Before I forget, a couple quick additions: Go Black Stars! For those of you who are out of the football (soccer) loop, Ghana's national team the Black Stars beat the US on Thursday night to qualify for the second round in their first ever appearance at the World Cup. Everyone here is extremely excited, although our next match is against Brazil, which will be very difficult. To answer your question Jason, I was in a village about 45 minutes from Tamale, and we watched the game live on a black and white tv, so we knew right away!
Also, check out the EWB front page at www.ewb.ca for a pic of me at a bus stop... that's right, that's me with the short hair if you can recognize me!
I hope all is well with everyone back at home, and I'll write again soon!
Friday, June 23, 2006
“Ahh, you see there? Four people will ride that motorbike into town!”
“O!”
“It’s family car hey! Heh heh heh, a family car. Sometimes you’ll even see five.”
It is little moments like these, where Mr. Tahidu will make some obvious observation, that remind me of the differences between Canada and Ghana. Looking at what we would call a family car in Canada and a small motorbike is an interesting comparison. This particular example illustrates one of the most difficult questions I find myself constantly asking while living in Tamale. What defines actual inadequacy in terms of poverty, and what just appears to be so, based on the Western definition which assumes excess comfort? Functionally, the motorbike is a perfect means of transportation for the four people. It is much cheaper than a taxi or car, and much faster than walking however many kilometers to school. In this way the father can affordably make sure his children have made it to school. At the same time, only the father has a helmet, and the way some people drive motorbikes here makes me nervous when I’m driving in the truck. Certainly there will be some risk of accident, but such risks exist in Canada walking down the street as well. If the girls each had a helmet, would the motorbike then be an adequate means of transportation? The question applies to so many daily experiences, and it is never an easy one to answer.
It has been some time since I’ve written about any specific event, because life has been much less fantastical than it was for the first few days, so I’ll skip out of the first person narrative and give you a general description of my day to day life and experiences over the past few weeks living in Tamale. I was going to try to put everything in one post, but I think it makes more sense to post what I've written so far. Hope you enjoy!
Home Life
I’m getting to like home life more and more, and my family is both amazing and a lot of fun. A standard day goes like this:
~5:20 am: The mosque two lots down starts loudly blaring the morning call to prayers. I roll over and unsuccessfully try to block it out, while Mumin hauls himself out of bed to get ready to go for prayers. This is usually accompanied by a few loud calls from his mother ‘Mumin! Mumin!’
~5:45 am: The roosters are usually wide awake and letting everyone know at this point. Mumin is sleeping again, so I try to ignore the sun for a few more minutes
~5:45 am - ~ 6:30 am: Mix of being asleep and awake, the noises of the roosters and the people outside get louder and louder, and there may or may not be several people in my room talking already. At some point in here, I manage to commit to sitting up and starting the day.
6:30 am – 7:00 am: A bag of hot Koko (which I now thoroughly enjoy) and a piece of bread are already waiting for me on the desk. I eat quickly, and before I finish someone always comes in to tell me that my bath water is ready.
7:00 am – 7:25 am: Ahhhh, a bath (well, not really a bath, a shower like I described before) with cool water to wash away that shirt-stuck-to-you morning stickiness.
7:25 am – 7:50 am: If I’m lucky, it only takes me 25 minutes to iron my clothes.
7:50 am ~ 5:00 pm: Off to work.
5:00 pm – 6:30 pm: Free time to play guitar, football, read, hang out with Mumin and the guys from the neighbourhood etc. Relaxation time in general. This time has recently also turned into cooking time with the women, which is even better than relaxation time. More about this below.
6:30 pm – 7:30 pm: Dinner time! Usually TZ, but the odd day we’ll have rice (see food section below).
7:30 pm – 8:30 pm: Wait for everyone to finish dinner (those who go for prayers usually eat later than the younger kids and I) and then wash dishes with the girls while they teach me Dagbani.
8:30 pm – 9:30 pm: Catch up on the latest football match, Nigerian film, or Ghanaian TV show if I can manage to stay awake through the whole thing.
~9:30 pm: To bed early because it will be early to rise the next morning!
Despite my somewhat sarcastic remarks when it comes to the morning, I love having a family to live with. I’ve learned so much in terms of language, local food, Ghanaian family life and local customs.
The biggest obvious difference between family life here and in Canada is the amount of household chores done by women as compared to men. The women of the house (Mr. Tahidu’s wife and his wife’s sister) do a lot of the cooking and some of the cleaning, but it’s the girls (Rashida and Azara, they are not Mr. Tahidu’s daughters, but rather his sister’s, and are staying here to attend school) of the house that are the most amazing. They are always sweeping, cleaning, cooking, washing or something, but despite this are always smiling, laughing, joking and singing. Hanging around with them and washing clothes or dishes is one of my favourite things to do (even though I’m horrible at both, the girls can wash everything from their feet and bending over, while they always make sure I have a chair to sit in before we start, there’s no way I’d make it otherwise). I’ve also recently been helping cook the nightly TZ! I had a couple of pictures taken when Madam Adisa (I think I probably called her Madam Yakubu in earlier posts) was in town, so hopefully I’ll have a copy of one of them to post here. The girls’ energy is infectious, and they love helping me with my Dagbani, which is always fun because they’re still young and their English is not perfect yet either. One of the best parts of the day is coming home from work and walking into the house to one of the girls’ huge smiles, and a “Mr. Ben! Aninula!” (good evening).
Spending time with the girls usually means that my youngest brother Rashid is also around, and he’s a bit of a goofball. He and the girls always get into friendly arguments, name calling and play fights, and I’m constantly told one thing by the girls, to which Rashid replies ‘Don’t mind them,’ and vice versa, so I’m always entertained.
I also enjoy just hanging around with my older brothers and their (well, mine now too I guess) friends from the neighbourhood. There is Mumin, who I talked about in the last blog and then Mohammed, who is in senior secondary school. We usually have a good time just sitting around chatting (they always want to hear about Canada), or playing football (soccer), and tossing the occasional Frisbee. I haven’t had a game of ultimate going yet but one of these weekends it’s going to happen; most people are pretty excited about the prospect of a new sport. Hopefully it’ll catch on and we’ll have a decent game by the time I leave!
Really spending time with the older women of the household has been difficult, since none of the speak English in any substantial amount, but they enjoy my attempts at greeting correctly (which are getting pretty good) and the simple questions that I can answer. It’s really tough to go from Canada where I can carry on a pretty good conversation with just about anyone, to here where I can’t even speak with my host mother, but more on language later. Helping with the cooking has been the best way to spend time with my host mother and have laughs with her (almost always directed at my cooking attempts), and has been a highlight for me recently.
The single most important item I packed (other than my malaria meds) is my guitar! I brought it out on the second day and since then I can’t go an afternoon without requests for “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” which is by far everyone’s favourite song. At any time in the day one of the girls will be humming it or singing made-up non-words along with the chorus, although they’re starting to sound more and more like English. I’ve even had requests from my host mother to teach her the words when I get the chance! I wrote the lyrics for some of the older boys who can read and so sometimes I have a pretty good chorus of voices behind me. A couple other favourites are “Brian Wilson” and “Wonderwall”, which are next on the list for me to write out.
I’ve also met a ton of people in my neighbourhood, and most people seem to know who I am and that I’m staying with Mr. Tahidu, despite me never having talked with them before. People are always eager to sit and chat and teach me a little more Dagbani, so the 5-minute trip to the Internet café usually gets drawn out to about 20 minutes each way. I’m still absolutely horrible with names, and usually can’t pronounce them on any of my first five tries, let alone remember them before I get to the end of the conversation.
Family life has easily been the most important and influential part of my stay here so far, especially if you count Mr. Tahidu under family instead or work (he gets his own section later). The initial break-off from the group living in Tamale was difficult, and my first few days were frustrating, but now it is so obvious the richness that the challenge has brought to my stay here. Even spending time with a few other EWBers in town on weekends makes me feel like such an outsider and out of place compared to my regular walk down the stretch in Lamashegue. Cultural integration just doesn’t happen by hanging out with other Westerners.
Food
Well, I’ve been experiencing a lot of local Ghanaian food since I’ve moved in with my family and started work, so it gets its own section! In general I’ve been doing alright with the food, but the constant barrage of maize-based dishes that I eat for almost every meal does tend to get a little monotonous. All in all I can’t complain however, as I enjoy the food for the most part, and after hearing the daily diet of some of the other folks that aren’t in town, I’m extremely thankful.
Breakfast is the same every day (koko and bread) so I’ll jump into lunch. I usually have one of about four choices for lunch, kenkey, banku, fufu, or rice, which makes it easily the most interesting meal of the day. Kenkey and banku are both maize-based, and although I’m not completely sure of the difference between them, it seems to me that kenkey is drier and a little less fermented than banku. I usually take my kenkey with a fish and some sort of soup to dip it in (I still have no idea what the different types of soup are), and the banku with soup and beef. Fufu is basically mashed potatoes made from yam that you then dip into whatever soup you happen to have selected. Rice is the same idea, and is extremely wet and sticky, so you can make proper little balls from it to dip you’re your soup. Despite not enjoying banku the first time I tried it in Accra, it’s becoming one of my favourites because it actually has taste! Once the outer layer of soup has come off in your mouth, the chunk of starch that you’re left with is actually still interesting, unlike the others, especially fufu I find, which becomes less like enjoying food and more like trying to swallow the leftover paste.
TZ is the dish we have pretty much every night with almost no exception. It’s a maize-based dish (of course), and is eaten like every other Ghanaian dish. It is not sour at all like banku, and is a lot less sticky. At least there’s usually some variety in the soup that we take with the TZ, but I’m definitely happy on the off night when I open my dish and find rice.
