I can only imagine what being a Ghanaian woman is like… because it’s hard enough being a white woman in Ghana…

As I was trying (trying being the operative word here), to fetch water (as it seems that most of the water ends up on me rather than staying in the bucket), I was called over to hold a new baby. (I think that the villagers think I’m a good luck charm… as they hand me children to hold they always say “you will take it with you to America and make it very rich”). After a few minutes of me holding the baby, the father (or I’m assuming he was as he was the one who handed me the baby) of the child looks at me and then says, “We should start, right now.” I looked at him in total confusion… “Start what?” I said. “Having babies,” he responded calmly.

I about blew up… I quickly handed the baby back, and looked at them man (who I’m sure I’ve met before but I couldn’t tell you his name) and told him I wasn’t in Africa to have children, his or anyone else’s and walked off.

From my personal observations it seems to me that the women do practically everything in Ghana… from raising the children, to cooking the food, washing the clothing, tending to the farm, and working whatever odd jobs that they may do (running a little store, selling veggies at the market, being a tailor, or a hairdresser, selling prepared food on the road side). The men have little to do with the children. They may hold the baby from time to time and scold it if it doesn’t bring it something but primarily the child rearing is up the mother.

I was talking to a seamstress friend they other day, and she was telling me that she will be getting a new intern working for her to learn how to sew, but she turned to look at me and said “but now I must find her a place to live near my shop, because her husband wants her to only go to and from work and not associate with other people. Her husband is afraid that another man will try to take her away from him.”

The men are in complete control of everything… EVERYTHING!

Out of the two schools that I teach at there is only ONE-woman teacher. I’m so proud of her… but when I go to the school, she is still serving the men their food, and catering to their needs. But she asked me the other day how to find a ‘white husband’… And as I started to inquire about her life I found out that she is married to a police officer in Hohoe, and she has a son who is about 1 years old… but she is trying to divorce her husband (yes divorce is still possible in this male dominating country) because he physically abuses her. She then continued to tell me how she went to tell her husband’s boss and report the abuse. The chief of police looked at her and said that he wouldn't write a report because it would look bad on the husbands’ behalf. So she will just have to deal with it.

Deal with it… most women here just have to deal with it… deal with the abuse, being a baby machine, being totally submissive to the husband, dealing with the lack of respect.

This is a male dominating country and women are still required to do what their husbands say.

It’s not to say that women aren’t making headway… In Accra and other larger cities the women are starting to get more office positions and women are starting to attend college. I occasionally see women behind the wheel of a car… but from where I stand in my little rural village it is every so much a male dominated world.

Questions that I’m commonly asked or have been asked in Ghana

Q: So I was told that when taking a plane one must take some special medicine so they don’t have to go to the bathroom while traveling… is that true?” (well it would have been great to do along with this idea… but I decided to tell the truth, there are lavatories on planes where one can ease him or herself)

Q: “How does one pound his/(her) Fufu in America… with a machine?” (haha… we don’t even eat Fufu in America)

Q: “Is it allowed for a man to have more than one wife in America?” (only if you’re Mormon)

Q: “What is the age that it is looked down upon when one is not married by?” (Good Question, hope it’s not 24.)

Q: “Is it true that America is completely flat?” (haha, haha, I’m still laughing)

Q: “When the chief dies in your village in America where do they bury him? Is there a special place for all the chiefs?” (Oh Boy…)

Q: “Do you know how to drive a car… can you drive a vehicle?” (It never really occurred to me that I hardly EVER see a woman driving in Ghana. And unlike most western countries people in Ghana learn to drive as a profession rather than as a source of independence.)

Q: “Do you know how to weed… do you weed with a cutlass in America?” (A cutlass is the main farming tool in Ghana… for weeding, digging up soil, getting fruit from the tree, you name it, you probably will use a cutlass for it.)

Everyday I’m asked 1,001 questions… or so it seems. Generally once a question is asked it opens the floodgates to the rest. So today when my land lady asked me if the change of seasons was the same in America as it was in Ghana I had to shake my head and say no… that rather as Ghana is heating up, most of the US is cooling off (not really including Florida, Hawaii, Arizona and SoCal in the mix of things). I tried to explain that there is snow on the ground and everyone is bunkering down for winter… I don’t think they fully grasped they idea.

But with a card I received in one of my packages (thanks Scott Doherty) I was able to show what Glenwood Springs looks like with a clean, white blanket of snow. The crowed quickly gathered around in amazement… “ahhh snoooooo, that is snooooooo on the ground.” (coming from a crowd of people who only know heat) As the card got passed around the 10 or so Ghanaians that were gathered the first question was asked…

“So Sister Abra, how do people stay warm then with the snow? I mean what do the poor people do when it gets cold?”

(Hummmmm… welll) I had to think about this for a minute, but these are questions that never really have crossed my mind (luckily I’ve always had a roof over my head a warm place to sleep)… almost all houses have either a central heating system, and or a fire place (gas, electric, or wood burning). Now I could very well be wrong here, but it’s almost one of the building codes, just as houses have to have stairs built by certain measurement, houses must have a way to heat its self. And that’s not to disregard the fact that houses are built with insulation too. Then to talk about the poor… if one is homeless then there are many shelters that open their doors to the poor during the winter providing food and a warm place to sleep… I knew I was in over my head trying to explain this to a group of undereducated Ghanaians… “a house for people to sleep that don’t have money?” but it was fun trying. Then the next question arose…

“Ok so then during the winter what do people do? It must be so cold that you can NEVER leave your house. Do you stay inside for the whole winter?

(These questions always make me laugh) At this point in the conversation I threw out my Ghanaian English and said, “I am coming” (meaning I’ll be right back) and went to grab my computer. (I was reluctant to bring my computer out, but I realized that pictures are the best way to describe skiing!) So with my computer in hand I started to show the crowd pictures of snow falling form the sky and skiing and some of the various winter activities that I have photographically documented. Trying to help these Ghanaians grasp that winter is my favorite time of year. Then one of the onlookers looks at me and asks…

“So then Sister Abra, how do the trees cope with the cold?

