ViLlAGe FAcEs

gOAtS

so cute when they are sleeping

where the goats enjoy sleeping (and by sleeping I mean bleating all night)... under my windows

pleasant... I think not

On a daily basis I surprise myself on how I’m able to handle the rustic setting that I’m currently living in (not that I don’t enjoy nature, but I don’t like nature in my living quarters)… termites live in my bed (hope they don’t bite), cockroaches are around (but dead as soon as I see them running around my room), mice run freely (luckily I have yet to see one in my room), rats roam the streets like they own them (I’ve watched my family kill them for supper), lizards are my wall companions (if I’m in my village alone long enough I might start talking to them), snakes are killed the minute they are spotted (I’ve witnessed death by cutlass twice now), and I haven’t seen a scorpion since day 1 or 2 in Ghana (thank God). Then there are the spiders…

The spiders have thus far seemed harmless (and I’m sure that they all are). There are the big flat spiders (yes they area called flat spiders because they are FLAT). I let them live on my wall (don’t want to be known as a spider masochist). The biggest I’ve seem them get is about the size of my palm (almost to big for my comfort). Then there are the normal small spiders (have yet to cause me any pain). If they stay out of my way, then I stay out of theirs (we have this unspoken deal.) But when I find a spider that is to big for my liking or gets in my way, then it’s death by Molly or whom ever I can find to do the deed.

The other night was going normal… dinner while watching a TV show, followed by dishes and then grant writing… when I came across a dinner plate size spider (ok maybe more like a salad plate size… but HUGE nonetheless) hanging out on my wall. I let out a large scream, dropped my computer on the bed and ran to my family. They were in the middle of pounding fufu for dinner and all started laughing when they noticed the look of disgust on my face. “Nu Ka” (“what” in Ewe) they asked me… “Spider” I responded as I held up my hands showing how big it was. Stella (the daughter-in-law) bursts out in this kackaling laugh while she grabs a broom and asks “Afi Ka?” (“Where?”) I point to my room and open the door for her to do the killing. 2 seconds later she sweeps the dead spider out of my room (I may be able to sleep after all) and gathers with the family and neighbors (who came over to see what all the commotion was about) as they all continue to laugh at me.

Embarrassing… Yes

Disgusting… Yes

Terrifying… Yes

Still giving me the chills… Yes

Twenty ten

Was one for the time,

As I have moved to Ghana

Where I don’t make a dime.

I left my friends,

Family and my world

To live in a place

Where my daily living is a chore.

No running water

And a bucket to bath from

Everyday is an adventure

That is as different as they come.

The goats and the chickens

Run wild a free,

And the small children like to pee

Wherever they please.

The locals are proud

Of their few Ghanaian dishes,

That they eat with their hands

And from the same dishes.

Clothing is washed

With nothing but the hand

And water is fetched

By carrying it over land.

The babies are carried

On their mother’s backs

And the children run around

Wearing anything but slacks.

Public transportation

Is anything but comfortable,

As I pray to the lord

That the tro tro won’t take a tumble

Farming as it is

Maize, rice and coco

Happens to be

How the locals make money o.

The weather is hot

The sun likes to shine

But sometimes it rains

Cooling this new land of mine.

But I’m just living the dream

Of being a PCV

In hopes of doing something good

But I’ll guess we’ll see.

Twenty eleven

Will be one for the time,

As I will still be in Ghana

Where nothing else rhymes.

Ghana is one of the world’s largest coco exporters… and yet it fails in the chocolate production department (one type of chocolate here… and it’s crap). Meaning though that most rural villages in southern Ghana have coco and their main crop…including mine.

The process that the coco goes through before it is produced into actual chocolate is an in depth, time consuming, and rigorous process to produce the highest quality coco. (This is the process that I have witnessed with my own eyes, and been explained to by the locals of my village… but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t other methods to the coco madness.)

Step 1: Letting the coco grow…

I have been spending countless time with my ‘host family’ (my host family is actually my land lady and her family… but they have taken me under their wing, making me feel like I’m part of their family) in the bush at their farm drinking palm wine and cracking open coco pods to learn about this in depth process… They have a random plot of land filled top to bottom with coco trees… (I wish I could say that it is an orchard sitting on a 5, 10 or 100-acre lot, but the amount of land is given at random, meaning it starts at this bush and extends until that tree with a coco tree here and another two there.) All over this plot of land there are young and old trees, as my land lady points out that a few of these trees were planted when the land belonged to her in-laws. The coco grows in a pod usually in two’s off the various branches and the trunk of the tree. It starts out a green color and when it is ripe and ready to be picked it is usually bright yellow in color.

