions from various people, but the place was well hidden. We never did find it, and settled for something different… we came across Ryan’s Irish Pub. We had to go in. Inside, the pub was decorated like any other Irish pub—brown wooden walls, portraits of Irish people, sconces, and real taps for beer. We each had a cider, both were delicious. As promising as menu items may be described, you have to remember that despite the familiar atmosphere, you are still in Ghana. I should have remembered this. Samantha ordered a sandwich, which looked and tasted much better than my spinach and cheese lasagna and salad. I was disappointed by my choice in sustenance, and more so disappointed with the high price of the meal which put us 8 cedi over budget.

We went back to the hotel, and I tried to sleep, worried about how low we were getting on money, and also wondering if any creatures would be coming through the hole in the wall by the window next to my head. I was also paranoid about bed bugs or anything like it, so I wrapped myself in the top sheet and scooted myself toward Samantha for comfort. She probably doesn’t know that; I think she was already asleep. She had the good mattress anyway.

Last Day of Work before Vacation!

2010-06-02T06:53:00.002-04:00

This morning we had porridge for breakfast, and Emil stopped by to say he’d try to get two people for interviews. I appreciated his help, because with only a few left to do, I was losing my motivation. Bismark surprisingly stopped by also. When he greeted us in English, we responded… in English, and he exclaimed that we didn’t greet him properly (in Ewe). Ugh. I so don’t care… He wanted to know how we were doing, since we “hadn’t come to see him at the office.” Well, clearly, when we’ve been there every Market Day (different days of the week), he’s never there because he only works 2 or 3 days a week, obviously we’ll never see him… I inquired about the money that Emil said Anyo didn’t get the last time I was here. He explained that since the home office (the two ex-Peace Corps volunteers that founded BRIDGE) in the US stopped supporting the office a year or two ago, BRIDGE found itself in a tough financial position, thereby taking away the obligation to pay the CBOs money, so they could support the office… the office that has expensive crappy internet when they’re only there 2 days a week, when you can check email for 20 peswas downstairs at the internet café… but whatever. I asked him for the breakdown of where the money we paid went, and he said he couldn’t be specific since he wasn’t at the office. He said on Wednesday he could give me more details. I knew full well that he knew exactly where every penny went. Emil was standing outside the door listening patiently, which I was pleased about. I didn’t really want to have to restate the conversation for the Anyo meeting tonight. Before Bismark left, somehow the topic of our caretakers came up. We said we felt bad that they weren’t letting us help with anything. To that he claimed we couldn’t wash clothes… I don’t know how he thinks Americans go about their daily lives; it’s not like we’re the Jetsons and have robots doing everything for us… we’re perfectly capable. He really irritates me.

We did one interview in the late morning, after which Mawufemor, Jessica and Michael visited us to color. I have to say, it’s interesting watching Jessica and Mawufemor together. Jessica is bold, sassy, and bossy; Mawufemor is quiet, sweet, always smiling the biggest most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. When Michael and Jessica started having issues sharing the crayons with Akiti (Mawufemor), Akiti gathered what she could, put them in the crayon box, walked over to me and placed the box under my chair. That way, she knew she would be able to get more crayons when she needed them. She also goes about and cleans up after everything, and organizes! She’s a girl after my own heart. Outside of that though, she really is an amazing little girl. Little, literally—she is 4 years old but could be 2 ½ or 3 by US size standards. Little, as “akiti” describes. I’ll really miss her smile when we leave. I wish Mama could move to the US and be my next door neighbor, and all her kids could go to good schools, and visit real libraries, and get real nutrition.

We held the JSS study session this afternoon, which went really well. All the kids who showed up (maybe about 15 kids) were so attentive and eager to do the activity. A few were shy about sharing what they read, but several seemed really excited about writing their own story. [One girl, Patricia, actually wrote a story and gave it to us the following Monday; She wrote a different one but lost it so wrote the replacement. It was about determination.] It seems that anything volunteers come to do with children really only gets anywhere with the JSS students. Primary kids are too young, and not as mature to take activities seriously, and part of it is because they don’t understand the English you’re using. That was something that I found really frustrating the last time I was here, and Samantha is feeling it as well now. They’re spoken to in English, taught in English, their exams are in English… yet they are not taught English as a language.

We had fufu for dinner; I didn’t eat much of it knowing how it sticks to your stomach like the rubber pancakes would in that Donald Duck cartoon. Afterwards, we headed to Richard’s for the Anyo meeting. We updated everyone on Bismark’s visit, and the progress with the study sessions and interviews. We decided to do a focus group with Anyo using some new questions I came up with regarding health in general. The focus group went really well—arguments between people with differing opinions, some really good points were made. I was glad I came up with the new questions. After the meeting, it was a little bit late so we went home to get ready for bed and our journey tomorrow.

Tomorrow we leave for Accra for the night, and then Friday it’s off to Cape Coast—I did manage to make a reservation at Oasis Beach Resort (yay). Hopefully it will be a good mini-vacation.

Something Exciting! Just kidding… Same old thing

2010-06-01T06:52:00.002-04:00

This morning we had our cocoa puff soup for breakfast again—yummy! While we were splashing ourselves clean with our buckets of water, Mama exclaimed she had to go to Ho as well, and sure enough, as we rode off on the bus, we saw Mama standing next to a waiting tro-tro at the other end of the village. Once we got off the bus in Ho, we ran into Mama again. She was all dressed up; I wondered if she was going to see her husband today. We had a fairly leisurely morning in Ho. We walked the mile or two to the intersection where the BRIDGE office is, exchanged money in the air conditioned bank for our Cape Coast excursion this weekend, and spent some quality time at the internet café. Of course, I always forget one or two things to do on the internet, which is annoying enough but especially today since we won’t have internet again for 8 days. I forgot to check my grades from the semester. Although I do know that I got an A- in project management, which is good. I did some digging, and after some extraordinary detective work, I came across the phone number for Oasis Beach Resort—the budget hotel in Cape Coast that I am praying we can get a room in. Mama will let us use her phone tonight to call and make a reservation.

After internet, we went to White House as usual for lunch, but it took longer than usual, which meant we were late catching the 1:30pm tro-tro, which meant we wouldn’t get back to the village until probably 3:45pm. On our walk back to the tro-tro stop we took some candid pictures of Ho to show to you all once we’re home. One of which is a severe oxymoron in my opinion; I posed, smiling, in front of the… “stream.” The stream though is the exact stream you may remember that I described stepping on stones to get to the other side via Emil’s infamous short-cut. It was a milky teal green in color, saturated with sewage and garbage. The oxymoron part is my smile. It is a horrific site, and if you stand down wind, it can be a vomit-inducing scene. We also took a picture of the house nearby that a quarter of it is missing, burned at the edges from I can only assume a fire that swallowed that part of the house. People still live there, and every time we walk by, there are large metal barrels outside the house billowing smoke from whatever they’re burning. Perhaps the fate of the house was an occupational hazard of its inhabitants. A man named Ben saw us on the street, and exited his barbershop to introduce himself to us. He was friendly enough; for any American I would think this type of behavior is like seeing a fish out of water, or a teacher at the movie theater. Ghanaians are pretty friendly for the most part, and usually if you walk down the street, a handful will stop to say hello and ask where you’re from. Some pride themselves on “having friends in the US,” which really means they’ve met people just like you on the street and said hello. It’s a little unnerving at first, but you get used to it, and after a while, you welcome it since many people stare at you with somber expressions which can be slightly intimidating. Most of the time if you smile and wave first, they’ll return the gesture with just as many smiles, but some continue to glare.

We got to the tro-tro area just in time to see the 1:30pm tro-tro pull away, with Mama waving at us from the front seat! Samuel greeted us and told us to wait, since his tro-tro was next to depart. As it backed into position, Samantha snapped a picture, accidentally getting some man selling Fan Ice (sort of an ice cream pop) in the process who became quite irate that his photo was taken. His anger is captured well in the photo, but we did manage to calm him down enough. The ride home was hot, sweaty, and unbearably crowded as usual. Samantha sat next to the giant window and felt like she would fall out, just like me.  She was giving me impromptu agriculture lessons by quizzing me on the kinds of trees we passed. I can now successfully identify banana trees, palm trees, and coconut trees. I mentioned that the view was pretty, which caused Samantha to turn toward me when we went over a bump, which then caused her to smack her head against the top of the window just in time for Samuel to look at us from the front and start laughing. Samantha and I were laughing too, but I could tell from the tears in her eyes it must have really hurt. The tro-tro slowed since there was a tree lying in the middle of the road. A man stood by it, and when the driver asked him to move it, he begrudgingly obliged as he exclaimed, “speed bump!” The rest of the ride was ok I guess if you’re going by tro-tro standards. The skinny man on my right sure was taking up a lot of room though. I couldn’t put rest both shoulders on the back of the seat, only one, squished behind Samantha’s shoulder.

Finally we made it home 15 minutes before we were supposed to meet the Primary 4-6 kids. Luckily no one showed up, so we stopped at Mama’s to say hello but she was lying down on a bench with a headache. I offered her some of my Excedrin, which seemed to help. We went home to take a nap and clean the dirt and sweat from Ho off our skin, but of course it’s impossible to simply be left alone. Apparently the headmaster told the children 5pm instead of 4pm, so at 4:50pm, a young girl showed up to make sure we were going back to the library. *sigh* We did, and by that time, I had a headache. The group of children were pretty well-behaved, and it did last almost an hour. We had them read a story of their choice from their designated shelf in the library, and then draw a picture from the story with some crayons we brought. It went well. Afterward, we came home, closed our door, and laid down to rest just after I consumed some Excedrin for myself.

We had rice and pavlava sauce for dinner, which was good—spicier than usual. I selfishly hoped Bright wouldn’t come by for computer training tonight since I just wanted to sleep. My headache wasn’t completely gone, and my stomach was aching. He did come though, with his sister so I supervised while they practiced typing. Mama brought her friend by for an interview, and afterward I showed Mama a picture of me and Sean on my laptop. She said “Hello Sean I will say hello to you when I come to the US!” She also said he was very handsome, and noticed his long hair. She said when he comes to visit her in Ghana, she will grow her hair long and shake her head, haha. I asked her if she saw her husband in Ho, but apparently his sister was renting a room to a young woman and her son, about Michael’s age (5). The child mysteriously died in the night and Mama’s husband went to inform the family. We also talked about Mama’s mother who seems to be having severe pains; she was diagnosed with breast cancer and did have one mastectomy, so Mama is confused why her mother is still having so much pain… The water in the barrel used for pouring down the toilet (to flush) had run out, and the well in our compound was dangerously low on water. Samantha and I helped carry a few buckets that Mama managed to fill over to the outhouse. We were really scraping the bottom of the well—which isn’t pretty. Luckily it was night, so I couldn’t see very well what was in the buckets, but Mama’s friend did scoop some things out of it before handing me the bucket… It was late so we said goodnight and parted ways.

Productivity Galore

2010-05-31T06:23:00.002-04:00

So I did not sleep very well at all last night, tossing and turning from the heat, from nausea, from cramps, and the thought of having pee in the dark creepy crawly outhouse did not help either. When faced with a tough situation, I can usually adapt. However, when you’re tummy’s not feeling well and you have to visit the outhouse in the middle of the night, the flashlight is sometimes not your friend. As you squat being sure not to touch the seat, your only light is the flashlight, that you so carefully have aimed at a 6 inch lizard, or cockroach, or giant spider (the size of your palm) so you can keep an eye on their whereabouts while you do your business. Inevitably the creepy crawlies will move, and you follow them with your flashlight, obviously pulling all systems to a halt as you have a standoff with the creatures of the night. In the midst of adjusting your weight as your muscles start to ache from staying in the squatting position so long, the creepy crawlies will make their move and disappear momentarily. When you adjust the flashlight, yet another type of creepy crawly has come into vision with startling proximity. Eesh.

Back to the morning though, I cannot sleep if I think someone will be coming to our door anytime soon; I get anxious. Utterly exhausted, I trudged out of bed and waited for Sema or Mama to bring breakfast and shower water. Sema arrived with our ground nut soup and fresh pineapple, which I was pleased about. I was hoping for that as breakfast instead of porridge. I had meant to go back to sleep after our showers, but Samantha’s TIME Magazine caught my eye and I had a sudden urge to jump back into the real world with 2 week old news. Before I knew it, it was 10am—time to go hunt down interviewees again. I rolled my eyes at myself, frustrated that I didn’t plan news reading around my necessary nap.

We walked over to the roadside stand that acts as a general store to interview Peace (#1). It went fairly well, and quickly since her English wasn’t the best. Two of her children translated some for her, but not nearly enough to get in-depth information. Right next door, Peace (#2) the hairdresser sat with no customers, so we decided to spring her for an interview too. Her English was much better but still the interview didn’t take long. Samuel (from the tro-tro) had wandered over to Peace #1’s store and witnessed part of the interview, and while we interviewed Peace #2, he appeared again to tell us he had arranged for us to conduct a focus group of primary school teachers at the compound! I wasn’t expecting his assistance like that, but was very grateful.

The primary school teachers, though educated and spoke English well, were not incredibly forthcoming with details, so again the group went quickly. Afterward, we wanted to visit the JSS headmaster but he wasn’t there. Neither was the English teacher so we unsuccessfully tried to talk about the library with the teachers, but they clearly couldn’t care less about what we had to say. So, we settled for a relatively uninteresting focus group of the JSS teachers. They seem to think that opening the library for evening hours will make teenage pregnancy worse, because when the library closes, the kids might not go home… OK…

We came back home to relax and it only lasted about 10 minutes before Sema brought lunch—boiled cassava with pasta mixed with pavlava sauce. It was good, and just enough that put me over the edge of exhaustion. I curled up to take a nap, and was surprised by Michael and Mawufemor at the food of my bed, squeals and giggles announced their presence and expectation of play time. Samantha was totally out, laying on her bed in complete comfort and satisfaction. With a sigh, I got up to supervise the kids. The kids were dirty, wearing the clothes they wore two nights ago, and flies followed them. Jessica showed up to join us shortly as well, and the coloring session lasted about an hour and a half, during which a man named Vincent came by to be interviewed. Emil had set it up, and Vincent is apparently one of the kids’ teachers. He asked why they hadn’t been in school, which confused me since I thought their teacher was recovering from a stroke.

After the interview Mama appeared, quite angry with the kids and yelled at them in Ewe to go home and bathe. Apparently they had told her they were going to the toilet, and instead ran here. If they had told her the truth, she would have made them bathe before visiting. As they left, we realized it was time to head back to the school compound to conduct the reading session for primary 1-3 kids. I was dragging my feet, and really was not in the right mood or mindset to last an hour with a bunch of kids I didn’t know very well. Jessica, Michael, and Mawufemor are my favorites, and dirty or not, I love them all the time.  Luckily, the children must have forgotten, so we got out of our obligation for the afternoon. We walked back home and closed the door—which is a barrier to all other than Mama and Sema—and settled in for a nap. Not two minutes later we had a knock at the door. It was Believe; she came to show us the skirts she was working on for us. They looked really nice; I’m excited to try them on when they’re done. She also agreed to be interviewed tomorrow evening. After she left, we shut the door again and I napped for a full hour—it was wonderful. When I woke up around 5:30pm, I was hungry, and I noticed the sky was getting dark; another storm was coming through. An ancient woman who reminds me of Rafiki from the Lion King (they have the same gait, the same crazy toothy smile, and the same tall walking stick) came by to borrow another children’s book. She had just finished reading the story of Balto, and was ready for another book. She reads about one book a week. Michael and Kofi arrived to wait out the rain with us—we must be so popular today… As they colored, I sat in the doorway soaking in the breeze that accompanied the night’s rain.

Sema and Mama brought sandwiches for dinner! Samantha and I were just talking about sandwiches yesterday. They were small, like sliders, made with thinly sliced sweet bread, and a single meat patty in the middle, similar to the ones we had last night. After dinner we ate our cocoa plant, and planned to relax the rest of the night. I am hoping that after an incredibly productive day (3 interviews and 2 focus groups), that we might have the night off to watch a movie by ourselves on my laptop, and go to bed early. Tomorrow we will go to Ho, and hopefully talk to Bismark about the money that Anyo should have gotten for each volunteer it hosted. We’ll go to White House for lunch, and visit the internet café. Emil had wanted us to visit the Education Office as well, but I think it would be best if that’s the solution that everyone at the Anyo meeting agrees on, a representative from Anyo should go to the Education Office themselves, possibly armed with a petition. They know the situation better than we do, and they are less likely to be shrugged off. We’ll see.

Sunday Funday

2010-05-30T06:22:00.001-04:00

I slept well last night, despite the 5 inch lizard running up and down the wall next to my bed. We slept late, until 6:45am! When I woke up, our shower buckets were already waiting for us in the shower area. We had porridge for breakfast; I added sugar cubes and the cinnamon I brought along as usual. The morning was somewhat slow, as most people in the village were at church, but in our compound Kofi’s mom was busy washing clothes and Koju Asafu was around as well so the compound wasn’t as quiet. At 9am, Hans finally came for his interview. He is always extremely quiet so I wasn’t sure of his English capabilities, but the night before he had assured me that his English was up to par. It wasn’t. Because of the language barrier, he answered questions with short responses that didn’t make sense. I was sure he didn’t understand what I was asking, but my numerous efforts to clarify went without any meaningful result. His interview lasted only 11 minutes, and as soon as it was over he jumped out of the seat and ran off to hang out with Richard. *sigh*

Soon after, Bright came by to practice typing, but was often sidetracked by curiosity of other games and programs on my laptop. I need to sit next to him to keep him focused, which selfishly is not the extra effort I want to expend on this trip. As much training as I give, it doesn’t make a difference since they don’t have working computers to practice on. He left after what seemed like a long while, and Samantha and I decided to take a much-needed walk. Our walk was probably about 2 miles up the road, just past the big tree. 50 minutes later we arrived back at the compound, dripping with sweat. No more noon-time walks, we decided. We discarded our saturated clothing, and laid down in front of the fan for a rest. Sema brought lunch, beans with gary. The beans are the same stewed white beans in palm oil that is half of the red-red dish with plantains, only this time it was just the beans and a small bag of gary, which is ground dry cassava. It looks and has the texture of uncooked dry grits, which you sprinkle on top of the beans… I ate only a tiny bit because the beans have a lot of palm oil in it.

