The last couple of posts have been pretty serious so I've decided to be a bit more lighthearted and share this crazy story that happened to me a couple of days ago:
After class earlier this week, we decided to hire Isaac to take us to the craft villages outside Kumasi (this is when the two-hour conversation occurred I shared in the last post). We hit some traffic and managed to get back fairly late. I have about an hour commute from my home to the campus in central Kumasi and have to make a trɔ trɔ transfer at Sofoline. Sofoline is a market-like area that is an explosion of trɔ trɔs, taxis, people, food, and dirt. And at night, it's not lit so when I found myself in the midst of this crazy spot after dark I was eager to get out as quickly as possible. Particularly with a backpack full of pricey crafts and kente I just purchased.
I walked to the general area where I catch my second trɔ trɔ and confirmed with the mate that it would be going past my stop (the mate is the trɔ trɔ driver's assistant, he's in charge of money and getting people in and out). I get in, tell him where I'm going, and pay. You can imagine my surprise when two minutes later the trɔ trɔ turns in the direction away from my home. I tell him he lied to which he insisted he didn't and just misheard me. Suddenly everyone in the trɔ trɔ is riled up calling him a liar and demanding he give me my money back. I didn’t bother staying to argue over 20 cents, I just wanted to get home.
I have no choice but to get off, I know where I am and the direction I need to go, so I find myself standing on the side of this dark road trying to flag down a trɔ trɔ that all seem to drive past me, completely full. Suddenly, an ankaa wura (orange seller), whose name I later learned is Cecilia, a lady that's at least 70 and doesn't speak a word of English comes up to me very confused and asks (in Twi): Obruni, where are you going? I tell her I'm going to Tanoso, to which she responds "Me too!", packs her oranges, grabs my arm and starts this old-lady-on-a-mission power walk down the road, scolding her granddaughter along for walking too slow.
We walk a couple of blocks to this corner where a bunch of people are all fighting to flag down the full trɔ trɔs. This woman is on a mission and determined to get me home, I couldn't understand everything she kept mumbling and/or responding to all the calls she got from surrounding people, but the general gist was a mixture of“ Ha ha! She’s brown. She’s Indian. Isn’t it funny? ” and "I'M GETTING THIS OBRUNI HOME. AND DON'T YOU TRY TO STOP ME OR JUDGE ME!" [Every every every every single person, I’ve encountered in the last four weeks, every single one, from professors, staff, my host parents to the creepy strangers on the street think I am Indian, rarely do they ask it, usually they chant it and laugh. It is by far the most frustrating thing to deal with day to day*].
Along our walk, of course, I was approached by some guy amused by my broken Twi and insistent on getting my number. He and Cecilia seemed to now each other and were having quite a chat on my Indian-ness before being interrupted by a frantic water girl. Before I could decode what the hype was about I am quite literally being dragged down the street by a running Cecilia, pushing people, tables and schoolchildren out of the way to get us on a trɔ trɔ. “Move!! I have an obruni! I’m getting on this one!!” The mate was amused and excited to get us on and squeezes us in, leaving himself squatting with half his body out of the vehicle. He asked me what I understood as ‘where are you from?’, when I said Colombia the entire trɔ trɔ broke down into laughter. I didn’t really misunderstand him, he was talking about where I was from, but nonetheless laughter ensued. **
I’m just glad to be on a trɔ trɔ and finally on my way home, when frenzied talking begins, and the mate suddenly jumps out and starts running down the street. If there is something about trɔ trɔs is that they always function with a driver and mate, they work in pairs, no matter the situation. Even if you have rented and pre-payed a trɔ trɔ and don't really need a mate , they will both be there for every moment you are using the vehicle. So you can imagine my surprise when this mate starts suddenly running away into the night. Before I can even begin to figure out what’s going on the trɔ trɔ stops and there is a flashlight lit in my face by a police officer. He looks around, laughs (of course, it's a confused Brown girl in a van full of Black people), comments with the group about how Indian I am, and we go on our way. A few moments later, the mate comes running back and hops on.
When I got home I was able to piece it all together: the police had set up a check point to make sure trɔ trɔs where not overfilled, since the mate had no seat, he simply jumped off for the inspection and got on afterwards without being seen.
A few minutes later I was at my stop. Along the way everyone continued to be amused either at me or the situation, I’m not sure. I thanked Cecilia for her help, and was simply glad to be home. These are the crazy things that happen to me getting around this country.
