So my (first) stint in Ghana is coming to a close and I thought I'd let you all know how/what I'm feeling.
But first let me briefly update since I have been horrendous at doing so of late:
1) Eli visited for a week which was incredible. We hiked and I showed him the University/Accra. The definite highlight though was spending the night in a town that surrounding a monkey sanctuary. The people who live there, the Tafi, had long had the belief that the monkeys living in the forest near them were sacred and therefore there was a severe taboo against killing them. However, as traditional religions were eroded by missionaries and the introduction of Christianity, the Tafi began killing the monkeys for their meat. That is, until the Peace Corps intervened and helped the Tafi turn their town and the surrounding forests into a sanctuary. This was quite incredible for the people of Tafi Atome because the Peace Corps introduced a new way to make money (ie tourism) as well as built a school in the town. Even still, Tafi Atome is still a perfect example of the typical rural village with houses built of mud and palm leaves and wells for water. So Eli got to see a little of small town life and I got to learn about yet another language here in Ghana. Tafi is spoken by 4 interconnected villages in the Volta Region of Ghana. Remarkably, they've maintained the language even though all surrounding people speak Ewe. This is one of the many incredible things about African people: most, if not all Africans, are bi- or tri-lingual. I meet people daily who not only speak English but speak both their parents' dialects (many couples are made of two people from different tribes). For instance, my taxi driver just the other day had one parent who was Ewe (the people of the Volta and Eastern Region who can also be found in great numbers in Togo) and one who was Ga (the original people of Accra). Therefore he spoke both of these languages as well as English and Twi (the language spoken by most people in Accra and the Ashanti region - ie the majority group in Ghana). I quite often meet people just like him. It makes all of us Americans feel like idiots for barely speaking anything more than English. But I digress...At the monkey sanctuary, Eli and I woke up at 5:45 am and went on a guided walk. When we got to the edge of the forest our guide began making strange noises. All of a sudden, we heard some rustling in the trees and out jump 5 or 6 small monkeys. Two bigger ones and a few more small ones followed. Our guide handed us each a banana and told us to hold it firmly at the top and lean down while extending our hands. The monkeys slowly walked up to us one by one and stretched out their arms to our bananas. They ripped back the peel and started grabbing handfuls of bananas, stuffing it in their mouths. One little one even jumped up on Eli's arm and pried the banana out from behind. It was fabulous =).
2) Mona and I went to Togo for two days. For those of you less well versed in African geography, Togo is a sliver of a country located on the Eastern border of Ghana, just 3 1/2 hours from Accra. After a very cramped tro-tro ride in which my head kept getting smacked against the ceiling, we arrived in Aflao, the Ghanaian town that borders Togo. From there we literally walked across the border. It was the strangest immigration experience of my life, as well as the most terrifying. Everything was completely disorganized and the corruption was both obvious and rampant. I've rarely been so disgusted by government officials and Mona later told me that it made her feel literally nauseous. All West Africans have a passport that should allow them to pass West African country borders easily and for no cost, much like members of the EU can do in Europe. The reality of immigration here however is far from how it should be. While the Togolese officials were stamping our passports in what can only be described as an artistic manner, we witnessed another immigration officer arbitrarily separating the African travelers into two lines. One line was allowed to pass through with only a little pushing and the other was forced under a small roof where they would be poked and smacked with a stick until they forked over one or two Cedi (which could easily buy a small meal of rice and chicken for those who live hand to mouth). They seemed completely happy to strike whomever they chose be it a young man or a pregnant woman. If the person couldn't pay the officer she would be sent back and told to try again later. The worst thing about it all is that the people being abused seemed to almost expect it. They joked and laughed nervously when the officer struck or poked them. It was highly disturbing and yet this type of low level corruption is all too common in West African nations. Once we were through the terrifying process however, the fun began. Mona speaks perfect French (having gone to a French- English primary school) and I understood mostly everything but could only sometimes respond thanks to vocabulary blanks. We quickly hopped on the back of some taxi-motos (little motorcycles which are the main mode of transportation in Togo) and sped along the beach toward Lome, the capital of Togo. It was incredibly strange because it was clearly a city, unlike Accra which is more like a sprawling town with the odd ghetto here and there. It even had quite a French flair having been controlled France until it's independence. Mona and I spent the rest of the day exploring the city and found some fondue for dinner (so delicious). The next morning we went to see a little artisans village where we saw many of the same crafts that can be found in Ghana, with the exception of one particular craft: soapstone carving. They make beautiful bowls and other items carved completely and intricately out of stone. The previous night we'd made friends with a nice man named Martin who drives a taxi-moto and he offered to help us get around the city and see things, while making sure we didn't get ripped off. He took us to Togo-ville, a small run-down town across a river where there is a beautiful German Catholic church and where voodoo is strong and widely used. Unlike Ghana where Christians are mostly protestant, pentecostal, or evangelical, Togo is largely Catholic due to the French influence. Before the French controlled Togo it was known as German Togoland and was in the control of the Germans. Togo-ville even still flies the German flag. While we were there, Martin took us to meet the chief of the village. Unfortunately, he was ill so we met the Prince instead. He showed us the small museum (just a room full of ancient relics) and told us a bit about the local people. It is said that they came all the way from Egypt and that the mysticism and voodoo that is so pervasive in their society because of the Egyptian blood. Of course, he told us all this in French, so I missed a few details but overall it was really interesting. After that we took Martin out for dinner and a beer and then hopped a tro-tro back home.
3) My work at the camp went really well. For a few weeks I went around to all the classes above 7th year and did a self-esteem exercise that I wrote taking into special consideration that the students are refugees. It was the first therapeutic program I've ever written and I was quite proud of it. We also drew up budgets to start an agriculture and rabbit raising program so that the students would learn real, useful life skills while raising food that the students could eat at lunch time. Normally, a number of the students would come to class hungry, having not eaten in up to 48 hours. The students can't concentrate and I've watched many simply fall asleep because they are too weak to stay awake. Not only would the feeding/farming program solve this problem but more parents might be inclined to send their children to school if they could be fed there. The money that would normally be saved for food could be spent on school fees and the simple enticement of their children being fed might be enough for them to see the importance of school. The church where my mom is a very active partitioner has already discussed helping me raise money to start this program and I'm going to approach my sorority on campus about helping as well. If any of those reading are interested in donating, we'd happily welcome it. Just send a check to me and I will put it with the other money we raise. Like they say, any small amount helps. I also rounded up all of the things that my fellow international students were leaving behind and brought them to the camp. After bringing bags full of pots, pans, food, clothing, and first aid items and discussing the feeding/ farming program with the principle, I saw literal tears of gratitude brimming his eyes as he shook my hand goodbye. I can't even begin to explain how good it felt to help the kids and this man who has remained in the camp for the sole reason that he feels a responsibility to the refugee children.
So I leave in two days and I have incredibly mixed feelings about it. First off I'm just insanely excited to see my family and to see East Africa. But I'm going to miss Ghana in so many ways. I'm not sure exactly how to explain it all so I'll just give a few lists to give examples:
Things I'm going to miss about Ghana
That laid back attitude so many Ghanaians have
Hearing Twi and other African languages everywhere
The Refugee Community School, the students and the principle
Being able to get frozen chocolate milk in a bag nearly anywhere
Seeing African women walking gracefully with fruit on their heads and a baby bouncing on their back
Being surprised by new and different things around each corner
The people I've met
Exploring on the weekends
Faltering in African languages
The way food and other items are sold to you right through the car's window
The way time works (GMT: Ghana Maybe Time)
Just the feeling of being here - I can't explain it
Things I'm not going to miss
The heat
Actually being able to feel the heat roll off me when I step under the freezing water of the shower
Hearing one of three pop songs wherever I go
Insanely slow internet
Water running out
Power going out
Things I can't wait to get back to
Family and Friends
WASHERS AND DRYERS (Oh my god, I can't wait to not wash my clothes by hand - they NEVER get clean)
Salad
Television and film (I know, I know, but being away has been hard for a media junkie like me)
New York City!!!!
Bucknell
So goodbye Ghana or rather Ye beshyia-bio (see you again)
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I think all Americans have a powerful love-hate relationship with Ghana and last week was a perfect example of just that. The weekend was fabulous, if not a little haphazard. A fellow student on my program and I traveled together to the most Western part of Ghana. We stopped first in Takoradi, a bizarrely metropolitan city by Ghanaian standards. The next morning we continuedto a small but beautiful coastal village called Beyin. It was from there that our true journey began. We boarded a small wooden canoe and our guide Gyasi (pronounced Jesse) pushed off into a small canal. The water was shallow and as Gyasi deftly propelled us forward he informed us that this canal was man-made ("donated" by the French). Soon the canal widened and lilies and lily pads began popping u left and right. The canal became thin again as we slid through the first of two jungles. Gyasi told us that early in the morning Mona monkeys could often be seen. He also pointed out various plants and their uses to his village: bamboo for fish traps, palm fronds for roofing, and full trees that would be hollowed out to make canoes. Because it was so late in the day, we were the only ones in the water and in the breaks between Gyasi's words, the stillness and quiet was overwhelming. Mona and I were wide-eyed and soaking everything in when Gyasi asked us to close our eyes as he counted to 10. We could hear him huffing and moving his arms faster as he said 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...9 1/2...9 1/2 again...10!! We both opened our eyes and gasped. We had come out of the canal and stretched before us was seemingly endless, flat, still, dark water. I will post a picture but it cannot possibly portray the beauty of this place. At this point, Mona and I started to help Gyasi with the paddling and about 20 minutes later, we were pulling up beside a "dock." It wasn't really a dock because it was smack-dab in the water and surrounded by small houses on stilts. These stilted buildings and dock make up the village of Nzulezu. We tethered our canoe and Gyasi led us down the walk way in the middle of "town." This village was entirely built on stilts in the Amansuri wetlands. Amansuri means "community water" in Nzema, the local language. Nzema is an Akan language as is the language I've been learning Asante Twi. A woman in the village cooked us dinner over a fire built in a tin can then Mona and I lay out on the dock as the sun set and the stars came out. Quiet fell over the village at about 9 o'clock and Mona and I spent the night in a small hut much like those the rest of the village live in. The next morning Mona and I played with the kids of the village until we were ready to head back to dry land. During the ride back our guide told us the story of how his people came to settle in the middle of the wetlands.
Hundreds of years ago the people of Nzulezu were living in Mali. However, the people of Senegal began killing and fighting them, finally driving them out of their homes and down towards the coast. It is said that their god took the form of a snail and led them from safe haven to safe haven. Each time their god felt that the enemies were coming, he set the tribe into motion again. One day, the snail plunged into a river. The people didn't quite know what to do so they cut down several trees, bound them together and used it as a raft. They floated down the river, finally opening up into the Amansuri wetlands. Here the snail popped out of the water and told the tribe that they would be safe here forever because it is so difficult to get to. This is where Nzulezu stands today. It has, in fact, kept the people of this village at peace for hundreds of years due to it's remote location.
It was on our trek back from Nzulezu that things began to go south. We successfully reached a bus that would take us back to Accra for only 7 cedi (score!) but it was when the bus started rolling that I began to realize just how long and painful this 4 hour bus ride was going to be. The minute we started to move a man stood in the middle of the aisle, bible in hand, and began leading a quite loud song and prayer session. Granted it was a sunday but most of the people on the bus had already been to church that morning and there was absolutely no regard for those who might have been Muslim.
Now this is something that I have avoided touching upon due to the fact that Religion is such a touchy subject world-wide but I feel like the telling of my personal journey in Ghana would be absolutely incomplete without it. I fully respect religion and those who are strong in their faith but a note to those who are reading: please feel no offensive when I share my own views on the subject. My experience here would be entirely different if I felt differently about religion and I feel that, from a sociological point of view, the way I feel about faith has been quite important.
Most of you who read this know that I was raised partially in the Catholic Church and partially in the Episcopal Church. Luckily, with that in mind, I have been quite equipped to answer the "Which church do you attend" question. This question is crucial. Which church do you attend? It is not a question of which faith you follow; it is a question of which denomination. This has been incredibly hard for two of my friends who are Jewish (as Mona, the girl who suffered through a 2 hour bus prayer session with me is). When they tell people that they are actually Jewish, they meet a few different responses. Some express disbelief, some seem to think that they simply "haven't found Jesus yet," some are flabbergasted, and many respond "You are the first Jew I've ever met!!" They are, however, met with a certain amount of mutual respect. For those with no faith whatsoever, as some of my fellow students have, the responses are absolute disbelief and a certain amount of "you are simply misguided." Most of the Southern region of Ghana, where I am located most of the time, is Christian. The Northern region, spreading into Burkina Faso and further, is mostly Muslim. The interesting thing is that, of course, traditional African beliefs have bled into both of these religions.
Now I am an incredibly spiritual person (which may shock some of you) but the fact that I don't belong to the Jewish, Christian, or Muslim faiths is something that people here simply don't understand. The idea of having "personal" beliefs is absurd to most Africans. During my time in Ghana, I have met some of the most devout people I will probably ever meet, which for many of the American students, especially those who major in Anthropology, African Studies, or even Religion, is hard to swallow. When you are simultaneously studying how those religions were brought here it's rather frustrating to sit in a bus with a man singing to you that there is nothing to be afraid of because God has a plan for you and your suffering is a part of it. Ironically, a lot of Africans' suffering today is a lasting effect left by those who brought Islam and Christianity to Africa. This does not in anyway mean that I think Africans' have less of a right to be Christian or Muslim; in fact, I think that both religions have been elemental in the strength that many Africans have shown over the years. It is simply something to ponder.
