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| Welcome sign at the Accra Airport |
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| My Feet in Africa |
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| 2 Ghana Cedi = 1 US Dollar |
Arrived in Ghana 3 hours behind schedule, but safe and
sound, early afternoon of 24 June, 2013.
I was greeted at the airport by my field supervisor, Beth, and driven
straight to “the Mall” to change US Dollars into Ghana Cedi’s, pick-up a modem
that gives me internet access on occasions when I’m lucky, a telephone for
while I’m here, and medication called Coartem (just in case the Doxycycline
that I’m taking to prevent malaria doesn’t work!!). I was then driven to meet my host
family. I hope to have more about them,
including pictures, in a later post.
My first full day in Ghana I literally spent
sleeping. Between ending the term, two
weeks frantic preparation for the trip, and 24+ hours of travel time I was
absolutely exhausted. I am pretty sure
that if my host family here in Ghana didn’t already think that people from the
United States are lazy, they are positive it is true now. I hope to have opportunity to dispel that impression
before I leave.
My first day, not spent sleeping, focused on a cultural
and logistical training session, which included another trip to “the Mall”. For those of you who don’t know I’d rather
have teeth pulled without anesthesia than go to “the Mall”. “The Mall” being in Ghana does not change
that in the slightest!!
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| "The Mall" |
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| Spent a Fair Amount of Time Here In the First Couple of Days!!! and, Indeed, I Did Sit! |
I actually did learn some valuable and practical things
from the training. Be adaptable and
flexible (I can do that). Remember that
GMT may mean Greenwich Mean Time to most of the world but here it means “Ghana
Maybe Time”. Remain teachable and
willing to learn from Ghanaians; try to make the experience a reciprocal
exchange of culture. Don’t eat, wave, pass
objects (especially food), or point with my left hand. Don’t drink water unless
I am 100% sure it is safe; same goes for street food. Wear modest clothing.
The next day I had training on how to get to work and
back home without crumbling into a sobbing pile of despair. After I explain a
bit later about tro-tro’s it will become apparent how important this training
is and how much courage and bravery (or, as a friend back home says, “ovaries”)
is required to undertake this challenge.
Before spending time on tro-tro’s I need to relate a
rather amazing experience that happened earlier in the day. One of my classmates, Tim, was placed in a
rural area in Hunger Project epicenter outside the village of Big Ada. I rode the bus with him and Beth, partly to
give him support but mostly because I’m selfish and wanted to see a bit of the
country side. Big Ada is about 50 miles
west of the capital city of Accra near where I am living. While at the compound where Tim will be
staying we met the “Stool Father” for the Ada tribe. His name is Ebe; short for
Ebenezer I found out later. The “Stool
Father” is, as best I can figure, akin to our President’s Chief-of-Staff in the
United States. All tribal affairs go
through him and are settled by him. Ebe
said that few matters are actually taken to the Chief (who lives in the UK,
BTW). There is this complicated lineage
process for who becomes Chief (the person who actually sits on the “Stool”) and
who becomes “Stool Father”.
I don’t totally understand the whole process of gaining
or the importance of having these titles but Ebe did offer Beth and me a ride
back to Tema near where we wanted to be.
On the ride back he talked a lot about Ghana and his family. Then he invited us to a festival that they
will be having in Ada the first week of August.
It is a Homowo or a festival and feast of thanksgiving. Apparently the chiefs from several local
tribes will be there in their tribal finery in a “procession of the chiefs”. It
was an honor to receive an invitation. I’ve
been assured that invitations, once given, are sincere. I am looking forward to
this adventure.
A tro-tro is public transportation for the masses in the
form of as-many-people-as-can-possibly-fit-inside minibuses. As far as I can gather the word “tro” comes
from a local word for the British three pence piece. In colonial days, pre-1957, mass transit
vehicles charged three pence each way, hence the name “tro-tro”. The system
works around the tenet of waiting. There
are no schedules, no route maps, no signs indicating the destination, and no
designated “stops”; one just waits on the roadside, seemingly anywhere, until
the right one comes along. Once you find
the right tro-tro you may still have to wait, in broiling condition exposed
skin sticking to plastic seats and neighbors, until the bus is full.
There actually is a code of hand signals that helps if
you can manage to de-code the system. Perhaps
I will master this before I leave Ghana but it is a baffling mystery to me as
of yet. In the meantime, I am so
grateful for the helpfulness of the Ghanaian people. Each tro-tro has a driver and a mate. The Mate uses hand signals to indicate the
direction of travel, tells the driver when to slow down to pick up a passenger,
indicates where the passenger will “alight”, and collects fares.
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| Tro-tro |
It is an accomplishment to get on the right tro-tro, to
make it to work on time, and to make it back home physically safe and mentally
sound. The only signs on the buses
reflect the religiosity of Ghanaians and have phrases like: “Trust in God Always”, “Pray”, “Come to Jesus”,
“God’s Tro-tro”, “Jesus Saves Lives”, etc.
I feel that I am in good hands!!!
All kidding aside, the tro-tro system is a cheap and
pretty efficient way to move a lot of people, from school children to smartly outfitted
business people, and everyone in between.
As much as it baffles me, it also impresses me very much.
The third day I finally went to work!! I rode the tro-tro from my home in Mataheko,
got to work on time, walked into the building only to find that my supervisor
was not there. Neither was his second in
command. The third person in charge
looked at me with obvious panic like he had not been told to expect me and what
the heck was he going to do with this white woman anyway? But we worked it out. I just shadowed him for a few hours then went
home (on the tro-tro!!). My supervisor
did call and leave a message that he was sorry to have missed our meeting time
and he expected me at work on Sunday at 1pm to meet with him. Be adaptable and flexible, yes I can do that!
I will be working at The House of St. Francis, a 12-Step
based drug and alcohol treatment center.
One of the few treatment centers in Ghana. The house is for men only but they are hoping
to get an out-patient center for women going nearby by mid-July. The House of St. Francis is in Ashaiman, a
smallish town that Beth said made her feel “uncomfortable”. Not a shining endorsement for my
placement. I have been through the town
a few times now and have felt totally safe.
I will, however, take all appropriate precautions!!!
A closing thought or two:
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| Obroni, Obroni, Take Our Picture, Please. |
Here, in Ghana, I am “obroni” in a sea of “obibini”I can’t just blend in here and become “part
of the crowd”. People in the streets actually ask if they can take my picture (and
I am so not a picture person). To my
credit I just smile and say yes. It is an interesting juxtaposition to what I
am used to in Eugene Oregon. I live in a
mostly white community and when a person with a different skin tone walks by I
often do a “double-take”, not so much because I am racist but because it is somewhat
unusual and the difference stands out. Here
my skin tone stands out and I am getting a sense of what that “double-take”
feels like when one is on the other side.
Granted, my experience is a novelty and not a way of life but it does
give me pause to reflect.
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| Dogs in Ghana Are Protection Not Pets, But Leave It To Me To Find The Exception!!! |
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| Henry Saying Hello |
