So far Philadelphia has been good. Not too cold for being in the dead of winter. It’s about 40° F during the nights. Considering I only brought a sweatshirt, I feel like I lucked out. Last night some of the early arrivals met up and watched the Super Bowl at the Holiday Inn bar. Then [...]

I am so impressed with the life experiences and attitudes of my fellow Peace Corps trainees.  Some examples of their foreign travel experience: Studied in Italy for four months A year in Russia as a Rotary exchange student Month-long trip to … Continue reading →

Happy February to everyone back in the frozen tundra (or not so frozen this winter so I hear).  My mini version of winter has come to an end.  The heat and humidity are back in full force and we have gotten our first rainfall.  Once March rolls around we will be in the rainy season.  [...]

This afternoon, James and I went out for a walk. As we were strolling along past the school, James pointed out a particularly tall palm tree. Leaned against the tree was a ladder, and on top the ladder was one of my students, Simon. James said, "Betsy, I want to show you what this guy is doing." We walked over to the palm tree. Simon was hacking away at the base of the palm fronds with a machete.

"He is harvesting palmnuts," James said as a ten-foot palm frond fell at our feet. "He is removing the branches first so he can get to the palmnuts." I could see the cluster of plannuts, which was about the size of a basketball, wedged between bases of three of four of fronds. "You know we have some kind of traditional or spiritual beliefs about the palm tree," James continued, "We believe that when you are visiting a person or a place you should not take the palmnut soup unless you plan to stay for a very long time. You should prefer to take light soup if you are only visiting for a short time. If you take the palmnut soup, then you will have formed a connection to the place and you will not leave for a long, long time. The palm is sign of prosperity, so when you take the soup, people believe you will stay and have a very long prosperous life." Another palm fond fell. I could see the palm nuts better. The cluster was held onto the tree by a short, thick woody stem.

"Look at this part. Here," James pointed to the center rib of one of the long narrow bright green leaves sticking off the fallen frond, "We take many of these, dry them in the sun, and tie them together for a broom. Like the one in the kitchen. And this part," he pointed to the tough woody center of the frond, "We can take the outside of it and use it to weave baskets. While it is green you can weave it, but then when the thing turns brown, it will become very hard and strong," as James finished his sentence, a large cluster of red-orange palm nuts fell at our feet. We watched as Simon repositioned his ladder on the other side of the tree to get at another cluster.

I walked over to examine the cluster of palmnuts. At the base of the cluster, a few of the palmnuts had suffered a blow from Simon's machete; I could see the inside parts. The thin outer skin is bright reddish orange and similar in texture to the skin of an apple. The bright orange flesh inside is incredibly juicy and fibrous. The shell encasing the inner kernel is black, thick, and very tough. I couldn't break one by stomping on it. The inner kernel is soft like a cashew nut, pale yellow, and very oily.

James pointed to the black shell, "Blacksmiths use this part to fuel their fires because it burns very hot. Some commercial chop bars also palm kernel shells, because it can cook the food faster." Then he pointed to the kernel, "This inside part contains alot of oil, so at the factories, people extract the palm kernel oil. It is very nutritious." Another massive frond fell to the ground.

"When you prepare the soup, you boil the nuts first. After cooking for some time, you pound the nuts, like we pound fufu. You sieve it to remove the hard parts and the kernel. Then you cook it again for some time and take the palmnut oil off the top. You can use it for anything - the red oil in our kitchen, you know the one."

"Since the trees are so valuable, when people are clearing land for farming or to construct buildings, they will be very careful not to cut any palm trees. They will only cut the trees when their life cycle is finished. When it is time, the people will cut the tree at the roots. After the tree has been lying for some days, the people dig a hole in the ground at the top of the tree. The will put a big pot in the hole. Then, they take machetes and they cut the top of the tree. This will make the palm wine drain out of the tree into the pot. After the tree has drained, the people take the palm wine to drink or to make into akpeteshie.