I’m still horrible when it comes to eating technique. I take a long time and can never manage to finish off my soup with the amount of TZ I’m given like everyone else. I’m also usually a complete mess by the end of the whole process, and very thankful for the near complete darkness that I’m eating in by the time dinner is served. I was trying to learn the proper technique for using my hand as a spoon so that I can finish all of my soup, but it seems that I always end up with soup on my face and a thumb in my instead.
Meat in general is always interesting too, and I’ve become a pro at sucking every last bit of whatever supposedly edible part of the animal that is floating in that meal’s soup. Beef skin is also very popular here, and that’s always interesting to get through. There’s no way to swallow an entire piece whole, so there’s always a good couple of minutes of chewing hunks off before you can get the entire thing down. Another one of those things that is usually best to get into your mouth before looking at it for too long. On a positive note I’ve recently been introduced to Guinea Fowl, which is extremely good, kind of like fried chicken but less fatty. I still have to find someplace close to my house to sneak away and grab some on those nights when TZ for the fifth time in a row just isn’t sitting right.
The snacking food here is really excellent. I love my fried yams, and definitely give in the temptation of the various forms of ‘junk food’ whenever I’m in the market. Deep fried balls of dough almost like donuts go for about 1000 cedis (<15>
I don’t get to eat fruit as often as I probably should, or would like to, but when I do it tends to be excellent. Some days I’ll bring home a pineapple and split it with Mumin, or pick up mangoes, although there seems to be a certain correlation between me eating a large amount of mangoes, and me being sick, so I’ve held off on that a little bit lately.
I think that’s about it in terms of food, overall I haven’t been disappointed, and I’m generally satisfied despite the odd cravings for Western food. So far I haven’t given in and spent the ridiculous amount of money that the one place that serves pizza here charges, but we’ll see how much longer I last.
Football
Ah, one of my biggest frustrations and challenges that I’ve faced so far is my complete and utter lack of football skills! Every Sunday, our neighbourhood team heads out to play a match against some other team, so I’ve got to participate in a couple of games now. I have no field sense, ball control, passing ability or defensive skills, and I generally feel completely useless on the field. My usual objectives during the game are to try and avoid being completely embarrassed by the other team on defense (which happens frequently, and results in the home crowd erupting in laughter), and if the ball happens to bounce somewhere near me on offense I pass it away (hopefully to someone on my team) as quickly as possible.
Despite reassurances from team members that I’m doing well and that they’re impressed, I’ve got a long, long way to go before I’ll be a help to the team as opposed to a hinder. It has been way more of struggle than I had ever imagined to go from being competent and even a leader on ultimate teams I have played for, to the worst player on the field.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Ask a Ghanaian!
I’ve just had a rare good thought. One of my goals for this summer was to try to find some way to bring back the ‘overseas experience’ to Canada as effectively as possible. It always bugged me that I felt like the people who had been overseas knew something that I didn’t, but that as hard as I’ve tried, I haven’t figured out what it is. Thus, it became one of my goals this summer to figure out exactly what that ‘something’ is, and how to bring it back. During a subsequent conversation with Louis, EWB’s West African wealth of knowledge and insight, he challenged me to think of the goal in terms of what change comes about after someone goes through the ‘overseas experience’ and to try to find away to create that same behaviour change in people.
Well, I haven’t yet come up with all of my specific impacts, but I was thinking of ways that a person overseas gets to experience development that a person in Canada doesn’t, that might lead to this eventual ‘overseas experience’. One of the most obvious things is just talking to Ghanaians! Every day I get the chance to talk to Ghanaians, development champions, regular kids, people walking down the street, etc. Thus, I would like to propose a new section of the blog entitled (drum roll please…) Ask a Ghanaian!
Post any questions you might have that I can ask a Ghanaian about as a comment to this post and I’ll do my best to ask someone in my neighbourhood, at work, or in a village what they think. I’ll compile the answers every so often, and try to post them as soon as I get around to connecting to the internet again. At the same time, know that I’m totally using you for interesting, probing development questions that will make my time in Ghana just that much better. Thanks in advance!
I’ve just had a rare good thought. One of my goals for this summer was to try to find some way to bring back the ‘overseas experience’ to Canada as effectively as possible. It always bugged me that I felt like the people who had been overseas knew something that I didn’t, but that as hard as I’ve tried, I haven’t figured out what it is. Thus, it became one of my goals this summer to figure out exactly what that ‘something’ is, and how to bring it back. During a subsequent conversation with Louis, EWB’s West African wealth of knowledge and insight, he challenged me to think of the goal in terms of what change comes about after someone goes through the ‘overseas experience’ and to try to find away to create that same behaviour change in people.
Well, I haven’t yet come up with all of my specific impacts, but I was thinking of ways that a person overseas gets to experience development that a person in Canada doesn’t, that might lead to this eventual ‘overseas experience’. One of the most obvious things is just talking to Ghanaians! Every day I get the chance to talk to Ghanaians, development champions, regular kids, people walking down the street, etc. Thus, I would like to propose a new section of the blog entitled (drum roll please…) Ask a Ghanaian!
Post any questions you might have that I can ask a Ghanaian about as a comment to this post and I’ll do my best to ask someone in my neighbourhood, at work, or in a village what they think. I’ll compile the answers every so often, and try to post them as soon as I get around to connecting to the internet again. At the same time, know that I’m totally using you for interesting, probing development questions that will make my time in Ghana just that much better. Thanks in advance!
This is a really old post that I started writing a while ago but couldn’t finish, because I haven’t been in the office for some time. It refers to my first Friday in Tamale, which was just about three weeks ago now.
It is Friday morning, and time for everyone to meet their respective directors. Four of those of us who are left at the hotel willing be working with Oxfam, or various organizations associated with Oxfam, 2 will be working with OIC, and one will be with Luke at the Community Water and Sanitation Agency (CWSA). I will be working at an NGO name Africa 2000 Network (A2N), more specifically in a section of it known as the Integrated Poverty Reduction Programme (IPRP). I do not yet have a meeting set up as I had been unable to get in contact with them.
OIC and Oxfam are situated in roughly the same area, so we head off in taxis to the relative outskirts of Tamale. It is getting to be very hot, and my long sleeved dress shirt and black pants are much too warm. Oxfam’s office is easy enough to find, but we get lost and misdirected on the way to OIC, so it takes some time for us to get there. When we arrive, we learn that we have missed the director, who had to leave for another meeting. The two volunteers with OIC meet briefly with another person from the office instead and set up a time to return later that day for a tour of the office.
The buildings around this area seem to be mostly NGOs (and NGO executives’ residences) and are much nicer than anything else that I have seen in Tamale. Proof that the development sector really is a business, and people can make a decent livelihood in it. We walk back to where we were to meet after those from Oxfam had finished, and decide to give my boss a call again. There is no answer at the office, but I get through to someone on the cell number. Just before Luke’s phone cuts out, I manage to tell whom ever I am speaking too that I am near the Oxfam office, and they reply that they are headed that way now and would like to pick me up! This is a pretty big surprise to me, as I wasn’t expecting to meet with anyone so soon, but it is exciting all the same.
I walk back to the Oxfam office, and the security guard there greets me. I let him know that I am waiting for someone to pick me up, and he promptly replies that he will find me some place to sit then. He grabs a chair and places it in the shade next to his guard hut and we start chatting. We talk for a while about his past, Ghana, Tamale, and the World Cup, as Ghana’s Black Stars have qualified this year for the first time ever. I am so new to all of these things, and it is interesting to get his perspective on some of the issues the country is having.
His name is Prosper, and he used to work as a police officer in the south, but has now been in Tamale for 13 years. He also is married and has five children back at home – four girls and one boy. He said he would’ve stopped at two if he had a boy earlier, but had to wait until the fifth to get one. His favourite food is Fufu (mashed yams or cassava), and says that his favourite place in Ghana is here in Tamale.
I ask him how he thinks the country is doing, and his biggest complaint is that people are just not working hard enough. He says there are people who just sit all day and play cards and do not even try to make a living. He says that he himself both works as a security guard, and sends money to him home to invest in farming. He grows his own yams, cassava and maize for his family to eat. I wonder if the people he is complaining about have the education or opportunity to work, and if they even own land, but I don’t think its worth asking him about those types or problems at this point. At the same time, he also feels that people are not helping out their families enough. He explains that when one person is well off, he should help out his brothers and sisters who are maybe not doing so well, and this is no longer happening. People should support their families, as he is doing (he is the only of nine siblings that is working) so that everyone in the country can live a decent life.
He also has complaints about the government and how it is run. He points to the gravel road that the Oxfam office is on, and asks me whether or not I have seen roads like this in Canada, and I reply that of course I have. He doesn’t seem to believe me that in a country like Canada there would be dirt roads, but I assure him it is so. But this is the Northern Region’s capital he exclaims, and here he has a point. I concede that in the major cities nearly all of the roads are paved, and he seems satisfied that his point has been made.
At some point an SUV drives up and someone comes up to the gate. The guard gestures at me, and I get up. I ask “Ma’am Yakubu?” and she replies “Yes!” She is a very friendly and warm woman (though I haven’t met many Ghanaians who aren’t) and seems almost grandmotherly. I introduce myself, and she smiles, shake my hand and says that another truck will be along in a few minutes to get me and take me out into the field. First day and I’m already headed out to a community! I am a little surprised, a little bit anxious, but definitely excited. I say goodbye and sit down with the guard again. We chat for a little while longer, and after a considerable wait, I finally get picked up. I hop into the back of the SUV, which is looking pretty new and is well air-conditioned. I’m a little surprised, and almost disappointed given what I had heard about A2N, but I greet Lawrence and Francis, who are sitting in the front, and we take off.