Back to the bus ride....the man's "sermon" went on for approximately two hours with the whole bus shouting and singing prayers (not in a very melodious way though). Luckily Mona and I shared my ipod and we had The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin and The Who to get us through it.
Once back on campus I began to realize that I wasn't feeling all that great. Several fevers and many stomach aches later a doctor was telling me I had Malaria - yipee! However, a shot and several pills cured me and in a few days I was starting to feel better, if not a little tired from the whole ordeal.
Later in the week my hard-drive crashed and I lost the vast majority of my documents and itunes library. In the United States this would have been a hassle but not detrimental. A drive to the nearest Mac store and two hours later, I'm sure it all would have been saved. Here it was quite aggravating. Also, throughout the week, the power and the water continued to go on and off, leaving my fevered self boiling hot and un-showered (not a happy combination).
This week was the perfect example of how I vacillate between love for and annoyance with Ghana all the time. I can go from absolutely stunning settings with completely unique people one day to bed-ridden and down-trodden the next. I will say, however, that all the little pains are worth it because where else in the world would I be able to wake up, canoe from a stilted village through two jungles to meet a strip of land that was touched, on the other side, not 50 feet away, by a gorgeous white sand beach and the Atlantic ocean? If you can find another place, let me know, but I have to say that Ghana is a country full a treasures, even if you have to stumble across a bit of junk from time to time.
Hundreds of years ago the people of Nzulezu were living in Mali. However, the people of Senegal began killing and fighting them, finally driving them out of their homes and down towards the coast. It is said that their god took the form of a snail and led them from safe haven to safe haven. Each time their god felt that the enemies were coming, he set the tribe into motion again. One day, the snail plunged into a river. The people didn't quite know what to do so they cut down several trees, bound them together and used it as a raft. They floated down the river, finally opening up into the Amansuri wetlands. Here the snail popped out of the water and told the tribe that they would be safe here forever because it is so difficult to get to. This is where Nzulezu stands today. It has, in fact, kept the people of this village at peace for hundreds of years due to it's remote location.
It was on our trek back from Nzulezu that things began to go south. We successfully reached a bus that would take us back to Accra for only 7 cedi (score!) but it was when the bus started rolling that I began to realize just how long and painful this 4 hour bus ride was going to be. The minute we started to move a man stood in the middle of the aisle, bible in hand, and began leading a quite loud song and prayer session. Granted it was a sunday but most of the people on the bus had already been to church that morning and there was absolutely no regard for those who might have been Muslim.
Now this is something that I have avoided touching upon due to the fact that Religion is such a touchy subject world-wide but I feel like the telling of my personal journey in Ghana would be absolutely incomplete without it. I fully respect religion and those who are strong in their faith but a note to those who are reading: please feel no offensive when I share my own views on the subject. My experience here would be entirely different if I felt differently about religion and I feel that, from a sociological point of view, the way I feel about faith has been quite important.
Most of you who read this know that I was raised partially in the Catholic Church and partially in the Episcopal Church. Luckily, with that in mind, I have been quite equipped to answer the "Which church do you attend" question. This question is crucial. Which church do you attend? It is not a question of which faith you follow; it is a question of which denomination. This has been incredibly hard for two of my friends who are Jewish (as Mona, the girl who suffered through a 2 hour bus prayer session with me is). When they tell people that they are actually Jewish, they meet a few different responses. Some express disbelief, some seem to think that they simply "haven't found Jesus yet," some are flabbergasted, and many respond "You are the first Jew I've ever met!!" They are, however, met with a certain amount of mutual respect. For those with no faith whatsoever, as some of my fellow students have, the responses are absolute disbelief and a certain amount of "you are simply misguided." Most of the Southern region of Ghana, where I am located most of the time, is Christian. The Northern region, spreading into Burkina Faso and further, is mostly Muslim. The interesting thing is that, of course, traditional African beliefs have bled into both of these religions.
Now I am an incredibly spiritual person (which may shock some of you) but the fact that I don't belong to the Jewish, Christian, or Muslim faiths is something that people here simply don't understand. The idea of having "personal" beliefs is absurd to most Africans. During my time in Ghana, I have met some of the most devout people I will probably ever meet, which for many of the American students, especially those who major in Anthropology, African Studies, or even Religion, is hard to swallow. When you are simultaneously studying how those religions were brought here it's rather frustrating to sit in a bus with a man singing to you that there is nothing to be afraid of because God has a plan for you and your suffering is a part of it. Ironically, a lot of Africans' suffering today is a lasting effect left by those who brought Islam and Christianity to Africa. This does not in anyway mean that I think Africans' have less of a right to be Christian or Muslim; in fact, I think that both religions have been elemental in the strength that many Africans have shown over the years. It is simply something to ponder.
Back to the bus ride....the man's "sermon" went on for approximately two hours with the whole bus shouting and singing prayers (not in a very melodious way though). Luckily Mona and I shared my ipod and we had The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin and The Who to get us through it.
Once back on campus I began to realize that I wasn't feeling all that great. Several fevers and many stomach aches later a doctor was telling me I had Malaria - yipee! However, a shot and several pills cured me and in a few days I was starting to feel better, if not a little tired from the whole ordeal.
Later in the week my hard-drive crashed and I lost the vast majority of my documents and itunes library. In the United States this would have been a hassle but not detrimental. A drive to the nearest Mac store and two hours later, I'm sure it all would have been saved. Here it was quite aggravating. Also, throughout the week, the power and the water continued to go on and off, leaving my fevered self boiling hot and un-showered (not a happy combination).
This week was the perfect example of how I vacillate between love for and annoyance with Ghana all the time. I can go from absolutely stunning settings with completely unique people one day to bed-ridden and down-trodden the next. I will say, however, that all the little pains are worth it because where else in the world would I be able to wake up, canoe from a stilted village through two jungles to meet a strip of land that was touched, on the other side, not 50 feet away, by a gorgeous white sand beach and the Atlantic ocean? If you can find another place, let me know, but I have to say that Ghana is a country full a treasures, even if you have to stumble across a bit of junk from time to time.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
This is me, Max, and Alexis pounding bark so that we can boil it to make ink for the Adinkra cloth.
This is me after dipping my stamp in incredibly hot ink. Here I'm shaking some of the ink off so that my stamp doesn't blur. As you might be able to see, I chose the symbols for versatility and wisdom.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Adinkra
Funtunfunefu-Denkyemfunefu: Democracy and unity
This is Mate Masi: Wisdom
Nkyinkyim: Versatility
Sankofa: remember and learn from your past
This past weekend, a portion of my whole group went to see Kumasi, the second biggest city in Ghana. It was similar to Accra in many ways except that it seemed far busier, faster, and has the biggest open air market in West Africa (seriously, it was a giant maze). On saturday morning we went to the village where they pring Andinkra cloth, the Bonwire Kente Village, and Lake Bosumtwi. I'm absolutely obsessed with the Adinkra symbols although I just realized I haven't mentioned them yet, so I'll explain now: The Ashanti people are members, along with several other tribes, of the Akan ethnicity, which makes up a significant portion of Ghana's population. The Ashanti are a powerful tribe that counts itself among the few to actually provide effective resistance against colonialism. They are fierce warriors with a legendary stubborness to survive and live freely, one of their most renowned mottos being "kill 1000 and in the morning, 1000 more will come." However, they also have a beautiful and rich culture, including one of Ghana's most famous crafts - kente, but I'll get to that. Less known, but certainly not less beautiful, are the Adinkra symbols. Some of these symbols are part of the collection of Ghanaian indigenous symbols, which were found in pre-historic art painted on cave walls. Adinkra, in Asante Twi, means "Goodbye." They are called this, at least in part, because they are printed on cloth which you wear to funerals, in order to send messages to the deceased and the gods. Today, they are still used for this purpose, but they are also used in art, architecture, jewelry, and many other things. Each has a twi name which explains it's meaning. Here are a few examples of my favorites:
Sankofa - meaning Go back and take. In other words, remember and learn from your past.
Mate Masie - meaning What I hear, I keep. In other words, wisdom.
Nkyinkyim - meaning Twisting. In other words, versatility
Funtunfunefu-Denkyemfunefu - roughly meaning Siamese crocodiles share one stomach, yet they fight. This symbol is a reminder that infighting and tribalism is harmful to all who engage in it. It is the symbol of democracy and unity
At the village they showed us how they grind bark with a large mortar and pestle and then boil it to make the ink. Afterwards we got to make some strips of Adinkra fabric on our own by stamping fabric. It was a lot of fun.
Next we went to Bonwire, where kente fabric is woven. One of the weavers gave us a quick lesson on kente and then we walked around to watch various weavers and make some purchases of our own. Deece and Seann had very generously given me a wonderful gift for my birthday to be spent in Ghana and I had been saving it for this! After walking around the building several times, I kept coming back to this one weaver. I asked about a few different pieces but my eye kept falling on one I knew was going to be more expensive because the number of different designs. Out of curiousity, I asked him the price. With a sort of guilty face he replied "Oh...that one's more expensive; my grandfather gave it to me." Shocked I asked why he was selling it. He told me that his grandfather had woven it 60 years ago and had given it to him as a gift to sell for school fees. I asked about the different designs and he told me each other their meanings: many heads are better than one, all hands are not created the same (diversity), and tolerance. He told me that the combination of those three designs are called the "unity" cloth. He had basically already sold me on it with the story about his grandfather but now it was a done deal. I am now happily the owner of a 2 beautiful yards of kente cloth. Thanks Deece and Seann!!!!!
After that we went to Lake Bosumtwi, a lake caused by a meteor crash hundreds of years ago. It is a common getaway place for wealthier people living in Kumasi and it was beautiful. The next few entries will be pictures!
Sankofa - meaning Go back and take. In other words, remember and learn from your past.
Mate Masie - meaning What I hear, I keep. In other words, wisdom.
Nkyinkyim - meaning Twisting. In other words, versatility
Funtunfunefu-Denkyemfunefu - roughly meaning Siamese crocodiles share one stomach, yet they fight. This symbol is a reminder that infighting and tribalism is harmful to all who engage in it. It is the symbol of democracy and unity
At the village they showed us how they grind bark with a large mortar and pestle and then boil it to make the ink. Afterwards we got to make some strips of Adinkra fabric on our own by stamping fabric. It was a lot of fun.
Next we went to Bonwire, where kente fabric is woven. One of the weavers gave us a quick lesson on kente and then we walked around to watch various weavers and make some purchases of our own. Deece and Seann had very generously given me a wonderful gift for my birthday to be spent in Ghana and I had been saving it for this! After walking around the building several times, I kept coming back to this one weaver. I asked about a few different pieces but my eye kept falling on one I knew was going to be more expensive because the number of different designs. Out of curiousity, I asked him the price. With a sort of guilty face he replied "Oh...that one's more expensive; my grandfather gave it to me." Shocked I asked why he was selling it. He told me that his grandfather had woven it 60 years ago and had given it to him as a gift to sell for school fees. I asked about the different designs and he told me each other their meanings: many heads are better than one, all hands are not created the same (diversity), and tolerance. He told me that the combination of those three designs are called the "unity" cloth. He had basically already sold me on it with the story about his grandfather but now it was a done deal. I am now happily the owner of a 2 beautiful yards of kente cloth. Thanks Deece and Seann!!!!!
After that we went to Lake Bosumtwi, a lake caused by a meteor crash hundreds of years ago. It is a common getaway place for wealthier people living in Kumasi and it was beautiful. The next few entries will be pictures!
Monday, October 26, 2009
Two of my friends, Matt and Libby, "hiking." I put this in quotes because we did less hiking and more stumbling down a hill. It was incredibly steep. I wasn't far from them here but it was so steep that it looks like I was. The path we were hiking was largely unmarked and the rainforest mostly untouched, it was stunning.
In order to reach the waterfall, we all had to repel down a short little cliff. It was so much fun (if not a bit terrifying)!
This is me, Layla and Alli and the bottom of the waterfall. We could stand right there but the rest of it was pretty deep. I'm wearing a tshirt and basketball shorts because I hadn't brought a swim suit, silly me.
Here is Alli, Layla, and me (left to right) again, dancing at the base of the waterfall.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Here is the aforementioned slideshow I promised! This is a little village called Fume in the Volta Region (the Eastern part of Ghana). It is at the base of several mountains and we had to walk past it to get to where we were staying. This is the typical architecture for this part of Ghana, as well as some parts along the coast: mud walls and thatched roofs. 
This is a group of children in the village. The minute they saw my camera they cam running up to be in a picture. Notice how one little boy is holding his baby sister - it is common for even young children to take care of their younger siblings through out the day while their mother is making food and doing chores. When they get older, they will begin to help with chores and food and their younger siblings will take on the caretaker role.
This is one of the views from where we were staying. It was atop on of the mountains and absolutely surrounded by untouched rainforest, absolutely stunning. Across the way, though you can't see it here, is the highest human settlement in Ghana.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wilderness Adventures
This weekend some friends and I traveled to the Eastern region of Ghana known as the Volta Region. It is called this because of the giant man-made lake (Lake Volta) which provides most of the water and electricity to the country. The people in this region speak Ewe and are kinder for the most part than any other Ghanaians I've met. I wanted to attach some photos to show everyone the amazing places we went and things we did but the internet seems to be absurdly slow so instead....
