The Real American Exceptionalism

This isn't really a post per say, just wanted to share something a friend shared with me this week.  

Yesterday's 3-hour interview with the Ministry of Food and Agriculture Tamale Metropolitan Director marked an awesome end to my fieldwork, now as I sit down to pull a 30-40 page report out of my butt in six days to get it bound in time for me to get back to Accra, there isn't really much time for much of anything else. And I hope the last story has given you enough laughter to last a few more days. 

There is 16 days left of this crazy Ghana, and then it's back to that even crazier America. At the end of the day, that is where my life and my passions lie and I can't wait to get back there. And we sure are messed up! I've been out of the loop since I've been here, but I've tried to stay on top of the major things: trying to defund NPR and Planned Parenthood, crazy congress still haven't gotten their crap together on the budget and barely caused a shutdown, Wisconsin and their union battle that now even has Palin talking (not that she really needs much to be prompted), Obama running for re-elction, the birthers getting to an apparently ridiculous level that Obama got a waiver to release his birth certificate, etc etc. But all the politics that govern and tear apart our privileged lives, underneath lies this fundamental cultural poverty that we really need to address. Although we probably won't and will need some major tragedy to wake us up. 

When I travel I rarely say I'm American, which isn't a lie, I'm not, not yet (it's the first thing on my to-do list when I return and gather enough money this summer. I became eligible last year, but couldn't since I was leaving the country for an extended period of time, and didn't exactly have $1,000 laying around).  But even if I was, and when I do, I will probably still opt for going by Colombian (which also wouldn't be a lie, yay dual citizenship). As much as I looove America,  the land that has given me and my family so many opportunities, a land of cultural, social and political freedom that is simply amazing, it will always be my home, and am so elated to dedicate the rest of my life to its betterment. I hate what we are to the rest of the world- economically, politically, culturally. I hate the individualism, greed and the American idea of superiority and exceptionalism that lately has been plaguing our airwaves in this two-party political silliness. And more than anything, I hate our chosen ignorance of everything and everyone else. A chosen one. Because at our fingertips lies the potential to learn and discover so much, we have access to so much information it is simply astounding. We are so damn lucky when it comes to our access, we have wifi at every corner, libraries in every little town, books, blogs, conferences, papers, magazines, and nothing, no governement censorship, no law, no distance, no financial limitation, standing in our way of us and knowledge of the world. Yet as a nation we refuse to know. I hate that. And the rest of the world hates that. 

I have met countless people in three different continents in awe of the site of a book, a simple book, people that have to hide and smuggle news, people that have begged me to tell them about Colombia or China or America, countless people, saving every little sent they may have so they could too have satellite and acesss to CNN or BBC and find out what's going on in the world. Information that to us is just a google search away. Just look at how Al Jazeera transformed the Arab world (Al Jazeera-English is amazing by the way, my house in here Tamale has satellite and have Al Jazeera on all the time. I am not a fan of TV news, and especially not of the general middle east non-stop fiasco, but I'm in looove with Al Jazeera. Very insightful, well put together reports and documentaries of issues all over the world, and just refreshingly neutral).

So without much further ranting on my part, here is this very well written piece I hope gives some food for thought. Although really, if you're reading my blog, you're probably not part of the American mainstream that glorifies this idea, and are probably just as equally angry about it. Nonetheless, here it is: 

The Real American Exceptionalism

Cagando de risa

It's funny how life really is what you make of it. Perception is everything. I had my breakdown in Panvo and a couple of days later found myself in really a much worse situation, but mentally so much better. After a couple of days at the palace in Bamvim I was ill. Diarrhea ill. Really really really terribly ill. No amount of Immodium, Pepto Bismol, Mist Kaolin or Magnesium Milk combination was making me better. At the point that I hadn't eaten in a day, but was still pooping, just pooping water. Not the first time I've been that sick (it's actually the third time here in Ghana). I took some ciprofloxacin, which really is magic, but takes several hours to kick in. (How easy it is to get medicine here is wonderful. I spent two weeks fighting with Walgreens and my insurance company that at the end only agreed to give me four pills for $10, here I walked into a pharmacy and got a box of 10 for $4)

Terrible diarrhea and not a hole in sight, just me, a watering can, an open field, and 20-30 children following me to watch me poop. Six times. To make matters worse, my iPod broke and my phone died right as my charger broke, all in the same night. But really I was in the best mental place.  I felt great, even if my body didn't. The focus groups with farmers and market women during the day had gone beautifully and I was ready to let my bowels continue to grumble it out on my mat, knowing that the cipro would kick in by the morning.

I woke up at 4:30am to prayer call, a rooster, and the rumblings of the palace around me (I sleep outside because my room is too hot), and not really feeling all that better. In fact, I felt worse. I needed to go. Again. So I got up and went to get my water can and flashlight and prepped to go to the field. As I got up I realized just how bad I felt, I didn't think I was going to make it to the field. I was gonna explode, I was actually already starting to explode right in my pants. I looked around my room and saw the plastic bag I was keeping garbage in and figured I would use that and throw it out afterwards.

I squatted and went, praying no child would come bursting through my door as they often do (my door doesn't lock). They didn't. I uncontrollably relieved myself, my bowels really don't like Ghana. I finish and turn around to realize I'd completely missed the bag. Oh yes.