Soon we are off the main paved road of Tamale and driving on the red gravel road that begins. I look out the window at sparse vegetation, round mud huts with thatched roofs and a few concrete buildings here and there. Children wave from the side of the road as always, and I do my best to wave back as often as possible. Eventually, after a few turns on to progressively narrower roads, we arrive at the community. I step back into the heat and follow Francis and Lawrence to where Ma’am Yakubu and several others are sitting on benches. We do some quick introductions, and I learn that Francis and Lawrence and a couple others there are from the UNDP, hence the nice SUV.
People are speaking English for the most part, but I still have trouble understanding the accent at times. The community is apparently running a tree nursery for both profit as well as aforrestation purposes. They have been grafting different varieties of mangoes, some local and some from Burkina Faso, in order to create trees that produce large mangoes that are also drought resistant. I don’t completely understand what’s going on, but I try to absorb as much as possible. One of the men, Paul, is also talking about other problems that they have such as electricity and water problems, as well as the problem of their young girls leaving their community to move to Accra.
I of course have forgotten everyone’s names by the end of the discussion, but it was good to pick up on bits and pieces. It is these visits and conversations that I’m sure will best help me understand both A2N and the people’s perspective on the development that is happening, and where I might have any small impact on the ground while I am overseas.
On the way back I jump into an old green pickup with no air, and no seatbelts. The speedometer never wavers from 0 and it doesn’t look like the odometer has moved very recently either. This is more what I was expecting, and we bounce along back to a restaurant for lunch.
At lunch I eat with Ma’am Yakubu (who is now starting to refer to me as her son) and one of the girls from the UNDP. Although she looks young, she has been doing development work for quite a few years already, and is planning on staying in Ghana for at least another couple of years. We order, and I’m not sure exactly what I should have, and try to order the same thing as the girl before me. Ma’am Yakubu decides that I should get something different, so each person has a different dish, and orders Red-Red for me, which she explains is fried plantains with a bean sauce. Sounds good to me.
We chat idly for a while, and then the food finally arrives. Ma’am Yakubu has a sort of rice dish with a fish (yes, a fish, not pieces of fish, you just get an entire fish that’s been cooked with most of the meals here), the UNDP girl has TZ (another maize-based dish) with some sort of a sauce with a fish in it, and my Red-Red arrives – of course with a fish on the side. We dig in (eating with our hands as per usual) and I get to try some of everyone else’s food. The TZ is good, not sour like the Banku from Accra. It is rather plain, but is pretty decent with the sauce. The rice dish is also good, but not so different than rice/bean dishes I’ve had at home. My dish is good, and I am hungry. I realize that it’s the same as the plantains and sauce I had outside of the bank in Accra, and now I know the name.
About half way through I start slowing down, the plantains are really heavy and I’m starting to fill up. I’m also working my way through my fish, pulling the meat off the bones, although I’ve learned that eating the bones is no problem at all, and is actually a good way to get your calcium. At this point Ma’am Yakubu takes half of her fish and tosses it onto my plate, remarking that it’s a mother’s duty to make sure that her son doesn’t starve. I laugh, but wonder how I’m going to stuff it all in. Eventually (some time after everyone else), I finish triumphantly.
Ma’am Yakubu explains to me that we’ll be visiting a women’s center in the afternoon, and that I should wait for the green pickup to return, while she heads out with the UNDP folks. I wait in the heat with Francis and another guy from the UNDP office. They explain that they’re both on what is called “National Service”, which is a mandatory year of community/social work that every Ghanaian who completes Tertiary education must serve before moving on. We talk a little bit about school, and their plans for the future (Francis is hoping to do his master’s in international development) until the pickup arrives. The driver apologizes for being late, and we pack ourselves into the back and immediately roll down the windows.
We have barely gone a kilometer off of the paved roads of Tamale and we arrive at the center. The rest of the crew is already sitting inside, so we quietly find places in a circle of benches around which thirty or so women of all ages are sitting listening to Ma’am Yakubu. She is speaking in Dagbani, so I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Shortly after sitting down, us latecomers are introduced and I hear my name and ‘Engineers Without Borders’ amidst a bunch of Dagbani. One of the women responds in Dagbani, and Ma’am Yakubu explains to me that they are excited to have me and that they hope I will return every day. I say that I’m very happy to be there and appreciate their warm welcome. Ma’am Yakubu goes on the explain that the women produce a lot of shea butter in the center, as well as weaving and textiles work as well, some of which she passes around.
After a few more words of Dagbani, we head out back behind the center to see where the women process the shea butter. There are solar driers, a room full of shea nuts at various stages of processing, a small shelter that also holds a few gas heated cauldrons, and behind the shelter there are a few fire pits. One of the men explains to me that the ministry of energy brought in the gas cauldrons, but the fuel is too expensive for the women, so they have gone back to the traditional wood burning ways. This is the first (but I’m sure not the last) example I’ve seen of well-intentioned development money that has been spent on equipment that is no longer in use. It is a very real reminder of how easy it is to overlook something, or many things, when it comes to development work.
We wave goodbye, and start back towards the IPRP office to talk briefly about my work. I get introduced to everyone at the office, and get a quick review of what’s happening. Apparently the project that I was supposed to be focused on has been delayed due to a problem with the UN’s financial system and the release of the funds. The project should have already been underway, but instead will not start for at least another couple of weeks or longer. This means that for now I’m just to focus on learning about IPRP and A2N, and helping out wherever I can.
Ma’am Yakubu must head back to Accra in the morning with the UNDP people, so I’ll be left under the care of Mr. Tahidu, who I’ll be living with. She insists that I move out of the hotel immediately and move into his place, and keeps asking me why they’d keep in a place like the Maacos. She was even expecting me to call her when I landed in Accra to stay at her place while I was there instead of in the hotel with everyone else! I’m both excited about moving into a house, and a little bit nervous about breaking off from the rest of the group, but I’m glad that I have a place to stay, unlike some of the others who still have to look for host families.
At the Maacos we pick up my things, but I’ll be heading out later with everyone else to a goodbye party for Tom as he is soon heading out on his Niger River trip (see www….) so it’s not goodbye yet. As I pack everything up, Ma’am Yakubu goes to greet the rest of the EWBers, and I’m sure does a very good job of keeping them entertained and interested. I grab the last of my things, give Ian some money for our room and then haul everything to the car.
A short ride later through the streets of Tamale (which seem to twist every which way in order to completely disorientate me) we pull in behind a couple of storefronts. As I grab some of my stuff and get my first glimpse of my residence for the next couple of months. The house is set up almost like a motel, with two sides of the complex being walls, and the other two being rows of rooms with porches. These four walls enclose a courtyard with two large mango trees, a water tank, and what looks like a large wooden crate (which I later learn is also a big pit for holding water).
I’m shown the way into my room and I drop off my stuff in one of the corners. The room itself is about the size of a single dorm room, and has a desk, a double bed and a few other things. Not bad I’m thinking to myself, more space than the hotel room for sure. At this point Mr. Tahidu introduces me to his son, who has been helping carry things. “This is Mumin, your roommate!” he says. I piece things together and realize that I’ll be sharing a room and a bed with him for the next couple of months.
I head back outside and get some quick introductions to people in the house. There is Mr. Tahidu’s wife, his mother, and his mother’s sister, all living in the house. None of them speak English however, so I just smile and wave and talk with Ma’am Yakubu and Mr. Tahidu quickly, before Mumin and I decide to head off for a quick tour around the neighbourhood, which is called Lameshegu.
We get to know each other as we walk around, and I find out that he is also in University. He’s in his third and final year at Tamale Polytechnic taking statistics, and should be finished before the end of the summer. His family also has four boys, he’s second in line however, and has an older brother who is doing his national service, a brother in senior secondary school and a brother still in primary school as well. I talk a bit about my school and my family in Canada as well.
Eventually we reach a football (soccer for you folks at home) pitch, where a match is going on. I can see that everyone playing is really good, and being a complete non-footballer, I know that I’ve got a lot to learn. I tell Mumin as much and he says that we’ll have to get out training sometime soon. I’m hoping I’ll be a quick learner, as I’ve got a long ways to go before anyone will even think of letting me near a football.
After the quick tour of where the Internet café is, and where the taxis make it to, we head back home quickly to let Mr. Tahidu know that we’re heading back to the Maacos to meet up before Tom’s party. I thank Mr. Tahidu for the room and Mumin and I head out into the night.
... And there's another one on the way about general life in Ghana, I'm in the office this week so hopefully it'll be up before I head out into the field again.
It is Friday morning, and time for everyone to meet their respective directors. Four of those of us who are left at the hotel willing be working with Oxfam, or various organizations associated with Oxfam, 2 will be working with OIC, and one will be with Luke at the Community Water and Sanitation Agency (CWSA). I will be working at an NGO name Africa 2000 Network (A2N), more specifically in a section of it known as the Integrated Poverty Reduction Programme (IPRP). I do not yet have a meeting set up as I had been unable to get in contact with them.
OIC and Oxfam are situated in roughly the same area, so we head off in taxis to the relative outskirts of Tamale. It is getting to be very hot, and my long sleeved dress shirt and black pants are much too warm. Oxfam’s office is easy enough to find, but we get lost and misdirected on the way to OIC, so it takes some time for us to get there. When we arrive, we learn that we have missed the director, who had to leave for another meeting. The two volunteers with OIC meet briefly with another person from the office instead and set up a time to return later that day for a tour of the office.
The buildings around this area seem to be mostly NGOs (and NGO executives’ residences) and are much nicer than anything else that I have seen in Tamale. Proof that the development sector really is a business, and people can make a decent livelihood in it. We walk back to where we were to meet after those from Oxfam had finished, and decide to give my boss a call again. There is no answer at the office, but I get through to someone on the cell number. Just before Luke’s phone cuts out, I manage to tell whom ever I am speaking too that I am near the Oxfam office, and they reply that they are headed that way now and would like to pick me up! This is a pretty big surprise to me, as I wasn’t expecting to meet with anyone so soon, but it is exciting all the same.
