Four whiskeys and a funeral

On Saturday, I went to my first Ghanaian funeral for the uncle of Mary, the woman I stayed with in Koforidua. Mary offered to buy me a traditional African funeral dress tailored to my dimensions. It came out splendidly and now I have my first big souvenir from the trip. Funerals are a significant part of Ghanaians’ lives. I have heard on occasion that the reason people don’t have as much available cash is that they spend it on funeral attire. I asked Bernard how many funerals the average Ghanaian attends in a year. His answer was 12 – “maybe one a month.” Tawiah felt this was a little low and would actually put the number at 20 or nearly twice a month. Not only are Ghanaians going to a lot of funerals, but they often are all day affairs that begin with a 3 to 4 hour church service, followed by a service at the gravesite, then there is an afternoon gathering that includes refreshments. More frequently now, people are also hosting dinners or throwing parties with quantities of alcohol that probably rival most American weddings. I asked if this party portion was a celebration of life, but was told that it is not quite so complicated and really just provides an excuse to drink. The other interesting aspect of Ghanaian funerals, getting back to the clothing aspect, is that typically women and men buy new outfits for each funeral. I was told that they are becoming like fashion shows and are well attended because people see it as a chance to see and be seen. I felt like I was in for quite the experience.

Mary picked me up at 8am with her friend Constance. The funeral was to start at 8, but alas we are in Ghana and showing up a half an hour to forty five minutes late to a funeral is probably considered showing up early. When we pulled up to the Presbyterian Church, cars were already lining the street with people milling around next to them. Awnings and plastic chairs were set up in the parking lot of the church to provide additional seating for funeral attendants. Mary opted for us to sit outside, which I was a bit surprised about considering she was his niece. Two things explained this though – 1) Ghanaian families are very large and so between the deceased’s siblings and children from various wives, Mary was actually more along the lines of extended family and 2) she said that it allowed us to duck out early if we wanted. We took our seats and received a program. The program was nearly 20 pages long with all of the speeches people were going to give about Mary’s uncle. It was a nice tribute and it helped me to get to know the man much better, but I was definitely impressed by the breadth of the funeral program. As we were sitting there, I realized that the service was going on inside the church but we couldn’t hear anything. There had to be at least 200 people outside and no one seemed to be phased by the fact that we couldn’t hear the service except for me. I saw a few people sleeping, so maybe they appreciated it. I was a little nervous though about sitting there for a few hours without being able to hear the service and I was already sweating in the dress at 9am.

Just when I was not sure whether I could take the heat anymore, Constance announced that she was hungry and was going to look for food. The possibility of a snack perked me up and I took advantage of my more awake state to look around and notice some of the clothes, this was supposed to be akin to a Ghanaian fashion show after all. Many of the men were in traditional African attire. It looked like a short toga in brown and/or black. The men use 12 yards of fabric and drape the fabric around their waists and over one shoulder. I noticed American looking khaki shorts underneath the togas when the men readjusted the cloth. The women were also dressed in predominately black or brown. They wear an outfit that is referred to as a slip and cover, which includes a long fitted skirt that flares out below the knee and a matching top that zips in the back. Some women also wrap matching fabric around their hair. The dresses are not easy to walk in, especially when you have to negotiate open drains, potholes, narrow walkways and tall SUVs. I had to essentially pull myself up into Mary’s SUV to get into the car. Luckily, my dress had a pretty knee-high slit that helped me move around more freely, but it was still a challenge. A few women were in white, but that is usually reserved for when a person dies at a very old age. Mary’s uncle was 76, which is not considered that old here. The white funeral attire typically is worn when the person was in his late 80s and 90s. Several people also had on red scarves that were either tied around the heads like bandanas or tied around their wrists. The red signals a family member. Since Mary was not wearing one, I assume it is just for immediate family or for family members who are speaking at the service. I did see four other white people at the funeral, which meant that we total five out of about 600. They wore traditional American suits as did the wives.

Constance called Mary after about 30 minutes of searching for food to say that she bought crackers and soda for all of us. Yeah, it isn’t taboo at all to talk on your cell phone at a funeral. We headed back to Mary’s car to enjoy the snack. I figured we would go back in, but after eating shortbread and drinking a coke we bought more food. This was the shadiest food I have eaten yet in Ghana. I have seen these food vendors many times, but was quite wary of eating anything from them. They are the women who carry large quantities of prepared food on their heads in giant bowls. This girl was selling white banku, a variation I had not seen before, and seafood. The banku is cooked in plantain leaves and is sort of like a more solidified version of mashed potatoes. The seafood was a mix of fried shrimp and unidentifiable fish – whole fish. Constance demonstrated how to eat the shrimp which was essentially by putting the whole thing in your mouth – head, tail, eyes and all – and just chewing. I thought I would give one of the small ones a try to start. It was definitely not as bad as the fish snout I had tried the week before, but the crunchy consistency was unusual. I was thinking that if I had grown up on it, I probably would have really enjoyed the crunchy shrimp goodness. It tasted pretty good and the banku was very nice. There is a spicy tomato sauce that goes with it all. I did manage to eat most of one fish, minus the bones, which was also tasty, but couldn’t eat one that was very flat and seemed to be nothing but deep fried bones, skin and gills. Although it took me three times as long to eat it and I frequently had to reassure the group that I was doing OK, I felt satisfied food-wise and thought that I could eat it again without a problem.

I was a little surprised that we ended up sitting in the car for about an hour until people started emerging from the church. It was difficult to determine whether everyone was leaving or if the service had ended. Mary told me that likely everyone was getting tired and hungry and wanted to leave. At 11:30 we received confirmation that the church portion of the funeral had ended and we were to go to another location for the continuation of the service. As we waited to depart, busloads of funeral goers passed by which really showed how many people had been there. It also explained why so many taxis were waiting outside and why so many street food vendors had congregated in the area. I saw about eight buses leave the church. We all headed in a gigantic convoy to a local high school. Plastic chairs and awnings had been set up in a large rectangle around a fountain. There was probably room for several hundred people and many were already positioned in their chairs. We at first took a space on an elevated platform that caught a nice breeze. It was heavenly after being so hot during the morning. Mary asked us to move closer to her cousins, the sons of the deceased, who for some unknown reason decided to camp out in a breezeless section along a wall. There was limited talking and most people seemed to be waiting for something to happen, so I felt justified in lowering my sunglasses, closing my eyes and trying to rest for a bit. They passed around bags of water, but other than that nothing seemed to be happening. We sat for about two hours around this fountain. Again, no one else seemed to be concerned that nothing was happening. Also, no one seemed to be up and about conversing. People were relaxing in their own seats and content with waiting. They say that when you travel, you actually discover more about yourself than the destination. Ghanaians’ stunning ability to wait patiently and live in the moment has really highlighted my need for a predetermined endpoint. This is not an original idea of mine, but this situation showcases that while some people live in the past, Americans tend to live in the future. Our thoughts focus so much on what is to come as opposed to being in the moment. I don’t think the Ghanaians were actually waiting for something to happen at the high school as I was, but were simply meditating on the moment.