*According to Isaac he always thought Colombian people were Black, as most of our soccer team is. Little do people realize that many of the horribly horribly dubbed soap operas they religiously watch every night are Colombian (Seriously, Caracol/RCN soaps, all over TV here).
**One of the cultural differences that takes daily conscious effort to deal with is this idea of laughter. People laugh here quite often in my presence; they do honestly want to laugh with me, not at me. They laugh not because something is particularly funny about me (although sometimes they are just laughing at me), but because they think that if they laugh, I will laugh too, and I’ll feel welcomed. It’s not easy to distinguish which is which, and one automatically goes on the defensive when someone laughs at you, especially if they are talking about you in another language. But you have to work to convince yourself to understand that they mean no insult or disrespect. It’s a lot harder than it may sound.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Desensitizing Poverty
I had plans to write a variety of observations of the last four weeks in this week of blogging before I leave for the village: food, gender roles, pro-natalist quotes, funny signs, the incredibly intense experience of personally consulting a possessed priestess (parts 1 and 2), and don’t worry all of that is still coming. (If I don’t get it all this week, I’ll handwrite during the village and type it in in a couple of weeks). But events of the last couple of days have left me with some thoughts I’d like to share.
Immersed in this life, there needs to be a certain level of desensitization towards all the poverty around. For all practical purposes of life, one is Ghanaian. You eat the same food, fight for the same trɔ trɔ, trek the same way to fetch water, and scrub just as hard to clean your clothes. There is no time or space to really see it all in an ‘American’ perspective. Yes, in the big picture, it is silly to fight over 3 or 5 American cents when overcharged, but it’s the principle of not wanting to be taken advantage of as a foreigner. And doing so is part of surviving in another culture, you have to shed the goggles in which you see it all, and try to embrace it from within. Only after you’ve been able to do that to the best of your ability, can you really comment and try to understand what it really means in the big picture.
However, when I found myself arguing with a water girl over 5 pesawas (about 3 cents) the other day, it took a completely unrelated comment from a peer and several pages of journaling before I realized how far I’ve come to desensitize myself here. Anyone that knows me knows the heart I have for poverty, many the times I have broken down and cried in the middle of Chicago seeing a homeless person searching for food in a dumpster or lying on the frozen ground with nothing more than a hoodie on. Or the weird looks and comments I’ve received for going into “the projects” or bringing a homeless person into a restaurant and having a meal with them. […or being rejected dinner by a deaf homeless man that thought I looked like a terrorist…story for another time. It’s a funny one]. If there is something the homeless community has to offer in Chicago is some really good stories, especially the veterans.
But here I was fighting with a little girl (whose name I now know is Adisa) who isn’t more than 10 or 11*, who obviously can’t afford to go to school and spends all day every day selling water sachets in the street, for 3 cents. Not only was I the one in the wrong, (this week there was a nationwide doubling of the price of water sachets), I was the one that was ridiculously rude. She very politely informed me that it was 10 pesawas each when I grabbed two and only payed for one. The group of us argued that she was overcharging, and in her minimal English she would only say the price was 10, until I did the very very insulting thing of returning one with my left hand**
Thankfully, I was able to make some amends as that wasn’t the last I saw of Adisa (unlike most of the hundreds of water children one encounters every day). Adisa is a clever girl and hangs around our dance classes. Not only does she get front row of the ‘obruni show’, she knows that 18 obrunis dancing for 2 hours in the afternoon heat are gonna be drinking lots and lots of water.
After having this epiphany on the poverty issue, it was somewhat difficult to go back to regular life, but you just have to. I spent a couple of days looking around and just wanting to break down. As if all of a sudden, I realized just how poor every one I encounter daily really is, how little I pay for every trɔ trɔ ride, piece of fruit and even entire meals. I wanted to pay extra for everything and buy every snack sold by little children at a ridiculously measly price. But you just can’t. This is a very different kind of poverty, than simply looking at it as I have money and they don’t. This is life here, paying 80 cents for lunch may seem crazy in America, but that is what it costs. Those 80 cents will feed a family, and trying to give anything more is only insulting. You can’t feel guilty for every little thing one doesn’t buy, simply because I believe it’s outrageously underpriced compared to my life in America.