Here's a list of Casualties in Africa thus far:
1 pair of leather sandals lost to the Atlantic Ocean
Countless hours wasted due to inefficiency and waiting
1 pair of Theta sandals lost to an Osu gutter (I tripped, the gutters are deep, it was horrible)
Numerous bandaids used to cover blisters on feet and hands (repelling down a little cliff to be able to swim at the bottom of a waterfall is pretty sweet btw)
1 pair of adidas sneakers lost somewhere in Cape Coast (they must have fallen out of my bag)
Several pairs of skirts/dresses with new rips and tears
1 camera stolen at a football match (one minute it was in my pocket, five minutes later, after walking through a crowd, poof - gone)
1 pair of sandals lost to sheer wear and tear
My name: No one in this country, or refugees from Liberia for that matter, can pronounce the name Betsy. They've never heard of it and apparently the t-s is impossible. Versions of my name I have been called: Betty, Betta (?), Besty and the worst of all (or at least my parents would think), when I gave up on going by Betsy and said my name was Elizabeth, everyone at my internship decide my name was Lizzy or Liz. My poor name.
Here's a list of Casualties in Africa thus far:
1 pair of leather sandals lost to the Atlantic Ocean
Countless hours wasted due to inefficiency and waiting
1 pair of Theta sandals lost to an Osu gutter (I tripped, the gutters are deep, it was horrible)
Numerous bandaids used to cover blisters on feet and hands (repelling down a little cliff to be able to swim at the bottom of a waterfall is pretty sweet btw)
1 pair of adidas sneakers lost somewhere in Cape Coast (they must have fallen out of my bag)
Several pairs of skirts/dresses with new rips and tears
1 camera stolen at a football match (one minute it was in my pocket, five minutes later, after walking through a crowd, poof - gone)
1 pair of sandals lost to sheer wear and tear
My name: No one in this country, or refugees from Liberia for that matter, can pronounce the name Betsy. They've never heard of it and apparently the t-s is impossible. Versions of my name I have been called: Betty, Betta (?), Besty and the worst of all (or at least my parents would think), when I gave up on going by Betsy and said my name was Elizabeth, everyone at my internship decide my name was Lizzy or Liz. My poor name.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Okay I'm horrendously behind on this blog so I'm just going to get everyone up to speed on my last two weeks. First I have some exciting news! After scouring the internet for NGO's working at the Budumburam Refugee Camp, I finally succeeded in making contact with an organization named Cradle of Hope for Relief and Development. CHRAD is an organization that was founded and is managed by a Liberian refugee who hopes to address the woefully unattended to issues that refugees face daily. Although it is a fairly new organization, the man who runs it, Lawrence, is passionate and charismatic with the sincere hope of making a difference. With the help of Women for Sustainable Empowerment, another NGO located at the camp, CHRAD aims towards providing psychosocial support for women and youth in the camps, many of whom have experienced the type of trauma that only comes from something as horrific as warfare. It is also greatly concerned with creating educational and training opportunities for all members of the settlement in the hopes that what is learned can be taken back to Liberia to build a better, stronger, more peaceful nation.
So far I have been to the camp twice: once to just get familiar with the camp and the second time to begin my counseling. Yes, I am actually counseling people. So far it's mostly been girls between the ages of 13 and 21 who have been interested in talking to me about their stories, but apparently the boys begin to open up only after they get familiar with your presence and once they trust that you won't betray their darker secrets. Considering the pasts of some of these young men, I don't blame them whatsoever.
This week I went to DOVVSU for the first time. DOVVSU stands for Domestic Violence Victims Support Unit and they take domestic violence, rape, and sexual abuse complaints, process them, investigate, prosecute and offer minor counseling to victims. I've been a little wary of this internship only because it is with the police and I was worried that I would be stuck sitting in court or filing papers for hours. The beginning of the morning did not do anything to dispel my fears.
Yaw, a Ghanaian-American student from Chicago, and I arrived at DOVVSU in the Ministries area at about 8:15 am. At that point we greeted one of the Sergeants and he told us to wait for further instructions. So we waited...for two hours...just sitting there. Welcome to Ghana. From 8-10 officers wandered into work. I found this absolutely astounding. If you're 20 minutes late for work, you'll get a stern talking to or at least, it's incredibly frowned upon. Once you're at work, you start working right away, no dilly-dallying. Women, children and men began arriving around 8 but none of them were seen to until around 10. Not only that but the claims and statements are kept in files on desks that really seem to have very little organization. I can't imagine how long it takes to locate a file. If they just put them all in a computer, the whole unit would be so much more efficient.
Finally we were led around the station and introduced to various people who worked there. Because of my interest in trauma counseling, I will mostly be observing the counselors who work there. Obviously I shouldn't be allowed to counsel myself so I'm not surprised to have a more observational role than anything else.
The two counselors are both Ghanaian women in their mid-twenties. One is currently getting her Masters of Social Work at Kingston College in London and the other got a diploma in Social Work from a nearby institution. They are both wonderful and great to talk to. We mostly just talked about how their part of the unit functions.
When a person comes in to make a claim, they are first sent to an officer who takes a formal statement of their complaint. They then file that complaint and wait until the head Sergeant has read it and made a decision on whether to investigate, prosecute and/or refer the victim to one of the social workers for counseling. The victim can then set up times to meet the counselor. Elizabeth and Nora, the two social workers, told me that they mostly see couples but that they also see women and younger girls as well. I asked how important the unit thinks counseling is and both agreed that there needs to be far more emphasis on the recovery of the victim.
I was struck by how many children there were running around the Unit. Of course, this should never surprise me anymore as there are multitudes of children everywhere I go, it just broke my heart to see them there. They do have a small play room where the children can go when their parents are making a complaint or where they can de-stress if they are the victim but the like of child support in this case really needs to be addressed. In the states there are psychologists who are specially trained to work with child victims; here, the children can play on a rocking chair for a bit before telling their story.
As we were walking through the hall, Yaw and I noticed a clearly intoxicated man whose shirt was unbuttoned and off his shoulder. When I looked closer I saw a very deep gash on his shoulder. Yaw later told me that he had heard this man's complaint - his wife thought he was seeing other women and decided the proper way to deal with this was grab a knife from the kitchen and start stabbing him wherever she could. Pretty extreme I'd say. Other than that I didn't hear/see anything in particular but it was only my first time.
On a happier note, the other weekend several friends and I went to this fantastic place approximately 20 minutes from the nearest town and about an hour from the city. There was absolutely no cell phone service, an adorable little bar/restaurant with fantastic food/ an untouched stunning beach, and a tiny fishing village. The Green Turtle Lodge is an eco-lodge started by a British couple. They run a turtle rescue for the turtles that lay their edge on the beach and are entirely self-sufficient, from their solar power to their employees who are young men and women from the village. Despite the large waves and slightly scary rip-tide, it was honestly paradise.
I've got to be better about updating this blog, I forget too much if I wait!
So far I have been to the camp twice: once to just get familiar with the camp and the second time to begin my counseling. Yes, I am actually counseling people. So far it's mostly been girls between the ages of 13 and 21 who have been interested in talking to me about their stories, but apparently the boys begin to open up only after they get familiar with your presence and once they trust that you won't betray their darker secrets. Considering the pasts of some of these young men, I don't blame them whatsoever.
This week I went to DOVVSU for the first time. DOVVSU stands for Domestic Violence Victims Support Unit and they take domestic violence, rape, and sexual abuse complaints, process them, investigate, prosecute and offer minor counseling to victims. I've been a little wary of this internship only because it is with the police and I was worried that I would be stuck sitting in court or filing papers for hours. The beginning of the morning did not do anything to dispel my fears.
Yaw, a Ghanaian-American student from Chicago, and I arrived at DOVVSU in the Ministries area at about 8:15 am. At that point we greeted one of the Sergeants and he told us to wait for further instructions. So we waited...for two hours...just sitting there. Welcome to Ghana. From 8-10 officers wandered into work. I found this absolutely astounding. If you're 20 minutes late for work, you'll get a stern talking to or at least, it's incredibly frowned upon. Once you're at work, you start working right away, no dilly-dallying. Women, children and men began arriving around 8 but none of them were seen to until around 10. Not only that but the claims and statements are kept in files on desks that really seem to have very little organization. I can't imagine how long it takes to locate a file. If they just put them all in a computer, the whole unit would be so much more efficient.
Finally we were led around the station and introduced to various people who worked there. Because of my interest in trauma counseling, I will mostly be observing the counselors who work there. Obviously I shouldn't be allowed to counsel myself so I'm not surprised to have a more observational role than anything else.
The two counselors are both Ghanaian women in their mid-twenties. One is currently getting her Masters of Social Work at Kingston College in London and the other got a diploma in Social Work from a nearby institution. They are both wonderful and great to talk to. We mostly just talked about how their part of the unit functions.
When a person comes in to make a claim, they are first sent to an officer who takes a formal statement of their complaint. They then file that complaint and wait until the head Sergeant has read it and made a decision on whether to investigate, prosecute and/or refer the victim to one of the social workers for counseling. The victim can then set up times to meet the counselor. Elizabeth and Nora, the two social workers, told me that they mostly see couples but that they also see women and younger girls as well. I asked how important the unit thinks counseling is and both agreed that there needs to be far more emphasis on the recovery of the victim.
I was struck by how many children there were running around the Unit. Of course, this should never surprise me anymore as there are multitudes of children everywhere I go, it just broke my heart to see them there. They do have a small play room where the children can go when their parents are making a complaint or where they can de-stress if they are the victim but the like of child support in this case really needs to be addressed. In the states there are psychologists who are specially trained to work with child victims; here, the children can play on a rocking chair for a bit before telling their story.
As we were walking through the hall, Yaw and I noticed a clearly intoxicated man whose shirt was unbuttoned and off his shoulder. When I looked closer I saw a very deep gash on his shoulder. Yaw later told me that he had heard this man's complaint - his wife thought he was seeing other women and decided the proper way to deal with this was grab a knife from the kitchen and start stabbing him wherever she could. Pretty extreme I'd say. Other than that I didn't hear/see anything in particular but it was only my first time.
On a happier note, the other weekend several friends and I went to this fantastic place approximately 20 minutes from the nearest town and about an hour from the city. There was absolutely no cell phone service, an adorable little bar/restaurant with fantastic food/ an untouched stunning beach, and a tiny fishing village. The Green Turtle Lodge is an eco-lodge started by a British couple. They run a turtle rescue for the turtles that lay their edge on the beach and are entirely self-sufficient, from their solar power to their employees who are young men and women from the village. Despite the large waves and slightly scary rip-tide, it was honestly paradise.
I've got to be better about updating this blog, I forget too much if I wait!
Friday, September 25, 2009
Sorry it's taken forever to post this...
After returning home from Cape Coast, we had an exciting game to go to on Sunday. The Ghana Black Stars were playing Sudan in a World Cup Qualifier. For some reason, I always land myself in places when they are experiencing a big series of football matches. I absolutely love it. If I thought the Europeans were crazy about their football, it doesn't hold a candle to the organization and hutzpah of African fans. Before the match, there were veritable parades of people dressed in red, green, or yellow, chanting, singing and marching with flags raised high. When we sat in the stands, we noticed that people had grouped together by color and they all had cheers and giant flags that they sent up and down the aisles. It was a blast to be a part of it. There were four or five guys who were wearing tiny shorts and had painted the entire rest of their bodies in Ghana's colors with black stars here and there. I myself had drawn black stars on my cheeks and donned a jersey.
It was an exciting game and Ghana won, 2-0, qualifying them early for the World Cup! The actual president of Ghana stood just above us in the stands and popped a bottle of champagne in celebration. Throughout the following week, I'd had a few people say to me that they'd seen me on tv. I laughed and took this as "I saw an oboruni with brown hair on the screen who looked just like you." Many members of our group have gotten the odd comment that all oboruni's look alike, which I find pretty funny. Then, on Thursday, one of our Upals' taps me on the shoulder and says "you were on tv!" Apparently, during the football game, the tv camera's had zoomed right in on my black star-adorned face. I've only been here for a month and a half and I've already been on national tv! How cool is that??
The school week passed with ease and little excitement. Suddenly, the weekend was here again and we were headed back to Cape Coast, this time with all 50 of us. The point of this trip was two fold: to see one of the slave castles and to visit Kakum National Park. Half of our group went to Cape Coast Castle (the one Obama visited when he was here) and the other half, myself included, visited Elmina castle. Elmina is one of the oldest slave forts still in existence and at one point or another, it was controlled by each and every European power that swept through and terrorized the land of Ghana. It started with the Portuguese in the mid-16th century who initially came for gold. In fact, Elmina, the name of this small fishing town, is derived from the Portuguese words for "The Mine." Soon, however, they discovered an equally compelling commodity: Africans. Soon the Dutch had their eye on Ghana, then called the Gold Coast, and quickly gained trust and help of the Ghanaian people who thought that they would suffer far less at the hands of these new foreigners. The Ghanaians, who knew their land far better than the Portuguese, led the Dutch to victory and the Dutch soon took control of Elmina Castle. Eventually, power changed hands yet again, this time to the British who kept Ghana as a colony until Ghana's independence in 1958.