Here I am not feeling all that much better with my water poop all over the palace room floor. I have no water, no sponge, no paper, no way to clean it up, so I decide to go for a pair of shorts I didn't really plan on keeping anyway and what was left of some toilet paper at the bottom of my bag. I cleaned it up and nonchalantly walked out with the bag to throw it in a field. After I return I realize, of course, how do I get rid of the smell??  No perfume, no soap, nothing. I see the mug of tea from the day before and opted for that with some shower soap. That didn't really work too well. But I was in a hurry and after awhile I just opened the window and decided to blame it on a goat if anybody asked.

But as I found myself squat pantless cleaning my poop off a palace floor with tea and soap I simply could not stop laughing. I laughed so much there were tears in my eyes. It was just hysterical. In Colombia, we have an expression when something is really funny, we say you're "cagando de risa" which translates to "shitting with laughter", and that is quite literally what I was doing. Shitting with laughter...on the floor of a palace in the middle of Ghana.

Not feeling all that better, but just laughing beyond belief. A classic T.I.A. moment indeed. This is my life. And it's hilarious. It's one of those times, those weird epiphany moments, that  I have to look around and just realize no matter what life may throw at me, I can probably handle it. I have 18 days left of this crazy Ghana, and as I think more and more about what life will bring for me next all I can say is: Bring it! If I can shit on the floor of a palace, clean it up with tea, and keep my dignity and grace, I can probably do anything.


PS: This fiasco happened this morning. My cipro has kicked in already and I feel fine. Even ate bread. I've also been monitoring my temperature regularly, as diarrhea is a symptom of malaria (although it wasn't for me). No temperature. I'm peachy. So don't worry. And mom, as soon as I can track down a new charger I'll call.

Oh, The Places You'll Go!

There is an inevitable part of traveling that is never easy. When you place yourself so far from everything you know and love, everything that is 'normal' and comfortable, and the bizarre world comes pounding down all around you, there comes a time when you simply have to break.  These periodic break downs are as much a part of traveling as getting on the plane.

I think the most personally striking part of this Ghana experience, witnessing my peer's breakdowns or having communal ones as we often did really help put into perspective just how far I've come since that time I was 17 and insanely decided I was going to go live in rural China by myself and attempt to teach thousands of children English.

Like Jamie who went out and bought a machete after some children and old women decided they would throw rocks at him while he slept so he could wake up and be their friend. (No one got hurt, he just released some tension on some trees). Michael Jackson and Disney sing-alongs inside a flooding tro tro while the police try to arrest our driver.  Erica's tears thinking about granola and Lou Manatti pizza that spurred her to turn around and say to a few dozen children bothering us in Poano: "Have you ever wanted something so bad it made you sad??" I looked at her, laughed and said:  "Did you really just look at a group of really really poor African children and asked them if they've ever wanted something so bad while talking about $40 pizza?? Oh I don't know...shoes, a guaranteed next meal, clean water perhaps?"

There are plenty more of these, and as insane as they may sound, it's just the reality of traveling. I remember many the nights that I cried for a salad in China and how every other weekend I packed planning to come home. And just how many days I seriously contemplated the killing of a few children (There were so many, really, I bet you they wouldn't have even noticed).

There comes a point when you wish you had an off button for the world around you- when you want to see what's familiar, who and what you love, to stop the constant headache caused by a world speaking around you (and about you) without you being able to understand, when it simply all comes breaking down. And it comes often.  Sometimes unexpectedly, a certain event triggers it (some group of men touching your breast and laughing hysterically at the fact that you get mad*, or some jerk blocking your way, putting his cameraphone in your face and laughing with his friends when all you're trying to do is get on a damn tro tro and home before rush hour). Sometimes it brews over days, little things piling up until you just can't anymore.

The title of this post has a special meaning.  About three months into my China fiasco I had decided I was coming home. Friday was my terrible day with back to back classes of 45 fourth-graders each determined to make me quit. Seriously, it was translated to me by some other staff, 25 of these children had made it their absolute mission to make me mad and have me leave. They were upset their row didn't win the candy game the first class, and every week they held the grudge. And no yelling from the headmistress or disciplinary action was going to make them stop. Children can be truly evil.  I was done. I had typed my resignation letter, I had looked up the next flight on Sunday getting home and arranged a way to get Hong Kong. I was preparing my Saturday morning classes, my absolute favorite students at the middle school,  I knew I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to them.  I was in search for things to "sell"  for an "act a commercial" activity, and at the bottom of an old moldy box of papers in the back of my office I found Dr. Seuss' book, Oh, The Places You'll Go! I'd never read it before. And at that moment at midnight alone in my office I did, and man did I cry, and because of it decided I would stay. Those children might have wanted me to quit, but goddamn it they learned. (In fact, according to the headmistress, I was the best teacher they've had. Those kids came around by the end of that semester).

I don't know how that book got there, English books are highly regulated and many prohibited from entering China. But ever since, that book has become an integral part of my travels or just existence. I've read it so much, I can actually recite it. When at home, that same copy I found in China sits on my desk, and I take it anywhere I go.  It's a mixture of that, prayer, meditation, journaling and an iPod that I find the recipe to dealing with every breakdown Africa or anything or anyone else in the world, throws at me.

