Cape Coast Castle

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

Today was devoted to exploring Cape Coast Castle with my pal Sonia. The castle was built by the Portuguese in the 15^th century, but eventually ruled by the Dutch and was originally used for trading timber and gold. However, ultimately the castle was utilized for keeping and transporting slaves as part of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. Stepping foot in a piece of history is a powerful experience. Specifically stepping foot inside of slave dungeons is not only powerful, but rather haunting as well. A tour of the castle leads to the dungeon areas, the tunnel through which slaves traveled to their departing vessels, and various cells for punishment. One such cell was reserved for what were called the “freedom fighters”, which were slaves who literally tried to fight for their freedom and as a result were punished. The cell is a closed in room, about ten feet by ten feet with absolutely no lighting. Men were left there to die because they chose to fight rather than completely surrender.

On the opposite side of the castle was the “Door of No Return” where slaves crawled through, while shackled, to board westward-bound ships. Passing through this door led the slaves to a new life with a new name in a faraway land. Each dungeon had shallow canals running down the middle of the floor and along some walls where feces and vomit would drain to. When it rained, water rushed through the windows at the top of one wall and supposedly rinsed out these tunnels, all while dead bodies rotted and suffering slaves moaned in agony. Ironically, a church was set just above the dungeons. Beyond the structural features of the slave castle, the more daunting aspects of the tour are the feelings conjured up while walking amidst the horrible ghosts of humanity's past. The pain and unnecessary suffering endured within those walls is unbearably sad and truly overwhelming to even imagine. People can be so unbelievably cruel and heartless, and to know that my own race contributed to an injustice such as slavery makes me feel a little ashamed.

At the end of the tour, the guide showed a plaque that is posted encouraging visitors to spread the word about the history of the castle in the hopes that such practices of cruelty will never happen again. In theory, a noble idea. But look at the world today! In the 1990s, blacks were owned by the Arabs in the Sudan and traded for $15 a piece. In India, children are taken from their homes and forced to work on looms in exchange for food. Young girls are sold into prostitution in Thailand. The world is a seriously messed up place. Unfortunately, the notions of servitude and slavery are still going strong in many cultures today, not only Africa. Sadly, I see it every day at my college where young people are expected to work and work and work with no compensation. Free labor for the teachers. It’s wrong wrong wrong.

Merry Christmas!

”Wherever you go, go with all your heart.” -Confucius

Plenty of time on the beach leads me to plenty of contemplation. Not surprisingly, I’m reading another travel memoir, All Over the Map. The author contends that she doesn’t feel comfortable anywhere, she has the desire to be free and to belong, to be independent and to be loved, to be in motion versus being still. I believe that these ideas will be the plight of my existence. I so very strongly enjoy my freedom. I can do whatever I want to do whenever I want to do it. The only person I’m obligated to is myself, and I like it that way. But, of course someday I want to find that companionship and love that some of my friends have found. No one wants to die alone. Right now, I truly am in the midst of the trip of a lifetime. But, knowing me and my mind, it won’t be my last “trip of a lifetime”. Maybe next time I’ll have someone to share my awe with.

This is the first Christmas Eve in my entire life that I was not with my parents. The two previous Christmas days had me on flights around the world, but Christmas Eve has always been my immediate family’s time to celebrate. Usually at this time of year, I am complaining about the weather and wishing I could just hibernate for three months. However, this year, with the sun scorching my nose and the sand tickling my toes, my spirits are high and because of this euphoria, I’m not sulking too much about missing my family and friends. Hopefully they all know that I love them to bits! Thankfully technology never keeps anyone too far from home these days. Last night I indulged in a Christmas Eve buffet, enjoyed an African band, and sipped on a few cocktails on the beach. Guests of the resort dined under the stars with a buffet that was set up on the beach with tiki torches surrounding the tables. Magical. During the show, an African band pounded drums, strummed guitars, and chanted loudly. They also performed various acrobatic acts including spinning large tins on their heads, and one man even ate mashed up glass which is apparently some voodoo magic thing. Yikes! At one point, I was escorted to the stage with three other resort guests. I was first instructed to sit on a crate, next I was told to lay back which landed me on another of the guest’s laps. Once all four of us were at ninety-degree angles, the band members removed the crates from beneath us. We created a human table! Might as well sign myself up for the circus next.

This morning for Christmas I took a leisurely stroll along the coast. My destination was a tower of rocks about a mile down the beach. When I reached my spot, I climbed atop a mound of stones jutting out into the ocean and enjoyed my iPod while watching the waves crash the sharp rocks. I don’t care who you are; these are the little moments in life that really mean something. However, I couldn’t help but think about the movie 127 hours while I was climbing, alone. I forced the image of the man sawing off his own trapped arm out of my mind to get back to the good stuff.