After lunch we packed the laptop and my paperwork and decided to seek out interviewees. Our first stop was Richard’s place to assess whether Walter or Sema were home (both of whom are Richard’s immediate neighbors). I should note a fun fact: due to a suggestion of mine, Richard now wears a patch of gauze over his cancerous eye to avoid further infection and to pacify my disapproval of the dirty rag previously used to wipe his irritated eye. The fun fact part of this is he has no tape, so he wrapped a white cloth around his head, with one eye hole cut out for his good eye. In a sense, he looks like a ninja turtle with a white eye mask. Walter wasn’t home, but Sema was in her compound washing clothes. We waited a little while until she finished before she could sit down and be interviewed. While we waited, we watched Selom and another boy play soccer with a deflated ball, dodging a large and protective new mother hen and her 7 brand new chicks. The chickens and roosters in Sema’s yard are significantly larger than any others in the village. The roosters reminded me of that old Looney Toons cartoon with the giant white rooster. They got a little too close for my comfort. Sema’s porch is also completed; when I was here last she was in the middle of construction on half of her house. Her compound is shaded and breezy so it was nice to just sit and relax away from our own. Sema lives there with Selom (her nephew whom she is the guardian of) and a cousin. She surprised us with two small bottles of chilled coke and we began the interview. The interview was also relatively short and lacked some depth because of the language barrier, but it was enough to get by.

Once we finished Sema’s interview, we walked to Believe’s house to interview her, but were told she had gone to the neighboring village. We went to Peace’s store but she was busy, so Mama asked Michael to lead us to another house. After about 50 feet, Michael forgot he was leading the way and started walking next to me, and then slowly started walking behind me. I slowed so he could take the lead, and then he slowed as well. We were crawling through the village and he would stop and pick up a flower or a leaf, and look up and smile… I had to remind him constantly by asking where we were going and asking him to show me. It took forever to reach the house only to find that no one was home. But Michael was a loyal little guide and then showed us to Cassandra’s house, where Cassandra and Jessica came running to greet us. We sat and visited a short while, and Cassandra agreed to come to our compound later in the evening for her interview. As we sat, Cassandra started to nurse Christopher and I forgot how… natural it is for women to openly nurse. Christopher was paying more attention to us than her so for a little while her breast just hung there. Jessica ran over and grabbed it, shaking it in front of Christopher’s face and when he still didn’t take the nipple, Jessica pinched the loose skin on her mother’s breast and lifted the breast back into her mother’s shirt, all while Cassandra engaged in conversation with us. I knew what Samantha must have been thinking: “this is so National Geographic,” but as for me, I don’t know, I guess I just understand that’s the way things are here. I should mention that a woman and two other men and one other small child were all sitting with us.

Jessica cheerfully followed us back to Mama’s house, where squealing and running and playing commenced between Michael, Jessica, and Mawufemor, with Cicho looking on in wonderment trying to keep up. Samantha and I sat in two plastic chairs facing the chaos, though we were quickly deemed “home base;” the girls would fall into our laps when Michael chased them, giggling and squealing as loud as possible. It was a riot to watch. We sat in the middle of the compound, while Mama prepared fufu in the corner. Between us were 3 men butchering meat from a newly slaughtered goat on the small wooden table usually designated as the children’s eating area. They cut the meat with a dull machete while two other women looked on. The children were running and screaming in circles around all of us. The table was bloody and had many remnants of meat that had already been cut. There must have been 40 flies at least swarming the men and the meat on the table as the men placed small portions of the cut meat into plastic bags to sell. I couldn’t stop staring at the flies on the meat. Mama invited us to eat some fufu with her, 5 feet away from the butchering table. We accepted and I tried not to look at the fly covered pieces of bloody goat directly to my right… The fufu was really good, and Samantha liked it, to my surprise. We only tried a little bit and decided we should probably go home in case anyone came by for an interview.

We walked back to our compound, hoping that Believe, Peace, and Cassandra would all appear this evening for their interviews. We ran into Samuel on the road and he agreed to be interviewed right then, so we sat on our front steps and got some pretty good information from him. He sat with a friend of his, a girl who appeared out of school since her hair had started to grow; all school children through Senior Secondary School are required to keep their hair shaved for uniformity—boys and girls. Samuel is 26 and the girl seemed somewhere between 18 and 24. Their English was good, and they were interested in continuing our conversation until well after the interview was over. They asked if people from the village took time to hang out with us, but we sadly said no, not really. Only Mama really seems to spend time with us and want to talk to us. Even Emil seems to only do so out of obligation. I’m hoping that Sam and his friend will visit us more often. It started to rain so we said goodbye and Samantha and I stepped inside just before the rain became heavy.

After a few minutes, Michael, Jessica, and Mawufemor showed up, soaking wet from the rain. I gave them a towel to dry off, sat them on the floor, took out my laptop and started a movie—Finding Nemo. It was a success, and before long, Samantha and I were just as engrossed in the film as the kids were. Michael was down in front. Jessica was on the right side of my lap, with Mawufemor on my left, each cuddled up for most of the movie. It was really cute to watch their reactions. After the movie we ate dinner—rice with red sauce and some type of patty resembling a thin crab cake but made with canned beef, peppers, egg, and spices. It was pretty good. Just after dinner, Cassandra appeared with Kosi, Jessica, and little Christopher on her back. Kosi acted as the interpreter, though I’m sure he answered a few questions himself rather than his mother’s thoughts. Again, the interview went relatively quickly, and afterward we visited for a little while. Kosi is ¾ through Twilight, reading much faster than I’d expected. Michael, Jessica, Kofi, and Mawufemor all laid quietly on the floor while the interview was conducted so when it was over I quizzed them on numbers using my UNO cards. They said goodnight, and before long Mama showed up to visit, with a sleeping Cicho on her back.

I really like our conversations with Mama. She is so candid with us, and I feel like she truly enjoys our company. We joke and laugh, and seem to understand each other more so than with anyone else here. We talked about how I’ve gotten more interviews with men completed than women because the women are always busy; the women work on the farm, watch the kids, prepare the meals, bathe the children and clean the compound, and wash the clothes… while the men work on the farm and then come home and relax for the rest of the day and evening. We talked about her husband, Francis, who currently is in Ho, staying with a friend and looking for work. She hasn’t seen him in two months, but they talk every day. He was working with lumber and wood, but whoever had been in charge neglected to obtain the correct permit, which resulted in all of the workers being arrested, and the wood (that they invested in) was confiscated. The investment, the time, and the employment were all lost in one fatal swoop. There’s no work still, which puts Mama and her family in a precarious position. There was a very small bonding moment when we talked about have long-distance relationships. Mama listens so well; she remembers things I told her a week ago—names and circumstance of my life back home—things that no one else here seems to care to ask about let alone remember. She brought up Sean by name, which surprised me, but she spoke so easily I forgot that we’d only been friends for two weeks now. It was comforting in a way. It was late, around 9:30pm, so she bid goodnight and Samantha and I got ready for bed. Though some were short on length and information, I was pleased we completed four interviews today. I only need 3 more men and 5 more women to interview and then I’m all done with interviews. Then I’ll have to start on doing a couple focus groups if I can. *sigh* I so do not want to be a researcher when I grow up. It gets boring after a while. I’d rather just play all day.

Half Way

2010-05-29T06:21:00.002-04:00

It’s the half-way mark today; we’ve been here for 2 weeks, and 2 weeks from today we’ll be sitting at the Kotaka Airport in Accra waiting to board our plane home. All in all, I am glad I came, but I definitely have mixed feelings about everything that’s happened here. There are some major disappointments, and as much as I want to try, I personally don’t have the capacity or manpower to support successful projects. I would like to hope that the few things we are trying to do here will pay off in some way, but I really have no idea whether it will. I would like to say that every little bit helps, but at the same time I see so much going to waste, and so little effort on the part of the community to fix the problems they so easily complain about. I know it takes more than just a few visits to really make a difference, but I do also feel that some people here are willing to just accept how things are, and continue to complain about money. I really hope the new administration in Ghana will step up to challenge of caring for its rural populations. Many people have said that government policies are implemented only in the urban areas, and never trickle down to reach rural populations.

Samantha and I have a lot to do this week. I have 12 more interviews to complete by Wednesday. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday we have more study sessions with the kids from 4-5pm each day. Monday we will be meeting with the JSS headmaster to discuss the issue of children not comprehending English, and to suggest he collaborates with area JSS heads with better academic records and that he holds his teachers accountable for their work. I hope also to meet again with the chief to see where we stand regarding volunteer chaperones of the library so it can hold evening hours a few days a week. I am also going to talk to the chief about the JSS headmaster and the teachers… we’ll see how that goes… Tuesday we will be going to Ho, and I’m going to try to talk to the manager at the regional Education Office about getting the Circuit Supervisors to thoroughly involve themselves in assessing the schools.

We are planning a trip to Cape Coast, to leave Thursday, and come back on Sunday. The following week will be our last, and we plan to use one day to possibly visit a monkey sanctuary, and also use a couple days to conduct 2 focus groups. I’ll be very surprised if we get more than 2 focus groups done. As of right now, I’m exhausted from doing nothing all day. I think I’ll go to bed early.  It’s 8pm…

Slowest. Day. Ever.

2010-05-29T06:20:00.002-04:00

There was a funeral this morning in Saviefe, two villages over from Gbogame. I’ve been told people dress in red and black, and after the burial and condolences, everyone celebrates with lots of drumming and dancing. We were supposed to go this morning, but Mama forgot about us so we were left behind. While the village was eerily quiet, we napped until 10am. Bright, age 19 and in JSS 2 (7th grade), came to visit around noon. He showed us his school book for computer class. Mind you, they don’t actually touch a computer. The book is a how-to type of book regarding how to turn a computer off and on, with pictures of screenshots as examples. The book, a little smaller than a composition notebook, explained what a computer was, along with its origin and a list in the back of 4 types of Pentium IV computers, Dell and Gateway among them. I asked Bright if he would like to be interviewed… even though he was still in JSS, he was over 18, so I thought it would be ok. The interview went well enough, I did have to stop and rephrase my questions because he didn’t understand the English I was using, but all in all it went well. After the interview we were talking and to my livid surprise, Bright explained that Anyo Group had sold the four previously donated new laptops for three ancient desktop computers that are now in the library. I tried to contain myself. The computers in the library are questionable regarding their functionality. The electricity hasn’t worked in the library since we’ve been here, and Hans seems always too busy to fix it. When we arrived, we were asked to test the computers to make sure they worked… I wonder when the last time someone did check, or if they bought the computers without checking. Not to mention, I wonder where the rest of the money went after selling four new laptops. I started to have a conniption so I ended the conversation and let Bright practice typing on my laptop for a little while.

Sam and I ate our pineapple that we got in Ho yesterday. We tried to eat the fruit slightly slower than we ate the mango, but only stretched it out to maybe one minute. It was really good, warm, fresh and juicy. Sema brought boiled cassava with pavlava sauce for lunch, which was really good but a little heavy on the palm oil. The palm oil is red when it seeps out from under your food into a pool on your plate. She also surprised us with two cocoa plants, which aren’t ripe just yet but we were so glad she brought them. I ate a little bit of the cassava and pavlava, cautious of what it would do to my stomach later. After lunch we sat outside. The air was cooler than usual and the bugs weren’t around. I tried to calm the negative feelings I had from the conversation with Bright. I saw Koju and he agreed to be interviewed at 4pm, so we took another nap to kill some time.

Koju Asafu reminds me of my late grandfather in so many ways. They’re about the same build, they have the same gait, and the same twinkle in their eye. They have the same trousers, grey and creased in the front with an iron, and when you ask one question, they’ll talk all day giving you detailed play-by-plays of their life. And if they tell you a story, they pause at the end to raise their eyebrows and smile a little smile, and wait for you to be ready for the punch line. Koju’s interview began at 3:30pm, I think it was 15 minutes before I could ask the first question because he was telling me the chronology of his accomplishments, each school and training, his first job, his second job offer, how he managed to leave the first job, etc., all with their corresponding months and years. A wise and sweet old man, he will be turning 80 this September. While most interview transcripts have averaged 1000 words, Koju’s transcript rested at 2500 words, with his interview lasting 90 minutes, twice as long as intended. But I did get some good information from his experiences.

After the interview, Samantha and I decided to take advantage of the cool air and lack of humidity so we took a walk down the road to the big tree. It was really nice, and a few people stopped to say hello. There were several motorbikes and tro-tros that we had to jump out of their way, but I guess more people go out on Saturday evenings… On our way back, we decided to stop at Mama’s house for a visit. We were craving some time outside our compound. There we sat while Mama wrapped tiny bags of ground nuts she’d just finished roasting. The kids had just finished eating, and Michael was in the middle of bathing himself by the edge of the compound, just inside their rock wall. Mawufemor, as little as she is, was taking care of things quite well. She washed Cicho’s hands, and after carrying a bucket and basin as big as her, she carefully washed the dishes one by one. Michael’s job is to round up the goats to put them in their pen at night. He does this with a little food in one hand, waiting very patiently, and then grabs a goat’s leg when they close. He leads them as if he’s holding the goat’s hand; the goats don’t seem to mind their leg awkwardly sticking out like it’s disconnected from the socket as they continue to calmly walk on the other 3 legs quite agilely. One goat had a rope tied on it, and it circled Michael twice very quickly, wrapping up Michael’s legs and knocking him to the ground. Cicho is more animated with us now; he recognizes us and plays a Cicho version of peek-a-boo, and hides himself behind a bamboo stick… so inconspicuous. Mama bathed Cicho, covered him in baby powder, put on his jammies and wrapped in up onto her back. Then it was Mawufemor’s turn for a bath. It was comforting to be around Mama’s family during their evening routine. It reminded me of appreciating the important things. We took our leave, and found that Sema had left dinner (jollof rice) back at our room. We ate most of it in hopes she’ll see the empty bowl and make it again soon.

Immersion + Ambitions

2010-05-28T05:41:00.002-04:00

This morning we went to Ho, aboard the bus filled with people bound for Market Day. We skipped the market and went straight to the BRIDGE office, but it wasn’t open so we settled in for some quality time at the internet café. While we waited for our lunch at White House, I looked up and saw a man pulling an odd looking dog on a leash. The dog had a funny side-hop instead of a normal gait. Then I realized, it wasn’t a dog—it was a monkey. The tro-tro ride home was uneventful, though we did have to stop at a lumber yard to put some kind of metal thing, and a couple boys had to ride on top of the tro-tro. The lumber yard had a few designer coffins sitting out front—a common sight in the market. As we sat there, a couple men carried a brand new fantasy coffin (designed as a shark) across the road.

Once we were home, the afternoon dragged on with nothing to do. Mama brought us some fresh mango, which we ate way too fast; we should have dragged that out more if we knew what was good for us. After our snack, I lost the fight to keep my heavy eye lids open, crashing before I even knew I was tired. In the early evening, Mama came over to teach us how to “back” a baby (using a single cloth to wrap a baby to your back) using precious and trusting Mawufemor (previously spelled Maufuaemo because I was guessing; and pronounced Mow-Fway-Mo) as our prop. Little Cicho came alive; he was excited and animated, which was a new thing for his usually cautious demeanor. It may take a village to raise a child, but it also takes a village to teach a yavoo how to back a baby. I leaned over with my back parallel to the ground, and gently swung Mawufemor under my arm and onto my back. Mama, with Cicho perched on her back, stood behind me situating the cloth, and Sema was in front of me showing me how to twist the fabric into a tight twist that wouldn’t loosen and thereby allow the baby to fall. After the first try, I was all set! It was so easy! Not so much a strain on the back and you can go anywhere you want and the baby just goes along with it. If they’re tired, they sleep, and they get used to you moving around to do your own thing and they’re quiet—perfectly content. Not to mention there are FAR less straps and fasteners than are involved with the Baby Bjorn. After Mawufemor was safely snuggled onto my back, I was ready for another challenge. I placed a basket on my head and tried to walk, baby on back and thing balanced on my head… I made it about 10 feet, but I’m still proud. Mawufemor was such a good sport, maybe because she was tired, but I think it’s because she’s one of the sweetest kids I’ve ever met—I should note that I find most children somewhat obnoxious unless they’re absolute gems. Jessica, Michael, and Mawufemor are definitely in the gem category. Kofi on the other hand, means well but is constantly dirty and way too persistent in his attempts for constant attention, which IS annoying. But I still feel for him; he gets no attention otherwise.

We had some rice and red sauce for dinner, and we asked Sema to fetch Emil so we could use his phone to call Joy. Emil returned, phone in hand. When he dialed Joy’s number, a loud voice came on speaker saying his credits needed to be replenished before he could make a call. His response was a little funny when he explained, “I just called Joy to tell him I was coming to see you so he should call back; so it is unfortunate that the percentage is low…” He went home to retrieve another phone, and we did get to speak with Joy long enough to realize travelling to his friend’s vacation spot was probably not very feasible. We hung up and Emil hung around for a little bit, which yielded an interesting conversation about the education system. I made a few suggestions, which for better or worse, set several things in motion: Monday we (Samantha and I) will meet with JSS head about collaborating with area heads that are doing better, and talk to him about holding teachers accountable for their work. We also plan to show him and the teachers the useful resources at their fingertips in the library and show them how to use the books appropriately. Emil suggested that on Tuesday when Samantha and I go to Ho, we should meet with the manager of the regional education office to discuss more involvement of the Education Director and the Circuit Supervisors who are supposed to be supervising the rural schools. It would also be helpful to ask about implementing an English as a Second Language program as part of the curriculum, reaching out to area NGOs and the Ministry of Education, and possibly send current teachers for extra training on ESL courses. Wednesday will be the weekly Anyo meeting, where we’d like to discuss a petition from the community to the manager at the Education Office regarding these issues. I’m on board with the plan, but I do think it would be more effective if one or two members of Anyo or the community came as well to voice their own opinions. I also don’t know how much good this will all do, but I guess an effort can’t hurt.

