If You Have To, You Will

This was my motto throughout my time here in Ghana. It pertains to how people adapt to their living situation. I thought about this mostly when I saw elementary-school-aged children walking with friends down the road between speeding, swerving traffic, and 5 foot deep sewers, with sheep and goats weaving in and out of their space. Any mother in the US would freak out if she saw her child doing this, and would simply not allow the kid to walk to school. But if you have to, you will. If you have to learn from age 5 how to find your house while avoiding all these potentially life threatening obstacles, you will. And guess what? Ghanaian children are 50x more mature than many American teenagers. Obedient, multilingual, enthusiastic sharers, and extremely independent. 

"There's nothing to do here." I can't tell you how many times I've heard this. I hear it everywhere: at home in California, at school in Ohio, in a village in Ghana... There's "nothing" to do anywhere, it seems. 

Something about a very handsome and built man hacking up raw cow parts right in front of you is both mesmerizing and beautiful. Actually, let me rephrase that: Everything about it is. As long as you don't mind having little pieces of flesh flung at you, watching a man's right pec flex as the knife slaps down against the bone is... sexy. I could have sat there for hours. Sigh... I hope you're paying attention, boys. If you want a key to my heart, go obtain a whole cow, invite me over, and butcher it yourself.  What a romantic evening. We can even light candles if you want. I'm actually serious. 

Remember the man I had the conversation about the goat with? He was there during the hacking, and this is what he said:

Man: "This is big!"

Me: "Yes."

Man: "This is cow!"

Me: "I know."

Man: "Live cow!"

Me: "No, it's dead!"

Can't fool me that easily. 

Sometimes my water decides to stop running. So I shower using water sachets. Not bad, but not easy. But when you have exactly 48 oz of water to bathe with, you learn pretty quickly how to be efficient. 

Going on Day-Care inspections with Assembly Members has been interesting, if only because I like learning how different the men are from each other. Serious, go-get-em, and nosy; laid back, smiley, and 'cool' looking; one who has his secretary do everything... And then my personal favorite: a really thin, quiet, kind man who lives alone, loves cats, who's favorite food is plain rice, a tailor by profession, and who sews his own clothes. I would vote for this guy any day. You should have seen the way people lit up and greeted him when we walked around his area. He genuinely cares about other people, and it shows on his face. 

That Assembly Member said something I really liked. He said, out of the blue really, "If you want to be successful, you have to make sacrifices. You can't just always think what you can get, or nobody will follow you." I learned a day later that Assembly Members don't get paid.

So, I have met a few people here who give me pretty creepy vibes, really good vibes, and no vibes in particular. The good vibes make all the rest worth it. 

After another inspection, I was walking back to the road when I asked the Assembly Member I was with what the bungalows over yonder were for. He said, "Learning." I looked around and realized that I was on the University of Cape Coast campus. It sort of snuck up on me. I mean, I realized that I was in a nice area, but it melded so perfectly well with the rest of the environment that I thought it was part of the town. The campus is amazing though; I was really impressed. He also showed me the Cape Coast Polytechnic Institute, where you can learn carpentry, electric work, welding, fashion, etc. etc. The schools are so pretty and have such a different vibe than the crowded, busy towns that they nestle up against. Such a calm, peaceful atmosphere for learning. 

So, I was in my room the other day, all dressed to go to work and rubbing sunscreen into my face, thinking about my last blog post when a strange feeling hit me. It made me stop mid-sunscreen rub. It felt like my face was a gong and someone tried to play it fortissimo. I knew what the feeling was. It was becoming an adult. I don't know if this makes any sense, but in that moment, I felt like how I imagined my mom felt like as an adult when I was really little.  

A second later, I  had a flashback to pre-school, probably the furthest you can get from adulthood. But I suddenly remembered saying to one of my teachers, "I want to be a kid forever! I never want to grow up!" And my teacher said, "Yeah, I used to say that, too. But one day you just wake up and realize that you're an adult." I guess he was right.

So my host mom was preparing some meat in the courtyard, and the dogs were eyeing it and trying to eat any scraps they could get. Even the chickens started fighting over strips of fat. I decided this wasn't ok with me, so I went and bought a loaf of bread and immediately became Snow White. The cats, dogs, and chickens all flocked to me. Fun for me, maybe, but it's what they have to do, living a mere mouth-to-ground existence. 

So I finally found some cute dogs to hold. In our compound there are some puppies that must be only a few weeks old, and I hadn't seen them before because they were hiding. But they've started emerging more recently, and sort of waddling around and attempting to run but failing in the most endearing way possible. They aren't as scared of me as the older ones, and even if they are, at least I can catch them anyway. Plus, they don't really have teeth yet, so despite their best efforts to suck milk out of my arm, they can't even scratch my skin. So I scooped up two of the three, comforted them to show that I was a friend, and held them in my arms for them to sleep. We stayed like that for a long time. The next day, one of them got run over. 