(I was about to roll over laughing at this point… found a true tree hugger in the group) Well I then tried to explain that where I live we have a different variety of trees… there aren’t coconut, palm nut, orange, mango, baobab, moringa, papaya, avocado, teek, coco, and many other varieties that they grow here in Ghana. We have needle trees, and deciduous trees, and that during the winter Mother Nature puts her plants to sleep. They found this fascinating. I found it fascinating trying to explain this to them.
As I was about to end the picture show the crowd asked to see one more… saying…

“Sister Abra, you were supposed to show your parents first… so please show us a photo of you parents.”

(Sorry mom and dad, love you and all, but you weren’t the first thing to cross my mind when showing a group of Ghanaians pictures of America) The first picture I found was a family shot taken at my cousin’s wedding last October (when I had short, short hair). The whole crowd (maybe 15 at this point) all gushed “oh Sister Abra your mother and father and your sisters, an American Family!” Then another on looker said “In Ghana when a man is bald that means he is a rich man.” (Props to you dad, and your baldhead!)

For the first time in my life I found that I was praying that there was a ‘porcelain god’ rather than praying to the ‘porcelain god.’ It’s been a rough week and latrines just sucks in a time like this… that’s all I’m going to say about that.

Life in Ghana continues… the seasons are finally changing. And everyone is saying “it will be just like America”… (sure… with plentiful amounts of snow, temperatures below freezing and big mountains that I can ski… sure Ghana is just like America) Rather Ghana is coming upon the ‘hot/dry season’ upon hamatan (so maybe like Western Colorado and Utah in the summer). The winds from the Sahara Desert are starting to blow the sand down south; the lush green jungle area that I once inhabited is now turning brown and dry. The dust from the roads is out of control. And the ‘amazing’ drivers throughout Ghana don’t understand the ‘drive slowly through residential areas when on a dirt road’ rule. Rather its see a village and let’s see how fast one can go… pleasant to breath in.

Time is, I would have to say going by rather fast (as in it’s almost the end of 2010). I have past my 6th month marker of being ‘in country’ and now I’m approaching the 4th month marker of being ‘at site.’ (6 down and still a long way to go…oh boy)

I’m still a topic of great discussion through out my village… “What is Sister Abra doing?” “Where is Sister Abra going?” “How is Sister Abra doing it?” Whatever I happen to be doing… carrying water, washing my clothing, weeding my garden, preparing dinner, bathing (yes people still like to watch me bath even though they can only see from my shoulders up), walking, reading, running or riding my bicycle. I am quite the spectacle (Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to the Molly Rumery exhibit… come and watch her live.)

And the living continues!

Things I found while clearing out my garden…

1.Sandals (in all different shapes and sizes)
2.Clothing (shirts, pants, skirts, dresses, undergarments, you name it I found it)
3.String
4.Belts
5.Cans
6.Packaging of the Sorts
7.Plastic Bags
8.Teeth (yes I found a row of someone’s teeth, and I’m waiting in anticipation to find the body someday while I’m working)
9.Old cutlasses
10.Rubber boots
11.Old Cartons of Cigarettes
12.Nails
13.Glass (bottles, jars, mirrors)
14.Lids (for everything)
15.CD Cases (no CD though)
16.Rims for Tires
17.Old Tires
18.Glasses (someone probably can’t see to well now)
19.Hair Attachments (to many in fact)
20.Old Roles of Film (the negatives)

I’m guessing that my garden was a previous spot for someone to dump his or her trash… (oh wait most of Ghana is a place where people dump their trash… keeping their country clean isn’t too high in their priorities.)

Accra (the capital of Ghana)… is like a run down American City, with poor city planning, smelling sewers, and people hustling on the streets… but after living in the ‘bush’ for 3 months Accra is like entering back in to the US… there is a mall with a movie theater, a Nike and Puma store, a food court and a legit grocery store, people are driving extremely nice cars, and there are large variety of restaurants (rather than just eating Ghanaian chop) and bars.

Peace Corps hooked us volunteers up with a place to stay… staying with US Embassy workers in an air-conditioned house, having HOT, pressurized showers, with western foods (real milk, ice cream, pizza and Tostitos corn chips)... so we could par-take in eating a Thanksgiving meal with the US Ambassadors.

180 volunteers, 14 turkeys, 40 something pies, and 1 pool party later we were over stuffed and extremely satisfied and thankful with having had a ‘real American Meal.’

Happy Thanksgiving!

walking up to the Roman Catholic Junior High School

Teaching is a struggle… as this isn’t my primary project and I wasn’t so called “trained” in how the Ghanaian school system works. So every day is a learning experience.

ringing the bell to change classes

Both schools have me now teaching ICT (Information, Communication and Technology). Well more teaching the theories behind ICT as most rural schools aren’t equipped with any form of technology… let alone books that the students can learn from. So on my biweekly visits to the two schools I try to explain what a computer is, the various pars of a computer, how to type… where fingers should be placed if they wish to type correctly… and how to operate a mouse. The theories behind the internet, and the cyber world (extremely challenging as these kids don’t have any imagination, and telling them to imagine another so called ‘world’ well?). As well as all the various types of storage devices for computers, what printers do, and the difference between RAM and ROM (things that I never took interest in learning until now.)

the students desks

But I’m struggling with how to motivate students… yes ICT is required for students to pass to go onto the next grade, but school isn’t taken seriously. All my fellow teachers keep telling me that if they don’t cane (whip) the students then they wouldn’t learn anything and they keep insisting that I should cane the students if they act up or don’t do the homework that I assign to them… first off I’m not allowed as a Peace Corps Volunteer to cane students, and second I don’t believe in caning students as a form of punishment I more believe in praising the students when they have done something good and ignoring the bad, rewarding them, and give them an incentive to learn and want to be in school… or at least in my class.

the teacher's desk

Although I still find it a struggle because the only things that tells the students if they can go onto the next grade is if they pass their final exams. And I know that that if there is no motivation behind learning then why not just cram for the exam to go onto the next grade?

a lone man's village on the mountain side

Looking down on my village

(to get this picture I had to cross the river and start hiking up the hill in my village... the next day I got explicit instructions from my chief that I'm NOT allowed to cross the river by myself... it is spirited and I will die... right?)

Thoughts…

1. Cheap and efficient way to build a fence… enlist in some school children for some child, slave labor. Send them into the bush to fetch some bamboo. Have them cut it and construct a fence for you… all the while you sit and watch them (maybe drinking mojitos… if only there was mint here.) But no, as much as I insisted that I want to cut the bamboo and help hammer it together to build a fence for my garden they whole community insisted that I send the school boys to fetch the bamboo and have them build a fence for me… and it’s built.

