Unknown History

Life continues to move fast in this Ghana. I am just wrapping up my stay in the Volta Region, once again a completely new language, Ewe, and culture. The Volta Region borders Togo and is by far the least touched by Western influence. We've been in very remote areas learning kente weaving, pottery-making, and even attended a worship service at a shrine and witnessed animal sacrifices- a truly powerful experience. Tomorrow we are off to live among the Krobo people in the Eastern region. My internet access is very rare and our schedule is jam packed in this education tour. However, I do have a lot to share of our stay in Cape Coast. So here it is:

It goes without saying that visiting slave dungeons is an extraordinarily emotionally charged experience.  To enter a room where 1,000 men would be shackled and crammed for 2-3 months at a time waiting for boats- one meal a day, standing in 15 inches of their own urine, feces, and corpses. To see the canon balls women were shackled to as they were taken from the dungeons to the soldiers and governor quarters to be raped. It's  a feeling I can't accurately describe in words.

The darkness of the cell where rebellious captives, freedom fighters, would stand, 60 at a time, condemned to death with no air, light or food.  Corpses not to be removed until all 60 were dead, and touch the tooth and nail marks still on the walls of that cell, of those in unimaginable agony that were the last to die, suffocating in a room  with no oxygen and full of rotting corpses. I simply cannot give it justice in words.

To then see the sight of the first church in Ghana, later to become the first school, standing literally directly above those dungeons. A cringing feeling that I will take with me forever.

But believe it or not, that was not the most poignant part of the experience.

While standing in one of the female dungeons, hearing the explanation of the systematic rape of hundreds of women, one of our own female staff members nonchalantly made a joke about rape, and continue to laugh with some of the other local women in the tour.

We were warned about this kind of situation by Dr. Yemi prior to our visit. There is a reason for that insensitivity of Ghanaians towards the slave trade.

Slavery like most other aspects of Ghanaian history and culture is not taught in schools. People have no idea that it ever existed.

Let me repeat that.

Ghana has 52 of the 68 slave trading forts still standing today, and it's the leading example of African education and development. Yet its people have have no idea, none, zero, nada,  that 12-25 million of their own anscestral brothers and sisters were enslaved and shipped across the world for over 450 years. With the oral tradition dying out at an astonishing rate, the little history of slave raids is now reduced to some type of folktale or myth among elders in rural areas.

Our tour guide was a 23 year old university graduate is a member of the National Service Scheme.  All graduates of a Ghanaian college or university are required to give one year of service to the country as part of the National Service Scheme.  He admitted to us he had no idea, none whatsoever, that the transatlantic slave trade ever existed until six months prior when he took that job. A university graduate. In 2011.

Like almost all Ghanaians, he simply thought African-Americans were Americans of a darker color. That the Caribbean and South America were just always land of Black people.  Not even an inkling that they may be the descendants of their own enslaved brothers and sister.  For the very few that may have some knowledge of the slave trade they have a complete ignorance of what happened on the other side of the ocean. They share sentiments like ' I wish my ancestral family was captured and taken, today I would be Colin Powell" Absolutely no awareness of the hundreds of years of torture, struggle, segregation laws (which by the way the United States is the only country in the world to have instituted such a thing, despite having been the recipient of the least number of enslaved Africans).

This is not about race or blame.  The dozens of chiefs that sold their own people to Europeans- 1 gun for a woman, 3 for a man. The own Ghanaians to mercilessly shackle their brothers and sisters, force them to walk for weeks from the Northern/Central regions to those coastal dungeons, they are just as guilty as the European buyers and owners to torture, ship and trade human beings like cargo.

This is about a 450 year institution, arguably one of the worst atrocities of humanity, the exploitation of millions of people, completely and utterly unknown to its own victims.  Like the Holocaust, the Rwanda genocide, the Trail of Tears, history that should not, cannot, ever  be forgotten.

I know what you're wondering. How? How could that be possible?? How could that have ever been completely erased from modern history books?