In somewhat of a non sequitur moment, Mary suggested we all head to a bar and ditch the post-church funeral services. It was 1:30. Ironically to me, many of the deceased’s sons followed us as well to a nearby bar that was situation behind the multi-storey Ghana police headquarters. The bar consisted of a market stand with plastic chairs and folding tables with an awning to provide shade. Oh, and the bathroom was a tiled sloping floor – no toilet, no sinks, and definitely no signs that read “Employees must wash hands before returning to work.” Adding further surprise to my funeral experience, one of the sons planted a handle of whiskey on the table for everyone to share. It was 96 degrees out. I just couldn’t fathom drinking warm whiskey in the middle of the day and in this heat. It was certainly a recipe for disaster for me, and I was guessing for the others. They seemed less concerned than I was about the consequences and poured generous servings into glasses sans shot glasses. A teensy splash of coke was added to each, perhaps for flavor, I wasn’t sure. I was offered something similar to Baileys and thought since I wasn’t drinking the whiskey I could try a little of that. When I asked for a small sample though, well over a shot and a half was emptied into the glass. It was a little tough without ice, but the flavor was quite nice. I tried my first Guinness here too, which I discovered is more bitter in flavor and has higher alcohol content. It was nice, especially with the kenkey, fish and fried chicken that the ladies prepared for the day and shared with everyone.

The eclectic collection of individuals at the bar included four sons of the deceased, three or four of their wives, several friends and their wives, someone who seemed like a bodyguard that sat behind us the entire time with sunglasses on, one toddler, a couple of female teetotalers, Mary’s Ministry of Health friend, Constance, Mary, and me the lone obruni. Everyone was incredibly nice and welcoming. There was fun, spirited conversation throughout the afternoon and several offers to host me in different parts of the city. One invitation came from Kwesi, who is a local Chief and considered very highly respected in the family. However, after a while of drinking, there seemed to be some debate about how much influence he had over the brothers. I didn’t quite understand, but apparently this warranted shouting and standing up for people to emphasize their points. It never escalated in an angry way, only in volume. As the men argued, they had to keep adjusting their unstructured funeral attire. As the discussion became more excited the men had to fix their togas at a similarly accelerating pace. They also seem to have to hold the material with one hand while they are standing, so as points were being emphasized with hand gestures the men had to keep switching hands back and forth to secure the material. Perhaps this keeps the arguments from ever getting physical… or at least amongst the men in the traditional attire.

Toward the end of the afternoon, I returned from my second cringe worthy trip to the “bathroom” to take some photos of the group before we departed. Upon the second group photo we heard commotion coming from the parking lot and then Mary exclaimed, “Oh, they are fighting!” We ran over to the fence that separated the cars from the bar and saw two of the men from the group pushing each other. As we got closer I could see that they were so drunk that they couldn’t really do much damage to each other. They sort of grabbed onto each other and then finally fell to the ground. It reminded me of a hockey fight where eventually everyone just falls and the refs intervene. There had been talk of designated drivers at the table as the enormous bottle was nearing its empty point. Apparently it is illegal to drink and drive here, but there is the general acceptance that if the owner of the car wants to drive intoxicated, you let him drive. That’s sort of acceptable for the person putting himself in danger, but not OK to me since the other people on the road don’t get to participate in that decision. Anyways, back to the fight… it seems that the man’s wife did not want him driving. This guy was partaking in some sort of competitive whiskey drinking throughout the afternoon, so I certainly didn’t blame her. He, on the other hand, in his delusional drunken stupor, felt that his wife was disgracing him. As he lunged at her, another guy intervened which is the point at which we all witnessed the fight. My philosophy on dealing with drunken idiots is to just throw them in the back of the car and avoid engaging in conversation with them because they are typically unreasonable and won’t remember anything anyways. Ghanaians like to talk things out though. I give them a lot of credit though because the men really wanted to make sure that the guy had calmed down enough so that the wife would be safe when they returned home. I don’t know what was said, but there was a forty-five minute conversation that switched between different sub-groups of the main group and at different times random people would get upset and need to be reassured. If only I spoke Twi! I waited patiently and safely in the car wondering if I too should consider the sobriety of my driver. Eventually the fight discussion ended with the guy getting into the passenger seat and yelling “just go!” between tears. It took me back to memories of high school and college parties. I assumed this was all an anomaly since most Ghanaians I know don’t drink at all. When I asked Constance if this happens every once in a while, she replied with, “Yes, at funerals it seems to happen a lot.” My internal dialogue was something along the lines of “Huh, at funerals? Really? Why are people getting belligerent at funerals?” At work on Monday, Tawiah confirmed that people are using funerals as an opportunity to drink to excess. She thought that some may be drowning their sorrows, but it really seemed like something else.

The night ended with a drive out to the far edge of Accra. Mary, Constance and Mary’s cousin were staying at a hotel for the night. I was joining them to eat banku at one of Mary’s favorite places. My dinner consisted of more delicious spicy tomato stew with an entire tilapia accompanied by two sticky, doughy balls. You pinch, dip and swallow (although I don’t just swallow of course – it is like the consistency of peanut butter, I really don’t know how they do it). Despite the sunset, temperatures hovered in the high 80s and low 90s. Eating hot, spicy soup that you stick your hand into feels like it increases my internal thermometer to near feverish temperatures. I am often asked if I am OK and told that my face is really red. I can only imagine what I look like eating soup in these conditions. But, alas, it along with my Coke was a nice cap to an exciting and unusual day at a funeral.

America is coming to Ghana

“America is coming to Ghana” is something I heard frequently from people last week as Ghanaians looked forward to the arrival of President Bush. There was a lot of excitement and pride that Bush was spending two days in Ghana during his Africa trip, longer than he would spend at any other destination. I watched the live coverage of his arrival aboard Air Force One into a cleared out Ghana International Airport. When I arrived it felt like a chaotic circus of people sleeping, hawking goods, holding signs for expected visitors, yelling ‘taxi, this way,’ carrying large amounts of luggage, and just all kind of craziness that felt very overwhelming after a long day and a half of traveling. Bush didn’t see any of that as things had never looked so calm at the airport.

All four of Ghana’s TV stations covered the arrival. A group of traditional dancers had spent several hours performing in their traditional clothes and the cameras showed George and Laura take a quick walk past them. Quickly, he was in his limo and headed toward La Palm Hotel. La Palm is where I spent my first trip to the pool for about $10. It is probably the city’s nicest hotel and sits right on the beach. Ghanaians told me that military ships pulled in outside of the hotel to guard the waters surrounding it. An entourage of 80 reporters arrived with the President along with over 200 staff members. I’m guessing that they booked up the entire hotel for the two days and didn’t let anyone else enter the casino or the restaurants during that time.

Bush’s visit was highly secure. The day before he arrived, the papers published the road closings that would take place to enable Bush to visit different sites around the city. The people in my office were horrified. This city struggles a great deal with traffic and the roads being shut down were some of the main arteries of Accra. The papers simply said “find alternative routes.” That is much easier said than done because this is not a grid city like New York or LA. There is typically only one way to get from point A to point B. The office staff decided that they would have no choice but to work from home. They were unsure whether I would be able to walk to work knowing that I would have to walk by the embassy. They assumed security would direct me toward a mile-long detour to avoid the embassy. Tawiah’s husband ended up seeing Laura Bush pass by his office. She was in a convoy of nearly twenty vehicles followed by armed military personnel standing on humvees. They headed to the Ghana International School where the president was to meet them and lead a game of T-ball with the students.