As we walked through the halls of this 400 year old death chamber, I tried my best to experience with all my senses. Now, this sounds incredibly hippie, but hear me out. I cannot even come close to imagining the hell that so many victims in our past and our present have experienced. Walking into the courtyard near the women's cells, I looked up at where the governor would stand to pick his woman of the day, and tried to imagine being chained in tight rows, crushed together with other women, former friends or foes, wincing up at the sunlight I've hardly seen in weeks, and praying not to be chosen. If I was unfortunate enough to be chosen, I would be chained to a canon ball, stripped of whatever rags I still owned, and doused with freezing water, in front of all the other women and soldiers. When the governor was done with me, I would maybe be given a meal, if I was lucky but if I wasnt lucky, I may be passed around the men and then tossed back into the filthy cage masquerading as a waiting cell. As we walked into the cell that has since been thoroughly cleansed, I was still struck by a distinct smell. It was a wet, molded, sweaty, human smell that even 200 years couldn't get rid of. I looked down to the cobblestones which had been long worn down by the trampling of thousands of weak and hopeless feet. I would wait in that cell for months, with the sick, and sometimes the dead. Meals were few and far between and bathing, non-existent. Finally, I would be shuttled like cattle through a dark tunnel into the room of no return. There, I may be able to catch a glimpse of my husband or child for the first time in months, never to see them again after. The slaves life would only get worse from there. Those who survived the squalor of their close-quarters aboard the ship had masters awaiting them, to be sorted and sold like farm animals. No one knew what to expect but few expected to live and those who did were not necessarily the lucky ones.
Walking through this building while using my imagination and the smells, sounds, feelings of my surroundings gave me just a tiny glimpse into the life of those who suffered 200 years ago. Taking everything in this completely made the experience so much more powerful to me. In a previous entry I mentioned the irony of the beauty surrounding Cape Coast compared with it's past and Elmina was no different. While standing on the top of the fort where canons guarded every corner, I could almost forget where I was. Every morning when the governor of the fort walked out of his quarters he would see a scene very similar to what I was currently seeing. The fishing boats the locals were using then were little different than the ones I was now seeing. Palm trees dotted the coast line which, parallel to the Atlantic, stretched out beyond my vision. Most of the solid infrastructure that still marks the main town area were built by the colonizing powers as places to house their men and their "african wives." This of course essentially translates to "slave woman whom I impregnated."
After everyone had returned from the respective visit, we all got together to discuss our experiences and how far we feel the world has come since the days of slavery. It was a fascinating political and social discussion about world affairs and human rights. We dipped into naming the types of modern slavery (human trafficking, child soldiers, child prostitution, certain religious sects views towards women, sex workers, child labor etc) as well as social responsibility which is something I find incredibly important and woefully unaddressed. Someone posed the question of whether or not we've learned from slavery, the Holocaust and the other tragedies our species has witnessed. Another student replied with "We've learned that there is evil that must be stopped but our reaction time is still just too slow." I think this hits it right on the mark. I think most people today know that it's wrong to treat other human beings like meaningless products (at least I hope that's the case) but there is still so much strife in this world that is going on and we're doing nothing to stop it. I might soon actually use this blog to brief the readers on the human tragedy that has drawn me to this continent: Northern Uganda. In 2004, the UN named Northern Uganda as the most desperate but forgotten crisis in the world. The crisis has continued and nothing has been done...but I'll write more about that later.
People who hear about these passions of mine, as well as, admittedly, my bitterness at the International Community for ignoring them, often ask me "well what are we supposed to do about it?" You talk about it and talk about it and educate people. Don't let people be ignorant and eventually, hopefully, word of the issue will reach the ears of those who may have power to change. Even if it doesn't reach someone in power, don't let people become numb to each other's pain, because that will be our downfall.
On a lighter note...the next morning we journeyed to Kakum National Park. This is a rainforest fairly near cape coast where you can camp, hike and do a canopy walk. The canopy walk was INCREDIBLE. They essentially strung rope bridges across a decent part of the park at the canopy level, allowing you to look down on the life of the park. There are actually a good number animals in the rainforest but you almost only see them early in the morning before visitors come and scare them off with noise. There are monkeys, 600 different kinds of butterflies, pythons, leopards and even a small herd of elephants. The butterflies were gorgeous and everywhere. I was even lucky enough to see a little monkey jumping from tree to tree and pointed it out to a few friends. It was so cute!!
After that we all shuffled onto the bus and drove back home for a night of good sleep before monday classes.
It was an exciting game and Ghana won, 2-0, qualifying them early for the World Cup! The actual president of Ghana stood just above us in the stands and popped a bottle of champagne in celebration. Throughout the following week, I'd had a few people say to me that they'd seen me on tv. I laughed and took this as "I saw an oboruni with brown hair on the screen who looked just like you." Many members of our group have gotten the odd comment that all oboruni's look alike, which I find pretty funny. Then, on Thursday, one of our Upals' taps me on the shoulder and says "you were on tv!" Apparently, during the football game, the tv camera's had zoomed right in on my black star-adorned face. I've only been here for a month and a half and I've already been on national tv! How cool is that??
The school week passed with ease and little excitement. Suddenly, the weekend was here again and we were headed back to Cape Coast, this time with all 50 of us. The point of this trip was two fold: to see one of the slave castles and to visit Kakum National Park. Half of our group went to Cape Coast Castle (the one Obama visited when he was here) and the other half, myself included, visited Elmina castle. Elmina is one of the oldest slave forts still in existence and at one point or another, it was controlled by each and every European power that swept through and terrorized the land of Ghana. It started with the Portuguese in the mid-16th century who initially came for gold. In fact, Elmina, the name of this small fishing town, is derived from the Portuguese words for "The Mine." Soon, however, they discovered an equally compelling commodity: Africans. Soon the Dutch had their eye on Ghana, then called the Gold Coast, and quickly gained trust and help of the Ghanaian people who thought that they would suffer far less at the hands of these new foreigners. The Ghanaians, who knew their land far better than the Portuguese, led the Dutch to victory and the Dutch soon took control of Elmina Castle. Eventually, power changed hands yet again, this time to the British who kept Ghana as a colony until Ghana's independence in 1958.
As we walked through the halls of this 400 year old death chamber, I tried my best to experience with all my senses. Now, this sounds incredibly hippie, but hear me out. I cannot even come close to imagining the hell that so many victims in our past and our present have experienced. Walking into the courtyard near the women's cells, I looked up at where the governor would stand to pick his woman of the day, and tried to imagine being chained in tight rows, crushed together with other women, former friends or foes, wincing up at the sunlight I've hardly seen in weeks, and praying not to be chosen. If I was unfortunate enough to be chosen, I would be chained to a canon ball, stripped of whatever rags I still owned, and doused with freezing water, in front of all the other women and soldiers. When the governor was done with me, I would maybe be given a meal, if I was lucky but if I wasnt lucky, I may be passed around the men and then tossed back into the filthy cage masquerading as a waiting cell. As we walked into the cell that has since been thoroughly cleansed, I was still struck by a distinct smell. It was a wet, molded, sweaty, human smell that even 200 years couldn't get rid of. I looked down to the cobblestones which had been long worn down by the trampling of thousands of weak and hopeless feet. I would wait in that cell for months, with the sick, and sometimes the dead. Meals were few and far between and bathing, non-existent. Finally, I would be shuttled like cattle through a dark tunnel into the room of no return. There, I may be able to catch a glimpse of my husband or child for the first time in months, never to see them again after. The slaves life would only get worse from there. Those who survived the squalor of their close-quarters aboard the ship had masters awaiting them, to be sorted and sold like farm animals. No one knew what to expect but few expected to live and those who did were not necessarily the lucky ones.
Walking through this building while using my imagination and the smells, sounds, feelings of my surroundings gave me just a tiny glimpse into the life of those who suffered 200 years ago. Taking everything in this completely made the experience so much more powerful to me. In a previous entry I mentioned the irony of the beauty surrounding Cape Coast compared with it's past and Elmina was no different. While standing on the top of the fort where canons guarded every corner, I could almost forget where I was. Every morning when the governor of the fort walked out of his quarters he would see a scene very similar to what I was currently seeing. The fishing boats the locals were using then were little different than the ones I was now seeing. Palm trees dotted the coast line which, parallel to the Atlantic, stretched out beyond my vision. Most of the solid infrastructure that still marks the main town area were built by the colonizing powers as places to house their men and their "african wives." This of course essentially translates to "slave woman whom I impregnated."
After everyone had returned from the respective visit, we all got together to discuss our experiences and how far we feel the world has come since the days of slavery. It was a fascinating political and social discussion about world affairs and human rights. We dipped into naming the types of modern slavery (human trafficking, child soldiers, child prostitution, certain religious sects views towards women, sex workers, child labor etc) as well as social responsibility which is something I find incredibly important and woefully unaddressed. Someone posed the question of whether or not we've learned from slavery, the Holocaust and the other tragedies our species has witnessed. Another student replied with "We've learned that there is evil that must be stopped but our reaction time is still just too slow." I think this hits it right on the mark. I think most people today know that it's wrong to treat other human beings like meaningless products (at least I hope that's the case) but there is still so much strife in this world that is going on and we're doing nothing to stop it. I might soon actually use this blog to brief the readers on the human tragedy that has drawn me to this continent: Northern Uganda. In 2004, the UN named Northern Uganda as the most desperate but forgotten crisis in the world. The crisis has continued and nothing has been done...but I'll write more about that later.
People who hear about these passions of mine, as well as, admittedly, my bitterness at the International Community for ignoring them, often ask me "well what are we supposed to do about it?" You talk about it and talk about it and educate people. Don't let people be ignorant and eventually, hopefully, word of the issue will reach the ears of those who may have power to change. Even if it doesn't reach someone in power, don't let people become numb to each other's pain, because that will be our downfall.
On a lighter note...the next morning we journeyed to Kakum National Park. This is a rainforest fairly near cape coast where you can camp, hike and do a canopy walk. The canopy walk was INCREDIBLE. They essentially strung rope bridges across a decent part of the park at the canopy level, allowing you to look down on the life of the park. There are actually a good number animals in the rainforest but you almost only see them early in the morning before visitors come and scare them off with noise. There are monkeys, 600 different kinds of butterflies, pythons, leopards and even a small herd of elephants. The butterflies were gorgeous and everywhere. I was even lucky enough to see a little monkey jumping from tree to tree and pointed it out to a few friends. It was so cute!!
After that we all shuffled onto the bus and drove back home for a night of good sleep before monday classes.
Monday, September 14, 2009
This is a picture of the Chief of Cape Coast and his daughter being carried through the streets.
This is another "royal" authority figure in Cape Coast. You can almost see how the "chair" is being carried on people's heads. At the far left of the picture, drums are carried high in the air as men play them during the procession.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Of parades, chiefs, forts, and violence
I am going to be so upset when I can no longer buy my food/drinks packaged neatly in a bag, sold by a woman or man who walks to the window of the car I'm in. One of the most bizarre things about this country (okay, not the MOST bizarre, but up there) is that, on every major road, people carrying baskets on their head containing plantain chips, frozen chocolate milk or vanilla ice cream in a bag (called FanIce), sodas, bags of water, pretty much anything you would want to consume, come up to the window of your taxi/tro-tro/bus and sell it to you right there. It's wonderful.
I feel like I'm always wanting to begin these blog entries with "Wow, what a week." Each week brings a slew of new wonders, challenges, frustrations, excitement, and experiences. This weekend alone contained what felt like several weekends worth of experiences.
On Thursday night (which is when my "weekend" begins because I have no classes on Friday), some friends of mine were invited to one of their neighbor's suite for a little get together, so I went with them. Part way through the night I realized that the nationalities in the room spanned the globe, which I thought was incredibly cool. The hosts were from Korea, Seoul and the second capital (which I hate to admit, I can't remember). One of their female friends was Korean by ethnicity but was born in Cote d'Ivoire and speaks fluent English with an American accent (didn't quite find out how that had happened though). One of the host's roommates is a Black Brit from Chelsea and another is a boy from Burkina Faso. There were two other friends from Korea, one of whom had lived in Ghana for the past 5 years. The last guest I met that night was born in China but had also been living in Ghana for an extended period of time. Then of course there were the four girls from the States - representing Minnesota, Texas, Pennsylvania and New York.
It was one of the coolest collective groups of individuals I've been with in my life.
The next morning, four friends and I boarded an incredibly crowded tro-tro headed towards Cape Coast. Some of you may recognize the name Cape Coast because this is the place where Obama visited a slave fort during his visit to ghana. Every first weekend of September, there is a festival in Cape Coast celebrating the harvest. We weren't quite sure what the festivities entailed, but we definitely wanted to check it out. All of the hostels in the center of the city were full so we ended up staying in this adorable little inn about 20 minutes outside of the city.
By the time we got to the inn, we were starving, and so immediately sat down in their little restaurant to grab a bite to eat. It took an incredibly long time to get the food but we were enjoying each others company in the mean time and the owner of the inn came over to say "Hi." She introduces herself and we immediately recognize her accent as American. We soon learn that the adorable inn has an equally adorable history behind it.
Adjua, the woman who owns the inn, and her husband used to live in Philadelphia. After their son grew up, around 1998, they decided that they wanted to "go home." Never having been to Ghana before, Adjua and Kofi packed up all their belongings, including a numbers of items they had collected in order to donate them once here, and simply moved. They had never met anyone here and did not yet have a house. How gutsy is that?? Her husband built the inn outside the city and then built her her dream house overlooking the Atlantic. Kofi passed away this last year but she seems happy to have such strong reminders of him in the form of her home and the inn. Something I've discovered is that the foreigners you meet here are incredibly kind and down-to-earth with wonderful stories to tell.