Before he left, Emil said that in August they will be getting a Peace Corps volunteer to be stationed here for 2 years as a teacher for math and computers. I hope that volunteer can actually do some good… I wonder if he’ll continue to teach computer class by a book like it currently is, or if he’ll be able to acquire some functioning computers for the students to practice on. *sigh* Part of me feels some sense of belonging, ownership, and responsibility for this village, but I know that my efforts don’t amount to much since I’m not here for very long.

Appointment with the Chief

2010-05-27T06:14:00.002-04:00

The night remained cool while we slept, and I even wrapped a shawl around me for warmth. It reminded me of the world back home where there are top sheets and blankets to cuddle with. This morning, Sema brought the brown ground nut/soy/corn/spices soup for breakfast. She gave us new sets of clean sheets as she took ours with our dirty laundry to wash today. I spent the morning finishing New Moon; I had dragged out finishing the book as long as possible, though now I still have 2 weeks without knowing what happens… *sigh* The morning stayed relatively cool with plenty of breezes but by 11am the sun was out in full force. The only development of the morning is a persistent wasp who has decided to make a home and nest under our table in the front room. This could be a problem. I watched other loudly buzzing insects swirl around the air as if they were drunk, bashing themselves into the walls of the compound with a thud I could clearly hear. Mutant bugs.

Samuel stopped by briefly to say hello, and agreed to be interviewed. I need to make a schedule and stick to it. Hans never did show up last night and I think Sema is too busy to be interviewed, which leaves me left to track down 8 more men and 7 more women to be interviewed. I plan to interview Richard this afternoon after we visit the chief, but all in all I only have 4 women and 4 men that have agreed to be interviewed… I may need Mama’s help recruiting volunteers for this one. Focus groups almost seem impossible, and my laziness is kicking in. I really don’t feel like conducting focus groups anymore. *sigh* I wonder what that will matter in my final paper.

We ate a plate of cassava fries for lunch, and then I took a nap since there was nothing else to do. We visited the chief, very briefly and I stated my case about the library needing volunteers to keep it open and accessible to the community. He liked the idea and said it would bring it to the board, and we should be able to start organizing volunteers on Monday… I think. It’s really up to them, I just hope we can see the start of it before we leave. I took another nap until almost 4pm, when we walked to the library to wait for any JSS kids who wanted a tutoring session. There were about 10 kids that showed up, late though because of some intermittent rain. They seemed very interested when Samantha read them a story about a mouse living in a teacup who was friends with a frog. That type of book is really designed for pre-schoolers or kindergarteners in the States. But these kids were in their early teens, and clinging to every word. We asked them what were the parts of a story—giving them a hint of beginning, middle, and… waiting for them to answer. This was a challenge. They didn’t understand. Their English was…ok… ok enough for them to understand the question. They clearly just had no idea that stories had a beginning, middle, and end. They also didn’t know what a character was, so we tried to simplify that as much as possible, but it was all too clear the kids hadn’t been taught about this. We asked them to write a quick story with a beginning, middle, and end, and to tell us who the characters were, once we explained what one was. They nodded yes, and rather than doing what was asked, they began picking story books off the shelves and read aloud to themselves. A few of them returned to us to summarize what they read. Well, it could have been worse. But again, today was more sad than discouraging regarding how much the children didn’t know, but could clearly comprehend once it was explained.

After the schoolyard, we interviewed Richard, who was waiting patiently, with 2 empty chairs for me and Samantha. The interview was quick and went very well—Richard volunteered more information than the other interviewees, including a particular piece about a travelling preacher who visited two years ago. The preacher “quoted the bible” and interpreted it for the community that any method of contraceptive (condom, birth control, family planning, and “pulling out”) is killing an unborn child and that would make you a murderer, sending you to hell for eternal damnation for killing a child. He also discouraged masturbation, which is no surprise… that’s probably reckless endangerment of an unborn child. Definitely frowned upon by the Big Guy Upstairs.

We walked back to our compound, and Samantha crouched down with her arms wide trying to catch a baby goat. I reminded her that she would probably get fleas, again, and that I didn’t have a camera to document her little furry friend. She decided to wait until tomorrow to cuddle with farm animals. Kosi came by around 6:30pm to read more of Twilight. With nothing to do, and not really wanting to read the other books I brought along, I sat and listened to the sounds of the compound. Unfortunately, little Kofi was being punished, beaten with something, and his screaming and the sound of the beating was disturbing and unbearable. Soon it ceased, and Mama brought dinner—rice with canned peas mixed in, and the red sauce. In the middle of dinner, just before 7pm, the electricity went out. I attached my book light to the top of Twilight so Kosi could still read, and positioned a flashlight so we could see what we were eating. The flashlight burned out soon. Good thing I brought two! I wonder if my laptop will have enough battery to watch New Moon… I’ll stop typing to conserve energy. Tomorrow, Market Day, which is great because we’re almost out of t.p. and desperately low on water, again. Goodnight!

Rainy Day

2010-05-26T06:12:00.002-04:00

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.

For dinner, Mama had prepared jollaf rice. Apparently our eating habits in Ho with Sema definitely made an impression. It was delicious, and there was even a small piece of chicken, that I ate happily and recounted the last time I had chicken was on the plane, and it was airplane chicken… Hans was supposed to return for his interview, but didn’t, which came as no surprise to me. I settled in with my laptop to write this blog, after which I plan to finish New Moon. Kosi is sitting next to me, reading Twilight. He had finished all of the other books we had brought, and looked half heartedly through the same pile again. I showed him New Moon and asked if the print and words were too advanced for him, and he said they weren’t. I grabbed Twilight, explained the premise and ever since he’s been diligently lost in the world of fiction. He doesn’t have electricity in his house, so he has to read here. He went home around 9pm, after reading 20 pages. If he finishes the book before we leave, I’ll find someone with a DVD player so he can watch the movie. I told him I would send him the other books if he liked this one. I may just let him keep Twilight for encouragement. Either way, I’m glad he’s enjoying a book that’s more at his level.

Empty

2010-05-25T06:09:00.002-04:00

We had the cocoa puff soup again for breakfast, which was tasty. I also found out that it’s not actually cocoa, but rather it’s a hot soup made from ground corn, soy beans, ground nut, and spices. But it still tastes like hot cocoa soup with a smidge of peanut butter and a smidge of cayenne pepper. Mr. Koju Asafu caught us outside and explained that today was a holiday and there will be no school, thereby cancelling our plans to have a study session with the older primary school kids this afternoon. I was pleased for the unexpected break. The plan was for Mama to come over sometime around 9am to accompany us to the midwife’s home to conduct an interview, so from 7:30am when we finished breakfast, until Mama arrived around 10:15am, I read my book on the front step quite happily. It was around 10:40 when we were settled in the midwife’s compound. The interview went well enough; I had more specific questions for her as well regarding pregnancy and delivery in the village so it lasted an hour and a half or so. Two men sat nearby and constantly interrupted to give their two cents on every other question, which was distracting and not helpful. I was getting super annoyed but thought it best just to endure and learn from my mistake of having the interview so out in the open.

Afterward it was noon and Mama had to tend to her children, and Agnes Asafu was ready for her interview. We conducted Agnes’ interview in Mama’s house in one of the rooms away from the children and other distractions. It was quick, only 40 minutes and went very well. At 2:45pm she brought us rice and pavlava sauce, which is a green sauce made with spinach, onion, egg, and some palm oil. From 3-6pm I continued to read my book, without really wanting to conduct any more interviews for the day, and pleased we got out of the Primary 4-6 classes today.

I don’t really know how to explain how I’m feeling today. I guess discouraged, or an indifferent existence would be appropriate terms. I have no real indication that anyone is reading this, so I’m going to speak freely. Some contact that I had expected from home that had not arrived yesterday when I checked my email in Ho made things seem insignificant. Things at home are going on as usual, probably without anyone caring all that much that I’m not there. Things stay the same, no matter if I exist or not. Similarly, things stay the same here in the village, whether I try or not. I really wanted to prove all those skeptics wrong; I wanted to prove that small projects do work well, and all you need is a little faith, and a push in the right direction… I am feeling deflated, defeated, and helpless. Maybe those people are right. What am I doing here anyway? The library is built, but it’s not being used, and no one seems to care enough to even say, “this isn’t right, we should be using the library, let’s think of a way to fix this.” There’s just nothing. You can afford to send two children to Senior School, but because you can’t send everyone, you decide to send no one. Sensibility is absent, along with hope. Today at least, I feel numb. I’m not even upset that I hadn’t gotten many responses from home… I did get a quick note from my mom and my dad, a couple comments on the blog from my dad, brother, and Mike. I guess I just expected something more from a few other people, but when there was nothing, I wasn’t upset, just numb. Even when I think about going home in a few weeks, I don’t even want to go out and see people. Why does it matter if clearly keeping in touch with me isn’t that important to them, clearly isn’t on their mind? I’m here, with Samantha, and really our company is Mama and Kosi. Kosi visits every night to read quietly with us. Mama is like our best friend—the only one who cares to spend time with us, just to hang out and joke with each other. I know more about her than anyone else, and truly feel a companionship with her. I don’t know what’s going on at home, but life goes on without me just fine I’ve realized. And here… well, things here continue as they are, without real improvement, which is tearing at my heart, especially when the community does nothing to help themselves. What am I doing? Why are things happening this way?

We ate leftover rice and pavlava sauce for dinner, though it had still been sitting out all afternoon and was now cool in temperature. It wasn’t bad, and I ate a small bit, but I’m still a little hungry. My stomach technically is not uneasy tonight, however there is the strong stench of trash and sewage somehow seeping through our window… next to my bed. I hadn’t smelt it before, so I’m wondering why it has surfaced now, but I really hope I can ignore it when I sleep, otherwise I may vomit. I’m exhausted, goodnight.

Over Our Heads…

2010-05-24T06:08:00.000-04:00

After getting our things back to the room, we had just enough time to savor the fan for a little while, and change into non-sweaty shirts before going to the schoolyard to begin the first study session for primary students, grades 1-3. As we rounded the corner of the library to the primary school compound, my anxiety caught my breath. What looked to be a mass of 70-80 children waited for us, full of excited energy. I like kids, don’t get me wrong, but here we were, in a compound, just the two of us with no other adult who could help translate or keep order. I even have trouble controlling the dozen children that frequent our compound every day seeking attention… we were way over our heads.

We called their attention and gathered them together around us. Sam brought stickers to pass out which originally seemed like a fun idea, though quickly we were buried under anxious hands and faces… stickers to these children had the same effect as if we’d held a weak baby antelope over a pride of hungry lions. We stopped short of handing stickers to everyone as chaos took over and began to eat us alive. I got them to be relatively quiet and attentive enough to have them sit in front of us under a tree while Sam read a story. Within the first two pages, the children inched and pushed closer and closer until I barely had room to breathe. Children were pressed up against us in the front and from behind we could feel children breathing on our necks they were so close. I was getting claustrophobic very quickly. Hop on Pop did the trick—Sam would say a line or two and most of the crowd of children would repeat it, looking at the words and pictures on the page. The sanity didn’t last long; children were pushing each other to get a better look, fighting and yelling at each other. An adult thankfully walked by and told the kids to back off so we could breathe; he then suggested we move them into a classroom, which is great in theory but in practice we were doomed. First of all, rather than only dealing with Primary classes 1, 2, and 3, all of Primary 1-6 had shown up… a miscommunication to say the least. Second, when we got into the classroom, I sent the older kids home but a few stayed behind to keep order by arming themselves with giant sticks, smacking the desks and threatening the younger ones. I thought for sure a war would break out. The classroom was loud and echoed and it became impossible to do anything. We tried, but reluctantly (and with a simultaneous sigh of relief) sent them home.

The children didn’t go home. That would have been too easy. Some had, but 60 children or so began to follow us back through the village. Looking behind me in slight panic, I planned our escape. We couldn’t walk home because then all 60 of them would know where we lived and any chance of future privacy would be lost forever. As we neared Mama’s house, we decided to bid the children goodbye, for the eighth time, and take refuge in Mama’s compound. It didn’t work. They ALL followed us into her compound. In shock, Mama looked between us and the swarm of children that poured into her home, fully comprehending the look of apologetic panic written across my face. It took a few minutes but she sent most of them out of the compound. Samantha and I waited patiently for a while… knowing well enough that at least 20 or 30 still lingered behind the compound walls, ready to attack the minute we let our guard down. After about 15 minutes I snuck to the side wall to check, and sure enough, they were waiting to pounce. I was running through the options in my head: a) we could make a run for it, but they would probably chase us thinking it’s a game; b) we could try to reason with them, but we already had and they are clearly too persistent; or c) we could climb out a window in Mama’s back room, sneak around behind the schoolyards, take a different path behind the chief’s house, go through the alleyway next to his house, cross the road by the bus stop, and run down the side alley back to our house. Yep, option C seemed the most appropriate.

Luckily, we didn’t have to stoop to such measures. Just then, Mrs. Agnes Asafu (our landlord’s wife who strangely doesn’t live with him, rather she lives across the road next to Mama) greeted us and asked about being interviewed. She wanted to show us her house so we followed her out of the compound, and suddenly were free! Afterward, Sam and I took the chance to head home, and I took refuge in my book on the front stoop. Soon, Kosi showed up wanting to read more of our books so while I sat on the steps outside, Kosi sat quietly behind me and read, shielded by the curtain. Shortly thereafter, the strange man who grilled us about Ewe yesterday showed up and began asking me questions again, this time talking faster and using expressions I didn’t remember. Luckily, Kosi whispered the answers from behind the curtain, completely hidden from the man—I really love that kid. Kosi left, and Hans and Emil joined us for some evening conversation that was mainly more questions from Emil. He asked about Ho, about food in the US, crocodiles, and zombies. Over dinner (plain rice), Sam and I talked about pets, then talked briefly with Mama, and got ready for bed.

Getting ready for bed tonight was much more involved than usual; I wiped myself down with a washcloth, then used my fancy bathing wipes I had picked up at REI, changed, and then laid in front of the fan. My stomach was uneasy, and cramping which is never a good sign, especially when the outhouse is dark, crawling with lizards, and has a padlock on the door that I forget the key for half the time… I just hope that I can sleep through the night.

Market Day with Sema

2010-05-24T06:07:00.000-04:00

We woke up early, had cocoa soup for breakfast after our invigorating bucket showers, and headed to the roadside to wait for a ride to Ho. The bus and market were relatively less crowded than before, putting me slightly at ease as we had less people to weave around and deal with. It was easier to follow Sema through the market too. She knew exactly where to go within the maze, and she also indulged our girly wishes for jewelry and fabric very well. Things were also a little quieter and there was less garbage on the path and street. We stopped first to pick up some jewelry and then fabric. We then had to go to the bank since we’d spent more than we’d expected on fabric. After we exchanged some more money, we went to the internet café to look at emails. I had two relevant emails in the sea of spam mail that had accumulated: one from my mom saying she loves the way I write, and she expressed how excited she was to read what happens; and one from my dad asking about bills in the mail that had been forwarded from my apartment—I guess the post office is back on track somewhat. After uploading my blog, we headed back to the market to purchase hip beads, which decorate a woman’s hips under her clothes. Samantha and I treated Sema to lunch at White House, where we shared jollaf rice, French fries, and a small vegetable pizza. I had my weekly caffeine intake with a bottle of coke, and savored every drop. The tro-tro ride back was also much better than the ride last time. Samuel, the tro-tro helper, smiled at us and was friendlier than before. He had also run into us earlier that day in the market and said hello. We sat in the back, where curious eyes couldn’t linger on our skin, and the gaping window at my side forced the fresh air into my lungs much faster. The window is one that I remember from last time I was here—if I sit, slouching, the top of the window comes to my temple, and the base of the window hits one inch above the seat. It feels like you might fall out, but I knew from my previous experience that I wouldn’t. I did however hit my leg pretty hard as I exited the tro-tro, which has since left a giant deep purple bruise for me to look at. I was pleased with the shopping from the day. I got a couple really cool necklaces, and a few bracelets for friends. I’d spent way to much on fabric, considering I have a pile of fabric from last time sitting in my apartment, waiting for me to have the time and expertise to weave them into an African quilt. But the most expensive piece (4 yards worth) has three large designs in the middle, and would look nice hanging over my bed. The other three pieces were 2 yards each and I plan to ask Believe back in the village to make a couple skirts and a dress for me. I hope they turn out ok.

Research Begins

2010-05-23T06:05:00.002-04:00

Sema had told us that because we were so tired yesterday that we were allowed to sleep in until 6:30am! What a luxury! (I’m not being sarcastic.) However, promptly at 6:20am, Emil was knocking at our door, asking if we were ready for the community announcement, which we had done so well to completely forget. The announcement was to focus on my research and my invitation for interview and focus group participation, as well as our plan to hold study sessions after school to encourage reading and language skills. Sweaty and disheveled from the hot night’s torment, we quickly dressed. I was really grumpy and fought the urge to ask if we could skip making appearances at the announcement, and rounded the corner of our compound toward the meeting tree. The meeting tree is a tree in the center of the side path between homes, whose shade provides an opportune spot for the elders to gather and hold meetings. I had seen such a gathering just days before, where maybe 30 or 40 people crowded around the tree and faced the elders at the center. The scene before me now caught my breath.