Step 2: Plucking the coco…

I’ve been trying to understand when the coco season actually is, but every time I ask I get a different answer. Yes I have been in Ghana 7 months, and every day I see farmers coming back form farm carrying fresh coco seeds on their head, as well as I see coco out to dry. So the season as far as I’m concerned is on going (maybe it will peter off as the dry season wears on.) So on a weekly basis my family has been going into the bush to pluck the coco. The plucking of the coco involves a long bamboo stick with a sharp knife attached to one end and someone extending this knife/stick thing into the coco tree and slicing the stem of the coco pod off. Then another person gathers all the fallen pods in a big silver bowl and carries them back to where the rest of the group is sitting and cracking open the pods.

Step 3: Cracking open the coco pods…

my land lady cracking open the coco pods

the inside of a coco pod

This could be my favorite process, as I sit for hours with my cutlass in hand cracking open the coco pods and scooping out all the innards. The inside of a coco pod has so to say 4 sections and in each section there is a line of coco covered in this white, sugary, yet milky looking covering (delicious to suck on.) We scoop the innards into one bowl, and toss the shell into another pile (which will eventually be burned and then turned into the famous Ghanaian Black Soap).

the innards of many coco pods

freshly cracked open coco pods

Step 4: Fermentation…

This is where the process gets a little fuzzy… as everyone gives me a different answer, but it all revolves around the coco being fermented… or rather dried. When the coco, wet, and slimy finally makes it back to the house (farms in Ghana aren’t like farms in the US, rather the main processing of the product is processed at ones house, whether it is the rice, maize or coco drying this all happens at or rather in the compound of where the Ghanaian lives). According to my land lady the coco must sit covered (usually with banana leaves) for 3 or 4 days to start the curing process, and then on the 3^rd or 4^th day the coco is laid out to dry, and every few hours it is turned to make sure that the coco is getting evenly dry. The Ghanaians don’t depend on any sort of dryer, rather the equatorial sun. In the drying out, curing process the coco is rigorously gone through to pick out the bad coco, rocks, and any other waste that may have snuck in.

almost dried coco

Step 5: Selling to the Ghanaian Coco Board…

I’m not sure how is works for other villages, but in my little Podunk Ghanaian Village, there is one man who is on the Ghanaian Coco Board. So everyone in my village sells their dried/cured coco to him. There is usually a set price, and last time I checked for 1 Kilo of dried coco it was 3.20 Ghana Cedi (the local currency) and for 30 kilos of dried coco it was 96.00 Ghana Cedi. And for one bag, being 65 Kilos, it is 200 Ghana Cedi (maybe 170 USD). The man then in turns sells the coco to the actual Ghanaian Coco Board, making 1 cedi for every bag of coco.

Step 6: Exporting…

Ok so now I’m totally speculating, but from the Ghanaian Coco Board the coco is sold to company such as Nestle, and Cadburys for the production of actual chocolate and other chocolate products.

Mr. Jon with all the dried coco before he sends if off to the Ghana Coco Board

(I always laugh when I receive chocolate in my packages knowing that the original coco may of come from the country that I’m living in, and yet I have to have someone send me chocolate to help curb my chocolate cravings… don’t stop sending it.)

The thought often crosses my mind, as how would a Ghanaian…a Ghanaian from my rural village (where undoubtedly know one has left to venture much further than Togo…and they travel there by foot)… react if they came to the United States… came to Colorado… came to my house… for a visit.

The Ghanaian arrives at the house I grew up in… a 5/6-bedroom house, 2½ baths with a basement apartment and two-car garage. Sitting on six plus acres of land… as I show him or her to the guest room… a room with its own queen size bed, dresser, closet (most Ghanaians live out of a suite case and the idea of a dresser, closet or even a wardrobe is not very well know here), bookshelf staked full of books and a small bedside table that has a small light and an alarm clock on it. The bed is made up with copious amounts of blankets and two pillows. I tell the Ghanaian to make him or herself at home. Saying “mi casa es su casa” as most Americans tell their visitors. But unaccustomed to western traditions they might be set back a little bit. I then tell them that if they get cold (I’m guessing that they might freeze, or at least during the night, even if they come in the summer) here are a few extra blankets, as I would be pointing to the closet.

I would then continue to show them the bathroom… fully equipped with a shower… that has hot and cold water that runs at the turn of a knob… a flushing toilet, and a sink. I would then try to explain that it is important to keep the shower curtain in the shower while showering (the showers that I have seen in Ghana don’t have shower curtains) to prevent the water from going everywhere. And then if they had the need to do any washing while on vacation I would point them in the direction of the laundry room, but insist that if they wanted to wash to ask for help… as I’m sure VERY few Ghanaians are custom to washing with an actual washing machine.

