Miscellaneous Post No.1

It's nearly April. I feel like time has flown since I arrived in February. Simultaneously and paradoxically, I feel like I've lived in Ghana forever. In the six weeks that I've been here, I've noticed some things that I want to share but I can't quite fashion a full post from them. So this is the first in a series of Miscellaneous Posts where I dump a random collection of observations and thoughts.

- The currency here is in cedis with 100 pesawas to each cedi. So think pennies to a dollar. But this denomination system was just instituted in 2007. Previously, 10 pesawas was 1,000, making one cedi = 10,000. Though the Ghanaian government tried to simplify things by dividing everything by 100, people still talk in thousands. It can be confusing at times. In fact, I probably just confused you too.
- Some of the names I've come across are a bit odd. I've met a lot of Shadrachs and Bismarks. One of the teachers is named Vergas. As for the students, a couple boys are named Bright, another is Godbless and one girl is Dillis. And there is a boy named Tony Blair. Yeah. And I found out my youngest host sister, Michelle, is named after Obama's wife.
- They LOVE Obama here. I see his picture everywhere. There is even a snack sold in stores called Obama Biscuits.
- The other day in the first grade class, they were teaching animal names. Two of the words were 'cock' and 'bitch'. I started laughing.
- I see spiders in my room sometimes but I leave them alone because I want them to catch and kill mosquitoes.
- Speaking of mosquitoes, I've only had a handful of bites. Until yesterday, that is. For some reason, I got eight bites in a span of just a few hours. Was it something I ate?
- Before I came, I was warned about eating street food which I guess is a general precaution whenever you're traveling to developing countries. But everything is street food here. I have no choice. I haven't had any bad experiences (knock on wood) and it's convenient, tasty and cheap.
- A lot of things are eaten or drunk out of plastic bags. You just bite a hole in the corner and squeeze the contents out. For example, drinking water comes in half-liter sealed packets for 5 pesewas each (~$0.03). In the mornings, I see children eating rice and/or pasta out of plastic bags for breakfast.
- Soda is called 'minerals' here. I have no idea why. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think soda has any minerals.
- Funerals and burials always take place on the last Saturday of each month. Yesterday, it seemed like everyone I saw was wearing funeral garb. There can be up to twenty funerals taking place at the same time in any given town.
- I don't think picking your nose in public is a faux pas here. That or people choose to pick their noses in front of me all the time.
- Sometimes when people need to pee, they say they have to 'ease themselves'. That sounds really weird to me.
- The sanitation outfit here is called Zoom Lion. Each unit is a pair of workers who walk up and down the streets collecting litter; one walks with a broom and shovel and the other rides a bike with a giant bin attached to the back where they put the trash.
- Everyone litters. Confession: I've started to pick up the habit because there aren't trash cans anywhere. I'll stop once I return to the States, I promise.
- I haven't had a really bad bout of homesickness ... yet. The worst time for me is the few minutes right after I wake up in the morning. Sometimes I default to thinking I just woke up at home in the US. Or sometimes my dream was taking place in the US or with my friends and family there.
- I understand that it's the whole poverty thing, but by external measures, people here have really nice bodies. No one is fat. And so much of everyday life is manual that everyone looks really fit. I am oddly more self-conscious here than I ever was in image-centric United States.
- A lot of the clothes sold in stores are secondhand. Often they come from places like the US. The other day, I saw an op/ed article on the BBC website discussing whether this kind of business helps or hurts the African economy. Tailors and made-to-order clothes are still a big business here.

Okay, that's as much as I can remember for now. More to come. Peace.

The Ghanaian Way.

Being in Ghana means that doing some things is significantly more complicated than doing them in the United States. Example - booking a flight. So I dedicated this past weekend to one thing: go to Accra to plan a trip to London to attend my friend's wedding. Along the way, I learned a couple things which I have coined The Ghanaian Way:

1. Things never go off without a hitch. There's always something that changes plans.
2. Ghanaians' willingness to help more than compensates for any inconveniences.

I left for Accra on Thursday morning. Effiduasi is between Accra and Kumasi but I am only able to board the bus in Kumasi, which meant I started my journey going backwards. I left Effiduasi around 10:45am. I arrived in Accra at 7pm that evening. I rested up, knowing that I had some things to take care of this weekend.

THE IMMIGRATION OFFICE
To do:
- Apply for another visa so I can come back to Ghana after the wedding.
- Apply for an extension on my current visa since it's only good for 60 days.