A few days ago, I had what I think has been my worst moment so far in Ghana. It all just came tumbling down.  After a morning squished amidst a crowd watching the enstoolment of the gong gong chief of Bamvim. People all around grabbing and laughing at me, the sound of screaming Dagbani, singing and crying children, ten different drum groups each playing separate things and crowding around me asking for money, the smell of sweat and kola nuts (a truly disgusting smell) , the spitting of these nuts all around, I thought I'd never get out. And I did, only to be followed by my arrival at a new village, Kpanvo, four mice came to greet me as I laid on my mat in my hut, only rain water available to bath in, no privacy, no way to lock it all out, no electricity to connect an iPod to life and tune out the crying babies, the goats, the laughter of people at your mere site. A group of people trying to convert me right after an old man continued to yell at me, entirely furious with me for not having children. He was just enraged that I had not given birth and demanded I divorce immediately so he could impregnate me.** I laid there on my mat under a very loud zinc roof during a thunderstorm, stomach grumbling, praying with all I could that I wouldn't get diarrhea when there is nothing but a field, and a terrible storm.   I sat there and simply said to myself: I can't do this.

The next day became one of the few times in my traveling experience that I left someplace early. Logistically, it made sense, upon my arrival in Kpanvo I learned the advocacy group I was coming to work with no longer existed, so I really didn't have much reason to stay. And the next morning I met with over 30 farmers and their families, and got all the info I could. But really I just couldn't stay there and maintain my sanity.

If the morning after a breakdown I'm still not feeling better, that's a clear mental sign I need to get out. A few hours of break and I was able to regain some of my sanity. But before I knew it, I had to be out again (the clock is ticking, just a few more days left to finish a lot). I found myself back in Bamvim with the newly outdoored gong gong chief whose ceremony I was at the day before. I moved into his palace with his six wives and 42 children.*** And man has that been an experience! Once again, no words.

Being with these six women, I've discovered that female animosity transcends all languages. There is some serious rivalry between these women. And one never wants to be in the way of an angry woman. (That's true no matter where in the world you are). I just greet them all, eat everything they give me, and under no circumstance do anything that may be perceived as picking a favorite...easier said than done. But really, it's been pretty awesome. Minus all the children. I really hate children. This is not exactly my ideal place, so much going on, but as Dr. Seuss says: "When things start to happen, don't worry. Don't stew. Just go right along. You'll start happening too".



*As much as I can understand the expected cultural silence of women. There is a big difference between understanding and accepting. Avoiding unwanted harassment was definitely on my list of reasons for choosing the North for my ISP.  Certainly not the main reason, far from it, but  it's a pro.  Muslims might have all kinds of issues when it comes to how they treat women, but you can rest assure no one is going to touch you. That's always refreshing.

** When it comes to marriage proposals from men I'll have to deal with again, it's a lot easier to simply say you're already married. If it's some random guy on the street, it's easier to ignore or just go the humor route: "Well you're number 16 this week, after I marry the first 15, you're next!"

***Apparently the rules of Islam can be bent if you have a high enough title, who needs to follow that four-wife limit?

No Words

I just returned from living in Bogunayili, a small village outside Tamale.  It's less than an hour from Tamale, but it is worlds upon worlds apart.  On the ride over here, on the most horrendous road ever, so bad a car couldn't go through and I rode in a motorcycle, I kept asking myself one thing: what am I getting myself into?

I've come to realize that the answer to that question I quite simply have no words for.  I'll never be able to describe accurately in words or even pictures what it's like to live with so so so little, yet amidst the most extraordinary warmth and hospitality I could ever imagine humanly possible.

The village of Poano in the Ashanti Region was certainly a tough time, but Bogunayili is about 10x poorer  and 10x more magnificently welcoming.  This family welcomed me in, a complete stranger, and housed me, fed me, translated for me to the best of their ability and guided me through everything and everywhere, and would not take a single cent from me. (I ended up giving them lots of gifts). In Poano, SIT was renting my room and the family was compensated, but here they were not prompted or asked by anyone, they just welcomed me in with open arms.

Life in Poano was absolute luxury compared to this.  The KVIP or latrine are quite honestly fit for royalty when you think about this community of 4,000+ people and not a single toilet, hole, KVIP, bucket, or any "poop in here" facility.  None. You must grab your little ablution can (a watering can) and head towards the bush to relieve yourself.  The added humiliation of everyone laughing and joking that the white girl is going to poop as you walk through the village was always a nice touch, but really it was just another opportunity to learn new words in Dagbani (which I still can't really speak much beyond basic greetings).

The entire experience was just amazing.  To lie under my little hut every night and spend afternoons on expeditions to fetch water, and climb trees with 60 year old women to search for firewood and haul them back on my head for cooking. I learned how to make TZ (a concoction made from corn and cassava flour)- and eat it twice a day every day, extract oil from peanuts (a great arm workout), process and dry rice, collect shea nuts for shea butter, and finally mastered the art of wrapping a baby to my back with nothing but a piece of cloth. I witnessed and helped ration out every morsel of food throughout entire families, and saw the reality of food insecurity first hand.