On another note, sarcasm does not exist here. Example:

Man: "You are white."

Me: "Really?! I'm white?! I didn't know that until you told me just now!"

Man: "Yeah... Well, when you go back to your home country, your [pale] skin will show again."

Me: "Great, thanks for letting me know."

You know, I am really going to miss Ghanaian food. I'll also miss eating with my right hand. Meat, fried plantains with stew, even soup. Soup tastes so much better when you eat it with your hand. Also, I tried street food. It was a delicious and fun experience. However, the repercussions the next morning were not delicious or fun. I think my street food days are over. Except for pancakes and doughnuts, because those literally fried fried, which never hurt anyone.  

On 2 days when I was looking particularly nice, I got 8 marriage proposals. I said yes to 7 of them (one of them was being annoying). I made them very happy. Now I just hope all my husbands like each other. Obruni problems...

A woman and two children walked into the office on Thursday. They sat and were speaking in Fante to one of my coworkers and then he got up and left for something. I was typing a report at the other desk, and when I looked up, all three of the girls were staring at me. I looked at them quizzically, and the mother said something and one of her daughters translated, "She says she is hungry." I said I was sorry, then went back to typing. But they were still staring at me. When my coworker came back in the room I told him I didn't understand what was happening. He told me, "Yeah, this woman is here to collect money from our poverty reduction program, but I just asked our boss and he says the money isn't there." Then he looked at me too. At that point, I had to admit to myself that I knew what was going on all along, so I said, "Well, I can't help her." So she and her children took their leave, empty handed. My coworker then said, sort of distressed, "Some of these cases... They're serious, oh. You see a woman with two kids and they are really struggling." I felt sort of bad... But at the same time, I don't want to encourage the idea that obrunis give free handouts. And I can't give money to everyone who asks for some, and I can't give money to everyone who doesn't ask for some, which translates into me not giving money to anybody at all. Which might also be the wrong approach. But at this point I'm not here long enough to teach her how to fish. (For all you psych majors out there, this is cognitive dissonance at its finest.) I've learned a lot about working as a government employee in a developing country. It's not easy to make a difference when the funds aren't there. 

This last week has been truly amazing. I don't know if I just became extremely comfortable here, or if I was just excited to go home after two months, but whatever it was, I've been so so happy these last few days. Like, part of me says, "Man, why did it get so good right at the end?!" And part of me says, "You really need to go home. You're starting to act like an American again. You're becoming silly and doing that weird thing you do when you pretend to swim while walking and hugging people and calling them 'smushy wushy' just to annoy them. Go back to the states and be weird there."

On Thursday the Proworld peeps went out to dinner, as per usual. We got pizza and ice cream which is always a plus. Then, my friend said she was going to a radio station where her friend works and did I want to come. Best decision ever. The radio station was dark and fancy and polished... And air conditioned which made it too cold! The girl's friend let us record our voices saying things like, "Hello Ghana, this is Emily, and this is cruise extra on Cape 93.3", and, "I'm Mackenzie and I'm from the United States. Whenever I come to Ghana, I only listen to the best, which is Cape 93.3". So I'm going to be on the radio!! And it's a recording, so who knows how many times they will play it?

After that we headed to a rooftop which the owner is trying to turn into a club. The view was awesome, because when you're on the street everything can seem a little confusing or hectic... Like, my other motto is, "I never know what's going on here." Gets me by almost every day. But looking down from above, it all just seemed to flow; everything made sense. Well, nobody was really there at the rooftop club, so I ended up just going to my other friend's host family's house and three of us chatted until I had to go back home. 

Someone on the street handed me a tiger nut. Pretty tasty. 

Anyway, my Auntie took me back to The University of Cape Coast to attend a party for her class to celebrate the end of exams. My host mom prepared food for 80 people for it. She is such a good cook. Ama and I didn't really have anyone to talk to but each other, which was a-okay with me, because it meant that we went outside and ran around and danced all night. She's my little sister and the light of my life. 

Here are two quotes that I like:

"A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life. " - Charles Darwin

"Time you enjoy wasting is not time wasted." - Bertrand Russel

This is a roundabout way of saying that the value of life is to be happy. But it also means that we shouldn't take life too quickly. You don't have to live fast or hard to enjoy yourself. Just take a little time to "waste" and have some fun. Slow down. Enjoy more. 

This has nothing to do with anything, but on my flight to London, the attendant gave me a bottle labeled "still water". I dozed off, and when I woke up, it was still water. 

Unfortunately for you, faithful reader, by opening my blog, you are voluntarily subjecting yourself to my Saxe sense of humor. 