I would guess that by this point they would be very overwhelmed… questions would be running through their mind… they would probably wonder why there isn’t much junk (most Ghanaians keep EVERYTHING, other than a wall of photos from my childhood, and a few bookshelves overloaded with books my parents don’t keep much around.) They might start questioning where everyone else sleeps (as for the houses in my village people sleep all in one room or divided between two rooms.) They then might question how we get around; as to them they might see that I live in the ‘bush.’

I would then point them in the direction of the kitchen and show them the fridge and the pantry… probably filled top to bottom with food… here I’m guessing they would be more than startled. I know in my family we like to the keep the pantry well stocked and the fridge filled with options, but to a Ghanaian (or at least one coming from a very rural village) this might seem a little excessive, where we have so much food that we probably won’t ever consume it all and there are children in their home village that are malnourished and underfed. I can then see the questions coming… “Why do you keep so much food in the house?” or “Who is all this food for?” and “Where is the cassava and the plantains to make fufu?”

I would then show them the water from the kitchen sink. Point out how it is drinkable right from the sink and that we don’t fetch water here. And again point out that they are to help themselves to anything in the fridge (although I’m not sure what they would eat considering EVERYTHING that would be normal for them to grab, garie, fufu, banku, ground nut soup, fried/boiled/grilled plantains and other such items that are eaten on a daily basis in Ghana would probably not exist in my parents fridge)

If it were night I would tell them to sleep well, but not expect anyone in the house to be up early… as in American and especially on the weekends we tend to not wake up till after 8 (on average the Ghanaians in my village are sweeping…yes the sweep every morning… by 5 or 5:30 and they laugh at me when I roll out of my room between 7 and 8).

If it were mealtime then I think that they would think we are really strange… cooking in the house on a gas stove and not over a fire (most Ghanaians cook outside over a wood burning fire or charcoal). We might then pull out chips and salsa or cheese and crackers for a small appetizer as we almost always have while preparing a big feast when guest are over. A bottle of wine would be opened and a few beers would be pulled out of the fridge. The Ghanaians would then watch as someone set the table, giving each spot at fork, knife and possible a spoon if the meal called for it. Then the various dishes would be set on the table… probably a salad, brown rice, pesto, grilled salmon, maybe steamed corn or other farm fresh veggies (very typical Rumery meal). There would be a wide variety of salad dressings and fresh cows milk on the table. We would all sit together, as family meals are a favorite thing in my family, where ideas are passed and discussions are had. We would start passing the various dishes around trying to explain to the Ghanaian that we don’t eat with our hands and out of a communal bowl, and that meal times are a time for everyone to come together rather than eating in alienation as is customary to do so in Ghana (or rather 2 or 3 people will eat together from the same bowl, but leaving the children out, or dividing the males against the females to eat.)

We would then all help with the dishes… males and females… loading everything in the dishwasher. I would have to go into deep explanation as how a dishwasher works, how all our dishes come out clean (or at least we hope they do).

Then there would probably be a few pints of various ice creams placed on the table. The Ghanaians would have his or her first experience with ice cream… rich, creamy and sugary. I can almost feel then pain in their stomach as they probably aren’t used to eating much dairy… or any at all… but explain that in America we like to eat something sweet after dinner.

If I was then to show the Ghanaian around, I would say that we should go… maybe pack a few things to take with for the day… as we probably won’t find anyone selling pure water or groundnuts off the top of their head… and head out for an adventure… in my own car. I’m not sure what would shock the Ghanaian more, the fact that I have my own car or the fact that I’ve been driving since I was 16 (and that my dad taught me when I was 11). I think that in my little village there are about 5 people that own a car maybe 20 that own motorbikes and the rest depend on the public transportation system of Ghana… very unreliable…

We would then set off on a grand adventure… driving down I-70. A smooth wide 4 lane interstate, with speed limit sign, and various rules and regulations that must be followed. We would then jet off to maybe hike Hanging Lake, or take the tram up to the Glenwood Springs Ferry Caves. In the adventure I would include showing them where I went to high school… and I can hear them say in disbelief “this was your school” (and to think that my school was lacking in funds form the government). Then I would try to explain that each teacher has his or her own classroom, rather than each grade having its own classroom. I would drive them around various neighbor hoods to show how people live when they live next door to one another (I can’t even begin to explain the differences between my Ghanaian neighbor hood and ones back home). We might stop off at a shopping center… show them the cement world of American… and then grab some groceries on the way home.

An American market… one that is indoors… one that is open 7 days a week… one where everything is at a set price, and there is no bargaining involved at the checkout counter… all these ideas are unheard of in my village. I would then try to explain that we don’t have a ‘market day’ rather we just have a big store where one can get almost anything… anything.

This adventure I’m sure would be more than eye opening… as it would be an opportunity for them to see that they rest of the world doesn’t live like them (and trust me they do think that we live just like them).

bUcKEt BaThINg