The entire village sat, organized and still, flanking the path. Women on the left, men on the right, the elders and chief were situated at the center under the tree, adorned in their formal robes. I gasped with the sudden shift of attention on us as we walked through toward two empty chairs beside the Anyo Group and the chief’s wife. I noted that Sema and Mama, our permission for sleeping in, were both absent. The entire meeting and announcements were conducted in Ewe, which made me anxious. Walter began to walk around the women, grouping them by six, and wrote down their names. He presented the list to me, explaining those were the focus groups… I wondered how much these women understood that participation was voluntary. I decided I would cross that bridge when it actually came time to conduct the focus groups. I did tell Walter I needed a few more groups though, one of men, one of elders, one of teachers, and one mixed with everyone. I tried to explain that I probably wouldn’t be able to conduct ALL of the focus groups Walter had just organized, but that I would try. He asked about the people who wanted to be interviewed but wouldn’t get the chance. I explained that I would try to complete as many as possible, but that I would need more time and more manpower to conduct interviews for everyone, and it just wasn’t possible. He seemed relatively satisfied with my response, and moved on. A man behind me spoke up, in Ewe, and started arguing it seemed. I didn’t know what he was angry about, but I was again getting nervous, jumping to the conclusion that he must not agree with my research or something… the chief spoke, and the man retorted with something that caused an uproar of laughter and hushed conversations among the community. I was dreading knowing where the conversation had turned. I reluctantly asked Emil what was going on. Thankfully he explained that the man noted that some people were not at the meeting because they chose to stay at home, and the man wished those people to be punished for not attending. Apparently after that, they began to discuss the problem of stray goats.

Because of the early morning antics, we decided to skip church. Instead, we took a late bucket shower and porridge for breakfast, followed by rest. As we lounged on our beds, we reminisced about Magic Hat Summer Ale, smores, coke, and pizza. My laptop had enough battery, so we plugged in the fan, situated the laptop between us, and proceeded to watch the Lion King. It was really nice to watch a familiar lighthearted story. After we finished, we took a short nap before the children came by. Jessica and Maufuaemo were decked out in their church dresses, looking ever so cute. Kofi on the other hand was a mess like always, constantly resembling PigPen from the Peanuts. His clothes were filthy and he attracted a gang of flies around him everywhere he went. Lunch was entirely unappetizing (kenkey) so I settled for a Clif Bar and prepared for my first interview with Divine.

My first interview went pretty well. We were interrupted a couple times, but nothing too severe. Divine’s familiar ways of communicating were present—the studdering, the topics that go in circles but don’t ever seem to get anywhere, etc. Afterward, the grandmother of the compound, whose name I forget, stopped by to borrow another book. I’m glad people are excited about reading; everyone seems intrigued by the books we brought. Samantha and I decided to visit Mama for a little while, and then Mama took us to meet the village midwife. She seems like a sweet woman. She is trained as a midwife though she is illiterate and doesn’t speak or understand any English. She did agree to be interviewed though, which made me beam with excitement—who better to talk to about reproductive health in the rural areas than a village midwife?

We followed Mama back to her house and on the way she explained that she delivered Michael and Maufuaemo with a midwife but her most recent child, 2 year old Cicho she delivered by herself. When we arrived back at Mama’s compound, Samantha and I ate our cocoa plant we picked up at National Geographic central the other day. It was quite tasty. As we sat, I observed everything in the compound for its purpose rather than signs of impoverished living—basins set aside for washing, another for rinsing, tools for cooking, barrels and bins for storage. The goats among us were making antagonistic advances on each other, warning other goats by somehow using their lips to make a distinctly accurate farting sound. Mama gave us 2 small baggies of ground nuts (like very tiny peanuts) to take back to our compound. Once we were there, we each enjoyed a bag-full very happily. Dinner was two small biscuits to share that Mrs. Agnes Asafu (the landlord’s wife) had made. Delicious as they were, they were not plenty, and my stomach growled for more food. No wonder I lose weight here!

After “dinner,” Mama came to participate in an interview. Sema didn’t show up, probably because her aunt is 85 years old and not doing very well. The interview with Mama went swimmingly, and she promised to accompany me to interpret for my interview with the midwife later this week.

National Geographic Attack

2010-05-22T06:49:00.000-04:00

Well we were up on time, early but not so much bright at 4:45am. We took our bucket showers under the night sky, the water feeling warm against the night air. I gathered our things as quickly as I could, still not having time to eat the porridge that sat on our table. I grabbed enough supplies for any type of “just in case emergency” moment: 6 granola bars, flashlight, t.p., hand sanitizer, camera, poncho, a full 32 oz. of water, extra tote bag to carry back goodies, sunscreen, and deet. We got to the roadside at 5:40am, where Mama told us we were late, and Sema waited in her matching silk PJs, robe, and head-wrap… slightly out of place here. As we waited by the roadside, I applied sunscreen and deet, pulled back my wet hair, and sipped my water, fizzing with the rehydration tablet I popped in the bottle. After 40 minutes of waiting, finally a tro-tro came by and we hopped in to head to Kpeve (pueve). On the ride I ate a Clif Bar for sustenance. At Kpeve we caught another tro-tro to HoHoe (hoe-huoy). This tro-tro was one of two heading to HoHoe, and both were competing for passengers which fueled a full on race between the two, the entire ride to HoHoe. We then caught a taxi from HoHoe to Wli Falls, and we were doing really well on time. Then the taxi stopped to let a woman, her two daughters, and their basket of dried smelly fish into the car. For a while I was really fighting with my vomit reflexes, and if I breathed through my mouth I could taste the fish. I pressed my hand to my nose and decided to breathe, smelling only my hand—which smelled of dirt and sweat, but that was WAY better than the vomit-inducing stench of the dried fish. Finally, at 9:20am, we arrived at the Falls.

The hike to the Falls is only a 35 minute brisk hike, I’m guessing about a mile and a half or two miles one way. The guide wasn’t pausing at all so Sam and I would snap a few pictures and then run to catch up. At one point we stopped at a picturesque worn bridge over a babbling brook. We paused, posed and before I could snap the picture, our flip flops and feet were crawling with a swarm of giant national geographic ants that began to sink their teeth into our feet and burrow themselves in our skin. To say that it was painful would be an understatement. I really can’t describe the chilling feeling that runs through you when/if this should ever happen, but I can say that in addition to the searing pain, panic washed over me and clouded my immediate judgment as I threw off my flip flops and tried to pick the ants out of my skin… while still standing in the middle of the ant pile… genius. At any rate, the guide came in useful, moving us from the ant hoard, making sure our flip flops and feet were picked clean, and we continued on our way. I checked every now and then to make sure I was still breathing. I was… intermittently. I no longer looked at the surrounding jungle, and instead staring at the ground, trying ever so carefully to step exactly where the guide had stepped. There are ant parades or marches or whatever they do when they travel in vast millions, but usually they’re easy to spot: a moving trail of darkness running across the path, dense and about an inch wide. However another ant parade was not following the rules and had created a chaotic sea of ants spread over 3 ½ feet of the trail. I was too close by the time the guide pointed it out, as he was already past the sea, and I held my breath and prayed the biting wouldn’t happen again as I took 3 long leaps. To no avail… the biting ensued once more, though this time I was slightly more calm, less screaming, and it was over much quicker.

Finally around the corner we were standing in a small clearing of jungle, staring at the falls. I kept thinking those Falls were so not worth the ants, and I couldn’t shake the idea that we have to go through them again on our way back. We snapped a few pictures, and I rinsed my hands in the water like a raccoon, and Samantha and I exchanged looks when a fat American family who had gotten there before us asked us if we were going swimming like them, and if we had seen the mass of bats on the rocks flanking the falls. Who goes to Africa and thinks swimming in the base of a waterfall is a good idea? Not me. I recognized the vine I had climbed to before, but it was overgrown and inaccessible. We turned, ready to brave the ants once more on our way back to the start of the trail. We were attacked again on the way back, but there’s no need for me to detail that again for you. When we reached the beginning of the trail there were some people selling carvings, jewelry, and other art so for about 20 minutes Samantha and I indulged our tourist side and got lots of cool things to bring back home.

In order to make it back in a vehicle rather than walking, we opted to skip lunch as well and again turned to granola bars. We waited by the road for a tro-tro, climbed aboard, and waited, parked, baking in a hot oven of scrap metal that was our mode of transportation, for 40 minutes. Finally we were moving again and reached HoHoe. From there we took a tro-tro back to Kpeve, where I fell asleep and resembled a bobblehead as we moved along. In Kpeve we had to wait, sitting in yet another baking tro-tro for a little over an hour before heading to Saviefe. I had a lot of time to memorize the interior, or lack thereof. There was no interior on the doors or insides of the tro-tro, exposing rusted metal. The windshield was smashed in a thousand places, its cracks growing by every bump we went over. The driver’s side door was held in place by a thin blue string, which was removed completely to let the driver in, after which he would pull across a horseshoe looking thing to latch over the window. at one point, it came loose as we drove and the door flung open. My head banged on the side of the rusted metal often, which didn’t help my hunger headache that was forming.

When we got back home I had a granola bar, and started to feel better. We took posing pictures with our two cocoa fruits we picked up, and headed to Mama’s. She told us they weren’t ripe, but said in 3 days they should be fine. She gave us mango that would be ripe in two days, and a group of bananas that would be ripe tomorrow. Holy jeebies anticipation is really a bitch; I just want some fruit!!! We ate dinner, and entertained some kids in the evening. To my surprise, my old friend Divine came to pay a visit, so that was nice to catch up briefly. He agreed to be interviewed tomorrow too, which is awesome. As we chatted, Samantha started moving strangely in her seat with a worried look on her face. Turns out, she’s got fleas! They came from the kids we think, so they’re not allowed in the house anymore, just outside. Gross. We threw her clothes outside and killed about 20 that we found on her and in the room. I have had enough of nature for one day. After Divine left, we visited outside in the night breeze with Mama and Sema and decided we were too exhausted for further social interaction.

Operation: Library

2010-05-21T06:49:00.000-04:00

We weren’t given breakfast this morning; I guess they forgot about us. So I had a Luna Bar to get me through the morning. As I tried to carry my bucket to the shower spot, I realized I’m horrible at basic survival skills. The bucket kept knocking against my knees, splashing EVERYwhere. Mama says it’s because I’m short and not as strong as Samantha. The strength thing I get, but honestly, people in this region of Ghana at least are quite small- men are my size or a bit taller, and women are usually smaller than me. At any rate, the bucket shower was cold, but refreshing.

The early part of the morning brought along little visitors- Kofi, Michael, and Maufuaemo. Kofi and Michael attend a private school in the next village over, but the teacher had a stroke and because there is no replacement, they haven’t been attending school all week. We practiced numbers with the kids—Kofi did fairly well, despite his troublemaker character and lack of attention, and Maufuaemo was catching on too, but Michael was clearly behind. Parents are so busy working all the time, they barely have any free time to spend with their children to teach, let alone play. Cognitive development isn’t helped by anything here. Flies accompanied the children, swirling around their eyes, hair, feet, and open cuts and burns. Samuel, the tro-tro man who collects the money, paid us a short visit as well.

We went to Mama’s house to wait for her to be ready, and then the three of us traipsed off to the library to begin the reorganization project. It was quite a task that engulfed most of the day. There are 2 long bookshelves that face each other from opposite ends of the rectangular room. Books were somewhat grouped together, but both sides of the room had English and math and science books. We removed everything from the shelves and piled the books in the center of the room on a long table, sorted them, and decided where they would go. We placed them back on the shelves, binding side out, and proceeded to make new labels by subject. Some books were too challenging, almost inappropriate donations, which we placed on the high shelves, probably never to be opened: college algebra, C++ programming, PhotoShop, algorithms, mechanical engineering, principles of thermal mechanics, parasitology, etc. The more appropriate level texts were placed at eye level, with story books on the bottom shelf. We took a short break for lunch and accidentally fell asleep, but woke at 2pm to have red-red (beans and plantains) and hurried back to the library to finish. The headmaster looked in on us at 2:45pm to check our progress and seemed relatively disinterested. It was clear that neither he nor any of the teachers had looked through the text books in the library to see what could be incorporated into the curriculum. He came to ask us a favor. He wanted us to order two books, one for him and one for the school, which he did not describe. Apparently it needs to be ordered and he asked if we would use a credit card and he would pay us the cedi equivalent. Uncomfortable being asked for money, I quickly declined, fully knowing that there were plenty of resources in this library, and anything he absolutely needed, he could get himself. Sam told him she’d think about it. He left us the key to the library and we finished up while accumulating a few onlookers as I put up the last shelf labels. It started to rain so we decided to lock up and head back. Before I shut the door, I looked around at the bare floor (the only seating area) and wondered if it would actually be used any more than it is now, or not.

On the way back we decided to pay Richard a visit. Richard is the village tailor and also runs a small bar out of the same room. I was hoping he would be warmer and slightly more upbeat than in our recent exchanges, but had little hope. I quickly found out why. As we walked the worn pathway to his bar/tailor area, I could see his head was resting on the bar counter. I softly said his name, not to startle him, and he looked up at me, his right eye swollen and wet with discharge. I had noticed when we arrived that his eyelid was swollen, almost so that the eye was shut, but he hadn’t mentioned anything. This time, it was swollen shut. I glanced at the counter and took in the 5 mismatched small glasses that appeared cloudy, the measurement spoon used to serve a shot, and the shallow bowl of dirty water used to rinse glasses after use, flies everywhere. As Richard rubbed his eye with a dirty bar rag, he explained that 3 weeks ago he woke with a severe pain in his eye and went to the hospital. There he was told that he has cancer of the cornea and must have the eye removed before it spreads to the other eye, rendering him blind and unable to work. At this point his eye was leaking and I wasn’t sure if it was discharge or tears from the pain; the discomfort and pain were written all over his face. He lifted the lid to show me his eye, which was red and also swollen, the color of his eye indiscernible through the cloudy and almost bloated image of what used to be his pupil. For the pain he was given the equivalent of basic ib-profin. He hasn’t returned to have the procedure because it will cost 250 cedis- almost 10 months’ salary. I started counting in my head the amount of money I had with me. I did have some extra ib-profin I had brought, so I promised to drop it by later, wondering what would happen with Richard.

When we got home, we were joined by several kids who came by to color for a while. Mama brought us dinner (a small omelet to share) and told us to tell the children to go home if they are smelly and not to come back until they have bathed. Good information to have. Sema, Hans, and Emil joined us after dinner where we discussed Richard’s condition. Mama’s deaf brother, Kujo, has the same problem but it’s not as bad. He has been to an eye treatment center closer to Ho, and they claim the eye removal procedure would only cost 65 cedis—much more manageable. We decided to encourage Richard to go there while Emil joked that if Richard dies, who will care for his baby, and suggested that I take the baby home with me to America. I was caught off guard… Richard has a baby?? He’s almost an elder! As I declined taking the baby with me, Emil noticed the 2 bottles of unopened Star beer from the other day. He asked in surprise why we have not drank it, and I explained because we were full and tired when we were given the beer, and now it’s hot. I told him he was welcome to take it if he wanted. His response was, “Kevin could drink 3 beers at once.” Automatically I replied more harshly than I intended: “Kevin, Kevin Kevin; I’m not Kevin!” I couldn’t tell if Emil understood me or not.

We have to go to bed early since we’re trying to go to Wli Falls tomorrow. We have to get up at 4:45am so we can wait by the roadside by 5:30am for a tro-tro… rush rush rush to get ready to wait… such is the life in Ghana. But hopefully we will get there early so we can come back early so we wont have to walk home like Denise and I did last time… Wish us luck!

Market Day

2010-05-20T06:47:00.002-04:00

We woke up at 6am and had cocoa soup for breakfast: a semi-thick, light brown soup with a hint of cocoa and a hint of pepper. It’s slightly textured but after adding a couple sugar cubes, it’s like melted African cocoa puffs. I really was starting to worry about Samantha—she wasn’t sleeping at night because it was too hot, and she had lost her appetite. She had a bewildered look on her face and had lost her bubbly spirit. We got ready to go to Ho. Sema couldn’t come because she had to harvest crops on the farm, so Emil insisted he accompany us to Ho. I tried to tell him we would be ok on our own, since I knew he would probably be bored since we wanted to look at fabric and beads, and have lunch at White House, but he persisted. The three of us embarked on a very bumpy and overcrowded bus ride to Ho. We had a long walk to the BRIDGE Office, where we briefly greeted Bismark and then tried to use the internet on the few computers in the room. Emil sat patiently, walked around outside, came back again, and waited while we fought with the internet. At first, the speed was decent; I was able to check both my email accounts, and send a couple emails. However, quickly I started to have problems. The internet slowed to an incredible crawl, and the only computer that recognized my USB drive (which had these blog entries on it) was broken and would not start. I used Bismark’s laptop to email the file to myself, but then could not get the internet to work any further. At this point, we had been at BRIDGE for almost 2 hours dealing with computer antics. Finally, I gave up and walked downstairs to the internet café I used to use last time I was here. I found new computers and fast internet—7 minutes and 20 peswas later, I had uploaded the entire thing. From now on, I’m not going to bother with the free internet at BRIDGE. It’s just not worth the trouble! As we were leaving, Joy caught us by the side of the road and we made tentative plans to go to that “Meet Me There” place next weekend. Seeing him just for a minute was refreshing—he seems to be the only person who understands where Americans are coming from, especially those of us in our 20s.

From there we walked to the nearby bank to exchange some money. Walking in was like walking back into the real world—air conditioning, people dressed in suits, and BBC News on the television. Despite my earlier invitation for Emil to join us for lunch, he had eaten while we were at BRIDGE, so he headed off to a bar while Samantha and I ate lunch in the shade at White House. Emil didn’t seem bothered that we took forever with everything, and said he was just fine waiting at the bar. He was more cheery after he met us again, too. At White House, Samantha and I each had a small vegetable pizza (they improved their recipe by adding cheese, and omitting canned carrots), one small order of potato chips (French fries!), one cold coke, and one cold orange fanta. Samantha seemed much better- more talkative, and she ate everything! It was a very good sign. J Samantha said she started feeling better just being out of the village, and walking around; Emil walks much faster than the average Ghanaian and by the end of the day we must have easily speed walked 3 miles. He also is partial to short-cuts through Ho, during which he would proudly exclaim that “Kevin can walk from Ho to Saviefe.” He took us, quickly, through back alleys behind homes, through the littered streets, and stepping over obstacles of rocks and stones through a teal-green stream of trash and sewage. I tried not to breathe, because even if I breathed through my mouth I thought I might throw up. Garbage littered the ground everywhere in Ho, but I was sure we were trudging through the worst of it… in flip flops. Gross. Finally, we made it to the market place. We bought a table fan (for 32 cedis—expensive!) to help break up the stiff heat so Samantha might sleep at night. It’s a very nice fan and is currently pleasantly blowing cool air on my face as I type this. We went into the market and picked up a handkerchief for Samantha as well (it’s for dancing and waving it around and also doubles as a sweat rag). We also bought toilet paper—an essential, obviously. We attempted to look at fabric and beads but though he made an effort, Emil is no Sema. We’ll get fabric and beads next week with Sema. We headed back to the tro-tros and I picked up 2 pouches of cold pure water on the way. Suddenly I felt someone grab my arm quite hard, almost hitting me, and demanded, “yavoo, give me one!” I had briefly forgotten the torment of being a yavoo.