Ok, so I have a ten hour layover in London's Heathrow airport. Not bad, because the terminal is big and there's plenty to look at in the way of window shopping and people watching. But I will never understand British culture. Ever. All of a sudden, I feel rushed to make decisions and talk fast and like... I haven't been rushed for a while except sometimes at work. I ordered a smoothie at a restaurant in the airport and it came out in like, 2 minutes rather than 15. It sort of took me aback. The salad I ordered was a portion size that I thought I could finish, which made me feel unloved. (Of course I couldn't finish it, but that is because my body is experiencing palm oil withdrawal and rejecting all foods non-Ghanaian... Fun!!!) And everyone here just says "Hello" instead of "Good afternoon". Did the British seriously have control over Ghana not so long ago? Because I'm having serious culture shock over here...

One of my American coworkers said to me once, "I feel like you have a special relationship with Ghana". She's right, too. The first time I came to Ghana, everyday was glorious and magical - puppy love. This time, Ghana challenged me to test my loyalty to him. Ghana tries me, brings out the worst and the best in me. Ghana forces me to achieve more than I thought possible and then coerces me to leave work and go on 3 hour lunch dates with him. Ghana and I have a love hate relationship. Sometimes I snap under his pressure and Ghana looks down on me. Sometimes I push his buttons to see if I can snap him back, but he knows me too well and we have too many mutual friends for me to ever get to him. Ghana tears me to shreds and exposes my weaknesses, which only makes me stronger. Then we "take a break" from one another. But we aren't over. I know that I'll return to Ghana someday. And although I may flirt with other countries this upcoming year, I have a feeling that none of them will ever replace my first true love. Ghana knows I'll be back, too, and so he will wait for me, andI know he will still love me when I return. The best part about our relationship is that we have patience with one another. 

It's 6 am now that I'm posting this from my bedroom in the US. I slept on the couch for a while because I love sleeping on couches. It makes me feel free. Now I'm lying in my bed, facebook messaging my friends in Ghana, listening to Iron & Wine, and thinking about everything I have to do to get ready for my next adventure. Although I'll miss Ghana and my friends at Kenyon and I always miss home, I feel like what I'm doing is right. 

Maybe I'm finally figuring things out. And 'things' is a broad term. 

Yoh, yen koh!!!

Yours truly,

Ekuwa

Adventures of a Weak Bladder

Small girl have small organs. 

Finding places to pee is always fun, especially when you have no idea where you are. At this point, I believe I've seen it all. Rooms with nothing more than a gutter on the floor, stalls with nothing more than a gutter on the floor and a man who's probably watching you from over the wall, indoor outhouses covered in flies... The best is this restaurant that you can enter through the side so you don't have buy something each time you go. The worst was dashing to the corner of a cocoa farm - not because I was personally in a hurry, but more so because there was a centipede half the size of my arm cruisin' around, and the fact that the plants shook violently as I approached made want to hurry up a bit. 

I'm sure you wanted to read about that, so you're welcome. I would just like to point out that while I only have to deal with this for a few more days, some people spend every day of their lives trying to find a place to go when/where nobody is watching - particularly women.  

(Insert transition here.) My friends in the office often ask me to type a lot since I'm the fastest typist there. One girl even asked me to edit her next blog post for her since she likes my writing style so much. She paid me in ice cream. I will work for ice cream. 

By the way, first impressions do not necessarily dictate a relationship. At first I didn't like someone and now we're really close. At first I liked someone and now I try to avoid him/her. 

Hmm... So, I think I'm about ready to go home at this point. 

This next paragraph is for my mom, just because I think she'll find it amusing. My Auntie handed me a newspaper the other day. I was perusing around when I found an article about a kidnap. Yes indeed, someone had stolen a goat. He had strangled the pregnant goat worth 250 Cedis and stuffed it into a sack. Luckily, he was taken to court where he pleaded 'guilty' to his crime. An article on the same page described the police chase of a notorious sheep thief, who stashed the bodies of his victims in an old abandoned house. He was caught, too. Phew. 

Note: I realize that a kid is a baby goat, not a pregnant goat, but I couldn't pass up the pun opportunity. 

Ok, I guess I'll talk about my consumer habits now. Here is a list of how I spend most of my money here: (I think it's in order, but I'm not entirely certain)

1. Souvenirs, including clothes

2. Phone credits

3. Snacks/restaurants

4. One doctor visit

5. Taxis

Anyway, as I was editing my friend's blog, I realized that I don't talk a whole lot about Ghanaian culture. Like, for instance, I've never told you that it's taboo to drum on Wednesdays, fish on Tuesdays, farm on Fridays, or pound fufu after 6 pm during the month of August. The Gods have meetings on Wed. to discuss how they will treat the town for the upcoming week, so they need peace and quiet. Similarly, the Sea Gods and Agriculture Gods have their own respective meeting days. September is the month of festivals, so the Gods meet every night in August to prepare for it. There are also witches and dwarfs that can cast spells or who have magic powers, and someone can make another fall in love with him by hiring a voodooist. So, those are just a few aspects of the culture I never wrote about before. 

