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.

Adekyem Festival

"Cultures grow on the vine of tradition.” -- Jonah Goldberg

Adekyem Festival in Bechem, Ghana. Start time on program = 10am. Actual start time = 1pm. Welcome to African time, as they call it here. I’ve been told repeatedly that Africans do not respond to time. Clearly. And that may be part of the problem here folks, but that is another tale for another day. This is a festival to honor the history of this traditional area, which includes the towns of Bechem, Dwomo, Terchire, and Tanoso, which were used by the king to protect the Golden stool of the Asante Kingdom in times of war, especially against attacks from the North..

Adekyem became known as Bechem when over the years the name was mispronounced time after time.

In the past, during the Asante wars, hunters would bring their “booty” a.k.a. dead animals, to Bechem to share with people. Bechem literally means “sharing”. The celebration of this festival brings to memory the historic importance of Bechem and is a time for citizens, chiefs, and important dignitaries to come together.

The chiefs of local tribes and their entourages. When these groups entered, they passed by each tent and greeted all of the people at the festival.

The highlights of the festival were the Chief of Bechem, followed by the Queenmother, and the King of the Ashante Kingdom though he isn't visible within the large crowd surrounding him in this picture). The former two are hoisted above their respective entourages and carried throughout the festival. Chiefs rule within a democracy and rule in accordance with the will of the people. A chief is chosen from the local royal family of that area, and is not necessarily always the eldest son of the previous chief. The Queenmother is there to ensure that the chief doesn’t overstep his boundaries.

Each chief has his own official stool which is symbolic of the ancestral power he inherited. His duties historically have included political head, religious head, judge, war leader, and advisor. However, with national politics coming forth with independence from colonial rule, the power of chiefs has somewhat lessened.

However, they are still influential in local affairs and even the president will respect a chief. Chiefs continue to remain the rightful owners of their ancestral land. At this festival, I was lucky enough to be able to witness all the pomp and circumstance that surrounds chiefs. They are held in very high esteem and are greatly celebrated. It was an enriching day indeed.

Joy and Pain

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day” – Rainer Maria Rilke

Care package arrival makes for a wonderful day. Pepperoni, nacho cheese, crackers, sausage, oreos, ramen noodles, twizzlers, peanut butter, oatmeal, fiber bars, and more! Every delicious overly processed American snack you can imagine, which is exactly what my bad attitude needs. Yes, I know, Ghana is loaded with delicious fresh fruits and vegetables. And you know what, I will eat those with pleasure, but I will also gladly indulge in terribly unhealthy snacks for the pure simple joy it brings in helping connect me to my American life.

I absolutely understand the purpose of solitary confinement. The presence of people is like a soothing remedy to an ailing body. Loneliness is a darkness that slowly creeps up and then, bam, just like that, you’re down for the count. I am living on a college campus surrounded by hundreds of people, but I have never felt more alone in my life. Each day I eat my breakfast and lunch in the staff room. Generally, it is ten to fifteen men and me. The only English I hear is directed at me and it consists of, “Good morning Abena. How are you?” The end. The women are off in their bungalows or have left campus to be with their husbands and children. I know it doesn’t matter to wish, but I really envy my fellow teaching friends who are living with other volunteers. At this point in my life, I know myself better than ever. However, this new experience is teaching me how much I need people. Interactions with people. Conversations with people. Physical contact with people. Yes, there are people here, but interactions and conversations are very minimal, and the physical contact is obviously not anywhere on the agenda at this point. “But Amy, you lived alone in Chicago.” What you are all thinking I’m sure. In Chicago though, on any given day at any given time, I could connect with people: Starbucks, dog beach, bookstores, restaurants, movie theaters, stores and the list goes on. All places that I will gladly venture to on my own. But alone in Ghana is a whole new ball game and one I fear I am losing terribly. But, on a more joyous note, two weeks until a journey to Accra to visit some friends. I am counting down the days!