When I returned to the beach near my resort, it felt like I entered a ginormous bubble of love.

I gazed west across the ocean towards the good ole' U.S. of A and thought about my friends and family and wished them nothing but the best on this lovely day.

It reminded me of the movie Love Actually when Hugh Grant’s character describes all of the pain around the world, but notes that love actually is all around us if you look closely enough. Fathers were lying along the shore with their small children perched on their chests letting the water wash over them. Several couples were posing for photos with the sea as the backdrop. Two friends laughed and chased each other around in the sand. I just walked by and smiled thinking about how thankful I am for my adventurous spirit to be able to have this type of Christmas.

Joy to the World! Much love to all of my people this Christmas! xoxox

Paradise in Ghana

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." --Mark Twain

It seems in the world there are two types of people: those who are confronted with adversity and choose to face it head-on not backing down from the challenge, and those who punk out. 45 days ago I wanted to go home. I thought about quitting this program every single day. But I didn’t. And as lame as it is to put in words, I am proud of myself. I stuck it out even when I was terribly uncomfortable, unsure, and scared. For the rest of my life I will have that. I will always know that I didn’t quit, and I have now come out on the other side feeling much more at ease and happy. That is really something. So, needless to say, my plans for this holiday break shifted, and ended up taking a turn for the better. I journeyed from Accra, where I was waiting for my visitor, to Takarodi. From there, I met two fellow teaching volunteers, Tiffany and Sonia, at Beyin Beach Resort in the Western Region.

My journey to Beyin was in a trotro where I was the only female sitting smack dab in the middle of fourteen Ghanaian men. Darkness descended along the way, but luckily a guide from the resort gathered me and my bag at the station. The journey to the resort was longer than anticipated, bumpy as expected, and darker than I was comfortable with.Though I was mildly terrified, I also felt exhilarated. I found myself smirking with each bump feeling this wave of excitement wash over me as I thought about the fact that my life currently consisted of exploring African beach resorts. Not a bad gig if I do say so myself. Upon arrival, we grabbed a bite to eat at Café Puerto, a tucked away restaurant near the resort owned and operated by a kind Spanish man. The ambience of this place was very inviting while the food and drinks were delicious. This guy has the right idea, and I would go back there in a second.

Beyin Beach Resort was a quaint hideway full of raffia-roofed bungalows and chalets. This area focuses on turtle conservation, so along the beach in the very early hours of the morning, large sea turtles wash up along the shore to nest and lay their eggs. We missed the viewing at Beyin, but had plans to seek out this sight at the next stop. morning we grabbed a quick breakfast where I had toast with this absolutely delectable jam consisting of bananas, lime, and salt. Yum. Then it was on to Ankasa Park! This is a wildlife preserve in the Western Region of Ghana, but it was much more remote than I think any of us realized. Three trotros and about ninety minutes later we arrived. A guide led us on a two-hour hike through the rain forest, where we panted, sweated, and fought off ants and ticks. It was a great workout, and it’s always fun to explore a new terrain, but I would have been just as satisfied with a one-hour trek. That evening we returned to Café Puerto for a hearty meal to replenish our worn down bodies, then we were off to the next resort, Axim Beach Resort. Turns out, this place is paradise! Truly! A blissful beach side resort comparable to anything you would find in the Caribbean. It’s unfortunate that so many people have such a negative view of Africa, because there are so many beautiful places to see. The coast of Ghana really is spectacular and full of postcard worthy scenes.

Some day I will surely return to this Axim Beach Resort, whether with a “boo” or a friend or on my own. Lighted walkways guided the way to ocean front individual chalets and hotel-style rooms in a large building block, which is where we were staying. Upon arrival, our beds were adorned with fresh flowers and sheets folded into the shapes of hearts. The number on each building was formed by tiny seashells and inside of the restaurants, shapes of Africa and Ghana appeared on the walls created by stones and shells. The attention given to detail at this place is impressive. Rather than a napkin under my pina colada, there was a large, fresh green leaf.Outside, the ocean waves could be heard crashing against the shore and reggae music washed through the air. My first evening at Axim ended on the beach chillin’ with Tiffany chatting and basking in the glory of the fact that we are essentially being paid to be on vacation for nine months. We discussed a lot of our frustrations about our program, and the overwhelming sadness we feel about the education system here in Ghana. But we surely have not let these thoughts drag us down! Today we chilled on the beach and enjoyed some cool treats and good eats. Tonight will include a late night visit to the beach to hopefully see those turtles washing up on shore. I love my family and miss those people like crazy, but I can’t say I’m all that disappointed about spending my Christmas at such a beautiful African resort. I’ll take it. ☺
So my itinerary for the next few weeks is this: here at Axim Beach Resort through Christmas, then to Cape Coast on Monday, and on to Winneba for New Years. From Winneba, I will head back to Accra for a little shopping and finally back to Bechem some time after the New Year. As a result of the change in plans, I am enjoying more exploring and getting the opportunity to see some new places. Everything works out just as it should in this crazy world we live in.