We climbed inside the tro-tro and the taunting didn’t stop. A young woman sitting behind me, probably about my age, kept trying to talk to me. The thing is, she was eating a piece of corn on the cob (which is very mealy) and spitting at me while she spoke. Several of her chewed pieces ended up on my arm and shoulder. She didn’t know enough English to ask what she wanted, but she was talking about me very loudly for a while. I kept hearing “obruni” and “yavoo,” interchangeable phrases for “white.” When I turned to give her any response, she would just laugh at me—and not in a “laughing with you” kind of way. Of course, it stopped after a while, and if Emil asked me a question about the U.S., I could feel her move inappropriately closer to my face to hear what I was saying. Sure, now you’re interested in me as a person… ugh. I was sweaty and exhausted by the time we reached Saviefe. Samantha and I took a very quick nap with the help of our new fan.

Mama brought by plain spaghetti (very early, at 4:30pm) with the tuna red sauce that we’ve had several times. I think the tuna is what’s making Samantha’s stomach upset. It was a clue when walking through the market we both fought back vomit reflexes at the sight and smell of barrels of dried fish. I really can’t explain that stench, but I’ll just leave it at “assaulting.” We ate the plain spaghetti, and then ventured over to Mama’s house to sit in her compound while she made supper for her children. There was a pleasant breeze accessible by her home, but the breeze is clearly blocked somehow in our compound. Mama’s aunt sat nearby, who had suffered a stroke some 20 years ago. Her brother is deaf and also came by to greet us. It was interesting watching him interact with everyone. He used subtle movements to express himself, and there was an understanding between him and Mama and her children to understand his movements. It was not the official ASL (American Sign Language) that most of us have seen. There was an abundance of goats and chickens and baby chicks running around. Mama’s children enjoyed our presence. Michael (5) would hide and pop out with a shy smile, and then would make faces waiting for me to imitate him, which I did. Maufuaemo (4) is his younger sister who would sneak up quietly to my side and just slip her tiny hands within mine and smile the biggest smile I’ve seen a child display here—I could see almost all of her little teeth. I watched Mama’s brother (she didn’t tell us his name) bathe Maufuaemo at the edge of the compound, which was much more efficient than Maufuaemo trying to do it herself.

We left Mama to head back home and sat for a short while with the mother in our compound, also named Maufuaemo who looks not older than 23 but I think she must be in her late 20s since her daughter Sarah is 13. Sarah, Kofi, and Fafali were eating akple with their mother. Akple is very similar to banku and fufu, but the dough just sits like mashed potatoes in a dish rather than being rounded into a dough-mound. I’m sure there are other differences but I’m not sure what they are. We sat on our steps for a while that night, taking in the cool air. There were several nice breezes, and some heat lightening, but it was overcast so we only saw a quick flash of glow in the sky. Tonight, we will sleep with our new fan oscillating its fine self all over our room.

The Mass of Children + Reunions

2010-05-19T07:55:00.001-04:00

We woke up late, at 6:30am, and waited for Sema to appear with porridge. Fafali, the little one, is such a cry baby. All the time, crying. After breakfast and our bucket showers, I read for a little bit and then Samantha and I decided to take a walk. Fully armed with sunscreen, and Samantha with her giant beach hat, we set off away from the compound. On our way along the path that leads from the compound to the main road, I looked up in disgust to see a new sign: Kevin Street. Seriously??? UGH!!! The walk helped both of us calm down. We were getting restless in the compound. We walked my old route past the pile of sticks (which had moved to the opposite side of the road and were now resting in the brush) to the two big trees. We walked slow, and took in the sun and light breeze as much as we could. I took a nap before lunch (boiled cassava and macaroni with flake tuna in a red sauce) and awoke to a familiar raspy little laugh…

I walked outside to watch Jessica and Kofi play, jumping over the stick from the day before. Jessica was head taller, and her alfalfa sprout had been cut from atop her head, but had the same sassy little smile. She was very bossy, telling Kofi when to jump, and hassled him when he was tired. Sema said something in Ewe to Jessica, who responded with “Christine,” and looked at me. J She remembered me. She didn’t come close, but she watched me to make sure I was in view of her showing off her jumping skills. They disappeared after a short while, and Samantha and I decided to take a more in-depth tour of the library, knowing it would be unlocked during school hours.

The library was exactly as it appeared through the window. There were labels on the shelves indicating subject, though the books did not match the labels. After facing the binding outward on all the books, I rolled my eyes at some of the donations. Books on college algebra, mechanical engineering, organic chemistry, C++, PhotoShop, feminism, and child development lined many of the shelves, all of which were appropriate for a college-reading level, or a specified program. Obviously the ancient desktops were not equipped with fancy programs for which those books would be helpful… It occurred to me, after contemplating my frustration on the lack of organization in the library, that the people in the village may have never been to a library before. Unable to picture how a library should look, how it should be organized, how it should run, or how to use a library, the people in Saviefe were at a disadvantage. It’s like the saying: give a man fish, he will eat for a day; teach him to fish, he will eat forever… If you only give him a rod and reel, and neglect to mention bait, or time of day to fish, or show him the motions of casting, he does not have his best chance to catch fish. Am I making any sense?

We returned to the compound, sweaty, and pensive about the library. Jessica and Kofi soon appeared and we invited them to color with us. After breaking out the crayons, it started to rain so we moved ourselves inside the front room to continue the impromptu art session. Jessica impressed me with her English. She knew her alphabet, her numbers up to 24, and her colors. Though when I asked her age, she recited the same familiar response from two Octobers ago, “I am three years gold.” Only later did she put up 4 fingers indicating her correct age. She’ll be five on July 4^th. I watched them color and noticed that Jessica’s legs were scarred from random scrapes and burns, and her feet were calloused with skin that looked like an older woman’s. Soon there were nine children crammed into our front room, all crouched on the floor coloring away: Sarah (13), Auntie (10), Juliet (10), Selom (9), Minia (8), Worlanyo (7), Michael (6), Kofi (4), and Jessica (4). After each child drew something new, they would shove the paper in front of you for approval and praise. If I started to draw an animal on my paper, slowly all 9 children would surround me, watching carefully. Throughout the afternoon, Jessica would look up at me and smile. After a couple hours, we sent the kids home and got ready for a meeting with ANYO.

The meeting lasted a while. I explained, for the fourth time, my proposed research and our plan to tutor children in the library after school. We also mentioned that the library needed to be organized better, and the books rearranged. We will speak with the headmaster about it Friday morning, and we plan to spend most of Friday fixing the interior. Perhaps I can scrounge up some benches to place inside. After the meeting, Mama brought us dinner- a small omelet to share. We ate, and had a piece of bread and tea. Mama returned to ask how Michael (her son) did with coloring that afternoon. She explained that he’s not learning what he should because he plays too much, but she encouraged us to work with him and to encourage his learning of numbers and letters. Kofi hung around our door for a while. Mama asked him if he was sleepy, but he said he wasn’t, as he tried to keep his heavy eyes open, locked on us, afraid he might miss something the yavoos do. Mama said she wanted to help us organize the library on Friday, and also invited us to spend the afternoon at her house tomorrow after we get back from Ho for Market Day. She was excited to have us in her home, and claimed the breeze could be felt perfectly in her room. Kofi finally sat on the ledge, with his back against the wall, and his head hanging straight down in slumber. Bright, who must be about 15 or 16 now, came to visit. It was good to see him. Quickly thereafter, we had another visitor. Cassandra and Kosi appeared at the door! Cassandra flew in and hugged me, and told me she missed me. It was so good to see her. She looked happy. She also had a new little bundle on her back, 7 month old Christopher, sound asleep and beautiful. Cassandra will be going to Ho in the morning as well, so we exchanged goodbyes for night and planned to see each other in the morning.

It was very hot and muggy, I was sticky with sweat and dirt from the day… just like all other days. Not going to lie, I smell. Bugs were flying into our faces constantly. I wished I could take a cold bucket shower in the cool night air, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. So I just drank some water, ran the washcloth over my body, and sprawled out under my mosquito net to try to fall asleep, breathing the thick humid air as deeply as I could, and dreaming of Market Day.

Realizations

2010-05-18T07:54:00.000-04:00

I tried to ignore the bleating goats and obnoxious chickens until it was light out. I got up at 6:30am and sat on our front steps. Soon Sema greeted us with porridge for breakfast. After we ate, Samantha and I headed toward the bath area for a bucket shower. Samantha quickly got over her stage fright of showering together, and we both gasped in shock as we poured the cold water over our heads. Now we were awake! It didn’t take long for me to remember the efficient routine of showering with a bucket that took me days to perfect the last time I was here. It felt so good to wash off the dirt and sweat from the sweaty night, the day of travel, the night in Ho, the tro-tros, and the airplanes. Clean never felt so good. We took the morning to relax, and had a short visit from Emil who peppered us with questions about life in the United States—farming, poverty, jobs, money, government, crime, prisons, divorce. After lunch (fried plantains with beans) I took a nap.

I spent some of the afternoon sitting on the front steps watching some kids play. The boys were between 4 and 6 years old, Kofi, Michael, and another, plus Fafali (the 18 month old who lives in our compound, sister to Kofi). They positioned a stick with one end on the wall ledge, and the other resting atop a tin can, creating an appropriate obstacle for them to jump over. Fafali often walked into the stick, wanting to join in on the fun, knocking it over and clapping with gleeful satisfaction. Soon they figured out how to raise the stick higher and higher, almost to their height, and took turns jumping off of the 5^th step across the compound.

Grace visited briefly, long enough for me to give her the gift I had picked out for her- a brightly colored bag, flip flops, and a red cotton dress. Kosi came by as well, and spent most of the afternoon in our front room reading the books we had brought—one after the other. Emil and Hans came to walk us around the community. Hans was fairly quiet with only his wide grin and smiling eyes to express himself since his English is quite limited. A local man who was mentally ill approached us, grabbed hold of my and Samantha’s arms at once and refused to let go. Once he started walking and dragging us along, Hans stepped in and pulled us apart, and walked deliberately between the man and us until the man gave up. Emil asked more questions: what did Americans do with the mentally ill; do we have villages like Saviefe in the U.S.; do we have goats running around, etc. The four of us walked to the library, which I was anxious to see. The library, only open during school hours, has obvious limitations as far as hours of operation. We discussed this, but Emil explained that no one is willing to volunteer their time without pay to oversee use of the library. This is extremely frustrating. If the community wants to use the library, they should be willing to take ownership of its operation and maintenance, and volunteer one afternoon per month. Obviously during school hours, the children are occupied in their classrooms, and adults are working on the farm. No one is using this library. We peaked through the open window slats to see a long table in the center of the room. One desk with an ancient desktop computer was on one side of the room, with two desktop computers on the opposite. I wondered where the 5 donated laptops were…The two computers were crowded together on one small desk. Note- there are no benches or chairs in the library at all. The right side had a long bookshelf spanning the entire wall, as did the left. It looked like mostly groupings of text books. It was clear the teachers were not making use of the text books or teachers’ guides that accompany them. We couldn’t tell much else because like in most situations in Ghana I’ve seen, books on a shelf are turned binding side in, facing the wall, so all you see are pages. You can’t tell what books they are unless you take them off of the bookshelf. I just stared through the window as I rested my head against my arm on the wall. I just don’t know.

We continued to walk through the village, visiting the chief and elders first. The chief was cheery, more welcoming than the first time I came. We got into an argument over whether there were fifty or fifty one states in the U.S. He swore that Hawaii was the 51^st state. I dropped it. He then gave Samantha and I two bottles of Star beer. We continued on our way, and visited Peace and Christine at the roadside store. We saw Walter very briefly and then visited with Richard at his house. Richard, Hans, and Emil spoke with us about our plan for the next few weeks. They then recounted their experiences with Kevin, the previous volunteer. I already had my biased views of the kid based on the street lamp outside our compound, but I was ready to hear what they had to say. Despite the fact that Kevin refused to learn any Ewe phrases, and that he bullied everyone in the village to do what he wanted, Richard and Emil still held Kevin in high regard and said they liked him. I wasn’t sure if it was because he contributed a flashy and tangible donation to the village, or if it was because he was a man instead of a woman. I rolled my eyes and exhaled slowly in suppressed frustration. It became dark so we walked home. I met Mama at the entrance of the compound who told me that because we had plantains and beans for lunch, we would only have bread and tea for dinner. *Sigh* After “dinner” I ran a wet washcloth, previously white but now brown from the night before, across my face and down my arms and legs. I intended to watch a movie on my laptop but my eyes were too heavy.

Village Life, Once Again

2010-05-17T07:53:00.001-04:00

The taxi arrived in Saviefe and pulled up next to the family compound where I stayed before. I stepped out of the car and stretched a little. No one around paid any mind that we had arrived. Around the corner, Sema came running with her arms outstretched, calling my name. I smiled and we embraced. She was so happy to see me, and I was happy to see her too. I was also happy that someone was happy to see me…

Beatrice had recently moved to Accra in search of work so Sema had a new caretaker to help her. Her name was Mama. I think Mama is the sister of Cassandra. Accompanied by Mama, Sema, Emil, and Hans who joined us from the roadside, we carried our things into my old room. Nothing had changed, it looked just as we left it two Octobers ago. The same mosquito nets hung from the ceiling. The same Spiderman sticker clung to the wall. We walked into another room in the compound to greet our landlord, Mr. Koju Asafu (the grandfather of Jessica, Grace, and Kosi). We then took part in the ritual of washing the feet of guests (i.e. having a couple shots of palm wine). Mind you, by now it was 2pm and neither Samantha nor I have had anything to eat or drink since the night before. Afterward, we were served lunch and finally drank some water. Lunch was white rice with a red sauce. The sauce had onion and peppers with canned flake tuna in oil, Sema style. We ate quickly and washed it down with pure water, sighing with satisfaction. I asked Sema where the children were, referring to Kosi, Grace, and Jessica. She said that a year ago Cassandra married a new husband so they all live elsewhere in the village, no longer in the familiar family compound. I asked if her husband was nice, but Sema shook her head and said no. It was sadly quiet without the children.

After lunch we walked over to meet with Richard (the tailor). He sat on a bench with his crutch leaning against the wall (Richard is handicapped from having Polio as a child). He didn’t get up to greet us as he used to. He also looked like he’d lost some weight. However he did inform me that I had gained weight. Thanks Richard… We then walked over to the JSS and visited with the headmaster. On the way I passed Selom, who revealed his shy smile, and Grace, who maybe didn’t remember me. She didn’t seem happy to see me. We walked around the group of children who stood outside, each of them in line to be caned for misbehavior. The line was moving slowly. Usually two or three hits with the cane, and then that child would go to the back of the line. We saw the outside of the library, covered in fresh paint, topped with a shiny new tin roof. The inside was locked because it’s only open during school hours, and the teachers keep the key. This seems counter-productive since the library was supposed to accessible to complete homework in after school, or have leisure reading time over the weekend. If the kids are in the classrooms when the library is open… they’re not in the library… and when they leave the classrooms, the library is closed…

We walked back to the compound and sat with Sema for a little bit on the front steps. She told me of the volunteer, Kevin, who had been here after my last stay. Kevin wired electricity to a street light that stood directly behind the compound. He also put lights in the school, which was good. Kosi came by to say hello. He was in tattered clothes and rode a bicycle. I asked him how he was and what he did that day, and surprisingly he said he went to school, and that he was in his first year of Senior School. Sema told me later that his grandfather, our landlord, was helping to pay for the tuition. At least he was in school. But it didn’t take away my disapproval with how the situation was handled. After I showed Samantha the ropes regarding toilet and shower procedures, we began to unpack against the backdrop of bleating goats, screaming chickens, and drums. The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, absent of any children. We had a small omelet for dinner with a piece of bread and a couple crackers. After dinner I sat on the front steps to look at the abundance of stars that illuminated the dark night. But when I looked at the sky, I was looking directly at the street lamp, which not only impedes the view of the stars in the night sky but also attracts a vigorous swarm of insects. Ugh, “development.” It was better before when you could see the sky, and when there were less bugs flying about your head. That money could have been put to better use that could actually improve the daily life in the village, like fixing leaky roofs, repairing broken down shacks that people live in, or building a fenced area for the animals. Instead, there were now bugs flying into the room, all over our faces. I was beginning to feel disappointed. As a child, I loved summer camp, but when I went back in the fall to visit the camp, everything had changed. The tents were gone, the grounds were quiet, and the feeling was gone. I kept thinking of that feeling all night. How I wished Tony and Beatrice were still living in the village. How I wished Cassandra and the kids were still in the compound and didn’t have to deal with a stepfather who “wasn’t very nice,” whatever that meant. I wished the scholarship had worked. I wished the library was more accessible. I wished I could only savor and remember the first time I was here, when everything seemed so much better.

Utter Disappointment

2010-05-17T07:52:00.001-04:00

I asked Emil how the library was, and asked what time school let out in the afternoon. I explained I wanted to see Kosi, and ask him how he likes Senior School. Kosi was one of the two children that were sent to Senior School because of the Guinness for Ghana fundraiser. Emil said the library is fine and couldn’t wait to show me the improvements they were able to make.

