Post Ghana, Pre Acceptance.

I have no idea if anyone will ever read this. I don't care.

I am home, and have been for a long time. I've settled in to my apartment at school, returned to work, and even written a paper (who knew, Ghana didn't totally strip me of the capacity to think and produce work).

Am I supposed to feel good about being here?

I got a call from Ghana today, from John, my crazy Jesus freak teacher friend who says "praise Jesus" after almost every sentence, who has no attention span (or doesn't understand what I"m saying) and changed the subject every time I say something. It was wonderful- I didn't realized I missed him and his fiance Sara, or visiting his small two room, electric blue flat to listening to the latest cuts from his ever in progress album. They haven't married yet, and they still plan to come to the states as soon as the album is finished, so he may preach at the church that has invited him. This isn't relevant information to anyone but me, but to detail everything we talked about only underscores how much I've realized lately that I desperately miss Ghana. It have drove me crazy then, that I could never predict when I would be harassed for being a white woman, that I never knew if I had evening plans, or if I'd just go to bed at 9, I never knew what the hell I was doing in the next hour, unless I was really stuck in traffic. I miss public transportation, I miss extremely questionable food, filthy yet deserted beaches, naked children, anti-intellectual classes- I say everything in the negative because I didn't appreciate it when I had it. Now I live an extremely predictable, stable life. I'm happy, I have purpose, but only because I am completely redefined in my goals and ambitions and spirit because of Ghana. I miss the orphanage with everything thing I have. I want to be there again, to hold the babies, and feel like my live really has meaning, beyond all of my goals and the places where I think I want to go in life. I want to sit all morning in MaxMart, drinking coffee straight from heaven, ammusing the waiter, eating kippe, and watching the always pissy looking Lebonese woman look over her shop.

I want to be there all over again but I'm too afriad to go alone. Will I ever actually put myself there? I have so many other countries I want to go, my goal in life for the next few years is to get out and explore as many new places as I have time to delve into. Not fast ditch, Euro trip backpacking style. I want to really go and live in these places for several months at a time. I feel really strongly about where I'm going- I'm applying to go to graduate school in Toronto and do research in an Immigration and Settlement Studies program (no, it doesn't exist elsewhere). Maybe that will lead me to more grad school in sociology- but I hope more that it will keep taking me abroad, that I can work for international organizations helping immigrants settle in and explore their new territory- kind of like Kwese and Abena and Janet did for all of us. Regardless, someday I will have to commit the money to return to Ghana. Part of my heart is there right now in those childeren, at Natdat Memorial School, strapped into a trotro, eating a pineapple, drinking boxed Sangria from a convience store with my friends, hiking through the jungle, soaked in a canoe, crying in the slave castles, and in a chain smoking cheif who wants to save the world while listening to the futbol match.

I want to build homes like Ghana for myself allover the world, to find new peices of myself in each place, to be a better person for it, a more caring woman, and to find the best place for me. I love PLU, it has been my home. But I am ready to go again.

When you ask me, “How was Africa!!!?”

Well y’all, it’s been a while. Laziness? No, not really. I just can’t say I’ve felt like spending long hours in an internet café tirelessly recounting all of my journeys. I wrote them down (well, all but one, which I guess is the real reason for this post) but my last few weekends have amounted to a few experiences that are probably worth mentioning.

They have been low key trips- I won’t begin to pretend that I have equal energy and patience for particular cultural tics of Ghana as I did during some of my earlier, more ambitious travels. I’ve spent a lot of time at the beach lately.

I spent one weekend in Ada Foah, outside of the tiny town where the Volta River meets the Atlantic. Really neat beach resort started by a nice Rasta man who has also started a school for the peninsula village (it’s too far to walk to town every day.) I took lots of pictures here, because it was pretty much paradise. We met cool Aussies and Canadians and ate banana pancakes! Really, I didn’t have a useful or intelligent thought all weekend…

The next weekend I started a week long trip out the west coast of Ghana with my trusty friend Lindsay. We started out in Cape Coast, a charmingly dilapidated town associated with the slave trade. I roamed around alone, sans hassle, and toured the Cape Coast Castle. This was a wholly different experience than touring the castle at Elmina with CIEE. For one, this time I was the only white person in a group of Catholic school children and their teachers, not one of 35 white college students. Observing their reactions to the gruesome tour, and experiencing their reactions to my being there, and to my emotions was extremely interesting. At one point, when the kids were laughing at something that really wasn’t funny, and staring at me as they muttered in Twi, of course figured it had something to do with me. When I asked what was so funny (only to elicit more giggles) their teacher told me “it is too sad, so they must laugh- but not at you.” Ah, understanding. Later, as I asked one of the teachers a question when I hadn’t properly heard the guide, she explained “Your people did this. Your people shoved them down this hole to the ground.” When I explained in a reactionary defense, “Oh no, I’m not British” she laughed, “Yes, still your people, white people.” Ah, association. The practices at this particular castle seemed to be much worse than at Elmina, but I’ll spare you the details…

We moved on to Domamma, (yes, it rhymes with “yo Mama”) to hike to a massive rock shrine and float down the Pra River in a canoe. The 5 hour hike though small settlements and cocoa plantations was delightful, but not nearly as cool as sitting with the chief for three hours discussing all the world problems. After that it was on to Prince’s Town, a small town on the beach that is extremely secluded. Here we hiked to Cape Three Points, the southern most tip of Ghana, and stayed in Fort Gross Fried-something, the only German trade/slave fort in Ghana. Very cool experience- it involved a brawl and machete throwing! Ask me about that one sometime… Then on to the fabled Green Turtle Lodge, an eco tourism beach resort where we stayed in this great little bungalow with self composting toilets, shower water the feeds the plants, and got served our cocktails by the local employees. Needless to say, I wish we’d had another day there, but my friend and I were seriously out of money…

This past weekend I had the privilege of going to a Ghanaian wedding! Well, technically it was two weddings- both the traditional wedding, now called the “engagement,” and the Christian church wedding that pretty much all Ghanaians do these days. Mind you, I had never met the bride or the groom before I got there- friends of a friend, but in Ghana that is quite beside the point. I was a friend of a friend, and sure! I could take tons of pictures of their wedding and watch everyone get ready the day before. The bride’s family was wonderful. The women talked and teased with me as I watched them prepare traditional kenkey for the reception (it’s boiled corn dough wrapped in corn leaves, eaten uncooked with pepper sauce with fried fish- way up there on my list of Ghana foods.) The morning of the wedding/engagement everyone bustled about putting last touches on the front yard canopy in their full traditional dresses and toga-like dresses (the men). At 7am all the family and close friends gathered to watch the negotiation of the bride price, as MC’d by the bride’s quite loud mouthed sister (not much of a singer either, ouch!) This is a matrilineal part of Ghana, so when the groom's family pays for the bride, she really is considered a part of her husband’s family and not her own. The marriage is a union of two families, not two people, so every in-law of the huge combined family must get along… Anyway, the bride price in this particular arrangement involved several cases of Coca Cola products (I assume for the reception, I hope she wasn’t really paid for with soda…), a suitcase of God knows what, bottles of champagne, and some amount of money. After all this was passed over the MC/sister passed a tray around for the groom’s family calling “20 cidi!” I think to try and collect a nominal amount of cash to be publicly handed over, because the real amount of money should’ve been much larger. The bride's and groom's families then proceeded bargain over this amount! It really was very amusing. Mind you, the bride and groom were not present throughout this whole ordeal. The groom finally made an appearance, danced into the area by all the women in his family, looking throughly embarrassed. A similar song and dance ushered in the bride, who sat quite far away from the groom, and they didn't look at each other once. At this point, the brides family had to "approve" of her wedding ring. Apparently they did (I forgot to mention this entire ceremony was taking place in Ewe, a language I clearly do not speak) and the groom was allowed to put the ring on her finger before they shared the most awkwardly public hug I've ever seen. Much cheering ensued, and the bride and groom finally got to sit next to each other (no touching, no kiss.) The brides family proceeded to pass out white bread and hot chocolate for all. It was only 8am, but the coco struck me as funny- especially since all the brides attendants were wearing matching t-shirts of the coco brand. They looked like people working for a racecar driver, not for a bride. The wedding gifts were a plastic cup and a sweat rag- quite typical, I'm told...

Then it was on to the church wedding. Well, it was really a church service, where people happened to get married partway through, it seemed. The dancing though the church after the couple exchanged their vows was so fun to watch (I got up and shook round a little.) Everyone was so happy. The youth choir of the church sang in their matching t-shirts. The friend who took me to the wedding also sang- he happens to be a really popular gospel artist in this area. However, I cringed through msot of the ceremony. Let me share a few particularly memorable quotes:
"You must always think your husband is the best person in the whole world, and tell others as such. Even when he beats you in the home, tell people he's the best."
"It is your duty to provide the food he likes. If you are out with your friends, and it is 6 o'clock, you must rush home to feed him." (In Ghana, it's ok to beat your wife if she doesn't do this. But don't worry, her husband is the best!)
"Always attend to his physical desires, it is also your duty, even when you don't want to."
Mind you, to each of these statements, the gathered party laughed and cheered their assent.
And, of course, Ephesians 5:22. "Wives, submit to your husbands..."
Good grief.

Changing subjects. It’s been quite interesting to be in Africa as Barak Obama claims the nomination. Lot’s of talk about how his being half Kenyan, and an “African American” will affect his policy towards Africa. Will he fix the United States? Will he be more likely to assist with Africa’s myriad of problems- South African xenophobia, Zimbabwe’s crap elections, Sudan (genocide), Sudan (their other political crisis), and the sudden rise in starving people in Ethiopia, cocaine (lots of places), and especially, Nigeria’s problems with their oil industry, and Ghana’s recent oil discovery. On some people’s part, their seems to be an expectation that he will “help” Africa because of his heritage. Other’s say that he would be the American president, not Africa’s (I listen to radio talk shows a lot.) The majority of people I’ve met here love Obama (I think you only need one guess to know why) though their were also a lot of Hillary supporters (so people really think they should be on the same ticket.) There is this hysterical song on the radio that is the “Barak Obama Song” by an artist called Black Rasta. It’s a rallying point for Obama’s support, and I really hope I can find it on line when I get home.