After dinner we hopped a taxi into town. A bar called Oasis had been recommended by a friend, so we started our night there. Much to our dismay, the ratio of oborunis to ghanaians was approximately 6 to 1. However, the beach was just beyond the sitting area so we walked down to dip our feet into the Atlantic. It was beautiful and serene, which added to our horror when we turned to our left and realized that the Cape Coast Slave Castle loomed not too far in the distance. We all suddenly felt very eerie - a feeling exacerbated by the stark contrast between the serenity of the beach and it's bloody and painful history. We stood there for quite some time discussing next weekend's visit to the castle itself and those of us who have visited concentration camps in earlier travels commented on the likelihood of experiencing a similar haunted feeling as we did on those occasions.
Taking an active step against a morbid evening, we all wandered back to the sitting area of the bar. This was a smart move, as it turns out. One of the girls in our group struck up a question with a Ghanaian University student and after a lengthy conversation, he offered to be our guide for the festival.
The next morning Andrew, the University student we had met the night before, and his friend Emmanuel met us at a junction near the parade. They both warned us several times over to watch our bags like hawks (not the expression they used but definitely the gist) and led us toward the din and the commotion. I've seen parades before (one of the most memorable viewings being the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade from a roof in my dads building in Times Square - incredible) and I've seen "historical demonstrations" in Williamsburg, Plymouth, etc etc. This was just like a combination of those two things and yet nothing like it at all. The Chief of Cape Coast, along with other dignitaries, were carried through the crowd in chaise lounges balanced nimbly on the heads of beautifully dressed men. All participants of the parade were royally and traditionally dressed in fabrics of stunning color. Groups of women would perform a traditional dance as they passed while the men kept time with their drums. Andrew explained that the boy walking before the Chief was holding the Chief's shoes in a offering of reverence - a symbol that the Chief is so honored that he should never have to walk.
What amazed me, and hence the comment of how different this was from a "historical re-enactment," was that not one bit of this was staged. This parade was not happening for the benefit of tourists; this was and has been their tradition. Those who were in the parade itself seemed to take the task incredibly seriously - this is a part of their culture, a part of their heritage.
The crowd was insane. I've mentioned the Ghanaian lack of concern for personal space and it was only worse near the parade. Andrew repeatedly told us to watch our bags but I suppose we were so overwhelmed by the dancing crowd, the adorned women, and the rhythm of the drums, that we weren't keeping as close an eye as we should have been. Suddenly I realize that there is shouting and most of our group isn't right behind me. I look further and see Andrew holding the cuff of a teen's shirt, yelling. I run back to make sure everything is okay and my friend fills me in. The boy, who looked to be about 16 or 17 years old, had unzipped her backpack and was grabbing hold of her camera when Andrew caught him. I hear Andrew yelling "Don't you understand that this is why we don't have strong tourism? How can you treat them like that? It's kids like you that keep this country down" etc etc etc. The kid was struggling and it soon turns into a fist fight - something that I've seen happen before but had never been a part of.
I'm frozen in place. My jaw has dropped and I don't know what to do or say. I've never seen such violence for such a small reason before. Eventually, the police lazily meander over and ask what the trouble is. Andrew explains and they grab the kid by his shirt and throw him down the street with a warning "you come back here and it's jail." If I had been stunned before then, I was now absolutely bewildered. In the states, the police would have hauled both people down to the station for at the very least, a stern talking to.
Later on I had a discussion with some of my friends about this experience. We realized that the violence was "necessary" in their culture because their was no assurance that the criminal would be punished by the law. Essentially, people took the responsibility to deter teens from petty crime into their own hand. What I loathe about this is the fact that this system simply engenders a culture of violence.
The number of children in this society is shocking and they often roam the streets with no parental guidance or attention. This means that they see the same street fights we have witnessed. There is a mode of learning in psychology called imitation; a part of a child's essential development is watching their elders and imitating them. These feeds right into the theory of a cycle of violence and I truly feel that until the police begin to enforce the law, this country, and others like it, will never fully develop.
The rest of the afternoon was incredible however. Andrew and Emmanuel took us away from the parade and up a hill to an abandoned fort. The fort overlooked the entirety of Cape Coast and a stretch of the Atlantic. It was truly beautiful. It was our first taste of the physical remnants of colonialism in Africa - it was frightening how beautiful the scenery in comparison to it's past.
I'll post a few pictures of the weekend now and next time I'll tell you all about the World Cup Qualifier, frustrations and excitement, and Cape Coast part deux!
I feel like I'm always wanting to begin these blog entries with "Wow, what a week." Each week brings a slew of new wonders, challenges, frustrations, excitement, and experiences. This weekend alone contained what felt like several weekends worth of experiences.
On Thursday night (which is when my "weekend" begins because I have no classes on Friday), some friends of mine were invited to one of their neighbor's suite for a little get together, so I went with them. Part way through the night I realized that the nationalities in the room spanned the globe, which I thought was incredibly cool. The hosts were from Korea, Seoul and the second capital (which I hate to admit, I can't remember). One of their female friends was Korean by ethnicity but was born in Cote d'Ivoire and speaks fluent English with an American accent (didn't quite find out how that had happened though). One of the host's roommates is a Black Brit from Chelsea and another is a boy from Burkina Faso. There were two other friends from Korea, one of whom had lived in Ghana for the past 5 years. The last guest I met that night was born in China but had also been living in Ghana for an extended period of time. Then of course there were the four girls from the States - representing Minnesota, Texas, Pennsylvania and New York.
It was one of the coolest collective groups of individuals I've been with in my life.
The next morning, four friends and I boarded an incredibly crowded tro-tro headed towards Cape Coast. Some of you may recognize the name Cape Coast because this is the place where Obama visited a slave fort during his visit to ghana. Every first weekend of September, there is a festival in Cape Coast celebrating the harvest. We weren't quite sure what the festivities entailed, but we definitely wanted to check it out. All of the hostels in the center of the city were full so we ended up staying in this adorable little inn about 20 minutes outside of the city.
By the time we got to the inn, we were starving, and so immediately sat down in their little restaurant to grab a bite to eat. It took an incredibly long time to get the food but we were enjoying each others company in the mean time and the owner of the inn came over to say "Hi." She introduces herself and we immediately recognize her accent as American. We soon learn that the adorable inn has an equally adorable history behind it.
Adjua, the woman who owns the inn, and her husband used to live in Philadelphia. After their son grew up, around 1998, they decided that they wanted to "go home." Never having been to Ghana before, Adjua and Kofi packed up all their belongings, including a numbers of items they had collected in order to donate them once here, and simply moved. They had never met anyone here and did not yet have a house. How gutsy is that?? Her husband built the inn outside the city and then built her her dream house overlooking the Atlantic. Kofi passed away this last year but she seems happy to have such strong reminders of him in the form of her home and the inn. Something I've discovered is that the foreigners you meet here are incredibly kind and down-to-earth with wonderful stories to tell.
After dinner we hopped a taxi into town. A bar called Oasis had been recommended by a friend, so we started our night there. Much to our dismay, the ratio of oborunis to ghanaians was approximately 6 to 1. However, the beach was just beyond the sitting area so we walked down to dip our feet into the Atlantic. It was beautiful and serene, which added to our horror when we turned to our left and realized that the Cape Coast Slave Castle loomed not too far in the distance. We all suddenly felt very eerie - a feeling exacerbated by the stark contrast between the serenity of the beach and it's bloody and painful history. We stood there for quite some time discussing next weekend's visit to the castle itself and those of us who have visited concentration camps in earlier travels commented on the likelihood of experiencing a similar haunted feeling as we did on those occasions.
Taking an active step against a morbid evening, we all wandered back to the sitting area of the bar. This was a smart move, as it turns out. One of the girls in our group struck up a question with a Ghanaian University student and after a lengthy conversation, he offered to be our guide for the festival.
The next morning Andrew, the University student we had met the night before, and his friend Emmanuel met us at a junction near the parade. They both warned us several times over to watch our bags like hawks (not the expression they used but definitely the gist) and led us toward the din and the commotion. I've seen parades before (one of the most memorable viewings being the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade from a roof in my dads building in Times Square - incredible) and I've seen "historical demonstrations" in Williamsburg, Plymouth, etc etc. This was just like a combination of those two things and yet nothing like it at all. The Chief of Cape Coast, along with other dignitaries, were carried through the crowd in chaise lounges balanced nimbly on the heads of beautifully dressed men. All participants of the parade were royally and traditionally dressed in fabrics of stunning color. Groups of women would perform a traditional dance as they passed while the men kept time with their drums. Andrew explained that the boy walking before the Chief was holding the Chief's shoes in a offering of reverence - a symbol that the Chief is so honored that he should never have to walk.
What amazed me, and hence the comment of how different this was from a "historical re-enactment," was that not one bit of this was staged. This parade was not happening for the benefit of tourists; this was and has been their tradition. Those who were in the parade itself seemed to take the task incredibly seriously - this is a part of their culture, a part of their heritage.
The crowd was insane. I've mentioned the Ghanaian lack of concern for personal space and it was only worse near the parade. Andrew repeatedly told us to watch our bags but I suppose we were so overwhelmed by the dancing crowd, the adorned women, and the rhythm of the drums, that we weren't keeping as close an eye as we should have been. Suddenly I realize that there is shouting and most of our group isn't right behind me. I look further and see Andrew holding the cuff of a teen's shirt, yelling. I run back to make sure everything is okay and my friend fills me in. The boy, who looked to be about 16 or 17 years old, had unzipped her backpack and was grabbing hold of her camera when Andrew caught him. I hear Andrew yelling "Don't you understand that this is why we don't have strong tourism? How can you treat them like that? It's kids like you that keep this country down" etc etc etc. The kid was struggling and it soon turns into a fist fight - something that I've seen happen before but had never been a part of.
I'm frozen in place. My jaw has dropped and I don't know what to do or say. I've never seen such violence for such a small reason before. Eventually, the police lazily meander over and ask what the trouble is. Andrew explains and they grab the kid by his shirt and throw him down the street with a warning "you come back here and it's jail." If I had been stunned before then, I was now absolutely bewildered. In the states, the police would have hauled both people down to the station for at the very least, a stern talking to.
Later on I had a discussion with some of my friends about this experience. We realized that the violence was "necessary" in their culture because their was no assurance that the criminal would be punished by the law. Essentially, people took the responsibility to deter teens from petty crime into their own hand. What I loathe about this is the fact that this system simply engenders a culture of violence.
The number of children in this society is shocking and they often roam the streets with no parental guidance or attention. This means that they see the same street fights we have witnessed. There is a mode of learning in psychology called imitation; a part of a child's essential development is watching their elders and imitating them. These feeds right into the theory of a cycle of violence and I truly feel that until the police begin to enforce the law, this country, and others like it, will never fully develop.
The rest of the afternoon was incredible however. Andrew and Emmanuel took us away from the parade and up a hill to an abandoned fort. The fort overlooked the entirety of Cape Coast and a stretch of the Atlantic. It was truly beautiful. It was our first taste of the physical remnants of colonialism in Africa - it was frightening how beautiful the scenery in comparison to it's past.
I'll post a few pictures of the weekend now and next time I'll tell you all about the World Cup Qualifier, frustrations and excitement, and Cape Coast part deux!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Sunday's excursion
Friday evening and Saturday were fairly unremarkable with the exception of the prunes my hands turned into from washing clothes. They don't have privately own washing machines here. There don't even have laundromats. You either handwash your clothes or pay a "cleaner" who uses their washer and dryer to wash your clothes. I only do the latter for my towels and heavier clothes (jeans, khakis, dresses etc) which means hand washing the rest. It's somewhat funny to walk across campus because each dorm seems polka-dotted with color....until you look closer and realize that everyone has hung their clothing out to dry on their balconies.
Sunday was our first group excursion. First we visit the Aburi Gardens. This is a botanical garden approximately 45 minutes outside of Central Accra. It was first established by the British and has since flourished as a public park made up of 10 lawns. Lawn 1 is also referred to as "The Presidential Lawn" because many world leaders have "planted" a tree there. Obviously I do not mean that Queen Elizabeth II actually got out her trowel and planted a mahogany seed, but she visited the gardens and had a tree planted in her name. Prince Charles, the former leaders of Romania (random?) and Nigeria, as well as many of the Ghanaian presidents have also "planted" trees on this lawn. We asked if Obama had planted one and were disappointed to find that Obama didn't visit the gardens; apparently he was far more interested in the slave forts in Cape Coast. I suppose I won't hold this against him.
One of the most odd things about the garden was that admist the beautiful and exotic trees was a giant, broken down helicopter. Oh don't worry, it gets more bizzare. The Ghanaian Armed Forces decided they would donate this decrepit vehicle to the park "for the children to play on." This is exactly what my tour guide said and the explicit purpose behind the donation. I will post a picture of it because it is just tetanus waiting to happen. Not exactly the safest play structure. Nonetheless, we all immediately scrambled to climb on it. One of our Ghanaian U-Pals was especially enjoying sitting in the cockpit with a boyish grin on his face. Inevitably he whipped on a pair of aviators and struck a Top Gun-esque poise. He seemed quite proud of himself.