The entire time I've been here I've wanted to make a Little Shop of Horrors reference, but I could never quite figure out which one to use. Well, now I know, and even I'm surprised by my choice: 

"Just me... and the toaster."

That's a line from Audrey's song, "Somewhere That's Green". The song is sort of a joke, because in it she describes the very minimum of what one might consider to be the American Dream: a matchbox of a room, frozen TV dinners, disposal in the sink, etc. Here's some background info as to why I chose this reference:

I always love to tell this story: When I was in elementary school, I was in the car with my dad, and I said, very frustrated,

"Dad, I already know where my life is going. I'll go to high school, graduate college, get married, buy a house, have kids, retire, and die. What's the point of that?"

And he said, "Well, you don't have to do that. You can do whatever you want."

So that made me feel empowered and in control of my own life. That's what it always feels like when I'm traveling - like I'm choosing my own path. 

Similarly, I told my mom once that I thought that moving to the suburbs and taking care of one's own job and family seemed lazy. 

"It's incredibly lazy," she responded. 

But guess what? The suburbs are also far from Skid Row. 

And that's the point, isn't it? The "fence of real chain-link"  sounds a little ridiculous  in song form, but really, if you can raise your family in a safe place and not have to worry about other people trying to hurt you, wouldn't that be great? 

It sounds like the easy and maybe even the most obvious option. And as much as I hate to admit it, it's become a much more appealing idea to me over the course of this summer. While before I wanted to be a crusader and show the world how life should and could really be lived, now I see the appeal of being comfortable and simply content. 

So, maybe I'll just have to figure out a way of making a difference while still being comfortable, which, for some reason, makes me think I'd want to live in Ohio. Or maybe I will be that crusader and live in a hut and change the face of development as we know it. Who knows?

The good news is that I don't have to decide now. The bad news is that I could say that for the next 10 years. 

The really confusing part of this situation is that I can choose a job, I can choose where to live, and I can choose who to associate with. I'm not stuck selling cassava that took me months to grow for 5 cents each. I'm not stuck in a town 10 minutes from an ocean I've never seen. And I'm not stuck with anybody who doesn't treat me kindly. How wonderful! I think I'll buy a three story house in  Vermont and make a big fuss about where to seat Mrs. Shiva at my grand tea party for forty. 

Looks like I'll never be a teacher, since I seem to be incapable of getting my point across, but what I'm trying to say is that, as attractive as the idea sounds, I don't think it's fair for me to take advantage of that American Dream that is perfectly within my grasp while there are people who I have met in my life who will never ever have that ease and luxury... Unless somebody helps them. It's way too easy to "care"from my living room couch without taking action. 

But taking action sounds hard and intimidating. 

I don't really know what I'm saying anymore, and I don't really understand why a fog horn is necessary for the  church service going on outside, so I'll just stop. 

I was on another walk with Ama (my host sister) when I heard a rustle in the bushes next to me. I wanted to see what animal was making the sound, so I stopped and stared hard at the ground. Then I made out a little furry face. Attached to the face was a cute little furry belly and some short little furry arms, holding a leafy twig that was feeding the furry face. Furry didn't stop munching, even though furry saw us seeing him. He just looked at us coolly.  This was the most relaxed and lazy looking animal I'd seen so far in Ghana. It was like he was eating potato chips while watching his favorite sitcom. 

While we were still standing there, I asked Ama what kind of animal Furry was. "Uhm..." she said, trying to think of the English name. Stuck, she eventually just said, "Amokwia." As soon as she said that, two men who were walking by stopped and turned to look at us. One man was carrying a metal bowl on his head and the other was holding an empty, plastic five-gallon jug. They said something to Ama in Fante, who pointed towards the bushes and said again, "Amokwia". 

So the men walked over next to us and took at look in the bush. 'Oh,' I thought, 'they are coming to look at cute Furry, too.' Then the five-gallon jug slammed down on Furry's head, and Furry was carried away, being swung around like a lunch pail in a laughing school boy's hand. I knew the English name, then. Dinner. No translation necessary. 

Maybe that man should have been a dentist. (YES, I fit in another Little Shop reference!)

By the way, the real translation is squirrel. Maybe a different species of squirrel, but, a squirrel all the same. 

Well, that all happened in Eguafo, so I guess you know I went back there. It was a little strange, because the children from the orphanage had all gone to the beach and Selina (my friend who I gave my computer to and who I always see when I go there) was still in church, so it felt like I was sort of alone there with my host sister that Sunday. That's why we took the walk. But I saw a boy who I used to tutor last year. He's gotten taller and stronger. I only said hi to him the first time I went back to Eguafo, because he was busy then, and I hadn't seen him since. This was the last time I would see him, and again, it was for less than a minute.  

