Monday, August 18, 2014

A Tube of Toothpaste



Evelyn

Ama
Joe

I just need to get a couple of things out of the way.  I noticed last year and continue to be amazed by these two observations.  First, I can’t believe how many Ghanaians leave their homes wearing white and return home with their clothing still looking clean and fresh!  In the Greater Accra Region of Ghana there is a lot of red dust and, this year, mud.  If I were to wear white I’d come home looking like I’d rolled in the stuff.  White, even in Oregon, is not a great color choice for a slob like me.

Second, the beauty of eyelashes here astonishes me: thick, dark, long, curly, and unadorned.  When one sits in a tro-tro practically on other people’s laps for any length of time you start to notice things like this.

Broom
I have a practice of mindful meditation that I try to do every morning no matter where I am.  I go out early in the morning and listen to the city wake up.  I feel the most peace and serenity when I am outdoors.  The home I am staying in while in Ghana has a great balcony that I use for this purpose.  I go up there around 5am each morning and start my meditation.   I just sit and listen.  For the first 5 minutes or so there is almost total silence and all I can hear is my breathing.  That doesn’t last long.  I first start to hear the birds singing then roosters start crowing and an occasional barking dog.  I can hear the traffic noise start up.  I begin to hear the sounds of human activity; doors opening, water being fetched, the sound of flip flops clicking and shuffling along the dirt roads and paths.  About 5:30am, I hear three men, who meet every day on the corner near my home, gather for their morning greetings.  Then the sound comes that never fails to make me smile and signals the end of my meditation; the sound of dirt being swept.  Lawns and cement sidewalks and driveways are not common but the dirt in front of homes and businesses is kept neat and tidy.  It may sound strange but there is something touching about this aspect of daily life.

These guys are everywhere!
Ghana sits very near the equator.  It took me several years of travel, much of it spent near the equator, to realize that at this longitude day and night are of equal lengths every day of the year.  I’ve noticed that Ghanaian life seems to center around this fact.  People are up and ready to begin the day at first light, around 6am, and are ending their day around sundown; 6pm.  This is not to say that there is no night life in Ghana; there most certainly is. Proof positive comes to me from the noise generated from the “Spot” (drinking establishment) near my home where loud music and seeming merriment is generated until the wee hours of the morning.  However, daily life for many in Ghana seems to follow the sun.  I try to be home before dark every evening partially because I do not feel safe traveling after nightfall. This seems to make my host family very happy.

I wrote a fair bit about hairstyles in Ghana last year.  Men tend to keep their hair very short or shave their heads; with the exception of a few “Rasta men” who sport dread locks.  Women, on the other hand, often have very elaborate coiffures.  Wigs and weaving are popular.  Although many “go natural” women, in general, are very attentive to their hair.  I, on the other hand, am a wash and wear type of woman.  I came to Ghana with my hair much too long for my liking.  My hair kept getting between my eyes and my eyeglasses.  I finally bought a head band.  I went into class, removed my hat, shoved back my hair with the headband, and announced to my class, “I don’t care how this looks I’m just tired of having my hair in my eyes.”   The men in class actually snickered.  Shaking their heads the women, in unison, bowed their heads while “clucking their tongues” at my “shame”.  One of the men said, “Well, that’s certainly not something you hear from women in Ghana!!”  I went and got a haircut the next day.

After last year I am very grateful that I had the foresight to bring a heavy duty sport bra.  Last year I brought light weight "comfortable" bras.  Given the conditions of many of the roads in Ghana this was not a wise choice!!




The other day I was riding in a tro-tro when a woman got on and sat beside me with a canister of propane! I understand that propane is the main fuel used for cooking and one has to get their fuel home somehow but I was just a little bit alarmed.  I felt immense relief when the women and her propane got off the bus just a few stops later.  This got me to thinking about personal safety.  There are many things that would be “unacceptable” in the United States that seem perfectly normal here.  
Seatbelts and car seats are the exception and not the rule.  Although I believe seatbelts are required for tro-tro drivers (I see them put them on whenever we come to a police barrier) I seldom see seatbelts being worn.  The only car seats I’ve seen are in the car of a woman who is from the United States.  Children, when they are fortunate enough to have a car to ride in, do what we use to do when I was a kid, sit on their parent’s laps in the front seat or roam freely in the back. 

Crossing a street can be an exercise in courage.  Pedestrians do not have the right-of-way and traffic is insane.  I’ve seen a few crosswalks but they are largely ignored.  When crossing a street I have learned to just follow the crowd.  I have also taken rides in tro-tros where I, literally, have to hold the door shut!

Another safety issue; houses are locked-up pretty tightly.  Doors are always locked and windows are barred. One of the homes I live in part time does not even have a back door!  In the homes I have lived in both summers in Ghana there is absolutely no way I can get out at night.  I don’t let myself think about these things too much.  I am not in Eugene. I am not in Oregon. I am not in the United States.

Last Year
This Year
A couple of things happened this week, in the scope of things are pretty small, that have special meaning to me.  Last year I took pictures of several children.  For the children I could identify and remembered where they lived I had the pictures printed and put them in frames.  I carried 9 photographs with me back to Ghana.  My first week back I went to the children’s homes and delivered the pictures.  A few days ago I was walking to work through a school yard.  I heard someone calling, “Madame, Madame, Madame.”  Because I am used to being called “obroni” (the word for “white person”) I did not immediately realize the person was calling to me.  When I finally responded it turned out to be the mother of two of the little girls who I delivered pictures to.  She thanked me generously for the photos.  She said that they had made her girls “very happy” and that this was the only photograph she had of her children.  I was touched.  I took a picture of the family this year. 

I was also very touched by a gift I was given.  I teach on aspects of recovery, such as triggers, boundaries, and protecting one’s self from relapse, at a treatment center called the House of St. Francis.  The recovery program used at the house is called Recovery Dynamics which is a 12 Step based approach to treatment (an evidence based practice, BTW). So, I also do education on the 12 Steps.  One of the men was leaving the house to return home.  He presented me with a gift.  It was wrapped in notebook paper with his name carefully printed on the front.  I opened it and it was a tube of toothpaste.  I don’t think that I have ever been so honored with a gift in my life.  He wanted to thank me so he gave the only thing he had available.  The gratitude I felt from this simple and heartfelt gift was overwhelming.  





























2 comments:

  1. Even we, once, followed the hours of daylight. Before unlimited electricity and lights, before lifestyles too busy and demanding to fit into the hours of the day. Of course, I do love how long the days are in Oregon during the summer. I appreciate reading your blog and wish your internet wasn't so sketchy. Blessings, dear Shelia!

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  2. Sign me up with the Mermaid Doc!

    ReplyDelete