2. “I heart my bong”… whatever isn’t sold at second hand stores in the US and Europe and through various clothing drives, our ‘trashy clothing’ is sent to Africa to be sold at markets… so many people here run around wearing things that they don’t know the meaning to… boys wearing girls pants or a feminine cut tank top. So it was pretty comical trying to explain to my “small boy” what the meaning of his shirt was (and yes it really said “I heart my bong”, only there was a picture of a heart and a bong).

3. It was pure chore and almost punishment to do dishes growing up… but here I can be attempting to wash my dishes and my “small boy” will come running over saying “madam, madam let me to do the washing for you.”

4. Oh Africa!

I am now the proud owner of a bike, a cutlass and I’ve been given a piece of land for a small garden. Free at last (not really, it’s just that I don’t have to depend on the tro’s to get around, I can start my garden and hopefully grow some different food, hopefully)!

My village thinks it’s hilarious that I bought a cutlass and that I’m ‘trying’ to use it. But as the saying goes “When in Rome, do as the Romans” so if the Ghanaians use a cutlass to farm then why can’t I? I started hacking away the weeds in my garden, only to walk away with a ton of new blisters on my hands (goes to show that I haven’t been farming much). It’s going to be a gradual process… clearing the weeds, cutting the bamboo for the fence and then building it. Waiting for the rainy season to end so I can start planting, and then hoping that EVERYTHING grows.

Bicycle!!! Yay!! So if my village thought me trying to use a cutlass was funny, then when they heard that I was riding my bike about 11 miles to visit another Peace Corps Volunteer they about died of laughter. A) I guess me (a white girl) riding a bike is crazy, B) Riding to another town is even crazier (if only they understood that I rode my bike across Colorado last summer, and that where I come from we ride long distance for sport… doing anything athletic, other than playing soccer, is unheard of though), and C: well, what can I say?

It all started with three letters… I didn’t even know that Kute had a Post Office? But nonetheless, I was handed three letters from my counter part one Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago. The letters were all asking me if I would teach in their schools. Teach to the JHS (Junior High School) students. One school was asking about having me teach integrated science and another was asking about teaching ICT (Information, Communication and Technology)… Yay?! The third… I don’t remember.

I went to visit two of the schools, introduce myself to the Headmaster, the staff and the students. It was all arranged: Mondays and Fridays teaching ICT at the public JHS in Kute and on Wednesday and Thursdays teaching integrated science at the Roman Catholic JHS in Kute (back to Catholic School… reminding me of kindergarten).

I arrived that Thursday to the Roman Catholic School ready to teach science… well sort of. I asked if they (the students) had books… NO. I asked if they had a teacher’s book for me at least… only for the form two class (7^th grade equivalent) and not one for the form three (8^th grade equivalent). Ok, well who, what, where, when, why and how and I’m suppose to teach these kids? (science, not my best subject in school, and I haven’t been in a science class in well, since my high school days… 6-10 years ago) So I went to the class and tried to teach, but the first topic for the form two was elements, protons, neutrons, ions, charges… there wasn’t even a picture of the periodic table… (And lets be honest I remember all this. I know that there are two parts hydrogen to one part oxygen and that the symbol for gold is Au, and I have a general concept of all of this, but can I really explain this topic to kids that speak English as a second language, that don’t have school books and the resources to go look things up, or people to ask further questions to?)

The following Monday I arrived at the Public JHS in Kute, I was luckily handed a teacher’s book for form 1, 2, and 3 but as I started to flip through the books I realized that they want me to teach all about the computer… word processing, the internet, other forms of technology. (I can teach most of this, I mean I’m not the best on computers, but I know enough about Word, I can navigate the internet pretty well, and well yes I have an iPod, digital camera and I’m somewhat comfortable in the technology department)… The head master looked at me and then asked if I would then be holding classes in my house (A: my ‘room’ isn’t big enough to hold 20 to 30 students, and B: I’m not using my computer to teach and C: well this is interesting?) Most of these students have never seen a computer, don’t even know what the Internet is, but yet Ghana just passed a law that ALL students must learn ICT and pass it to move onto the next subject… so what are smaller, rural villages going to do when they don’t have the resources to teach these kids.

How can this be when both schools that I’m teaching at don’t have computers, let alone electricity? I can draw a picture of a computer on the chalkboard, but when it comes to the part of teaching how to type in Word or navigate the Internet well I can’t teach that without an actual computer. I can’t ask these students to take the Tro to Hohoe and pay to use the Internet at an Internet café.

It goes to show that education for the most part is put second. Families from the most rural villages don’t think that it’s necessary for their kids to go to school. Some teachers don’t care about their jobs and if they are in no mood to teach… well they don’t. It also frustrating because there is only one class for each grade level (luckily there are two schools in my village). But both of my form two classes have about 40 to 50 students (depending on the day). They are cramming three into a desk. Comfortable? Optimal for learning? I think not.

Every Tuesday Kute becomes ‘alive’ so to say. The stalls are filled, the piles are stacked, and the venders are out. People come in from all over (Togo included) to sell their itemor items. Laying out a tarp on the ground and grouping the items in groups of 4 to 5 to sell. Stacking everything like it is their prized possession in hopes of selling it all. Children, women, and men are all walking around with various trays on top of their heads, selling anything from grilled meat, pure water, beads, to various insecticides, hard boiled eggs, pots and pans, and dried fish (so discussing). The colors are out, the smells are filling the air, and the vehicles are becoming too overloaded that I fear for the day when they are too top heavy. Different chop (Ghana’s version of fast food) bars are open selling, fried rice, groundnut soup with fufu, or banku, various stews and other typical Ghanaian foods. Women are frying anything that can be fried and the market day starts.

small boy carrying plantain

Maiz

I make my way from lady to lady greeting them along the way, practicing my Ewe, using a bit of French, but mostly English. They all ask what I’m looking for, and try to point me in the right direction… but mostly I’m trying to absorb the colors, the smells, the action of a market day in Ghana. I’m still so fascinated by it all.

dried fish... yummm

I usually start with buying pineapple, as they are the heaviest and should be the first to go into the bag. On my first market day I tried to buy just one pineapple… but you can’t do just that at my market… so 4 pineapples for one Ghana Cedi (about 80 cents) went into the bag… what’s the saying, “a pineapple a day, keeps the doctors away?” I sure hope so. I made my way to the cabbage lady (more like ladies as they all try to show me that they have the best cabbage for me…. I never know who to buy form). And so it goes on… buying some spiced grilled tofu, or maybe a fried donut ball and some pure water (water being sold in a bag) and continuing to shop around.