What had started out as positive fervor about the impending visit devolved into frustration and negativity about his visit. New comments started replacing the prideful ones such as, “Why is Bush even coming here so late in his term,” and “He is only here to get Ghana’s oil.” A lot of this negativity was exacerbated by a comment Bush made when he was first asked why he wanted to come to Africa. He was quoted in the Ghana papers as saying that he wanted to visit a continent of “disease and hopelessness.” It was one of the more ignorant and indefensible statements I have heard him make over the years and was insultingly patronizing to Ghanaians. There are certainly challenges here and malaria is a concern to everyone, but it is in no way a hopeless and disease-ridden country. Other concerns directed at Bush during a televised interview between him and President Kufuor was of Africom. The US is establishing a military command specifically for Africa in Germany though. Some Ghanaians were speculating that Bush wanted to build military bases in Ghana to protect US interests in Africa (people were connecting this with Ghana’s oil supply). He stated that Africom was purely for training African troops so that they would be able to curb internal violence or defend themselves.

People frequently asked me what I thought his intentions were for the visit and his responses to some of the questions. The lack of transparency in this administration has really made me think anything is possible with them, but I kind of felt like this was more a PR trip for Bush in his last few months to scramble for a last minute positive legacy builder. It seems that there are few countries really friendly to Bush right now, but Ghana was just honored to be visited a second time in a decade by a US president. The amount of questioning and conspiracy theorizing going on about Bush’s visit grew somewhat wearisome. I felt put on the defense trying to defend the US against accusations that it wants to “control the world.” I was also asked what Bush is so afraid of in Ghana to need to shut down the city so that he could move around.

At first it seemed somewhat logical that a president would take extra precautions, especially in foreign cities. However, the Ghanaians were able to contrast Bush’s visit with Clinton’s visit in 1998. Clinton was in Ghana for 8 hours and traveled around the city like any tourist. He stopped to talk with people on the street and many Ghanaians lined the street to see him. He shook hands with many of them. I would say that Ghanaians are still very much in love with Clinton, as are many Americans probably. There seems to be something about Clinton that really resonated with people around the world. The staged meetings with traders (one paper’s front page photo was of Bush using a giant mortar and pestle to pound fufu) and high security around Bush seemed to confuse people here. The inconvenience it created further deteriorated the positive sentiment around the visit. I buy water and cokes from a little shop on the corner across from the embassy and the owner, Felice, told me that she had never seen such a slow day before. I thought about the informal food shops that line the road near the embassy too. Most of them live day by day on what they earn from selling fried rice and roasted plantains. I am not sure how they were going to fare through two days of no business. Felice said that many of them couldn’t get to work this morning because the tro tros weren’t able to get through.

I had always heard about presidents’ trips to foreign locations, but it was rarely on my radar and I certainly didn’t know how it impacted the people in those countries. While Bush was here, I kept looking onto CNN.com to see what news coverage there was in the US about the visit. I saw very few mentions of it and, aside from my mom telling me that the local news channel is northern California was doing a story each day on Ghana, it seemed like most people didn’t hear anything about the visit. It was all over the newspapers here and at the forefront of everyone’s minds. I am not sure if the complexity of pros and cons Ghanaians credited the visit with is necessarily warranted, again it feels like an attempt to have one success to grasp onto when one is building a legacy.

Bush has pledged $17.4 million to distribute mosquito nets around Ghana, assuming congress passes his budget. This was his one major initiative targeted at Ghana, however mosquito nets are seen as problematic by NGOs here. While they welcome the money, it is not a sustainable solution since the mosquito nets have a limited lifeline, at least the treated ones that are most effective against malaria last only five years. Ghanaians would like a more concrete solution to reducing the number of mosquitoes here, and one that does not involve spraying pesticides regularly. In Accra, there is a lot of standing water that is pretty heavily polluted. The open gutters collect garbage and debris and the water just sits there. I asked Tawiah if it would help to at least cover these open drains, but she said that because the water doesn’t flow anyways, it will still just sit there. One reason it doesn’t flow is that people put their trash into the drains and it clogs up the flow and no one is responsible for ensuring the drains flow properly. It also seems like low water table levels prevent the water from moving. Essentially, this has created a breeding ground for mosquitoes throughout the city. Besides for the fact that mosquito nets have an expiration date, they are said to be much hotter to sleep under. I don’t find this with mine, but I also have a fan overhead that I keep on high all night long. Without the moving air, I supposed it could get hot in the net. So, on very hot nights, many people would rather not sleep in the net and are willing to risk malaria. Parents do usually keep their babies under mosquito nets for the first few months of life here. Anyways, it shows that the problem isn’t simply solved by more mosquito nets. Certainly education around proper usage and storage of the nets is essential, but Ghanaians would also like assistance in more preventative action toward combating disease in the region.

All in all, by the end of Bush’s visit and his departure on Thursday morning for Liberia, Ghanaians seemed to be left with more questions than answers. It also seemed to increase their support of Obama and Hillary. Amongst the various Ghanaians I talk to, about 75% are for Obama and 25% want Hillary. Some question whether the US is ready for a female president and others aren’t sure whether the US would elect a black president. Interestingly, my African dress tailor assumed that JFK was black. Like many Americans, Ghana is ready and hopeful for the US’s next president and is happy to continue to move the relationship forward to build stronger bridges between the countries.

To Church

I am at last making friends at the NAFTI Hostel. A few helped me the other night wash my clothes by hand and then hang them on the line. I didn’t realize it was so technique ridden, but there is definitely an art to washing clothes in a bucket. Thankfully, they came over to help so that I was not outside until midnight trying to get soap out of my khakis.

The next day as I was walking to work, Ellie, my laundry friend, asked me if I would like to join her on Saturday to watch her choir practice and attend her church service on Sunday. As I have mentioned before, religion is very important to every Ghanaian I have met. The tros tros all carry messages of faith made out in sticky letters on the rear windshield. I was told once that I was not a good Christian because Mike and I lived together before marriage – to which I responded God clearly wanted us to be together otherwise the Patriots never would have won the Superbowl in 2002. I was given a Bible in Twi and told to use “my” English Bible to learn the language. The degree of religious devotion here across ages still continues to strike me. Outside of Christmas and Easter and watching political campaigns, religion does not enter my life on a daily level. With that said though, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to experience church-Ghanaian style.

Practice started at 3:00 at Saturday, so we left the hostel at 3:15. I am beginning to adjust to time here. Leaving “now” actually means leaving in fifteen minutes and nothing gets done in just an hour or two. For a grad student who was working one or two jobs at a time over the last few semesters, timing is everything. It is difficult to shed the pressure that time puts on you, but I am gradually relaxing and worrying less about being late for people. I digress though, my musings are probably not as interesting as reading about the strange and weird situations I find myself in here, so onto another one…

The church is actually a large lecture hall that was in the upstairs of a building on the international trade fair grounds. Rows of plastic chairs with folding desk tables connected to them faced toward where the band was setting up the instruments. Already it was quite different from my experience of church in Old Lyme. There was a drum set, key board and a bass guitar stand with three microphones in front and large speakers on either side. The choir, which was a group of about six girls between the ages of 18 and 30, gathered in between the microphones and drum set. I took my seat a couple rows back ready to take it all in. At that very moment, Ellie turned to me and said, “Heather, come sing with us.” Ghanaians have a way of inviting you to do things where you can’t say no. I was horrified by the idea of subjecting these clearly talented girls to my voice, so attempted a polite, “No, no. I don’t want to interrupt the rehearsal.” Well, that didn’t work. So, there I was standing in a circle about to sing Christian spirituals. Our first exercise included holding a note and walking in a circle individually. The choir leader pointed to me first. All politeness aside at this point, I refused to go first and gave her such a terrified look that she didn’t seem to be offended by my refusal. At another point in the rehearsal warm-up session, the girls were singing lines from their favorite church songs and the choir leader asked me to offer one of my songs. I didn’t think “This Little Light of Mine” or “B-I-B-L-E,” the only two songs I could sort of remember from Sunday school were going to cut it, so I attempted to briefly explain that I didn’t have any songs because we sing from a large book of hymns. They let me off the hook, but there was definitely the expectation that I would know the songs they were singing. Maybe a lot of churches sing the same songs, but these were a much faster pace than our organist at the First Congregationalist Church of Old Lyme usually plays.