The entire educational system of Ghana (of Africa for that matter), was founded by, and continues to be controlled by European churches and missionaries. There is no separation of church and state when it comes to education in Ghana, there are national standards that all schools no matter their denomination must adhere to and teach, but Christian schools are in fact public schools. Many of these Christian denominations that control schools today historically advocated slavery.

If you dehumanize a people-remove them from their God, their family, their history, their values, their language, their land, and only allow them one tiny smidgen of their humanity in the form of Christianity, they will embrace it dearly, and with a fervor unknown to Europeans. This is sadly, the mentality behind the spread of Christianity, and consequently formal education, across the African continent.

I will argue that that is the reason why Africans and African-Americans all over the North and South continent are the most deeply attached to their Christian faith.  Why the social, economic, and cultural developments of Black communities revolve around the church. (If you've ever lived in a Black neighborhood in any part of North and South America you know exactly what I'm talking about. From the favelas outside Rio, to the South/West Side neighborhoods of Chicago, even certain neighborhoods in my hometown Barranquilla, a Black church is a phenomenon far beyond  a matter of faith and Jesus ).

Very little educational reform has ever occurred in Ghana since the founding of the colonial educational system. Schools are breeding grounds for good workers and servants, and removed from all culture and history around.  The first and only culturally visionary president of Ghana (and of Africa), Kwame Nkruma, was ousted (in a coup our CIA now admits to have planned -it was the 60's and he was a bit of a communist....  ). Two harsh military regimes following, and today a 'modernizing' nation, Ghanaian educational reform is about test scores and producing better competitors in the global market (not unlike US educational reform, but that's another story).

There is no official plan for history and culture to make it back into school curriculums, but there are people fiercely fighting for it.* There are many standing up for this history to never be forgotten. Although former presidents Clinton and Bush each visited Ghana twice in their terms, never did they vist one of the slave castles (oxymoronic term isn't it?). However, President Obama did- not visiting Kenya, South Africa or any other African nation, and leaving the politically central places of Accra to visit the dungeons and meet local chiefs, it was an incredibly defying move. (I owe you all a post on African Obamamania, from Obama hotels, cars, shirts, billboards and even cookies, Obama is all the rage here ). Although I will say in the former presidents'  defense they did send $11 million in 1994 for the renovations and upkeep of these castles, more than the Ghanaian, British, Dutch, or Portuguese government ever have, and probably ever will.

I've always felt extremely lucky with all the opportunities I have been blessed with. However, I never thought I would ever come to realize how amazing my basic education was. If you approach any 6 or 7 year old in Barranquilla and ask them to show you our traditional dances, they can, it is something we are taught since we're in preschool, we learn the history and culture that gives us our Colombian identity, and take every weekend an yearly Carnaval to celebrate it. But even after moving to the States, education has been a word that means so much more than reading and writing. I've been blessed with incredible inspiring teachers, coaches and mentors that inspired me to be creative and inquisitive beyond words. A few of those teachers I know are following this blog, so to you all, and all those that work to shape children and teenagers into knowledgeable, passionate adults: thank you so much. You do not hear that enough.

Living here in the face of such educational poverty, I can only be in awe, and become even more fervent to fight for our educational issues back home. Art, music, community service, field trips, extracurriculars, these are the incredible things that shape a holistic education and they are being cut everyday out of our schools. While I don't think we will ever get to the point that we cut slavery out of the curriculum (except maybe in Texas...google if you're not aware of their recent history curriculum "reform"), it is still a battle. So wherever you are in your educational career, go back and support those that have shaped you and are fighting for the ones coming. They could use all the help they can get.




*One of those is an incredibly passionate scholar,  Rabbi  Kohain Nathanya Halevi. A Black Jewish man, born and raised in America, became a rabbi, and moved to Ghana as a scholar and activist. A man that has slept in those dungeons in protest, fervently fights for educational reform on both sides of the ocean, and has done extraordinary things to preserve African culture and history. Google him, if you can find a video of him speaking I recommend watching it, he's very inspiring.