I had an amazing conversation yesterday with our trɔ trɔ driver, Isaac. He spoke remarkable English, and little did I know that this guy who has driven us around to so many outings would actually be the most insightful conversation I’ve had in Ghana so far. We covered all kinds of things in our two hour conversation: family, food, driving, soccer, children, skin color, I even taught him some basic Spanish. But one of the most poignant moments for me was discussing money. Isaac explained that money here is not your own, it’s all for your family, the more it is, the farther it gets spread out throughout the extended family. Having only been married six years, he shared his distress in wanting to one day be able to buy his own home, but knowing that that may never be possible. He told me how much he admired the American or European way; because all the money you work for is your own, and you can save and move up the ladder and even have experiences like traveling. When I explained to him that because of that we have so much greed in our society, so much disparity that there are people that live on the streets and go hungry right next to people that pay $35 for a steak, he was shocked, and truly wondered how people could ever live with themselves like that. [I’ll be putting up my observations on Ghanaian homeless, or lack thereof, in later post. Interesting stuff].
Everything always seems better somewhere else, its human nature- but to be able to see each other beyond our money and truly connect, is something that takes a part of us we all need work on. I’ll keep paying 80 cents for my lunch; it’s all I really can do amidst a country of millions of “poor” people by my standards. But I will try much harder to open myself to the many many many, like Isaac, that approach me every waking minute wanting to talk to me, touch me, laugh at me or even marry me (seriously, my marriage proposal count is in the 30s). It’s a challenge, but doing so is the only way to really face the poverty in myself and the immense wealth Ghana has to offer me.
*Few people actually know how old they are here, the day of the week you were born is important, but few people actually know their date of birth. Birthdays aren’t something really celebrated, especially if you’re very poor.
**Using your left hand for anything is considered extremely rude throughout much of Africa. You should never receive, give, eat, point, or do anything with your left hand. It comes from the history of the left hand being the “dirty” hand used for the toilet, and just a bad side in general. It may sound strange, but you’d be surprised how much of this exists in Western cultures too. The latin word for ‘left’ is sinister, and what does that mean in English? When someone is correct we say they are ‘right’. Even Jesus himself is at the right hand of the Father, and said that on Judgement day those destined for hell would be on the left, and those for heaven on the right (Matthew 25).- Food for thought-
Immersed in this life, there needs to be a certain level of desensitization towards all the poverty around. For all practical purposes of life, one is Ghanaian. You eat the same food, fight for the same trɔ trɔ, trek the same way to fetch water, and scrub just as hard to clean your clothes. There is no time or space to really see it all in an ‘American’ perspective. Yes, in the big picture, it is silly to fight over 3 or 5 American cents when overcharged, but it’s the principle of not wanting to be taken advantage of as a foreigner. And doing so is part of surviving in another culture, you have to shed the goggles in which you see it all, and try to embrace it from within. Only after you’ve been able to do that to the best of your ability, can you really comment and try to understand what it really means in the big picture.
However, when I found myself arguing with a water girl over 5 pesawas (about 3 cents) the other day, it took a completely unrelated comment from a peer and several pages of journaling before I realized how far I’ve come to desensitize myself here. Anyone that knows me knows the heart I have for poverty, many the times I have broken down and cried in the middle of Chicago seeing a homeless person searching for food in a dumpster or lying on the frozen ground with nothing more than a hoodie on. Or the weird looks and comments I’ve received for going into “the projects” or bringing a homeless person into a restaurant and having a meal with them. […or being rejected dinner by a deaf homeless man that thought I looked like a terrorist…story for another time. It’s a funny one]. If there is something the homeless community has to offer in Chicago is some really good stories, especially the veterans.
But here I was fighting with a little girl (whose name I now know is Adisa) who isn’t more than 10 or 11*, who obviously can’t afford to go to school and spends all day every day selling water sachets in the street, for 3 cents. Not only was I the one in the wrong, (this week there was a nationwide doubling of the price of water sachets), I was the one that was ridiculously rude. She very politely informed me that it was 10 pesawas each when I grabbed two and only payed for one. The group of us argued that she was overcharging, and in her minimal English she would only say the price was 10, until I did the very very insulting thing of returning one with my left hand**
Thankfully, I was able to make some amends as that wasn’t the last I saw of Adisa (unlike most of the hundreds of water children one encounters every day). Adisa is a clever girl and hangs around our dance classes. Not only does she get front row of the ‘obruni show’, she knows that 18 obrunis dancing for 2 hours in the afternoon heat are gonna be drinking lots and lots of water.