After the warm up, we discussed the lyrics of the first song. The songs that they were singing during the warm up included lyrics like “I am falling in love with Jesus” and “God, you are my desire.” I was a little scared. The first song I was going to sing with them was something about always trusting in You – not so bad. Some of the girls moved around to sit in parts like soprano and alto. I stayed in my seat, but was later told that I might be better off going to the section that was just going to stay with one note for the entire song. Fabulous. After going through it several times, it was time to go up in front of the microphones and add the band. It was kind of cool singing with a band behind me regardless of the subject of the song. Also, the girls all sway and clap their hands as they are singing. I have always been one of those people who struggle with the whole rub your stomach, pat your head thing, so the whole singing, swaying, clapping thing was a bit out of my league. Plus, the girls were all in rhythm and I was just moving. The next song included two solos, thankfully I was spared having to refuse. The two girls who did sing solos were really impressive. Ghanaian Idol, perhaps? The lyrics were something like peace like a river, love like a mountain… not too bad. Everyone seemed to catch up quickly, so less rehearsal was needed for this one.

The rehearsal ended at about 7:30 with a dinner of kenkey and fish. Kenkey is a sticky, slightly sour dough that is dipped in a spicy pepper sauce. You pinch off bites and dip it in. I have noticed that “double dipping” is in no way taboo here. The fish consisted of what I think were fried fish heads. I had recently had an oral encounter with a fish head the previous day, when my co-worker “invited” me to share his fish with him. He gave me the snout as I watched him eat one of the eyeballs. As far as I could tell, the snout was just bones and skin, so I didn’t really understand why I needed to eat it. He was insistent and since the bathroom wasn’t too far, I figured I would just give it a try. It felt like soft bones that eventually crushed under my teeth and it was pretty oily. So, it felt like an oily, crunchy mess in my mouth that had a vague fish taste. I chewed for a bit, but decided it was just not meant for my stomach. Into the gutter went the little bones. Facing another snout gave me pause, so I took tiny pinches of the flesh, scrutinized it for bones in the dark and then ate it. Although the whole double dipping thing is sort of new for me, it is nice how everyone shares. It seems to bring people closer and creates an immediate intimacy between people, which is nice for me since I have spent so much time on my own outside of work.

The night before church Ellie offered to lend me one of her traditional African dresses to wear to the service. The dress was a beautiful and vibrant zig-zag pattern of orange and blue. The skirt tied around the waist and was fitted to just below the knee where it flared out. The top had ¾ sleeves and was slightly off the shoulder. It was cool to be in the dress, but the dress itself was quite warm and I was a little nervous about how I would fare walking around in the sun.

On Sunday morning, I awoke early to get ready for our 8:30 departure- wait did that mean 8:45? I knew church started at 9, so I thought we might leave on time. The minister picked us up at the hostel at 8:55. Everyone looked lovely in their long, printed dresses. Ellie has very short, almost buzzed hair that she has bleached to a medium brown. She wore a cute hair piece that she pulled back into a ponytail. We arrived at the church and sat in the front two rows. A few people had arrived and the band was all set up. Two men were using the microphones to do some sort of duet rap. One was repeating “praise Jesus” while the other one was saying longer sentences. Ellie informed me that we were praying. Ah, that is very interesting that in their culture you can rap your prayers. It was intense though, because around me I noticed everyone had their eyes closed and were mumbling prayers aloud and the music was in an endless crescendo. The full-body passion that people exhibited in their prayer and singing was certainly new to me and I again was struck by the degree of expression from the men in the audience and the adolescents. I guess I associate this type of religious zeal with middle-aged Midwesterners. Seeing young, trendy twenty-somethings on their knees in prayer or with their arms raised seemed contradictory.

About 45 minutes into the opening music/prayer section, the chorus made its way to the speakers. I really couldn’t believe I was going up there. But, there I was, third from the right, attempting to sway in time with the other girls, not sing too loud, and remember all of the lyrics. One of the girls put her arm around my waist so we could sway together. It was nice. Ghanaians really are the best. The churchgoers all clapped for us at the end of the two songs. The song/prayer section of the service ended nearly an hour and a half after it began. The minister spoke for about forty five minutes about putting God first. At one point he said that some people put careers and education first and really suggested that this was “not what God wants.” I worry what effect this kind of rhetoric has on an emerging economy with poverty and illiteracy rates that far exceed Ghana’s potential. My favorite part though was when he told the parish that they should stop sleeping with their girlfriends or boyfriends because it makes God angry and may those who don’t stop experience heartbreak at the hands of these boyfriends/girlfriends. Interestingly, most people laughed aloud. I wasn’t clear if we were laughing at the same thing.

Church ended around 11:30. Several people introduced themselves to me and commented that they saw me singing. I was relieved they used the verb “saw” as opposed to “heard.” Everyone was very nice and encouraged me to return. I was also told that the choir fees were 4 cedis per month. It was one of those “but wait I don’t think you understand and how do I politely say I was just curious about a choir rehearsal that suddenly snowballed and has now taken me to a place I am not quite ready for” moments. I did make two new friends though, Ellie and Eunice. Intelligent and talented girls who are aspiring film directors. It is nice to interact with young, self-empowered women from Ghana. It is interesting contrast from the beneficiaries of the Girls 1^st Program who, for probably a great deal of reasons, have not benefited from the education, role models, self-esteem, community support, etc., of the NAFTI students. Ellie told me at one point how important it is for Ghanaian women to make it on their own first before settling down. She said that the men here like to take credit for their girlfriends’ or wives’ successes and she did not want to relinquish any undue credit to anyone else. Smart chick.

Mailing Address

I wanted to post my address in case anyone needs the information.

Packages can be sent through DHL to:

Heather Wind
World Education
1st Circular Road
H/No 11B
Cantonments
Accra
Ghana

Letters and packages can also be sent through regular mail to:

Heather Wind
World Education
P.M.B 12, Osu
Accra
Ghana

If anything requires a phone number or if anyone needs to call me:
The office phone number is: Country code (233) 21781889
My mobile phone number is: (233) 243767905
Just make sure to dial 011 for international calls.

A Great Week: Saturday and Sunday

Saturday: I did take one more shower in the morning, but it was hardly like it could relish it. Even in the high 80s, cold showers are pretty shocking. We headed out one last time from Mary’s home and down the windy, bumpy road to Accra. The Aburi Botanical Gardens are not far outside of Koforidua. Although they were nice, the looked pretty neglected. We couldn’t quite figure out where the paths were and Nadia mentioned that it looked like a few of the signs identifying plants had been moved. It was nice though just to walking around in an area that was free from exhaust. We saw a lot of interesting butterflies too. There was a bright yellow one with long wings and a black one with large white spots. It was impossible to photograph them, but it was reassuring to see nature alive and well in the neglected gardens. There were also some chickens walking around. I can’t really remember the last time I saw a live chicken in the US and they are everywhere here. I returned back to the hostel around 3 to find out that not only was the water still not running, but the tanks were completely empty. Also, my spare garbage can of water had mosquitoes in it when I opened the lid. I got the travel book out and started looking up alternatives to this hostel. There has to be something out there.