Merry Christmas people!

P.S. I don’t have my camera cord with me, so pics will have to wait a few weeks.

Buckets vs. Books

“Love doesn’t demand endless hours; that only proves tolerance. It demands respect for the self-fulfillment of the other.” -- Wanderlust

I led my first workshop yesterday for the college staff and I rocked it. It felt amazing and very empowering to finally get to prove myself to these people. I was never formally introduced to the staff, so no one really knows anything about me or my credentials. To collect data, I had to administer pre and post tests in regards to the information being presented in the workshop. Essentially no one knew any of the information on the pre-test, but by the time that post-test came around there was evidence that I actually taught these people something! Everyone was engaged and I received rave reviews! YES! I needed this boost.

I am currently reading a book called “Wanderlust”. I feel like my brain has been transcribed into writing. I’m completely enthralled, and am writing down memorable quotes along the way to use on my blog. This book tells the tale of a young single woman who lets her wanderlust take her to all parts of the world. Amidst her descriptions of exotic places, she very eloquently details her quest for love as well. I’m making connection after connection and reveling in the idea that there are others out there like me who are just as adventurous, curious, lost, and hopeful.

While in Yemen, the author and a friend concoct their own traditional outfits that will cover their entire body, face and all, as is common for women to wear there because the goal is for an “undifferentiated mass” as the author described. Such oppression of women throughout the world is daunting to me, and reading about this author’s experiences is getting me thinking about my current experience here in Ghana. Though the female students willingly work here at my college, I find myself angry at what is expected of them. Yesterday morning I went out back, prepared my buckets, and began washing my bath towels. As soon as my roommate heard the water, she came out and questioned me about why I was doing my wash and why don’t I just let “them” do it. By “them” she meant students. I told her I had absolutely nothing else to do and that I really didn’t mind doing it, because it seemed wrong to have the students doing all of my work for me. She then asked, “Well, do they cook for you?” clarifying for me, as if I didn’t already know, that they don’t do ALL of my work, so what was my problem. Inside I was fuming. One, I am 32 years old and don’t need some woman mothering me and questioning every move that I make, whether it be how I cut my carrots or why I choose to wash my towels. Both of which have happened. Two, in my opinion, students should not be expected to do all of my chores without any compensation.

My roommate has absolutely no problem at all letting these young ladies do all of her dirty work. She will sit in a chair out back while students scrub the floors on their hands and knees, wash her dirty dishes, or cook her meals. While remaining seated, she will command students to fetch things that she needs including pens, notebooks, water, or food. While in the staff common room, I have witnessed other teachers utilize students in much the same way to fetch food and water for them. A student will never refuse. Each and every one of them complies and obeys their elders. To say I appreciate these young ladies help is an understatement. They are lovely young women, and I know that in their mind they are simply taking care of the guest in their country. And I’m not saying that I will never let them help me, because in all honesty, their clothes washing skills are far superior to mine. But when they do anything for me, I thank them repeatedly and verbally express my gratitude. I have never once heard my roommate say thank you to these girls. Though I understand how deeply engrained it is in their culture to respect and obey elders, I strongly believe it is wrong, especially on a college campus, for teachers to simply expect the students to do their chores. I understand families expecting their children to do housework to help maintain the home. I can wrap my head around that idea. But for young ladies in college to be practicing such servitude makes me very uncomfortable.

These students have 9 exams to attempt to pass in one month. NINE! Rather than fetching pens or yams, these students should be encouraged to study and expand their knowledge base. There is talk about gender equity and empowering women, yet every day I am watching bright, young ladies being forced to remain in traditional roles. Cooking a delicious meal or cleaning a pot is not something that these girls need help with. They’ve got those skills mastered. However, they do need practice in thinking and problem solving and analyzing. Higher order thinking skills are essentially non-existent in the classes I have taught. These students have spent their lives listening to lectures and picking a,b,c, or d on multiple-choice tests. If you want to empower young people, then let them think and have an opinion. Unfortunately, I have tried to start a book club, but conflicts with chores and sports have prevented the club from really taking off. It’s sad. I know there isn't much I can do about any of this, but I can at least encourage the teachers to try something new and explore a different possibility. I deeply believe that developing nations would benefit greatly from getting young people’s hands out of buckets and getting them in to books.