After having this epiphany on the poverty issue, it was somewhat difficult to go back to regular life, but you just have to. I spent a couple of days looking around and just wanting to break down. As if all of a sudden, I realized just how poor every one I encounter daily really is, how little I pay for every trɔ trɔ ride, piece of fruit and even entire meals. I wanted to pay extra for everything and buy every snack sold by little children at a ridiculously measly price. But you just can’t. This is a very different kind of poverty, than simply looking at it as I have money and they don’t. This is life here, paying 80 cents for lunch may seem crazy in America, but that is what it costs. Those 80 cents will feed a family, and trying to give anything more is only insulting. You can’t feel guilty for every little thing one doesn’t buy, simply because I believe it’s outrageously underpriced compared to my life in America.
I had an amazing conversation yesterday with our trɔ trɔ driver, Isaac. He spoke remarkable English, and little did I know that this guy who has driven us around to so many outings would actually be the most insightful conversation I’ve had in Ghana so far. We covered all kinds of things in our two hour conversation: family, food, driving, soccer, children, skin color, I even taught him some basic Spanish. But one of the most poignant moments for me was discussing money. Isaac explained that money here is not your own, it’s all for your family, the more it is, the farther it gets spread out throughout the extended family. Having only been married six years, he shared his distress in wanting to one day be able to buy his own home, but knowing that that may never be possible. He told me how much he admired the American or European way; because all the money you work for is your own, and you can save and move up the ladder and even have experiences like traveling. When I explained to him that because of that we have so much greed in our society, so much disparity that there are people that live on the streets and go hungry right next to people that pay $35 for a steak, he was shocked, and truly wondered how people could ever live with themselves like that. [I’ll be putting up my observations on Ghanaian homeless, or lack thereof, in later post. Interesting stuff].
Everything always seems better somewhere else, its human nature- but to be able to see each other beyond our money and truly connect, is something that takes a part of us we all need work on. I’ll keep paying 80 cents for my lunch; it’s all I really can do amidst a country of millions of “poor” people by my standards. But I will try much harder to open myself to the many many many, like Isaac, that approach me every waking minute wanting to talk to me, touch me, laugh at me or even marry me (seriously, my marriage proposal count is in the 30s). It’s a challenge, but doing so is the only way to really face the poverty in myself and the immense wealth Ghana has to offer me.
*Few people actually know how old they are here, the day of the week you were born is important, but few people actually know their date of birth. Birthdays aren’t something really celebrated, especially if you’re very poor.
**Using your left hand for anything is considered extremely rude throughout much of Africa. You should never receive, give, eat, point, or do anything with your left hand. It comes from the history of the left hand being the “dirty” hand used for the toilet, and just a bad side in general. It may sound strange, but you’d be surprised how much of this exists in Western cultures too. The latin word for ‘left’ is sinister, and what does that mean in English? When someone is correct we say they are ‘right’. Even Jesus himself is at the right hand of the Father, and said that on Judgement day those destined for hell would be on the left, and those for heaven on the right (Matthew 25).- Food for thought-
The Power of Twi
I confessed in my first "work journal" to Dr. Yemi that when choosing this program, I never really took the language portion seriously. I figured I'd do what I would have to do, finish whatever assignments, and be done with it. I figured that people would speak English, and that would be fine.
Well was I wrong. Not only do people not speak English, in fact, despite it being the "official" language, less than 20% of Ghanaians speak it. I've discovered that learning Twi has been one of the most enriching aspects of this whole experience. I've connected more with this culture with some minimal Twi than I ever did in five months in China. Unlike the Chinese community I encountered, Ghanaians are more than eager to teach foreigners their language, and I've come to be surprised at how well I'm doing with it so far. And it's certainly not an easy language! A tonal language with two extra vowels and an array of consonant combinations and sounds can make Twi quite a feat. Tune "wɔ" wrong and you could go from "to have" to "to pound"....you can imagine the confusion. Nonetheless, just being able to ask for directions, bargain, and have short basic conversations has really been incredible.