I walk back to the Oxfam office, and the security guard there greets me. I let him know that I am waiting for someone to pick me up, and he promptly replies that he will find me some place to sit then. He grabs a chair and places it in the shade next to his guard hut and we start chatting. We talk for a while about his past, Ghana, Tamale, and the World Cup, as Ghana’s Black Stars have qualified this year for the first time ever. I am so new to all of these things, and it is interesting to get his perspective on some of the issues the country is having.
His name is Prosper, and he used to work as a police officer in the south, but has now been in Tamale for 13 years. He also is married and has five children back at home – four girls and one boy. He said he would’ve stopped at two if he had a boy earlier, but had to wait until the fifth to get one. His favourite food is Fufu (mashed yams or cassava), and says that his favourite place in Ghana is here in Tamale.
I ask him how he thinks the country is doing, and his biggest complaint is that people are just not working hard enough. He says there are people who just sit all day and play cards and do not even try to make a living. He says that he himself both works as a security guard, and sends money to him home to invest in farming. He grows his own yams, cassava and maize for his family to eat. I wonder if the people he is complaining about have the education or opportunity to work, and if they even own land, but I don’t think its worth asking him about those types or problems at this point. At the same time, he also feels that people are not helping out their families enough. He explains that when one person is well off, he should help out his brothers and sisters who are maybe not doing so well, and this is no longer happening. People should support their families, as he is doing (he is the only of nine siblings that is working) so that everyone in the country can live a decent life.
He also has complaints about the government and how it is run. He points to the gravel road that the Oxfam office is on, and asks me whether or not I have seen roads like this in Canada, and I reply that of course I have. He doesn’t seem to believe me that in a country like Canada there would be dirt roads, but I assure him it is so. But this is the Northern Region’s capital he exclaims, and here he has a point. I concede that in the major cities nearly all of the roads are paved, and he seems satisfied that his point has been made.
At some point an SUV drives up and someone comes up to the gate. The guard gestures at me, and I get up. I ask “Ma’am Yakubu?” and she replies “Yes!” She is a very friendly and warm woman (though I haven’t met many Ghanaians who aren’t) and seems almost grandmotherly. I introduce myself, and she smiles, shake my hand and says that another truck will be along in a few minutes to get me and take me out into the field. First day and I’m already headed out to a community! I am a little surprised, a little bit anxious, but definitely excited. I say goodbye and sit down with the guard again. We chat for a little while longer, and after a considerable wait, I finally get picked up. I hop into the back of the SUV, which is looking pretty new and is well air-conditioned. I’m a little surprised, and almost disappointed given what I had heard about A2N, but I greet Lawrence and Francis, who are sitting in the front, and we take off.
Soon we are off the main paved road of Tamale and driving on the red gravel road that begins. I look out the window at sparse vegetation, round mud huts with thatched roofs and a few concrete buildings here and there. Children wave from the side of the road as always, and I do my best to wave back as often as possible. Eventually, after a few turns on to progressively narrower roads, we arrive at the community. I step back into the heat and follow Francis and Lawrence to where Ma’am Yakubu and several others are sitting on benches. We do some quick introductions, and I learn that Francis and Lawrence and a couple others there are from the UNDP, hence the nice SUV.
People are speaking English for the most part, but I still have trouble understanding the accent at times. The community is apparently running a tree nursery for both profit as well as aforrestation purposes. They have been grafting different varieties of mangoes, some local and some from Burkina Faso, in order to create trees that produce large mangoes that are also drought resistant. I don’t completely understand what’s going on, but I try to absorb as much as possible. One of the men, Paul, is also talking about other problems that they have such as electricity and water problems, as well as the problem of their young girls leaving their community to move to Accra.
I of course have forgotten everyone’s names by the end of the discussion, but it was good to pick up on bits and pieces. It is these visits and conversations that I’m sure will best help me understand both A2N and the people’s perspective on the development that is happening, and where I might have any small impact on the ground while I am overseas.
On the way back I jump into an old green pickup with no air, and no seatbelts. The speedometer never wavers from 0 and it doesn’t look like the odometer has moved very recently either. This is more what I was expecting, and we bounce along back to a restaurant for lunch.
At lunch I eat with Ma’am Yakubu (who is now starting to refer to me as her son) and one of the girls from the UNDP. Although she looks young, she has been doing development work for quite a few years already, and is planning on staying in Ghana for at least another couple of years. We order, and I’m not sure exactly what I should have, and try to order the same thing as the girl before me. Ma’am Yakubu decides that I should get something different, so each person has a different dish, and orders Red-Red for me, which she explains is fried plantains with a bean sauce. Sounds good to me.
We chat idly for a while, and then the food finally arrives. Ma’am Yakubu has a sort of rice dish with a fish (yes, a fish, not pieces of fish, you just get an entire fish that’s been cooked with most of the meals here), the UNDP girl has TZ (another maize-based dish) with some sort of a sauce with a fish in it, and my Red-Red arrives – of course with a fish on the side. We dig in (eating with our hands as per usual) and I get to try some of everyone else’s food. The TZ is good, not sour like the Banku from Accra. It is rather plain, but is pretty decent with the sauce. The rice dish is also good, but not so different than rice/bean dishes I’ve had at home. My dish is good, and I am hungry. I realize that it’s the same as the plantains and sauce I had outside of the bank in Accra, and now I know the name.
About half way through I start slowing down, the plantains are really heavy and I’m starting to fill up. I’m also working my way through my fish, pulling the meat off the bones, although I’ve learned that eating the bones is no problem at all, and is actually a good way to get your calcium. At this point Ma’am Yakubu takes half of her fish and tosses it onto my plate, remarking that it’s a mother’s duty to make sure that her son doesn’t starve. I laugh, but wonder how I’m going to stuff it all in. Eventually (some time after everyone else), I finish triumphantly.
Ma’am Yakubu explains to me that we’ll be visiting a women’s center in the afternoon, and that I should wait for the green pickup to return, while she heads out with the UNDP folks. I wait in the heat with Francis and another guy from the UNDP office. They explain that they’re both on what is called “National Service”, which is a mandatory year of community/social work that every Ghanaian who completes Tertiary education must serve before moving on. We talk a little bit about school, and their plans for the future (Francis is hoping to do his master’s in international development) until the pickup arrives. The driver apologizes for being late, and we pack ourselves into the back and immediately roll down the windows.
We have barely gone a kilometer off of the paved roads of Tamale and we arrive at the center. The rest of the crew is already sitting inside, so we quietly find places in a circle of benches around which thirty or so women of all ages are sitting listening to Ma’am Yakubu. She is speaking in Dagbani, so I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Shortly after sitting down, us latecomers are introduced and I hear my name and ‘Engineers Without Borders’ amidst a bunch of Dagbani. One of the women responds in Dagbani, and Ma’am Yakubu explains to me that they are excited to have me and that they hope I will return every day. I say that I’m very happy to be there and appreciate their warm welcome. Ma’am Yakubu goes on the explain that the women produce a lot of shea butter in the center, as well as weaving and textiles work as well, some of which she passes around.
After a few more words of Dagbani, we head out back behind the center to see where the women process the shea butter. There are solar driers, a room full of shea nuts at various stages of processing, a small shelter that also holds a few gas heated cauldrons, and behind the shelter there are a few fire pits. One of the men explains to me that the ministry of energy brought in the gas cauldrons, but the fuel is too expensive for the women, so they have gone back to the traditional wood burning ways. This is the first (but I’m sure not the last) example I’ve seen of well-intentioned development money that has been spent on equipment that is no longer in use. It is a very real reminder of how easy it is to overlook something, or many things, when it comes to development work.
We wave goodbye, and start back towards the IPRP office to talk briefly about my work. I get introduced to everyone at the office, and get a quick review of what’s happening. Apparently the project that I was supposed to be focused on has been delayed due to a problem with the UN’s financial system and the release of the funds. The project should have already been underway, but instead will not start for at least another couple of weeks or longer. This means that for now I’m just to focus on learning about IPRP and A2N, and helping out wherever I can.
Ma’am Yakubu must head back to Accra in the morning with the UNDP people, so I’ll be left under the care of Mr. Tahidu, who I’ll be living with. She insists that I move out of the hotel immediately and move into his place, and keeps asking me why they’d keep in a place like the Maacos. She was even expecting me to call her when I landed in Accra to stay at her place while I was there instead of in the hotel with everyone else! I’m both excited about moving into a house, and a little bit nervous about breaking off from the rest of the group, but I’m glad that I have a place to stay, unlike some of the others who still have to look for host families.
At the Maacos we pick up my things, but I’ll be heading out later with everyone else to a goodbye party for Tom as he is soon heading out on his Niger River trip (see www….) so it’s not goodbye yet. As I pack everything up, Ma’am Yakubu goes to greet the rest of the EWBers, and I’m sure does a very good job of keeping them entertained and interested. I grab the last of my things, give Ian some money for our room and then haul everything to the car.
A short ride later through the streets of Tamale (which seem to twist every which way in order to completely disorientate me) we pull in behind a couple of storefronts. As I grab some of my stuff and get my first glimpse of my residence for the next couple of months. The house is set up almost like a motel, with two sides of the complex being walls, and the other two being rows of rooms with porches. These four walls enclose a courtyard with two large mango trees, a water tank, and what looks like a large wooden crate (which I later learn is also a big pit for holding water).
