Another volunteer and I have been planning an animal husbandry training for other PCV’s and their counterparts to happen at the end of April in my small and remote village. 10 Peace Corps Volunteers and their counterparts have been invited, as well as 10 participants from my community (or surrounding villages) and 2 carpenters. This training is to teach said people how to build rabbit, grasscutter, snail and chicken cages/coups and in hopes that they will then take this training and build their own cage as an alternative means of making money (capitalizing on the ‘Alternative Livelihood’ part of my Peace Corps title.)

For the most part things have been going smoothly… we found lodging for everyone (as this event extends over the course of 4 days) we hired a lady to do the cooking for all our meals (even if her price is through the roof) and we are in the process of finding organizations or groups that will reap from this training by receiving the cages to rear some animals.

But that doesn’t mean that planning for this event hasn’t come with its own set of problems… and the problems come more in the form of communication. We have offered to feed the 12 invited guest lunch during this training… but my ‘counterpart’ doesn’t understand why we can’t feed them breakfast and dinner as well (because they are from my village and can go home to get those two meals). Then he said that Peace Corps should pay the carpenters to take part in the training (not sure I understand that one… we are offering a ‘free training’ in hopes that they in the end will benefit.) He was also wondering why each individual is not getting his or her own cage (because we can’t build 40 plus cages in the course of 4 days… and that price kind of exceeds the budget). But then why aren’t we giving them money to go home and build their own cage (because if you hand a Ghanaian money they will pocket it and go buy the newest, flashiest item in the market… and how the hell does just handing out money promote sustainable development? It doesn’t… education does. )

I’ve been struggling to get the idea into my counterpart’s head that this training is for the people, for the village, to learn how to build said cages… so they can take this training back to their compound, village, or organization and try to build their own cage or cages, and make some money on the side from their ‘real job’ (if they really have a job). Most Ghanaians it seems though (or at least this goes for my village) want the world handed to them (that’s not to say that this isn’t the case for some Americans), but they bitch and moan that they have no money and when the opportunity comes (yes most of the days are spent laying around, and when you ask for something, like buying food on the street, they roll their eyes and give you the look “of really do I need to get up from my bench and help you… I would rather stay sitting”) up to make some money they bitch and moan that there is work involved… heaven forbid.

Palm nut oil, the staple in all Ghanaian food, has a long and intensive production process. So when my family (my Ghanaian family) says they are spending the day making palm nut oil, I now that they will be at it from dusk till dawn… or rather from the previous day till the following evening (because they have to go to their farm to get the palm nuts).

The famous palm nut grown on palm nut trees (also the same trees to make palm wine) gives off the fruit to make the famous palm nut oil. Most farms will have a few palm nut trees scattered around their farm for the harvesting of the palm nut to make oil, and palm nut soup (literally oil soup…yuck).

Step One: Pluck the palm nut from the husk.

Step Two: Boil the palm nut in water for close to 20 hours

Step Three: Strain the palm nut from the water and pound the nut till it is completely broken open.

Step Four: In a large bowl, work the mashed up palm nuts with a long stick and gradually add water to separate the oil form the kernel.

Step Five: Pull out all the stingy pulp.

Step Six: Separate the kernel from the oil (yes inside the palm nut is the palm kernel, which is also used to make palm kernel oil).

Step Seven: Start boiling the oil to evaporate all the water.

Step Eight: Strain the oil again to get rid of any last bit of pulp.

Step Nine: Boil the oil down still you are left with bright red palm nut oil.

After the palm oil is made, the pulp from the palm nut is dried out and used a fire starter, and the kernel is also dried out and later turned into palm kernel oil.

Signing up for Peace Corps I set myself to have no expectations… or so I thought. I though ‘Peace Corps Volunteer’ and I thought ‘remote, isolated, limited cell reception and internet connection, no electricity or running water’ I also thought ‘children staring at me, no one in my village to confide in, and days that might never end with my only thoughts carrying me away.’ These weren’t really my expectations, but rather my assumptions of what Peace Corps was.

For the most part my assumptions (or expectations depending on the way you look at it) were true… I am remote (or so I think), I don’t have cell reception or the ability to get a wireless internet modem (do to the fact that I don’t have cell reception), there is no running water, and electricity is there (but it comes with its own set of problems). The children do stare (and MOST of the time I don’t care), I’m ok with the fact that I can’t really confide in anyone in my village because there are other PCV’s close enough. But what really gets to me are my thoughts…

I never imagined that being a Peace Corps Volunteer was such a mental game. I didn’t know that my own thoughts could build up so much in my mind. And I hope that it doesn’t all come crashing down.

Most days I’m fine. I’ve been enjoying my time and I wouldn’t change what I’m doing for anything. But there are then some days where someone says the wrong thing, or something happens and I just snap… making me wonder what I’m doing, how I’m going to survive the next 16/17 months and am I really cut out for this (because I feel like what I’m mainly doing is sitting on my butt reading books and watching movies).

It doesn’t always help that the capital of Ghana, Accra, is like entering a run down American city… (although from the view of a traveler passing thought it might seem very African, but coming from a small village it seems like a western city). In Accra I can stay with an American ex-pat family, eat home cooked western food, enjoy hot pressurized showers, sleep in an air-conditioned room under blankets, have access to high speed internet, and watch TV (CNN, movie channels, ESPN or really whatever my heat desires). I can’t complain… it’s a grate escape from the village life. It’s a chance to feel like a person again, remember what its like to be clean and remind myself that this is what I’ll have when I go back home… but also making me wonder why I left the comforts of home, or America?

As of now, through the good and the bad, I’m hear in Ghana to stick it out till the summer of 2012… whish me luck.