Harmattan

“Through woods and mountain passes, The winds, like anthems, roll.” -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Ghana is in the midst of, what is now my favorite season, Harmattan. This time of year brings dry, hot days and relatively cool nights. The Harmattan is a dry and dusty West African wind along the Atlantic coast of Africa blowing through December, January, and February. On its passage over the Sahara desert it picks up fine dust particles so the air appears dusty. The dust in the air can limit visibility and block the sun for several days. Fine by me! For the past few nights, I have been chilled to the bone in my sleep and have found myself reaching for, not only my sheet, but my fleece blanket as well. The morning air is crisp, just like a cool October day in Chicago. Unlike the previous few months I have been here, a kind breeze blows through my hair, which, because of the drastically reduced humidity, is actually down! I blew dry and straightened my hair this morning without even a drop of sweat forming on my forehead. Amazing how letting my hair down can bring such joy! Through the afternoon it still gets rather warm, but without the humidity and blazing sun, a walk across campus is much more bearable.

I found this interesting tidbit on Wikipedia: Nigerien folk wisdom claims that men and animals become increasingly irritable when this wind has been blowing persistently. However, the cool wind brings relief from the oppressive heat, which is why the Harmattan has earned the nickname "The Doctor".

In the past few days I have experienced this irritability and heard several students and staff complain that it is too “cold”. These people don’t know real cold. As far as I’m concerned, “The Doctor” can go ahead and stick around for a while. I’m enjoying the remedies being offered.

Fantastic Fufu

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” – J.R.R. Tolkien

Fufu is a very popular African dish, and I finally enjoyed some this past weekend. My friends Ameyaw and Agyeman invited me to their home and had me help them prepare this most delectable African cuisine. First, a savory soup is prepared with any meat of choice. Ours was chicken. Then, chunks of boiled cassava and plantain are pounded together to form a large ball of dough. This pounding happens in a round, wooden mortar with a long, slender pestle. Pound, fold dough, pound, fold dough, pound, fold dough, pound. Once all of the chunks are smashed out, this mound of deliciousness is placed in a large bowl with the soup to be shared amongst everyone. First, you grab a small ball of the fufu with your fingers, then you dip it in the soup, and finally swallow it whole! Intermittently, you enjoy some meat along the way. Since my arrival in Ghana, I have heard rave reviews about fufu, and have had several folks offer to prepare it for me, but no one followed through. Well, my patience paid off, and yesterday, I learned what all the hype is about. I love fufu! Here is the process:

Come One, Come All!

"Every age, every culture, every custom and tradition has its own character, its own weakness and its own strength, its beauties and cruelties; it accepts certain sufferings as matters of course, puts up patiently with certain evils…” -- Herman Hesse

As obvious as it is, I didn’t really think about life like this until my friend Amy S. brought it up: there is a great difference between loneliness and being alone. Loneliness is generally forced, while being alone is at times, somewhat of a choice. About a month ago, I was consumed by the loneliness and I was boo-hooing all over the place. I thought I would have some sort of social life here, but I’ve got nothing really on this college campus. My roommate and I chat occasionally, but this house has some sort of open-door policy that no one really informed me of. Students come and go as they please. One weekend that my roommate was gone she gave a few students keys to the house. I would prefer my home to be my home, not some sort of community center. African culture seems to be much more community based than my private American life where I keep to myself in my apartment and barely speak to any of the neighbors. Everyone talks to everyone here, which seems appropriate to me within a town or community. But on a college campus for all of the students to be “friends” with the professors seems like a bit much. So, when students are at the house, and engaged in any sort of conversation with my roommate, it’s all in Twi. I therefore sit there clueless. The same happens in the staff room. If I have a specific question or topic to discuss with someone, then they will speak to me in English, but outside of that, not many people seem to care to include me in conversations. The feeling of loneliness is only heightened when I am in the physical presence of people who make absolutely no effort to connect with me. Thankfully, with time, I am beginning to accept these situations as they are. The majority of the conversations I engage in here at this college will last twenty seconds, and that is just how it’s going to be. Twi will be the primary language spoken in my kitchen while I’m there, and again, that is just life. So, turns out, I’m much happier when I completely avoid these uncomfortable circumstances and just do my own thing.