On that note, did you now modern Judaism is actually a deeply African tradition? The 'Israelis' immigrated south from Palestine to West Africa and today the ceremonies, religious restrictions of the Akan, the Gaa, Ewe and other Ghanaian ethnic groups are not only extremely similar, but in cases exactly the same of those listed in  the Torah?

PS: My apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes. I had to type this one with no spell check!

An Answer

Thank you all for reading my blog. I'm amazed at the number of people that are following along and sharing their great inspirational feedback. Thank you so much.

I've left Tamale and am now in Cape Coast in the beginning of our "educational tour". For the next three weeks will we go city to city spending a few days, hearing some lectures, doing workshops and activities, and seeing three more regions of Ghana before returning to Accra to launch our independent studies. Our schedule is very packed, but I will try to at least put a couple of more posts before starting the project.

Cape Coast so far is pretty incredible. Visiting slave dungeons and cells was powerful in ways I never expected. We have another visit to another dungeons and a lecture on slavery today, and I will gather my thoughts and share them soon.

For now, I want to answer  a question I was emailed. What is up with all the children having short hair?

By law, but also by tradition, all children, male or female, who attend a Ghana school must have short hair until they finish secondary school (19-20 years old). There are very very few exceptions in private Westernized schools, but in general children and teenagers have short hair. It is a way of identifying them to the community as children, that must be protected. A child is considered the entire society's responsibility, and marking them with short hair makes it easy to identify them. Especially for teenage girls, although their bodies may look like adults, they are children, and the short hair ensures no one approaches her inappropriately.

So that's what's up with the short hair on the children.

I promise to share more when I get a bit of a break. Academically this is a jam-packed time. I will announce that I finally have completed my independent study proposal, I was going back and forth with ideas the last few months.

On our incredibly bumpy 5-hour unpaved ride to Mole National Park for an extraordinary safari experience, we went past many villages. As I mentioned before the Northern Region of Ghana is home to an astonishing level of poverty, and it's particularly evident in the rural areas. A common problem due to weather and traditional barriers is food security, a lack of knowledge on food preservation techniques, and the staples of the traditional diet, make the dry season a season of hunger for most people in this area.

I was surprised to see many of the villages marked with a sign from the Ministry of Agriculture's recently developed Food Security program.  The official policy paperwork sounds fantastic, but in the field it doesn't seem like it's really doing much. Developed hours away in Accra, by people with a completely different language, religion and culture, it certainly has its issues.

My project is going to be an through field assessment of this program in 2-3 remote villages (exact locations are still being determined when I hear back from the Ministry of Agriculture's list of participating and 'problem' villages). Working with the communities themselves and NGOs that have been working in this area for decades, I hope to be able to determine the key barriers and help make some recommendations for improvement.


My advisors and the district office of the Ministry of Agriculture is beyond excited for this project. It's the kind of assessment that the Ministry simply does not have the resources to do themselves. Actually taking the time live these villages and understand the food insecurity issue holistically is going to be a challenge unlike anything I've ever faced, but I am excited to face it. For now, I have 3 weeks to pack as much Dagbani into my head as possible, enough to at least greet and get by. It's quite a complex langauge, so wish me luck!

That is all for now. I look forward to sharing some more stories and pictures soon. Thanks for all the incredible support. This experience would be impossible without it.

Why I chose to wear the headscarf, and the incredible lesson it has taught me on religious tolerance.

Since our arrival in to Tamale, we were advised to purchase and wear a headscarf or veil.  It’s has a very practical purpose to keep our heads cool in this astonishing heat, but more so it’s out of respect to the traditions of a mostly Islamic community. Although not everyone in the Tamale area is Muslim, and not every woman wears a head covering, it’s a vast majority.

Nonetheless of the 14 girls in our group only three have chosen to wear the headscarf. Of the other 11, not a single one could tell you they’ve been in any way mistreated or made uncomfortable for their choice. Tamale, land of NGOs, is used to many Westerners, but more so, they are incredibly respectful of everybody’s individual cultures and choices.