I went to Sunyani today, and am certain that I was scammed. A friend of a friend accompanied me to a lawyer, because I needed a document notarized. Here in Ghana, lawyers also serve as notary publics. This friend of a friend had one lawyer in mind, but that particular individual was out of town. Therefore, we were directed to a different man. Upon entering his office, he informed me that a photograph would be taken of me witnessing him signing the document to ensure that it is considered legit and no one can say that anyone but him did indeed sign the document. Fine, though I explained that I didn’t need a photo, he insisted. Several minutes later, he then asked me how much I was going to pay him. Well, I responded by asking how much the cost of this service was. He laughed and laughed and went on to ask how much I would give him. I said I did not know what was considered appropriate in this situation (which now looking back, I should have done more research), because in America banking institutions provided this service free of charge. He laughed and laughed again and asked me how much money I had with me. At this point, I was getting very frustrated and upset because I just had no idea what to do or say and I was so worried about saying the wrong thing and offending anyone. Obviously, I’m still trying to figure out what is culturally acceptable and what is not, and I didn’t want to say some ridiculous amount and have this guy refuse to provide the damn signature. I needed this man’s signature and stamp, and he knew it, so he was taking advantage of my ignorance, and I believe, white skin. My annoyance led me to tell him that I did not find this situation at all amusing and would he please just tell me how much it costs. Again, he asked how much money I had. I told him an amount of money that was actually much less than what I really had, but it was still plenty. (Again looking back, I should have given an even lower figure). He gave his ridiculously high price of 100GHC, which is about $60. I handed over the money, and he gave 20GHC back to me. Oh gee, thanks ***hole. Needless to say, I walked out shocked and disturbed and really pissed off. I just really thought the whole thing was rather rude. I had no idea I would have to negotiate for such a service. Call me crazy, but I figured a lawyer would have pre-determined fees for specific services. If not, fine, but I'm absolutely certain that laughing at me and bullying me into payment wasn't necessary or part of this guy's job description. The woman who escorted me was even surprised by this whole thing. She believed it would be free of charge, or at least a much lower price, and she later apologized to my friend for this situation and the lawyer’s attitude towards me. The fun continued when twenty minutes later I waited in line for one hour at the bank to withdraw money because I do not yet have an ATM card, and then walked down the street to FedEx where I spent $40 to send three pieces of paper to my parents. Sigh….yay Ghana (note sarcasm) L

I'm Shocked

“The real voyage of discovery is not in discovering new lands, but in seeing with new eyes.” -- Marcel Proust

I’m currently reading The Poisonwood Bible. Though this book takes place in the Congo, this excerpt is very telling of the situation I see in Ghana:

“Since friends of my own age and gender were not available, the girls of Kilanga all being too busy hauling firewood, water, or babies. It did cross my mind to wonder why Pascal had the freedom to play and roam that his sisters didn’t. While the little boys ran around pretending to shoot each other and fall dead in the road, it appeared that little girls were running the country.”

I miss the company of women. The majority of my socializing here has been with men, which seems to be getting tricky. You would think that as a young, single woman, I would love the attention and company of men. Well, it’s not that simple. Sure, it’s nice to have made some friends, but it’s getting complicated and I fear that some of these men may be getting the wrong idea and their feelings may be developing beyond friendship. Unfortunately, I don’t have many other options for people to talk to besides these guys I see in the staff room. The female staff members are very rarely in the staff room or seen anywhere around campus. They are often at home cooking or cleaning, or traveling to see their families that do not live with them here on campus. So it’s either hole up alone in my room or talk to some dudes. I’m just going to have to lay down the law and firmly articulate some clear boundaries. My fellow teacher friends from America here in Africa are far far away and getting to any of them is quite a journey, so unfortunately, the option of visiting them is only feasible occasionally.

Leisure activities are essentially non-existent in many people’s lives it seems. Instead, life revolves around basic requirements for survival. Of course I am perfectly capable of cleaning and cooking, and I will do what I need to get by. But there is so much more to me than just my housekeeping abilities. My roommate is female, yes, but her husband is here as well, and her attention is devoted to cooking for him each evening. This way of life is so deeply engrained in these women’s minds. Saturday morning several female students showed up at my house to clean the entire place, wash my clothes, and then prepare me lunch at my roommate’s request, and this happens every week. Very few read for pleasure or enjoy hobbies of any sort or simply enjoy the company of friends with a glass of wine. Men do this, yes, but women are too busy “running the country “ like was stated in the book. As a very dynamic individual, I am finding it very stifling to be living in such a static world.