This language is very beautiful, and very very powerful. So it is with great sadness to see it wither in front of our eyes. Unlike India or the U.S, Ghana did not become independent of Britain by revolution. Instead, the British seeing the dissent brewing all across Africa, "prepared" the country for independence over several years. Doing so meant creating a class of "elites" that would be their Black counterparts and rule over every aspect of the country. Giving scholarships to study all across Britain, they trained Ghanaian doctors, lawyers, teachers, politicians and other leaders. They learned the British ways, became highly educated and very rich, and became the epitome of everything every Ghanaian could hope for themselves and their children. "Independence" was simply handing the reigns over, and the White man leaving, but really the "British" stayed.
Over 50 years after independence, to a very clear extent, this still exists. The people that control schools, towns, health are usually trained in Britain (or America). All those highly educated, the leaders, and models and idols of all children are "colonial" in their ways. With that, Twi, Ewe, Fante, and all other traditional languages are termed "vernacular". (Twi is only spoken only by about 40% of people, there is no actual main language everyone speaks, it is all very regional). They've almost completely taken it out of schools, emphasizing that English-only is the only way to succeed, and "vernacular" is just that, vernacular. Parents in general support the erasing of their language out of schools- seeing it as a hindrance to their child's success.
So despite all this interesting, complex, and powerful grammar (just imagine if all of our syllables had three different meanings, we had six extra verb tenses and our sentence order was almost entirely reversed), few people know how to properly write Twi. Even the most educated people term it "vernacular", not seeing the damage they make to their own culture in doing so, it's a real heartbreaker.
However, there is some hope for improvement. Today, the inserting of traditional language back in schools is highly debated, and scholars, such as Dr. Yemi fight to preserve it and teach it. Even the government is realizing the cultural damage of loss and has put out pamphlets and books to preserve traditional language. Overall, it is up to the Ghanaian people to embrace their heritage, the astonishing wealth of history and tradition in this place and fight to preserve it. I won't go on this topic too much, because it's really all part of the bigger issue of modernization v. westernization that I'll put in an upcoming post. So keep reading!
Well was I wrong. Not only do people not speak English, in fact, despite it being the "official" language, less than 20% of Ghanaians speak it. I've discovered that learning Twi has been one of the most enriching aspects of this whole experience. I've connected more with this culture with some minimal Twi than I ever did in five months in China. Unlike the Chinese community I encountered, Ghanaians are more than eager to teach foreigners their language, and I've come to be surprised at how well I'm doing with it so far. And it's certainly not an easy language! A tonal language with two extra vowels and an array of consonant combinations and sounds can make Twi quite a feat. Tune "wɔ" wrong and you could go from "to have" to "to pound"....you can imagine the confusion. Nonetheless, just being able to ask for directions, bargain, and have short basic conversations has really been incredible.
This language is very beautiful, and very very powerful. So it is with great sadness to see it wither in front of our eyes. Unlike India or the U.S, Ghana did not become independent of Britain by revolution. Instead, the British seeing the dissent brewing all across Africa, "prepared" the country for independence over several years. Doing so meant creating a class of "elites" that would be their Black counterparts and rule over every aspect of the country. Giving scholarships to study all across Britain, they trained Ghanaian doctors, lawyers, teachers, politicians and other leaders. They learned the British ways, became highly educated and very rich, and became the epitome of everything every Ghanaian could hope for themselves and their children. "Independence" was simply handing the reigns over, and the White man leaving, but really the "British" stayed.
Over 50 years after independence, to a very clear extent, this still exists. The people that control schools, towns, health are usually trained in Britain (or America). All those highly educated, the leaders, and models and idols of all children are "colonial" in their ways. With that, Twi, Ewe, Fante, and all other traditional languages are termed "vernacular". (Twi is only spoken only by about 40% of people, there is no actual main language everyone speaks, it is all very regional). They've almost completely taken it out of schools, emphasizing that English-only is the only way to succeed, and "vernacular" is just that, vernacular. Parents in general support the erasing of their language out of schools- seeing it as a hindrance to their child's success.
So despite all this interesting, complex, and powerful grammar (just imagine if all of our syllables had three different meanings, we had six extra verb tenses and our sentence order was almost entirely reversed), few people know how to properly write Twi. Even the most educated people term it "vernacular", not seeing the damage they make to their own culture in doing so, it's a real heartbreaker.
However, there is some hope for improvement. Today, the inserting of traditional language back in schools is highly debated, and scholars, such as Dr. Yemi fight to preserve it and teach it. Even the government is realizing the cultural damage of loss and has put out pamphlets and books to preserve traditional language. Overall, it is up to the Ghanaian people to embrace their heritage, the astonishing wealth of history and tradition in this place and fight to preserve it. I won't go on this topic too much, because it's really all part of the bigger issue of modernization v. westernization that I'll put in an upcoming post. So keep reading!