One of the tall trees in the Gardens



















Pretty purple flowering tree
















The bamboo bent over to create an awning















A windy stone staircase



















This is a huge tree with interesting root structures

Sunday: Here we are to today. Several hours of typing up my week. The coolest place I can find is the office which is still 88.5 degrees with the fan on. I may have to go out and get more ice cream.

A Great Week: Friday

Friday might have been my favorite day. More fried eggs in the morning, but I was starting to look forward to Milo each day. We headed over the community center to find out that the megaphone people had announced to the communities that all of the girls should come not just the ones who had not taken the survey two days ago. After sending about 10 girls back home, we were left with about 10 which did not bode well considering our $100 announcement. I was feeling discouraged especially because the language and culture barrier was really hindering my ability to help offer advice or suggestions. I really had to rely on other people to figure out the best solution and 10 people is not a good result. Nadia, Kwame and I left the staff and the few girls to meet with a local bank to help us design a group savings scheme for the girls. They man and the woman we met with were just as motivated about educating the girls on the importance of savings and keeping business profits separate from personal spending. The woman wanted to speak with the girls on our first orientation meeting, so we had one of the speakers now in place for February 26. They also said that the girls could keep their savings at this bank as long as we designed a system to collect the savings and their staff would not be responsible for that or for transporting it to the bank.

Our next step was to conduct a market feasibility survey. Somewhere along the line it was communicated to someone that I was an “expert” in market feasibility surveys. I really had no idea what it even was or is at this point, so I really was confused about why I suddenly became the expert. I really should not be considered an expert in anything here since it is all so new and different from anything I have ever experience. One thing though that I would say I am a pseudo-expert in is winging it with stuff like this. I asked Kwame to bring us to the largest market around and wrote up some questions that I thought we could ask several of the vendors. The key concern of mine was to make sure that these vocational skills we were providing to the girls would be viable. In no way did I want to set these girls up to fail or to have to supplement their income in other ways, which is what we were trying to prevent with this program. We spoke first with a soap maker, who had clearly been working at it for some time and was very happy to talk with us. The friendliness of the market women was striking. Despite how hard they all have to work, they couldn’t have been nicer and more open to talking about their work. She wore a great hat too! We heard about the process she uses and where she goes to get all of the ingredients. I later purchased some clothes detergent that is formed into a ball. At some point I am going to have to wash my clothes in the buckets.

We walked over to a “fast food” seller. This woman was preparing wassche (the rice and beans breakfast I mentioned in an earlier post). She had been making it for 20 years but had only moved to this location three years ago. She moved because she had gotten a divorce. My first reaction was how sad it is that after all that time in marriage it didn’t last, but then I realized that the divorce was probably the safest and best option for her and she probably had been thinking about divorce for a while. So, here she was making her food. We asked her how she differentiates her food from the others in the market, and she was very proud to tell us that once in a while she adds something extra to the ingredients to give her customers a little extra flavor. She also emphasized the importance of customer service and treating people of all ages equally well. I noticed that she had a variety of price points too – selling children small bags of rice and sauce for 10 cents and then most adults spend about $2 or $3 on a bag of the wassche. She said that some days she doesn’t make any money but other days are good, so you have to be very careful about how you spend your profits. She also informed us that the economy in the area had been in decline for a while and she used to work at the market for three days a week, but had recently reduced it just to Friday.

Our next survey subject was a gari (crushed grain) and dried maize retailer. Kwame knew her from his teaching days, so we were able to have a more candid conversation. She was able to make enough money during the market day not to have to work any other day during the week, but she did sell to people out of her home. Her booth was set up as a table that contained a large bag of the gari and an even larger bag of maize on the ground next to it. A wooden shed was open behind her where we sat to discuss the project. There were 6 foot tall bags of both of her products and she said that she had to travel about 40 km to purchase them, but she didn’t have to go every week. She said that what helped differentiate her business is that she also treated everyone equally and was especially pleasant to people who had to buy from her on credit (not credit cards, but promising to pay either in installments or in the future at some point). During our conversation, a coconut seller sold several to Kwame and we all ate them. The man used a machete to hack off the top of the coconut so we could drink the watery contents. It was certainly better than the canned coconut water I had tasted at Whole Foods. The coconut seller also used his machete to help pry off the coconut flesh so that I could eat. It tasted oddly like avocado, which is how I found out about the whole pear thing. It had a nice, creamy texture. I took a few pictures with the retailer and some girls got excited to get into the picture too. We walked around to look at the other products that were selling at the market. There were quite a few used clothes. I have heard, but have not confirmed that organizations like the Salvation Army actually bag the donated clothes and sell them in bulk to individuals who then sell them on the street. I do see a lot of used clothes and shoes for sale, and I don’t see or hear of places where people can go to get free clothes, so I am starting to believe that this is the process of clothes distribution. Along these lines, I saw a motorcyclist wearing an Eric Lindros hockey jersey the other day. Since Nadia had never heard of hockey, I am guessing that the jersey had made it to Africa through this process. We found one woman who was making a bleach-type project that was used for removing stains and disinfecting toilets and sinks. She was the only one selling this and she said that she sold out of her products everyday. Very interesting… oh, and the best part is that she uses old water bottles for the container, so she is recycling too. We were done with our market survey or at least as far as I could tell since I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to be doing.

Our last stop of the day was at a vocational training institute. It teaches girls cooking and sewing, similar to what we are planning, but the girls live there. Prior to entering the meeting place, I asked where the washroom was since I had been struggling for a while. They pointed in the direction and Nadia held my things. I opened the door and saw a cement floored room with nothing in it but a small drain at the far end. I opened the door back up and motioned for Nadia to come over. I told her that there was nothing in there, no toilets or anything. She said “yes, that is it.” I said, “Well how about that other room that says ‘toilets?’” She said it would look exactly the same. Huh. I stepped out for a moment to compose myself and weigh my options while Nadia went in to use the facilities. I felt stupid and snobby for not just going for it, in addition to being quite uncomfortable. When Nadia came out I decided just to go for it. It wasn’t bad, but it is a little weird that it all just drains outdoors somewhere. After I was done I wanted to ask Nadia what happens when someone needs to go #2, but I didn’t think the translation would work. So, I left it to my imagination.

The man at the vocational training institute was incredibly helpful. He offered his space to any of the girls who were interested in learning the skills for which they had equipment and also said that he would talk to his team about how they could provide trainers in other areas that may not be located at his place. We also talked about which skills are actually viable and how his former students are doing. Our program is somewhat hindered by the fact that the girls are getting only 3 to 6 months of training, so we have to find something they can learn that quickly which eliminates things like hairdressing and dressmaking which is what most girls want to learn. He said that girls can learn and earn a living doing parts of the dressmaking process, such as doing embroidery and making test patterns for dressmakers. He also mentioned the emergence of vegetarianism which certainly piqued my interest. We mentioned how we had heard about the possibility of teaching the girls mushroom farming and he confirmed that it is a growing field and that people are eating more mushroom fried rice instead of the beef fried rice. We came to the conclusion that we could create a whole mini-supply chain for some of the girls. With a few mushroom farming, a few processing the mushrooms and then a few preparing the mushroom fried rice. He also mentioned how they are looking to brand some of the products they make include a uniquely scented hair pomade and liquid soap. My CSR instincts kicked in and I thought of how their products could talk about how they are made at this school and each purchase helps to fund programs that train girls to become entrepreneurs. That would certainly differentiate it with a feel-good brand.