What he said next made my heart sink. He explained the two children did not go to Senior School because other parents in the village were envious and wanted to know why their children weren’t chosen to go to Senior School. To not disappoint anyone, ANYO decided not to send either child to Senior School and instead put the money into the improvements on the library. I was utterly disappointed and angry and saddened by this news. I kept thinking about it the whole ride to the village. The taxi swerved around pot holes and we found ourselves on the dirt road that led toward Saviefe. I wasn’t excited anymore. I couldn’t stop thinking about Kosi and how he so much wanted to go to school. I couldn’t stop thinking about how inappropriate ANYO’s decision was. If you receive financial support from any outside organization (me) for a given purpose, you must follow through on the promise of what the money will be used for. The last I heard, Tony said he would send me updates of the kids’ grades and how they were doing in school. They should have told me. They should have let me know what was going on. I was so angry, and I felt helpless. I really thought I had made just a small difference, and it turns out it was all for nothing… just a library. A library is great, but it won’t help anyone climb out of poverty if they can’t afford to go to school. I wanted to cry I was so upset.

Rainy Morning + BRIDGE

2010-05-17T07:52:00.000-04:00

After a good night’s sleep under the ceiling fan, I woke up at 8:15am to get ready for the day. I changed into a clean shirt, packed my things and waited for Joy to arrive to take us to the BRIDGE office. Having run out of water the night before, I was very thirsty. I also did not have any water to brush my teeth. I felt sticky with dirt and sweat, and I craved the bucket shower that I would get the following morning. I watched the sky through our window turn grey and the trees began to sway. A storm was coming. Soon the rain poured out of the sky in buckets causing the air to cool and sweep through the room. The fan was still going full speed, and knowing that rain tended to paralyze time even more so than the country of Ghana, I assumed Joy would be running late. I stretched out on the bed and began to doze off while the rain fell rhythmically on the tin roof and the breeze brushed my face, arms, and legs.

At 10:30am, a faint knock on the door woke me. It was Joy. It had stopped raining. We carried our things to a taxi which drove us to the BRIDGE office. I carried my things up to the third floor, and a familiar face walked out of the office to greet us. It was Emil, the chancellor of the church in Saviefe, and a member of ANYO. Tony, the previous counterpart, had been transferred to another village and was no longer living in Saviefe or a part of ANYO. Emil and I hugged and greeted each other, and then listened as Bismark (BRIDGE Director) briefed us on our upcoming month together. The BRIDGE office now has internet so rather than pay to use the internet café on the floor below, Samantha and I attempted to check our emails, and update facebook, you know, the important things. After an hour of trying to open the internet, I almost gave up. Finally I was able to get Yahoo Mail to work, so I sent two quick emails just to let family and friends back home know that we arrived safely. Immediately after I clicked “send,” the internet had an error and shut down. With a sigh I remembered that this is how internet works in Ghana and I should be thankful that I at least was able to send those emails… after an hour…

I was so thirsty, my mouth was try and I was getting tired and feeling nauseous. I walked outside to talk with Emil and look out onto the skyline of Ho.

Goodbye USA, Hello Ghana!

2010-05-16T07:51:00.003-04:00

The journey went fairly well. Advised by Ian as to where the secret non-crowded security checkpoint was, Samantha and I breezed through Dulles without any complications. My first flight with Lufthansa was ok—the seats were a bit small, but not terrible since there was a petite woman sitting on my left and Samantha on my right; the in-flight meal was pretty good, and there was free Baileys with after dinner coffee and tea; I didn’t get airsick; there was an in-flight movie (It’s Complicated) but it was on teeny-tiny TVs that weren’t well spaced throughout the aircraft and each monitor was a different shade- ours was red, the one directly above my head was yellow, across the aisle was blue; leg room was an issue—which is serious when it’s a problem for me, with my 5’3” frame and stubby little legs, plus the person in front of me kept putting their seat back all the way, which was so not ideal for my comfort.

The flight left Dulles at 5:45pm EST, and arrived at midnight in Frankfurt, Germany. In those 6 hours we were served a snack, dinner, and then breakfast 2 hours later since it was morning in Germany. We navigated Frankfurt airport just fine, and sat to wait for a bus to take us to our plane. The layover was relatively uneventful. My second flight with Lufthansa was overall better than the first—our seats were the first right behind the first-class section, so we had plenty of leg room to stretch out and there was a flat screen monitor in front of us, though no in-flight movie was shown; I tried to sleep most of the flight, unsuccessfully; we were fed a snack, then lunch, then I had to turn down the next snack (which was pizza), and all beverages since I had a coke and a water from the airport.

As soon as we stepped off the plane onto the tarmac, the thick humidity of the Ghanaian air seeped into my lungs forcing a sigh of relief. Finally, I was back. Everything looked the same, and details of my previous trip reentered my memory ranging from the familiar immigration line, to the currency exchange booth, and the two baggage claim belts. As we picked up our bags and headed to customs, I became increasingly aware of a pinched nerve in my shoulder causing excruciating pain. I can only attribute the pain to my sudden physical exertion from carrying 65lbs. on my back. The extent to my recent physical activity probably could be summed up by my haphazard attendance in a beginner Pilates class two months ago.

After going through customs, we hobbled with everything we brought in hand another quarter mile to see Joy standing at the exit to greet us. The air smelled the same, a mixture of sweet bread, exhaust and dirt baking in the humidity. We took a short taxi ride to the tro-tro station, where there emerged the familiar scent of raw sewage. The tro-tro driver was quite bold with his driving on our way to Ho. One woman called from the back, “Driver! Take your time, please! It is already late.” As he sped around potholes and people and dodged goats and other cars, we made our way to Ho. On the way, we stopped along the side of the road with the windows and doors open for a sea of women to spill into the tro-tro with various things to sell—water, bread, kabobs, plantain chips, watches, dried fish, etc.

By the time we reached Ho it was 7:30pm, local time, too late to continue on to the village so Joy showed us to a modest hotel for the night. It was inside a church, just up the street from the BRIDGE office. Our room had a ceiling fan. J We were hungry so we dropped our bags and ventured off to have a night out in Ho with Joy. Wandering through Ho, we met several children who shouted, “yavoo” and tried to touch our arms. We stopped for a little while at Joy’s house where we drank some pure water and listened to extremely loud music—I had no idea what Joy was saying most of the time. His two small speakers were about the size of a CD case and seemed to be fastened out of wood and cardboard. I couldn’t believe how loud it was! Joy handed me a brochure entitled, “Meet Me There,” the name of a vacation spot where you can see giant turtles and crocodiles. He suggested we all go some weekend because he’s friends with the owner—some 59 year old Ukrainian man. It sounds like a lot of fun and really, you can’t beat having an adventure with a local who’s willing to show you around.

We walked through town and down back alleys with only Joy’s cell phone as a light to guide our footsteps. Samantha and I ate fried rice and a small chicken leg across the street from the BRIDGE office (2 cedis each) while Joy watched (he’s a vegetarian) and headed toward a local bar. There was a patio with strings of colored lights hanging all over the place. Inside, the bar was fairly dark with only the glow of a blue sign and a few strings of colored lights to contribute to the ambiance. The music again was excruciating, a trend that made conversation a difficult task, but three beers for three thirsty people helped the night flow. We had Star beer, made in Ghana, each bottle measuring 25 ounces for only 2 cedis and 50 peswas each. The conversation moved from topic to topic. Joy was surprised I returned to Ghana, and that I still remembered a few Ewe phrases. He said many people promise to return but never do. We talked about the World Cup, and how we want to get a cheap Ghana jersey before it starts. Joy runs an electronic store on the side and offered to lend me an appropriate adapter/converter for my laptop. Side note- as I just typed that sentence, I got a painful glimpse into what electric shock therapy must feel like. We’re going to run on battery for a little while… We talked about flip cup and other drinking games. I tried my feet at hackeysack with a small ball Joy carries around and fidgets with as a nervous habit. We talked about friendship in the village, and how there has been one other volunteer since I was last in Saviefe. His name was Kevin. Joy told us of his plans to come the U.S. in August but he’s not sure if he’ll have to postpone his trip. In the back of the bar, a small TV broadcast a game show, “Who Wants to be Rich,” a spin-off of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire.” I glanced back at a few questions.

Question 1: Which person directs a choir? A) Driver B) Conductor C) Teacher D) Coach

Question 2: Which one of these is a plant? A) Glee B) Free C) Tree D) Flee

Samantha and I continued to laugh with Joy and make plans for travel and hanging out together over the next month.

At the end of the night I peeled off my dirty and sweat soaked clothes (that I started this journey in Saturday afternoon) and savored the all mighty power of the ceiling fan. I hoped by morning my feet wouldn’t look so much like awkward swollen appendages and look more like a non-swollen mode of transportation. My body ached all over from sitting for so long, carrying all my bags, and using muscles I haven’t used in quite a while. I will be glad to see some of my tummy fat disappear in the next month. But for now, I will sleep.

Passport + Postal System = Poor Decision

2010-05-14T07:50:00.001-04:00

Being an American, I am fully aware of the lack of confidence held by the general public regarding the accuracy and efficiency of the US Postal System. I conveniently ignored this well-known fact when I decided to mail my passport to the Ghana Embassy for a visa. I was in school finishing up the spring semester, far from the Washington D.C. embassy. I mailed my recently renewed (as of March 30^th) passport via priority mail, with a tracking number, and included another stamped, pre-addressed priority mail envelope (with yet another tracking number) inside for the Embassy to mail it back to my local address in Laurel, MD since I would be back from school by then. In an alternate universe, I called the Ghana Embassy and asked them to hold my passport and visa until I could come pick it up in person.

However, in this universe, I was royally screwed.

A change-of-address notice which had been placed for the Laurel address to forward my mail to my school address in Worcester, MA was still in place, which directly countered the more recent change-of-address notice I had just obtained to send my Worcester mail back to Laurel... hence, the dilemma. My passport and newly granted visa, along with my certificate of vaccination against yellow fever, disappeared into the black hole of lost mail. Fun Fact: Did you know that once a package begins a forwarded journey, no one in the post office world tracks it anymore? Yep. Good to know…

The time frame I was working with was as follows. I find out the post office had no idea where my passport was—even what state it might be in—on Monday. I am scheduled to leave for Ghana on Saturday. Tuesday I frantically make phone calls, visited the Ghana Embassy to explain my situation, and picked up a replacement vaccination certificate ($5). Wednesday morning was the earliest possible appointment I could get for the Passport Agency. I waited in line starting at 9am, pled my case, and luckily was given permission to pick up my replacement passport ($160) at 2pm. At 1:30pm I arrived to wait for my passport, after which I ran it to the Ghana Embassy before they closed at 3pm. I paid another $100 for an expedited visa, for which they said I could pick up at 2:30pm on Thursday. Another fun fact: They close at 3pm, and are not open on Fridays, and I had to leave on Saturday… no pressure…

Finally Thursday afternoon, with my passport and visa in hand, and roughly $300 poorer, I breathed a sigh of relief and began to think about the other essentials I hadn’t had time to think about due to the passport fiasco—packing, bringing what I need for my research, resubmitting my IRB application to the university, paying bills, attempting to fix the forwarded mail situation, etc. Friday night was my last night in town and I spent the night with friends and my boyfriend, Sean, and my brother came out too. It was a good night, and really good to finally see everyone I’d missed. After I borrowed money from a friend since the passport thing set me back financially a bit, my brother walked me to my car and we said goodbye. I remembered my rent check was still in my purse and my brother offered to slip it in the mailbox when he got home. At 2am, I got a text message from my brother explaining he’d put my rent check in the mailbox, and found a forwarded priority mail envelope: my long lost passport. Of course. At least I have closure.

Research Intentions

2010-05-13T07:49:00.000-04:00

I plan to conduct research by holding informal interviews and focus groups in Saviefe related to the social constraints that may limit availability and accessibility to reproductive health care and sex education for people in the rural areas of Ghana. Having already written a paper on the reproductive health spectrum in Ghana, noting the realities and repercussions for rural women, I hope to already have the backbone of the research done.

An Update

2010-02-23T21:02:00.002-05:00

Hello friends,

Now that it's been over a year since I returned from my first trip to Saviefe, I wanted to give you an update.

First, in April 2009 I held a fundraiser to fund the completion of the village library, as well as to benefit the Saviefe Scholarship Fund. I created the fund to allow JSS students to compete academically for a year's tuition of Senior School. I worked with Anyo via email and post mail. Richard made a few dozen handbags for me to sell at the fundraiser, and Tony said that my efforts had inspired the village to throw their own fundraiser, yielding $300 cedis! Together, we raised enough money to complete construction of the library, and we sent two students to their first year of Senior School. In the fall of 2009, Tony emailed me to say that the seminars Denise and I conducted on education and health had been very effective. A year after we had visited Saviefe, there were NO new reported pregnancies among the students!!! I was so pleasantly surprised and so proud of the students we had befriended. Saviefe has had one other volunteer since then, and continue to make progress.

Second, I am now in my second semester as an M.A. student at Clark University studying International Development and Social Change. On May 16, 2010 I will arrive once again in Accra to work with Anyo and Bridge for 4 weeks. During that time I will be updating this blog with all of the adventures that I'm sure will take place, so starting in late May, check back often! I will assist Anyo in their projects as best I can, and possibly implement some new projects, but I will also be conducting primary research for my final Master's paper.

Photos from Saviefe Gbogame

2008-12-04T00:42:00.009-05:00

By popular demand, photos are now posted on Snapfish for you all to see! Enjoy! Click HERE to view the entire album. Preview below.

Our Last Week

2008-10-23T07:26:00.001-04:00

10/22/08

One week from now, we will be in a plane over the Atlantic, and I will have an entire coach seat all to myself—a far cry from our tro-tro adventures. Our next 6 days are filling up quickly. We have our third and final presentation for the JSS classes on Friday morning, beginning at 8am. We’ll separate the students into 1 classroom for all the JSS girls, and 2 classrooms for the boys. While the students are waiting for us to finish presenting to one class, their job will be to write letters introducing themselves, and explaining why they want a library. These letters will be used in our fundraiser back home. As far as the last presentation, focusing on Health and Sex Education, we’ve broken the information up into three parts: 1) puberty and hygiene; 2) sexual intercourse, STDs, and AIDS; 3) teenage pregnancy and risking your future opportunities.

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 Accra. We’ll be staying in Accra for the night, I’m not sure if we’ll be in a hotel or stay with someone we’ve met (like Wallace—the past counterpart with ANYO—in the seminary where he attends school to be a minister). Early Wednesday morning we will head to the airport in Accra to begin our long journey back to the States.

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

2008-10-23T07:18:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-23T07:17:00.001-04:00

10/22/08

Since our return home from Cape Coast on Monday evening, I couldn’t help but notice that Cassandra (mother of Kosi, Grace, and Jessica) looked… not pregnant anymore. Wednesday morning I watched her as she washed clothes for the children and more and more, my suspicions seemed correct. Finally, after lunch, I asked Sema. She confirmed that indeed Cassandra did deliver her baby, a girl, on Saturday. Due in early December, the baby was over a month premature. The baby did not survive. I’m not sure of the details, whether the baby was stillborn or if there were other complications, or even if Cassandra had gone to a hospital. She may have just delivered here in the village… At least she is alright. Too often, pregnant mothers don’t survive the delivery if there is a complication here. If something had happened to Cassandra, it’s unclear who would care for the children, since Grace and Kosi’s father is in Liberia. My guess would be that Jessica would be sent to live with her paternal grandmother in Ho, along with her 6 year old sister, Essenam. I don’t believe they’re planning a funeral; I’m not sure what they did with the baby if she delivered here in the village.

Tuesday: Market Day!

2008-10-23T07:16:00.002-04:00

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 Accra busses a few days before. Going up the infamous hill leaving Ho, the guys jumped off to walk up the hill. The police are standing at the top of the hill to ensure no one is riding on top of vehicles. As soon as we rounded the bend, out of sight from the police officers, we stopped and waited. Soon enough, our guys came running around the side of the hill, took off their shirts in the process, and jumped on the back. I am happy to say that we made it to Saviefe Gbogame without any major break-downs or injuries. Denise and I were very pleased as this was the very first time we went to Ho without any major complications or disappointments, other than the monstrous ants. To top it off, we got to go shopping and we got a lot of really cool fabric. Of course, it takes coming to Africa to make me into a girl, but sure enough now all I want to do is make bags and blankets with all the fabric I’ve collected. Honestly, with all this fabric, as Denise noted, I could easily clothe the von Trapp family 2 times over.

Monday- The Long Journey Home

2008-10-23T07:16:00.001-04:00

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 Cape Coast to Accra, and then from Accra to Ho, and then we’d have to pay 15 cedis for a taxi, but it would be worth it to be back home in our clean safe village that night.

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 Accra. On the way, a tall guy with short braids, a hat and an mp3 player stopped us. He explained that his friend was the musician we met at Oasis two nights before. They came back to Oasis after their performance to find us, apparently there was a party going on they wanted us to come to. After talking to the waiters, they found out we had left a short time before and ran after us trying to call us back! We were oblivious and obviously had gone back to our gross hotel room anyway, but it was flattering and I was kind of bummed we missed the party. I know Denise wasn’t feeling well, but I could have used a pick-me-up. At any rate, the guy was really nice and wished us luck with our travels and told us to hurry to catch the bus. *Wow, the first Ghanaian to initiate the end of a conversation!*

We waited on the Metro Mass Bus for about an hour before it departed Cape Coast. During this hour we read our books, listened to our iPods, and tried to methodically wipe the sweat dripping profusely from all over. The 3 hour trip to Accra was largely uneventful. On the bus we heard a British accent from somewhere a few rows back. The Brit (Tolga, age 19) was actually headed to Ho just like us. When we arrived in Accra, I followed a woman in a pink shirt (who had a surprisingly fast pace) to a tro-tro lot, while Denise and Tolga tried to keep up. Once we were packed in our final tro-tro of the day, we waited for another half hour or so.