Pictures to follow.
After the helicopter, we got to see an interesting plant called "The Strangler Ficus." Apparently my knowledge of plants in woeful because I had no clue that ficus' often grew on the branches of another tree only to eventually strangle it's host and envelope it. We got to see the ultimate outcome of just that scenario. The ficus had killed it's host and surrounded it, forcing it to disintegrate. This left just the shell the ficus had created - a hollow tree! We were able to climb inside which was pretty neat.
We left the Aburi Gardens and headed to our next stop:
This cocoa farm is the oldest in Ghana. Now I don't know just how much you all know about Ghana's hand in cocoa production but it's far larger than I knew. Ghana is second only to Cote D'Ivoire in amount of cocoa exported and is globally ranked as number one in quality of it's cocoa. In other words, cocoa is Ghana's largest cash crop and therefore, the backbone of Ghana's economy. The cocoa farm we visited actually has two of the very first cocoa plants planted in Ghanaian soil. These plants are still in production!! Our guide walked us through the process of harvesting and fermenting cocoa, which was really interesting. When you first crack open a cocoa pod, the seeds are covered in a fruit that tastes a lot like mango. Weird, huh?
After the cocoa farm came my favorite part of the day: a woodcarving village. Village is a generous term. It would more aptly be described as a woodcarving street but it was wonderful all the same. Each artist has their own stall and the group was set up about 50 years ago so that the trade of woodcarving could be more widely and easily taught. The carvings were absolutely beautiful. I bought a small welcome sign (it actually says "Akwaaba" which is the Twi word for welcome). It depicts a mother with her baby carried on her back in the traditional Ghanaian way and a basket on her head. I absolutely love it.
The next few posts will be pictures of what I've just described!
Sunday was our first group excursion. First we visit the Aburi Gardens. This is a botanical garden approximately 45 minutes outside of Central Accra. It was first established by the British and has since flourished as a public park made up of 10 lawns. Lawn 1 is also referred to as "The Presidential Lawn" because many world leaders have "planted" a tree there. Obviously I do not mean that Queen Elizabeth II actually got out her trowel and planted a mahogany seed, but she visited the gardens and had a tree planted in her name. Prince Charles, the former leaders of Romania (random?) and Nigeria, as well as many of the Ghanaian presidents have also "planted" trees on this lawn. We asked if Obama had planted one and were disappointed to find that Obama didn't visit the gardens; apparently he was far more interested in the slave forts in Cape Coast. I suppose I won't hold this against him.
One of the most odd things about the garden was that admist the beautiful and exotic trees was a giant, broken down helicopter. Oh don't worry, it gets more bizzare. The Ghanaian Armed Forces decided they would donate this decrepit vehicle to the park "for the children to play on." This is exactly what my tour guide said and the explicit purpose behind the donation. I will post a picture of it because it is just tetanus waiting to happen. Not exactly the safest play structure. Nonetheless, we all immediately scrambled to climb on it. One of our Ghanaian U-Pals was especially enjoying sitting in the cockpit with a boyish grin on his face. Inevitably he whipped on a pair of aviators and struck a Top Gun-esque poise. He seemed quite proud of himself.
Pictures to follow.
After the helicopter, we got to see an interesting plant called "The Strangler Ficus." Apparently my knowledge of plants in woeful because I had no clue that ficus' often grew on the branches of another tree only to eventually strangle it's host and envelope it. We got to see the ultimate outcome of just that scenario. The ficus had killed it's host and surrounded it, forcing it to disintegrate. This left just the shell the ficus had created - a hollow tree! We were able to climb inside which was pretty neat.
We left the Aburi Gardens and headed to our next stop:
This cocoa farm is the oldest in Ghana. Now I don't know just how much you all know about Ghana's hand in cocoa production but it's far larger than I knew. Ghana is second only to Cote D'Ivoire in amount of cocoa exported and is globally ranked as number one in quality of it's cocoa. In other words, cocoa is Ghana's largest cash crop and therefore, the backbone of Ghana's economy. The cocoa farm we visited actually has two of the very first cocoa plants planted in Ghanaian soil. These plants are still in production!! Our guide walked us through the process of harvesting and fermenting cocoa, which was really interesting. When you first crack open a cocoa pod, the seeds are covered in a fruit that tastes a lot like mango. Weird, huh?
After the cocoa farm came my favorite part of the day: a woodcarving village. Village is a generous term. It would more aptly be described as a woodcarving street but it was wonderful all the same. Each artist has their own stall and the group was set up about 50 years ago so that the trade of woodcarving could be more widely and easily taught. The carvings were absolutely beautiful. I bought a small welcome sign (it actually says "Akwaaba" which is the Twi word for welcome). It depicts a mother with her baby carried on her back in the traditional Ghanaian way and a basket on her head. I absolutely love it.
The next few posts will be pictures of what I've just described!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Whew...what a week!
On Friday I made my first solo excursion outside of Legon, where our University is located. A piece of my guitar had broken so I needed to go to the music shop to fix it. One of our U-Pals is part the Department of Performing Arts so he recommended a shop near the cultural centre of the city. Normally he would have taken me but he had other errands, so I ventured out on my own. For the first time since I've been here, I noticed that I was the only white person for blocks upon blocks. It was amazing to notice this as I've never been in that situation before. Being American, I am used to often being surrounded by all ethnicities and when I'm at Bucknell, I'm used to mostly being around other caucasians. But there, two blocks from the shore of the other side of the Atlantic, I was alone in my ethnicity. It was an incredibly humbling experience, a titanic reminder of how huge and diverse this world truly is.
One negative about being a white girl walking alone down the streets of Accra is that every shop owner and half the men on the street want your attention. I'm really glad, however, that I went alone because a number of things happened that otherwise wouldn't have. For starters, I took a trotro meaning that I'm beginning to truly get a hand on Accra's public transportation. While waiting for one to come by, an older Ghanaian woman asked where I was headed. I told her "Tema Station" and she said that she was headed in the same direction. When the trotro came, she motioned to me to sit by her. We spoke briefly about what I was doing in Ghana and other pleasantries. While we were talking she gave her money to the "mate" and said a few things then he gave her change. We soon got to her stop and as she got off she said, "I've paid your way to Tema. Akwaaba (meaning Welcome in Twi) and I hope you like Ghana."
Now this isn't the first example of extraordinary kindness that I've experienced here but it is among the few that truly stand out. The first time I went to one of the bigger markets is another example that stands out. One of the girls I was with really needed to find a restroom so we were asking around the market stalls with no success. At one of the stalls it seemed like the woman we were asking was struggling with our accents. It seems that Ghanaians have just as difficult a time understanding our accents as we do theirs (makes sense I suppose). A man buying vegetables from the woman turned to us and said "how can I help you?" We ask him where a restroom would be and he says "I'll show you, follow me." Now, in the States, I wouldn't trust that for a minute. In Ghana, it's fairly common for a person to actually lead you to the place when you ask for directions. He led us down the street a ways and then said "They do have restrooms closer to the stalls but they're not very hygenic. I live right around the corner and I have a flushing toilet in a private bathroom. You are more than welcome to use it if you'd like." Of course, we were a little wary and didn't want to put him out. But he pointed to a house a little down the ways and said "It's that house right there. It's really no trouble." We walk with him to his house. He unlocks the gate and leads us to the side door. He points Angie to the restroom and tells the rest of us that we're welcome to stay outside or come in. As we're standing there, two little girls run around the corner as if they were playing tag. They stop and stare at the 4 white girls in their driveway. Their eyes light up and they smile broadly, running back around the corner of the house. While we're waiting, they periodically peek around the corner and then giggle and say something in another language and hide again. It was absolutely adorable but besides the point. Angie came out and the man walked us back to his gate. He asked us where we were from and we told him the US. Then he told us that he and his family were from Liberia but that they enjoy Ghana and hope we do too. He waved goodbye and shut the gate with a smile. Never in a million YEARS would I expect such kindness from an American or European. We live in far safer neighborhoods and we'd never let a stranger into our home. Here, I feel that people go out of their way to extend a friendly hand.
Another thing I discovered on my solo journey to Accra is that just because most men are interested in talking to the white girl does not mean that they are looking to badger you. One man walked introduced himself as a fellow foreigner. Now, I looked at him and his skin was extremely dark, similar to many Ghanaians and he had a thick African accent. Someone who grew up here would probably easily be able to tell the difference. I, however, had no clue. I soon discovered that he was a Nigerian footballer who had come here to play. We didn't get to whether he played for the national team or what sort of team but we talked for a bit as I walked to my next destination. Soon he told me that he had to turn down a street and he asks if there is a way to contact me. "Here it goes," I think to myself with a silent groan. I tell him that I'm a student at the University but I don't have a phone. Of course this is not entirely true but I've discovered that this is the best tactic. He tells me it's not a problem but hands me his card and says that it was nice to meet him and if I have questions about visiting Nigeria, to give him a call. 15 minutes later I experience a similar situation with a man who makes drums. I ask him which way to the nearest trotro station and he not only takes me to the trotro but helps me find the right one to get me back to Legon. Of course, he also told me that I should come by the National Cultural Center for drum lessons from him but he wasn't overly pushy and didn't ask me for a cent. As long as you get used to the fact that you are white and therefore, far more often than not, have triple the amount of money than the average Ghanaian, meaning that you are a symbol of prosperity, then you begin to realize that the people talking to you are not necessarily trying to rip you off, they just want to talk to you. Of course, there are a few bad eggs and people who think that you being white means you're easy to rip off. The best way to get people to treat you like a human being and not a walking dollar bill is to treat them like a human being and not a walking gimmick. The minute you start joking and getting to know the person, you learn a lot and could even make a friend.
That's all for now but there will be an update on this past Sunday's excursion tomorrow!!
One negative about being a white girl walking alone down the streets of Accra is that every shop owner and half the men on the street want your attention. I'm really glad, however, that I went alone because a number of things happened that otherwise wouldn't have. For starters, I took a trotro meaning that I'm beginning to truly get a hand on Accra's public transportation. While waiting for one to come by, an older Ghanaian woman asked where I was headed. I told her "Tema Station" and she said that she was headed in the same direction. When the trotro came, she motioned to me to sit by her. We spoke briefly about what I was doing in Ghana and other pleasantries. While we were talking she gave her money to the "mate" and said a few things then he gave her change. We soon got to her stop and as she got off she said, "I've paid your way to Tema. Akwaaba (meaning Welcome in Twi) and I hope you like Ghana."
Now this isn't the first example of extraordinary kindness that I've experienced here but it is among the few that truly stand out. The first time I went to one of the bigger markets is another example that stands out. One of the girls I was with really needed to find a restroom so we were asking around the market stalls with no success. At one of the stalls it seemed like the woman we were asking was struggling with our accents. It seems that Ghanaians have just as difficult a time understanding our accents as we do theirs (makes sense I suppose). A man buying vegetables from the woman turned to us and said "how can I help you?" We ask him where a restroom would be and he says "I'll show you, follow me." Now, in the States, I wouldn't trust that for a minute. In Ghana, it's fairly common for a person to actually lead you to the place when you ask for directions. He led us down the street a ways and then said "They do have restrooms closer to the stalls but they're not very hygenic. I live right around the corner and I have a flushing toilet in a private bathroom. You are more than welcome to use it if you'd like." Of course, we were a little wary and didn't want to put him out. But he pointed to a house a little down the ways and said "It's that house right there. It's really no trouble." We walk with him to his house. He unlocks the gate and leads us to the side door. He points Angie to the restroom and tells the rest of us that we're welcome to stay outside or come in. As we're standing there, two little girls run around the corner as if they were playing tag. They stop and stare at the 4 white girls in their driveway. Their eyes light up and they smile broadly, running back around the corner of the house. While we're waiting, they periodically peek around the corner and then giggle and say something in another language and hide again. It was absolutely adorable but besides the point. Angie came out and the man walked us back to his gate. He asked us where we were from and we told him the US. Then he told us that he and his family were from Liberia but that they enjoy Ghana and hope we do too. He waved goodbye and shut the gate with a smile. Never in a million YEARS would I expect such kindness from an American or European. We live in far safer neighborhoods and we'd never let a stranger into our home. Here, I feel that people go out of their way to extend a friendly hand.
Another thing I discovered on my solo journey to Accra is that just because most men are interested in talking to the white girl does not mean that they are looking to badger you. One man walked introduced himself as a fellow foreigner. Now, I looked at him and his skin was extremely dark, similar to many Ghanaians and he had a thick African accent. Someone who grew up here would probably easily be able to tell the difference. I, however, had no clue. I soon discovered that he was a Nigerian footballer who had come here to play. We didn't get to whether he played for the national team or what sort of team but we talked for a bit as I walked to my next destination. Soon he told me that he had to turn down a street and he asks if there is a way to contact me. "Here it goes," I think to myself with a silent groan. I tell him that I'm a student at the University but I don't have a phone. Of course this is not entirely true but I've discovered that this is the best tactic. He tells me it's not a problem but hands me his card and says that it was nice to meet him and if I have questions about visiting Nigeria, to give him a call. 15 minutes later I experience a similar situation with a man who makes drums. I ask him which way to the nearest trotro station and he not only takes me to the trotro but helps me find the right one to get me back to Legon. Of course, he also told me that I should come by the National Cultural Center for drum lessons from him but he wasn't overly pushy and didn't ask me for a cent. As long as you get used to the fact that you are white and therefore, far more often than not, have triple the amount of money than the average Ghanaian, meaning that you are a symbol of prosperity, then you begin to realize that the people talking to you are not necessarily trying to rip you off, they just want to talk to you. Of course, there are a few bad eggs and people who think that you being white means you're easy to rip off. The best way to get people to treat you like a human being and not a walking dollar bill is to treat them like a human being and not a walking gimmick. The minute you start joking and getting to know the person, you learn a lot and could even make a friend.