I keep looking up “culture shock” and “homesickness” online to validate that I am not crazy or a complete crybaby. According to the internet and hundreds of other world explorers, I’m neither of those things, and supposedly in a month or so I will feel better. I’m just in this really horrible place right now in my mind. I keep longing to not be here. Every day I’m thinking about my friends and family in other places and feeling an actual physical ache. This is the sort of thing I’ve been dreaming of doing for years and now that I have it, I don’t know if I want it :/ I just want to sleep….

Rubbish

“By far the most dangerous foe we have to fight is apathy - indifference from whatever cause, not from a lack of knowledge, but from carelessness, from absorption in other pursuits, from a contempt bred of self satisfaction” – William Osler

Next weekend, the town I am living in, Bechem, will host the Adekyem Festival. Bechem used to be called Adekyem and, because of its central location within Ghana, served as a post for hunters to bring their foods to share with the people. The festival will commemorate the history of this town and its significance to Ghanaian culture. Today began some preparations.

Different schools throughout the community were assigned to clean different parts of the community. My school was assigned to an area within town near, what used to be, a river. Around 10:30am, rather than attending classes, students barreled down the side of the road in large groups and their crispy white polos and grass green pants or skirts for ladies. Upon arrival at the edge of town, some students proceeded in to town to avoid the work, while the others followed the directions of their instructors and trudged towards the river area. To get there, we had to cross through the properties of town residents and came upon a bumpy dirt path adjacent to a large hole in the ground. Amongst withering plantain trees, inside of this hole were disgusting mounds of trash.

Apparently, this hole, inconveniently placed directly behind someone’s home, is a dumping ground for trash, or rubbish, as they call it here. Once there, all of the students were directed down a path next to the trash pit towards the used-to-be river, but now, swamp-like area. All of the male students journeyed first, followed by the female students mixed in with several teachers and teaching mentees. However! Being the completely unorganized and poorly led expedition that this was, the ladies, after trudging down a long trail full of weeds and trash, were instructed to turn around and instead weed the area at the beginning of the trail. The men continued on to an area full of mud, weeds, snakes, and rubbish. With machetes and picks in hand, students were to clear the weeds from the area. Weeding is part of the student’s work on campus, so this was no new task for them. After some time, many of the gentlemen returned to the entrance near the ladies with mud-spotted tops and filth up to their knees. Eventually, the teachers got a clue and noted that this wasn’t something the students should be doing. Ya think?! So everyone was directed to leave and return to campus, but not until after the one other female teacher that was there brought me down to the swamp-area to check things out. Apparently, she thought it was important that I see African mud. On the way down, several young men handed me a crab. Yes, a live crab. Why? I have no idea, but they found it entertaining that I was willing to take a hold of that creepy crawly little booger.

Now I’m sure you’re all wondering why the hell any of this is the responsibility of these students? Well, it’s most definitely what I was thinking. Ridiculous really. Thankfully I wasn’t alone in my belief. Several of the teachers and mentees agreed that it wasn’t right for the students to be doing this work. Here we are, in Africa, where teacher-quality is rather poor, and we are sending students from a teacher-training college down to a mud pit to pick up trash on a day when they should be in class. It makes zero sense to me. I was told also that as a result of the festival next weekend, the students will be expected to participate in different activities in the town throughout the week that will again remove them from class. Being that a large majority of the students do not take their studies very seriously, I’m sure that they will be thrilled. However, as for the future of Ghana, it is what will suffer.

So, that pit filled with trash? It actually has potential for a turnaround. The area where the students were working could be a beautiful walking ground for the community and visitors. I am supposed to embark on a community project while I’m here, and my gut is telling me to do something about this area. However, the more I consider this, the more I realize what a gigantic undertaking it would be. Not that I don’t think it’s important, but I think the trouble may come with getting the community to think a clean-up effort is valuable and finding people willing to work. How do you change the mindset of an entire community and nation? Apathy surrounds me here. People throw trash in a hole behind people’s homes. It stays there for years. No one considers doing anything about it. Sad really.

Sigh....