"We let the tree lie again for some days or weeks. A certain insect comes to drill into the tree and put its larva in the hole. People take the larva, because they are very delicious! We put some on a thin stick, add salt, and roast them over a fire. Or we can put them in soup."

THUD another cluster of palmnuts hit the dirt.

"After the tree has been lying for some months, then the mushrooms start to grow. The mushrooms are the tall ones with short tails." I drew a picture in the dirt of mushrooms I've seen before in the market and said, "Like this?"

James said, "Yes yes! That's the one! We can put the mushrooms in soup or anything. They are very delicious."

"After a year, the wood has become rotten during the rainy season, then dry again in the next dry season. If you burn it, there will be ashes in a straight line. If you plant anything in that line, it will grow very, very well! You can move the ashes to your farm, but people believe it is better to use them where they are."

"You see, the palm is a very special, very important tree. But people are forgetting how to use it. These young people do not learn how to use the natural things" We took a moment to admire the palm tree in all it's beautiful utility. "Ok, let's go home now, I'm feeling very hungry!"

We had to take a taxi to deaf school which was a long walk from the Oasis. Dennis and I decided it was to hot to walk 5km into town or even 4 km to the school so we elected to call for a car. Two others decided to stay with us and the lady at Oasis called for a car. He tried to play a game with us asking us a crazy amt but the lady helped us and we got him down, still to high but apparently he drove in from Bolga because he was not in the area.

The deaf school was so much fun. When the taxi pulled through the gates the kids came running. They grabbed our bags and would not let us carry anything. Then as a second thought they asked who we were there to see. I was spelling her name when one of the girls remember she had shown her how to sign her name. When they knew it was Lauren they took off again just so excited to see so many white people at one time 4 of us at that time. When they found out Lauren was in town buying chop they went and got us a bench so we would not have to stand and wait for her.

You might be asking how do you know all this. Well believe it or not some of the signing came back to me. The kids were touching and saying things about our mats. I signed to them it was for exercise. They laughed and then wanted our names so I had to sign each name though I had to be reminded a few letters. I thought why did I not learn sign language instead of Fra Fra I might be able to talk a fee fee amount more. Ha!!

Had a nice visit around campus they have their own garden, making a club for vocational type learning, beading, sewing, making shoes, etc. and a room where they were all watching TV. These kids were so cute they all wanted to know our names so they made a sign for each of us as we told them our names, and they wanted us to know the sign for each of their names like I remember many of them Ha!!!

Such a fun time with them. Then went right to Lauren’s room where they went away without making a fuss.

Here are a few pictures.

They were showing us their names

Still in Ghana!!!

Oven being made for making of beads. Yes, a clay oven. Lauren in picture is the teacher.

Watching Tv on a Saturday afternoon.

Loved my time there. Hoping I can tag onto Lauren’s club idea and get something started here in Nyariga.

Here we are all at Melissa’s house getting ready to go to our VAC meeting in Tongo Oasis. Brittany, Emma, Dawn, Laren, Melissa. All our yoga mats to get us on the right road in the morning to help us decide on committees we want to be on to help with different projects in Ghana with PC. Not our tros thank goodness. They goats are also in the back half of the inside of the tros. Must have smelled wonderful in there!!! View from the porch the water is low (well this is the dry season) but the birds came as did boys to fetch water. It was so pretty – looked kind of like the hill country in August. We stayed in these huts. Running water with wonderful shower, had a kitchen but we used the house for eating etc. Friday night we had taco with flour tortillas, guniea fowl meat, salsa, lettuce just no guacamole out of season. Very nice. Living kitchen dinning area of home where we stayed in the huts or bedrooms next to living room. We fixed our own meals, except for the above one, had our meeting and hated to leave. This meeting is to get us informed about the different committees the PCV’s are putting together to help in different areas, like HIV/AID; Stars-leadership camp for students; etc. Learned a lot and want to help with these committees, especially those with helping kids in their education. We left here to go check out a Deaf School

Yesterday I left the comfort of family and familiar surroundings. Today I woke up in a Holiday Inn in Philadelphia. Tomorrow I head to Ghana. I’m on my way! My brother Larry took this picture at the Tulsa airport. I’m all … Continue reading →

All my bags are packed. I'm ready to go. 