Sea Salt

In Ghana you can’t smell anything (its considered bad juju)… so trying to buy a ripe pineapple, or deciphering between the spices is rather challenging… most of the market ladies don’t know the English word for the spices sold in Ghana, and many of the “so called spices” are ground up fish powder… yuck!

Gari (made from Cassava)

Living in a developing country is like taking a step back in time… rather living in Kute is like taking a step back in time. There is no running water… no flushing toilets, no sinks, and no showers. Everyone uses fire to cook. I do believe that I’m the only one in Kute to have a propane tank (and I still think that cooking with no running water is a hassle, imagine if I had to cook over a fire… I would starve.) Everything is washed by hand… clothing included (they always laugh at me when I ‘try’ to hand wash my clothing and then they ask how we wash in America… With a machine!) No one own cars, and the only way to get out of my village is either by foot, bicycle, or the random cars that are periodically waiting at my small lorry station. There is still barley no cell phone reception in my town (that is at least for Ghana, lately I’ve been getting better Togo reception). I usually have to hike out of my village to call home, or wait till I’m in a larger city. Everything is spread by word of mouth… (Almost scary how fast word travels… especially about the ‘white girl’ in town.) Everything is done by hand, well most everything. Life is rather simple.

So the other day when I had this grand idea to try and make corn chips, I went to the market to ask where I could buy maize. The lady stands up and motions for me to follow her. She leads me to what I’m guessing was her house and starts shelling out some corn kernels (not like pop corn kernels, but rather corn kernels that are shucked from the cob and then laid out to dry and eventually ground into corn flour) into a bag. It was almost exhilarating knowing that the maize this kind lady was giving me was from her farm, that her family harvested, and then dried and that they would eventually take to the mill to get ground for making banku (another typical Ghanaian food substance). I walked away with more corn than I knew what to do with and went to the mill.

The mill… a steal machine probably out of the early 1900’s located in a rusted out shack with a few boards and tin roof holding the building together. The grinder was run on gas (diesel I’m guessing) and was operated by a loan man, sitting next to the grinder feeding the grain in to the mill to be ground up. There was a small line as I guessing that people from the bush (they were calling me yevo, and everyone in my village now calls me Sister Abra) were there to get their maize ground as well. I waited my turn, watching as these small Ghanaian children had their maize ground for their families, loading the fine flour into large basins that they then carry away on their head.

While sitting there I had this thought that I’m eating more pure than I’ve ever eaten in my entire life, and yes I was raised eating mostly what came from our farm, but at the same time still not knowing 100% where all my food was coming from. It’s not like my family was growing the wheat flour that my mom used to make her bread, or the beans that my family ate on a semi regular basis. But still we knew where our veggie, eggs, and milk were coming from. We always made our own bread, granola, and often my dad would make his own cheese. But here in Ghana I’ve been to the rice fields. I pass the maize, cassava, ginger, tomatoes, peppers and onion plants when I go running. The chickens run wild. I see the ‘small boys’ killing rats, bats and grass cutter for protein for the stews. I’ve watched the butchering of goats and chickens. Everywhere I go someone points out mango, avocado, cashew nut, and papaya trees. Plantain and banana trees are mixed in with every crop. Sea salt is harvested fresh from the ocean. And they make their own palm nut oil (and boy do they like their oil.)

It’s almost as if living in Ghana I’m partaking in the 100 mile diet. It could be called the ‘Local Ghanaian Diet’ even though mostly what I cook for myself has a ‘Molly twist’ to it. But the rice, maize, beans all the veggies, and fruit are from Ghana. The peanut butter and coconut oil, salt, and chili powder all Ghanaian. I’m living simply Ghanaian… or so to say.

The war… correction, wars are on… Molly vs. the termites and Molly vs. the ants. So far the termites and ants are both winning. Stay tuned for further details.

First day in my ‘home’ I noticed the termites. I asked my ‘small boy’ where I could get some insecticide, and he came back with this white powder stuff. I sprinkled it around the edge of my room and a few days later I started to sweep up some dead termites. But that’s not to say that I don’t notice a small pile of powdered wood on my floor in the mornings and I haven’t seen the crazy designs that they are leaving in my furniture. Then one night as I was writing a blog posting, sitting on my new chair thing I got this feeling that things were crawling all over me. I started wiping my back only to be killing these small, baby insects. Then I noticed this small hole in which they were coming from, crossing the wall to land on my chair thing and then crawl on to me. I decided to investigate. Pulling out my tools… rather my head lamp… I saw that they were baby termites. And I stated to smash them with my finger (I know you’re probably thinking disgusting, but that’s what I was doing as they crawled all over my body). I sprinkled some more insecticide down and I’m hoping that this mass-murdering thing starts to work… PLEASE…

The ‘War on Ants’, well no matter what I do they are there… in my beans, in my veggies. On my wall, in my Tupperware, in my double-bagged items… they are EVERY WHERE. I re-bag, I clean my counters and walls with bleach, I sprinkle insecticide on the perimeters of my room and on my shelves… I also kill them with my thumb, and yet they still come back and they are thriving on whatever they are getting a hold of in my kitchen. ARGGGGGG!

Traditional Kente Cloth

Wli Waterfall, Volta Region, Ghana

Ghanian Sunset

In the course of getting to know my new town I’ve been trying to find a good seamstress… I’ve taken a liking to one as she speaks pretty good English and has been helping me with my Ewe… so I took a dress I had made in hopes that she could turn it into a skirt. She took my measurements; I handed over the dress and was on my way. A few days later I went by to see if it was finished and she pulls me aside and then begins to tell me that 18” (falling just above my knees) is WAY to short so she opted to make my skirt 20” in length…

Its true, in all the reading I did before I left for Ghana I found that legs (more or less to the knee) is to be covered, where as the breasts hang out like yard sale items, waving in the wind but better keep the legs hidden… top secret.