We returned to find the team at the office. Only 10 more girls had shown up so we were still well under our target of 250, but had enough to conduct quality quantitative research. We went back to Mary’s house to see her before she left for a funeral. She mentioned wanting to buy me a funeral dress so that I could accompany her to one on February 23^rd. She also gave Nadia beautiful sea green fabric for a new dress. We thanked her and decided to stay one more night because it was raining fairly hard. Our driver is pretty good, a little quick with the brake, but I was not the comfortable driving with him at night or through rain so that combo of the two on windy dark roads in an area that is literally closer to Timbuktu than I have ever been before all suggested that we should just stay. Plus, we could stop by a botanical garden on the way home. Nadia went to bed early. I finished my book and then took one of my last showers for a while.

A Great Week: Thursday

More fried eggs for breakfast, between suddenly introducing meat into my diet and the amount of eggs I am eating I am a little worried that I am going to end up like that guy on Supersize Me. We met a little later at the Red Cross office to debrief on the day before. I attempted to compliment the moderators on their energy throughout and their commitment to the project, but it was lost in translation and everyone thought I was talking about the mothers there. Oh well, they too deserved recognition. My feedback was that we should split the communities into two groups next time and have half of the girls come in the morning and half in the afternoon. We just don’t have enough staff for this kind of project. We also strategized on how to recruit more girls to the survey and the program overall. It was decided that at an announcement would go out Friday at dawn to tell the girls to come to a community center. There are two ways to get news and announcements out to people in these rural areas. One is through churches and town leaders who walk around from home to home to communicate the message and who tell people as they come to church. The other is to hire people who go around in a van with a megaphone at dawn and announce any messages. I asked Nadia if these teenage girls would be awake by then and she replied, “Oh yes. They all have to fetch water for the day for their homes.” I feel like I am getting good material to use when I am the parent of a lazy American teenager. We opted for the megaphone approach which cost $100. It is bizarre to me that something so arcane would be that pricey.

After the meeting, Barnard, Nadia and I went out to get fufu for lunch. We went to a little chop shop and I was told that I would have to eat with my hands. Luckily I had come prepared with my packet of Wet Ones hand wipes. We stood looking into the pots of meat and I was noticing some different option that I had not seen before. A dark clump of something was put onto one man’s fufu and I sort of assumed but had to ask Nadia. Sure enough, it was snail meat. She asked if I wanted to try it and I should have censored myself but the face automatically conveyed a look of shock and horror at the possibility. The other new option they had for me was grass cutter meat. I have been told that this animal looks like a large rodent or guinea pig. I ended up ordering fish with the fufu and spicy tomato broth. And I ate it with my hands, but of course chewed it. You can only venture so far from your comfort zone. It was pretty good though and the guy who was pounding the fufu (it is a combination of pounded cassava and plantain) wanted me to watch him and take some pictures. I know they say necessity is the mother of all invention, but it really amazes me how much work goes into the main staples of food in this country. Pounding fufu looked exhausting and one other person has to reach his hand in to turn the dough. A slight distraction on timing could easily result in a broken metacarpal.

The second part of the day saw me, Nadia, Kwame (the regional Director of the Red Cross) and two of his team members meeting with microfinance institutions in the Eastern Region. We wanted to find out what types of loans they had available for girls, if they would be willing to present information to the girls, and their overall opinions and advice for us. I have to say that this was a truly amazing and educational experience for me. All of the organization are locally staffed, essentially Ghanaians lending small amounts to other Ghanaians instead of international organizations driving the microfinance movement. I was starting to get a little cynical about development in Africa because foreign aid, despite the huge quantities, seems to be doing little good but Africans are not stepping up to improve their communities either. However, these organizations demonstrated an exception to this pattern and were able to speak frankly about the cultural challenges inhibiting development.

The first encouraging piece of information we heard is the emphasis on the girls being able to demonstrate an ability to save money, even a small amount over a period of time. The microfinance organizations want to reduce the “dependence syndrome” which sees too many looking for an easy handout and making excuses for why they can’t move forward. These problems are not unique to Ghana, but the pervasiveness here really stunts the growth of the economy for more so than it does in the US. We had included a section on saving money in the questionnaire and realized now that it had to be an essential component of the training. Another problem we heard about from these microfinance organizations is the consistent pattern of people gaining capital from their business on spending it on material goods not essential to the business. We heard about one man who used all of his profits to buy a BMW and then when he came back to get another loan and the loan officer turned him down, the man accused him of being jealous of his new car. Materialism is certainly not unique to Ghana but it is difficult to hear about how women will skip their babies’ doctors appointments because they can’t afford a new outfit and how there is no money left for food when a week’s salary was spent on a new funeral outfit. All of the Ghanaians agreed that the public needs to be disabused of its perception that material goods are a higher priority than basic goods like food for their kids. It was also very validating to hear that the organizations agreed with the number of people we are targeting for the vocation skills training. All 250 will receive HIV educations and hear presentations from a variety of people in the community, but only 40 will receive training in a specific skill such as cooking and weaving. The microfinance specialists agreed that it was important to start small and focus on getting the 40 girls up and running in a microbusiness before attempting to expand it out to the rest of the girls.

The night was dominated by Ghana’s Black Stars facing Cameroon’s Lions in the semi-finals. Again, as I had mentioned before everyone was wearing their Ghana gear and even one of the men we met with at a microfinance organization had a very silly fuzzy hat on in the pattern of Ghana’s flag. People were nervous. Cameroon was known for having a very good soccer team and always dominating in the Africa Cup. Also, one of the best players of the Black Stars had received a red card in the previous game and could not play in this one and their captain was injured. It was fun getting to watch it with a few locals. Nadia and Mary were screaming at the TV and falling on the floor at different times. Bernard refused to watch fearing that his hypertension would be severely worsened by watching the game live. Sadly, Cameroon scored late in the game and Ghana was never able to capitalize on its few chances. The newscasters were so dramatic. There were comments such as “the hope of a nation has been crushed,” “an entire has been silenced by one goal,” and “the nation of Ghana is devastated.” All of the players were weeping at the end and the newspeople described them as “inconsolable.” The most surprising moment of the game for me came when one of Cameroon’s players was injured on the field. The Red Cross staff were on the field attempting to help him when one of the other soccer players from Cameroon ran up to a Red Cross medic and pushed him to the ground. He was tossed and rolled for a bit. It was very bizarre. I have never seen anything like it and couldn’t imagine why a team member would want to harm the people who are helping his teammate. Perhaps steroids aren’t only a problem in baseball.