I probably over-thought my packing. The strategies with what to bring and what not to bring seemed limitless. Each capable of producing various outcomes. Factor in uncertainty and packing becomes a game of probability. Soon we will see how this game plays out.

I've never been terribly good at "goodbyes." I don't/can't linger and my timing is horrible. I'm just as likely to say my farewells and turn around and run for the exit as I am to have a last few meaningful words. Honestly, I am off to Africa and I don't know what to say.

With my bags packed and iPod charged, I begin the next chapter of this crazy little thing called life. I have Munchkin and Settlers of Catan; Ghana, prepare for nerdom. 

Almost every day comes a minute or two where the increasingly smaller voice in my head asks: Why aren't you writing? When will you start again? Guilt, guilt, guilt. Truth is, I guess, that despite the fact that some projects have been moving along quite nicely; Christmas, New Year's, and my birthday have come and gone; and I'm living in freakin' Africa, I feel conflicted when I sit down to write. I guess that now that I have been here a year, the novelty has kind of worn off. My Holy-Shit-I'm-in-Africa moments are rare and almost non-existent now. The fun with the blog at the beginning was writing about these epiphanies I was having and being able to express them and share them at the same time. Now, I feel rather epiphany-less and that anything I write merely in an attempt to keep up with the blog and not with as a creative expression comes off as dull and stale. Consequently, the lined page remains blank or my computer cursor continues to blink.

I love the work. I love the fact that I've been able to identify community problems, choose which ones I want to address, create a solution or answer to them, find the tools to implement it, and then implement it. I love working for Peace Corps and being a part of the “Peace Corps Machine” if you will. I love several of the individuals I have met in the course of my time here, felt privileged to know them, help them, and witness their lives. I don't love Ghana. I am not summarily taken with or inspired by Ghana, West Africa, or its culture. I guess that that is a foundational reason why the fire has gone and I haven't tackled many of the things that I came here determined to tackle.

At the core of anthropology is tendency to romanticize culture. It is the profession's source of passion and its curse. The passion is what keeps new professionals finding it in university and fighting to study it even though they most likely won't make any money at it. It has what has prompted adventurous individuals to go to far flung places to live with peoples everyone else thought were strange and barbaric. It's what prompts anthropologists everywhere to say of those “strange and barbaric” people and practices, No they're not and I'm going to prove it to you. It's a curse because romanticizing culture can give one rose-colored glasses which can potentially blind you to many things. Romanticizing is not a far step from Exoticizing, something that can be very detrimental and very insulting to people. But, at least for me, it is the dose of romanticism that keeps me curious and motivated and exploratory. I came to the realization a while ago that I feel virtually no passion for Ghana, its culture, or its land. I feel no curiosity (beyond a few certain activities like cultural dancing) about how or why certain cultural quirks exist and have to desire to explore it in a way that I expected to upon touching down in Ghana. It has caused my focus to shift. I have set the anthropology on the back burner and have instead tried to focus my energies and motivation on the projects, the individuals, and Peace Corps rather than community integration, cultural study and professional anthropological methods. It seems I am not really alone in this feeling. Many other volunteers have expressed a very ho-hum attitude towards this country, and a lot of West Africa.

That being said, I am very satisfied at the moment with the pace of my grassroots development work, i.e. my projects. The school library is a long term, ongoing project and I am pleasantly surprised and excited about the way it is snowballing. All our money is in for the renovation stage, there is enormous enthusiasm at home for contributing books, and Damanko is equally as excited to receive it. They have gone even above and beyond in their contributions putting to shame everyone's complaints about their own communities that “just want handouts without contributing anything.”

I was also able to find good match in an organization for our community's household latrine needs. We are in the process of securing materials to build 100 latrines in Damanko and surrounding villages for households who really want one, but can't afford them because the cost of cement has increased more than gasoline. I am really testing the limits of Kwesi's public relations and community organizing abilities with this project and the family planning event we will be kicking off this Friday (I will save a description of that til after we've finished). He will rise and go beyond, I'm sure. I am beginning to think he is indefatigable.