Selina was home by the time we had finished our walk. We spent some time at her house. I had apparently given her the wrong phone number, so she wasn't able to call me the entire time that I've been here. She never knew when I was coming, I would always just show up when I could, unannounced. She showed me some wilted flowers. "I picked these for you on Saturday, because I thought you might come. But you didn't." Talk about symbolism. 

I decided to take Ama and Selina to the main street of Cape Coast, since they don't get a chance to go there much. It was awkward. We didn't really have much to talk about and there's very little to do in town. We walked through the market, sat by the castle facing the sea while eating cookies, got some juice at a restaurant and went home. Not much talking was done. I don't know. So, that's the note that Selina and I ended on. 

In the interest of lightening the mood, here is an amusing conversation I had with a man:  

Man: "This is a goat."

Me: "Yes."

Man: "... This is a live goat. "

Me: "I can see that."

Here is another:

*Man 1 comes to our office to hand out free condoms*

Man 2: "Emily! Do you like condoms?"

Me: "I don't know, I've never worn one before. "

Man 2: "Me, I like condoms."

Me: "I'm so happy to hear that."

Man 2: "What will you use it for?"

Me: "Uhm... Probably nothing, seeing as I can't wear it."

Man 2: "Give it to me!"

Me: "What will you use it for?"

Man 2: "I'm going to use it on SUSAN*!"

*name has been changed. I did not relinquish my free gift. Sorry, Susan.

On another note, yesterday I saw a dog jump out at a sheep in the road. The sheep flinched back, and the dog smiled triumphantly at her. The sheep pulled herself together, took a step forward, and craned her neck out slowly, with wide and steady eyes, as if to say, "Do you really wanna mess with me?", glaring deep into the dog's soul. The dog recoiled and slunk away in fear. I call the sheep a 'her' because only a tough, hardened, confident woman has guts like that. She has forever changed my definition of the phrase,"to make sheep eyes at". 

Also, I bought some more fertility beads that are pretty and that don't remind of anything in particular. Yayyy. 

Here's another fun fact: In the U.S., we say a Black U.S. citizen is an African American (assuming she/he is from African descent, anyway, and not, say, Jamaican). But in Ghana, we say that same person is a Black American. I've never been called an Eastern European American or a White American. Everywhere I go I'm just White or American. I don't get an adjective. Who even decides how to label people, anyway? 

Oh, so, as you already know, I'm used to being tapped or brushed as people walk by me, but the other day I was sitting in a taxi, finishing an ice cream pop while waiting to set off, when I felt someone from outside the car stroking my head. I couldn't really turn around because I was squished in sideways and I was holding ice cream, so the person kept stroking me for like, 10 seconds, which is a long time to be stroked when you can't do anything about it. 

All of our hard work/bribes have been working! We have received 15 Day-Care Cetre inspection reports from the Assembly members in the last 2 weeks, which is more than were received in the last year. Hey, maybe we are making a difference. Yes. Yes, I believe we are. I'll really have something to say for myself once I get back home.

One more week, huh? Ok. Ok... Ok. I don't really... Know... If I should have been doing something more here. Did I do this trip right? I don't think so. My hindsight is 20/40, which means it's blurry. This whole trip has been a blur, so it's hard to look back on it and say anything decisive. I'll sure be glad to get home, though. Chill with Mom and Dad. Lie face down on the floor and pet Lucky. Yep, that's about how I would describe my life in California. Thrilling. But home. 

I guess my next post will be from my room. The last post always is. Wow. The last post... Well,

Yoh, yen koh!

Ekuwa

(A very sarcastic PS: Being force fed while being forced to watch people on TV force themselves to vomit blood onto the floor is probably my new favorite activity.)

You Can't Take a Picture of the Camera

Sometimes when I write these posts, I wonder to myself, “If a picture is worth a thousand words, why do I spend time writing a thousand words?”

There are a few answers. One is that I like writing. It calms me down and gives me an excuse to have some much needed alone time. Also, I generally dislike having my picture taken and taking photos. I’m usually happy once I have the picture, but the act of getting it seems weird and fake and stressful to me.

Perhaps mostly, though, is that even if I showed you a photograph, you wouldn’t get my opinion on it. You wouldn’t experience the scene the same way I did. I can’t show you a picture of that because it’s inside my head. Or in a blog post… I get that people like pictures and that it helps us understand situations better. So, sorry, but I don’t have many. My friends do, so I’ll show you those when I get back.

Ok, just to clarify: Auntie and Uncle are the married couple who aren’t always around, and host mom and sister are the friend and her daughter who live here all week long.