But most importantly, living in Bogunayili and visiting nearby communities for interviews I witnessed just how separated and neglected these communities are from all those initiatives the Ministry of Food and Agriculture claims with success. While they are wonderful ideas and programs, there is simply not enough staff to successfully implement them. A lack of collaboration between the Ministry and NGOs that have established relationships and programs in the communities, leaving the farmers and families trapped in between in a cycle of poverty. What is evident is that NGO programs help a lot, even if they are limited in resources, not just in a direct benefit way, but in increasing morale, group formation and leadership within the own communities.

It was through the inspiration left by NGOs long gone that the community formed women's groups, farmer's groups, and help start and have their own daycare without a single source of outside funding. In the same way a program over 12 years ago resulted in the community forming a student's association (BOCSA: Bogunayili with Communities Students Association) organized and funded by the communities' own youth to help each other succeed in school ,and encourage the youngest, particularly the girls, to stay in school.

In 10 years of the organization's existence, Bogunayili went from having not a single girl and few boys having finished primary school, to 21 currently enrolled in high school (11 of which are girls), and 2 in university.  They each contribute a few cents to help the neediest among them pay school fees, organize tutoring and extra classes during school breaks, have a football club for boys and girls (and managed to dispel the cultural opposition of girls playing football). The openness to help each other amidst such extraordinary poverty is nothing but humbling and inspiring.

It was with these extra classes organized that I got a chance to teach again. I'd forgotten how much I love to teach (high schoolers, can't do the little ones, they drive me crazy), there is simply nothing that compares to the feeling of sharing knowledge with youth. Their passion for learning and moving themselves and their community forward was amazing, I'll never ever forget them. (I'll be going back this week to teach again, since I'm nearby in Tamale).

Being completely alone added another dimension to the entire experience that again, I have no words for.  There was no classmate, no staff, not a single familiar face with me. (Don't worry, I have mandatory call-in times to my main staff in Accra and my guide in Tamale was just a quick ride way to bring me anything I may have needed). It was complete immersion and it was not a problem, I do prefer it that way.  Honestly, choosing to do this Ghana program I always knew that the toughest part for me was going to be having to spend 14 weeks with 17 people of my own age. And as much as I've come to really love and appreciate my peers, saying goodbye was not exactly difficult. I wouldn't have had this Bogunayili experience any other  way.   I saw and learned so much, and took away memories that I will never be able to truly express in words.

When I called Papa Attah in Accra for my mandatory check-in and explained where I was and how life was going, he was amused, and couldn't believe even the chief had to use the bush for his toilet-needs. "Giselle, only you could do this. Any other student would've called me crying days ago. ::Insert imitation tears in his 'American girl' voice::  But you, you have the maturity and compassion to handle any experience you put yourself into. Now you'll really get to see the differences between the North and the South in a way none of your friends will ever know. I have no doubt your ISP report will be great. Enjoy your life!!"

And that's exactly what I did.

On FGM

In the spirit of the last post, and in honor of the opening weekend of the Vagina Monologues, (Ladies, break a leg. Readers, I hope you were able to secure yourselves a ticket to this amazing show) I have to ring true to my  "Unhappy Fact" Vagina Warrior title even from afar.  I cannot come to Africa and not write on this. I simply cannot.  So here it is.

Ghana is (proudly) one of the few countries in Africa to have outlawed FGM and it has for the most part been eradicated here. It does continue to exist in remote areas of the North and West, such as the villages I am visiting for my project.  It's not something anyone ever talks about. In fact, issues of sexuality are so taboo in this area, that even happily married women do not want to admit to pregnancy as it means admitting to having had sex. (You can then imagine the challenge of getting women to access prenatal care, but that's another issue).  Women only visit their husband's hut late in the night, and simply anything even remotely related is never discussed in the public sphere.  That is why the aforementioned discussion in the last post (The Voice) was truly extraordinary and helps reaffirm the need to give voice and forum of discussion to women silenced by their own tradition.

FGM. Female genital mutilation, also known as female genital cutting or female circumcision is the cultural practice of  using a razor, or shred of glass to partially or completely remove the clitoris of a girl, it may also include removing the labia and/or sowing the vaginal opening closed, leaving only a small opening for menstrual blood.  Practiced by Muslims, Christians, and traditionalists alike it is an incredibly widespread practice throughout Africa.  WHO estimates about 100-140 million girls and women have undergone the ritual. 

It is without question an atrocious practice that needs to stop.  However, I think often as outsiders we misunderstand this issue and its cultural and traditional significance.  Hearing the description of FGM, the Western feminist in all of us, male and female alike, would like to jump to this idea of men wanting to control women and limit their sexuality.  And to a certain extent in some areas, this is true, but that is not the main reasoning behind FGM. Believe it or not, the biggest advocates for FGM are not old men or chiefs, but women themselves. Usually older women, who have undergone it themselves, and it is them that encourage and complete the rite on the girls.  It is very much, a female-driven practice. It is an important rite that is based very much on tradition and cultural ideas of beauty and womanhood.

FGM like many other "African issues", are things that in our Western mind we often want to 'other' to that terrible place where the Black people roam in poverty and disease and their crazy customs.  But if we take a moment and look at he ideals and shortcomings of our own culture, we might be able to see this in a different light.