I leave in 4 days. It’s weird. Time is surging by. My countdown of days is going down so quickly. I have such mixed feelings. I’ve come to enjoy my life in Ghana, really I do. If you talked me any time in the first two months I was here, I was kind of a miserable human being. It took two months to get over being homesick (more or less over it anyway), and almost 3 months to really feel a sense of stability. Even now, I don’t love it. I’ve never been in love with Ghana, despite many moments of feeling so in love with what I was doing- I have loved teaching and being in the orphanage, I am so deeply thankful for those experiences, I’ve really enjoyed learning about Ghanaian and African development, and taking Sociology and Religion class in a new environment. I’ve made some great friends, from all over the country and out into the UK and Australia. I’ve experienced some really fascinating traditions (see above), discussed the world’s problems with chiefs, made Ghanaian crafts, followed the slave trade route, on and on I could go- but Ghana is not a picnic (as much as my latest pictures depict tropical paradise, complete with a man climbing a coconut tree to get me a snack.) I’ve had it beyond “up to hear” with various parts of the culture- I bitched out one of the recent people to tell me I would be marrying them and take them to the US, who insisted that I must have something against black men because I don’t want to get married RIGHT NOW while I’m in Ghana. I slapped a man who reached out to feel my white skin yesterday. Earlier as I walked down a busy street and the umpteenth person hassled me to buy something, and I ignored them as usual, they called me a “slave driver.” I’m sick of it being OK for men to openly stare at me as I walk by, and of not being able to speak my mind not only because I am female, but because we really do not speak the same language. It’s very difficult to explain oneself here, because the English words we use for things do not carry the same meaning, and some concepts appear not to cross cultures. When you ask me “How was Africa!?”…

But I digress- really, I did not mean for the negative list to outweigh the positive one- just to try and explain that the “little things” that I used to have more of a sense of humor about feel less little and more obnoxious now. It’s time to go home. Is it really? I have a wonderful vacation, summer, and senior year (already!?) ahead of me, but it’s quite hard to imagine them from here. I’m saddened to have so many lasts occurring right now- last meals of my favorite Ghanaian dishes, last cuddles with the orphans, last bus ride through the stunning countryside, last cold shower etc. My best friends have gone home. My whole “study abroad” thing, what ever that was supposed to be, is coming to a close. I’m at peace with the fact that I didn’t love Ghana. When I look back at the reasons I chose to come here, I realize all of them had the fine print of being uncomfortable. I wanted to go somewhere I wouldn’t vacation, I wanted to be confronted with a very different way of life, I wanted to learn how to on my own for once- I wasn’t hear to make friends really (though I managed a fewJ, or to party, sightsee, or feel particularly cosmopolitan (though I do). I think I remember actually saying “I want to be forced to be uncomfortable.” Goal met! And from this side of it, I’m SO happy about that. I really have gotten exactly what I said I wanted out of Ghana, even if the image I had had of my time didn’t match what it actually was. I feel so good about myself and where I’m headed, even if I don’t know where that is, other than home.

One thing I have gotten is a fire under my ass to go abroad again. I’ve suddenly remembered all these goals I used to have, like having a job where I physically had to get up and do something to help someone and learning Spanish that seemed to become lost in 7 changes of college major. Those goals have been meshed with others that have cropped up since I’ve been here to produce a very conflicted individual who doesn’t see when there will ever be time to settle down in life, but really thinks it would be a hell of a lot more fun to do all of that while abroad. I’m excited and pleased to come of age when Americans really have no choice but to acknowledge that the rest of the world exists. There are opportunities galore for making myself a far more interesting, self-content, and meaningful person if I continue to put myself in Ghana-like situations, rather than just going on to grad school, though one day I still really do want my PhD…

Life for the last month.

So long time no blog. I’ve been increasingly busy lately… Funny how that happens when you neglect to study all semester long and suddenly have to face the stress of exams. I probably should be studying right now instead of typing, but I want to get these things out so that I don’t forget to do it- remember this record is as much for me as it is anyone else…

Water continues to be an issue in my building. It's gotten to the point that you can never assume the water will be working- especially when taking a shower- it stopped while I was washing my hair the other day. Funny that the water stops as is starts to rain. The storms here are so intense- I've never been scared by thunder until now, because my whole room shakes. You could tell me I was in a war zone and I'd believe you.

I’ve done minor trips the past two weekends. Two weeks ago was our last CIEE adventure, a day trip to Bojo Beach. It was a beach on a sandbar that I think is owned by the resort that sits on the mainland. Not much to say about it, really, but I had a wonderful time, playing in the ocean like I haven’t since I was a kid visiting California.

This past weekend I traveled to Ada Foah with 2 friends. There really is nothing there other than beach hotels- literally one gas station and a couple of rice stands. But it is a beautiful place- where the massive Volta River meets the Atlantic Ocean. I had really wanted to see more of the river before I leave Ghana, it’s such a big deal for the country’s water and power supplies, but so far I’d only seen it from the CIEE bus. The trip had many comical moments. We arrived at dusk into the tiny town, and not knowing if our beach encampment had any food, we stopped to eat really spicy rice before calling the hotel to have someone come pick us up. So there we stood, at the gas station, in the dark waiting for this guy to show up. Some creeper kept edging closer to us, taxi and tro drivers kept harassing us asking where we were going… The guy finally drives up in a truck, and we expected to get in, but the truck drove away… he introduced himself and said to follow him. Of course, he leads us down a dark alley… I trusted him, but my friends were freaking out. I said “Ok, where are you taking us?” and he responded, “Oh, are you scared? We are taking a short cut to the boat!” This was our first indication that we would be getting there via boat. I thought “great! I really wanted to take a boat out on the river.” My friends said “hell no!” We didn’t really have a choice. There we were, motoring out on the river under a blanket of more stars than I have seen in a very long time, when the boat dies. It took a good 20 minutes to get it started, during which I tried to make tension diffusing jokes while the women in the front of the boat kept turning around to laugh at the plight of the poor men trying to start the engine again. At least the stars we beautiful...

The beach camp was amazing! Seriously, I have all these really stereotypical tropical paradise postcard-looking pictures of sand, grass huts, and palm trees. Ada Foah is touted as the "Hamptons of Accra." It really was- all weekend long we watched sailboats, wake boarders, and jet skis owned by ex patriots zip up and down the river. One thing that was wonderful- despite all the wealth there on the beach, there were still villages standing between out camp and the town. People living entirely undisturbed by the tourism- that's Ghana for you. The camp owner, a very nice rosta, recently started a school for the kids in the village.

The camp was positioned on the thin peninsula between the river and the ocean, so we got the best of both experiences. There was absolutely nothing to do there but boat, sit next to the ocean, and sit next to the river. So I swam a lot, because I can't stand to sit around all day, even in paradise. The "hotel" was a series of palm huts on the center of the sand bar, each with a wooden door painted with the flag of a different country (I stayed in Italy.) When we first arrived, the manager sat us down and tried to feed us. Although we had already eaten (he was shocked to find we could ever assume his place wouldn't have food) he did allude to making banana pancakes at breakfast time. PANCAKES! The one food I have really, really missed. I actually dreamed about them before I got to devour them (sans syrup, but whatever, can't be picky) with fresh squeezed orange juice. The next morning I got up super early to watch the sunrise and attempt to walk alone to the end of the peninsula (didn't make it... too far.)

I really enjoyed this trip for the opportunity to reflect about how I will structure and spend the last of my time in Ghana. I'm down to exactly a month today (God, where is May going???) I find myself spending more and more time alone, and hardly ever doing things with the people in my program. And I'm happy with that. Odd, normally I hate to be alone for too long, but I'm finding more and more contentment is ensuring that my day and my experiences are more structured around what I want to accomplish. This will probably lead to future anxiety about being a loner, but I hope I am finally learning to make decisions on my own initiative, and to trust that I can more or less take care of myself.

Most of spending time off doing my own thing can be attributed to my newest venture- volunteering at the Osu Children's Home. This is the state orphanage of Accra, so it's all the kids deemed to be in "physical or moral harm" at home. There are also a fair amount of kids who were just pulled off the streets. The most heartbreaking scenarios are those who have been abandoned in hospitals when they were born. Ghana's health care system is so that unless you enroll in the national health insurance scheme (it only takes 10 bucks a year) you must pay up front for medical care. For women who have babies at the hospital but can't pay, the hospital keeps the kid until you return with the money, and as I'm sure you can guess, many parents use the hospital as a way to get rid of an unwanted or unaffordable child. These are the kids I see most, as they have me working in the nursery. It hits me so hard that most will never be reunited with their families, or don't have them at all. The orphanage actively fosters and adopt kids out, but it wont happen for everyone. There is such an absence of attention for them. They will never have a mom write them letters if they go abroad, no one to honor in old age, no one to give them the attention and openly expressed love they deserve.

There are over 20 babies there, with any number of maladies and sad stories. There's Ado, who's 5 but partially disabled, he cant swallow anything, but he has a great smile and never cries... There's other Ado, who's entire family was killed in a tro crash. Abena and her younger brother are here because there mom in a mental hospital. I could go on... some have HIV. My favorite is Deborah. Deborah is one of 4 kids who are completely disabled- they can maybe wave their bended arms, but that's it, no development of motor skills whatsoever. She is 7 years old, but you would never know it. I love her because every time you just say her name she hyperventilates with excitement and puts on the sweetest smile. I also adore the women who work for the orphanage- they clearly love the children deeply, but they just can't give them enough attention because there are too many of them. The infants sit in their cribs all day with zero stimulation. For some reason they prefer that the volunteers play with the toddlers rather than hold the babies. Perhaps it's because they demand less attention- they have sadly learned to sit in a crib and be ignored all day.

There are rats running around the kitchen, and the nursery has very little ventilation, but all in all, the facilities are better than I was expecting. We have a strict routine- breakfast, letting the kids sit on chamber pots before they take a bath, then dressing, and later taking them out to play. The process repeats itself for lunch and dinner. There are lots of volunteers, mostly European girls on their gap years between high school and college. My favorite is Susan, a 50 something British woman who was a financial adviser, but decided it wasn't what she wanted from life any more, and is using her time in Ghana to decide if she wanted to be a teacher or social worker... Yesterday I was only there for about 30 minutes before I was asked to help accompany Auntie Mercy to the hospital with two infants. We spent the whole morning with them there, trying to get them to eat, and soothing their tears when they both needed injections. It's a big energy drain being there, but the time passes so quickly I hardly noticed. Honestly, if I weren't going on vacation i might almost be persuaded to stay in Ghana a while longer, to keep going to the orphanage. Alas, I will try to soak up all the time I can.