“In Africa, we don’t eat some. We eat all”… Is what my coworker stated in the office one day. He’s right, too. In the U.S., if you can’t finish your food, you just don’t. That concept doesn’t exist here. I’ve had waitresses ask me to try to finish everything before they reluctantly take my plate away. It’s not like… insulting not to finish it all, but I think it’s disappointing to the person who worked so hard to make sure that you’re well-fed. You also have to understand that food takes a long time to prepare here. None of that 60-second stuff. When I didn’t finish my meal once, my host mom said “I don’t want you calling your mommy and saying, ‘Mommy, I’m hungry! They don’t feed me here!” She wasn’t mad at me. She just wanted to make sure I was okay. It’s to the point where she will sometimes feel my stomach to make sure it is round and full. If it’s flat, lunch is one the way!

And um, by the way, when I say we everything, I actually mean everything. Skin, fat, bones, you eat it all. In fact, my Auntie says her favorite part of eating meat is the bones. I have tried to eat the bones, and I can a little, but I can’t eat half a chicken rib cage. Not that I’ve ever really tried very hard. I told my host mom that I struggle eating the bones, so she promised not to serve me pieces of meat with bones from now on. I think I’ve taken a liking to goat liver. Intestines aren’t bad either.

When my host mom asked me if I liked okra stew I told her that I didn’t know because I’d never had it before. She spent all day making it. I’m serious. One of the family friends even skipped school to help her make it. I sat down to a big heaping plate of it while my host mom and Auntie watched me eat it…

My auntie asked if I liked it and I said, “I like it a little”. I was 100% lying. She told me that I would like it the more times I tried it. Maybe. But I don’t want to try it again. A little while later, my host mom asked me again if I like it and I had to say no. I probably wouldn’t have said anything, but that same morning she told me to try and tell her if I didn’t like something. This was after I couldn’t finish both my peanut butter sandwich and my porridge for breakfast and still fit into my skirt (which I will explain later). She didn’t seem mad about the soup. She just gave me some rice instead, which I did like.

So I was eating my rice with my host sister, even though I wasn’t hungry. With a few bites left, I told her I was full and did she want the rest. She said, “No, I’m full too. But I must finish it. Someone in my Sunday school told me that if you eat food and you leave some, it’s bad. But if you’re full and you go for another plate, then it’s a sin.” So I shut up and finished my rice. I see the point of not stuffing yourself, but I also see the point about not being wasteful.

At one point, though, I had to stand my ground. It was the next morning, and after having eaten the plate of rice when not hungry the night before, I was really not feeling breakfast I came downstairs and found a big bowl of cream of wheat waiting for me. “Phew,” I thought, “as long as there’s not bread, too, I can handle this.” Enter host mom. “Is it ok? Or should I add more?” She was holding up a fourth of a loaf of bread.

That was the first time that I was stubborn in this house. Eventually she gave me just two slices, but I only managed to eat one. She said I would cry because I was hungry, so I should eat all. I said I would cry if she made me eat all. I tried to end on a good note by saying that if she reduced my portion size, I would definitely eat all next time.

Maybe she was right, though. By 10 am I was feeling rather puckish. Since then though, the food situation has been fine.

As promised, here is the explanation of the skirt. My host mom was explaining to me that she sells fine Ghana style clothing and that she would give me an outfit. She pulled out a big bag and showed me all the colors. Then she took out a deep blue shirt, skirt, and head wrap set and told me to try it on. It fit quite nicely, but you have to wear your skirts really tight here. It’s just the fashion. I told her I would pay her for it but she refused my offer. I wore it on Wednesday and boy was I lookin’ fly. I don’t usually like dressing up, because I don’t like being stared at and I look good in everything so that’s hard to accomplish (yeah I just said that). But that day, random people stopped me on the street to say, “I like your outfit”, or, “You are looking beautiful, because of the cloth”. Even an Assembly Member stopped me right before I gave my presentation to announce to the audience that he liked my outfit. Which leads me into the next subject…

FINALLY we’ve completed our meeting with the Assembly Members. It’s been a long time coming and it was seriously stressing me out, like, getting prepared for it, but the actual event was not stressful. Except that it got a little confrontational and heated for some reason. I didn’t expect so much argument at a meeting about Day-Care Centres. My boss said that the audience was being “passionate”.

Actually, I haven’t written about work for a while. I guess I’ve had other, more urgent and personal things on my mind. Like dental floss. Something I haven’t informed you of yet is that we bribe. Oh yes. The way my director put it was, “in the U.S., you have to pay to get information. In Ghana, you have to pay to give information.” What this means is that if you want people to know how to do their jobs, you have to give them an incentive.

We ended up spending about 1,000 Ghana Cedis just on this one meeting. We had to provide the attendants with folders, pends, and of course, copies of the agenda, our bye-law proposal, and our day care inspection checklist. We also had to get lunches and water for everyone, so 30 in total, even though not everyone showed up. But our biggest expense was for our “Inspection Feedback Incentive Fee”. Let me explain.