So, life and work saunters on. I am doing enough that my ego is convinced I am appropriately busy, but the pile of finished novels grows exponentially higher.

Okay, so perhaps this is enough to get me started again. Baby steps, right? My computer is also operational again, so that helps immensely. Here's hoping a second chance will be successful!

Hey Everybody!!!

I feel like every post I write starts “so I know its been awhile since my last post and im sorry…but…” …and this time is going to be no different.

These past few weeks I have been super busy! A few weeks ago my friend Sonia and I traveled down to Accra to hang out and enjoy some one the obruni luxuries the big city has to offer. Andddd to top off the whole trip we stayed with the same woman Peace Corps paired me with for Thanksgiving. We were in a little slice of America for a few days. We bought spices and chocolate and even ate cheese! A complete vacation! Then we traveled to Kumasi for some grant writing training. The first 4 days were training on a specific grant called the BUSAC Fund. Its basically money that goes to the private sector for advocacy…like getting a law changed that is unfair or outdated that hinders small businesses from making a profit. The fund is managed by a RPCV (returned peace corps volunteer) and he’s really jazzed about working with us volunteers. Its all very interesting and it gave me a whole bunch of ideas to look into once I get back to site. Right now theirs a current PCV being the BUSAC/Peace Corps coordinator but he is COSing (close of service) in July so a new one needed to be chosen…and I’m it! Very excited!

I made it back to site a few days ago and have been gathering my thoughts for a big meeting with my boss about potential project ideas. But before I could even site down to think I had to clean my house. I was gone for almost 3 weeks and between the bugs that decided I was gone and could move in and the dust that managed to sneak through my closed windows I had my work cut out for me. Once project in really excited to start work on is a household latrine project. Should be really beneficial if it turns out how I hope it will.

I cant believe its February! Time is really flying by! I don’t want it to go too quickly because come June I have to rejoin the real world and start thinking about getting a real person job and all that.

Well I think that’s all for now. I promise I will be better at updating…no more of this 3 month vacation from posting thing…I hope!

Hope everybody is well!

Part of the curriculum for Basic Design and Technology is “Fabric and leather decoration” which includes tie dye!  We tried it last week with mixed results.  The dye was old so the colour wasn’t great but overall I think they got an understanding of resist dying!   Alice and Emmanuella tying their fabric. Mixing the [...]

And the campus at Franco goes quiet. While not every student has left the school grounds, 96% of them have and the dormitories have gone quiet. Walking around the campus I don't find that I get to say hi very often as there is nobody left to say hi to save the teachers who are still living on campus and some of the staff who remain at their posts. But in all, there is not a lot of action right

At the beginning of January all of the first year education volunteers met in Kumasi for an In Service Training.  We did a lot of stuff about grants and problems at site but the art group got to do practicals! The first day we did screen printing. The second day of practicals we  went to a [...]

I like this pic of them on safari.

So the journey of Rick and Lola coming to Ghana started back in February 2010. Once I got my official Peace Corps assignment to Ghana, I started talking to them about coming to visit me at some point in my 2 years of service. The “oh, we’ll see’s” and the “maybe’s” were abundant. By the time I flew out on June 4, 2010, I figured I had at least a year to widdle them down. Many phone calls involved pleading with them saying that Ghana would be a big part of me and they should come and see my village and my people that would be such a big part of my life. The arguments ensued; they suggested we meet in Europe instead. I finally said, “Fine. I want you guys to come to Ghana, if you don’t want to, I understand. F’ it!” And within a few weeks (August 2011) they booked their tickets! Happy!!!!

Now came the shots: Tetanus, Hepatitis A&B, Yellow Fever, Meningitis, and malaria pills. They started gathering gifts for my villagers and copious amounts of American food for me :)

Now if you know my parents, you know they do not travel abroad. They have been to the Bahamas and Mexico. They had to get their passports and visas to come to Ghana. This was no small feat for them and that made it mean even more to me. Mom doesn’t like to fly, and Ghana is an 11-hour flight from D.C. My parents love me!!!