Sorry, that was heavy. But I'm so glad for the opportunity to be there. I will take a few days off here and there for a trip to Togo, but for the next month, besides exams, the orphanage will be my life. It will pass so quickly, but I can't think of a better way to spend my time with Ghanaians until I leave. That said, there may not be another post until it is time for me to leave. I don't have many more new things to say, but if I do find something, it wont be episodic, it will be my reflections on my time here, which frankly, I'd like to post but don't want to waste my time here doing. So take care, and enjoy your month!

I'm too lazy to proofread this....

Greetings again!

The power continues to go on and off here. It was off overnight the other day, starting at about 7pm. My class had to end early because of it, so I walked across campus to my dark room with the help of a nifty keychain flashlight (thanks, Mom) to eat dinner in the dark.

In other news, there was a strike going on at the University last week. All of the junior faculty members will not be receiving their full salaries this semester. Instead, the government will be paying them in installments- guess they don’t have the money upfront. In addition, all of the maintenance and auxiliary staff people are “renegotiating” their contracts (on strike also, one of them just told me it was “renegotiation.” Several classes were canceled, and none of the classes I’ve been to this week have had a PA system, because there is no one around to run them. Doors to classrooms being locked because janitors took off with the keys was a major source of class cancellations. The drummers for my dance class were among the strikers, so no dance Of course, this is Ghana, so when I walked past the protest at the University gates, there was dancing and music blaring from giant speakers, in addition to the picketing signs. The first protest I’ve ever been to actually…

This past weekend my program took everyone on a two night trip to Kumasi, in central Ghana. Kumasi is considered the cultural heart of Ghana, as the 2nd largest city, and the one that has continued to maintain its historical displays of “African-ness.” Kumasi is home to the Asanti (or Ashanti), whose empire was at one time much larger than present day Ghana. The city surrounds the Asantehene’s palace- the dwelling and political center for the most important Chief and Queen Mother in Ghana. Today they have no official political power, but the president and parliament are constantly consulting them- it would be extremely foolish to piss off the largest and most influential ethnic group in Ghana. Some people here, like my friend’s roommate, actually deny their real ethnic heritage and instead claim that they are Asante, because they are still revered for their former glory. Of course, they attained their major economic success and clout by systematically destroying smaller empires for the slave trade, but, you know, details… The Asanti are more known among modern Ghanaians for putting up a very strong fight against the British prior to colonization. They were almost impossible to defeat, as they were exceptional warriors who were powered by the guns the British sold to them in exchange for slaves, but finally fell in the early 1900’s. When we toured the former Asantehene’s palace (right next door to the new one) we examined a display case full of the guns the Asantehene would hold and wave in the air as his attendants carried him throughout town. Each night the guns are removed from the museum and are used to protect the Chief as he sleeps, and they are still used in major festivals. Absent from the museum was the real symbol of the Asante’s power- the golden stool. Stools are very important in Ghana. I have never been to a Ghanaian home that didn’t rush to find a small stool for me to sit in (unless I’m in Accra, where they rush to find a plastic chair…) and most are adorned with religious or Adinkra symbols (more on that later). The Asantehene traditionally sits on a stool of pure gold- but the stool was strategically hidden before the Asanti fell to the British, and remains hidden to this day, for fear of it being stolen and used to commit political ransom. Our tour guide claimed to be one of the few who knows where the stool is hidden. I wouldn’t buy it…

Our actual first stop on the trip was to the Kumasi Central Market. This was a good experience, for sure. Our director kept warning us that it would be a very overwhelming experience, cautioning that most of us would probably hop off the bus, take a look, and want to run back on the bus. Overwhelming is not a word I would have used, and I found myself wanting more than the sparse 30 minutes allotted to explore. Kumasi Market is characteristically different than the markets in Accra- for one, it is 95% controlled by women, few male sellers, zero male shoppers. This reduced the typical market hassle significantly- market women are less aggressive than men, so no one was grabbing me and harassing me to come into their stall. The women are more inclined to call out “white woman!!!” with a huge smile on their face- and I can’t say no to a conversation with a big, friendly smile. Most women completely ignore you as they go about their shopping, as if to say “I see you Oburoni, and I could care less that you are here, in fact, stop staring and get out of my way!” I appreciate this- a slight slice of autonomy in a country of sticking out like a sore thumb. The market is intense, however, and I can see why some people wouldn’t like it. You have to fight your way through a literal sea of people, and hold your bag very close to your side. Kumasi isn’t devised like other markets that more or less have a vegetable section, a fabric section, a house hold section, and so forth. Here there was a fabric lady sitting next to a tray of onions, and I had to duck to the side to avoid being hit by a man carrying a plate of raw goat meat, while I tripped over a woman sitting with peppers- all on my way to look at a bar of soap… Not really a hassle free environment, but I thought it was fun, anyway…

After the market, I roamed away from our hotel to take a solitary walk and was quite rewarded by the neighborhood people. Children playing games using their shoes as cars while sitting on the side of the road… men answering the call to prayer from the local mosque, some leaving what appeared to be a Muslim wedding or birthday gathering, full of beautifully dressed (and covered) women and children… men and women tending to their shops for the final hour… women cooking dinner for their families and waving up at me… children roaming home from school… exactly what I would want my life to look like if I could live in a small community where everyone lived, worked, and schooled within one city block. It was interesting to reflect upon how different their lives look for the simple fact that the never need to commute anywhere for routine daily activities like we do. A very pleasant slice of daily life and Ghanaian culture that I miss out on as I live on campus.

The next day we traveled to two villages known for their contributions to traditional Ghanaian crafts. Bonwire is the home of Kente cloth. Think real hard and imagine “African print.” You are probably thinking of the bold colors and patterns of Kente. Many countries and clans claim that they started Kente, China has even found a way of manufacturing it by machine, but no self respecting Ghanaian would accept Kent from anywhere else. Kente is woven on a loom into one of several patterns that have special meanings like “family unity” and “strength.” A cloth woven to show the golden stool of the Asanti is also a very popular design. I of course bought cloth with all three designs But small pieces- a piece of Kente cloth can easily cost over $100- and I don’t like it that much. I did get to try the actual weaving though- it’s difficult! You sit on a very small stool in a very cramped loom, thread strung between your toes… I’ll get the video of my weaving up on Picasa. The Kente village itself was unpleasant. It’s a popular tourist destination, and as soon as the local children see you driving up in a bus- they attack. Really, it feels like being attacked. They don’t really have a concept of a “personal bubble” here. One steps off the bus and literally can’t take a step further because there is a child to both sides and in the front of you, either trying to sell you something, or trying to ask your for food, money, or ballpoint pens (seriously.) As we listened to our bubbly guide Williams explain the different Kente symbols, the Children hovered in a circle around us, slowly closing in until our guide would stop his talk to snap at them in Twi. While it is obnoxious that they make it hard to walk, the Children don’t really bother me. Perhaps I am too hardened, I made it a general rule long ago that I wouldn’t give to any person that begged of me here- it just isn’t realistic- and you can’t ever tell how legitimate their need is. (At the next village we stopped at, a child asked “please, some food for me” of one of my friends- while holding food in their hand.) They are pretty much trained from birth to accept the idea that they should always try to ask us, because eventually they will get lucky. I don’t have a hard time saying no, I just smile and shake my head, but for some of the people with me, the experience ruined their whole day.

Apparently the children were more intense at the village of Ntonso (I didn’t notice, I was having too much fun learning about the crafts) home of Adinkra. Adinkra is a set of symbols and a technique of stamping them on to cloth. There are over 150 symbols, though only 60 are used regularly. Each symbol represents an African parable. They only do the stamping with a dye made of a particular tree from the Northern Region. They soak the bark, pound it like they pound fufu, and then boil it in big caldrons (I laughed in spite of myself that they looked like witch’s caldrons), Our guide happily explained that before the bark has become dye it can also be drank to fight diarrhea and PMS… For a small fee we could get a cloth and stamp a few symbols for ourselves. I made two, of course. We all contributed to stamping a long cloth that is now displayed in our program office.

The next day we concluded our trip be traveling to Lake Bosomtwe. A beautiful sight, though I can’t say my breath was exactly taken away- I’ve been spoiled by Oregon’s Crater Lake. Bosomtwe was created many years ago by a meteorite, and is 10x12miles wide, surrounded by beautiful, tropical hills. While scientists debunked the mystery and removed the meteor, the lake is still held as sacred to the Asante. Some say it is the home of the god Twi, others maintain that the spirits of the dead stop there before continuing on to the afterlife. Traditionally, fishermen of the lake were not allowed to use paddles or boats, lest they disturb the spirits. Today that rule does not hold firm (we traveled around in a motor boat) but we did see men floating around on special logs, using their hands to paddle and check their fishing nets. Fun fact: the lake grows every year with the rainy seasons. While it is disease free (meaning we got to swim!) it’s not for drinking, so the water level doesn’t ever diminish. Since its creation the lake has swallowed at least 4 villages, and the ones that ring the surface are probably going to be gone within a few years (including the resort we ate lunch at.)
Ok, that was my trip. This feels like an inadequate entry, but not a whole lot else is happening right now. I only have 45 days left in Ghana, and I’m actually getting to the point where I will be sad to leave. Ready to leave, but saddened. I start my second internship on Monday- doing God knows what in an orphanage, but I’m really excited to have more to do again. Classes effectively end after next week, so I’ll need to start studying, since I’ve decided to take off for the week before my first exam to travel, but life definitely has a feeling of slowing down- if that’s even possible. This has been the most relaxed semester of my life (I’m on fun book number 6!!!) I’m also finally starting to connect with people on my program. I’ve had friends, but am only just now considering them close enough to miss as I will miss Ghana. It’s fun to think they open new possibilities for visiting other parts of the States, since they are from all over the place.