One of the duties of an Assembly Member is to conduct regular inspections of day care centers at least once every six months. The problem is that they don’t do it. There are only two full-time employees at the Cape Coast Metropolitan Department of Social Welfare, and trust me, they have a plethora of tasks. They don’t have time to be doing someone else’s job, especially since there are over 70 day cares in the area. Up until now, us interns have been doing the inspections, but the point of the meeting was to uhm, ‘encourage’ the Assembly Members to do what they’re supposed to be doing. Some of the Assembly Members showed up on time, were ready to engage, and were nicely dressed. Others strolled in late, even tow ours late, wearing sunglasses or t-shirts and red pants and acted bored the whole time. They generally seemed interested in the topic, but I couldn’t really tell if many of them would actually do the inspections. That is…. Until I had the pleasure of informing them that we would give them 10 Cedis of phone credits every time they brought a report to our office. I wish you could have been there when I said it. The benches practically exploded. It was like excited school boys in an Anime cartoon. I’ve never seen a more excited group of politicians. They were literally rising out of their seats with gleaming eyes and cheering and shouting questions over one another. But not to fear – we video recorded the whole ordeal. So you will see my presentation and my skirt soon.

In the middle of me typing this, my auntie told me to get up and touch the TV screen. It was Emmanuel TV. So I kneeled on the floor, pressed my palm to the screen, bowed my head and closed my eyes. And so we prayed. Don’t doubt the connection between you and God.

I should have prefaced that with, “Sometimes, viewers are instructed to ‘Engage with God’ by performing a certain act”. I seriously want to write an ethnography of this channel.

So there are some really cute watch dogs that live in our compound. I don’t really want to be friends with them, since they’re trained to bite thieves, but I still greet them saying, “Hello, cute dogs!” and knell down to say hi and smile. Two are puppies. Awwwww. They always become really sharp when the gates open, just in case a suspicious person walks in. But they see it’s me so they still pay attention, but they relax a little when I start walking up the stairs. And they get scared of me and pull away when I come close, especially the puppies.

When I came home the other day, I saw my host mom in the courtyard of the compound so I went over to her. WE were talking and this was our conversation:

Her: “So, do you like Ghana?”

Me: “Yes. I came back here, remember?”

“Ah… that’s why I love you.”

“Aww I love you too!”

“I love you because you like Ghana.”

“Do you like Ghana?”

“Uhh… yes.”

“Well then I love you too.”

She laughed at that and hugged me.

I took a long walk with my host sister in an area that neither of us knew. It was pretty eclectic, but not like the city at all. It was very lush, like trees and maize and grass. We passed a petrol station, and brick makers, and even a place where people break big rocks into smaller rocks, which I’ve heard about but never seen. We also headed towards Abura and saw a big group of obrunis doing a cultural dance while Ghanaians looked on in what I expect was probably amusement. After our walk, she helped me clean my shower. It dawned on me that I had never cleaned a shower before. That was a pretty strange realization.

My host sister is so cool. She likes to play and talk and make little jokes.

Allow me to be a bit self-indulgent and talk about one of my favorite topics again: advertising. I’ll be brief.

Best slogan: (for a company called Donewell) “If it must be done, it must be Donewell.” HA! I don’t actually know what Donewell does.

Best company name: Franko (a phone company). What do they sell? Frankophones.

Best product name: Frytol (cooking oil) Is it just me, or is that just “fry it all” said really really fast? Fry it all… FRY IT ALL!!

Ok, thanks. Back to being normal now.

On Friday, the Proworld volunteers/interns took off work to go to a village. I had never been anywhere like it before except in anthropology books and films… Palm frond roofs. They were expecting us because one of our Proworld leaders helped install a water pump for them a few years back and had formed a relationship with the villagers, so she told them we would be coming. The pump now churns out muddy water or nothing at all, and the village is facing some other challenges, too.

So we split up into smaller groups and conducted a community needs assessment. What happened was, my partner and I introduced ourselves and did an icebreaker where everyone teaches the group a dance move. Then we asked the group to describe any problems they were facing, or anything that would make their daily lives easier, or something that they wanted their children to grow up with that they never had. Then we wrote down each issue and also drew a picture on a piece of paper. For instance, one of the suggestions was a school, so we had a drawing of a school building on one paper. We came up with 8 problems and scattered the drawings on the floor. We gave each person 10 dry beans and asked them to go around the corner. One by one, our group members were called in and they put their beans on the pictures of the problems that they most wanted to see fixed. They were allowed to place all ten on one picture, or five on two, or one on each, or really any combination. Then I would tally the number of beans per problem, and clear away the beans so that the next person could vote without being influenced or judging others.

Make sense? Good. So, after a lunch break we reconvened and discussed a possible solution to their top three elected needs, which were, in order, a palm oil/corn mill, a community center, and a new water pump. The solution they came up with was that everyone in the village should pitch in little by little to save money and that an NGO should also provide aid money for the projects.