So, I booked our hotels and a car and driver to take us around. On Thursday (they flew in on Friday), I call them and check up on everything. Mom tells me that I should call the place we are staying at the beach to see if I could get a room with a private bathroom…she doesn’t want to go wandering around Africa at night to pee. So I call. “Oh, we do not have your reservation. All the rooms are booked.” “So, I called and you took my reservation on the 28th of December, but did not put it in the book? So when my shiny, white parents, who have traveled for 20 hours from the land of snow to come and see me after 20 month, arrive in Ghana, I have no place for them to sleep? This is not ok!” After a couple hours of scrambling I find a hut for us to stay at in a close-by beach village (with a private bath). Ok. Fine.

So, at 2 pm Friday I’m standing at the airport in Accra and get to see mom and dad in the flesh for the first time in 20 months! We hug and I start tearing up a lil’, “Jeanna, don’t start blubbering!” Damn…bite lip…ok, ok. I’m good. We walk out and the airport taxi guys tell us it will be 30 cedis to get to our hotel…a complete and total rip off by at least 300%. So we start wheeling our luggage out to the round about (as I do when I go to the airport because you can get real price taxis 200 yards from the airport exit) and flag a taxi. He stops, then starts, then stops, then starts. He is trying to get out of eye-shot of the airport guys because they have started cracking down so that you have to take expensive airport approved taxis (bullshit!). So we finally get in and start going…and are promptly pulled over by a jeep toting 6-armed guards and their machine guns. Geeze… so the driver gets out and starts arguing. Mom and dad are sitting in the back wondering what the hell is going on. I’m trying to talk to the police guy. The driver gets back in after 5 minutes or so and tells me that I should “give him small” as he will have to “give the police small.” Dad yells, “NO.” And I’m like, “Brother, daabi. I’m not giving you anything except what we agreed on.” We go back to the round about. Driver gets out to talk to another official guy. I call bullshit and tell mom and dad to get out of the car, grab our bags and have the official guy hail us another cab. After 20 minutes of guns and bullshit we are finally on our way. We drive through Accra and I point out some points of interest. We get to our hotel, which is nice with AC, hot water, and is on the beach.

So, mom and dad brought a bunch of US dollars and we were gonna take it to the bank and have it deposited into my Ghana bank account so we didn’t have to carry so much cash on us throughout the 2 weeks. Banks close at 4:30 on Friday and don’t open again until Monday. So, we leave mom in the hotel room, and dad and I hail a cab in rush hour to get to the bank downtown in time. We sit in traffic for forever, sucking in exhaust fumes, hawkers coming up to sell their stuff at the car windows (this is normal in Ghana, but shocking to new comers). Finally we get to the bank after about 40 minutes of sucking fumes from the jankity tros next to us. I go to the counter, am sent to a seat, and we wait…this is Ghana. We wait, and wait. Dad and I talk while we wait. “You know what mom’s doing right now, don’t you? ‘They left me all alone in Africa after only 20 minutes. I have no money, no way to find them…what if they don’t come back?’” “Yeah, she’s probably not happy. But this sucks too and I’m not sending you out here by yourself carrying all this cash. WTF is taking so long?” Welcome to Ghana, dad. After about an hour and a half we got our money taken care of and caught a cab back. I picked some water sachets before going back to the room. Dad and I are just about to walk up the steps to the room when mom comes out. She must have heard us… “It’s about damn time! I was about to go to the bar and beg them to put a beer on the room. Where have you been? You left me alone here…no water…I don’t know how to find you? What if you didn’t come back? I was starting to panic! Dammit, you’re not ever leaving me alone in Ghana again!!!” Nostrils flaring, blue eyes burning. “I called that one!”…she was not amused. “And there was something gnawing in the wall or in that mattress…Jeanna you’re sleeping there. I’ve spent the last hour with me feet up on the bed afraid something was gonna crawl out and bite me.” Ghana….