So I will boldly challenge you all to look at this issue comparatively with the keen practice of male infant circumcision we culturally highly value in the U.S. Not unlike FGM, it is something far common (estimate circumcision rate in the U.S is 70-90%) and not really ever discussed in private or public.  While the the two practices are not at all biologically reciprocal.  In fact, the clitoris is biological equivalent of the head of the penis. To cut or remove it would be essentially cutting off the entire penis head.  And because the clitoris has twice the nerve endings of the penis (vagina happy fact of the day =), we can assume it to be twice more painful, and this isn't exactly done with anesthesia.

However, the cultural reasons behind the two circumcisions are not all that different.  Both practices are painful (yes, baby boys feel pain when circumcised), purely cosmetic, and cultural in nature. Although there is a religious component at times with things like the Hebrew tradition, it's generally just a choice of parents.  There is no significant proven or recognized health benefit to male circumcision, it is very much a cosmetic practice that the American culture has come to value.  There is some unclear research on the possible negative effects of male circumcision on sexual potency, it's not something really proven or recognized.  Since obviously it is difficult to experimentally control and assess with most male circumcisions occurring in infancy.  However, what is really different between the two is the obvious known harm of FGM as far as bleeding, painful menstruation, infections, and complications and death during labor.

FGM certainly needs to be put to an end, but it can only be done with education.  Until these communities are educated, in a culturally sensitive way, on the physical and psychological harmful effects this causes girls, FGM will never come to an end.  But from the outside we cannot seize to a) discuss it, and b) really seek to learn the complexity of the issue.  I am not an expert on FGM so I will leave you with the findings of someone who is.   Based on decades of research on the issue, she put this table of quotes together that I think really helps see the cultural parallels between male and female circumcision on both sides of the Atlantic. So I will leave you with this food for thought.

I am not trying to attack male circumcision. To be honest, I think if I were to ever have a son, I would have him circumcised. And I'm certainly not trying to defend FGM. It is such a horrendous and dangerous practice. But I hope that that seeing them compared side by side will help us all better understand the cultural aspects of the issue.

Similarities in Attitudes and Misconceptions toward Infant Male Circumcision in North America and Ritual Female Genital Mutilation in Africa.

By Hanny Lightfoot-Klein

Clitoridectomy and Infibulation in Africa	Infant Male Circumcision in North America
"She loses only a little piece of the clitoris, just the part that protrudes. The girl does not miss it. She can still feel, after all. There is hardly any pain. Women's pain thresholds are so much higher than men's."	"It's only a little piece of skin. The baby does not feel any pain because his nervous system is not developed yet."
"The parts that are cut away are disgusting and hideous to look at. It is done for the beauty of the suture."	"An uncircumcised penis is a real turn-off. Its disgusting. It looks like the penis of an animal."
"Female circumcision protects the health of a woman. Infibulation prevents the uterus from falling out [uterine prolapse]. It keeps her smelling so sweet that her husband will be pleased. If it is not done, she will stink and get worms in her vagina."	"An uncircumcised penis causes urinary infections and penile cancer. It generates smegma and smegma stinks. A circumcised penis is more hygienic and oral sex with an uncircumcised penis is disgusting to women."
"An uncircumcised vulva is unclean and only the lowest prostitute would leave her daughter uncircumcised. No man would dream of marrying an unclean woman. He would be laughed at by everyone."	"An uncircumcised penis is dirty and only the lowest class of people with no concept of hygiene leave their boys uncircumcised."
"Leaving a girl uncircumcised endangers both her husband and her baby. If the baby's head touches the uncut clitoris during birth, the baby will be born hydrocephalic [excess cranial fluid]. The milk of the mother will become poisonous. If a man's penis touches a woman's clitoris he will become impotent."	"Men have an obligation to their wives to give up their foreskin. An uncircumcised penis will cause cervical cancer in women. It also spreads disease."
"A circumcised woman is sexually more pleasing to her husband. The tighter she is sewn, the more pleasure he has."	"Circumcised men make better lovers because they have more staying power than uncircumcised men."
"All the women in the world are circumcised. It is something that must be done. If there is pain, then that is part of a woman's lot in life."	"Men in all the 'civilized' world are circumcised."
"Doctors do it, so it must be a good thing."	"Doctors do it, so it must be a good thing."
Sudanese grandmother: "In some countries they only cut out the clitoris, but here we do it properly. We scrape our girls clean. If it is properly done, nothing is left, other than a scar. Everything has to be cut away."	My own father, a physician, speaking of ritual circumcision inflicted upon my son: "It is a good thing that I was here to preside. He had quite a long foreskin. I made sure that we gave him a good tight circumcision."
35 year old Sudanese woman: "Yes, I have suffered from chronic pelvic infections and terrible pain for years now. You say that all if this is the result of my circumcision? But I was circumcised over 30 years ago! How can something that was done for me when I was four years old have anything to do with my health now?"	35 years old American male: "I have lost nearly all interest in sex. You might say that I'm becoming impotent. I don't seem to have much sensation in my penis anymore, and it is becoming more and more difficult for me to reach orgasm. You say that this is the result of my circumcision? That doesn't make any sense. I was circumcised 35 years ago, when I was a little boy. How can that affect me in any way now?"