For some insight into my mind.....(click the picture to get a larger view)

No More Quizzes

I just had to help proctor a quiz. Proctor meaning keep sixty apathetic and unprepared African college students from cheating. Turns out, it’s impossible. I stood in front of the class and repeated myself over and over again telling students to stop speaking, to stop turning around, to stop showing their quiz to their neighbor. Shortly after each attempt to fulfill my duties, I was laughed at and mocked. Not one ounce of joy was felt in this experience and I hope I never have to do it again. Of course, being the overly sensitive pansy that I am, I cried afterwards in front of several teachers. Unfortunately, emotions and tears have a way of surfacing at very inconvenient times, and mostly when you’re trying really hard to keep them under wraps. Sigh... Deep down, I understand that kids are kids, and of course they’re going to try to cheat and get away with stuff they’re not supposed to and act ridiculously at times. I’ve dealt with that a million times in my own classrooms. But what really gets me is the disrespect and snickering at my expense. Here I thought I was coming to Africa to teach eager and respectful learners. Apparently not. I don’t need these kids to repeat what I say with some high-pitched squeaky voice to make fun of me. You all sound weird to me too! I know there are some kids here that care. I just have to keep reminding myself of that and make a point to seek them out and disregard the apathy.

It Matters People

“Literacy is a bridge from misery to hope. It is a tool for daily life in modern society. It is a bulwark against poverty, and a building block of development, an essential complement to investments in roads, dams, clinics and factories. Literacy is a platform for democratization, and a vehicle for the promotion of cultural and national identity... Literacy is, finally, the road to human progress and the means through which every man, woman and child can realize his or her full potential.” -- Kofi Annan

I was attacked by mosquitoes in Cape Coast. My legs are covered. I know what you’re all thinking: malaria. Believe me, it’s on my mind. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. Hopefully that Doxycycline is doing it’s job. Some nights in my room, I am also occasionally attacked by teeny tiny little gnats. I find myself constantly scratching some part of my body. I’m not even always sure that I physically have an itch, but it’s in my head now and my mind is set on the idea that there are creepy crawlies roaming my body. AAAHHHH!!!

Independence is the element I was missing for the last month. Upon my arrival in Ghana, people have been guiding me in all elements of living like Pinocchio on a string. Though I of course appreciate every bit of assistance I have received, it is much more empowering to live at my own pace as I please. Generally speaking, I think I have conquered traveling and shopping: two essentials here in Ghana. I’ve made my way to several major cities, all on my own, have hit up several markets, and have lived to tell the tale. I’m starting to feel more at ease and comfortable, and getting out on my own has helped this. Personally, I enjoy being self-sufficient. I am woman, hear me roar! and all of that.... People are going to continue to laugh at my attempts at Twi, children of all sorts are going to shout “obruni” at me, and it’s likely that the snickering will continue when I’m teaching because apparently my version of English is different from Ghana’s. A month ago these things made me cry. Now I’m just shrugging my shoulders. Good sign I think. J

Unfortunately, that shrugging of the shoulders is happening at the end of my classes as well. Today, after I noticed students’ eyes closed, pairs of young men whispering, and several lads checking their cell phones – all while I was speaking to the class, I halted. I then asked calmly and out of simple curiosity, “For those of you that don’t care at all about being here and seriously pursuing the teaching profession, why did you come to a teacher-training college?” One brave soul rose and explained that the students receive a stipend from the government to attend this school, many students’ parents make them come, or some simply want to spend time with friends. Though I suspected this already for many, actually hearing it from the mouth of a student only affirmed the distress I felt. I know this isn’t true of all because there are definitely some students taking their education very seriously, but they seem to be few and far between. A wave of passion swept over me at that moment and I preached about the value of a quality education system in terms of developing a nation. I told these students that anyone could become a teacher, which is true. Anyone can stand in front of fifty kids and sing a song about ducks (which seems to be common practice in primary classrooms here). But I emphasized the idea that to become a high quality, extraordinary teacher is a different story. Education changes people’s lives and to be the teacher that helps make this happen is really something amazing. With a few nodding heads, I’m confident that I planted some seeds in at least a few young minds. At this point, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that even just one of these young ladies or men will truly hear me out and make the choice to become an extraordinary teacher who instills a love of reading and lifelong learning in their students.

Look around Ghana! Sure, things are better here than many other African nations, but people are still living in shacks and huts, walking around with no shoes, and missing out on school because fees can’t be paid. It’s so disheartening to bare witness to the apathy at, not just a university, but a teacher-training college! “If you can read this, thank a teacher.” I’m sure most of you have seen or heard that quote at some point in your life. Well, it’s the absolute truth. Any doctor or lawyer or scientist started out in an elementary school and some teacher along the way inspired them, taught them to love books, and opened their mind to possibilities. Teaching is the profession that this nation should be focusing the most on! And more importantly, effort needs to be put forth to get motivated and innovative young people enrolled in these teacher-training colleges, not just random kids with nothing better to do. Teachers are the key to developing an educated society that will help eradicate the poverty that engulfs so much of Ghana. A former volunteer with my program told me that it’s very difficult to help people who are not willing to help themselves, and I sensed a real frustration from her about working in Africa. More than ever, I completely understand what she means.