Monday, February 21, 2011
Akwaaba!!
Akwaaba is welcome in Twi (pronounced 'schwee').
I've been in Ghana over three weeks, but you never stop hearing this word. As an obruni (foreigner, literally "person from the west/horizon"), one is always welcomed, whether you're here two days or two years. This blog is late in coming, but welcome!
There is no actual word for "hello" in Twi, instead one always greets people with "how are you?" (wo ho te sen?) or a more casual "what's up?" (εtε sεn?). So whether it's your best friend or the guy selling you a mango, you're gonna have a conversation. So please, feel free to comment, reflect and question. This blog is always a conversation.
I guess I should start with a general overview of what the hell I'm doing in Ghana anyway. I'm taking part of a program by the School of International Training (SIT) called Ghana: Social Transformation and Cultural Expression (official link). This program focuses (obviously)on culture and society, and includes a variety of features from lectures, language classes, art/dance/drumming workshops, excursions, performances and projects.
The most prominent feature is that it's a very mobile program. The first two weeks of the program were spent in Accra, the capital of Ghana. A crazy hectic city of four million people and not a single street name. The first few days were a basic orientation on cultural dos and donts, how to avoid/aid/recognize malaria and other sickness, a few lectures and basic Twi. We each lived with host families all over Accra, I lived with an awesome "Grannie", Auntie Vivian, Auntie Mary and Sister Deborah (Everyone is family here, it doesn't matter how long you know them for, of if you're related or not. Although calling people by their first name is just fine, any title shows respect and connection. To quote one of our staff, Sister Juliana Ama: “I am your sister, I am your mother, your auntie, your everything, because we are in Ghana now, and we’re all family").
Grannie (who's actual name is Aunt Jemima...no joke, like the syrup) is nurse who is retired from 27 years in the military. She is absolutely lovely, we spent many hours talking public health, food, family and other crazy stories of life. With over 13 years of hosting students, she has an entire book of the many students from all over the world that have lived in her house. So she was the perfect balance of a 'mother' yet hands off to let one acclimate and stay sane. It was a lovely home, I was very lucky, with a short 10 minute commute to campus, (or the better option, a 35 minute walk), my own room, not too much or too crazy of food (people tend to force feed you here like crazy...more on food at a later time), even had running water!
[Although that is very very rare throughout Ghana, in 3 weeks I have pooped and peed in so many holes and bushes and have completely mastered the art of the 'shucket' (shower with a bucket), a full shower, toothbrushing, shaving and washing of underwear with less than 1.5 gallons of water. Yeah, go ahead and try that at home...]
Overall, Accra was pretty crazy, but we shall all return there soon. After two weeks in Accra we moved to Kumasi, a less hectic, and more ecologically beautiful city. It's quite large, but one can see more of the traditional culture here, unlike Accra, not everyone speaks English here. In fact, in the middle of the Ashanti region, everyone speaks Twi. (Twi is only one of many languages spoken throughout Ghana...more on that also later).
Here I live in a very different household, newlyweds Maxwell and Beatrice, who is eight months pregnant, and their absolutely adorable two-year old girl, Nasawa. (If I'm calling a toddler adorable that has to be one hell of a freakin' cute kid). In Kumasi we only had a couple of lectures, mostly on field research techniques as the next phase of the program commences our fieldwork, but instead it has been intense Twi classes in the morning and lots and lots of dancing in the afternoon. On Friday we shall have our performance of all this crazy dancing (there's even going to be costumes!)
On Saturday we shall move on to the most intense part of the program so far. We will move away from the city, separate into small groups and spend two weeks in a rural village. No English. No electricity. No water. We will take part in a variety of village projects, teaching in the schools (there aren't always actual schools, so classes may take place under trees), cleaning, cooking, and taking part in any community happening. Our afternoons will be free to use our field research techniques and complete our mini-ISP (independent study project) on any topic of our choice, and write a 10-15 page report on our findings. The evenings will be "game time" when we shall teach the local community an American game and they will teach us one of theirs.