I’m shown the way into my room and I drop off my stuff in one of the corners. The room itself is about the size of a single dorm room, and has a desk, a double bed and a few other things. Not bad I’m thinking to myself, more space than the hotel room for sure. At this point Mr. Tahidu introduces me to his son, who has been helping carry things. “This is Mumin, your roommate!” he says. I piece things together and realize that I’ll be sharing a room and a bed with him for the next couple of months.
I head back outside and get some quick introductions to people in the house. There is Mr. Tahidu’s wife, his mother, and his mother’s sister, all living in the house. None of them speak English however, so I just smile and wave and talk with Ma’am Yakubu and Mr. Tahidu quickly, before Mumin and I decide to head off for a quick tour around the neighbourhood, which is called Lameshegu.
We get to know each other as we walk around, and I find out that he is also in University. He’s in his third and final year at Tamale Polytechnic taking statistics, and should be finished before the end of the summer. His family also has four boys, he’s second in line however, and has an older brother who is doing his national service, a brother in senior secondary school and a brother still in primary school as well. I talk a bit about my school and my family in Canada as well.
Eventually we reach a football (soccer for you folks at home) pitch, where a match is going on. I can see that everyone playing is really good, and being a complete non-footballer, I know that I’ve got a lot to learn. I tell Mumin as much and he says that we’ll have to get out training sometime soon. I’m hoping I’ll be a quick learner, as I’ve got a long ways to go before anyone will even think of letting me near a football.
After the quick tour of where the Internet café is, and where the taxis make it to, we head back home quickly to let Mr. Tahidu know that we’re heading back to the Maacos to meet up before Tom’s party. I thank Mr. Tahidu for the room and Mumin and I head out into the night.
... And there's another one on the way about general life in Ghana, I'm in the office this week so hopefully it'll be up before I head out into the field again.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Time for a quick update post!
I haven't let you in on any recent details at all, so I thought I'd do a quick summary, sorry for the teaser, its been awhile since I've had time to type anything up in the office.
Things have been going really well over the past few weeks, I've moved in with a family (my director's place actually) and they're amazing. Way too much to write about now, but its been the single most important thing that's happened so far. Breaking away from the rest of the group was a little frightening at first, but I can't imagine what it would be like trying to dive into the culture with even a couple other EWBers around all of the time. I'm defintely getting to be well known in the neighbourhood, and the half block walk to the internet cafe usually takes about 20 minutes! I also get to play football (soccer) with the local kids my age, which is great despite my complete ineptitude.
Work has been a little bit slow as the project I was supposed to be working on was delayed, but it starts this week which is really exciting! In the meantime I've been learning about what my NGO (Integrated Poverty Reduction Program or IPRP, I might also say Africa 2000 Network or A2N, they're kind of two NGOs that work as one) is doing in terms of projects and approach, and things look really good. When I have time I'll do a way more detailed overview of what my work involves (especially after my project starts!), but over the last little while I've been helping out with a project where women are being trained to make shea butter into international market quality soap, which has been interesting, although I don't exactly have much to offer in terms of expertise in that area!
I spent the last weekend in Mole National Park, which is the biggest National park in West Africa, and hung out with elephants, monkeys, and one of the JFs from the upper west region (Bryn Ferris) who I hadn't seen since pre-dep training, so that was great. I leave for 5 days of field traingin on Wednesday, and will be spending a week in a bit more of a rural town after that to improve my Dagbani and get out of the big city for a bit.
That's about all I can get in right now, but I'll try to write again soon!
I haven't let you in on any recent details at all, so I thought I'd do a quick summary, sorry for the teaser, its been awhile since I've had time to type anything up in the office.
Things have been going really well over the past few weeks, I've moved in with a family (my director's place actually) and they're amazing. Way too much to write about now, but its been the single most important thing that's happened so far. Breaking away from the rest of the group was a little frightening at first, but I can't imagine what it would be like trying to dive into the culture with even a couple other EWBers around all of the time. I'm defintely getting to be well known in the neighbourhood, and the half block walk to the internet cafe usually takes about 20 minutes! I also get to play football (soccer) with the local kids my age, which is great despite my complete ineptitude.
Work has been a little bit slow as the project I was supposed to be working on was delayed, but it starts this week which is really exciting! In the meantime I've been learning about what my NGO (Integrated Poverty Reduction Program or IPRP, I might also say Africa 2000 Network or A2N, they're kind of two NGOs that work as one) is doing in terms of projects and approach, and things look really good. When I have time I'll do a way more detailed overview of what my work involves (especially after my project starts!), but over the last little while I've been helping out with a project where women are being trained to make shea butter into international market quality soap, which has been interesting, although I don't exactly have much to offer in terms of expertise in that area!
I spent the last weekend in Mole National Park, which is the biggest National park in West Africa, and hung out with elephants, monkeys, and one of the JFs from the upper west region (Bryn Ferris) who I hadn't seen since pre-dep training, so that was great. I leave for 5 days of field traingin on Wednesday, and will be spending a week in a bit more of a rural town after that to improve my Dagbani and get out of the big city for a bit.
That's about all I can get in right now, but I'll try to write again soon!
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Sorry these are getting posted so late, I seem to be falling further behind instead of catching up! This post covers from where the last left off to my first day in Tamale! Hope you enjoy it!
Down the street from James’ house there is a swarm of young children in uniforms shouting and laughing; school must have just let out. James heads that direction and as we approach, the children start waving and shouting “howareyou” as usual. We reach them (or maybe more accurately they reach us) and all of a sudden there are little hands trying to touch my arms and shake my hand. The kids are extremely cute and I smile, laugh, and shake as many hands as I possibly can.
About half way to the end of the street, I get separated form the rest of the group, as I am last. Suddenly I’m surrounded by children and completely overwhelmed. What have I done to deserve this welcome? Why am I, as a white person, treated like this? White people colonized this country, took slaves away from the very fort I just came from, and now are not even contributing enough to undo the damages caused by past policy mistakes that were meant to pull Africa out of poverty. I myself have yet to do anything for the Ghanaian people, so it is not any of my personal accomplishments they are excited about. Where is the hero’s parade for people like James who has stayed in his country and continues to teach here, despite being educated and surely having the opportunity to live a much more comfortable life elsewhere.
Where has this image come from? Surely if a blue or green person showed up on the streets of Toronto tomorrow, children wouldn’t mob her looking to touch her skin and shake her hand. I wonder how the children of Jamestown would react to a blue woman walking down the street.
I am relieved when we finally turn off the street and woman chases the last few children away so I can finally breathe again. James fins us a tro-tro headed for Circle and we say our goodbyes. Parker told me before I left that he would be surprised if I could fall asleep on a tro-tro, but sleeping with my head against a pane of glass in the back of a can is not such an unfamiliar thing for me given the many cross-prairies trips of my childhood, and I do so promptly.
Back at the hotel we experience our first power outage in Accra. By the time we leave for dinner however, the power is back, so Luke suggests we head to a restaur0ant just on the other side of Circle. A few of us are up for it, and the rest grab snacks at a nearby store and then retire early.
The streets are not nearly as foreign or scary as the night before; I know that everyone out there is the same friendly person they are in the day - I just can’t really see them. We’re nearly there when the electricity fails again. Luke says that the restaurant will be dark, so we should probably just eat at a street vendor. Everyone else agrees and we stop at the next place that has a couple of large bowls containing something - it’s difficult to see in the dark exactly what - to eat. Rice balls and Banku are ordered and we congregate around a picnic table.
When eating Ghanaian food there seems to be a fairly simple rule of thumb. Take a chunk of whatever the starchy part of the meal is, roll it into a ball with your fingers and then dip it into the sauce you’ve been given. The rice balls are pretty good in my opinion, but Banku is definitely pretty different than what I’m used to. It is made of fermented maize (corn) that has been turned into a gelatinous sort of concoction that reminds me of homemade play-doh that has come out a little too watery. I eat a bit, but go back to the rice balls - I guess it’s a taste I will have to acquire.
We finish up and pay (6 of us ate for less that $1.40) and make the trek back to the hotel. The power returned during our meal, and just as the air conditioning is about to be witched on and as I am about to crawl into bed with the 3 guys I am sharing a room with, it dies again. Ah, the comforts of traveling in Africa.
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It’s Wednesday morning and we have tickets for the 8 o’clock bus to Tamale, the capital of the Northern Region. It is about 6:00am, and I am up to have a shower. The showerhead tickles cool water and feels great after the heat of the night. We pack up, say thank you to the people at the hotel and start hiking to the bus station.
We arrive early, weigh our bags, pay the luggage fees and find a place to wait. There is no shade in the yard and we sit on our bags, impatiently waiting for the bus to arrive. Luke goes to find breakfast and returns with a couple of bags of Koko, which looks like porridge. HE bits a corner off of the first bag and passes it to me. I suck out some of the liquid and swallow it down. It is very hot, and has the same sour taste as the Banku from the night before, but also has some sort of spice added to it. I’m not sure how much of it I can stomach, so I pass it on around the circle.
The bus finally arrives a little before 9 (apparently this is pretty common, and only an hour late is not so bad) and we begin to load up. A man helps me get my bags on board and then I show the driver my ticket. He tells me to wait, and after a few minutes he calls my seat number. I learn that I am one of the lucky ones and I have a middle seat. Similar to the tro-tros, there are seats that fold out to fill the middle aisle of the bus so that no space is wasted. I settle in and get ready for the 12-hour trip to Tamale.
I am exhausted and try to get some sleep, but my seat stops somewhere below my shoulders and my head bounces between the plastic handles that are on the seats beside me. It is going to be a long ride.
The landscape as we leave Accra is lush and green, with some fairly large hills in the distance. The driver is a little crazy and it is clearly his job to get us to Tamale as fast as possible. We pass cars whenever there is an opportunity, and sometimes when there isn’t (we ran an oncoming car off the road during one mistimed pass). The back of the bus is filled with our nervous laughter, but Luke does not seem to be phased one bit.