©Hanny Lightfoot-Klein

The Voice

Choosing to complete my ISP in the North felt like a natural decision.  I found my initial stay in the Islamic community fascinatingly different, yet eerily homecoming like.  It was after I left Tamale last month that I learned slaves shipped across the Atlantic actually all came from the North.  Which explained why I saw such a resemblance in music, dances, and even festivals of the North to those of coastal Colombia. Upon colonization, the South and coastal areas became (and still are) the hub of trade, development, and modernization, and the North was always reserved for cheap labor both internally and for export. In fact, there is a more than 500-year difference between the first school establish in Southern Ghana and than in the North, that is how comparatively underdeveloped the North is.

Yet returning here has really been incredible. I know that some of my greatest memories of Ghana will come from riding around Tamale and surrounding villages on the back of a motorcycle, the calming sound of prayer call five times a day, the outrageously hot air blowing on my face and veil, and the insightful interviews, conversations, and welcoming spirit of people as I build this project.  Nonetheless, being in the hub of such strict religious expectations, and historic social norms which govern attitudes and behaviors in the face of a modernizing world is a phenomenon I'm not sure how to accurately put in words, but I hope this reflection helps give a taste of this complex issue.

Last Sunday,  I found myself in one of these tradition v. modernity situations that will forever shape my view of this community and the amazing outright luck to have been born and raised where I was.

I spent the afternoon with my translator/liaison/guide Fuzzy, his brother, and my host brother and sister, all university students or recent grads. Having an impromptu American-themed afternoon, I spent the day introducing them to guacamole (there is no potatoes here, so it was guacamole and yam), playing Uno and discussing life. The discussion soon turned more into a debate on relationships, trust and faithfulness, gender roles, giving birth, and much more.

This 'debate' was hours long and further made more interesting by the joining of more young people, including two married university students, one pregnant and one who had just given birth to her third child. We talked about divorce, FGM (female genital mutilation), AIDS, birth control. We shared pictures of my travel, my work, and much explaining and discussing.

On my part I have always had a cultural understanding of the deeply rooted traditional role of women in this community.  However, being able to see the passionate desire for change by the young women, and the immense and nearly impossible opposition they face in a society entirely controlled by men gave me a different view of this changing world.

The debate began with the men explaining why they all are in constant fervent search for an American woman, insisting that African women cannot be trusted. They complained that African women do not make time for their boyfriends or husbands, and just live answering to phone calls and engagements with friends, which to them means they are clearly unfaithful.  That especially women such as nurses could never be trusted, as they supposedly use their career as an excuse to be away from their husbands, and of course be unfaithful.

When I asked why it was okay for the men to answer their phones at any time and any place, and have as many "friends" and engagements as he pleases, they simply said it was different. Because they are allowed to have multiple wives, and women are not allowed to have multiple husbands. Thus, to marry or even date means to complete resignation to your man.

I'll share a quote from a wonderful book and a recommended read if you want a great novel that gives voice to polygamy in modern Ghana, Changes: A Love Story by Ama Ata Aidoo. The main character, a driven career woman is trying to explain to her grandmother why she wants to divorce her husband who rapes her and demands all her time, to which her grandmother responds "the best husband you can ever have is he who demands all of you and all your time" and goes on to explain that the reason such a big deal is made of a bride on her wedding is because a wedding is "a funeral for the person the bride could be".

There is simply this complete mistrust of women among old or young men alike, the idea that African women are somehow innately evil and 'stubborn' (ie: stupid) and must be tamed. It's painfully evident in the way girls are treated and trained to be women, or rather good wives and mothers.

What is most shocking is the idea that despite all modernity, to quote Hasam: "An American woman is always perfect". Even as I explained that most likely a young American women would not be good wives by their standards- they will not cook or clean, and give birth to dozens of children, the way African women are expected and genuinely happy to do (even the most modern of women, they are beyond ecstatic to be wives and mothers, it is their primal duty above all careers). And under no circumstance would an American woman, accept their partner to take a second wife, especially not without their input (particularly when "taking a second wife" really means being unfaithful to your first wife long enough to decide to marry the second woman). On the contrary, to date an American woman often means to share her with her career, friends, family, aspirations, and hobbies, to have to consult them for decisions, and constantly have work with their opinion and desires, especially in the area of birthing and rearing children. Even with all that, they felt they could accept that,"I will cook, clean, take care of her and the children, I don't mind. But she will be better than an African woman."

Even with all the degrees, careers, and advancements made. Something as simple as answering their phones, is a loss of their dignity. At the end of the day, African women will only be respected for three things: being silent, obedient, and giving birth.
What was most striking about the exchange was the tremendous admiration I instilled in my female peers. But it wasn't because their impression with my experiences, resume, or multi-lingual ability, but my power to voice to a group of men what I want for myself, my career, my body, my future, what I can expect from my partner, what I can dream and attempt for myself and the world, and not only have these men listen, but genuinely respect it. Even more so, still want to marry me with all my demands, to encourage me to continue being who I am, to learn more about these modern ways and encourage them for me, but not for their own women.  It was obvious how differently I was treated and listened to than the women sitting next to me, simply because of where I was born.