Take Care!

PICTURES!

Hello again, friends.

I have finally gotten my pictures up online! Unfortunately, they are not in specific, narrated albums like I would like them to be, and won't be able to accomplish until I get home. But for now, if you really want to see em, you can use the following link. They are at least in order, and I'm pretty sure this blog has listed everything I have pictures of.

http://picasaweb.google.com/SkylarSCole

Take Care, loved ones!

After a Brief Absence...

Hey Folks,

It’s been a while. Well, it hasn’t felt that way for me really, time is flying by here. I feel like I haven’t had anything of significance to say. I can tell you about the past two trips, but I feel died up in witty banter or interesting reflections of my experiences. I’m not ready to share personal revelations, so I don’t know what else to do but tell you about trips.

In slightly eyebrow raising news, there has been an anthrax outbreak in the northern region, where I visited two weekends ago. How the heck anthrax got to very rural Ghana is beyond me…

So about the Northern Region… I only made a small dent in it, but that’s an accomplishment. Most Ghanaians, if they aren’t from there have never been. There are several reasons for that. It takes quite a long time to get there (in a straight shot on the way back I was on a bus for 12+ hours). There isn’t much of a reason to, unless you are doing tourist activities- ancient mosques, elephants in the national parks, fetish priests and crocodile ponds, etc. There is also, as preciously mentioned, a strong social divide between the less developed north and the still largely poor, but striving to be western south. I personally loved seeing the stark differences- in scenery, in food, in housing (what you might typically think of when you think Africa- round, made of mud, straw roof), even the people were a bit different. If anything, they don’t speak Twi, so I was relieved of the pressure to practice.

We left on a Thursday and spent the night in Kumasi. We found the bus station when we got there, bribed the driver to sell us bus tickets early. The bus left at 6:15am, and to have gotten a ticket that morning we would have needed to get there at 4 or 4:30. The station was madhouse- men and women with suitcases, all scrambling to get on the bus because they knew there weren’t enough seats. This was one of those moments where I struggled to sit back and watch everything happen around me while I still had to participate. Sometimes I wish I could just watch and not actually be in some of the situations I get in here. Despite the chaos we made it on to the bus and drove to Bole, 5 hours away. The drive was beautiful, but it was also like watching my development studies class in action. There were vast road stand markets- where there is no competition because all the women sold the same things. There were children collecting buckets of water from roadside pumps that undoubtedly were not clean, houses that are falling apart, schools that consisted of a tree with a shady spot, and so on. All the problems of rural development that some how the urban people politicians and planners fail to address…

Bole is the regional capital for a once very great tribe known as the Gonja. My friend I traveled with happened to be from there, and was clearly very proud of his people, as was everyone there. One of the first things I did in town was to meet a chief. Not as ceremonious as you might think! There he was, underneath a tree, sitting on his motor bike in his traditional dress. As the district capital Bole also holds the “palace” (long concrete building, green shutters, not attractive at all) of the “paramount chief.” Paramount chiefs lord over all of the chiefs in a given area. My friend being who he is (the son of a former chief) we waltzed right up to go meet him. Unfortunately (well, fortunately for nerve racked Skylar) he was in Accra at the time, so we met another normal chief. The palace is essentially an empty room, whitewashed, with one corner dedicated to a raised platform where the PC sits. There was a lot of animal pelts, bows and arrows, instruments, and sacks of I’m guessing food on the altar. On the wall above was a symbol also painted on the outside of the building- A spear in a crescent moon.
I later read in my book that the Gonja were a great and powerful people for one reason- there was a lot of them, and they decided to get a leg up on the slave trade by raiding other tribes and selling them at the Salaga slave market (also in the Northern Region.) That’s why their symbol is a spear- they attacked and scared people into submission. I’m kinda glad I didn’t learn this until after that weekend. Interestingly, of the several people who reminded me the Gonja were a great people, no one ever told me why…

Moving on, we went to visit the town’s ancient mosque. I was super excited, one of the main attractions for me in Ghana, especially as I take a class on Islam. Turns out my friend’s mother’s side of the family are the official caretakers, or it is their “gate” in the clan to watch over the mosque- so I got to go inside. It’s not in use now, but there are still mats and brooms and a few items around the Imam’s alcove seating area. There was a narrow hall for men and one in the back for women. Crawling through a narrow staircase and up onto the roof you could see over the whole area. I especially enjoyed that you had a clear view to the modern mosque from the ancient one. Very odd architecture- a natural cement with pointed walls and wooden support beams sticking out in a pattern meant to stabilize the walls. No one could tell me why it was built in this shape, and it was hard to fathom that the building was over 500 years old and hadn’t decayed significantly. My Ghanaian friend seemed to be convinced that my only reason for visiting was to “snap” the mosque and move on. He took my camera from me and took way too many pictures of me standing in front of the mosque, and he even made me pose for one standing on the side of the building… felt a bit like a sacrilege to me… As we walked back to Bole proper (one intersection, one gas station, one restraint, and a bank) we passed the mosque in use, and the people praying inside looked at me curiously as I passed. I wasn’t trying to peak inside, I was just marveling at their collection of shoes lying outside the building. One of my favorite parts of the whole weekend was always hearing the call to prayer blasted out speakers on the tops of the mosques.

Before heading to Mole National Park we stopped in my friend’s mother’s village. Put my “rural” Easter trip to shame. The people liven in a bizarre network of mud walls that make up a maze of families living together. I was marched around town, meeting various village elders of ascending rank so that I could see the cemetery of the PC, located at the back of the village. Normally outsiders can’t even glance inside, it is that sacred. With every person I met we bowed and got to our knees on the ground. For some reason they all laughed when I copied my Ghanaian counterparts and told me to get up. The head elder (or the medicine man, I’m not sure) allowed me to look inside the cemetery, but not enter, because we didn’t have time for a complex purification ritual… Afterwards the head elder presented my with a large yam as a gift, and asked to be my Ghanaian husband! And ya know what, I accepted. Partly so that I can now tell all the random men on the street who propose that I already have a husband in Ghana… Good thing they only allow polygamy and not polyandry.

Ok I realize this is getting long, and I’m only part way through trip one. The next day we got up early, missed one bus and took the next to Mole National Park, the place reputed for seeing elephants roam about in their natural habitat. I did in fact see many elephants roaming around, and swimming in a watering hole the park created to lure the elephants closer to the motel for tourist viewing (at least they weren’t behind bars, right?) We took two safaris, one with a private guide (who we were able to bribe to take us because he was from the same village as my friend) and one with a family of delightful Canadians in the afternoon. On the second walk (behind out rifle laden guide- God I hate guns…) we were almost to the end and hadn’t seen an elephant yet. Suddenly we all looked up from out feet to find that a very old female was standing directly in front of us, maybe 100feet away. The guide freaked out and made us back up. She was majestic, and stood there looking at us, before revolving in a circle as if to say “go ahead, take your pictures” before sauntering off. A very cool experience indeed. The park also held warthogs (hakunnah matata, anyone?), antelope, monkeys, crocodiles, and many butterfly species. That night I opted to sleep on the roof of our guest house so I could see the stars outside of the city. Wonderful, despite the fact I was wearing earplugs to block out the wannabe discoteca taking place in town. Probably the only moment of peaceful alone time I had on the whole trip.

The town the park is accessed though is Larabanga- and it ad even less in it than Bole. They did have another ancient mosque and something called the “sacred stone.” The village legend goes that the man who built the mosque came into the area, stood next to the stone, and threw his spear, believing that the place it landed was where Allah divined the mosque to be built. Some time later, when a road was needed to access the mosque and growing village, men moved the stone for the road. The next morning the stone had mysteriously moved its self back to its original spot. This happened 3 subsequent times, so the men took it as a sign from God that the stone was special and not to be moved. So the road now curves up the hill, around the stone. People go there to lay their hands on and pray. I tried to pray, or something like that, but I was too distracted. Our tour guide from the mosque was being extremely insistent telling me about the village’s aspirations to expand their 2 room school and build a health clinic (which is currently a small pile of cement blocks on the ground, all they’ve been about to purchase.) Normally, I’m a willing giver of my money for things like that, but somehow having this man stand thisclose to me and hound me about donating was a big turn off. He even followed me to the roadside stand where I made change from a 10 to be able to give him a few cidis. The whole thing was very uncomfortable. Later I realized I should have just given him the 10- a lot by Ghanaian standards, but water under the bridge for me. I’m still not sure how I feel about this experience.

Ok, trip one down. I promise, you don’t need much stamina for the next one. This past weekend we visited the Volta Region (Eastern Ghana) with CIEE. This was an extremely relaxing trip. We bussed for 4 hours to the Wli Falls, the highest waterfall in W. Africa. After a brief hike in we were able to swim in and under the falls, which was really fun. I love these trips because they provide so much downtime to just hang out with other people in my program I don’t normally see. We spent a good 45 minutes jumping off rocks and taking silly pictures. After a great meal we drove to the Tafi Atome Monkey Sanctuary. I expected some fenced in area, but Tafi Atome is actually a village with an adjoining forest. The monkeys are supposed to be sacred to the village, so the tourist board set up shop and turned the whole village into a sanctuary. I say “supposed” because I don’t really think that hold anymore- as our guide told us about the forest gods and the monkeys he was very clear to say that “before Christianity, the village worshiped smaller gods…” Anyway, we marched through the forest for a solid hour and did not see one monkey. But right as we were about to leave another guide ran up and told us she had found them, so we dragged our tired selves back into the forest. It was well worth it- those monkeys were damn cute! Little, maybe the size of my very large house cat, and very fast moving. They are pretty comfortable around people, so they came right down the branches to the bananas we held out to them. The guide told us to hold tight to the bananas, otherwise they would just steal and run away. So I held tight, and the monkey that came to me, when he realized he couldn’t get it out of my grip, actually pealed the banana right there in my hand super fast, took the banana in to the tree, and left me holding a peel. It was really fun to watch them run climb around- they moved so fast!