That's all for now but there will be an update on this past Sunday's excursion tomorrow!!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Monday morning I woke up at 6:30 am in order to get to my 7:30 am class. This is the earliest I've gotten up for class since...well maybe, ever. I actually found it bizarrely easy. The way Legon smells in the morning is indescribable...but I will certainly try. For anyone who has been hiking, it smells like mountain air, mixed with the way air smells just after rain. Then you add in the smell of fires coming from the homes of the women and men who work at the night market. Home in this case is a liberal term, as they mostly live in their shops or in a small enclosure just behind the shop. Each morning, they start to boil water for the mornings porridge over what can only be described as a camp fire. Add a dash of earth and grass smells and voila: Legon in the morning. It's absolutely wonderful.
Monday night two friends and I decided it would be fun to go to the performing arts building and play the piano and sing. While I was waiting for my friends to arrive, I read in the courtyard. At one point, I began to hear some incredible jazz piano and looked up and saw a student playing the piano next to me. He was just improvising blues and jazz chords while occasionally singing along...it was incredible. I love the sound of Africans' voices. I don't know what it is that makes the tone different or overall sound but it's all wonderful. Then my friends came and we sang/played some ben folds with Michael (my new piano-playing, singing Ghanaian friend) singing along occasionally. Michael actually really liked some of Ben Folds' music, which I thought was very cool (among his favorites were The Luckiest and Gracie). In general, it was just fun to make some good music because my vocal chords have felt so unused lately!
Yesterday I bought a pot. This wouldn't be all that exciting if I were studying in Europe or the States but I promise, it's exciting. Ovens and stoves don't really exist here unless you're incredibly wealthy, so most people use camp fires or hot plates. Even now that I have a pot and a hot plate in our kitchen (which is literally comprised of a fridge, a hot plate, and a sink), it's incredibly difficult to find food I would be capable of making here. I love Ghanaian food but it can get fairly repetitive and I desperately need a change.
While on the topic of Ghanaian food, I realize I haven't said much about the food we've been eating here. To start off each meal, you choose one of several different types of rice: plain, jollof (which is red, spicy rice) or waakye (which is pronounced "wa-a-chee-ey" and is a brown rice with beans). Then you choose chicken, fish, and/or plantains. Lastly you can add a sauce: one is made of peppers and paprika, another, called "palava sauce" is make with spinach and another is called "red-red" which is made of beans and spices. All of it is spicy and flavorful. Other options are fufu and banku which are dough-like balls that you dip into a spicy stew. Kellewelle is an absolutely fantastic snack: fried plaintains covered in incredible spices.
In other news, I've discovered something new about the refugee camp situation. Although I will be doing my internship at the Domestic Violence Clinic (which I am actually quite happy with because I'll be able to shadow an actual Ghannaian psychologists), I have discovered that the refugee camp is still in existence, it's just that circumstance have changed. In 2007, UNHCR (UN High Commission for Refugees) pulled all funds, people and resources from the camp. Since then, Liberians have slowly been trying to find placement elsewhere, due to the lack of food, educations, health care, etc left in the camp. The actually program I wanted to work with (the Child Soldier Re-integration Fund) has, in fact, also left the camp. This left practically no mental health professionals left in the camp for me to intern with: thus, my dilemma. However, now that I'm situated elsewhere with a mental health professional, I hope that I can visit the camp over a few weekends and just do some arts and crafts with the kids etc. Plus, I'd also like to see what the organization of a refugee camp is like, seeing as I've never been to one.
Tomorrow we have our first test in Twi so I'd better go study. Nante Yie!
Monday night two friends and I decided it would be fun to go to the performing arts building and play the piano and sing. While I was waiting for my friends to arrive, I read in the courtyard. At one point, I began to hear some incredible jazz piano and looked up and saw a student playing the piano next to me. He was just improvising blues and jazz chords while occasionally singing along...it was incredible. I love the sound of Africans' voices. I don't know what it is that makes the tone different or overall sound but it's all wonderful. Then my friends came and we sang/played some ben folds with Michael (my new piano-playing, singing Ghanaian friend) singing along occasionally. Michael actually really liked some of Ben Folds' music, which I thought was very cool (among his favorites were The Luckiest and Gracie). In general, it was just fun to make some good music because my vocal chords have felt so unused lately!
Yesterday I bought a pot. This wouldn't be all that exciting if I were studying in Europe or the States but I promise, it's exciting. Ovens and stoves don't really exist here unless you're incredibly wealthy, so most people use camp fires or hot plates. Even now that I have a pot and a hot plate in our kitchen (which is literally comprised of a fridge, a hot plate, and a sink), it's incredibly difficult to find food I would be capable of making here. I love Ghanaian food but it can get fairly repetitive and I desperately need a change.
While on the topic of Ghanaian food, I realize I haven't said much about the food we've been eating here. To start off each meal, you choose one of several different types of rice: plain, jollof (which is red, spicy rice) or waakye (which is pronounced "wa-a-chee-ey" and is a brown rice with beans). Then you choose chicken, fish, and/or plantains. Lastly you can add a sauce: one is made of peppers and paprika, another, called "palava sauce" is make with spinach and another is called "red-red" which is made of beans and spices. All of it is spicy and flavorful. Other options are fufu and banku which are dough-like balls that you dip into a spicy stew. Kellewelle is an absolutely fantastic snack: fried plaintains covered in incredible spices.
In other news, I've discovered something new about the refugee camp situation. Although I will be doing my internship at the Domestic Violence Clinic (which I am actually quite happy with because I'll be able to shadow an actual Ghannaian psychologists), I have discovered that the refugee camp is still in existence, it's just that circumstance have changed. In 2007, UNHCR (UN High Commission for Refugees) pulled all funds, people and resources from the camp. Since then, Liberians have slowly been trying to find placement elsewhere, due to the lack of food, educations, health care, etc left in the camp. The actually program I wanted to work with (the Child Soldier Re-integration Fund) has, in fact, also left the camp. This left practically no mental health professionals left in the camp for me to intern with: thus, my dilemma. However, now that I'm situated elsewhere with a mental health professional, I hope that I can visit the camp over a few weekends and just do some arts and crafts with the kids etc. Plus, I'd also like to see what the organization of a refugee camp is like, seeing as I've never been to one.
Tomorrow we have our first test in Twi so I'd better go study. Nante Yie!
Monday morning I woke up at 6:30 am in order to get to my 7:30 am class. This is the earliest I've gotten up for class since...well maybe, ever. I actually found it bizarrely easy. The way Legon smells in the morning is indescribable...but I will certainly try. For anyone who has been hiking, it smells like mountain air, mixed with the way air smells just after rain. Then you add in the smell of fires coming from the homes of the women and men who work at the night market. Home in this case is a liberal term, as they mostly live in their shops or in a small enclosure just behind the shop. Each morning, they start to boil water for the mornings porridge over what can only be described as a camp fire. Add a dash of earth and grass smells and voila: Legon in the morning. It's absolutely wonderful.
Monday night two friends and I decided it would be fun to go to the performing arts building and play the piano and sing. While I was waiting for my friends to arrive, I read in the courtyard. At one point, I began to hear some incredible jazz piano and looked up and saw a student playing the piano next to me. He was just improvising blues and jazz chords while occasionally singing along...it was incredible. I love the sound of Africans' voices. I don't know what it is that makes the tone different or overall sound but it's all wonderful. Then my friends came and we sang/played some ben folds with Michael (my new piano-playing, singing Ghanaian friend) singing along occasionally. Michael actually really liked some of Ben Folds' music, which I thought was very cool (among his favorites were The Luckiest and Gracie). In general, it was just fun to make some good music because my vocal chords have felt so unused lately!
Yesterday I bought a pot. This wouldn't be all that exciting if I were studying in Europe or the States but I promise, it's exciting. Ovens and stoves don't really exist here unless you're incredibly wealthy, so most people use camp fires or hot plates. Even now that I have a pot and a hot plate in our kitchen (which is literally comprised of a fridge, a hot plate, and a sink), it's incredibly difficult to find food I would be capable of making here. I love Ghanaian food but it can get fairly repetitive and I desperately need a change.
While on the topic of Ghanaian food, I realize I haven't said much about the food we've been eating here. To start off each meal, you choose one of several different types of rice: plain, jollof (which is red, spicy rice) or waakye (which is pronounced "wa-a-chee-ey" and is a brown rice with beans). Then you choose chicken, fish, and/or plantains. Lastly you can add a sauce: one is made of peppers and paprika, another, called "palava sauce" is make with spinach and another is called "red-red" which is made of beans and spices. All of it is spicy and flavorful. Other options are fufu and banku which are dough-like balls that you dip into a spicy stew. Kellewelle is an absolutely fantastic snack: fried plaintains covered in incredible spices.
In other news, I've discovered something new about the refugee camp situation. Although I will be doing my internship at the Domestic Violence Clinic (which I am actually quite happy with because I'll be able to shadow an actual Ghannaian psychologists), I have discovered that the refugee camp is still in existence, it's just that circumstance have changed. In 2007, UNHCR (UN High Commission for Refugees) pulled all funds, people and resources from the camp. Since then, Liberians have slowly been trying to find placement elsewhere, due to the lack of food, educations, health care, etc left in the camp. The actually program I wanted to work with (the Child Soldier Re-integration Fund) has, in fact, also left the camp. This left practically no mental health professionals left in the camp for me to intern with: thus, my dilemma. However, now that I'm situated elsewhere with a mental health professional, I hope that I can visit the camp over a few weekends and just do some arts and crafts with the kids etc. Plus, I'd also like to see what the organization of a refugee camp is like, seeing as I've never been to one.
Tomorrow we have our first test in Twi so I'd better go study. Nante Yie!
Monday night two friends and I decided it would be fun to go to the performing arts building and play the piano and sing. While I was waiting for my friends to arrive, I read in the courtyard. At one point, I began to hear some incredible jazz piano and looked up and saw a student playing the piano next to me. He was just improvising blues and jazz chords while occasionally singing along...it was incredible. I love the sound of Africans' voices. I don't know what it is that makes the tone different or overall sound but it's all wonderful. Then my friends came and we sang/played some ben folds with Michael (my new piano-playing, singing Ghanaian friend) singing along occasionally. Michael actually really liked some of Ben Folds' music, which I thought was very cool (among his favorites were The Luckiest and Gracie). In general, it was just fun to make some good music because my vocal chords have felt so unused lately!
Yesterday I bought a pot. This wouldn't be all that exciting if I were studying in Europe or the States but I promise, it's exciting. Ovens and stoves don't really exist here unless you're incredibly wealthy, so most people use camp fires or hot plates. Even now that I have a pot and a hot plate in our kitchen (which is literally comprised of a fridge, a hot plate, and a sink), it's incredibly difficult to find food I would be capable of making here. I love Ghanaian food but it can get fairly repetitive and I desperately need a change.
While on the topic of Ghanaian food, I realize I haven't said much about the food we've been eating here. To start off each meal, you choose one of several different types of rice: plain, jollof (which is red, spicy rice) or waakye (which is pronounced "wa-a-chee-ey" and is a brown rice with beans). Then you choose chicken, fish, and/or plantains. Lastly you can add a sauce: one is made of peppers and paprika, another, called "palava sauce" is make with spinach and another is called "red-red" which is made of beans and spices. All of it is spicy and flavorful. Other options are fufu and banku which are dough-like balls that you dip into a spicy stew. Kellewelle is an absolutely fantastic snack: fried plaintains covered in incredible spices.
In other news, I've discovered something new about the refugee camp situation. Although I will be doing my internship at the Domestic Violence Clinic (which I am actually quite happy with because I'll be able to shadow an actual Ghannaian psychologists), I have discovered that the refugee camp is still in existence, it's just that circumstance have changed. In 2007, UNHCR (UN High Commission for Refugees) pulled all funds, people and resources from the camp. Since then, Liberians have slowly been trying to find placement elsewhere, due to the lack of food, educations, health care, etc left in the camp. The actually program I wanted to work with (the Child Soldier Re-integration Fund) has, in fact, also left the camp. This left practically no mental health professionals left in the camp for me to intern with: thus, my dilemma. However, now that I'm situated elsewhere with a mental health professional, I hope that I can visit the camp over a few weekends and just do some arts and crafts with the kids etc. Plus, I'd also like to see what the organization of a refugee camp is like, seeing as I've never been to one.
Tomorrow we have our first test in Twi so I'd better go study. Nante Yie!
Friday, August 21, 2009
School Week Number 1
There is nothing better than waking up in the morning, walking across the street and asking your friend Mary to make you an egg sandwich with eggs that were recently laid, fresh tomatoes and fresh avocado. I wish I could live across from a farmers market for the rest of my life.