I still don’t understand the dress code in Ghana… Sometimes women are wearing very typical Ghanaian clothing; a frilly shirt of some African print, with puffed sleeves, a zipper up the back and a full length skirt of matching material with another two yards of the same cloth wrapped around the waist (I don’t know how they aren’t dying of heat exhaustion). Other times they are dressing western, wearing jeans and tank tops. “But the men, now that is a course of a different color. They dress up in every different way in the world: some have long shirts made from the same African cloth that is attired by the women. Or they’ll wear a bolt of it draped over one shoulder in the style of Hercules. Other wear American-style buttoned shirts and shorts in drab, stained colors. A few of the smaller men even go gallivanting around in little undershirts decorated with childish prints, and nobody seems to notice the joke.” (Poisonwood Bible, Barbra Kingsolver) Children run around in anything… or nothing at all. They typically dress is the rag bags of church charities, not giving a care to if the item is ripped, is covered in lace or is way to small or big.

Kids don’t care if their clothing is ripped exposing their butt or their chest. They don’t try to hide anything… peeing and bathing in front of everyone, and my favorite is when they try to have a conversation with all the while... (I just laugh and walk away) Most of the time kids are running around in baggy underpants giving no care to the world.

In Ghana patience is a virtue… I’m learning.

Example 1:

Busses, cars, and tros don’t leave until they are full… completely maxed out with about 10 more people than seats. And there is no set schedule when a vehicle is going to leave or when it is to arrive…

So the other day after one of my Hohoe excursions I went to the lorry station to catch a tro back to Kute… I was the second person to arrive that needed to go to Kute, and being that it was the larger bus that was going to Kute it was going to take FOREVER to fill. As I’ve been taught to always bring a book to read, and maybe even a second. I sat and waited, and waited and waited some more for the tro to fill. I could of gone off and done some shopping or gotten on the internet, but the vehicle leaves when its full, and I never know when that’s going to be. 4 hours later the tro was filled (I realized I could of biked home faster than taking a vehicle). Time to get my own set of wheels… two wheels.

Example 2:

Ghanaians work on their own time, and now I fully understand why it takes FOREVER to get anything done. I’ve been getting furniture made for my room (I really have no desire to sit in plastic chairs to hang out in for the next two years) so I’ve befriended a carpenter in town and I asked him to make me a chair thing… something, anything other than plastic. He agreed and asked when I wanted it by. I said next Friday (giving him 10 days) and he said he would get it done much faster than that… (yeah right). Friday rolled around… he was out of town. Sunday I saw him and he said that he would start on Monday…And I got it on the following Friday… Woot Woot.

Example 3:

I asked for a piece of land to farm on (more or less have my own garden so I can attempt to grow some other veggies that don’t exist in Ghana). I asked when I came for site visit… 2 months ago… and I’m still waiting. I ask my counter part about once a week if they have found a plot of land yet that I can farm and her answer is always the same… “yes” (but Ghanaians say yes to anything and everything because they don’t like to tell you they don’t know or want to be wrong). And then I ask if I can see it and she always responds with “I’m coming” (another typical thing to say in Ghana when really they are telling you they will be right back) and then she leaves… and when she does come back she tells me tomorrow… tomorrow has come and gone…

Example 4:

I’m suppose to be working with a group of farmers… suppose to be… and they keep telling me that I’ll meet them soon… when, who knows… I’m starting to wonder if there are really farmers… be patient Molly.

This morning I had this marvelous idea to paint my kitchen. I asked my counter part where I could get some pain and a brush... she went out and got me some 'paint' and found a rustic, old brush (I was laughing at how pathetic a brush it was), and away I started… after the first 5 strokes I realized that it was SUCH a bad idea…

My ‘stove room’ as I like to call it, was a nice baby blue color with streaks of dirt, random holes, and various spots where things had been re-plastered (and by re-plastered I mean re-mudded). My counterpart got a bucket and poured some water into it and then grabbed a handful of think white paint and started to mix… I suddenly had this realization that I wasn’t in America at some hardware store watching my paint get mixed… (its been taking a while to sink in that I’m really living in AFRICA). So with a watered down white mix I started to brush ‘paint’ onto to the walls trying to cover up the baby blue… about 5 hours later and only 2/3 of the way done, my walls looked like the sky with high clouds, just barley covering up the blue…

The family who’s compound I’m living in kept walking by and laughing at me, and finally they told me that they would finish it for me tomorrow… ahhh, big sigh of relief. Note to self don’t paint another room while living in Ghana… unless you have all the right utensils and good quality paint.

Let it Rain, Let it Rain, Let it Rain

Optical illusion, I don't think so.

Happy Birthday to Me, Happy Birthday to Me, Happy Birthday dear Molly, Happy Birthday to Me!

24, older and wiser, I’m guessing that’s how saying goes… Older yes, wiser… well I guess that depends on whom you’re talking to. I would say, “but of course I’m wiser” but really am I?

I’ve been working on getting settled, ‘playing house,’ making my two rooms feel, well not like a cement holding cell… I’ve luckily got a bed, double bed (non of this sleeping on a single anymore) with my mosquito net (more my safety net from bugs, rodents, amphibians, and other critters that might try to make their way in) hovering just above my bed (its pretty comical as I tuck my mosquito net in at night, making sure that my little haven is all secure). My bed is tucked in the far right corner to allow for the most room. I’ve so far had two bookshelves made (I gave the guy a picture of what I wanted, and he went with what he wanted… at least it keeps my things from being on the ground.) I’ve put one bookshelf up against the wall at the end of my bed and the other sits next to my bed underneath my teeny, tiny window (I’m thinking I’m going to have another one punched out of the cement to allow for more light and air flow). I was given four plastic chairs (they are a prized item in Ghana) that have the Swastika drawn into them (pleasant) all stacked in the other corner (not really where I want to hang out… sitting in plastic chairs in this heat… fun).

My kitchen is a little more ‘set up’ so to say. My supervisor made sure that I had a propane stove and tank waiting for me as I moved to Kute (thank goodness). My stove sits on a table that was here when I arrived on the right side of the room, and across from it on the left I have a smaller table that is holding all my dry foods. I’ve been keeping everything in zip lock bags (and some items doubled bagged), and then in a plastic container, but some how the ants still seem to find their way in (extra protein, right?)