I can say, however, that wearing the veil has proved to be an exceedingly bonding experience between myself and the community. Without any words, people recognize that I am not from here, but that I to respect their traditions. They are extraordinarily welcoming to my presence and it just gives warmth to any relationship one may form with anybody in the community.

The second day in Tamale, I grabbed a taxi by myself and the driver, Hassan, was very happy to talk to me. He said that the day before he had picked me up with my friends, but he wasn’t sure we wanted to talk to him. We ended up having a 20 minute discussion on polygamy, divorce, family and even Colombian fauna. Likewise, I have had many of these kinds of conversations and connection with strangers, even on religious topics that one wouldn’t think are everyday conversation things.

The first time someone asked me if I wanted to be Muslim, I thought they were trying to convert me- he wasn’t even Muslim himself, he was just making conversation and was shocked to hear how strongly we hold on to our religious faith titles in America. When I told him I was a Christian, he responded “don’t you believe in freedom of worship?” As if to say; what does it matters what you consider yourself? I just wanted to know your thoughts on Islam.

We learned in our lecture on Islam that the first constitutional provision made by the prophet Mohammed when he moved to Medina and tried to rule a city of Muslims, Christians and Jews was this concept of “freedom of worship” and brotherhood  between faiths.  Although lost in the extremist communities the American media has so greatly sensationalized, in West Africa this tenet is practiced to an astonishing degree that is just humbling.

In preparation to our visit to a mosque, aware of the ceremonious list of traditions and restrictions associated with mosques, I wanted to learn how to enter and pray properly. So I went with a friend to the home of one of our staff, Fusi, so his mother could teach us.  Islam has strict restrictions between men and women, so we needed to learn from a woman. 

She taught us how to perform ablution, the obligatory ceremony to purify your body prior to praying. It involves washing different parts of your body in a ritualistic order and fashion. (At some point we found ourselves squatting in this backyard trying to cleanse our private parts, doing so in this little shack outside the actual mosque was quite an experience.)  However, learning how to perform ablution or the secrets to keeping the veil from slipping wasn’t the most interesting part of the evening, it was the conversation afterwards.

Fusi’s mom was actually a former Catholic, but because her family was Muslim and her community Muslim, she attended Arabic school growing up- Arabic school Monday to Friday, Catholic mass on Sundays, what a childhood! Interestingly enough, her son Fusi, who is a devout Muslim, refused to go to Arabic school growing up (he didn’t want to be caned by teachers) so he went to a Methodist school. Now he struggles to learn Arabic to be able to read the Quran, but loves his Islamic faith dearly.

There is a strong belief that Islam is a choice and everyone has a choice to how they worship God, even children. Within one family you may find Muslim children and Catholic children, even attending Christian schools, even as their parents are Muslims. Adults are allowed to leave their Islamic requirements behind and become Christian, or traditionalists, and they often do, just as Islam welcomes people of all other religions to learn their faith, pray with them, even if they don’t want to convert.   

There is something simply incredible in that amount of religious tolerance. I can’t think of a family in America, of any faith, to not only allow their children to practice a different faith than them, but even attend school of a different religion.

This idea of ‘freedom of worship’ and respect within religions truly solidified for me today when we visited a mosque for Friday service. For many of my female peers it isn’t easy to see the gender separation and restrictions on dress with the eye of tradition. Sure, the feminist in me could flare up at the idea of sitting behind a wall with only my face uncovered, unable to see the man preaching to me.

But I can’t, I am just in awe of a ceremony with so much history behind it, and the unbelievable hospitality of both men and women of the mosque community. I have visited many churches in my life, once even a synagogue and I have never felt more genuinely welcomed by a congregation than in that mosque today. Even with a complete language barrier, a ridiculously obvious cultural barrier, they took their time to welcome us, pray with us, pray for us, our future, our health, our families, for peace in the world, for brotherhood between faiths. Invite us to return and study in their community if we wish, to learn more about Islam, them, or just say hello and have a meal.

There is a something remarkably powerful in praying with a room full of women, the ceremonious movements, the acceptance that with a different prophet, in a different language, we could share a space for God.  It’s a something that is just beyond words.  