I’m finding myself enjoying my alone time again, as I did when living in Chicago. Depression clouded my mind when I arrived here and I was clinging to anything and anyone for companionship because I felt lost and confused about my new world. Thankfully, that feeling has generally passed. Of course I miss my people, but at last, I am settling into a normal life routine again, rather than sleeping for obscene amounts of hours or just laying around lifeless. I’m working out again, in addition to my 4am occasional jogs, which boosts my energy. I’m painting, reading, perusing the web, writing, watching movies, and enjoying having the time to enjoy such leisure activities. It’s also nice to have things to look forward to such as the visitor I have coming in a few short weeks. Ms. Jenny Andrews, fellow teacher at Bronzeville last year, will make her first journey to the motherland. Hooray! I will also see a few other friends in the next month, and at the end of February I’m off to Kenya! It feels good to be on the upswing now.

Coming to terms with life here has been all about accepting and understanding that there is absolutely nothing I can do about anything. Just because I showed up here doesn’t mean these people are going to change their ways because of me or my opinions. The priorities around here are, #1 – religion, #2 – sports, #3 – education. For example, yesterday I was supposed to lead a workshop for the college staff and I had to reschedule it because of sports. Also, no classes Friday because of more sports. I think it’s wack, but who am I? Oh yea, just a random obruni who dropped in on the motherland trying to impart some sort of knowledge. Life in Ghana will continue on as is and I just have to fit myself into it somehow. In all honesty, I’m glad I’m here, but come June, home sweet home will taste so very sweet.

Here is the reason that classes were cancelled yesterday afternoon and today.

Teacher Tales

“If a child can't learn the way we teach, maybe we should teach the way they learn.” –- Ignacio Estrada

Me with Class 1A at St. Joseph's College of Education

To teach is to touch lives forever, or so I’ve heard. I’m hoping to touch just one life here, and then I think I will be able to leave satisfied. Every other week, I teach seven sections of first year students for one hour. My class is not examinable, so basically, it doesn’t count for anything and many of the students treat it as meaningless. However, many also actively participate and seem genuinely curious about learning something new. My lessons are all about reading instruction, and I am primarily focusing on introducing the students to child-centered instruction and hands-on learning activities. Lecturing seems to be a favorite activity of most teachers here. At the college level and elementary level. How anyone thinks that a 4^th grader can absorb an hour-long lecture is just beyond my comprehension. So, since I don’t lecture for an hour, my students love my class. Time and time again, I have been told, “this is interesting”, which I’m pretty sure is code for, “I’ve never seen anything like this and I think it’s really awesome.” J This week, we played vocabulary jeopardy and vocabulary memory. Imagine 20-year-old men competing against each other in games of memory with synonyms. The competition was fierce, the laughs were loud, and the smiles were wide. The teachers here can scoff all they want at me, but at any age, students love games and enjoy being an active participant in their own learning. Each class I emphasize the importance of engagement in learning and I always throw in a joke about how lectures put people to sleep. Everyone nods and agrees yet sadly, the majority of these future teachers will probably go ahead and lecture in their classrooms anyways. Breaking free from the norm is difficult, so I can only hope that at least one of these bright young people will do just that and give something new a shot.

As for the second year students, they are far less interested in me and my crazy American teaching methodologies. Every other week, the second year students see me in the Teacher Resource Center to learn about developing teaching and learning materials. Some classes don’t show up at all, most come late, and each class always has several absences. Again, this is not an examinable class, and generally speaking, the second year students’ attitudes are much poorer. So I just work with the students that bother showing up, and I get the same, “this is interesting”, from many. It feels good to be exposing these people to new ideas. I can’t guarantee that anything I teach will ever be carried into a real classroom, but at least I’m exposing. I’m opening minds to new possibilities, and that is really something. I know this all seems like a lot of teaching, but it’s 1, sometimes 2, hours each day. Not nearly enough and not at all what I was expecting, but ‘tis life. I’m just trying to make the most of the situation.

Since I have time available, I go to the demonstration school a few hours a week to teach computers (called ICT here), with no computers. I’m having to get creative. This is a K-8 school here on the campus where some of the college students go to complete their student teaching exercises. When I walk over, it’s usually their break time, and students can be found scattered all over buying food, playing soccer, or running up to me and yelling, “Obruni!” I’m very popular amongst the young natives. Sweet little girls will come up to me and say, “Good afternoon madam”, and then run away giggling. They find so much joy in saying one simple sentence to the white lady. I am set to begin at 12:30pm, but the students are always late, of course! Everyone is late to everything around here. It’s terrible. Teaching at this demonstration school is comparable to, what I imagine, a mosh pit at a rock concert would be like. I’ve never been in a mosh pit, but I’m guessing there is a lot of jumping, shouting, and hitting. Yea, it’s kinda like that. Crazy.