In Ghana there are no kitchens (well maybe in the cities, but where I’m living, I’m probably the only person to have an actual kitchen, and I should more call it a stove room, as there is only a stove and a shelf for food… no kitchen sink, no cabinets, no counters, no oven, no microwave, refrigerator, or dishwasher.) I’m thinking (and more going to act upon it soon) of getting a refrigerator. Cooking has been thus far great (as I love to cook for my self) but it’s a project… huge project… overwhelmingly huge project. I can only cook an amount that I know I can eat right then and there. I can’t really store leftovers, and throwing out food… well I just don’t have a system down of where it can go and such (although the roaming goats I’m sure will love it). And making big messes… well again I can’t just turn on the water and wash everything, or throw it in the dishwasher now can I? This is like glorified camping… using water sparsely, bathing with river water, trying to keep the critters out, and always (yes I mean ALWAYS) smelling. This is the life.

I can’t complain with the bucket bath though. I mean running water is amazing… but a bucket bathing is amazing in it’s own way. The stars are usually out at night, last week was a full moon, and who can go wrong with bathing outside under a full moon in the tropics of Ghana? I was given a water heater (and yes it is hot… very hot here in Ghana… but having a warm bath just makes me feel that much cleaner… and remember I’m probably not going to be ‘clean’ in two or so years.)

I have my own latrine… all for me, myself and all the critters that have found their way there. Latrines are again not that common in rural communities… most people defecate somewhere in the bush (very, very bad) and they urinate wherever, whenever… pleasant.

I’ve just encountered my first frustration… I’m sure its minor in the grand scheme of things, but currently as I’m writing about it, it’s annoying, and frustrating me….

I got up this morning with full intentions of doing my ‘own’ wash (laundry), I gathered some of my dirty clothing (as the laundry line isn’t large enough to hold many or all my things at once), and as I started washing my first few items and hanging them on the line my counterpart came over…

Great lady so far, except that she MUST do everything for me… Every morning thus far she is sitting outside my room waiting for me to get up. She then follows my into my kitchen to sweep it out, then she sweeps my room (I’ve started drawing the line with me room), then she empties my trash. If she sees me cooking she’ll take all my dirty dishes and start washing them, and if she is given the opportunity to take over my cooking, she will, telling me that I’m doing it wrong (I wonder what they think we eat in the US if they think I have the inability to cook?)… arrggggg.

So as she saw me washing my clothing she quickly took everything off the line that I had already washed, grabbed another bucket and started to rewash them… as if I have the inability to wash my own clothing… not sure, but seriously does she not think in the US that we do anything…? (Now maybe in 6 months time I’ll really enjoy having her, or someone else for that matter, do my wash, but when I struggling to fill up the day with things to do, taking three hours to wash my clothing is great because that’s three hours that I don’t have to think about what to do.)

I’m curious how I’m really suppose to help these people out when they freak out if they think I’ve been doing something too hard… carrying my bath water, fetching pure drinking water (“Sister Abra, why didn’t you send someone to fetch it for you?”), going running, or even pounding fufu (“Sister Abra, you must be tired?”)

So when I tell them that I worked on a farm before coming here, they look at me, laugh and shake their head saying “No” and I look at them saying “Yes” and again they shake their head saying “No.”

Its not like I’m some teeny, tiny, weak, link. I like to do manual labor, I enjoy cooking my own food, keeping my place clean and organized, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I’m enjoying washing my clothing by hands (although in the states doing laundry is by far my least favorite thing to do, well that and pumping gas but I don’t have to worry about that here.) So if farming is my main project and I’m suppose to go farm with the farmer (yet they wont let me go) then???? Great question, I’m wondering the same thing?

The first three months at site we are told to… “sit tight, get to know your community (or communities rather), start getting a better grasp for the language, assess your main project and see how you can truly help, get to know what the people in your community want from you and how you can help them prosper, etc…”

So the three months have started… yup… so daily I’ve been reading (probably more than I’ve read in the past two years), I’ve been watching TV (again probably more that I’ve watched in the past two years as well, and by TV I mean movies and TV shows on my external hard drive), I’ve been taking daily walks through my town trying to remember people I met from the day before (failing miserably), seeing where different bush paths take me (Togo border), hanging out with my land lady (who can’t stop laughing at me, guess the way I attempt to do anything is hysterical), and sleeping (again probably more than I ever have slept in the past two years). I never before have found it so hard to fill 10 – 12 hours in a day (rather back in the states I don’t feel that there is enough time in the day.)

I’m the first volunteer to serve in Kute… meaning NO ONE knows what to think of me. Yes they have seen white people before (many different NGO’s are making their way in and out of small rural communities), but my supervisor who has brought me to Kute isn’t from Kute and they don’t know who he is… (so I’m again not sure how I landed in this town)…

Being the first volunteer has its ups… yes the plus side of things is that I get to set the standard for the Peace Corps Volunteers to come, I get to figure things out, make all the impressions (hopefully good) and get the ball rolling for this town. The down side of things being… no one knows what to think of me, and knows what the Peace Corps is about. The expect me to hand them money –

Side note…

I was walking through town and I came across some ladies getting their hair done (common thing for the ladies to do). One lady greeted me, and then went back to speaking Ewe with the other ladies, and in my small understanding of the language I could grasp that they were talking about me (not really surprised as I feel like I’m the talk of the town – look at the Yevo, watch the Yevo, see where the Yevo is going, and what the Yevo is doing, etc.) but I looked at the lady and asked what they were saying about me, and she responds that they finally understand why I’m here… to bring them money, and they wanted to know when I would be handing out their share? - I didn’t bring money, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not here to help the towns economy in a small way – for starters I’ve been having furniture made (as there was nothing in my room) I’ve been buying food, water, traveling. I’m sure that my small contribution of money is in some way helping the economy of Kute. In time I’m sure I’ll be hitting the hair dresses (yes I fully intend to get my hair braided in corn rows) as well as the seamstress getting more dresses and skirts made. Not to mention that I’m hoping friends and family (hint hint) will be coming to visit adding in more of an economic bust to the town. It always makes me wonder that in Peace Corps was to withdraw from Ghana for instance, that would mean taking out 150ish volunteers, cutting out about 25 that are staffed full time in Ghana (Americans and Ghanaians) and meaning that friends and family from the states won’t be coming to visit… Peace Corps is in some ways helping economies in developing countries by just placing its volunteers.

Between good and bad, this is an exciting adventure… As it has been said to me “we may have sacrificed two years but we will not suffer in these two years.”