For anybody to claim Islam is not a religion of peace has never studied it or been among Muslims. To look at the extremists who distort Islam to bomb and kill and judge their faith, is like looking at the Westboro Baptist Church, the Crusades, abortion clinic bombings, childhood Mormon polygamy and soo many other examples and judge the Christian faith.  

Extremism exists, in every faith.  It’s hard to view it and accept it among our own, but that does not mean you judge the ‘others’ simply because their extremism is on TV more often. I don’t plan on ever becoming a Muslim, but I have learned more about faith and tolerance among them than I ever have among Christians. Tomorrow I will leave Tamale, I still haven’t settled on whether I will return for my ISP, but this experience is one I will forever be thankful to God for.  

“There is confusion between what is modernizing and what is becoming a cheap imitation of the West”

On one of our last days in the village, I accompanied my friend Veronica to the hair salon to witness close range one of the saddest things I’ve observed since my arrival in Ghana: the astonishing popularity of relaxers and weaves among women. Even in the rural areas. 

If you are not familiar with the social and economic implications of this taming of natural African hair, I highly highly highly recommend watching Chris Rock’s documentary “Good Hair”. It’s not only absolutely hysterical, it is very informative. 

It is almost shameful how American society has valued the “taming” of natural black hair to the point that research shows the diminished professional opportunities of Black women in America with natural hair.  However, to see this phenomenon here in Africa is something so shocking and depressing- spending so much time, so much money, and such dangerous chemicals to simply have hair that doesn’t look your own.  To have an entire society internalize that their hair is somehow bad, and changing it has become a distorted symbol of modernity. 

The title quote is from Dr. Yemi during one of our earliest lectures in Ghana. It has stayed with me throughout the last two months as I continue to observe so many instances of this “confusion”.  Here in Tamale, where most women wear veils, the hair thing is obviously not an issue, but the general principle is nonetheless evident.

When I chose to visit Ghana, I looked forward to getting in touch with so many cultural traditions that had influenced and shaped the Colombian ones I was raised with. I thought of music, dance, storytelling, so many cultural practices that give this region such joy and marvel.  However, it’s been truly saddening to see that many of those things are dying or suppressed, not by some greater colonial force or government, but by the people themselves. 

People have chosen to trade in the rich tradition of music, dance, storytelling, sharing time and games with neighbors for mind-numbing foreign TV or radio. Of the 54 families we’ve lived with in Accra, Kumasi and the villages, we all shared the same frustration with entire evenings, sitting in front of TV sets watching horrible dubbed soap operas, reality shows, or more often, lots and lots of televangelists.  No games, no talking to each other, no sharing with neighbors.  In the villages it wasn’t to that extreme extent, but it was the radio, listening to horrible autotune American/British music and rap, it was a luxury to blast your radio every single day from 4am to 11pm for the village to hear. 

Of the thousands of night spots, bars or clubs in the Accra region, only two play live Ghanaian music, and they do so only a few days a month.  Live music and traditional dancing is something almost completely obliterated by its own people, out of the schools (extremely so, no music, art, or culture classes are allowed in any public school in Ghana), out of the streets and local performance halls, restricted now to performance companies that come out when groups like us come to visit.  

People have almost no interest in dancing their own music, in learning their own language, because they are too infatuated with 'modernizing'- the latest cell phones (and everybody, everybody absolutely everybody has a cell phone, sometimes two), the latest American music, the British sports, the American or dubbed Chinese television, outside everything. 

The ‘entertainment’ industry consists of televangelist, dubbing foreign soaps or making your own copy of an American show, and everybody everybody absolutely everybody gathers around the TV everyday to watch for hours.  As a tro tro rider once said to me, “see look at our city, we’re becoming like yours, we’ll catch up, you can’t think we’re ‘poor and African’ any more”. 