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

2008-10-23T07:15:00.000-04:00

10/19/08

Sunday was a very productive tourist day for us. Our first stop was Kakum National Park, an hour drive by tro-tro from Cape Coast. My flip flop decided this would be a perfect time to break, so Denise put on her tennis shoes she luckily brought with her and I wore her flip flops. We climbed 150 feet above sea level and then hiked along a rock pathway to the start of the canopy walk. The canopy walk is a wood and rope walkway, 350m long and 40m high, and is suspended between 7 large trees. It was really fun and we hung toward the back of the group so we could take more pictures. In the early morning you can usually catch some of the monkeys in the park playing on the walkways. Forest elephants also live in the park, but are very hard to spot. We opted out of the associated nature walk, which was an additional fee. We had our own 9 mile nature walk the other day, and decided to save our money. The souvenir shop at the park was pretty expensive and didn’t have anything of interest to us so we walked back to the roadside to wait for a car or tro-tro heading back to Cape Coast.

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 Cape Coast, we realized we had enough time to visit the Castle too. For me, this was the most interesting and rewarding part of the weekend’s excursion. When we first walked into the compound, it looked like any other fort you might see from that period that served as a trading post. Fishermen work just outside the castle grounds on the beach and locals are crowding the one safe area in the waves. The tide is too strong and dangerous much past the area where old ships come in. In an open area on the beach just between the rocks and the fishermen, a group of young men played soccer. Any other fort… until you actually tour the grounds and truly understand how grossly inhumane this structure had been.

They had a small museum with artifacts and descriptions about everything from the history of Cape Coast, the change in power from the Portuguese, then the Dutch, the Swedes for a few years, and eventually the British. Large drawings covered the walls depicting life in the 1600s. The women carried babies on their backs wrapped in cloth. It’s funny how some things stick throughout history. Plaques were mounted explaining how people lived before any foreign power, and other plaques briefly described trade in Ghana. It didn’t go into depth about the gold trade though, which is strange since that’s why Ghana didn’t even join the Slave Trade until much later… They had a diagram of a slave ship—illustrating how people were stacked like books on a shelf for the journey. Other displays talked about how slaves shackled and marched through the African brush, how they were branded and sold, and another display acknowledged people involved in fighting for the abolition of slavery as well as some other key people in African American history. I remember learning about the Slave Trade in school, but only how it applied to the United States. One third of slaves exported from the African coast went to Brazil, and another third went to the Caribbean (which is apparently where most of the torturous treatment of slaves occurred). The last third was split between the rest of South America and North America.

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 Cape Coast School. For 3 months, these people were simply held. If you became sick, you were condemned to a separate room, barricaded with 3 heavy locked doors, with no light, no air, no food, and no water, to die. Domestic slaves who worked at the castle would come in to retrieve the bodies. Once it was time to be shipped off, the men and women were led, separately, through tunnels out to the sand, through the Door of No Return. About 10 years ago, the bodies of two slaves (descendants of slaves who went through the Door of No Return) were returned, through the door, therefore breaking the meaning. A plaque is placed on the outside of the door, titling it the “Door of Return.”

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 Cape Coast was utterly heart-wrenching. Livestock received better treatment than the torture forced upon slaves.

*************************************

Switching gears a bit…

*************************************

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 Cape Coast Castle restaurant right next door for dinner. A guy sitting on the ledge outside looking toward the ocean sat with a drum and saw I had one as well. I sat down next to him and set the drum between my knees and looked at him for instruction. He smiled and slowly started a rhythm I could manage and sure enough we sat there for a short while and he tried to teach me how to drum.

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

2008-10-23T07:14:00.001-04:00

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 Ghana that actually start off on Real Time (with designated departure times), and eventually move to Africa Time throughout the day. STC busses happen to run regularly between Accra and Cape Coast. Denise handed the woman at the ticket counter our money with her left hand. The woman called this out to our attention, explaining that we were in Ghana and in Ghana you use your right hand to give or receive anything. We stood corrected. The bus ride was long—about 3 ½ hours, but thankfully it was air conditioned!

Our hotel in Cape Coast has now earned the title of the most disgusting hotel I’ve ever stayed in. The toilet was supposed to be able to flush but did not. The bathroom itself was filthy, with dirt and crud all over the floor. The bathroom light didn’t work and the door didn’t close. We did have a ceiling fan which seemed to blow hot air, so that was a bust. A grubby torn pillowcase did not cover the gray and lumpy “pillow” that was supplied, and the sheet was crawling with ants and beetles. You get the idea. At $6 a person, I guess you get what you pay for. I hope I don’t have the plague now. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well because of the conditions, not to mention Denise (who was still very sick) and I had to share the double bed.

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 Cape Coast were not very pleasant, calling out “obruni” and yelling at us. Sometimes children will come up and grab our hands just out of curiosity but here, young adults—easily around 20 years old—would grab our arms, and one of them (a girl) even grabbed Denise’s backside. However, we are always impressed with the kindness of certain strangers. A young boy, about age 10 maybe, walked us through the city to show us where to catch a tro-tro to go to Kakum National Park the next day.

Visit to an Iranian Clinic

2008-10-23T07:13:00.002-04:00

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 Cape Coast by the 12pm departure time. It was now 9am.

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

2008-10-23T07:13:00.001-04:00

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 Accra. We had a Cliff bar for lunch, and at 3:30pm we boarded a Metro Mass Bus heading for Accra. These busses are 5 seats across, separated by a narrow isle. I sat by the window, leaving Denise to have a lengthy conversation with the man to her right. I wasn’t feeling particularly social so I lost myself in the passing scenery. It’s a 3 ½ hour drive to Accra and after a short rainstorm when my window leaked all over me, I was glad to shut everything out for a bit while I read my book and listened to James Blunt, Norah Jones, Duffy, and Elvis. I could hear Denise and the guy but pretended to be absorbed in my music and book to avoid being pulled into the conversation. The most interesting thing during the bits and pieces of the conversation that I did pay attention to was a place up north—Paga—where you can feed a live chicken to a crocodile and then pet the crocodile, sit on it, take pictures with it, etc. Denise was appalled at this idea but I was intrigued, half wishing we were headed to Paga instead of Accra. Apparently, if you don’t feed a live chicken to the crocodile, he might bite your hand off. This is easier for me to comprehend because I don’t humanize every farm animal I come across with names. Obviously, I wouldn’t feed Koko to the crocodile…

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 Accra the following day, we would try to find her a doctor before heading to Cape Coast.

When we arrived in Accra, we asked the few people left on the bus where we could catch a taxi to our hotel. Two guys on the bus, about our age who go to college in Accra, offered to show us the way. They led us threw some pretty seedy areas that I definitely would not walk through alone. It was dark by then, when good chop bars by day turn into prostitute hang-outs by night. Street vendors lined the sidewalks, their stands lit by kerosene lanterns and small canisters with flames otherwise designated for catering chafing dishes. The boys flagged a taxi, negotiated a fair price of 3 cedis, and accompanied us to our hotel. This was really kind because the taxi driver dropped us off in a fairly sketchy alley where some people were lurking in the corners by the road. The boys walked us to our hotel and once we checked in at reception, they wished us luck and went on their way.

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

2008-10-23T07:11:00.000-04:00

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 Senior Secondary School, to University or a Training College. The biggest issue was obviously money. We encouraged the children to discuss their education and plans for SSS with their parents sooner rather than later. Its not too late for the Form 3 kids, but definitely much easier to get this across to Form 1, since they have 2 more years to figure out a financial plan. If their parents did not have enough money we explained ways the kids could earn money for a year or two, after JSS, and save for SSS. We also stressed that they should not lose sight of their goal, as many people do when taking a break from school to earn money. All in all the children seemed very interested and hung on every word we had to say. I think most of them, if not all, desperately want to go to Senior School, and are really struggling with how to do so. I really hope they can push themselves to do this. I want them all to have more choices and more opportunities in life than their parents did…

The Plan

2008-10-17T10:03:00.001-04:00

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).

Waterfall: Tourist or Ghanaian?

2008-10-17T10:01:00.000-04:00

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.

*************************

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

2008-10-17T09:59:00.002-04:00

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.

Grumpy

2008-10-17T09:53:00.004-04:00

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.

Educational Finances

2008-10-13T07:59:00.001-04:00

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, Polytechnic College (a junior college almost; there are 10 in Ghana—one in each region) is a less expensive alternative for university if money is an issue. Polytechnic costs about 300 cedis per semester. After two years, the student can transfer to university. The student also could go straight to university from SSS. Another option is a training college for teachers, electricians, etc. Only at a university (there are 12 in Ghana—500 cedis per semester) may you earn a bachelor’s degree.

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

2008-10-13T07:58:00.000-04:00

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 United States. This opened up a lengthy discussion of obtaining work visas and student visas, looking into a community college in the US, application processes, etc. After a while, he was very pleased and then asked to practice on the computer, which we immediately agreed to, set him up on the computer, and then devoured our food.

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 Ghana, that never seems to be a big deal—my kind of people! To avoid another “aerial” incident, we decided to refer to the arrow on the screen as the “pointer.” With chicks at our feet and goats all around, we conducted our lesson.

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 (US) time and I’m wide awake. I dread the roosters I’ll hear in a few hours.

The African West Virginia

2008-10-13T07:57:00.003-04:00

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

2008-10-13T07:57:00.002-04:00

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 Accra. We exchanged information so I’m hoping we can stay with her in Accra our last night before our early morning flight home. We were just about to leave when the drunk, dirty, old Roka burst in the room, arms up to the sky, and exclaimed “I FOUND YOU!!!” Very creepy. Sema and Beatrice quickly pulled us away and we headed down the muddy dirt road back home in the rain. On the way, a motorbike passed by, its driver donning a bright blue poncho that flew in the wind. He looked like a superhero.

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

2008-10-13T07:56:00.000-04:00

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 US, mainly of the Colorado mountains, which had them watching intently in awe.

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.

Update on family compound details

2008-10-13T07:55:00.000-04:00

10/10/08

So we’ve found some clarification on Kosi, Grace, and Jessica’s immediate family. Their mother is the pregnant Cassandra, due in December. This compound belongs to her aunt and uncle. Cassandra came here 12 years ago with Kosi and Grace, from Liberia, after she and her husband divorced. He is still in Liberia. She remarried to a man in Ghana several years later. They have a 6 year old daughter, Essanam who lives with the father’s mother in Ho, 3 year old Jessica, and the soon to be born December child. Some time in the last 6 months, he left her with the children, and he now lives in another village nearby. He was apparently very close with Kosi and Grace. One week before we came to the village, Cassandra’s father died. This could explain some of Grace’s erratic behavior lately. We also found out that the guy who we thought was Jessica’s father, here in the compound, is actually Cassandra’s cousin. When we saw him hit Grace the other day, it was because Grace threw all of her dresses away in the garbage and had no dresses to wear, other than her school uniform. This is also why we’ve seen her draped in a large piece of fabric, like a robe, lately, and why her mother didn’t let her follow us when we took Jessica for a walk with Divine the other day.

Primary Presentation #1

2008-10-13T07:54:00.000-04:00

10/10/08

We began the day as usual with breakfast, though it was significantly later than usual. Denise and I joked that we had kept Sema up too late the night before. Sema walked in around 7am with the covered bowl. I called to Denise, letting her know the porridge had arrived. As Denise set out our bowls and spoons, I lifted the lid, and sadness crept over my face as I revealed the watery rice to Denise. I had two pieces of bread instead.

Today we talked to each of the 6 primary classes about education. It went very well. We shortened our material by a good amount, but still got our point across. Going around the room in the upper primary class, kids said they wanted to be doctors or nurses or pilots. One child wanted to be the president. As we moved down to the lower primary classes, the answered shifted, to jobs they knew, which coincidentally required less education, like a seamstress, tailor, hairdresser, driver. Out of the 3 JSS classes, and the 6 primary classes, only ONE child said they wanted to be farmer. Practically everyone raised their hands indicating they like school, and that they want to go to university. In almost every class, several students admitted they have a problem doing their homework because they go to the farm after school to work, and are too tired when they get home. In 4 of the primary classes today I recognized 1 child from our post-window discussion the night before. In about 10 days we will conduct our second presentation for the primary kids, which will revolve around hygiene.

JSS Questions for Christine & Denise

2008-10-13T07:53:00.000-04:00

10/09/08

We asked the students to answer some questions for us on a sheet of paper about school—what their favorite subject was, did they want to go to university, what problems do they have in school, etc. The last question we had for them was to write down any questions they had for us—about anything. Some are listed below. I typed them just as they were written.

What is USA?

What is it like in the US? How many schools do they have there?

Can I visit you in the US?

How do you like Ghana?

Can you take me with you to the US? (this was written by Kosi)

Please can you help me to pass through my education so that I can be like someone also better like the way you are?

Mrs. Christine please I want to ask that will you come and teach us for two weeks.

Please do you help me in future?

What subject do you like?

How do you feel about our village?

What are you really doing in our village?

I want to ask questions form bothe of you that teachers like punishment us, the beat hardly.

Do you like our food?

Please would you help me to enter university and becoming something tomorrow.

Please do help me in my future.

Please can you help me to pass my education so that I can becom good in future.

What work do you do in the US?

If I come to USA, which problem am I going to face?

If I want to continue my education but don’t have any support, why do I do it?

If I come to America, how can I manage to find you?

Please help me continue my education.

Please I want two of you to care for me and I also want storys books thank you.

I want to be a pilot in the future, what will I have to do to become a pilot?

If I want to go to university to be a journalist, what subject will I have to study, what will I do?

I want to be one of your learning partners—would you like it?

Which time are you going to teach us the computer?

Please would you like to take me to United State?

Is there any idea about our school facilities?

Do you like the water we drink, the food we eat, and the village which we live in?

Because when you came to Ghana you did not do anything bad and you live happy in the village when you came to the village did you fill the village. (I think this means how do you feel about the village)

How did you fill when you visite Ghana, why?

How would I do before going to USA?

I want to go to United States—what can I do to reach that place?

If I want to go to university, can I make it, and in what way can I make it?

Can you bring us something that will make the school fun, things like library book, text boks and to build up our schools?

I want to go to America but what should I do before going?

If I want to be a teacher, what should I do?

If I want to go to school but my parent don’t have money what would I do?

Why did you come here?

Why is it important to go to university? (we did talk about this, but will have to go into more detail for the 2^nd presentation I think)

I want to asked that when you come to our village did you like it or did you suffer for us? (I think this means, are we coping or are we suffering living in their village)

Do you like our language?

When I want to be journalist at university what is the core subject that I will do, and what can I manage to work on time?

A Ghanaian Field Trip

2008-10-13T07:52:00.000-04:00

10/09/08

Thursday was Market Day in Ho, so after our JSS presentations, we packed our backpacks with the essentials (ponchos and toilet paper included this time), and headed over to Sema’s house. As we waited outside for Sema to change, I noticed more of our laundry hanging to dry on the line. Sema appeared, all decked out in a fancy black glittery top, a long fitted denim skirt, and a denim brim hat with the silhouette of Michael Jordan on the front. The three of us walked to the roadside of the village to “catch a car” to Ho. This is the equivalent of hitchhiking, but its part of the norm here—its safe, everyone does it.

Luckily for us, a tro-tro came through the village on its way to Ho, which sometimes happens on Market Days. This tro-tro was 5 rows of 5 people, plus 2 people next to the driver. The middle person in a row would sit on a fold out chair in the isle. Very cozy, haha. Still, this is a better tro-tro than the usual ones we get. At least on this one, everyone had a seat. A few times, the tro-tro attempted to ascend a hill, and was clearly struggling like it didn’t have enough power… We had several things on the agenda for Ho: make photocopies for Tony for some voter registration forms, try to finally get vegetable pizza, get a phone, and get the computer files from Bridge about ANYO’s proposals. Of course, this was our plan, but as history has it, we haven’t had a great track record for getting things done in Ho. Almost every time we go to Ho, something goes wrong. Keep this in mind…

We got off the tro-tro in the middle of Ho, and started walking toward White House. On the way, we noticed a place to get photocopies. We stopped, and copied Tony’s form. One task, done! We kept walking to White House, and after a long, hot walk up a hill, we were there. What do you know, they actually HAD vegetable pizza!!! Task 2, done! Denise and I each ordered one, and I got a coke. Sema order banku, a traditional Ghanaian dish that she wants to make for us soon. It’s like fu-fu, but it has more texture and you eat it with your hands. I finished my pizza in record time, and after we finished eating, the clouds started to move in very quickly. I could smell it in the air that it was about to rain. We quickly paid, and walked very quickly further up the hill. On the way, we stopped at an MTN store (a cell phone service) and bought a phone for 34 cedis. Task 3, done! We walked to the Bridge office, and the rain began to move in. It started sprinkling and then just a light rain, but it was getting worse. We got under the roof of the office building just in time. The rain began to POUR and we headed up to the office. It looked closed at first, but then 2 other volunteers emerged from the office. We entered and luckily, the computer with the ANYO files was actually up and running! The printer was still broken, but we did find the files. We copied them onto our flash drive, but in reading over them, we realized there was no indication that proposals were actually sent, or where they were sent to. There was a contact list, including the name, email, and phone number of the previous counterpart, who has since left ANYO. I copied that down, and went to the internet café downstairs. I emailed him, asking for more information on the proposals, so hopefully I’ll get a response by Monday. Task 4, done! By this time, the rain had stopped, and the streets were actually dry again, as the heat pressed down over the city. Sema led us to the big market, and we found a small street shop where we bought toilet paper, jam, Listerine, and some other essentials. Task 5, done! We were in good shape, I couldn’t believe it! We actually did everything we came to do!

We walked through the market, weaving through wooden stands, stepping over people on the ground, ducking under fabric and beads hanging above, and quickly getting out of the way when someone with a very large basket balancing on their head came our way. Sema stopped and bought some canned tuna, peppers and cabbage. We went into a small stand with fabric displayed. Denise and I each bought a few yards to make skirts and bags out of. We went to another street stand shortly thereafter and saw some other fabric that I just couldn’t pass up—it was gorgeous and perfect for a couple key people back home, to make bags for gifts. (Laura, this means you!)