To the Cape!

“The cure for anything is salt water – sweat, tears, or the sea.” – Isak Dinesen

Thursday morning I boarded a Metro Mass Transit bus for a weekend in Cape Coast with a fellow volunteer. Exactly what I needed to rejuvenate. Though I have visited Cape Coast before, it was a different experience as a return visitor and when it was simply a weekend getaway planned on my own versus part of a weeklong obruni (white person) tour.

I enjoyed the memories of my past visit and more thoroughly reveled in the beauty of it all this time around. Thanks to a national holiday on Monday, I was able to stay one extra day and do a little venting, a little eating, and a whole lot of sightseeing with the other Amy, who because she also has brown hair and white skin, everyone assumed was my twin. Oh Africa. Sigh…..A touch of American life creeped onto the agenda as well. Cocoa puffs with milk, grilled cheddar cheese sandwiches and yogurt. Oh yea.

Cape Coast is a bustling coastal community. Fish, fish, and more fish. Roaming the Kotokaruba market is an exercise in patience and alertness. Taxis get the right away in these parts, so get out of the way, or suffer the consequences. From shoes to bread to clothing to vegetables to books to ice cream….this market has everything anyone could possibly need. I half jokingly told the other Amy that I could have showed up in Ghana with an empty suitcase and very easily found everything I needed to live. In Cape Coast, you will find many white volunteers, and they like to hang out at the Oasis where a dose of familiarity is available with some good ole’ American cuisine. A view of ocean waves crashing the shore doesn’t hurt this place’s ambience either.

Saturday night included an African drum and dance show. The joy radiating from the musicians and dancers is contagious. It’s hard not to smile and tap your foot to the beat of the African drum. Love of the arts is strong in African culture. I dig it.

To escape the city, we ventured about twenty minutes east to a small piece of heaven-on-earth called Anomabu Beach Resort.

Upon arrival we happened upon beautiful sandy beaches, families frolicking along the coast, and delicious coconut shrimp and cheesy pizzas. Our accommodation for the night was a tent set up right near a lovely hut umbrella and two cushion covered lounge chairs. We strolled the beach, relaxed while listening to the sounds of the ocean, and enjoyed some delicious boxed sangria.

Can’t go wrong with that combination! Anomabu stole my heart. I’m totally mesmerized by the ocean and island life and messages in bottles and people living on deserted islands....I often get “Lost” in the idea of being a “Castaway” ;)

Our weekend culminated at Kakum National Park. We conquered the canopy walk, which happens to be about 120 feet above the ground and is ranked third in the entire world for excellence. Two Canadian fellas helped out some Ghanaians to construct this adventure about sixteen years ago.

It's amazing. Incredible. Breathtaking. As I walked across foot-wide wooden boards held in place by large bolts and intricately woven ropes, I couldn’t help but smile and marvel at the vastness of the dense, greenery of the rain forest below me. We even snagged some bottled pure honey along the trail. Delicious!Lunch followed at the Hans Cottage Botel which is a restaurant hovering above a swamp filled with friendly crocodiles!

I needed this weekend. I needed to see some beauty and enjoy Ghana. I haven’t had a very positive attitude about my time here thus far, but Cape Coast, you turned things around for me! Though this whole experience may not be all that I hoped it would be professionally, I am going to enjoy what Africa has to offer me and savor the freedom and opportunities to explore.

What Did You Just Say?