To make this point even clearer, Dr. Yemi gave us an assignment in Kumasi: to go to the high school across the street and find one young boy (or girl) who could name just three players of the Ghana national soccer team.  Soccer is a huge deal here, and Ghana team is quite good (in case you missed that Ghana v. USA 2010 FIFA world cup game, they kicked our butt). However, of the 30 boys I talked to not one could name three players, not even two. Even sadder, every single one could name the full line-up of the Manchester and/or Chelsea teams.

Why? Why is that people have chosen to turn their backs on their own heritage for the glamour of becoming like the West.  I wish I had an answer to that question.  

What I do have an answer to is a question I wish I got asked more often: why did I come here? Why did I leave the land with the best universities in the world, every opportunity imaginable at my fingertips for a land best known for its poverty and disease? 

When I tell people I am here studying Ghanaian culture, I get mixed reactions. Some people just think I’m insane. Others really wonder whether they have anything to offer worth studying.  For many it gives them a sort of tiny wake-up call, it makes them eager to embrace their traditions so that they can be shared. 

However, deleting art and culture out of the schools is worrisome, as children grow with no embrace of their heritage. I had a child in the village say “Twi is abolished; everyone should just speak English, because Twi is the bad language of poor people”. He was seven years old, living in a village with no TV, not a lot of access to the outside world, but somehow distaste for his own culture. 

I don’t know what the future of Ghana’s culture and traditions will be like, I hope and pray that a sort of “cultural revolution” could occur for more people to rise and claim the thousands of years of customs and beauty that make this an extraordinary place.  

 At the University of Ghana, Legon, they’ve tried to make Friday ‘African’ day and encourage professors and students to wear traditional fabrics and clothes. It’s a start.  And a lot people are dedicated to preserving dances and music, teaching it to the children outside of schools, and performing for their own communities. 

SIT works with groups and communities all over the country. Our presence inspires many, this is an incredible land with wonderful people, and I know that many will continue to embrace their heritage and safeguard it from the continuous bombarding of Western influence.

More Pictures

Things move by so fast here in Ghana. Before I could even finish digesting village life, the next day I arrived in Tamale, Northern Region.  Here I am wearing a headscarf and seeming unimaginable poverty. 9 out 10 people here live under $1 a day, they speak a completely different language, Dagbani. The land of the most intense heat I've ever experienced, Islam, FGM and incredibly friendly people. Despite all I imagined before coming, this is my favorite town in Ghana thus far and I think I'll probably return here for my Independent Project.

I'll try to write more soon in between projects and traveling. The day after tomorrow we're off to a two-day safari at Mole National Park and then leaving the Northern region for Cape Coast. For now I'll share some more pictures:

One of the biggest challenges in Islamic Ghana is education, more so education for girls. Camfed stands for Campaing for Female Education and their offices are next to the place we do our lectures.

Yesterday, we visited the Women's Shea Butter Co-Op. It was a very powerful experience to not only see how Shea butter is made, but to see women come together in their own business, something unheard of in this area.

Extracting the shea oil from the roasted nuts.

An attempt at doing it myself. It's quite an arm workout.

I had a hoot with the children of the women that worked at the Co-Op, how I wish I could speak their language.

Nonetheless, I was able to teach them how to say a couple of basic greetings in English. If there is something I learned in China is  you don't need a common language to teach.

Outside the Co-Op

All that black on the ground, those are plastic bags. Plastic never decomposes.

This was my incredible family in the village of Poano. The husband was not around, but those are three wives and a sister.  They were truly amazing women. The baby was the only child in that entire village who was not afraid of me. 

The KVIP and a flashlight = Life in rural Ghana.

Eating Banku. None of the other students care for the very traditional dishes like banku, or the traditional way they are eaten: no utensils, everyone out of the same bowl, and no talking.  I love it, so I ate with the staff every day.

On our first weekend in the village, the chief invited us to a major funeral going on. We went in style.

Even with malaria, the kids never leave you alone. So I decided to entertain them with a Science/English class with a rocket launcher.

We literally threw a massive town party with a blind band at 9:30am on a Wednesday. Seriously.