As with all CIEE trips, we stayed in a really nice hotel. Pool, good food, air conditioning. But there was an added plus to this experience- the first of 3 hotel TVs I’ve tried that actually worked. I saw some British and American television (Jay Leno) for the first time since I’ve been here. Then, ready yourselves for this one- I took the first hot shower that has been available to me since the 9th of February, the day I left home. Glorious. Albeit there was no water pressure and the shower head broke off immediately when I turned on the water (this is Ghana, after all…) but I did NOT was to get out…

Ok, that’s about all I have for now. No trip this weekend. I’m looking forward to my first down weekend in Accra after a month of solid traveling. I wish I had more to say that wasn’t regurgitating my travel journal. I’m happy here, and amazed to suddenly find myself with less that 2 months left before flying away from this place to Germany. I’m enjoying my time, and will be sad to see this dedicated “Me time” come to an end, but I will be very ready to go. I had a conversation with friends yesterday, about just how hard it is to convey to our friends and families back home how being here is a daily struggle with yourself to be happy. At first I thought I was the only one who struggled, but turns out, as usual, most feel the way I do- that my mood is extremely up and down, the littlest things can trigger elation or profound sadness and the urge to quit and go home. Somehow we get through it, and I think after this is all done I’ll be satisfied with an increased ability to be stable by myself at home and at PLU. That maybe didn’t make any sense, sorry.

But for now, things are good here.
Take Care.

Yet another weekend trip to note…

A three hour bus ride down, and we arrived an Assin Manso, otherwise known as the “slave river.” (Oh, background, Ghana was a major exporter in the trans-Atlantic slave trade. People were “collected” from the countries surrounding modern day Ghana and funneled though markets here to be shipped to the newly discovered Americas to harvest cotton, sugar cane, etc…) The river was known as the “last stop” for slaves, where they would be bathed before being marched all the way to the ocean, many miles away. Sounds like a quick enough process, but no. Slaves would be stuck sitting, in chains, next to the river for up to 6 months as they waited for space to be cleared in the dungeons of the coastal castles. Mind you, they would only be bathed once during this whole process, so I’m not really sure what purpose the river bath actually served. The only ones who were bathed twice were the few women who were set aside as somehow special- those girls were to be the wives of the castle men (the Dutch.) They took African wives because European women died too readily from African diseases (as would 70% of the slaves sent to America, from European diseases.) As the ruling African tribes who rounded up slaves for the Europeans (who in turn supported them in inter-tribal wars and introduced guns into their society) they looked for children as young as 6 or 8, boys and girls. If they rounded up a pregnant woman, and she gave birth on the way to, or at the river, they killed her child- infants were another mouth to be sparingly fed. I personally am in awe of any woman who managed not to miscarry throughout this process.

Today the river is the site of a rather nice (by Ghanaian tourist center standards) interpretive center with a few interesting points of note:

-There is a part of the land the center has not developed, because the ground is the site of the mass graves of people who died while waiting to march to the coast… I don’t know why this part hit me particularly hard, but it did.

-The gate people walked through to go down to the river though is now painted with images of men whose chains have been cut apart. What was once called the “Door of No Return” has been designated (by whom, I’m not sure- tourist board? Politicians? Academics?) as the “Door of Return.” The site is a major point of visit for African Americans, and other Africans in the Diaspora (which I’ve learned only recently just means any person of African decent living outside of Africa. Apparently you can get a whole degree in its study…) The final arch one passed through has the words "last bath" painted on it, though I'm not sure that was there in the 1700s.

-For those who want to reclaim a part of their history, a Diaspora resident can now come to Ghana and participate in the "Joseph Project." They can come, look though the sparse archives, and attempt to find out what country their ancestors came from. if they manage that (in theory, when the red tape gets worked out) they can apply for dual citizenship, and actually be able to vote in matters in the country that, had slavery not happened, they would probably live. I find it an interesting concept, though I wonder about the political and social ramifications for the African country, to have American’s, etc. voting in elections across an ocean, for a social context they can’t possibly understand. I bet there are a few Africans who wouldn’t be to happy to think of an American voting for their president, when they can’t possibly understand Ghana’s developmental issues, unless of course, they are a development scholar. I’ve been reading an interesting memoir lately, from a scholar who came to Ghana to learn about the slave trade’s lasting impact on Ghanaians. She found that a) most Ghanaians don’t know a thing about it, other than it happened, though some don't even know that... and b) no matter who you are, if you weren’t born here, you will always be a foreigner in the mind of Ghanaians, not the “brother” or “sister” that some Diaspora Africans seeking their “home” expect to be viewed as. Anyway, I digress…

-The Joseph project also has a less controversial aspect. In 1998, the bones of one former slave, and one slave descendent were sent to Ghana to be buried on the shores of the river. For those who cannot afford to ship their relatives "home," or don’t have their bones, they can come to Ghana (or call), pay 100 cidis ($105) and have their name inscribed on a long wooden wall. The project is in its infancy, so there are only about 30 names currently, but I think it will be an amazing and striking when more people know about it and have names inscribed, a very African version of the Vietnam War memorial.

-The river itself was an interesting experience. As I will note with the salve castle, it is painfully ironic to think about such a terrible thing happening in a place so beautiful. And it really was- a very peaceful, shady place. Today, life goes on as usual. As it always strikes me at non-American tourist sites, other countries do not keep natives out of tourist areas for the benefit of tourists (I experienced this in Italy and Ireland). Children bathed and did their wash in the murky (no doubt totally infested water), begged us for money, and delighted at the site of our cameras. Thinking about people bathing in chains I felt compelled to mouth “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again. I felt far more connection and sorrow in this place than later at the castle, and I think it may have something to so with the natural setting, a place where I have always felt more connection to God, and usually feel a strong spiritual connection to the rest of the world. Yet the childeren played on...

On that note, the tour of the castle was boring in comparison. It has two gift shops, and has been whitewashed several times in its 526 year existence. Cool to note- it is the largest and oldest European edifice outside of Europe. Again, another strangely beautiful place for something so awful. Here, the beach is absolutely pristine (give it 30 years, rich people will make it into a resort…) and deserted. Palm trees in a natrually perfect line on the shore, and fishing villages on either side. The only part of the tour that affected me was the women’s main dungeon. I absolutely wanted to throw up when our guide (as frankly as I have described events in this post) told us 150 women slept in the small, moldy room where we stood. They urinated, defecated, and menstruated right onto the floor on which they slept. They were hardly fed, but many refused their meals as an act of defiance. Every once in a while, one would be plucked out and attached to a large ball and chain in the courtyard to wait until they would be marched up a tall wooden ladder to the Governor’s bedroom. Others were simply raped by castle workers less distinguished, and without the fanfare.

So you can understand my hesitation to say I enjoyed my day. But I did. Any trip with 30 friends where they feed and house you in a nice beach hotel for no up front cost is bound to be enjoyable. When our program director led us in a “reflection session” most commented on the disgust they felt with themselves as human, because clearly a lot of people were involved in making this happen, so we can’t possibly all be immune from all of their mentalities. Greed was mentioned many times. I personally wonder if the men actually thought about the money they were making for their country as they stared the women in the face, preparing to rape or march them somewhere. Really, they must have had something mighty distracting to be thinking about, otherwise, I simply don’t understand how one could do that to another living, breathing, probably crying or dying person.

The rest of the weekend carried an entirely different tone. We went to Kakum National Park to participate in the canopy walk, the only one of its kind in Africa. If you didn’t know, the canopy is the upper layer of a rain forest, sitting right below the treetops. This is where most of the animals and insects live, though they are nocturnal so I saw only butterflies. We walked from tree to tree on rickety, creaky rope and wood bridges about 10 inches wide at the base. So cool though. My occasional fear of heights was nowhere to be found, so I danced through the tree tops:) A friend and I let everyone pass us so we could take our time admiring the beautiful scenery (the guide eventually yelled at us to hurry up). I thought it was SO cool to be staring right into the tops of trees; I just didn’t want to leave. Can you blame me? When else will I be in a tropical rain forest in my life?

Ok, much more than I intended to say, and not on what I intended to say it on, per say. Sorry for the very frank descriptions. Until next week!

A slow week in Ghana news...

Well friends,

I don’t have whole lot to say this week. I had a fantastic Easter weekend in rural Ghana. My friends and I traveled to Nkawkaw, which is northwest, about 3 hours on a bus from Accra. We had nowhere to stay, as that is the place to be on Easter in Ghana, so all hotels were overbooked. That didn’t matter, however. We’d been in town a grad total of 10 minutes before we asked someone to show us where the hotels were, and when they were all full our new friend Harriet decided she would take us to her father’s house. The family hosted all 5 of us for 3 nights, and, of course refused to let us pay them. They fed us, taught me traditional dances, took us around town, etc. They were incredible, and we made many, many friends from around Ghana, as the father allows students who are completing their practicals from other Universities throughout Ghana to board in his home. We made traditional food from scratch for Easter dinner (meaning we slaughtered a goat and pulled Cassava root out of the ground- that kind of “from scratch”) which turned into Goat Pepper soup with Fufu, a very nice dish. Although, goat is still not my personal preference. We also went to a live Highlife concert (Highlife is a uniquely Ghanaian musical blend of trad. Music, regge, and pop/rock) which was an absolute blast (y’all know how much I like to dance!) Nkawkaw sits at the base of the Kdhwu plateau. Up on the mountain is a cluster of small towns were all the Easter street partying was taking place. The mountain is also the site of an annual Paragliding festival. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the cash on me to do it, but we had an excellent time watching people drift off the top of a grassy slope and sail peacefully over Nkawkaw.

After 6 weeks in the harsh, very western city, it was truly wonderful to get out into rural Ghana. For one, it is stunningly green. It was also fascinating to experience a culture that is rife with Western influence, but still not nearly to the extent of Accra. This is interesting to me, as the people I have encountered in Accra- especially the wealthy students who can afford to live on campus in a double room (most students sleep 11+ to a room…) think there is some huge difference between themselves and rural people. Many of them have grown up in the bigger towns or cities, and have never really lived in “the villages.” I participated in a particularly interesting conversation with my roommate and her friends that centered on the “national service” that all state university students must complete after they graduate. They said “they just put you on a bus, take you out to some village far, far away, with no lights or water, and just leave you there all alone.” They were absolutely not looking forward to the experience. My Sociology professor even commented on that today as well. We were talking about Domestic Violence, and students were arguing that the reasons for doing so would be different in a rural area… long story short, the professor told everyone off for thinking themselves as having some “essential difference” between themselves.