We slow down whenever we pass through a town and people come up beside the bus to sell things through the bus windows. This is often an interesting exchange to watch as people scramble to give change/pay as the bus starts to speed up. During one such episode, most of the bus started shouting quite loudly, and one of the ladies throws the bag of whatever she had received back out of the window. She must have not been able to pay in time.
After a roller coaster ride through the eventual dark and rain, we finally reach Tamale. It appears to be much quieter than Accra on the streets at least. We make our way to the Maacos hotel, our place of residence until we find families to live with. After grabbing some water and a Fanta from the Shell station, we all get some rest. Despite doing nothing but sit on a bus all day, sleep comes easily.
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The next day we spend getting used to life in Tamale. The goats and children from the school that is about 30 m from my room wake me up sometime mid-morning. That is one of the funny things about Ghana that is difficult to get used to. There are goats and sheep (not fluffy sheep though, they look rather like goats and it takes some time to be able to distinguish between the two) that wander freely everywhere you go. No matter where you are the sound of bleating can be heard. I finally haul myself out of bed and have my first real Ghanaian shower; a bucket of cold water and some soap. Surprisingly, I like it a lot. The cool(ish) water feels good after waking up hot and sticky, and I feel refreshed for about 10 minutes before I am stuck to my shirt once again.
The market in Tamale is crowded due to the almost non-existent space between opposing stalls. There is a lot to see, fabrics, fruits, vegetables, raw meat and sweets to name a few. The variety of colours and goods keep me captivated, even more so than the bright, flashy streets of Toronto. Bryn and I wander aimlessly looking lost and unsure. We stop a couple of places to ask about fabric for shirts or pants. I come to realize that I’m just not good at having conversations with people here. There is a bit of a language barrier but thee is something clearly wrong with the way I carry the conversation, and long pauses leave the air heavy and uncomfortable.
The experience is both frustrating and exhausting. Bryn and I head back to the hotel feeling completely incompetent at something that is so natural at home.
Down the street from James’ house there is a swarm of young children in uniforms shouting and laughing; school must have just let out. James heads that direction and as we approach, the children start waving and shouting “howareyou” as usual. We reach them (or maybe more accurately they reach us) and all of a sudden there are little hands trying to touch my arms and shake my hand. The kids are extremely cute and I smile, laugh, and shake as many hands as I possibly can.
About half way to the end of the street, I get separated form the rest of the group, as I am last. Suddenly I’m surrounded by children and completely overwhelmed. What have I done to deserve this welcome? Why am I, as a white person, treated like this? White people colonized this country, took slaves away from the very fort I just came from, and now are not even contributing enough to undo the damages caused by past policy mistakes that were meant to pull Africa out of poverty. I myself have yet to do anything for the Ghanaian people, so it is not any of my personal accomplishments they are excited about. Where is the hero’s parade for people like James who has stayed in his country and continues to teach here, despite being educated and surely having the opportunity to live a much more comfortable life elsewhere.
Where has this image come from? Surely if a blue or green person showed up on the streets of Toronto tomorrow, children wouldn’t mob her looking to touch her skin and shake her hand. I wonder how the children of Jamestown would react to a blue woman walking down the street.
I am relieved when we finally turn off the street and woman chases the last few children away so I can finally breathe again. James fins us a tro-tro headed for Circle and we say our goodbyes. Parker told me before I left that he would be surprised if I could fall asleep on a tro-tro, but sleeping with my head against a pane of glass in the back of a can is not such an unfamiliar thing for me given the many cross-prairies trips of my childhood, and I do so promptly.
Back at the hotel we experience our first power outage in Accra. By the time we leave for dinner however, the power is back, so Luke suggests we head to a restaur0ant just on the other side of Circle. A few of us are up for it, and the rest grab snacks at a nearby store and then retire early.
The streets are not nearly as foreign or scary as the night before; I know that everyone out there is the same friendly person they are in the day - I just can’t really see them. We’re nearly there when the electricity fails again. Luke says that the restaurant will be dark, so we should probably just eat at a street vendor. Everyone else agrees and we stop at the next place that has a couple of large bowls containing something - it’s difficult to see in the dark exactly what - to eat. Rice balls and Banku are ordered and we congregate around a picnic table.
When eating Ghanaian food there seems to be a fairly simple rule of thumb. Take a chunk of whatever the starchy part of the meal is, roll it into a ball with your fingers and then dip it into the sauce you’ve been given. The rice balls are pretty good in my opinion, but Banku is definitely pretty different than what I’m used to. It is made of fermented maize (corn) that has been turned into a gelatinous sort of concoction that reminds me of homemade play-doh that has come out a little too watery. I eat a bit, but go back to the rice balls - I guess it’s a taste I will have to acquire.
We finish up and pay (6 of us ate for less that $1.40) and make the trek back to the hotel. The power returned during our meal, and just as the air conditioning is about to be witched on and as I am about to crawl into bed with the 3 guys I am sharing a room with, it dies again. Ah, the comforts of traveling in Africa.
---------------------------------------------
It’s Wednesday morning and we have tickets for the 8 o’clock bus to Tamale, the capital of the Northern Region. It is about 6:00am, and I am up to have a shower. The showerhead tickles cool water and feels great after the heat of the night. We pack up, say thank you to the people at the hotel and start hiking to the bus station.
We arrive early, weigh our bags, pay the luggage fees and find a place to wait. There is no shade in the yard and we sit on our bags, impatiently waiting for the bus to arrive. Luke goes to find breakfast and returns with a couple of bags of Koko, which looks like porridge. HE bits a corner off of the first bag and passes it to me. I suck out some of the liquid and swallow it down. It is very hot, and has the same sour taste as the Banku from the night before, but also has some sort of spice added to it. I’m not sure how much of it I can stomach, so I pass it on around the circle.
The bus finally arrives a little before 9 (apparently this is pretty common, and only an hour late is not so bad) and we begin to load up. A man helps me get my bags on board and then I show the driver my ticket. He tells me to wait, and after a few minutes he calls my seat number. I learn that I am one of the lucky ones and I have a middle seat. Similar to the tro-tros, there are seats that fold out to fill the middle aisle of the bus so that no space is wasted. I settle in and get ready for the 12-hour trip to Tamale.
I am exhausted and try to get some sleep, but my seat stops somewhere below my shoulders and my head bounces between the plastic handles that are on the seats beside me. It is going to be a long ride.
The landscape as we leave Accra is lush and green, with some fairly large hills in the distance. The driver is a little crazy and it is clearly his job to get us to Tamale as fast as possible. We pass cars whenever there is an opportunity, and sometimes when there isn’t (we ran an oncoming car off the road during one mistimed pass). The back of the bus is filled with our nervous laughter, but Luke does not seem to be phased one bit.
We slow down whenever we pass through a town and people come up beside the bus to sell things through the bus windows. This is often an interesting exchange to watch as people scramble to give change/pay as the bus starts to speed up. During one such episode, most of the bus started shouting quite loudly, and one of the ladies throws the bag of whatever she had received back out of the window. She must have not been able to pay in time.
After a roller coaster ride through the eventual dark and rain, we finally reach Tamale. It appears to be much quieter than Accra on the streets at least. We make our way to the Maacos hotel, our place of residence until we find families to live with. After grabbing some water and a Fanta from the Shell station, we all get some rest. Despite doing nothing but sit on a bus all day, sleep comes easily.
--------------------------------------------------
The next day we spend getting used to life in Tamale. The goats and children from the school that is about 30 m from my room wake me up sometime mid-morning. That is one of the funny things about Ghana that is difficult to get used to. There are goats and sheep (not fluffy sheep though, they look rather like goats and it takes some time to be able to distinguish between the two) that wander freely everywhere you go. No matter where you are the sound of bleating can be heard. I finally haul myself out of bed and have my first real Ghanaian shower; a bucket of cold water and some soap. Surprisingly, I like it a lot. The cool(ish) water feels good after waking up hot and sticky, and I feel refreshed for about 10 minutes before I am stuck to my shirt once again.
The market in Tamale is crowded due to the almost non-existent space between opposing stalls. There is a lot to see, fabrics, fruits, vegetables, raw meat and sweets to name a few. The variety of colours and goods keep me captivated, even more so than the bright, flashy streets of Toronto. Bryn and I wander aimlessly looking lost and unsure. We stop a couple of places to ask about fabric for shirts or pants. I come to realize that I’m just not good at having conversations with people here. There is a bit of a language barrier but thee is something clearly wrong with the way I carry the conversation, and long pauses leave the air heavy and uncomfortable.
The experience is both frustrating and exhausting. Bryn and I head back to the hotel feeling completely incompetent at something that is so natural at home.
Alright, finally recovered my old posts, so get ready for a lot! Here's something I write a long long time ago, there should be a third full post and I'm working on a fourth at work that's almost done. This is basically picking up where I left off in the first post. Enjoy!
We finish up and start walking. As we head into the center of the tro-tro yard, people constantly call us and ask us where we are going. A few are excited when we say we are from Canada and talk so fast and with such an accent that I have no clue what they are saying. I feel the most uncomfortable here, as I don’t know how to react to the people. I was definitely relieved when we found our way out back onto the street.
We go for a walk, looking at vendors and also stopping at the bank. I make my first withdrawal, and the 800 000 cedis I take out feels like too much money to be carrying around, when in reality it is less than $100.