So back together again, the three musketeers head up to the restaurant for food, beer, and some long talks…it was great!!!

This was just the first few hours…bet you can’t wait for the next installment, huh??? :)

It’s been difficult saying goodbyes over the past few days, but it has made me realize that I have a lot people in my life that care and I’m going to miss you all! Thanks to everyone who took me out to lunch, dinner, for drinks, etc. My flight leaves for Philadelphia at 8:30 am. [...]

So....I'm sick with a nasty little cold. Which considering how much I love TV, movies and books, usually wouldn't be a problem. BUT....there are things I wanted to do this weekend! My friend, Bora, is hosting a Korean Barbecue....right now!!!! However, I'm at home, blogging and watching "Grease". This really bums me out because when else in my life am I going to be presented with Korean food prepared by a Korean person! Probably never! Additionally, tomorrow is Superbowl Sunday; I haven't missed a Superbowl party since...ever! Unfortunately for me, I really believe that sick people should stay home and avoid infecting everyone else. BOO!

On a better note, I ordered a pretty sweet travel pack, and I picked it up for a pretty sweet price, too.

..

Oh....and, I'm going to be house sitting for a friend for the next couple months. This is awesome because in exchange for keeping the house warm and showing the dogs some love, I am officially done paying rent!

As for the bucket list, I'll be headed to NYC to visit my friend, Anna this week. I'm definitely planning on visiting The Met, The Guggenheim, The Empire State Building, Central Park Zoo, Shake Shack, Gray's Papaya, Grand Central, Time Square, and a ride on the Staten Island Ferry. If anyone has any suggestions, please please please.....share!

Stay posted for pics of the trip!