A Great Week: Wednesday

I awoke early because we were to arrive at the Red Cross’s office by 8 that morning. Nadia made a breakfast of fried eggs and sausage and showed me how she cuts vegetables in her hand – no cutting board, just in your palm. I also had Milo for the first time, which is Nestles version of hot chocolate. Nestle has quite the monopoly on dairy products here. The hot chocolate was delicious, but difficult to drink in 80 degree weather. The Red Cross office consisted of a single room with a large table that took up the majority of the space and two small desks at the far side of the room. There was very little open space in the office and you had to slide from chair to chair to move about. The goal of the meeting was to go through the questionnaire question by question to discuss the proper translation of it and the answer choices and to make sure everyone was on the same page for what they would tell the girls. I thought it would take 45 minutes at the most, but ended up taking over two hours. Finally, we finished and had to head out to the school where all of the girls were to meet.

We arrived to find approximately 60 girls there on time. The program is expecting to train 250 girls, so it was very discouraging to only see 60. By the end of the day though, a total of 132 had taken the survey at varying time. Let me back up though, we gave introductions and explained what was taking place today. It took an hour and 15 minutes just to register everyone and get them to sign consent forms. The lack of literacy makes everything take much longer. For girls who can’t sign their name at all, we have to use ink pads so they can stamp their thumbprints. Many did not have phones either, so we had to get house numbers to be able to contact them in the future. I started getting nervous that if something as simple as registering took this long, how long was the survey going to take. Well, we started the survey at 2 and ended at 6. Four hours for an eight page survey in a school with little air circulation. Many of the girls had babies and toddlers and I was truly amazed at the patience of these little ones. Really, I was amazed by the perseverance of the girls and the moderators as well. We had divided the girls up between those who could read and write and those who could not, but really when it came to writing sentences they all needed help. There were about 2 moderators for 20 girls and we could have used twice as many moderators. We were lucky that all 250 didn’t come because it would have taken twice as long. Everyone stuck it out though and seemed to be able keep up their interest in the survey questions during the long four hours. At the end, the girls were all given a small stipend for transportation costs to the school and were given packets of drinking water.

Mary invited us all out to join her friends at a bar for dinner and a few drinks. I couldn’t wait. It was my first time going out with people to a bar and I would be with all Ghanaians, so I would get the local experience. There were about 15 people around the table outside of the open-air bar, lights in the distance and highlife music playing in the background. I ordered a Club beer and Mary took out some friend chicken and onions prepared by ones of her friends. Nadia and I ran to the bathroom where I was hoping to be able to wash my hands before touching the chicken. There was no light and no actual seat for the toilet. How I miss the California toilet seat cover law! I used my handy little blue flashlight, but of course was totally out of luck with washing my hands since there was no running water in the bathroom. I would just not touch any of the food. As soon as I picked up the chicken leg though I realized this would be difficult. I am just a bad meat eater. When I am faced with having to eat meat, I pick it apart to ensure that the only pieces that go into my mouth are perfect tiny pieces of white meat. This is not easy to do with no utensils and very little light. I noticed the others were eating everything down to the bone. How do they do that? The one saving grace is that it was so dark that they could not see me discard the fried pieces of skin onto the ground. I managed to eat a few and tried to eat as many onions as possible and then Mary called me up to dance. She had wanted me to dance all day with her, even at the school. So, just a quick side note… it has been difficult for me to get used to the loud volume of everything. Mobile phones go off all the time and not at normal volumes, they are all on loud and they all are unique songs not ring tones, so when a phone is ringing there is no break from the sound until someone decides to finally answer. Similarly, there are often radios or TVs on during meetings and a few of the Red Cross staff wanted to play music while the girls were trying to take the survey. This has been especially difficult for me because the accent is so difficult for me to understand that they may as well be speaking another language, especially when you add the noise of a radio announcer speaking Twi. OK, so back to the dancing. Mary had me show her some of my fantastic moves at the school, which I have really just one or two and then insisted that I do more dancing at the bar. The music wasn’t bad to dance to; it was no hip-hop, but it was sort of an 80s version of hip-hop. They have something called hip-life here which combines the “poppy” highlife with hip-hop. We all danced and Nadia joined us too. It was fun. Mary kept saying “Heather, get low” which meant that she wanted me to slowly bend my knees and wave my arms. For those of you who know him, I felt like I was dancing like Joel. They loved it though and I was told that I dance like a Ghanaian – which is hard for me to believe, but it is nice that I have found out who I dance like. At night, I introduced Nadia to the show Aliens in America, which I am able to download on iTunes also. I was a little nervous about the themes presented in the show and really emphasized that all Americans are not like these people. She loved it and thought it was hilarious – I wonder if we found the same things funny.

A Great Week: Tuesday

This past week I was in the Eastern Region, where the Girls 1^st project is taking place. The two things that needed to be accomplished were to administer a survey asking about HIV knowledge and familiarity with saving money and managing a business as well as conducting a market feasibility survey. Bernard, Nadia and I headed out to Koforidua again after finalizing the survey with the Boston team on Tuesday afternoon. One thing that complicated this process is that the questionnaire was written in English, but needed to be translated into the local language. Most of the girls are illiterate, so it would have to be read to them, but the local language of Twi is not really a written language either. I suggested that we type it out in Twi, but was told that most people do not know how to read or write in Twi or that it is uncommon and would not be helpful to assuring that the questionnaire would consistently be translated to the girls.

Tuesday night: Mary, Mike’s newest fan and one of the Red Cross staff generously invited us to stay at her home for the duration of our trip. It was a beautiful home surrounded by a high spiked fence and protected by a policeman outside and two little dogs, Bruno and Rocky, on the inside. I was shown to my room with its private bathroom and running water!! There was still no running hot water, but hey, I would finally be able to get all of the shampoo out of my hair. We headed out to eat and I had my first beer since early January. They have two local beers here Star and Club and they are typically served in large bottles with small glasses to pour the beer into. The way recycling works here is that stores and restaurants send the bottles directly to the manufacturer to be used again. I don’t believe they break them down like we do based on the slight flaws in the appearance of the bottles. You are not able to remove glass bottles from stores and must drink them there. The beer was pretty good. It reminded me of a light version of Becks. We returned to the house and I got to shower before hopping onto my very firm mattress. I read Michael Crichton’s Airframe that I had found at a bookstore here during my week in the Eastern Region and am not sure if I feel better about flying or am more nervous now.

Hilda’s Birthday

The birthday weekend overall was nice; mellow for the most part except for my excursion to the Art Center. Friday, the day of was also Tawiah’s birthday, so the whole office went out to a Chinese restaurant. I think I actually like Ghanaian Chinese food better than American. It is less sauce laden and has more vegetables, in particular onions. We also had ice cream for dessert, but not green tea ice cream just chocolate and vanilla. Ice cream is my new favorite thing here since it goes so well with the heat. The street vendors sell it in plastic packets which are called Fan Ice. We ate so much at lunch that for dinner I decided to treat myself to Special K which costs $9 here. My birthday evening was thus spent eating cereal and watching Superbad which I had rented on iTunes. It wasn’t bad, but I look forward to really celebrating when I return.

The next day I headed to the Art Center which was described as a collection of art and artifact dealers all clustered together. I was told that it would be best for me to go with a local to bargain for better prices, so I figured I would just look around and see what they had. On the plus side the variety of goods was excellent and everything seemed of a higher quality than I have seen in similar markets. There were giant masks from the Ashanti tribe, ornate wooden stools and footrests, colorful fabrics and watercolor paintings, and I even found a dealer who sells antique teeth from lions and kangaroo bones. I can’t imagine what people would use the latter for, but he had been there for a while so there must be a market. The down side of the market is the aggressiveness of the vendors. I was inundated with vendors yelling “sister come this way,” “friend, I want to show you something,” “free to look,” “just look for a minute” and everyone wanted to shake my hand and know my name. This is where the Hilda part comes in… Heather is very difficult to say in most languages outside of English. I was Hedder and Etter in Italy and now I am Hilda here in Ghana. I say my name several times and there are looks are complete confusion until they finally exclaim “Oh, Hilda!” Apparently most have never heard the name Heather, but somehow they have been exposed to Hilda (old American movies maybe?).