And besides… we live in the money capital of Ghana, Accra, and we oftentimes don’t have power or water, by the way. The power went out again in my building this morning. It’s really no big deal. It’s really only a nuisance as far as my ceiling fan goes off. It’s hysterical to me, that here when the power goes out, we get really hot and miserable, and at home, we get all cold and miserable… Anyway, the only things that run on power here are air conditioning and fans, lights, refrigerators (that most people don’t use) and computers. We all own flashlights for the night… The water getting shut off is a bigger deal. That means no showers or laundry. But since we don’t rely on the tap for drinking water, it’s really not a big deal either. Amazing how it sounds so serious to not have to water, but it’s really not that big a deal, in the city anyway. Out in the village this weekend we got our water from a well, which was kinda cool in its own way, but we also could not drink that, considering there is no septic line out there, so the water is, well, contaminated.

There will certainly be more to say next week, as I will be traveling with my program this weekend, so take care until then!

Um, Yea... Religion in Ghana.

OK, so I know I promised a lecture on “Religion in West Africa” today. It’s not going to happen, because I have something much more interesting than that to share. Ironically, I think it provides a much better picture of Ghanaian religiosity that any lecture could…

So yesterday I was at my internship. No teaching L because it is revision week, so all I did was teach the whole school and the teachers “I’ve Got Peace like a River” during their morning worship session (thanks again, Grandma and Grandpa!). I hope one day to post the pictures another teacher took of this occurrence, because it’s pretty funny to watch me attempt to keep 200 kid’s attentions. Anyway, I finish teaching to an embarrassing standing ovation, and take my seat at the back of the courtyard. Worship continues, but all of a sudden, I hear a whole lot of yelling going on in a classroom above my head. I thought it was a fight between two kids skipping worship. My supervising teacher left to investigate, but she never returned. To my astonishment, as I listened to what exactly was being shouted I realized that I was listening to an exorcism. Exorcism like, trying to shout the devil out of someone, like “I’m the name of Jesus, come out!” exorcism. Other kids noticed, but just kept going right on with their prayers… and a lot of the teachers disappeared.

The shouting continued for at least 10 minutes, before dying down, only to start up again briefly. I was shocked, all I could think over and over was “Jesus Christ, an exorcism!? In a school!?” Remember when I said going to the Pentecostal church was like “Jesus Camp” with college kids? Apparently it happens in Jr. High as well… I was beginning to wonder what would happen when worship ended and the kids in form 1 didn’t have a classroom to go into, but I was more concerned with weather the shouters were shouting at a student or a teacher. So I crept upstairs to try and see what was going on, but was too scared to walk to close to the door- I thought they might pull me in! All I could see was my supervisor, her back turned to me, shouting and waving her arms. When worship ended, the kids whose classroom was being occupied just milled around the courtyard. I went to sit in the teacher’s room so I could ask what had happened.

I didn’t immediately get a chance to ask. There was already a conference going on in the room between 4 teachers and a crying girl. I tried to understand what they were saying- the girl had apparently seen something bad, I thought it involved a boy, and the teachers kept murmuring about how the girl’s mother worked at another school, and never took the girl to church. Very concerned that she didn’t go to church. They asked her if she had been having sex, or thinking about having sex, or dreaming about sex. Then it sounded like she was “overpowered” by someone. I thought maybe she had been raped. They finally decided to send her to the library for the day.

I left the room for a moment, and two girls from form 2 approached me. They looked very nervous. To my delight, they asked me if I could find them penpals in the US! “Of course!” I said. I took down their names and addresses, and then gave them mine so they could write me as well. I was so happy, not only that the girls felt like they could ask me that, but also that they wanted me to correct their letters- they just want to practice their writing and learn about the US.

What happened next just threw me for a loop. After the girls walked away, the worship leader walked up behind me, grabbed my arm, and started leading to the room that the exorcism had occurred in. He asked me “Do you believe in spirits?” to which I flatly answered “no.” I was terrified, I honestly thought they were about to try and exorcise me or something. To my relief, the room was full of children by this point. He pulls me aside and says, “Do you know what spirits are?” “Yes, I’ve heard of them.” “Well, in Africa we believe in spirits, that some just want to harm and frustrate you. Do you know that the spirits can use people as a vessel, especially children?” He saw my confused look and kept trying to explain. “We just want you to come here, do your job, and leave with the joy you sung about in your song- I found your song very inspiring…” Bottom line, he was telling me that the children were carrying evil spirits, and the devil was using the children to get to me. He kept saying “don’t get close to the children” warning me that the last Obruni teacher did, and they stole a camera from her.

At this point I’m thinking “what the hell is going on.” I of course, do not believe in a devil, but more resolutely believe that the idea of evil spirits getting to me though children is ludicrous. Of course, I did not say that, and just kept nodding “ok” to everything he told me.

I went back into the teacher room, and there was Dorcus, my supervisor. She started going off about evil in the school. I asked what was happening with the little girl who was crying. This is a crazy story folks: Dorcus tells me that the girl was given a diamond ring that possessed her. She took off the ring, and put it into a boy’s backpack. She heard footsteps of someone entering the classroom, even though there was no one there. The backpack then proceeded to move itself across 3 desks and back. She came to the teachers because she was scared. (Ok, I don’t even know where to go with this one. Believe what you like, but I think the kid just wanted to go home for the day and knew the teachers would believe some spiritual issue…)

At this point, the worship teacher came back in the room and asked me if I’d given the form 2 girls my contact information. At first I lied, but he kept pressing, so I said that I had. They made me go into the room and take my address back from the two girls. They kept insisting that I give them back the address having changed it so the spirits couldn’t get to me. They said over and over “children are dangerous.” I asked if there is a point when they believe that children are no longer dangerous, like if they grow out of it or the devil’s grasp, and they of course said “never.” Dorcus said that the form 1 and 2 children are especially dangerous (I almost laughed at this point. Form 1 and 2 are 6th and 7th graders- weren’t we all little brats in middle school?) I tried to explain that the girls just wanted to have pen pals and learn, but they wouldn’t have it. The worship leader kept saying “this is all apart of you studies while you are here.” Dear God. I did change my address before I gave it back to the girls- changed it from my mom’s house, to my dad’s house.

I did get to ask about the exorcism. It was of a student, a Jr. High boy, who had apparently been experiencing demon possession on and off for over a year. He even had to drop out of school, before he took his exams last term, so that he could go to a special religious center where priests prayed on him for a month… and now the demons were back. They had noticed him shouting and acting odd at worship and pulled him upstairs. Dorcus said Nadat is an especially dangerous school, that several of the children are possessed. She asked how I was assigned there- as if to imply that every day I go there I am under imminent danger…

That was my morning yesterday. I hope you found this interesting. To me, it shows the blending between Ghana’s extreme Christianity, and their traditional beliefs in spirits that inhabit all living things. It also just qualifies as an interesting story- and so man of you said I should come back with some of those!

Until next week- take care!
Skylar

An Abridged History of Ghana

Ok y’all, here is the first in the series of Orientation Lectures I received in the first week I was in Ghana. Hopefully you will find these interesting, or at least one will strike your fancy as a way to better understand the context in which I have been living!

History of Ghana- Lecture by Rev. Akon on 18th February

Archeologists believe that there have been people living in what is modern day Ghana for between 300 and 400 thousand years. This follows what I learned in a biological anthro class I took before I left, basically that the development of pre-human species occurred in Africa, and then migrated out into Asia and Europe. There was a point in time when the West African Savannah was actually a moist rainforest, but it dried over time with climate change until it became the dry desert we know it to be today. Hunter/ gatherer societies that roamed the Savannah migrated down into coastal areas (like Ghana) and eventually developed into more stable village-based agricultural societies, something like 2000 years ago.

Fast forward to the late 1400’s, when Europe made it’s first contact with the future Ghanaian people. The Portuguese found the area to be rich with gold, and began settling on the cost to trade in gold and Ivory. Their influence was pretty limited to the coastal areas, however. At the time the slave trade began, many Africans were beginning to die of European diseases to which they were not accustomed. It was a great feat if you were a European who could export a large number of slaves that actually lived for the entire journey to where you sold them. In the same way, it became very difficult for the Europeans who settled in Ghana to maintain European wives, because they would die of Malaria or other strange diseases. Many men took African wives for themselves (sometimes willingly and sometimes by force), and to this day there is a higher proportion of “mulatto” decedents on the coast of West Africa than anywhere else on the continent, presumably besides South Africa. (The prof actually used the term mulatto. It took me a second to realize that might not be an offensive term here as it is in the US. Or at least I was raised to think it was an offensive term from a bi-racial person…)

The slave trade lasted about 400 years. By that time, many other Europeans had come to Ghana, specifically the British and the Dutch. One major lasting impact of the slave trade, beyond the powerfully moving castles the still stand on the Cape Coast, was the institution of the European education system in Ghana. Someone had to come and teach the “mulatto” children, as well as make sure they knew they needed to be Christians. Missionaries came to Ghana in mass and developed the first schools. The impact has lasted until today- there has never been a time when Christianity was not taught in a formal Ghanaian school, and clearly my teaching experience reflects this fact.

England eventually emerged as the nation with the most powerful presence in Ghana, and began to take the missionary effort inland. They fought often with the most powerful indigenous people, the Ashanti (who at one time helped them with the slave trade by defeating other Ghanaian tribes and selling them to the British). In 1874 they decided to declare Ghana a British colony, but that is quite deceiving, as they really only ever controlled the coast. At that time, Ghana was essentially 3 countries- the British coast, the Ashanti central region, and the north, which has a hodge podge of various ethnicities. Eventually Britain defeated the Ashanti Empire and also added more territory to Ghana. The new area is now Eastern Ghana, or the Volta Region, which supplies almost all of the country with water and power.