After wandering some more, we meet a man who says he has been to Ottawa when we mention we are Canadian. Apparently he is a member of the Pan-African orchestra and has traveled to a lot of places. He is extremely friendly and is elated when I tell him that I play a little jazz. He shakes my hand and we snap each others’ fingers as we release (Ghanaian style handshake) and he asks my name. I tell him, and he responds with Kwabena, which means ‘Tuesday born’. I am also Tuesday born and thus my Twi name is the same as his. This makes him even happier and he says he will call me Kwabi. There is another bought of laughter and he starts to talk enthusiastically about the music scene in Accra. He mentions where he is going tonight, but I tell him that I am leaving for Tamale the next day and must be heading home soon. He is a little disappointed, but still friendly as we split ways.
On the way back we stop for some melted ice cream type stuff that is great. The cold liquid is exactly what I needed in the hot, humid night. We return to the air conditioned hotel for the night, and I am exhausted, but it is tough to sleep. I’m just now finishing writing this at 2am, as I’m not sure if I could stay awake another moment.
May 9, 2006
I just woke up from my first night in Africa! Just met tom Owen who came up with the concept of the Niger river trip. Pretty cool to chat with all of these people I hear about back at home.
When I woke up the room was freezing! The AC was blasting all night and we can only turn it on or off. I flick it off and open the window. The humidity instantly brings the almost stale smell of the city into my room. Cars honk and people shout as taxis, motorbikes, and bicyclists whip around the corner in front of our hotel.
I’m feeling ready for the day; the outside world is now full of colour and vibrancy compared with the darkness of last night. I’m off to explore! More later.
We leave the hotel in search of breakfast and an internet café. We head one direction for awhile but find nothing suitable. It is not even 10 yet but the sun is high in the sky and very hot. Dust from the red soil is kicked up by traffic and the wind swirls it around us. The contrast between the red soil, blue sky and green grass defines the landscape. We head back towards Circle for some street vendor food. We find something called cake, which is a sweet corn bread that everyone enjoys. Luke says he shouldn’t have introduced us to cake so early; we should keep trying different Ghanaian foods.
The bank steps are hot, and feel like I am baking as others take out money. Luke buys some cooked plantains which we eat with a bean sauce. Another new food to add to the list!
After hitting up the internet café (which is nice and cold) we head towards the tro-tro yard to catch a ride to the market. Unfortunately its less like a real tro-tro and more like a bus, but its only a short ride.
The market is busy with food, things, and smiling faces. We get a lot of waves and “How are you?”s, and I’m slowly starting to pick up on the Twig retting “Ete sen?” to which I reply “Eh yeh!” I use it a couple of times myself when shy children manage a wave and I get a few responses.
We eventually make it to the other side of the market where we stop to buy some oranges. The lady selling them is very friendly and talk s a lot, throwing in jokes left, right and centre. Luke parries them easily, but I feel lost in the conversation and awkwardly laugh at what I think are the right times.
She peels the oranges for us, but eating Ghanaian oranges isn’t like eating the oranges we have in Canada. The flesh is fairly tough, so instead of eating the slices, you squeeze them and suck the juices out of them. Very tasty.
After some more wandering, we find a lady selling fried yams, which Luke promises will be good. They are a lot like French fries, but even thicker and starchier. We eat them standing in a small unoccupied spot in the market. A woman selling something calls us over. She finds us benches to sit on while we eat. This display of white privilege makes me a little uncomfortable, but we sit down anyways.
As we eat, a small (and incredibly cute) girl gets enough courage to come up to us. I say hello and ask her what her name is in Twi (“Ya fre we sen?”) and she whispers something inaudible. I try again but she is too shy to speak any louder. Samina waves at her, inadvertently making the “come here” gesture, and the girl takes a few steps forward. One of the women sitting at the counter makes to shoo the girl away, and we protest, but the girl hirries off anyways.
We finish eating, say thank you to the women (“Madasi”) and begin wandering again. We bump into people selling soy kabobs, which are good despite being a little tough.
Now for the top floor of the market, where clothes and fabric are being sold. We stop and see a finished pinkish traditional shirt that is priced at 60 000 cedis. Bryn tries to get her to bring it down, but doesn’t succeed so we continue on.
Even in the bad light the colour jump out at us as we walk. The sound of old sewing machines clicking endlessly fills the entire level. We wander for a bit, but can’t find anything better, so Bryn goes back for the first shirt. The lady still won’t budge on the price and brings out another shirt like it, but in blue, thinking that Bryn doesn’t like the colour of the pink one. Bryn gives in and buys the shirt, and goes to change into it.
Meanwhile, I chat with a couple of young girls with Luke. They are both 13 and in school, but are finished for the day, and are now selling rubber bags (small, black plastic bags). The first (I have no affinity for remembering Ghanaian names yet) says that she likes everything about school, but that math is better than English. She shows us a book she is reading for school.
Bryn returns triumphantly and gets giggles from the girls, but say that he is looking fine. After a moment’s though, I decided to buy the blue shirt. Bryn and I have already been mistaken for twins or brothers on a couple of occasions, so why not. After I change, we get lots of giggles from the girls, and a woman shouts “Obrunei, you are looking beautiful” from across the way.
Bryn and I are all smiles and as we leave, the girl gives me on of the bags that she was selling to put my other shirt in. I ask her how much, but she won’t let me pay for it. I say madasi and head back downstairs, as it’s time to meet the rest of the group.
On the way out we get a lot of enthusiastic greetings from people, but I wonder what the others think of us. Are we just trying to fit in without really understanding the Ghanaian culture, and who these people really are? 60 000 cedis is nothing for me, but for some, if not most here, it is a lot. Does it look like I am trying to buy my way into their culture? Does it look like I’m mocking them by thinking I am any closer to belonging by just purchasing a shirt? These thoughts make me a little uneasy, but most people seem to enjoy our attempt.
We leave the market, stopping briefly to look at some live snails and crabs that are on sale before looking for a tro-tro to take us to the coast. We cross the road on a crowded overpass, people lined on either side selling goods, and find the right tro-tro. We barely fit, but manage thanks to additional seats that fold out into the space between the seat benches and the right side of the van. Finally a real tro-tro!
We start out onto the busy street, but the ride is not as crazy as I was expecting. Don’t look for a seatbelt, and I you might not want to watch the traffic and the close calls that happen constantly, but I’m not being bounced out of my seat. The music is loud, but Luke tells me that we’re lucky – it’s usually blasting almost to the point of pain.
The tro-tro arrives at our spot in Jamestown near the coast, and we all pile out. A well dressed man offers to take us to the coast. We follow him through the street and people wave and smile at us as usual, while the children stop whatever they are doing (including bathing) to shout “howareyou!” over and over at us. We laugh and respond “I am fine. How are you?” Every place is made simply of brick or concrete, but the people outside of them seem to be happy. There are a lot of them though, and I wonder how so many people can live in such a small place. The six of us in my family sometimes have trouble enough and here, houses look to be about the size of our kitchen, with at least six sitting out side of each one.
The man who is leading us is (coincidentally) named James. He teaches senior school in the city, but lives in Jamestown. We turn a corner and get the first glimpse of the ocean. It is a much lighter blue than the ocean at home, and it stretches forever; there are no islands between us and the horizon. We pass a building that used to be a slave fort and is now used as a prison. Its walls are lined with barbed wire and broken glass. As we walk around it down towards the sand, we hear the sounds and shouts of people from inside the prison. A boy smiles and kicks a football to our right.
There is a dusty path amid the hundreds of long skinny wooden boats that litter the shore. Some people are working on repairing some of the larger ones, but most sit empty. Men are sitting around shacks that seem to be barely standing, and a couple of kids kick a football while goats and chickens run about.
Here I feel like I am taking a tour of these people’s poverty, fully guided and everything. I wonder how they cannot resent a group of Westerners being led around as if their lives and livelihoods are a spectacle to see. Instead they greet us, wave and are friendly. I still can’t help but feel like an intruder.
There are no boats in the water, and James explains that there is no fishing on Tuesdays because in Creationism the waters were created on Tuesday, so the people respect the waters on this day by not fishing. We walk out onto a long pier where people are repairing nets and kids are jumping into the ocean. They talk to us a little before launching themselves overboard again.
The ocean breeze is cool, and we enjoy it for awhile before making our way back up to the road. On our way up, I see a toddler following a man dragging a rusty saw nearly as big as he is. Again I feel like I’m sight-seeing poverty, and not just in a book or movie, but real life, with real people.
When we reach the road, Luke asks James if we can grab a drink somewhere. We find a spot and sit down in the shade, but the ocean breeze is gone and I can feel myself heating up quickly. The server brings us Fantas and Cokes and we sip them while Luke and James talk. The rest of us are exhausted and don’t say much. I think I may have dozed off for a moment or two.
We are finished and Luke asks directions to find a tro-tro to take us to Circle. He says that will be no problem, but first asks if we would like to go by his home and meet his wife and son. Of course we agree and start walking down the street.
People greet us from outside their homes, which line the street. I think to myself that this well dressed educated man cannot live in a place like this, and wonder when we will reach a nicer part of town. We make a few turns and to my surprise, we stop at one of the openings. James goes inside and we wit. There are many children and an old woman sitting outside and we try chatting with the old woman, but she is difficult to understand.
James comes out carrying his son, and his wife comes with him. He is all smiles, clearly proud to be able to show us his family. He puts the boy down and urges him to say hi. He manages a timid wave, and hangs around for a moment before disappearing back into the house. We all laugh and James tells us he will help find us a tro-tro. We wave our goodbyes to the people outside of the house and start down the street again.
We finish up and start walking. As we head into the center of the tro-tro yard, people constantly call us and ask us where we are going. A few are excited when we say we are from Canada and talk so fast and with such an accent that I have no clue what they are saying. I feel the most uncomfortable here, as I don’t know how to react to the people. I was definitely relieved when we found our way out back onto the street.