I've always been aware of the many blessings my upbringing has instilled in me. But I never realized or seen face to face, how truly lucky I am to simply be who I am, not to have had the material opportunities and experiences that I've had, but to simply have the voice to claim all my desires, my problems, and my aspirations, and have them be listened, respected and encouraged. We certainly have out issues of sexism and gender inequality in America, no doubt about it. But unlike most women around the world, we have the voice and the audience to fight against it. And that is something that can never be taken away from us, but sadly cannot be so easily shared with other women around the world.

Full-grown mosquito

Today was the end of those end-of-a-chapter days. This morning we met for a final goodbye to classmates and professors, filled our paperwork, got our money and waved goodbye. We are now, in the words of Papa Attah, full-grown mosquitoes.  

 

For the next 30 days we will all be on our own working on our ISPs, most students are staying in clumps in particular major cities, but for me I am truly on my own as I head off to the Northern Region, nine hours from my nearest classmate. There were a few students that had originally planned to complete portions of their projects in the North but because of an ethnic tension blowing over last week into violent protests, many rearranged their plans. Because my entire project is based in the North I held out to see if I would need to rearrange my plans, however things have calmed down, and I am scheduled to depart tomorrow morning for Tamale.

Because I know people are going to start to worry, rest assured that Tamale and the surrounding area are safe. SIT would not let me under any circumstance go there by myself if they had not first checked with every single field contact they have, and assessed the situation and my plans thoroughly.  I'm not too well-informed on the issues behind the protests, and I don't want to be, it  is best to simply have no knowledge or opinion, but what I do know is something very specific and targeted within certain people, and it's really been more media hype than any actual danger. 

 

The police had enforced a curfew between 11pm and 6am as a measure, but as of this morning that has been lifted. I promise to you all that I will be safe, I will travel  the 12 hour journey in the daytime in a State Transport bus that has an armed guard, and because I am the only student in the entire Northern region, I have plenty of staff in the area to take care of me. In fact, I will not even stay in a hotel or apartment like the other students, but with the family of one of our staff members. I will also only be in this area for a few days to arrange things and meet with my advisor, and will soon be out Tamale into the villages I plan to study (which will be away from any conflict area).

 

Those particular village locations are still in question as arranging things here is a lot more difficult than we are used to, phone calls just simply don't work in this culture for setting up things. So upon my arrival, my field staff and I will try to arrange to meet with some people directly and try to figure out details.

Because those that have been following my 'journey to a project topic', I will explain where I stand now:

My proposed project is an assessment of the recent Food Security Program the Ministry of Agriculture started a couple of years ago, and try to identify on the ground what are the main challenges to implementation.

 

However, doing some further research I'm seeing that this program is disperesed through various collaborations with NGOs and the UN World Food Programme, so once I can figure out exactly how it's being implemented, and what areas need assessment I will hopefully help settle it more. Policy is difficult to decipher on it's own, but to do so with limited internet access and outdated websites and information is espeically challenging. So I'm hoping once I get on the field and at least get one good meeting with the WFP office or the Ministry I can get directed in the right direction.

 

I'm very interested in the WFP focus on working with women in ensuring household food security, they have several programs that targeted to education women on nutrtion and food preservation and forming co-ops, like this one they recently highlighted http://www.wfp.org/stories/ghanaian-women-go-business-tackle-goitre.

It's particularly interesting because they work in heavily Islamic communities where a access to women is very difficult. I have a suspicion that despite all the money they are pouring into these programs, few are really success stories like the one they highlighted. However, I'm not attached to any particular specific aspect, but rather want to complete a project that will be helpful to the implementation of these programs, so once I meet with people on the ground and they tell me what their assessment needs are, I'll go from there.

Thanks for all of your support. The next month will be pretty busy, so I'm not too certain on how much updating I will get to do, so bare with me. I welcome all the prayers and best wishes for this next challenge, it's certainly going to be a tough one.


Unfortunately my internet connection is particularly bad today so I can't deliver on the pictures. However, once in Tamale there is a super-fast cafe, the fastest in the nation, right down the street from where I'll stay, so I'll put them up then. Now I shall 'buzz' off.

T.I.A

The educational tour is over, and so is the major part of this program. In the last two weeks we visited nine cities in three regions with three different languages, met several chiefs, walked the canopy of a jungle, swam and saw the sun set and rise over the Gulf of Guinea, seen sand glow (because of florescent plankton), celebrated at an outdooring ceremony of Dipo-the ritual that trains and ushers young Krobo girls into womanhood (a beautiful experience), climbed under waterfalls, helped make gorgeous cloth with master kente weavers in a remote village of the Volta region, witnessed animal sacrifice, created pottery with nothing but our bare hands and some stones, stood a few feet away from wild elephants, broke old bottles and turned them into beautiful beads, and so much more. It was an incredible experience and now here we are back in Accra where it all started.

It's surreal to be back. The last time we were here we were in total culture shock, complaining about things like lack of water to flush the toilet- a few weeks later we didn't even have a toilet! The last three months have been an experience beyond words, and in two days we will all separate across the country for a month on our own to do our projects. There has been lots of incredible experiences, but also lots of hilarious insanity, ups and downs of Ghana,sometimes you just have to just go with it, have a laugh and say T.I.A (This is Africa).