There are still many things I don’t understand about Ghanaian culture and customs. I’m not sure I ever will. I can really only ask questions and try and grasp what is being told to me in broken English, and every now and then I can try to search things on the internet… but that is far and few between. My latest quest to understand is Taboo, Juju and Fetish Priests, and the spirits that are connected with them. Taboo is things that are forbidden… this changes form tribe to tribe and village to village. Some villages have a day of the week that is taboo to farm on, or having a dog is sometimes considered taboo. In Kute-Buem fetching water with a black bowel was once considered taboo, as well a using any sort of black bowel to carry anything. Fridays washing clothing in the river was also once taboo. It was said that if you wash your clothing on a Friday and fall in the river a snack would come a kill you. I was told that these taboos have been lifted because the Buem tribe no longer solely occupies Kute, but rather it has become a transitional town. To my understanding in Ghanaian Culture a Fetish Priest is a man who has certain powers to harm people that have committed a crime, or done something wrong. The Fetish Priest has the power to cast bad juju upon someone. This can only happen when someone who has had the wrong done unto him goes to the Fetish Priest and the Fetish Priest calls upon the spirits to cast the bad juju. The three stories I’ve heard where someone went to a Fetish Priest because of what was done to him all resulted in death for the other party involved, usually resulting in more than one casualty. The three stories are as follows (please remember that I still don’t fully understand, and all this has come to me second hand and through broken english)… Story No. 1… Some man (we’ll call him Fred) lost a large some of cash. The cash supposedly fell out of his pocked as he was getting on a tro tro in his village. Once Fred realized that he had lost the money he went back to his village to look for it, but to no avail. Since his village was rather small he was able to make an announcement about the loss of a large some of money asking that whoever found the money give it back because it belonged to Fred. But no one stepped forward claiming that they found the money. Fred waited several days and repeatedly asked if anyone had found then money. He finally said that he would go see the Fetish Priest because “someone” stole his money. Meanwhile another man (we’ll call him Joe) found the money. He was rather pleased with himself… having had to do nothing but be in the right place at the right time to get the money. He never said anything to his wife, but rather went to purchase a few things with the money. Fred went to the Fetish Priest and told the story and how no one had stepped forward claiming they found the money. The Priest mad an announcement that if the person who found the money didn’t turn the money back over in a few days time he and his entire family would die. The Fetish Priest rang the gong, cast the bad juju and the days started their count. Joe didn’t turn the money over. He wanted it for himself, and after buying a few things he didn’t have it anymore. So on the fourth day Joe, his wife and children died. (Yes this seriously did happen, not in my village but in another volunteer’s… no autopsies were given, but rather it’s said that the spirits killed Joe and his family for stealing the money.) Story No.2 A chainsaw operator (yes that is a profession in Ghana… even if it is illegal to cut trees down) was sawing down some trees and apparently cut down one on someone’s land. The landowner (let’s call him Kofi) was furious. Kofi, wanted that tree there, it provided shade and if times got rough then he could cut it down himself and sell the wood (there is a lot of money in cutting down trees to make boards.) The chainsaw operator (we’ll call him Edem) probably knew what he was doing, cutting down a tree on someone else’s land and keeping all the money he received for himself. As they saw in Ghana, shame, shame. Well shame was cast upon Edem and his family. Kofi was mad; he wanted the money from that tree. He demanded that Edem pay the money, but Edem was taking his sweet ol’ time getting the money back. Just as Edem was arranging to send the money back to Kofi, Kofi went to the Fetish Priest, the gong was rung and the bad juju went out. With in a matter of days, the brother from Edem died because he was the one who was suppose to hand the money over to Kofi once Edem sent it, then three days later Edem died. And to top it off the person whom Edem gave the money to, to give to his brother also died (the money was coming from Accra to the village, and because money isn’t really transferred through banks here its sent through people). (Again another true story… and this is how my landlady became a widower.) Story No. 3 This time it’s a lady, Afia, who was married to a man, Elom. Afia wanted a divorce, said she was through, and walked out, but left her things behind. Elom, furious went to the Fetish Priest for the bad juju to be cast. The Priest spread the juju saying that Afia would die in a matter of days after “sleeping” with another man. I saw her on Tuesday (yes, someone pointed her out to me) walking with a “new guy” looking strong and healthy; and on Friday she died (the same person came to me in shock on Friday to tell me how the spirits killed her because she wanted to divorce her husband). All three of these cases are mysterious to me. Why not just do an autopsy, test the blood to see if there was poison, or if it was some other illness that caused the death. But as my tailor was telling me about it she just kept saying it’s the power of the African Spirit.

I saw something funny the other day. My 3 house sisters all decided to have a group pee. Urinating (nobody here says “peeing”) is totally no big deal here. They all went into the bathing area of the house and urinated all around the hole that leads outside the compound. It was pretty funny when the realization dawned on me what had just happened. In general going to the bathroom here is no big deal. I’ll be going to fetch some water and somebody in the group will just say they have to “go to the toilet” and wander 10 feet into the bush and go about their business. Sometimes one of the girls will try to make a point that we can still see the person’s outline (if they haven’t gone in far enough) and then everybody will laugh. Now the music everybody here has been listening to! It is all moving music man. These songs are all the rage here and I have to say, I like them. If you got some time to burn and you want to listen to some Ghanian music then click away! Azonto -Azonto is probably the biggest (or was the biggest) hit in Ghana. It was on the local news for the craze it was starting haha. Since I don't really know how to dance you can imagine how much laughing actually happens when I try to move to Azonto.

I love my Life - I mean this song is what every life lover (and one in particular) will love.

Yesi Yesi- I don't actually know what this song is about but the tune is just catchy man.

There are more songs but I realized searching up songs when the title is in a different language which I can't spell, is hard. So I hope you enjoy these 3 songs.

Recently I have come back from a dry season gardening IST in Tumu. In the north of Ghana we go most of the year with zero rainfall aka dry season. This current dry season, which is just beginning, has been predicted to be very harsh. The nutrition in Jeyiri is poor all year round. Imagine what it is like with no vegetables and fruit that you can afford. Food security is an area that PCVs, like myself, are trying to improve.