Other small groups had different top three needs and different solutions, but the palm oil machine was the top pick of I think 5 of the 7 groups. I think that we’re coming up with an action plan, but it will be future volunteers who will put that plan into action. But it was a really cool and empowering experience. Er, well, we all sort of noticed that the women in our groups didn’t say much, even when prompted.

On Saturday my host fam said we were going to the village where they keep their goats so we could kill one and eat it. But just before we left, they said to me, “Ekuwa… Uh… Do you have anything… White?” So I changed into a mostly white dress and off we went to the village, not only to kill a goat, but also to attend a naming ceremony.

It’s what it sounds like. It’s when a baby gets his/her name. This was a baby boy and his name became Samuel, which I think means ‘humble before God’, but don’t quote me on that. There was a lot of head bowing from the audience, praying from the parents, shouting to God from my host mom leading it, and crying from the baby, who was getting rocked around a bit.

After I refused to hold the goat by its front hooves, my uncle decided to drop it back in the pen and not to kill it after all. We ate some fresh coconuts and headed home and ate lunch.

Then my uncle and sister and I walked around El Mina, which I’ve been wanting to do. But I didn’t get to see as much as I would have liked. Maybe? I’m not actually sure how much there is to see. I got to see the houses, some cafes, the outside of the castle, the ocean with fishing canoes on the water and some empty ones on shore, a bridge painted by the MTN phone company, and the fishermen in the harbor and the fish sellers nearby.

On Sunday I went to church with my uncle. Most of the service was in English. You know something……. I’ve never seen women here have so much fun. They were singing and dancing and smiling… it was nice. I even got into it in the beginning during a catchy gospel song. There were some dancers and it was pretty entertaining. And I generally found what the speakers had to say to be nice or interesting.

I was kind of spacing out when I heard the pastor say something like a recently wedded woman’s mother “suddenly collapsed and died”. Cue blood curdling scream.

You can watch Emmanuel TV all you want, all day, every day, but you haven’t experienced a deliverance until you’ve experienced one live. I nearly started crying I t was so scary and confusing.

 

Sigh. I don’t trust anybody anymore. Only a very few select individuals whom I either work or live with. Stop taking my picture. Stop touching me!!!!!!!!!! Don’t touch my leg, don’t touch my fingers, don’t hold my hand, don’t touch my nose, don’t grab my face and turn it to look at you, don’t even hug me. Don’t whisper in my ear, don’t tell me to get up and “shake it”, don’t try to get me to stretch in provocative ways while you watch…..

If you’re wondering why this post is so long, it’s because I like hiding in my room. And trust me, I do not type fast on my iPhone. Well, I had to retype it on the computer this time, anyway. So this has taken me like, 4 hours total.

My life is full of question marks.

So you remember a million years ago when I said I feared that my foot would get run over? Well, it hasn’t. But the heel of my shoe did while my foot was in it.

I haven’t had a chance to go to Eguafo in weeks. I’m not really sure what I could do there anyway except talk to my friends there. I will definitely go once more before I leave. I did give the director the donation money that I collected last year when he was in town. He told me he would use it to buy food for the children. So if you donated, that’s where your money is. It’s good if you ask me.

Sometimes I get seriously stressed out here. Like, for long periods of time. But when I go for a walk with my host sister, it all melts away and I forget everything. By the time we are through, I have forgiven.

By the way… I know I write a lot in this blog. But there are also a lot of things I don’t write. I don’t usually sue the word “things” in my writing. It’s too vague. So I’m being vague for a reason… I could tell you a lot of things. Maybe I’m trying to spare the person/people it’s about. Or maybe I’m trying to spare you. But it sure isn’t about sparing myself…. Actually, now that I think about it, it probably is.

“My people” vs. “your people” conversations make me really mad.

In case you don’t quite understand what Ghana time is, let me give you an example. This happened last week: my uncle was supposed to drive me somewhere and I was getting ready upstairs. My auntie called me, “Ekuwa, your uncle is ready!” So I grabbed an over shirt, forwent brushing my teeth, and rushed downstairs.

My uncle looked at me and said, “Ekuwa… You didn’t iron your shirt.”

“I know, I didn’t have time.”

“No, we have an iron here. Give it to me.”

Host mom: “The strap on your bag is torn.”

“Yeah, but it’s ok, I can still carry it.”

“Let me fix it for you.”

Auntie: “Why don’t you sit and watch TV while you wait.”

Oh. Ok.

Also, watermelon with vanilla ice cream sounds weird but tastes amazing.

Today I will leave you lovely readers with something amusing. Twice now, someone has said you me, “You are wet,” and I have responded, “Yes, it’s raining”. Nobody got the reference.

Yoh, yen koh!

Ekuwa

(P.S: it’s a Rocky Horror Picture Show reference.)