Environment Peace Corps Volunteers 2010-2012

Sister Abena, Gifty, Molly, Auntie Faustina, and Deborah (the family's small girl)

Site… it’s here… the two years has started. All the new PCV’s said the good byes, wished everyone luck, and partnered up with others that are in the same area (aka our new best friends) to make the long and exhausting trip to our sites.

It was another days of traveling for 14 hours in buses, tros and taxis to get to site. Hauling way too heavy of bags, and sitting crammed into spots that I don’t wish upon anyone… ever! (unless you of course come to visit me in Ghana)

My last tro ride was pretty uneventful until we passed the last big town and hit the final stretch to Kute, and the questions started rolling…

“Yevu (white person in Ewe) where you go?”

“Brother I’m going to Kute”

“Why you go to Kute?”

“I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer (first proud moment that I can call me self a volunteer), I have come to work on the Environment (so they say).

“Achhhhhh, why?” (very typical response to anything)

“Why not…?”

“Yevu what is your name?”

“My name is Molly.”

“Mawlie… ahhh you are Gods gift to us” (if only that were the case, rather my name is pronounced the same way that “Gods Gift” in Ewe is pronounced.)

“Sister you will be my friend”

“Yes brother we can be friends.” (and that’s how its done)

I was greeted by my counter part, supervisor and landlady and all the small boys (I do believe that they are older than me though) that live around my apartment. It was once again raining (I keep telling myself that rain is a blessing in Ghana upon arrival) as I walked ‘home.’

The status has changed… I’m no longer a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee) but rather a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer). I have the official volunteer status. Woot Woot!

About a week ago my Auntie came into my room with a bundle of blue fabric… shiny blue fabric… with spider web designs and gold star things all over it… She told me that this is the material I would be wearing to my swearing in ceremony, and that I at once must go to the tailor to get fitted for a dress… yes ma’am.

Fast forward to August 12, 2010

I got up to start getting ready for the big day… the day were we all become official volunteers, where we move from our home stay families home to our new homes… I put the well made dress on that my family had custom made for me, only to walk out my front door to see my aunt wearing a dress made of the same material as me, as well as my sister and her little 2 year old girl… Amazing… matching family moment (I felt like I was in a Lends End Catalog).

We are the 49^th group to be sworn into Ghana to serve as volunteers. With Ghana being the first country that Peace Corps ever set out to serve, we are all ‘ready’ (I say that with some apprehension) to tackle our main projects and continue to make Ghana better for its people and the world.

The “Swearing in Ceremony” was almost comical. Done in true Ghanaian style, with starting an hour late, name introductions (almost annoying), formal greetings, and random interruptions along the way (like when the US Ambassador drove up about an hour late, they drove her through the middle of the ceremony and then had to stop the speech that was being given to introduce her to the audience… weird). Almost every family gave their host child an outfit to wear to the ceremony, and it was as if there was some sort of competition going on of who could look the ‘best’ (and by best I mean the most ridiculous).

The ceremony was filled with speeches, certificates, drumming and African Dancing. It was filled with many congratulations, as well as many sad good byes (we may all be in Ghana but can’t hang out on a regular basis anymore). It was to honor the people who helped take care of us for the first 10 weeks (I can’t believe that it’s already been 10 weeks… 2 years to go) and to recognize all the hard work that the people of Peace Corps Ghana did to ‘prepare’ us for the next two years.

Training is almost like being back in school… no wait I take that back… training is being back in school. 6 hours a day of language and 2 hours of Ghanaian environment… grueling. There are papers to complete, projects that are due and having to be presented, tests are being given, and we are being graded on every aspect of our days… did we participate enough, comprehend enough, complete our assignments, and pass the exams?

PPP – Personal Presentation Project – we were given a month to prepare, but adapting to the Ghanaian culture (moving super slow), and in part that none of us really wanted to be back in school, we are cramming to finish for the final presentation. As it turns out PC also upped the due date (is that even allowed?) So in final preparation, my group consisting of Jon (from Colorado) and Dylan (from Utah) all gathered as we will all be in the Volta, to give a presentation about Palm Wine.

Palm Wine, is more common, and also considered the best in the Volta Region (woot woot Volta), due to its distilling process, was our topic of choice. Being made from the sap in palm nut trees it is only good with in the first few days of making. It really cannot be bottled and kept for further use and if its not consumed then palm wine is distilled further to make apitsi… the moonshine of Ghana.

Having the vaguest idea about the who’s, what’s, where’s, when’s, why’s, and how’s about Palm Wine we set off into the bush to see if we could find someone making it…

Ok so brief history… or what we could gather… the sap from palm nut trees was discovered when elephants would eat the branches and a sap would then seep out from the trees. This has been going on as long as anyone can remember. In Ghana, the tree must be killed to extract the sap, where as in Nigeria they have mastered the way of extracting the sap without killing the palm nut tree… don’t understand that one.

But the process is a rather fast fermentation process… Depending on the season and how intense the heat is palm wine can be extracted 7 to 14 days after cutting down the palm tree. And for up to 40 days after the first extraction, wine can still be extracted. We were told that the alcohol content is 25% - that’s a load of bull – maybe 2.5%. Palm wine is this sweet, milky color water, and after a few days of sitting it gains this sweet and sour taste.

We did the 40-minute walk to Masse, where the SED (Small Enterprise Development) people have been placed during training, knowing of a spot there where a few palm trees were lying on the ground. And as luck would have it we found the guys extracting some palm wine. They looked at us ‘obronies’ and with delight, (like we bring good luck with the extraction of Palm Wine?? Or it just looks cool to have some white people hanging around??) offered us some freshly extracted palm wine… simply delicious as it was still warm from the fire pulling the sap from the tree and sterilizing it as is ran into a gas canister (now that’s sterile…right?).

They looked at us, and then motioned for us to follow… we walked for about 20 minutes into the bush where they had about 4 more trees on their side. We watched as a little boy (they are called small boys here) poked a burning stick into a cut box at the top part of the tree, and as another small boy pumped air onto the fire to start the extraction of the wine.

Product sampling was had, project was completed, and presentation was given… A+

The KSO, home away from home, from our home home… if that makes ANY sense…?

Lets see… the KSO (Kumasi Sub Office) is like one big frat house… bunk beds, huge kitchen, with an oven and a refrigerator, dining room, large lawn outside, WiFi, big sun porch, bathroom with showers… real showers, and real toilets… ones that flush… a library, space to move around, space to just hang out… an amazing American sanctuary.