The K-8 demonstration school

There are approximately 50 students stuffed like sardines into a room, so management is tough. Really tough. However, I’m genuinely inspired by the enthusiasm. These kids are excited about learning and they are really enjoying the hands-on activities that I am engaging them in, because they sit through 5 hours of lectures each day. I’m freaking awesome to these little rug rats. However, throughout the lesson, students repeatedly shout “Ms. Amy, Ms. Amy, Ms. Amy”, or they just get up and chase me down. If I happen to be talking to another student, they just smack my arm to get my attention. I find students sitting on top of desks, jumping across desks, and even simply leaving the room without any permission. The problem is that there is no fear of me. I’m doing the typical management technique of raising my hand and having everyone follow suit, but turns out, this doesn’t really work. Sometimes yes, sometimes no, and I refuse to shout over these people. The real teacher has a cane and his knuckles to wrap on the little heads, but with me, they are so excited to have a white-lady teacher, that I really believe part of it is simply an inability to control their excitement. The students seem to be calming down with each subsequent visit, but I’ve established two main rules #1 - No shouting “Ms. Amy” #2 - No hitting. Everyone seems to be catching on and hopefully they will absorb some small ounce of knowledge that I am imparting on them. I did manage to absolutely capture everyone’s attention with a read aloud at the end of class this week. All students’ eyes were glued on me, ears were perked up, and I felt amazing! Reading aloud to children is one of the simplest, yet most powerful things that adults can do to develop reading skills and an enthusiasm for books, and I’m getting to do it in Africa.

Class P6 at the demonstration school

A Journey to Accra

“Since life is short and the world is wide, the sooner you start exploring it, the better.” –-Simon Raven

The big city is my anecdote. A weekend in Accra was just the ticket. Though I am somewhat unfulfilled here professionally, at least personally, I really am truly having the adventure of a lifetime. I’m appreciating Africa and the opportunities I have to explore more and more with each journey. But before the glory tales of my road trip begin, let’s start at the very beginning. When traveling here, people refer to road trips as journeys, and I absolutely understand why. I left my miniscule town on Wednesday morning at 7am. I arrived in Accra, which is about 164 miles from me, at 7:30pm. Yes ladies and gentlemen, twelve and a half hours later I arrived at my destination.

Here’s the story. At 7am I was sitting in a female dominated trotro headed to Kumasi that departed from Bechem. That early in the morning, the cool crisp air was ripping through the van as we traveled about 80mph. I noticed other women covering themselves for warmth, whereas I reveled in the coolness for a bit. It was refreshing. Arrival was about 9am. From the Kejetia trotro station, I got in a taxi, and for whatever ridiculous reason, the driver decided to drive through Kejetia, which is an absolutely gigantic, insanely overcrowded parking lot stuffed with trotros, taxis, and folks selling goods from the wooden boxes and tin bowls on their heads. Once the traffic shift occurred, I was driven to the STC bus station, and that bus left at precisely 10:30am. Pretty good actually, considering the departure time was scheduled for 10am. Not bad for Africa…..So, the large charter bus chugged through Kumasi, and it seemed that we were finally on our way out of the city center, but in fact we were pulling in to the repair station for STC buses.

Sigh….An hour later, after roasting for a bit in the blazing sun while gazing at cows eating grass right next to my bench, we were off! Very common to see farm animals grazing. Don't be alarmed. The bus made it to the main road that heads out of town, but at one of the roundabouts, there was an overturned truck blocking all lanes of traffic. Here we sat for another hour. Sigh again….thankfully I was equipped with an iPod and a great book to pass the time. From there, finally, at last, my cranky and anxious bus began the bulk of the journey towards Accra. Road construction runs rampant, but not just repair of the roads, this is building paved roads we’re talking about here. A portion of the journey from Kumasi to Accra is dirt roads loaded with enough bumps and holes to get my head banging against the bus window. It’s terrible to endure, but at the same time, it’s refreshing to see progress being made here. So, needless to say, transportation in Ghana is very tedious and is quite a chore. A journey indeed, but one with a beautiful African sunset. Lucky for me, the return journey to my college was much less treacherous.