The band. They were from the Kumasi School for the Blind and were doing a sort of fundraiser. They were fantastic.

We make quite the spectacle.

John, the herbalist, after winning him over. Full story.

Outside the village school. Here's the full post on Twi, and traditional languages being taken out of schools.

Some of my neighbors in Poano.

Batik class in Accra.

The finished Batik turned into a dress. And me wearing it as I try to pound fufu with Auntie Grace. Check out the napping boys in the back. In the horrible heat with no fans, sometimes all you can do is nap.

Dishes are probably one of the hardest things to do without running water.

My host family in Kumasi pounding fufu.  Definitely a lot better than I can do it.

Blonde Jesus.

Adisa the water girl. I shared the story about.

Adisa and me.

Sometimes you have to get away from all the starch and the oil. This was our attempt by making avocado-mango salad on crackers and smoothie in a bowl.

Like the good sexual health educator that I am, I enjoy taking a picture of all the "Avoid AIDS" campaign billboards.  This one was right outside the campus entrance in Kumasi. It made me giggle.

Scary Malaria

Originally I was going to write a post on how malaria wasn’t a big deal.  It is extremely common, and for me it really wasn’t all that bad, I’ve had colds that were worst- just a fever, nausea, and body weakness for three days. 

Sure the nine-hour ordeal to see a doctor was sucky, and there was dealing with a  douchy lab tech who thought it was funny to not take my blood for 20 minutes until he finished sufficiently laughing at Colombia and asking for cocaine (Seriously, do I come to your country to make fun of your poverty and AIDS? No. So just take my damn blood and do your job. But unfortunately I couldn’t say that.) Nonetheless, two injections and five days of medicines later I was as good as new. 

I was quite literally in the middle of writing this post when my friend Jamie who had woken up with a tummy ache called for me.  Tummy aches and/or diarrhea are as common as breathing in this constant traveling, we all go through it and generally you take it easy and sleep it off with some pepto bismol. 

When Jamie woke up with cramps, he was off to rest.  A few hours later we find him with barely breathing, a 105 fever, a 140 pulse, and completely delirious.  His limbs seemed to be paralyzed as he seemed to be hallucinating. Panic hit everyone; here we are 40 minutes away from the closest hospital. There’s no 911, no ambulance or EMTs, not even a paved road. 

We managed to get a taxi and carry him on.  I insisted someone that new CPR had to come with since his pulse kept racing and his heart could stop. Everyone was too panicked, so it became my task. It was by far the scariest 35 minutes of my life.  Granted the conversation we had as I tried to calm him in his panicked delirium was priceless, eg: “Wait, I’m going to the hospital?? I don’t know how to use a bedpan!” (Insert tears). 

We made it to the hospital. I was expecting some big emergency entrance, but there is no such thing. There is no emergency room, no monitors, no hooking up to an immediate IV or oxygen mask. There is a casual glance from a doctor, smirking nurses at the delirious obruni, and me and Auntie Grace running around from one desk to the other trying to get him treated. It was 45 minutes later before they got an IV on him, only after he vomited twice, and we got an old lady to run and purchase toilet paper so he could use the bathroom with diarrhea (bedpan worry was unnecessary).  20 of those 45 minutes were wasted with a pharmacist who thought it was hilarious to hit on me, ask me for a visa   and make fun of the fact that we could pay without insurance before he gave me the IV drugs he needed.  In the end, the diagnosis was severe malaria.  

A night in the hospital, lots of drugs and rest and he was alright.  He is actually sitting next to me right now laughing at the things he said in his panicked tearful delirium.  (Some of which we’ve agreed will never leave my mouth...) 

Nothing has ever made me so appreciative of our messed up yet efficient American medical system. We went to a private hospital, one of the best in the entire region, and to think of how easily the situation could’ve gone tragically wrong is truly terrifying.  At home, I spend so much time complaining about issues without our medical system, issues that now seem so trivial.  I never imagined that in Ghana I would experience something so unbelievably scary yet powerful, an experience that will forever be in my memory, and will undoubtedly shape how I carry on my future career.