Annie, a worker at ICYE, is the one in charge of figuring out all the volunteers' visas. She helps by applying for an extension on my behalf. I mentioned that I would be leaving the country in May which means I would only need an extension until then. But to get back into Ghana after the wedding, I need to apply for a whole new visa.

The Ghanaian Way:
1. After waiting at the immigration office for a while, it turned out that I didn't have the proper documentation. I need to present a letter of invitation from ICYE-Ghana to confirm that I am legitimately here as a volunteer. Funny, with things like this, I always have a nagging feeling that something will go wrong. And of course it did. I try to convince myself that the trip wasn't a total waste, but it's hard to keep that thought from crossing my mind.
2. Without a moment's hesitation, Annie said she would go back to the ICYE office and immediately write a letter for me. She plans to return to the office this week to submit my application. The fact that she even came with me in the first place was surprising since this trip is entirely personal and my visa affairs technically don't fall in her responsibility. But she seemed more than happy to help.

BOOKING A FLIGHT TO LONDON
To do:
- Find an affordable flight to London for the last weekend in May.

I could have looked online for flights, but the internet here is super-slow and I don't feel comfortable using my credit card online. I figured that after settling my visa stuff, I would go to a travel agency somewhere in Accra to book my flight.

The Ghanaian Way:
2. (2 comes first in this case.) I mentioned that I needed a travel agency to William, another ICYE worker, before I left for the immigration office. He said he would put me in contact with someone he knows. Sweet. When I returned from the office, he had already found a few flights for me. As we were talking, he paused and said, "Wait I know someone at British Airways. Let me talk to her real quick." In a matter of minutes, William's friend made me a reservation for exactly the days and times that I needed. It is a direct flight. And it is less than what I budgeted to pay. Painless!
1. Well, sorta. The catch is that I had to go to the airport to complete my reservation by paying with my credit card. So the next morning, I woke up early, took two buses and walked a quarter mile to the airport. The office wasn't open yet so the security lady told me to wait an hour. I people-watched in the terminal (which was a lot of fun). When I returned, a different guy told me that the offices don't open until 5 that evening. Um, what? It was about 10am at that point and I had made plans to meet up with family friends in the afternoon. So I and these two airport guys tried to brainstorm the best course of action. I ended up meeting my family friend and dragging her with me to the airport at 4:30. Maybe the office would open early? Wishful thinking. We waited until almost 6 before the ticket agent showed up and I was able to pay for my reservation.

In the end, I waited a lot this weekend. I easily could have become frustrated, but I also realized that this is just the way it is. Things are slow; people are late. Just go with it. But thanks to the help of Annie, William, those airport guys and my family friend, I was able to figure out my trip to London. Hooray for The Ghanaian Way.

(Aaron, if you haven't figured it out by now, I'm coming!)

Food Glorious Food

Atkins would never fly here. Everything I eat has starch whether it's rice, yams, plantains, cassava or bread. And it is usually accompanied by some kind of spicy, oily soup or stew. It is certainly filling and on hot afternoons, it can render me comatose. (Would a reference to the itis be appropriate here? Or too much cultural baggage?) When I go to town, I'll try to stop by a fruit stand on my way back to buy pineapple, bananas and/or oranges. The lady there knows me (I'm pretty easy to recognize) and calls me Sister. In general, however, fruit and vegetables are hard to come by so you can imagine that my digestive system has undergone quite an adjustment. I've been taking multi-vitamins religiously to compensate, but they can never replace some good old fashioned carrots and celery.

I usually don't eat breakfast on the weekdays. Lately, I've been waking up early around 4:30 to go for a run - a small victory each day. It's the only time I feel comfortable jogging outside because 1) it's not sweltering and 2) few people are out so stares are minimal. With running and showering, etc. I don't have time for a meal, which is fine.

For lunch, I eat what the schoolchildren eat from the canteen (a word I find very quaint for some reason). After all the children are served, teachers get their portions. The meals each week cycle through some semblance of the following:

Monday: Rice & sauce
Tuesday: Kenkey
Wednesday: Banku
Thursday: Rice & beans & sauce
Friday: Repeat one of the above

You're asking, "What the heck are kenkey and banku?" Just wait, full details pending.

Since lunch is usually generous, I will sometimes opt out of supper (another quaint word). When I don't, my host mom will prepare something for me. I've noticed that she tries to keep it westernized. Often I get rice or pasta with some salad. Of course, I always make sure to finish my greens. Sometimes, she'll make something local like fried plantains or fufu - two of my favorites. (Fufu details also pending.)