I spent the weekend with two other teachers, Mabel and Amy S., who are each doing the same program as me. My first night was spent at the Paloma Hotel, and the rest of the weekend was at Kokomlemle Guesthouse. Most definitely, the highlights of the weekend were the restaurants we found. Thanks to some research in the Bradt travel

guide and a few curious minds, we found some great little places around town. Delicious Chinese cuisine, some authentic African at Buka, a glass of wine at an Irish Pub, a club sandwich at Cuppa Cappuccino, and gelato for dessert. It felt like a weekend in Chicago! We caught a movie at the mall, Tower Heist, hit up Makola Market, and lounged on the beach, where we got to witness the making of a music video. Arms spread like M.J. and a posse groovin’ in the background. Priceless.

Time spent with friends means the world to me, and I feel that I have made some good ones here thus far. I'm feeling more comfortable and settled here. At this point, I can get around half of the country on my own. I can find a hotel to sleep in when I arrive later than expected. I can maneuver various markets and purchase food. I’ve got the taxi and trotro business down, and now I even know some good places to eat. Only downfall to the food exploring was that something along the way this weekend disturbed my body. And I’m almost certain that the culprit was the meat on a stick I ate at the beach. These sticks can be found anywhere. Grilled fowl and onions served with an onion powder for dipping. Only concern with any meat here, is that if you’re not the one preparing it, you’re taking somewhat of a risk. Well, those meaty sticks are awesome, and I just couldn’t resist. Thankfully, my travel doctor prescribed an emergency antibiotic for these sorts of situations. Hopefully that does the trick. Maybe a little too much information for some of you out there, but I figured when I’m 80, and I decide to look back on this blog, I will appreciate the honesty and the authenticity in my tales. Good times, bad times and everything in between.

Praise Jesus!

“There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.” – Nelson Mandela

My African Sunday best. You got it. I attended a church service. A rare occurrence for me. Not because the Christian minds of Ghana have reformed me, but simply because I wanted to have the experience of attending church in Africa.

Upon entering the church, the grey cement floor was covered with long brown wooden pews. Set off to the side in front were pews for the choir and next to them was the band with an electronic keyboard that served as the organ, and a full drum set. Men and women dressed in their authentic batik scattered the pews. Small children stared with complete fascination at me of course. An obruni in church? This was brand new territory for those little people. No African time in church world. At exactly 9:30am, just as posted, the service began. Of course the majority of the service was done in Twi, but I’m pretty sure the main idea here was that Jesus is coming back. An idea that I simply cannot wrap my head around, but here, the true believers are convinced that he is returning at some point. The sermon topic for the day was Watchfullness, and sporadically, the Reverend would throw in some English, which gave me a tiny glimpse into the minds of the congregation. When the Reverend finished, any guests of the church were asked to stand. I obliged, and was then escorted to the front by my roommate, and two other staff members from the college. Rather than me babbling on in the microphone, my roommate introduced me to the people and explained my purpose. Afterwards, she told me what she said. Turns out, she lied to the entire church and told them that I asked her to bring me to church, when in fact, she invited me, and I awkwardly said ok because I couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to get out of going. Can’t promise that I will become a regular attendee, but nonetheless, it was a good morning overall.

On a more sour note…..pun totally intended….I think breast-feeding is disgusting. Don’t get me wrong. I totally understand the value of it and think it is a healthy activity for babies and mothers alike. However, I think it is terribly rude and inconsiderate to do it in the presence of others. I don’t need to see any of my friend’s or stranger’s breasts, but this weekend, I did. While in my kitchen with a student who was showing me how to prepare Red Red, a most delicious African dish, a former student of my roommate’s was visiting. As we were preparing food, this woman sat down and unveiled her goods for all to see. Needless to say, my level of discomfort rose significantly, but I just went about my business as if there wasn’t a large brown breast exposed in the room. Difficult to do in case you’ve never tried it. Several times while walking through town, I have seen various women sitting outside their homes or stores with exposed breasts feeding their young babies. These women have no shame. In Ghanaian culture, it is frowned upon to wear too short of skirts or shorts, or to have a very low-cut shirt, but women can freely expose their breasts in public? So, I am expected to wear my Bermuda shorts, but African women can flash me at will. Seems mildly contradictory to me. Again, I know that these women are providing for their babies and are simply taking care of their offspring. Of course they should do that. I would just prefer if it didn’t occur next to my stove while I’m stirring beans and frying plantains.

As my stay here progresses, I find myself falling more and more in love with America, and less in love with Africa. It is beyond frustrating to sit back and watch people do nothing about problems, especially in the education system. Being single for the better part of the last 10 years, and being childless, my passion in life has been my career. And if you get me talking about education, that passion is clear as day. It’s painful for me to see what is considered acceptable around here in these schools. My voice here is so small and insignificant to most. If nothing else, this Africa gig is motivating me even more to pursue a leadership position in a school and make my voice be heard.