We go for a walk, looking at vendors and also stopping at the bank. I make my first withdrawal, and the 800 000 cedis I take out feels like too much money to be carrying around, when in reality it is less than $100.
After wandering some more, we meet a man who says he has been to Ottawa when we mention we are Canadian. Apparently he is a member of the Pan-African orchestra and has traveled to a lot of places. He is extremely friendly and is elated when I tell him that I play a little jazz. He shakes my hand and we snap each others’ fingers as we release (Ghanaian style handshake) and he asks my name. I tell him, and he responds with Kwabena, which means ‘Tuesday born’. I am also Tuesday born and thus my Twi name is the same as his. This makes him even happier and he says he will call me Kwabi. There is another bought of laughter and he starts to talk enthusiastically about the music scene in Accra. He mentions where he is going tonight, but I tell him that I am leaving for Tamale the next day and must be heading home soon. He is a little disappointed, but still friendly as we split ways.
On the way back we stop for some melted ice cream type stuff that is great. The cold liquid is exactly what I needed in the hot, humid night. We return to the air conditioned hotel for the night, and I am exhausted, but it is tough to sleep. I’m just now finishing writing this at 2am, as I’m not sure if I could stay awake another moment.
May 9, 2006
I just woke up from my first night in Africa! Just met tom Owen who came up with the concept of the Niger river trip. Pretty cool to chat with all of these people I hear about back at home.
When I woke up the room was freezing! The AC was blasting all night and we can only turn it on or off. I flick it off and open the window. The humidity instantly brings the almost stale smell of the city into my room. Cars honk and people shout as taxis, motorbikes, and bicyclists whip around the corner in front of our hotel.
I’m feeling ready for the day; the outside world is now full of colour and vibrancy compared with the darkness of last night. I’m off to explore! More later.
We leave the hotel in search of breakfast and an internet café. We head one direction for awhile but find nothing suitable. It is not even 10 yet but the sun is high in the sky and very hot. Dust from the red soil is kicked up by traffic and the wind swirls it around us. The contrast between the red soil, blue sky and green grass defines the landscape. We head back towards Circle for some street vendor food. We find something called cake, which is a sweet corn bread that everyone enjoys. Luke says he shouldn’t have introduced us to cake so early; we should keep trying different Ghanaian foods.
The bank steps are hot, and feel like I am baking as others take out money. Luke buys some cooked plantains which we eat with a bean sauce. Another new food to add to the list!
After hitting up the internet café (which is nice and cold) we head towards the tro-tro yard to catch a ride to the market. Unfortunately its less like a real tro-tro and more like a bus, but its only a short ride.
The market is busy with food, things, and smiling faces. We get a lot of waves and “How are you?”s, and I’m slowly starting to pick up on the Twig retting “Ete sen?” to which I reply “Eh yeh!” I use it a couple of times myself when shy children manage a wave and I get a few responses.
We eventually make it to the other side of the market where we stop to buy some oranges. The lady selling them is very friendly and talk s a lot, throwing in jokes left, right and centre. Luke parries them easily, but I feel lost in the conversation and awkwardly laugh at what I think are the right times.
She peels the oranges for us, but eating Ghanaian oranges isn’t like eating the oranges we have in Canada. The flesh is fairly tough, so instead of eating the slices, you squeeze them and suck the juices out of them. Very tasty.
After some more wandering, we find a lady selling fried yams, which Luke promises will be good. They are a lot like French fries, but even thicker and starchier. We eat them standing in a small unoccupied spot in the market. A woman selling something calls us over. She finds us benches to sit on while we eat. This display of white privilege makes me a little uncomfortable, but we sit down anyways.
As we eat, a small (and incredibly cute) girl gets enough courage to come up to us. I say hello and ask her what her name is in Twi (“Ya fre we sen?”) and she whispers something inaudible. I try again but she is too shy to speak any louder. Samina waves at her, inadvertently making the “come here” gesture, and the girl takes a few steps forward. One of the women sitting at the counter makes to shoo the girl away, and we protest, but the girl hirries off anyways.
We finish eating, say thank you to the women (“Madasi”) and begin wandering again. We bump into people selling soy kabobs, which are good despite being a little tough.
Now for the top floor of the market, where clothes and fabric are being sold. We stop and see a finished pinkish traditional shirt that is priced at 60 000 cedis. Bryn tries to get her to bring it down, but doesn’t succeed so we continue on.
Even in the bad light the colour jump out at us as we walk. The sound of old sewing machines clicking endlessly fills the entire level. We wander for a bit, but can’t find anything better, so Bryn goes back for the first shirt. The lady still won’t budge on the price and brings out another shirt like it, but in blue, thinking that Bryn doesn’t like the colour of the pink one. Bryn gives in and buys the shirt, and goes to change into it.
Meanwhile, I chat with a couple of young girls with Luke. They are both 13 and in school, but are finished for the day, and are now selling rubber bags (small, black plastic bags). The first (I have no affinity for remembering Ghanaian names yet) says that she likes everything about school, but that math is better than English. She shows us a book she is reading for school.
Bryn returns triumphantly and gets giggles from the girls, but say that he is looking fine. After a moment’s though, I decided to buy the blue shirt. Bryn and I have already been mistaken for twins or brothers on a couple of occasions, so why not. After I change, we get lots of giggles from the girls, and a woman shouts “Obrunei, you are looking beautiful” from across the way.
Bryn and I are all smiles and as we leave, the girl gives me on of the bags that she was selling to put my other shirt in. I ask her how much, but she won’t let me pay for it. I say madasi and head back downstairs, as it’s time to meet the rest of the group.
On the way out we get a lot of enthusiastic greetings from people, but I wonder what the others think of us. Are we just trying to fit in without really understanding the Ghanaian culture, and who these people really are? 60 000 cedis is nothing for me, but for some, if not most here, it is a lot. Does it look like I am trying to buy my way into their culture? Does it look like I’m mocking them by thinking I am any closer to belonging by just purchasing a shirt? These thoughts make me a little uneasy, but most people seem to enjoy our attempt.
We leave the market, stopping briefly to look at some live snails and crabs that are on sale before looking for a tro-tro to take us to the coast. We cross the road on a crowded overpass, people lined on either side selling goods, and find the right tro-tro. We barely fit, but manage thanks to additional seats that fold out into the space between the seat benches and the right side of the van. Finally a real tro-tro!
We start out onto the busy street, but the ride is not as crazy as I was expecting. Don’t look for a seatbelt, and I you might not want to watch the traffic and the close calls that happen constantly, but I’m not being bounced out of my seat. The music is loud, but Luke tells me that we’re lucky – it’s usually blasting almost to the point of pain.
The tro-tro arrives at our spot in Jamestown near the coast, and we all pile out. A well dressed man offers to take us to the coast. We follow him through the street and people wave and smile at us as usual, while the children stop whatever they are doing (including bathing) to shout “howareyou!” over and over at us. We laugh and respond “I am fine. How are you?” Every place is made simply of brick or concrete, but the people outside of them seem to be happy. There are a lot of them though, and I wonder how so many people can live in such a small place. The six of us in my family sometimes have trouble enough and here, houses look to be about the size of our kitchen, with at least six sitting out side of each one.
The man who is leading us is (coincidentally) named James. He teaches senior school in the city, but lives in Jamestown. We turn a corner and get the first glimpse of the ocean. It is a much lighter blue than the ocean at home, and it stretches forever; there are no islands between us and the horizon. We pass a building that used to be a slave fort and is now used as a prison. Its walls are lined with barbed wire and broken glass. As we walk around it down towards the sand, we hear the sounds and shouts of people from inside the prison. A boy smiles and kicks a football to our right.
There is a dusty path amid the hundreds of long skinny wooden boats that litter the shore. Some people are working on repairing some of the larger ones, but most sit empty. Men are sitting around shacks that seem to be barely standing, and a couple of kids kick a football while goats and chickens run about.
Here I feel like I am taking a tour of these people’s poverty, fully guided and everything. I wonder how they cannot resent a group of Westerners being led around as if their lives and livelihoods are a spectacle to see. Instead they greet us, wave and are friendly. I still can’t help but feel like an intruder.
There are no boats in the water, and James explains that there is no fishing on Tuesdays because in Creationism the waters were created on Tuesday, so the people respect the waters on this day by not fishing. We walk out onto a long pier where people are repairing nets and kids are jumping into the ocean. They talk to us a little before launching themselves overboard again.
The ocean breeze is cool, and we enjoy it for awhile before making our way back up to the road. On our way up, I see a toddler following a man dragging a rusty saw nearly as big as he is. Again I feel like I’m sight-seeing poverty, and not just in a book or movie, but real life, with real people.
When we reach the road, Luke asks James if we can grab a drink somewhere. We find a spot and sit down in the shade, but the ocean breeze is gone and I can feel myself heating up quickly. The server brings us Fantas and Cokes and we sip them while Luke and James talk. The rest of us are exhausted and don’t say much. I think I may have dozed off for a moment or two.
We are finished and Luke asks directions to find a tro-tro to take us to Circle. He says that will be no problem, but first asks if we would like to go by his home and meet his wife and son. Of course we agree and start walking down the street.
People greet us from outside their homes, which line the street. I think to myself that this well dressed educated man cannot live in a place like this, and wonder when we will reach a nicer part of town. We make a few turns and to my surprise, we stop at one of the openings. James goes inside and we wit. There are many children and an old woman sitting outside and we try chatting with the old woman, but she is difficult to understand.
James comes out carrying his son, and his wife comes with him. He is all smiles, clearly proud to be able to show us his family. He puts the boy down and urges him to say hi. He manages a timid wave, and hangs around for a moment before disappearing back into the house. We all laugh and James tells us he will help find us a tro-tro. We wave our goodbyes to the people outside of the house and start down the street again.
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