Sometimes when I'm out with friends, we'll order food at a restaurant. Usually it's a stew with some kind of meat. I always assume it's beef, but I think I've eaten goat as well. Sometimes I ask, sometimes I don't. I figure it won't kill me. The other day, my friend ordered some meat in a stew with rice balls. It was super spicy and super delicious. I should also mention that all food is eaten with hands from a communal bowl. I've been good about the whole when-in-Rome thing but I still haven't mastered eating rice with my hands. (Lezi, thank you for the chopsticks!)

I've had a chance to taste a lot of the local foods here but I thought I would spotlight a few of the most common. I also threw in a few of the popular drinks.

Fufu - the signature food of the Ashanti Region where I live. People make this from scratch which involves pounding cassava and plantains with a mortar and pestle. You can always tell when a family is making fufu because you can hear the pounding. The result is a sticky, dough-like ball that you eat by dipping in a spicy palm nut stew.











I'm helping to pound fufu for supper.



















Banku - (I can't find a specific link, sorry.) I think this is made from cassava. You tear bits of beaten cassava and dip it in okra soup. Spicy and oily okra soup (of course).

Kenkey - the signature food of the Accra Region, kenkey is cornmeal wrapped in corn husks to cook. The result tastes a little like sourdough and has the consistency of firm mashed potatoes. This is also served with a spicy sauce.












Jollof Rice - reminds me of Chinese fried rice which is fine by me.












Pitou - (Again, can't find a link.) This is a local beer of sorts. It is served in a halved, hollowed out calabash shell. It's fermented, but doesn't bubble the way beer normally does. It has a tartness to it but overall isn't bad. I think it would be better cold, but refrigeration isn't a strong point here (hard to imagine, I know).

Palm Wine - distilled from the roots of palm trees. It is sweet (too sweet in my opinion) and usually served at room temperature or a little warmer.

Akpeteshi - palm wine in concentrate. They evaporate all the water out of palm wine and it eventually becomes a clear, super-strong gin. I think I'm going to steer clear of akpeteshi as much as I can (go ahead and read between the lines if you want).

Epilogue:
I take a certain pride in being open to new foods and I think I've fared pretty well in Ghana. I generally like the food though it tends to be a little too starchy and oily for my taste. But I thought I would throw out another list ... a list of foods that I really miss:

- All Asian foods: Chinese, Korean, Vietnamese, Japanese, Thai
- Beers: Yuengling, Fat Tire, Lagunitas, Bell's, Chimay, Yards
- Burgers from The Bulldog and New Deck
- Moriarty's wings
- Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee
- Coke Zero
- Hummus with pita chips, carrots or peppers
- Pasta with Muir Glen sauce (shameless plug)
- Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream
- Wawa hoagies & coffee
- Whole Foods salad bar
- Pizza
- Yogurt

Okay I need to stop because this is making me really depressed.

Instead, I thought I'd post some pictures of my host sisters. Enjoy.

This is Precious (Age 11), me (Age 25) and Serwaa (Age 5).


Precious, Michelle (Age 0) and Watema (Age 3).
















The girls and some neighborhood kids who come over to play.

It's about the little people.

I'm encountering new people everyday. Some are friends, some are not. Some are young, some are old. Some are poor, some are well-off (by Ghanaian standards). But there's one population that has overwhelmed me more than any other because it is both familiar and utterly alien: the children.

If an American child worked as hard as an African child, I think he would die. I don't think I'm lazy (for the most part) but these children put me to shame. My host family has five girls. The eldest, Precious (age 11), is up every morning between 4:30 and 5 and the first thing she does is sweep the house and the compound surrounding it. Everything here is dusty. And she doesn't use one of those industrial brooms that clears a room with a few sweeps. The brooms here are bunches of little reeds tied together. Since it's only about a foot-and-a-half long, you have to stoop to use it. I usually wake up to the sound of her sweeping outside.

Meanwhile, Aminiampong (age 9), the second eldest, is taking care of Michelle, the infant daughter. She is often going about her business with Michelle tied to her back. She also fetches water from the spigot outside so her mom can use it while cooking. I've seen children do some serious heavy lifting whether it's buckets of water or stacks of chairs or piles of books. And they carry these things on their heads ... something I want to try one day but I'm too embarrassed to. During school, teachers always ask students to carry books from one class to another. They also stay after class to sweep the rooms clean. Who needs a janitor when you have children around?