Tomorrow I head to Accra! More than ready for some big city action with some good friends.

Goodbye Sir

Today, I witnessed my first animal slaughter. I watched my roommate slice a chicken’s throat, pluck the feathers off, rip the guts out, and chop it up for dinner. No chicken running around with its head cut off. Just a clean cut to the jugular followed by a trip to the bucket. I hope I never have to actively participate in such an act. Baring witness to it was plenty enough experience for me! However, considering the sleep deprivation this animal caused me upon my arrival here in Bechem, this death did bestow upon me some level of joy. Ahhh…the sweet taste of revenge.

Thanksgiving

“We tend to forget that happiness doesn't come as a result of getting something we don't have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.” – Frederick Keonig

In honor of Thanksgiving and the teacher in me, I present to you what I am thankful for on this lovely day. Yes, it’s an acrostic poem. That’s right. Like I said, the teacher in me just can’t resist a little elementary poetry on a day like today. ☺

Turkey from the Bechem market
Having opportunities to explore
All the fresh fruits and vegetables in Africa
Never settling
Kind and generous lifelong friends
Skype
Garett, Lauren, and Bryleigh Twardowski
Inbox messages from friends and family
Voracity for reading
Intrinsic motivation
New friends in new lands
Generous and supportive parents – you rock Bob and Cheryl!

Here is my version of an American-style Thanksgiving meal in Ghana. Chunks of turkey, mashed potatoes, grilled veggies, slice of bread, and a glass of milk. All prepared with my own little hands.

Life

“It is good to have an end to journey toward, but it is the journey that matters in the end.” -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

While here in Ghana, I am going to have the opportunity to explore African villages and markets, climb above rain forests, ride an overland truck through a safari, and feed bananas to monkeys. Those are the intriguing and invigorating parts of this whole gig. However, in the meantime, I have to live, and day-to-day life is composed of far fewer thrills, but nonetheless, interesting tidbits.

· Each day, I fill my kettle using the faucet in my bathtub, and I boil water so it is safe to drink. There is also a well right outside of my house that students pump for their drinking water if they do not have the tools to boil with.·

If I want milk, I have to pour Cowbell powder into a glass with water and shake it up. It’s not quite as delicious as a cool gallon of milk from Whole Foods, but when mixed with cereal, you can hardly tell the difference.

For a little energy kick, Milo does the trick. This chocolate powdery stuff isn’t the sweetest, so I add three sugar cubes and it’s set. Interestingly, most nutritional labels here do not list “calories.” Rather, they list “energy.” Often, when people are concerned about my eating enough, they refer to whether or not the amount of food I am eating will sustain me. Energy is of the utmost importance here.

· Students come to the house to clean each Saturday, but in the meantime, I sweep my floors with my Ghanaian broom. It cost 15 cents!

· Each morning around 4:45am, I lie in bed listening to the swishing of brooms dusting the cement area surrounding my house. The students here work harder than anyone I have ever known in America. In my crazy teacher opinion, I believe that they really should be reading more books instead.

· My roommate scolds and questions me often regarding cooking. Yesterday, my rice inside of my nice little rice cooker was done. It was soft and fluffy people, ready to go. She yelled at me saying “let it warm for a while, it’s not done Amy!” I told her I’ve been eating rice like that my whole life and I haven’t died yet. Doubt she appreciated the rebuttal, but the rice was cooked! Clearly, she likes to tell me what to do. Generally after cooking, I sit in the kitchen with my roommate and her slaves, errr, students, and listen to the singsong language of Twi and have no idea what is being said. I’m sure it’s something to do with my cooking.

Any trash goes to a small hill near my house, and occasionally gets burned. However, the burning doesn’t happen very frequently, so cats and goats peruse the goods, and today I even saw the librarian digging for treasure! Disposing of trash is very problematic here because there are no landfills or garbage trucks, so people are left to deal with it on their own.

My aunt Carol gave me some thought-provoking words of wisdom. She said, well, actually typed, “Faith in positive outcome. It really also has nothing to do with what is around you, only with what you want to happen.” So far, a large part of this experience for me has had to do with adjusting my expectations. At this point, things are the way they are going to be, whether I like it or not. The problem with having any sort of expectations is that they generally don’t work out exactly how you want. There is always some level of disappointment, and I guess that’s just life. Considering America is a nation filled with workaholics, and I am one of them, I should be enjoying this little break from life. Soon enough I will be back to working twelve hours a day and complaining about having no time for myself. So, now, I have plenty of time to enjoy my hobbies and explore the terrain of an African nation. Life could be worse.