On our last day marking the end of the educational tour, we were told we were going on an outing no SIT group ever has before, visiting the small town of Jasikan, Volta Region, to join an excursion being planned by another professor from the University of Ghana-Legon. It was a 4 hour drive from where we were staying in Odumase, and no one was really eager to spend 8 hours in the tro tro for a three-hour activity, but we went with it. No briefing, no nohting, no one really knew what was going on (since it wasn't planned by our staff). We got on the road at 6am and little did we know it was going to be the craziest day in Ghana so far.

I cannot give it justice in words but some of the highlights include our tro tro getting into an accident (no one was hurt), taking over an inspirational pep assembly to 1,300 high schoolers (with zero advanced notice or briefing as to what was going on), including a one-on-one dance off in front of the crowd, meeting, dancing and teaching English to a drumming group from a remote mountain village that has almost no connection to the outside world, meeting a random Chinese woman walking the campus of the Jasikar College of Education (?), getting sucked into a brawl of 40 college students over a bowl of palm wine,  and leaving a 70 year old professor and his wife stranded in the forest in the middle of the thunderstorm (and realizing it 45 minutes later during our ride back in a flooding tro tro). When we managed to get back to our hotel all we could do is laugh, look at each other and say T.I.A.

So in honor of this crazy day, I decided to give you all a laugh and share some a few of our many funny T.I.A moments of the last few weeks:


"Is that a Confederate flag hanging in front of that shop??"  (Ghanaians have an obsession with flags and logos, they're everywhere even if have no idea what they mean. Obviously).


Often times, particularly in bigger cities, there is no toilet facilities or bush area, so people have cement floors with a wall around that you squat and go, to be cleaned later. At breakfast, the morning after an outing to a bar, we wondered why Rachel had left the evening early:
Rachel: "I went to the bathroom and it was only a floor, and I ended up stepping on poop"
Grace: (from accross the room): "That was my poop!!"


Part of a sermon at the Methodist church in Kumasi. It was entirely in Twi until he stopped, looked at me, the only foreigner in the pews and said:
Pastor: "The word of God is like SPERM!!! It gives life!! "
(Ghana is a pro-natalist nation. If there is something you will always hear about is babies and pregnancies. Or lots of praying against barrenness, ie: the devil. Although that particular statement made me want to respond: does it also generally die within 48 hours? )


Me:  "I just got a marriage proposal from an 100- year-old herbalist on the same day a woman tried to get me to marry her 4-year-old and take him to America"
Nathan (back in Chicago): "People live to be 100 in Africa??"


Me: "Excuse me, do you know where I can find an internet cafe near here?"
Woman: "Oh yes, just go straight down and on your right you'll see one, next to Clap for Jesus Motors"


Upon meeting the King of the Krobos at his palace, a very intimidating and solemn experience as you can imagine. During introductions:
King: "You're from Massachussets? I was so angry when the Jets beat the Patriots!"


"Did that 80-year-old woman just grab my breasts?" 
(Normal public behavior between women, particularly older women to younger women)


Chief of Sogakofe, Volta Region: "How are you all handling the heat? I guess we better get used to it since most of us are going to hell."


"Is that a telletubby on the windshield of that tro tro named 'Everything by God'?"


Papa Attah: "Tomorrow you'll take the 5 hour trip to Mole. The Abortion Road. Good luck. Enjoy your life!" 
(After the bumpiest 5 hours of my life, I realized exactly what he meant)


During a 'bush stop' (ie: stopping to pee or poop in the bush during one of our many many many tro tro rides):
Sara: "Oh it smells great over here. I think I'm pooping by mint."


Watching the animal sacrifice as they're beheading chickens and suffocating baby goats:
 Jake: "Is it weird that I'm really just hungry now for some KFC?"


At the market, me: "There is a woman selling me sanitary napkins, next to the guy selling goat meat, while another guy hasssles me to buy padlocks"


Erica (who hasn't shaved in three months): "The children have started a game to come up to me and pull my armpit hair and laugh away screaming Obruni Erica! Obruni Erica! Maybe it's time I shave."


Stranger on the street: "I need you to leave me something, your iPod, your camera or phone so I can remember you."


I wish I could capture so many more of these moments, but they come and go and you just have to go with it. This is Africa, and I love it.

Thanks for all the prayers and support.  I'm going to be pretty busy once the project time starts, but I will try to more pictures up before I leave Accra.

My favorite picture of Ghana so far. It's during a funeral in the village of Poano. I think it really captures this whole Ghana experience. My dancing always causes a big stir (Ghanaians aren't use to a lot of hip movement, and they just don't' expect an obruni to dance well), but this particular time caused an announcement over the speakers that was the talk of the village for a week. Both of the ladies in the picture also became part of my research that was young people and herbal medicine., on the left is the traditional birth attendant of Poano, who works quite a bit with pregnant teens. And on the left the assembly woman of Poano, who is an herbalist as well.

That assembly we took over.

Kintampo Waterfalls. Absolutely beautiful.

45 minute walk back from the bush to get clay to make our pots.

After hours of clay and pottery making in the hot sun, we jumped in the Volta Lake.

Mosque post-service.

Rocking the headscarf.

Elephant! So majestic. It's breathtaking.

The baboons took over our balcony. They weren't so friendly.