Children are not coddled here. They are tough little people who work hard and have an amazing tolerance for physical discomfort. Even little five-year-olds have calloused hands from who-knows-what. They are also super-jacked. I envy the little girls and their shapely arm muscles. I have decided that when I have children, I will teach them the African work ethic.

But I'm conflicted about one particular aspect of African child-rearing: the cane.

Every teacher has a cane that s/he uses during class to keep the children in order. I've seen some serious lashings on the bum, the head, the hands, the shoulders, wherever. But the children accept it; it's just the way it is. In fact, children will only respect the cane when it comes to discipline. I've tried shouting, I've tried guilt-tripping, I've tried sending them to Time Out. But nothing works. When I yell at one group of students, another group will advise me, "Madam! You must beat them. Beat them, Madam!" (Yes, they call me Madam Katrina.)

The children can be monsters if they decide to misbehave. I substituted in Stage 1 (first grade) and they were screaming, running, hitting each other, stealing bags and dumping its contents and wreaking general havoc. I won't lie, I wanted so badly to hit them all. Since then, I've decided to stick with the older classes that are a smidge easier to control. Usually if a teacher can hear another class misbehaving, it's assumed that it's my class and he will come in - with his cane - and reinstate order for me. I can't decide if these moments are a relief or an embarrassment.

In the end, however, I love the children - demons or angels they may be - and they are the ones who make my work worthwhile. They're just so freakin' cute. It's always rewarding when I walk around town on errands and students come out from their homes to greet me, "Madam Katrina! Hello Madam! How are you?"

Visual evidence.

Hooray, the internet today seems to be working much faster than normal so I'm going to post some pics. But as luck would have it, I'm here while 'on the clock'. The school director pulled me from class and sent me on an errand to the internet cafe to print some stuff for the school. So I'm only going to spend as much time here as my conscience affords. When I have more time, I will post more pics.

Here is my school, American Co-operative.



Some of the nursery students.




At the market in Kumasi (ref. March 1 post).






The lead male in the parade for March 6 (ref. March 8 post).






We just found out we won the marching competition.

Proud to be an American

Saturday, March 6, was Ghana's Independence Day. Just as we celebrate July 4 with fireworks, Ghanaians celebrate their independence with a parade. The parade is a competition among all local schools and their marching brigades. Winning first place is not only a recognition of hard work and practice, but it is also a school's ticket to bragging rights for the rest of the year. My school's brigade had been training for weeks in preparation for this day. The students arrived at the school at 6am in cleanly-pressed uniforms. The girls had their hair done and donned matching earrings and socks. The boys shined their shoes and straightened their ties. Everything had to be perfect. Last year, American Cooperative (ACS) got third place and this year, we would settle for nothing less than first.

Once we got to the parade grounds, we waited for over three hours as other schools arrived. The school that lined up next to us was the Muslim school and all the girls wore headscarves. Apparently we were next to them last year as well and the teachers joked about how the Americans and Iraqis can't seem to get away from each other. (Aside: I also met a guy nicknamed Bush as in George W. I asked why everyone calls him Bush and his friends said, "Because he's crazy.") As we waited, anticipation mounted then dwindled as the students became impatient and hungry. Some teachers and I snuck off to 'take something' (Ghanaian euphemism for drinking). Upon our return, the drumming had started and the stands were full. Our time had come to march.

And march we did. With perfection. First place perfection. When they announced that we won, the teachers, students and I ran around like fools, cheering and waving our Ghanaian and American flags. We then boarded our school bus and drove around town, singing loudly and announcing our winnings to all the neighbors. We were probably really obnoxious. Our chant was something along the lines of "We are the Americans. Mighty mighty Americans. Champion Americans. Super Super Americans." The irony is that I was the only American. But whatever.

This weekend was indeed one of new experiences because I went to an African church for the first time yesterday. The service was over 4 hours long and nearly everything was in Twi, the local language. It was sufficiently awkward and, at some points, the boredom was nearly intolerable (sorry God), but it was still nice to go to church. Everyone here goes to church. It makes the Bible Belt look pagan. I've never been to a place where strangers get excited to hear that I'm a Christian.

But I will save my religious/philosophic ruminations for a separate post.

Just know that this weekend was a lot of fun. I spent a lot of it hanging out with the other teachers. It helped that we had something to celebrate. And I have friends now. Yay.

FYI - Black, green, yellow and red are the colors of the Ghanaian flag. Apparently it is also harder to read but thanks for reading anyway.