"Beauty comes as much from the mind as from the eye." - Grey Livingston

Fat. A word used to describe some women here. On several occasions, I have heard male staff members tell female staff members that they are getting too “fat”. And these men just came right out and said it in front of everyone. Did your jaw drop open in disbelief? Well, mine surely did! No thought was given to showing any ounce of sensitivity or concern for these particular women’s feelings. Also, several weeks ago while watching the students play soccer, a man sitting next to me said, “That fat girl really tries!” Needless to say, I was appalled hearing the word “fat” used so loosely. Who wants to get called out on their weight in front of colleagues!? In America, if someone were to go up to a woman and call her fat, why, she would be incredibly offended and would either start crying or screaming at the culprit for being so rude! However, these women in the staff room just brushed off the comment and continued on with their day. From what I’ve heard, being thick or “fat” is more socially acceptable in black culture than amongst whites. Apparently, this isn’t the preference for all black men. I’ve been told on several occasions that women are the most powerful people in Ghana. If that’s the case, these men and their “fat” should beware.

Speaking of getting fat…Eugene, the P.E. teacher, treated me to dinner yesterday evening. He drove me to a nearby hotel, The Orange Hotel. Though I jog with this man several mornings a week and see him often around campus, I initially questioned the choice of venue, but later came to find that it was rather delightful. Eugene ordered us two plates of fried rice and chicken, and rather than sit there and wait, we took a ride down the road to a town called Tepa. As we drove, I found the landscape stunningly beautiful. Rows and rows of plantain trees covered densely green rolling hills while the setting sun hovered in the background. Small villages were scattered all along the road as well, and each is filled with small fires of burning trash, pots over coal stoves, and people pumping at water wells which contain water that is safe for drinking. People bring large empty jugs to the well, fill them up, and drag them home. As we drove, men, women, and children spotted the road carrying their water jugs or goods for sale on their heads. No matter how many times I see people carrying things on their head, I am still always impressed. It is not uncommon to see a woman with a baby strapped to her back and a large load of yams, kenkey, or cloth in a large metal tin balanced on her head. Amazing. I mean, my arm gets tired from carrying a purse people. As we drove back to the hotel for dinner, I began to more fully understand all of the warnings that have been given about the dangers of traveling at night. Once the sun goes down, the roadways become scarily dark. No lines on the pavement and no streetlights to guide the way. In addition, there are no sidewalks for people, so they hug the side of the road when returning to their villages from the town. As everyone says here, “it’s not easy”.

Eugene and I safely returned to the Orange Hotel where our dinner was served. That chicken leg was absolutely delicious. The primary source of protein here is beans and an occasional egg, so having a chunk of poultry placed before me! Well, needless to say, I was ecstatic. We sat in a small restaurant area within the hotel lobby area. Next to my chair was a stereo with a stack of cassette tapes next to it. This gave me little chuckle. I can’t even tell you the last time that I saw a cassette tape, except in the movie Eat, Pray, Love where Julia’s man in Bali makes mixed tapes for his loved ones. It was nice to get out and see a new place with a new friend.

Today I will venture to the post office for the first time in the hopes that the care package my parents mailed is in fact there as I was told yesterday. Then, tomorrow I am off to Cape Coast for a much-needed getaway to visit a familiar face. I’m told they have cheese and yogurt in those parts. This brings me immense joy. J

Africa Rain

“Into each life some rain must fall.” -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Mother nature is a powerful beast. So powerful in fact, she can take away light! Here in Ghana, with her claps of thunder and strikes of lightning comes darkness. As I attempted to Skype chat with a dear friend last night, the clouds rolled in, followed by a light sprinkle, and commenced with a harsh downpour. As a result, the network went down and my too brief conversation came to a halt. Soon to follow was the loss of electricity. I don’t know how or why, but when it rains here, electricity stops working, which more importantly means the fan stops working. It is getting hotter by the day here, and I don’t realize just how refreshing that lovely ceiling fan is until it’s gone. With the electrical world shut down, nothing could be heard but the sounds of crickets and other creatures looming in the night. In the distance, an occasional howl or bark could be heard from the boy’s dormitories as well. A car roared down the road and an occasional honk of a horn blared. The night was calm and serene. As I lay beneath my mosquito net, I almost forgot for a moment that I was in fact inside of a house. My room was pitch black, nothing but screens covering the windows, and I so clearly heard the crickets I swear that I could have reached out and grabbed one. Moments like those take me back to nights spent in tents at campgrounds at Turkey Run or the Illinois River with friends and family when the lights and sounds of a city were thousands of miles away. Just as sweat began to build on my brow, the fan began to swirl again and light returned to my quaint little bungalow. I then surrendered to my fatigue and drifted soundly to sleep only to await the 3:45am alarm for my tri-weekly jog along the streets of Bechem.