After we were loaded up on fabric (that was incredibly cheap by the way), we wandered to a woman sitting on the ground over a tray displaying assorted strings of beads. Women and girls (even 2 or 3 year olds) wear several strands of beads around their hips, under their clothes, for decoration. As silly as it may be, we got some strands for ourselves so now I can have beads for decoration under my clothes too! We found another woman who was selling beads and bracelets that she’d made. Some bracelets were strands with a single large bead. One would cost you 20 pesos, but she let us have 6 for 1 cedi. I also got a couple bracelets that she had made, with lots of beads on them. One was just 50 pesos! By this time, we were very satisfied and exhausted, and my endorphins were in a good place since I essentially played at the Ho shopping mall, haha.

We were ready to leave Ho, and find a ride back to the village. Let me remind you, that every other time we’ve been to Ho, something has gone wrong and so far, today has been perfect…

Sema led us through the maze of market people once more, straight to a tro-tro, headed for the village. It was the same type as the morning- 5 rows of 5. The front passenger seat sits 2 people, and it folds forward for you to access the only door. We climbed in, straight to the back seat. I sat by the window. We waited for a while to fill the entire tro-tro, and I watched the sky as clouds began to move in again. The back seat is not where you should be if you’re tall, which works out well for me. My head was very close to the top, and glancing into the corner about 4 inches from my head, a metal rod stuck out, from where the top rack was attached. I ducked down, and laid my head and my arms over my backpack on my lap and watched the people outside. The windows span 2 ½ rows, and slides open. My window was wide open, and started just above my seat, right under my hips, and stretched behind me to the end of my seat. To spell it out, if I wasn’t holding on, I could fall out of the window. We packed everyone in the tro-tro, and began our journey home.

As a side note, the Volta Region of Ghana is really the only mountainous area. There are lots of hills. Denise and I took a picture of how stuffed our tro-tro was, and sure enough, it started to struggle going up the first major hill after leaving Ho. It sputtered and began to slow to a stop, at which point, 4 guys who were hanging off the back jumped off, and 2 guys jumped off the roof. This was surprising, since we didn’t know they were up there, but it was too late, the tro-tro died. We all got out with our stuff and stood on the side of the road. We were too far from Ho to walk back to where we could get a taxi, or another tro-tro. It was getting dark, and the clouds were moving in faster now. It was going to rain any minute. After a short while, the tro-tro was revived, and started up the hill, ever so slowly. Everyone ran up the hill after it, to climb back in after it overcame the hill. We climbed in, and the tro-tro began again. A slow start, but finally we were on our way! The guys, ran alongside us, grabbed the backside of the tro-tro, and pulled themselves on, very manly.

My window was still open and since I was in the back seat, one guy accidentally grabbed my waist instead of the tro-tro. After a second attempt, he finally got on, and then a couple of them climbed onto the roof. As soon as we were going, it got darker, we heard a crack of lightening, and the sky opened up, dumping buckets of rain. I couldn’t figure out how to close my window—it was stuck. The guy hanging on behind me reached around, grabbed my arm and very quickly said, “Sista, please, take my phone and bible.” He handed me his cell phone and pocket-size bible so they wouldn’t get wet (of course, who wants their bible to get wet?) and then he closed the window! It wasn’t closed all the way, but at least this way only a small part of me would be soaked. For some reason, the woman in front of me kept trying to open the window but I was holding it closed. Finally, she succeeded and rain poured in on me, but at least she got the nice breeze she was seeking… With all of the bumps in the road, I hit my head against the sharp metal opening of the window more than a few times. It wasn’t the most pleasant thing ever. The rain had stopped mostly, but driving on a narrow dirt road through the African brush presented other surprises. Trees and branches would smack into me or scrape my arm. I wasn’t paying attention when one branch smacked me and I yelled something like “ack.” The guy hanging on behind me started laughing, which caused me to start laughing too! I stuck my head out the window and joked with him, which apparently made the guys on the roof looking down at me start laughing too. I guess you’re not supposed to stick your head out the window…

I was wet on the right half of my body and the wind was cold. I wasn’t thinking that pneumonia would be an issue, but I guess you never know! The sky was a blanket of dark gray, and you could see black silhouettes of the open trees. I could see some of the brush illuminated from the headlights, and looking down, the moonlight shined on my arm and backpack. The air was cool, and I was beginning to reach that meditative state again… the tro-tro died, for the second time. This time, we were near a grouping of homes, not big enough to be a village, but at least we were near civilization, kind of. People jumped off the roof and the back again, only this time we all stayed inside. It was a little while of just waiting, for something—I’m not sure. I began to notice that the guys from the roof weren’t helping anymore—they were sprawled out with their hands behind their heads, looking at the sky! Perfect time to chill out, I guess! Finally, the tro-tro was yet again revived. I’m not sure how long we were stopped there.

Shortly after we got going again, we stopped (deliberately this time) to pick up 4 large sacks of corn that were left by the roadside. Someone is probably going to get a fairly intense beating for leaving it there, but it’s up for grabs I guess. We loaded them up, and continued. Sometimes it looked like we were going off the road into the cornfield, but the road would reappear again. Throughout the ride, if the tro-tro swayed to avoid a pothole, a stream of cold rain run-off from the roof would run down my arm. From this, I was getting pretty wet again. We stopped to let some people off under a lone street lamp. Looking out, I could see our shadow, including the men braced on the roof, which was kind of cool. Under the light I also realized the stream of cold rain I was experiencing, that now covered my entire right side, was mud. It was brown, watery mud, all over me.

We got going once more, and further down the road, the tro-tro died, for a third time!!! This time, we were in the middle of the African brush, and it wasn’t looking promising. We waited again, for quite a while. I asked Sema how far we were from the village, and she said maybe a mile. I stuck my head all the way out the window, which prompted the guy on the roof above me to say “hi.” I looked around and thought I recognized a “big tree” that Denise and I had seen on our walk the other day. I suggested we get out and walk, which Denise was all about. Sema hesitated so we stayed in the tro-tro for a while longer. Finally, we were going once more, and a woman yelled “Agorkpo! No Stop!” I yelled back, “Yes stop! Saviefe Gbogame!!!” Shortly thereafter we entered our village. When the tro-tro came to a stop in our village, it was sputtering again. We got out and I called to one of the guys on the roof to return his phone and bible. He thanked me, and we stood there, wondering if the tro-tro would start again. The chief, along with about 20 people from the village were standing there. The chief welcomed me back, and said we would go on our walk to Agorkpo the next day.

We walked home, and had eggs for dinner. We had missed our computer training lesson for Divine, but figured we’d apologize and reschedule for tomorrow. After we got ready for bed, like clockwork, children showed up at our window. My patience was running low and I was exhausted. This time, after saying “goodniiiiight,” and giggling a few times through the window, they didn’t go home. They ran around the front, into our compound, and straight through our front door curtain. We had 6 children in our room- Happy, Wisdom, Gideon, Sabrina, Millicent, and the small one I can’t remember her name. I greeted them, and told them I was glad to meet them in person, instead of only through a window. I was about to say, now that we’ve met, they don’t need to hang around the window, and that we can talk more tomorrow… The older girl (Happy) was in one of the JSS classes that day for our presentation. She started, “You said we could come to you with questions and problems.” I sighed, pulled up a chair, and invited her to continue.

She had plenty of questions for us… what is the US like? If I go to university here, can I get a job as a seamstress in the US? Do you miss it when you’re here or do you like Ghana? I like English, do you like Ewe? Were you born with hair, or do you have a hairdresser? Are Americans just as friendly and welcoming as Ghanaians are? What is the weather like in the US? It went on for quite awhile, and I addressed each question carefully. Part of it felt like I was telling a fantasy story—that rain falls from the sky and freezes because it’s so cold, and lays a blanket of fluffy white over the ground. You can pick it up and make a man made of snow, and throw snow balls at each other, and ride a sled down a hill, or ride standing on a board down a mountain. She told me her favorite subject was English because one day she wants to come to the US and only speak English. I said that was very good, and that her English was impeccable for being only 13. I also told her that even though it’s good to learn English, she should embrace her culture, and continue to speak Ewe too, because there is so much history there. Then she said something else: “I like your skin color, do you like my skin color? I wish my skin were like yours.” I was surprised and carefully addressed her question. I told her that there are lots of different kinds of people with different skin colors, and it’s good to be different. I told her she should be proud of who she is and what she looks like, because her skin was beautiful. She smiled and replied, “Your skin is beautiful too.” Finally, they were satisfied and left. A moment later, they said “goodnight,” once more at the window. I crawled into bed, listening to them giggle and run away.

JSS Presentation #1

2008-10-13T07:48:00.000-04:00

10/09/08

We gave our first presentation to the JSS students today. It was pretty basic to start things off. We introduced ourselves, and explained why we were there. We talked about school and asked what their favorite and least favorite subjects are. We talked about furthering their education, going to university, and finding a career. Going around the room, we asked each student what they wanted to be when they grow up. Answers varied: nurse, doctor, lawyer, broadcaster, journalist, writer, teacher, soldier, pilot, engineer, bank manager, football player. After a class discussion, the students agreed that university was important for having a career.

We addressed how to do well in school, touching on time management skills, and stressing how important it is to study and do their homework every day. We asked what problems they might come across in school. Students raised their hands, or called out answers: have to go to the farm after school, don’t understand the homework/lesson, have to care for younger siblings, etc. After talking with the students about these issues, we asked them what they could do to fix these problems. The teachers had previously asked us to stress their role as the students’ biggest resource, which we of course relayed to the students. We really tried to get across to them how important it is to a) look at the assignment as soon as they receive it, instead of waiting until they get home to realize they’re confused; b) ask for help from the teacher right away if they don’t understand something; and c) set aside time every day to study their notes and complete assignments. We conveyed that the teachers are there to help them learn, and want them to understand. We also said that if they need more time at home for schoolwork, they can politely explain to their parents how important school is, and ask if they can work something out, where they can have more time for assignments every evening.

We asked each student to answer some questions on a sheet of paper for us to learn from them. Questions included: favorite and least favorite subject in school and why; do they plan to go to university; what problems do they face in school; and questions about anything for Christine and Denise. Reading over some of their papers was really interesting. The questions they asked will be listed in another post. Problems they listed were “don’t understand the subjects” or “money” or “don’t have school bag or school sandals or pen” or “I want to go to senior secondary school but my father doesn’t have enough money.” Other problems were “I don’t understand when the teacher uses a big word,” or “I don’t want to repeat or get pregnant.” All in all, I think the presentation went over very well. I think we got through to most of the kids about the importance of education, what they can do to improve, how to solve problems they might have, and to use their teachers for help and guidance. We’ll be speaking with the Primary School students tomorrow on the same subject, but less detailed. Tony translated for us in the first two classes, and supervised the third class. He was very pleased with our material and told us it was “perfect.”

Lazy Day

2008-10-09T10:48:00.001-04:00

10/08/08

Tomorrow, our day is jam-packed, and we’ll be rushing around, without our daily naps. We’ll get up at 5:30 like usual, and then at 8am we have our first presentation for the JSS students. Hopefully we will be done by 9:45, and we’re going to “catch a car” into Ho, for Market Day. While in Ho, we’ll of course be attempting to use the office to find where those proposals were sent, and the internet to do more research for the presentations. After we return home, we’ll have dinner, then we have Divine’s computer training lesson from 7-8. At 8 we’ll be planning the presentation for the Primary classes, which we will present Friday morning at 8.

Therefore, we’ve decided to take advantage of a lazy day today. After breakfast, Jessica came over. I don’t think the pre-K students attended school today. She colored and climbed all over me while I tried to read, but finally I put down the book and I was looking at some photos on my camera. Jessica saw it, her eyes widened, and she started making all kinds of faces at me, then jumping toward me to look at the funny face picture she thought I’d just taken. It was adorable so I decided that it’ll be fun to watch her reaction, and I can delete any pictures later to save room on the memory card. What ensued was actually really fun—Jessica is quite the little model! She would pose, hands on her hips with such sass you wouldn’t believe. But after a few goofy pictures, she would make an expression so laced with emotion, hold for the camera, and as soon as I clicked she turned into the bouncy 3 year old again, looking at her photo. This continued for a while, and at this point, I can actually make a small project when I get home—a day in the life of Jessica. Some of the pictures are absolutely amazing, others are just so damn cute. I concluded with a most appropriate photo, when I saw her passed out later in the afternoon, halfway on the dirt, halfway on a mattress someone had pulled out, sleeping soundly. She just goes, goes, goes, and then bam! She’s out like a light.

Denise and I took a walk down the road towards Bame before lunch to get some sun and some exercise. It was a peaceful walk. We talked about the day-to-day life here, what could change, what could improve. When you look at the village, and ask yourself where to start, it can be overwhelming. It does come down to education, even though the repercussions of it won’t be visible for another generation or two (given the pace they reproduce here). There is no tax system, almost everything is a bartering deal. No taxes mean no money for fixing the roads, or organizing a trash pick-up. Trashcans are nonexistent here, and litter is everywhere. People here go about their days, just getting by. And that’s how they live…

As we ate lunch, we looked at each other with concern when we heard a chicken right outside our door screaming, over and over… we looked out the window and immediately sat down and stared at the wall. A man was plucking the chicken. He was only plucking out the big feathers, I guess to prevent the chicken from flying… but it was awful to watch and hear. Lunch was really good—fried plantains, and strewed white beans, finished with fresh pineapple. The pineapple is my favorite—so sweet and juicy, and almost has a hint of coconut flavor. After lunch, I finished my book. We walked over to the schoolyard (after school let out to avoid the massive stampede of children whenever we go over here) and met Tony to do his organizational scorecard survey we have from Bridge. He wasn’t teaching this week, he’s manning a booth for the NPP, for people to come up and check their voter registrations.

At 4pm we walked to Walter’s house, and outside we conducted a computer training session for Walter and Richard. Hans showed up 40 minutes later. The training went well. We did have to start from the beginning, explaining the concept of the mouse, and finally we ended with the shift key to make upper case letters. The mouse concept was kind of funny though. We told them that curser on the screen can be called an “arrow,” to which they acknowledged, “oh… aerial.” We drew a picture of an arrow, and again, “oh ok, aerial.” We spelled it on paper. Again, “Ok, aerial.” *sigh* It was a very productive session though. We went over a lot of material. As we sat, baby chicks were at my feet. One walked over my foot, and by accident, I moved my foot back and shoved another chick in the process. After the training we went back to our room to work on the JSS presentations, had dinner, and worked until we went to sleep. Hopefully the presentations will go over well…

Grace

2008-10-09T10:47:00.002-04:00

10/07/08

Something is wrong with Grace. You can tell there’s something missing… psychologically, she’s not where she should be. She throws tantrums, and like the switch of a light, she lashes out at another child, or completely shuts down. You can’t tell if she can even hear you, she just stares, making no facial expression, and won’t acknowledge anyone speaking to her. Again, her mood can change so quickly from being stable and carrying herself in mature fashion, to acting overly childish. I should say child-like because it’s such a stark change, she almost transforms into a child 6 years her junior. We did find out today that she and Jessica and Kosi have a sister, age 6, who lives in Ho with her grandmother. I’m not sure why, but the mother said they don’t see the child very often…

Corporal Punishment

2008-10-09T10:47:00.001-04:00

10/07/08

Today at lunch time, we saw Grace standing at the wall of our compound. We wondered why she was home and not in school. She had her uniform on, and a woman was standing behind her, talking to her, and doing something to Grace’s back. I’m not sure if she was putting something on her back, or brushing off dirt from the uniform. You couldn’t tell from where we were. Later, we walked by her, in the same spot by the wall, only this time she was sitting down, and you could tell she had been crying. I should mention, I did find out who Jessica’s father is—the son of our landlord. He came around the corner and just as he passed us, we saw him pick up a giant stick, the size of sugar cane, from the ground, and head straight for Grace. I turned to see him smack her a few times with it as she whaled in pain and surprise. I couldn’t watch any further, my stomach sank. Denise and I walked back to our room silently. We could still hear Grace for a few more minutes while we were inside. We didn’t have to say anything to understand how the other felt. I wonder what warranted that punishment… I wonder what Grace did wrong.

Later this afternoon we walked by the schools, right as kids were getting out of class for the day. All of the JSS kids, however, were standing at attention in the school yard. A closer look revealed that several students were getting beat with the cane as punishment for being late to class earlier in the day. This punishment, for whatever the kids may have done, always takes place in front of the entire school at the end of the day.

Missing some “me” time

2008-10-09T10:44:00.000-04:00

10/07/08

I’m sitting here listening to Damien Rice on the laptop, trying to ignore the 10 children in our room. Kids definitely don’t ask for anything, they just take. I noticed Kosi and Grace watching music videos on my ipod. I don’t mind, but I wanted to make sure they weren’t watching anything inappropriate. You can hardly blame them though. No one here has personal possessions. Clothes and food are all shared. Its life in a village community—everything is communal, almost. At least, everything they know. When I come in with an ipod, why shouldn’t they get to play with it whenever they want? Why should they have to ask? They don’t have to ask to use anything else in the village… the shared bedrooms, toilets, showers, wells, etc. The other children that followed Selom into our room are just lurking everywhere. Having manners is an absent concept and they never go home. They’re always here. Jessica just ran in and sat on my lap, haha. Oh well. We are the after-school program. I never mind having Jessica around, she’s always so cheery. I’ll admit though, some of the other children are brats, and others are just annoying how they always stand outside our window, trying to look in, or crawl under our curtain to see what we’re doing. Honestly, we’ve been here long enough now, they should know we’re just normal people.

As a side, you sometimes get the feeling that the people here worry about us almost extra because of our skin. They tell us to not go out in the sun, and they get nervous when we get a cut. It’s almost like they think we’ll break more easily, or we’re more delicate. One of the other volunteers actually spelled it out for her village. “See those chickens? There are brown chickens, and there are white chickens, but they all have feathers, they all lay eggs, and they all squawk just the same. I’m the white chicken.” I’ll be glad to go for a walk back home without being stopped by five people along the way to ask where I’m going, why I’m going, am I coming back, when I will be back, should they come with me. They like to chaperone us, but sometimes you just wish you could do something on your own, without being escorted around.