And I thought I was a city girl.

I love cities. I can do the trail mix outdoors-y vacations, sure, but in the end, I'd much prefer visiting a city. Or so I thought.

This weekend I went to Kumasi, the capital of the Ashanti Region and Ghana's second-largest city after Accra. It was a 45min tro-tro (bus) ride from Effiduasi. There, I finally met Douglas, my ICYE contact and go-to guy in Kumasi. He's been calling/texting to check on me ever since I arrived. He has worked with volunteers for years and has answered all my random questions including "Where do I get a bus to Ejisu?" and "Are there homosexuals in Ghana?" (Answers: 'Roman Hill' and 'Not openly'). Fellow volunteers Sally and Katharina also came to Kumasi from Accra so we could be tourists together.

Saturday was packed with sightseeing and a lot of wandering. We started at the National Cultural Centre, a walled-in, serene area nestled in the Bantama neighborhood. It had some shops with traditional African ware as well as a tourist office which was closed on Saturday morning (because that makes a lot of sense). Next came the massive Kejetia Market composed of ramshackle stalls hawking goods ranging from butchered animal parts to tailored clothing to kitchen supplies. We, of course, managed to enter at the meat section - a rank, stinky, fly-riddled area that we unfortunately had a hard time escaping. My traveling buddies were thoroughly horrified, but thanks to my many experiences in Chinatowns across America, I was only mildly disgusted.

We then cabbed our way to Manhyia Palace where the current Ashanti king lives. We toured the museum and learned Ghanaian and Ashanti history. For being a king's palace, I found Manhyia very unassuming and rather modest. After lunch, we wandered to a supermarket to buy water. Our next stop was Kumasi Fort and since Kumasi is nearly devoid of streetsigns, we resorted to taking cheap cab rides rather than venturing it alone. We told the driver "Kumasi Fort" but his acknowledgement was dubious. When we arrived, he insisted it was the place so we got out and it immediately became obvious that we were NOT at Kumasi Fort. After much confusion with three different drivers, we finally got another cab ... that brought us to Kumasi Fort about two blocks away from the supermarket we just visited.

Ultimately, I had fun in Kumasi, but I realized a few reasons why a large Ghanaian city may not be the best for me:

1. As mentioned, Kumasi has no street signs and some streets do not appear on my map. This makes navigating the city on foot very difficult. And I believe walking a city is the best way to explore.
2. People are seedier. Though expected, I hate being overcharged for something just because I am a foreigner. I also do not like being touched or grabbed by men as I'm walking down the street.
3. Some givens in Western cities just do not exist in Ghanaian ones. For example, we had to hunt down a coffeeshop which was on the other side of town. No Starbucks imperialism here. Also, I was in Kumasi for less than 48 hours and the hotel lost power twice and the water stopped running about halfway through. At least in Effiduasi, something like that is expected.
4. The city is noisy all the time. There was some kind of parade, complete with drums and shouting, that went right under my window ... at 6:30am on Sunday.

Nevertheless, I will have to befriend Kumasi one way or another as it has a number of resources that Effiduasi does not. I expect each trip to be just as eventful. In fact, I am finding that everything is an adventure here.

On another note, I've received a few questions about my general living standard and what modern conveniences I am doing without. Here are a few that I can think of right now:

1. I do not have toilet paper. Instead, we use old newspapers.
2. I do not have a pillow but I think that's just me. Ghanaians have pillows, I just didn't get one with my bed. But I'm still sleeping well.
3. I do not have a washing machine. I do laundry by hand which means that the cleanliness of my clothes is questionable. I did find out, however, that my family hires a woman to do the wash and I'm welcome to add my stuff to the load.
4. The house doesn't have a functioning sink so I brush my teeth and wash my face in the shower.
5. Tampons are not sold in Effiduasi. To find them, I have to go to Accra or Kumasi.

And then, of course, there are the heavy-hitters that you should have figured out if you've been reading my blog:

6. I do not always have running water.
7. I do not always have electricity.
8. I do not have internet at home.
9. I do not have AC.

This is not to be confused as a list of complaints. In fact, I really like living here and I've adjusted swimmingly. I've sacrificed some in terms of hygiene and comfort, but overall, my life is simple and pleasant. It's very liberating to learn what I can live without.

(I know I've promised pictures, but my connection here is so slow that I don't think I'll be able to put them up. They will have to wait until the next time I go to Accra or Kumasi where the internet is faster. Apologies.)