The KSO was put in place because Ghana Peace Corps Volunteers aren’t allowed to travel during the night… although most busses leave at some ungodly hour in the morning (2:43am)… it was also set up for PCV’s to have a place to escape to when we need to get away, talk to someone in American English (yes we are picking up the Ghanaian English accent, accenting our syllables in different parts of the words, and saying things like ‘I’m coming’ when in reality you are trying to say that you are going…but Ghanaian English is for another blog posting… sorry for getting ahead of myself), if we are having the urge to bake/cook, and take a real shower (minus the hot water) and for that matter use a REAL toilet… one that flushes. It is a place to clear our minds, recharge our bodies, feel safe in our surroundings and really take advantage of the internet… wireless internet… that we don’t have to pay for…

Taking a few days to get back to Addonkwanta, the Enviro Group stopped in Kumasi to finish up our technical training and relax/recoup at the KSO. Capitalizing on the fact that we were in a large city we hit the Pizza Joint (well probably the best pizza place that Ghana will have to offer considering that baked items and dairy are hard to come by) and found ice cream for the first time since arriving in Ghana… this made our week.

Technical training was great… motivating to get out and try some of the projects that we learned. In a way to say thanks to all our Ghanaian and American trainers we pooled our money, went shopping at the ‘obroni store’ (import goods store) to have a cook out. Yes that’s right a cook out, BBQ, potluck… and it was amazing!! Grilled Veggie… (yes actual veggies), some sort of grilled meat (not a meat eater here, but was told it was by far some of the best meat consumed since arriving in Ghana), Mac n’ Cheese, garlic bread, and wait for it… carrot cake (well it was out of a box), but yes carrot cake with cheese frosting… (I said cheese frosting… as in Laughing Cow cheese frosting… but all in all is was shockingly good.)

Can’t really tell if the Ghanaian trainers actually enjoyed the ‘Obronie’ food… their facial reactions were rather funny as we gave them guacamole (no chips… substituted with plantain chips… interesting) and as they ate a slice of carrot cake, but the 15 trainees and the two American trainers sure every ounce of food… there were no left overs.

Beautiful Ghanaian Batik Cloth

Oyster Mushrooms... growing out of a bag...yay!

Things we are getting good at…

Peeing on the side of the road – yes say the word urinate and the bus driver will pull over and so we can take a leak on the side of the road…

Buying things from the window of the bus… that is how everything is sold by ladies coming to the windows where the bus is stopped and trying to sell us something.

Finding our ‘happy place’ in the busses - I mastered this task in SE Asia, but I’ve found it very important once again to be able to get into that spot, meditate on a positive thought and let the bus that me where ever we are trying to get to… This comes to the fact that the roads are bad… understatement… they are horrible, worst that any road I’ve ever been on in the US, and you find yourself just praying that no one in your bus gets car sick, knowing that once the first person spews then its all down hill from there and the dominos will start falling…

Smelling - yes, we smell, our clothing, our hair, our luggage, us in general… just accept it…

Looking diseased - bugs are feasting upon our white skin… especially our legs!

Acquiring awkward tan lines – permanent Chaco tan lines… yup

Fascinating facts…

If you build a beehive, add wax, honey, or a sugar solution the bees will come and produce honey.

If you broadcast papaya seeds the tree will start growing and fruiting within 6 months.

You can graft any kind of fruit tree onto fruit trees that are native to Ghana to produce the tropical fruit that you desire.

You can compost in a rice bag, and then plant starters in it, such as tomatoes, peppers and onions and they will grow out of the bag… can’t wait to try this.

By crushing neem leaves or seeds, adding water and natural soap you’ve created an organic aphid spray… fascinating considering that my dad has neem seeds imported for his organic aphid spray, and they grow in my back yard here in Ghana.

Training is supposed to be 8 to 12 weeks of pure intensity. Learning the language and how to best facilitate your community/village during the two-year service. How to generate ideas that could help with the development of our villages and what alternative livelihood projects that could be done in our communities. But rather training has been fun, traveling all over Ghana, learning the most random things that I can’t wait to try and do, meeting fascinating people and trying the flavors of Ghana.

The environment crew met up in Techiman – located in the Brama Hafo Region of Ghana - for our technical training. Spending 4 nights in the Techiman proper, traveling from farm to farm learning how to keep bees, farm mushrooms, raise grass cutter and snails. Learning the different types of trees in Ghana and their added value to the soil and people. We’ve been learning what fruits grow well in the tropical climate, how to graft trees, and the ins and outs of the agricultural businesses in Ghana.

After 4 days in Techiman we moved our training to a Benediction Monastery about 20 minutes from Techiman. The Monastery is self-sustaining, growing everything that we consumed during our 10 days there. The monks make their own cashew wine, fruit schnapps, jams and chutneys. They grow lettuce, (yes we had a salad for dinner every day… amazing!) carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, mangos, pineapple, watermelon, cashews, peppers, papaya, and star fruit.

There were about 6 monks and one father at this monastery. The father, imported from Scotland, was great. Informing us on where to go hiking, the best running trains, helping us fulfill our missed foods (French fries, ketchup, dairy, fresh veggies, and fruit). He ate midnight snacks with us (actually it was more like 8pm snacks), opening the kitchen up, allowing us to make a cup of hot chocolate, with some toast (yes there was even a toaster). Every night the father would pull out his laptop, and an Internet modem to get connected to the Internet (although we were not able to par take in the internet usage) we laughed at the modern amenities that this father had while being in Ghana.

There was another brother that was inquiring of our movies and TV shows that we all have on our laptops. Asking for a list so he could maybe steel some of our media. One day he pulled out his version of an iPhone asking if I had facebook… random (goes to show that virtually everyone is on facebook)… and then asking if I needed to check my e-mail… yes I would love to check my e-mail, but kind of weird that a Ghanaian monk was letting me use his phone to get online… But I didn’t object to a hike up the rocks to get a signal, watch the sun set and read a few e-mails.

The Monastery was nestled between these massive rocks and these gorgeous, green rolling hills. Hiking to the top of the rocks and finding ourselves above the canopy of trees, watching the sun set, the birds fly and the rains roll in. We sunbathed, did yoga, and enjoyed nature.