I didn’t buy anything at the market and was actually a little worried about entering the little booths the vendors displayed their goods in for fear of never exiting, but I look forward to returning with a local so that I can purchase some souvenirs. From there, I overpaid for a taxi to bring me to the Chinese designed National Theater to see if there was a show playing. As I have mentioned before, it is very difficult to find out schedules of things. The National Theater was completely deserted, but it was nice to walk around in peace for a few minutes. The Saturday night birthday dinner was a step up from Special K. I went to a restaurant that NPR mentioned recently and was described as “African food Bon Appetit would love.” Buka is in the touristy Osu neighborhood and it is second story open air restaurant. It would be the ideal spot if it overlooked the ocean, but the palm trees surrounding it made me feel like I was in a tropical setting. The furniture was all bamboo too with cushions which just added to the atmosphere. I had some sort of collard green stem atop white rice and the best fish I have had here. All of the fish is served with bones, which has been difficult for a picky eater like me to negotiate. This fish was not too bad bone-wise and it was delicious with my accompanying fresh pineapple juice. Speaking of fruit, I found out that they call avocados pears here and that oranges are the color green here. When I asked Bernard if he was confused by the name and wondered why oranges in Africa were called orange since they were in fact the color green, it had not occurred to him. It is funny how outside perspectives bring attention to things one would never think to question. One of my favorite parts of the birthday weekend was when the security person from Buka walked me to a spot to get a cab. I paid a fraction of what I normally pay for a cab in this area and realized how much more affordable taxis are for locals than for foreigners.

It is hard to believe, but it is actually hotter these days than when I first arrived. Weather.com consistently says that it is in the mid 80s here but that it feels like low 90s with high humidity. My alarm clock thermometer consistently reads 84 at night when I am trying to sleep. It is pretty brutal trying to sleep in those temperatures, which is why I felt little guilt going back to the Alisa pool on Sunday. It is my new favorite place. With the sun setting at about 6:15 here, I stayed for a few hours and then walked back to get on the internet again to talk to Mike and my mom on Skype.

I haven’t talked much about the Africa Cup of Nations soccer tournament, which is like the World Cup but just in Africa. Ghana is hosting it, so the whole country is going wild for Ghana’s soccer team (of course they call it football, which made it very confusing when I was trying to find a place to watch the Superbowl and kept having to say “American football”). I think Boston does a good job of demonstrating its support for the local teams, but it is nothing like what they do here. First of all, everyone is wearing at least something related to the team, whether it is a scarf, a pin, or a t-shirt. I have also seen women wearing dresses made of the colors of the team with the team’s logo in the pattern. Business people and news anchors are all showing their support of the team too with t-shirts on instead of the usual suits. Ghana was playing in the quarterfinals against Nigeria, their archrival. There was tension throughout the country the entire day and all TV sets were turned to the game on Sunday night. As I was walking around, you could see that people had gathered together at markets that had TVs and neighbors were standing and watching together outside to get better reception. Everyone was watching this game. Nigeria scored first early on with a penalty kick and then Ghana tied it up later in the game. As I was walking back from the office, Ghana scored the go-ahead goal and it was like the entire country erupted in cheer. I could hear the chorus of celebration from the stadium at least a mile away, but could also hear women screaming and men yelling “Goal.” It was intense and lasted for a while. I don’t quite understand the pleasure of watching soccer. It takes so long to see a goal and it is not unheard of to go the entire 90 minutes without seeing a score. Hearing the celebration though, it kind of made sense to me. You sit on the edge of your seat for an interminable amount of time and then the degree of joy of seeing that goal is so intense that it makes the majority of time all worth it. Mike often tells me that sports are not just a game. And thinking about all of the troubles in Africa right now with Chad and Kenya adding to the countries on the verge of civil war and contrasting that with the way Ghana was universally united behind their underdog team, it made me realize that sports really do have the potential to be much more than just a game.

The pre-birthday post

Yep, tomorrow is the big day. I am only a few hours away from a new decade and am in the process of saying goodbye to a wonderful and rocky, roller coastery ride of a decade. I was asked twice today if I ever would have thought that my 30^th birthday would have been spent in Africa, and while I never would have guessed it, I think I probably would have wanted my birthday spent someplace exotic. Perhaps, not alone, but at least the cute guy is at home waiting for me. This decade has actually been bookended by birthdays spent on other continents with my 21^st celebrated in Florence. I guess that means birthday #40 will have to be somewhere on Antarctica, because I definitely hope to hit the other continents between now and then.

Tonight, as a pre-birthday celebration, I headed to a notoriously touristy restaurant called Frankies that serves all-American food as well as Lebanese. I had been fantasizing about the chocolate shake that I heard they served all day and accompanied that with onion rings and hummus. It was the perfect birthday for a modern American 8 year old, but it was also just perfect for me. This was my second trip to Frankies in two days. The day before, I was able to get a lunch of a grilled tomato and cheese sandwich that tasted so close to the American version. It was like heaven in a little styrofoam package.

Food in general has improved considerably for me and I have enjoyed street food also twice in the past two days. One of the great things that I tried was a roasted plantain that is accompanied by “ground nuts” or peanuts. The woman sit by the side of the street and roast the banana relative over hot coals and it gives the fruit a sort of smoky sweet flavor. I have been thriving on fried plantains, so this healthier version was a nice departure. Today, I tried waatche. Bernard and I headed out to find a woman who has
her own little stand with an amazing amount of food set up in medium-sized bowls. In individual bowls she had, hard boiled eggs, pasta, ground cassava, there was a large pot of stew, a small bowl of hot pepper sauce and behind sat a large bowl of a mixture of beans and rice. I think the waatche is technically the beans and rice, but the way it is served to-go is to throw that into a bad with varying amount of the other items. It is then twisted up and blends together as you carry it on your way. I got it to the office, tore open the bag and ate directly out of the bag. Fast food – Ghana style.

The other thing that has drastically improved is the bucket bath situation. No, I still don’t have running water. Although, it worked for about 20 minutes this week and I was teased into thinking it was an early birthday present. I have begun heating the water in a kettle before adding it to the bucket, which makes for a pretty pleasant showering experience. I still prefer the traditional style of showering with a faucet over your head, but the sensation of dumping water over your head is kind of fun and I am definitely much more comfortable now that the water isn’t cold and I am not gasping for air.

While, I have been faring well so far, the same cannot be said for my computer. A dirty flash drive was hooked up to it and infected it with a virus. Of course, I could have protected it with anti-virus software, but hindsight is 20/20 and of course the individual with the dirty flash drive was very apologetic and didn’t realize what would happen. It all just feels a little ironic that I travel to Africa and my computer gets some seemingly incurable virus from an unprotected USB hook-up.

Two hours left of the twenties…

Cheers to many lessons learned, adventurous road trips, great bottles of wine, unexpected sports victories, long phone conversations, a surprise engagement… it’s been a good decade.