After the village we will spend a week in the Muslim community of Tamale and follow it with safaris in Mole, excursions and workshops with art groups in the Central and Eastern regions, visit villages in the Volta region, and a week in historic Cape Coast- where dungeons and castles from slavery days still remain standing. For the last 4 weeks, we separate to complete the climax of the program- our ISPs, on anything and anywhere in the country, culminating in a 30-40 page report on our findings, and a 30 minute presentation.
There are 18 students in the program from all over the U.S and with a wide range of majors and academic interests. We also have quite a bit of staff who work all over the country with and without us to make this program function. Most of the staff have decades with the program or SIT, and have so much experience making this a great program.
A few important ones (pictured below) are Dr. Yemi (ie "the storyteller"), the academic director. He is actually Nigerian, but has been working with this program for over 30 years, as a non-native-Twi speaker, he is a lot of help in learning the language. He's the main guy overseeing everything and everyone, and quite a talker. He spends a lot of time with us, and leads "Life in This Ghana" (our daily morning story time sharing the ups and downs, questions, and concerns of the things that happen to us).
Papa Attah (Attah means twin), he is the program manager. We call him Papa for a reason, according to him he "breastfeeds" us, and makes sure everything from our diarrhea, to our money, and assignments are in good order.
Kwame*, he is everyone's brother and the guy we go to for drinking, joking, and general fun. Others in the picture include Kokoroko, the very patient sweetheart uncle, Jiliana (quoted above), Magdalene and Rose, dance teachers that welcomed us in our first 3-day intense orientation and are now like family.
*Kwame is the name given to Akan males born on Memenada (Saturday). People have several names here each with a particular meaning, however, everyone has their day of the week name. The day of the week one is born is very important. I was born on Kwasiada (Sunday), so my name is Akosua. If you'd like to know what your Ghanaian name is follow this link
That is all for this first, very long post. I promise I will put a few more up this week, but after I leave for the village I can't make any promises. Internet connection is very very slow here, and I have no cable for my camera (I usually use a card reader at home). So pictures shall be rare. However, I will copy as many as I can with friend's laptops and use some of my peers to give everyone some visuals when I can. Here are a few:
I've been in Ghana over three weeks, but you never stop hearing this word. As an obruni (foreigner, literally "person from the west/horizon"), one is always welcomed, whether you're here two days or two years. This blog is late in coming, but welcome!
There is no actual word for "hello" in Twi, instead one always greets people with "how are you?" (wo ho te sen?) or a more casual "what's up?" (εtε sεn?). So whether it's your best friend or the guy selling you a mango, you're gonna have a conversation. So please, feel free to comment, reflect and question. This blog is always a conversation.
I guess I should start with a general overview of what the hell I'm doing in Ghana anyway. I'm taking part of a program by the School of International Training (SIT) called Ghana: Social Transformation and Cultural Expression (official link). This program focuses (obviously)on culture and society, and includes a variety of features from lectures, language classes, art/dance/drumming workshops, excursions, performances and projects.
The most prominent feature is that it's a very mobile program. The first two weeks of the program were spent in Accra, the capital of Ghana. A crazy hectic city of four million people and not a single street name. The first few days were a basic orientation on cultural dos and donts, how to avoid/aid/recognize malaria and other sickness, a few lectures and basic Twi. We each lived with host families all over Accra, I lived with an awesome "Grannie", Auntie Vivian, Auntie Mary and Sister Deborah (Everyone is family here, it doesn't matter how long you know them for, of if you're related or not. Although calling people by their first name is just fine, any title shows respect and connection. To quote one of our staff, Sister Juliana Ama: “I am your sister, I am your mother, your auntie, your everything, because we are in Ghana now, and we’re all family").
Grannie (who's actual name is Aunt Jemima...no joke, like the syrup) is nurse who is retired from 27 years in the military. She is absolutely lovely, we spent many hours talking public health, food, family and other crazy stories of life. With over 13 years of hosting students, she has an entire book of the many students from all over the world that have lived in her house. So she was the perfect balance of a 'mother' yet hands off to let one acclimate and stay sane. It was a lovely home, I was very lucky, with a short 10 minute commute to campus, (or the better option, a 35 minute walk), my own room, not too much or too crazy of food (people tend to force feed you here like crazy...more on food at a later time), even had running water!
[Although that is very very rare throughout Ghana, in 3 weeks I have pooped and peed in so many holes and bushes and have completely mastered the art of the 'shucket' (shower with a bucket), a full shower, toothbrushing, shaving and washing of underwear with less than 1.5 gallons of water. Yeah, go ahead and try that at home...]