Ghana began to develop a sense of nationalism throughout the first half of the 1900’s. The British weren’t very popular, as they convinced many native people to sign agricultural and trade agreements that reduced their freedoms and rights significantly. At that time there was also a conference known as the Congress of West Africa, which sparked the beginning of the united Africa movement, where several nations came together and began discussing the possibility of viewing themselves as one whole. This helped to spur some African pride in Ghana that led to further desires to oust the British control. In some ways, the Missionary education backfired for England- by this time Ghanaians were beginning to seek University educations, both in Ghana and in the UK. Highly educated Africans, while still seen as inferior to similarly educated Europeans, were big spokespersons for independence and running their own state. The finial do-in for England was WWII, when they sent thousands of Ghanaians to fight for them in Japan and Burma. Working alongside Englishman destroyed any validity to claims that Ghanaians were in any way inferior.

Some Ghanaian soldiers asked for payment after the war- they were arrested and shot. The people began boycotting British products, and police from Nigeria came to assist with rioting. Academic intellectuals formed societies for peaceful negotiation. One man, Kwame Nkrumah decided to leave the society because his radical socialist ideas and desire for immediate change did not jive well with the other peacemakers. He formed his own groups to push for independence. His well organized group remained active, even as he was imprisoned for making too much noise. Nkrumah became the first president of Ghana- from prison, after the British decided to allow Ghanaians hold elections to see if they really wanted him. He actually won 3 elections of this sort over several years, but only with the last win did the British concede their power to the new socialist government.

That didn’t last very long though. The leadership of Ghana changed hands between Nkrumah/his successors, and the military, at least 6 or 8 times between 1964 and 1992. This is seen as the major reason for Ghana’s “stumped” development, because every time the military would overthrow a president all progress would stop and reverse. Ghana, when it gained independence was seen as the great hope of West Africa. She had money and resources, and plenty of pride to spur the most developed state around. But political instability ruined everything. Today, Ghana is 8 Billion dollars in debt, but has had stable political elections every 4 years since 1992. The prof said “we hope” people like the elections this way,” as if to suggest that if enough unrest were to occur again that Ghana has the potential to become unstable, but hopefully enough development will preempt any potential issues.

The push to develop into a modern state is huge here now. There is construction all of the time (7 am on Saturday, right outside my window. I think it’s supposed to be another dorm or something…) A current issue in Ghana is the recent discovery of oil on the coast. If you ask a well read person what they think this will do for/to Ghana, they are very worried. Ghana already suffers immensely from dependency on other nations. For instance, rice is a staple here, though it is not native to Ghana. Ghana could produce all of its own rice, no problem, but doesn’t have the info structure to do so. So they import almost every gain of rice they eat. People fear that oil, like every other resource Ghana has, will just get exported and them sold back to them by more developed countries. Also, Ghana’s other commodities that are more tied to her culture- wood carvings, textiles, and beads, are currently failed industries. The focus on oil will probably draw more attention away these products, further harming the mostly rural peoples who produce them. However, oil fever is already big here. Many countries have already come to Ghana intending to invest. With the money already coming, there’s not much that their government is organized enough to do to control the influence.

Well, there you have it! Don’t worry, this was probably the most boring lecture of the lot, so my blog should get better as wellJ Stay tuned next week for “Religion in Ghana and West Africa,” and perhaps a few words about what I’ve been up to!

Take Care!

Things to say...

Hello missed friends and family!

I’ll have you all know that first hand wrote this update sitting in a classroom where I arrived 45 minutes early for class. When I got here, I snatched absolutely the last free desk in the room… the course is far too big for the space, which is common at University of Ghana. Most students, if they know there is not a course in a room in the preceding period, come an hour early (or more!) to stake out a seat with their notebooks… I unfortunately, could only get there 45 minutes early, because I was grading papers…

Yes, my teaching internship has started! I have officially become my mother- literally. I am acting as a Form 1 and 2 (like 6th and 7th grade) English teacher at Nadat Memorial, a smallish private primary and Jr. High school in Adenta, two communities north of my University/home.
There are so many things I could say about this place… it’s a concrete complex in disrepair, though not the worst I’ve seen in Ghana. The bathrooms should definitely be condemned. This is a middle class school- the fees for each kid are 210 Cidi a year, which is like 225 US. Keep in mind the avg. Ghanaian makes 300 Cidi a month… and people have many, many children… Kids are send home from school if they can’t pay their fees.
I get up at 5:30am to get ready, leave my building at 6:30, walk/ tro tro/ walk again to the school all to arrive at roughly 7:30. I go Monday, Tuesday and Thursday, and Monday and Tuesday, because of my other courses at UG and through CIEE, I don’t get back to my room until 7 or 8 at night (sound familiar mom!?) I’m at the school for a total of 4-5 hours, so suddenly I’ve lost 15 hours of free time. On day one I showed up, met the current English teacher, a very nice woman with a mean sense of humor by the name of Dorcus (like dork-us, a very common girls name here, as funny as it sounds) who literally handed me a textbook and said “today you will teach form 3 lesson 10 on reading,” to which I responded “um, can I just observe today, I’ve never taught in my life…” They teach straight out of the textbook here, in fact Dorcus must borrow a book from the students, because they don’t have enough for the teachers. Makes life easy for me, though it’s hard to be creative with a list of instructions. I observed Dorcus’ “Religious and Moral Education” class (more on this in a moment.) The kids are so well behaved! Then I went to watch an English class, but 20 minutes in the teacher got pulled out… so I just stood up and kept going with the lesson on countable nouns. How’s THAT for crazy… and grammar really isn’t my best subject, but we got through it. My only critique the next day is that I spoke too quickly.
In Ghanaian private schools, religious education and Christian worship are endemic. In public schools, it was recently written out of the curriculum for primary school, but it still happens by way of “special assemblies” and taking time out of social studies courses. Education in Ghana is hardly consistent because each 4-year government changes the structure. New this year students have 6 years of primary school, 4 of Jr. High, and 4 of Sr. High, meaning a Ghanaian is about 22 before they graduate and can go to university. It used to be 20ish, with less Jr and Sr High, but people just weren’t ready for college when they graduated. Dorcus says it takes longer to go to school in Ghana because they just don’t have the resources that we do- no teacher’s aides, no colorful posters on the wall, no books in the classroom, etc. I think it’s also affected by their view of time- for instance, on Tuesday morning worship spilled over 45 minutes into what should have been a 1 hour, 45 minute reading lesson for my 7th graders. There’s also the issue, in my view at least, that they could cut out religious educ entirely in favor of academics- but in Ghana, it’s seen as the church and the school’s responsibility to teach those things, it’s not individualized by family like it is in the US, because pretty much everyone here is Christian, and especially they are at my school. There are surely factors I’m missing, but this is at least what is obvious to me. I think my 7th graders are at about a 4th grade reading level, and their writing was I think less than that…
Teaching itself is a joy! The children call me “Madame” and “Ms. Cole,” and occasionally laugh at my accent. On Tuesday when I showed up, I was informed that I would be leading worship songs with the whole school. A sense of minor panic ensued as struggled to come up with Christian kids songs… it’s been a while people… and eventually settled on “Jesus Loves Me,” “Go tell it on the mountain,” “and This Little Light of Mine.” The kids laughed at my singing for sure, but it was adorable. It was wonderful to later go into a 1st grade class and teach them another verse- so precious!!!! Does any one have any other suggestions for songs?
Unfortunately, my teaching post will only last three weeks, then I will help proctor 2 weeks of exams, and then the kids go on vacation for a month. I’m told my program and I will work out a new assignment. I love teaching, but I’m mixed on whether I’d like to do it all over again, or work in another context. There are just so many varied opportunities here- I’d love to work with gender resources, but the education system is very interesting as well… At any rate, it’s a great relief to be doing something, rather than having load s of free time to brood.

In other news, classes are in full swing now. I joined an Islamic theology course, that so far is pretty interesting, and with only 17 students, it’s great by UG standards. Surprise- no one here wants to learn about Islam. I’ve had several people ask me if I’m afraid of the class, because the prof might be trying to turn me into a terrorist… brother! I’ve also started my Development Studies class, Twi (ugh, stressful) and Sociology of Deviance courses. So far, only 2 of the classes appear to have any reading whatsoever…

Last weekend I embarked on my first travels through Ghana independent of CIEE. Two friends and I took a two hour tro tro ride at night, complete with squawking chickens in the car, to a town called Kpong. We stayed the night in a very shady “leasiure center,” and then spent Saturday touring Cidi’s Bead Factory. Now, keep in mind that a “factory” here is 5 or 6 open grass and concrete huts. It was great, a man showed us how they make, recycle, and restore glass beads, which is a major industry to Ghanaian cultural life, even though glass beads were originally brought to Ghana by the Dutch. Both men and women commonly wear beaded jewelry here. Chiefs and Queen Mothers adorn themselves with gigantic beads round their necks, and girls obtain beads from birth until puberty, when they have a big celebration and are given several thin strands of “waist beads” to wear, signifying their womanhood. We watched the whole process, from crushing liquor bottles, to melting and shaping, to firing and cleaning and painting, and finally to several women clustered around a table stringing necklaces and bracelets.

That day we also found our way through a huge market, traveled to our 2nd hotel, and then spend 2 hours roaming around on the side of a highway, looking for a destination we never actually found. There was an awesome sense of freedom and joy in three women walking around in the middle of nowhere, no cars, people, or buildings in sight in the middle of West Africa… Day 2 we hired a forest service guide to walk us around the Shai Hills National Reserve. This place isn’t great for seeing animals (we say only free roaming bats, baboons, and antelope) but has peaks and caves for hiking. The caves themselves once served as the hiding place for the Shai people, as they were being enslaved by the Ashanti people (the dominate Ghanaian tribe of old) so that the Ashanti could sell them to the Europeans who would then sell them oversees. Yes, Africans participated handedly in their own slave trade. The Shai used the caves on the top of the peaks as hiding places, look outs, and to throw rocks at the oncoming Ashanti. For us, this meant hiking the hills, then crawling up through the caves to come out at the highest viewing points. It really was quite an adventure. And the views were beautiful- you could see out for miles and miles, though we were told that the viewing is better during the rainy season, when the dust is less. We ended up hiking for 6 hours and getting extremely dehydrated, but I have been so proud of my self for happily getting through such a physically taxing day. I feel so thankful that I am generally not a couch potato so that I was healthy enough to do what we did.