This past week was the first week of school and I can't remember this week ever being this chaotic in the states. Figuring out classes that don't clash and factoring in how far you have to walk between classes, proved to be far more difficult than at Bucknell. Not to mention that, in order to sign up for a class, you had to go to that department. For instance, I signed up for Dance, Drumming, Social Work and Psychology so I had to go to the Theater Arts Department, the Social Work Department, and the Psychology Department to register each class. This whole system would be so much easier if they simply put it online, which I think they are beginning to develop. The issue is, a lot of students don't have regular access to a computer, let alone the internet.
I'm loving my Twi class. My professor is hilarious and it's a small class so we each get to speak. What's bizarre is how Asian the language can sound from time to time. I suppose this makes sense due to it's tonal nature, but I would never have made the connection before actually hearing each word spoken slowly.
My psychology class has 900 students. 900. Classes at Bucknell are approximately 12-15 and lectures can be up to 40. 900. This is a huge change for me. Luckily, she split the class in two so that one half meets mondays, the other wednesdays. But still....450. Insanity. And this is considered the best Educational Institution in the country, yet it's so different from schools back home.
On Wednesday we went to the beach for Reggae Night. It was so much fun. The beach was beautiful, there were lots of people there, and the music was great. It happens every week on Wednesday night, so I'm sure we'll be back there at some point. This weekend seems like it will be really tame with only the International students welcome dinner on the schedule.
Some more culture points:
1. Baby/toddler shoes don't seem to exist here, despite the incredible number of babies. Unlike college campuses in the US, where it seems like you never see anyone outside the ages of 17 and 22, the University of Ghana is crawling with children. In the night market, children run around and try to get you to play with them. In other campus stores and cafeterias, there seems to always be the pitter-patter of little feet. In fact, just the other day, I was walking out of the cafeteria I frequent and a little girl runs up to me, taps me on the arm and then hands me a little purple flower. She stares at me for a few minutes and then runs away. It was absolutely adorable....but back to shoes. None of these children seem to be wearing any. It makes sense if you think about it. When children are that small, they grow out of shoes at a ridiculous rate. When money is tight, why waste it on something your child won't use in about a month. I still found it interesting though.
2. No one here smokes and that's hardly an exaggeration. For a woman to smoke here, it is seen as a sign of promiscuity and the men basically only smoke in bars. I find this interesting considering the amount of western culture they seem to imbibe. Somewhere along the lines, this one never caught on. Cool, huh?
3. Another part of western culture that seems incredibly far from reaching here is the whole "Green movement." Trash cans are fairly difficult to find, there's a fair amount of litter, and the most popular way of getting rid of trash seems to be setting fire to it right out in the open. I've seen this done before in Nicaragua, but it can't be that healthy, although I suppose it is cheap.
I'll be starting my internship next week. I will be working with a Ghanaian Psychologist at a Domestic Violence and Rape Clinic. Gender violence is one of the most common, least spoken of problems through out Africa. It starts to get noticed a bit during conflicts due to the use of rape as a weapon but as the conflict fades, so does our attention to these atrocities that still afflict women. It is a common problem in homes, refugee camps, cities and villages all over Africa. Interestingly, just before I left my internship at Columbia University's School of Public Health, one of the professors, Neil Boothby, told me about a recent survey they had done in Northern Uganda. For people who don't know me that well, Northern Uganda is kind of my obsession and where I hope to do a little bit of my masters or Doctoral work. Neil told me that after speaking to a number of women, they ran a survey regarding domestic violence and the result was incredibly alarming. Due to the deconstruction of their society and culture caused by over 20 years of civil war, most people in Northern Uganda live in IDP (Internally Displaced People) Camps. Within these camps, seems to be complete chaos, which results in a horrifying number of rapes and gender violence. This is something I will certainly keep in mind as I begin my internship next week. I look forward to seeing how a Ghanaian psychologists might differ in his/her techniques from those in the United States. I will update of what I find as soon as I can!
This past week was the first week of school and I can't remember this week ever being this chaotic in the states. Figuring out classes that don't clash and factoring in how far you have to walk between classes, proved to be far more difficult than at Bucknell. Not to mention that, in order to sign up for a class, you had to go to that department. For instance, I signed up for Dance, Drumming, Social Work and Psychology so I had to go to the Theater Arts Department, the Social Work Department, and the Psychology Department to register each class. This whole system would be so much easier if they simply put it online, which I think they are beginning to develop. The issue is, a lot of students don't have regular access to a computer, let alone the internet.
I'm loving my Twi class. My professor is hilarious and it's a small class so we each get to speak. What's bizarre is how Asian the language can sound from time to time. I suppose this makes sense due to it's tonal nature, but I would never have made the connection before actually hearing each word spoken slowly.
My psychology class has 900 students. 900. Classes at Bucknell are approximately 12-15 and lectures can be up to 40. 900. This is a huge change for me. Luckily, she split the class in two so that one half meets mondays, the other wednesdays. But still....450. Insanity. And this is considered the best Educational Institution in the country, yet it's so different from schools back home.
On Wednesday we went to the beach for Reggae Night. It was so much fun. The beach was beautiful, there were lots of people there, and the music was great. It happens every week on Wednesday night, so I'm sure we'll be back there at some point. This weekend seems like it will be really tame with only the International students welcome dinner on the schedule.
Some more culture points:
1. Baby/toddler shoes don't seem to exist here, despite the incredible number of babies. Unlike college campuses in the US, where it seems like you never see anyone outside the ages of 17 and 22, the University of Ghana is crawling with children. In the night market, children run around and try to get you to play with them. In other campus stores and cafeterias, there seems to always be the pitter-patter of little feet. In fact, just the other day, I was walking out of the cafeteria I frequent and a little girl runs up to me, taps me on the arm and then hands me a little purple flower. She stares at me for a few minutes and then runs away. It was absolutely adorable....but back to shoes. None of these children seem to be wearing any. It makes sense if you think about it. When children are that small, they grow out of shoes at a ridiculous rate. When money is tight, why waste it on something your child won't use in about a month. I still found it interesting though.
2. No one here smokes and that's hardly an exaggeration. For a woman to smoke here, it is seen as a sign of promiscuity and the men basically only smoke in bars. I find this interesting considering the amount of western culture they seem to imbibe. Somewhere along the lines, this one never caught on. Cool, huh?
3. Another part of western culture that seems incredibly far from reaching here is the whole "Green movement." Trash cans are fairly difficult to find, there's a fair amount of litter, and the most popular way of getting rid of trash seems to be setting fire to it right out in the open. I've seen this done before in Nicaragua, but it can't be that healthy, although I suppose it is cheap.
I'll be starting my internship next week. I will be working with a Ghanaian Psychologist at a Domestic Violence and Rape Clinic. Gender violence is one of the most common, least spoken of problems through out Africa. It starts to get noticed a bit during conflicts due to the use of rape as a weapon but as the conflict fades, so does our attention to these atrocities that still afflict women. It is a common problem in homes, refugee camps, cities and villages all over Africa. Interestingly, just before I left my internship at Columbia University's School of Public Health, one of the professors, Neil Boothby, told me about a recent survey they had done in Northern Uganda. For people who don't know me that well, Northern Uganda is kind of my obsession and where I hope to do a little bit of my masters or Doctoral work. Neil told me that after speaking to a number of women, they ran a survey regarding domestic violence and the result was incredibly alarming. Due to the deconstruction of their society and culture caused by over 20 years of civil war, most people in Northern Uganda live in IDP (Internally Displaced People) Camps. Within these camps, seems to be complete chaos, which results in a horrifying number of rapes and gender violence. This is something I will certainly keep in mind as I begin my internship next week. I look forward to seeing how a Ghanaian psychologists might differ in his/her techniques from those in the United States. I will update of what I find as soon as I can!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Things we take for granted in the US:
1. Not having to constantly carry toilet paper
2. Milk
3. The guarantee that there will almost always be running water
4. Up-to-date textbooks
5. Standardized and organized public transportation
6. How easy it is to access almost anything by internet (this is NOT the case when the internet is as slow as it is here).
On another note....in case I didn't already love this country enough, I think my dance class will push me over the edge. We had our first session tonight and it was incredible. It's a class of about 75 in a fairly large auditorium; one third of the students are Ghanaian and the other 2/3s are foreigners (I mean, it's Traditional Dance - are we surprised?). Apparently we are going to learn three different dances this semester. They did demos of each of them tonight and though I'm a little intimidated, I couldn't be more excited. We started to learn the first one and I'm going to have to ask someone how to spell it, but it's sooo much fun. The instructor told us that unlike almost every other dance technique, your posture is supposed to be completely bent, your knees and your back at about 45 degree angles. I loved the explanation for this: Each of the dances we're learning were created for a specific ritual or purpose (obviously). Since all the dances were created while most Ghanaians were farmers, the dancers would be slightly bent over from carrying loads on top of their heads all day. Actually, Ghanaians still carry almost everything this way. You see women and men all over campus with the goods that they are selling on a tray which is then balanced on their heads.
The class is doubly fun because we have students from the Performing Arts school playing the traditional drums while we dance and they get really into it. One of our U-Pals is actually the Master Drummer (apparently, this is a role) and he's really fun. He is a Theater major concentrating in stage directing. I asked him if we were allowed to audition for the plays and he says we are, so I might check if any of the plays need an oburoni.
Twi, one of the 45-50 languages of Ghana, is obscenely difficult to pronounce and the spelling looks practically nothing like it sounds but the grammar is fairly simple. Unlike my experiences learning Romance languages (*cough*french*cough*), I find that the locals are absolutely ecstatic when you say you are learning Twi and they are simply dying to help you. After our first Twi class, it seemed as though the entire Night market knew we had started and so each vendor spoke to us in Twi - only the basic greetings but I'm sure that conversation will increase over time. It's a lot of fun and the locals are incredibly helpful. Twi is one of the largest subsets of the Akan languages meaning that it, or a similar variation, is spoken by approximately 50% of the population. Our professor taught us that even some people in Cote D'Ivoire speak Twi because of how large the Akan Kingdom used to be.
Another striking cultural difference: In America, at least the America that my parent's brought me up in, it is fairly rude to snap at someone to get their attention. Here, it seems like the snapping never stops and they never mean any offense by it. They will snap in the direction of something if you are asking where to go. They will snap at you on the tro-tros so that you pay the fare. They will snap at the end of a handshake if you are their peer. It honestly seems like there is constant snapping. I'm starting to get used to it, but it was incredibly strange at first.
If you have been emailing me and been frustrated that I haven't gotten back to you, it is because it's nearly impossible to access my Bucknell Email on this internet. Therefore, if you would like to reach me, emailing me at makethemostofmusic@yahoo.com is the safest bet.
1. Not having to constantly carry toilet paper
2. Milk
3. The guarantee that there will almost always be running water
4. Up-to-date textbooks
5. Standardized and organized public transportation
6. How easy it is to access almost anything by internet (this is NOT the case when the internet is as slow as it is here).
On another note....in case I didn't already love this country enough, I think my dance class will push me over the edge. We had our first session tonight and it was incredible. It's a class of about 75 in a fairly large auditorium; one third of the students are Ghanaian and the other 2/3s are foreigners (I mean, it's Traditional Dance - are we surprised?). Apparently we are going to learn three different dances this semester. They did demos of each of them tonight and though I'm a little intimidated, I couldn't be more excited. We started to learn the first one and I'm going to have to ask someone how to spell it, but it's sooo much fun. The instructor told us that unlike almost every other dance technique, your posture is supposed to be completely bent, your knees and your back at about 45 degree angles. I loved the explanation for this: Each of the dances we're learning were created for a specific ritual or purpose (obviously). Since all the dances were created while most Ghanaians were farmers, the dancers would be slightly bent over from carrying loads on top of their heads all day. Actually, Ghanaians still carry almost everything this way. You see women and men all over campus with the goods that they are selling on a tray which is then balanced on their heads.
The class is doubly fun because we have students from the Performing Arts school playing the traditional drums while we dance and they get really into it. One of our U-Pals is actually the Master Drummer (apparently, this is a role) and he's really fun. He is a Theater major concentrating in stage directing. I asked him if we were allowed to audition for the plays and he says we are, so I might check if any of the plays need an oburoni.
Twi, one of the 45-50 languages of Ghana, is obscenely difficult to pronounce and the spelling looks practically nothing like it sounds but the grammar is fairly simple. Unlike my experiences learning Romance languages (*cough*french*cough*), I find that the locals are absolutely ecstatic when you say you are learning Twi and they are simply dying to help you. After our first Twi class, it seemed as though the entire Night market knew we had started and so each vendor spoke to us in Twi - only the basic greetings but I'm sure that conversation will increase over time. It's a lot of fun and the locals are incredibly helpful. Twi is one of the largest subsets of the Akan languages meaning that it, or a similar variation, is spoken by approximately 50% of the population. Our professor taught us that even some people in Cote D'Ivoire speak Twi because of how large the Akan Kingdom used to be.
Another striking cultural difference: In America, at least the America that my parent's brought me up in, it is fairly rude to snap at someone to get their attention. Here, it seems like the snapping never stops and they never mean any offense by it. They will snap in the direction of something if you are asking where to go. They will snap at you on the tro-tros so that you pay the fare. They will snap at the end of a handshake if you are their peer. It honestly seems like there is constant snapping. I'm starting to get used to it, but it was incredibly strange at first.
If you have been emailing me and been frustrated that I haven't gotten back to you, it is because it's nearly impossible to access my Bucknell Email on this internet. Therefore, if you would like to reach me, emailing me at makethemostofmusic@yahoo.com is the safest bet.
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