Overall, Accra was pretty crazy, but we shall all return there soon. After two weeks in Accra we moved to Kumasi, a less hectic, and more ecologically beautiful city. It's quite large, but one can see more of the traditional culture here, unlike Accra, not everyone speaks English here. In fact, in the middle of the Ashanti region, everyone speaks Twi. (Twi is only one of many languages spoken throughout Ghana...more on that also later).
 |
| Institute of African Studies at the University of Ghana in Legon (Accra) |
Here I live in a very different household, newlyweds Maxwell and Beatrice, who is eight months pregnant, and their absolutely adorable two-year old girl, Nasawa. (If I'm calling a toddler adorable that has to be one hell of a freakin' cute kid). In Kumasi we only had a couple of lectures, mostly on field research techniques as the next phase of the program commences our fieldwork, but instead it has been intense Twi classes in the morning and lots and lots of dancing in the afternoon. On Friday we shall have our performance of all this crazy dancing (there's even going to be costumes!)
On Saturday we shall move on to the most intense part of the program so far. We will move away from the city, separate into small groups and spend two weeks in a rural village. No English. No electricity. No water. We will take part in a variety of village projects, teaching in the schools (there aren't always actual schools, so classes may take place under trees), cleaning, cooking, and taking part in any community happening. Our afternoons will be free to use our field research techniques and complete our mini-ISP (independent study project) on any topic of our choice, and write a 10-15 page report on our findings. The evenings will be "game time" when we shall teach the local community an American game and they will teach us one of theirs.
After the village we will spend a week in the Muslim community of Tamale and follow it with safaris in Mole, excursions and workshops with art groups in the Central and Eastern regions, visit villages in the Volta region, and a week in historic Cape Coast- where dungeons and castles from slavery days still remain standing. For the last 4 weeks, we separate to complete the climax of the program- our ISPs, on anything and anywhere in the country, culminating in a 30-40 page report on our findings, and a 30 minute presentation.
There are 18 students in the program from all over the U.S and with a wide range of majors and academic interests. We also have quite a bit of staff who work all over the country with and without us to make this program function. Most of the staff have decades with the program or SIT, and have so much experience making this a great program.
 |
| The whole group |
A few important ones (pictured below) are Dr. Yemi (ie "the storyteller"), the academic director. He is actually Nigerian, but has been working with this program for over 30 years, as a non-native-Twi speaker, he is a lot of help in learning the language. He's the main guy overseeing everything and everyone, and quite a talker. He spends a lot of time with us, and leads "Life in This Ghana" (our daily morning story time sharing the ups and downs, questions, and concerns of the things that happen to us).
Papa Attah (Attah means twin), he is the program manager. We call him Papa for a reason, according to him he "breastfeeds" us, and makes sure everything from our diarrhea, to our money, and assignments are in good order.
Kwame*, he is everyone's brother and the guy we go to for drinking, joking, and general fun. Others in the picture include Kokoroko, the very patient sweetheart uncle, Jiliana (quoted above), Magdalene and Rose, dance teachers that welcomed us in our first 3-day intense orientation and are now like family.
*Kwame is the name given to Akan males born on Memenada (Saturday). People have several names here each with a particular meaning, however, everyone has their day of the week name. The day of the week one is born is very important. I was born on Kwasiada (Sunday), so my name is Akosua. If you'd like to know what your Ghanaian name is follow this link
That is all for this first, very long post. I promise I will put a few more up this week, but after I leave for the village I can't make any promises. Internet connection is very very slow here, and I have no cable for my camera (I usually use a card reader at home). So pictures shall be rare. However, I will copy as many as I can with friend's laptops and use some of my peers to give everyone some visuals when I can. Here are a few:
 |
| We got caught in a pretty crazy flood in the cafeteria |
 |
| The cafeteria in Accra..without the flood. |
 |
| Also on campus in Accra, how they carry things in their head like that is just amazing, and incredibly convenient. |
 |
| Accra=Crazy |
 |
| Performance |
 |
| One of the drummers really liked me. |
 |
| The view from our classroom window in Kumasi |
 |
| That vehicle on the left there is called a trɔ trɔ. You cram 20 people inside and that's how you go around town. Oh it's an experience... |
 |
| Don't you wish you could do it? |
 |
| When I say crazy, I mean crazy. |
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)