On that note, I happened upon 4 Ghanaian girls working out in the hall outside my door this morning… odd, almost all Ghanaians avoid even walking places if they have to, and there are very few gyms here. They invited me to join, but I said “no thank you!” explaining that I am reveling in their culture that does not say I need to be perfectly slim in a gym to be beautiful. I might eventually get around to doing a few crunches, but for the most part, I walk more than any Ghanaian so I don’t really worry about it. I found it odd that one of the girls told me she worked out because she wasn’t born with “skinny genes.” I hadn’t got the impression that many Ghanaian women thought in that way, I wonder where the pressure in coming from. Television? It doesn’t seem to me that skinny women are desirable to men here, so I’m not really sure what the deal is.

At any rate, that’s about all I’ve got! Now that life is more normal here I will try my hardest to publish the notes I took from our orientation lectures on Ghanaian religion, culture, gender, history, etc, so that you can more understand my context. I am also working on reflecting upon what I like and don’t like so much about Ghana in a meaningful way, rather than in a list format. I really struggle with the views and “place” of women in this country, as well as with the extreme homophobia, but I don’t know the best way to articulate those feelings. I’ll try though.

Take Care!

Good morning! Head’s up y’all, this entry is going to have many different subjects, so if you aren’t feeling like concentrated reading, I’d wait till later…

First, an update my past few days-

On Saturday CIEE took it’s first “out of Accra” trip of the semester. We drove out of town to a town (I guess you could call it that, it doesn’t quite fit my personal definition of a village) called Aburi. Within that area is a wood carving village, where we left the bus, and were shown demonstrations on woodcarving and told a bit about the history and meaning of each piece. This was very cool. They showed us a drum whose call would warn a village that someone was about to be beheaded, fertility dolls, carried around by women who for some reason or another aren’t getting pregnant, “talking drums” for calling a villages attention, as well as several statues with horns carved into them, symbolizing another way Ghanaians of old (and perhaps very rural ones even now) have called together meeting. They explained that most of the work of woodcarvers now is just to preserve the tradition, as western medicine and communication technology has made their devices obsolete. After the demonstration we walked through the village- really, a bend in the road where each side of the street was lined with woodcarvers shops. It was a shame we only had an hour for the whole visit, but perhaps that fact saved me some money. It was great fun to talk to the carvers, and barter for their wares… among other things, I now own a monkey mask that I just fell in love with…

After the woodcarving business, we drove to the Aburi botanical gardens, a public place dedication to research, especially with medicinal plants, and to conservation. On the way there we has a heck of a time maneuvering a huge bus through a very densely populated town… the whole thing was quite comical. In the middle of all that I received and even more comical call from my dear friend in Turkey- where we briefly exchanged our odd current adventures. I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation- on a bus stuck between gutters and chickens and goats, talking to someone exploring Istanbul. The world is a wonderful place, isn’t it?

Anyway, the garden- it was beautiful. And when I find internet that doesn’t take 30 minutes to load 20 pictures (I have about 185 at this point) I will get them to you. Many of the various trees in this garden were planed by various heads of state on their trips to Ghana- the prince of Wales, QE II, king of Nigeria, etc… We also happened upon many food like plants- yes people, I ate tree bark that tasted like cinnamon. We also had leaves that smelt like peppermint, peppers in virtually every freaking stew here in Ghana, cocoa trees (that don’t smell anything like chocolate, of course) and bay leaves. Also very cool were the gigantic trees, and I mean ridiculously large. Some had parasitic trees growing on the side of them, with their great roots wrapped all around the trunk of the original tree. We then saw trees where the parasite had one out, its roots had made it to the ground and choked out the first tree, so now the roots form a mostly hollow cylinder. You can imagine we took some pretty silly pictures with our heads sticking out of tree holes… It takes 6-7 years for the process of the parasite to be complete, said our guide. Afterwards we had lunch at a long table (long enough for all 54 of us) that QE II had ate at when she was in Ghana. Snazzy…

And then, my Sunday. Well, I went to a Sunday service of the Legon Pentecostal Union. Yes, you read correctly- non religious, hardly spiritual at this time of life Skylar went to a 2.5 hour Pentecostal service. Parts of it were wonderful, parts more overwhelming that I ever care to repeat. First their was bible study- more awkward that anything else, and then 30 minutes-ish of singing and dancing- this was wonderful. Women had tambourines and waived their handkerchiefs in the air. I couldn’t help but smile, because they were all clearly having the time of their lives. It was quite the party. Then, the president (a student) got up to give his semester address, admonishing (lots and lots of guilt tripping involved here) people to go to all the offered services (I checks, 2 a day) and a retreat, and be involved in the church offices… I was fighting to stay awake while coping with his forceful “hallelujahs” and “amens” into the microphone. Next, he led 30 minutes of “intensive prayer” and then “quiet prayer” until the end (About an hour total). This was the hardest part for me. Anybody seen “Jesus Camp?” Think of that film with college students. I have never encountered speaking in tongues before, and here was a whole room of people shouting and muttering prayers to themselves, a man speaking into a microphone, another man shouting in tongues into another microphone, and people up and down off their knees. I stood as long as my tired body could stand, half pretending to pray, half watching, until I finally sat down, head in hands, and tried to imagine myself somewhere else as the event droned on around me, utterly inescapable. Not bad, I guess, just overwhelming. I thought about Mr. Miki, the old Buddhist from my fieldwork at PLU in January, and tried to remember him telling me all about non-attachment… lol. That actually calmed me down, and I made it through the service. Not something I think I’ll do again, although that will be hard to explain to my new friends who brought me. But from a Religious Studies and Sociology perspective, very, very interesting… My roommate goes to a quieter Methodist service, so I might try that one when I’ve recovered from church #1.

Oh yes, I have a roommate now, Mary. Very sweet, very quiet. She can spend a whole day playing one game of spider solitaire… but it’s a great comfort not to have an empty room anymore… to fall asleep and wake up not entirely alone. Through I still feel homesick in the mornings; it is different with her there. Tonight we are going to the National Theater to see a free gospel concert but on by, get this, the University of Michigan choir… and then on Wednesday she will take me to the market place to show me what she buys to cook for herself. I’m hoping she will also teach me how to make some things, in time.

And now, for the random other things I’d like to say…

-I’ve made a friend named Abu. He’s 24, and a 3rd year Economics student. He went to college for 2 years before University, so he’s extremely articulate and smart, and has a lot to say about Ghana. He stuck my friend fancy immediately, as one of the only men to not start a conversation with “I like you a lot, you are beautiful, and can I have your contact?” LOL! Anyway, he really wants to learn about the US because he, like almost all Ghanaian college students, aspires to go to college in the UK or US. I’ve been trying my darndest to convince him the Pacific Northwest is the place to be… anyway, I am learning much from him, as he has thoughts on everything, including on why Ghana hasn’t developed, so he’s very interesting to talk to. He was extremely excited to find out that I don’t smoke… Apparently they think all foreigners smoke, which is very looked down upon in Ghana. He thinks having people seeing him with a non smoking white woman will increase their trust of foreigners. Perhaps more on what I’ve learned from him another time…

-Oddly enough, I might actually start wearing make-up again here. I didn’t think that would be a concern in Africa, but the Ghanaian women take appearance very seriously, and may look down upon you as a “sloppy American” and refuse to make friends for doing so… boo hiss on make-up. I’ve had to re-purchase much of my wardrobe to look nicer, I really don’t feel like I was warned adequately about the dress code. Thankfully, as a teacher I can get away with the African dresses I’ve been having made- some people are buying suits and ties…

-I met another man yesterday named Raphael, and got into my first extended debate on why I think it’s ok to be gay. He asked if it was legal in the US to be gay, and that launched into the whole argument. He basically freaked out when I said that some states are now allowing marriages and partnerships… I listened to him tell me “it’s not how God made us” for about 20 minutes, only for him to tell me “well, you might now feel that way forever” when I countered. Sigh. Being here has actually made me evaluate what I am passionate about because I’ve had to defend myself here. I realize I’ve grown up in an environment that supports and cultivated what I value, but here I actually have to exercise some conviction, and I’m finding I actually enjoy doing so. That is extending a bit into politics as well, a topic I usually avoid. But here, the consequence of poor policies fighting cultural tendencies and post colonialism is apparent in the daily life of these people- the facts that some sleep outside, or can’t read or write, for example. Suddenly, I care a whole lot more about who sets polices for where I live…

-Laundry here is quite the task. Today when I left my room I left behind a bucket of soapy water soaking about 4 items. Gone are the days when I push not doing laundry for weeks, and spend hours doing multiple loads in a machine. Now I do laundry every other day, a little at a time. I guess I could buy a bigger bucket, but really, it takes an hour to hand wash what my small one will load, so maybe that’s not a good idea. The instant I put my skirts in the bucket the water was a murky brown. The breezes here save me, but the dirt on everything is extreme… one can literally rinse one thing for 10 minutes and finally have the water run closer to clear… All that aside, I actually really enjoy the act of washing my clothes here. It’s kind of relaxing, actually, to work with my hands in that way. Plus, when your clothes come dry off the rack it’s so satisfying…

-I’m attempting to learn 24 hour time. So far I’ve accidentally set my alarm clock wrong once because of it. But that’s how my cell phone works, so I better get used to it.

-Food here is an ongoing adventure. Briefly, fruit is great, but I also eat a ton of starch. A real meal here consists of some form of stew with a meat (usually chicken, fish, or goat) and a ball of starch. Banku, or pounded cassava balls are common, but bland. I have yet to try fufu, another starch staple, but have found fermented rice balls (Emutuo) to be quite nice. The stew is often tomato based, though they also have Palm nut soup (nice, spicy), and ground nut soup, made from peanuts, that I find to be too heavy and oily for my taste. Other common dishes include eggs- and the all important egg sandwich, which is white bread and egg fried with vegetable… yes, Skylar has been eating white bread for the first time since probably Kindergarten. We also eat a lot of rice- Jollaf rice is very popular, it’s kind of akin to dirty or Spanish rice back at home. Goat is, interesting… some parts good, some parts taste like I’m chewing rubber. On the whole, I don’t mind the food, but it is quite repetitive.

OK! I know this has been extremely long. Thank you for baring with all the things I wanted to get out!

Skylar