Plan Ghana has constructed dams all over the north to increase the possibility for dry season gardening; however, the dams are under utilized. The system we installed was a gravity fed drip irrigation system, which uses water from the dam. No pump or electrical equipment is needed to run the system. Also a drip system uses the water the most conservatively.

I had a wonderful time out on the land getting the land ready for planting. The future may hold a place for a similar but smaller system at my school. Enjoy the pictures!

David the PCV organizer and leader

A dry season garden already growing beautifully

Our drip lines (600 meters total)Our water source

As of right now there is no running water at my house but I’m better off than most because its coming… like in 10 years… but this means I carry my own water from the bore hole down the hill from my house. Its not too far but by the time I get back to the house I’m usually pretty wet. Fetching water is fun and frustrating at the same time. I still do not understand nor speak much Krobo so the when the kids go wild because im down there its hard to know what’s going on, actually it’s the teenagers that worry me the most. Kids usually just want to get some sort of reaction out of me but teenagers will talk about you to each other. The fact that I am white, new, a girl, does have its advantages because I usually do not have to wait long until my bucket is filled. One of the kids pumping calls for my bucket right away even though I just arrived and there are lots of kids ahead of me. Because of this I can make three trips in 30 min when it takes them at least 30 minutes just for one trip. There are times when me being priority does not fly with some of the kids but I don’t have any control of the situation so they just make a fit for a minute or two then fill my bucket and I get out of there! Going to fetch water is an extremely social activity. After a long day or a day of doing nothing its nice to get a bucket or two because I get a chance to observe the kids in the neighborhood interacting. Usually they run around chasing each other or get in little fights but it ends up in laughter most the time. Just by going down there I’m a source of entertainment, now that they know my name all of them say it for the sake of saying my name. I also get a chance to talk to some of the 20 some year old people down there which usually means I try to explain where I’m living that Ill be here for 2 years and then they ask me for something, the guys like to ask for my watch, oh and I had a lady ask for my hair the other day. She told me “I like you hair, you give it to me” I tried to explain that it grows out of my head and is not a weave but either she didn’t get it or wanted me to cut it off and give it to her. In those situations im happy that my bucket gets filled quickly so I don’t have to stand there awkwardly for too long. After two or three trips back and forth I’m usually a little tired and my water bucket is nearly full. I am socially satisfied for the day with weird confrontations and I feel just a little more apart of the community knowing that they know I have to fetch water just like them. I still need to practice not spilling so much when I walk home because my clothes get wet but also I think they make fun of me a little but mostly they are just amazed that I fetch water. Covered in dirt from my splashes and trying not to trip on goats, goat poo, and rocks I take a bucket bath with my new water and call it a day.

My town thinks I am a white celebrity. EVERYONE yells Obruni at me. The babies, the kids, the old folks, the people my age. They are all calling obruni in the hopes I will look at them and grace them … Continue reading →

In the wake of Mike Kelley’s death (my former employer and an important artist within Los Angeles and internationally), I feel compelled to write a brief reflection, not about the life of Mike Kelley, but about the importance of art, and if it has importance at all. Every artist, myself included, comes to a moment in our careers, or many moments, when we question the value of our own art, the art world, and/or art in general. Backtracking to my life in LA...I was so sick of the ‘art scene.’ I was bored with standing outside of galleries in Chinatown on a Saturday night and drinking Tecate in my skinny jeans. I was tired of making art in a vacuum, sitting alone, staring at the walls of my studio, finishing drawings only to roll them up and stick them in the closet. I wasn’t convinced that I was contributing to the world in a meaningful way, particularly since few people ever got to see my work publically. I felt like I had more to offer, more brain capacity to stimulate, and that I was at a career dead-end. But I had already come so far down that road and invested so much of my life into art, that I didn’t know how to reinvent myself. It's possible that among many other things, Mike Kelley was questioning the value of making art and the value of his own art, when he took his own life. For artists, the success of our art careers, the productivity in our studios or lack thereof, is so intertwined with our self-worth that we sometimes feel that we are suffocating from the pressure, we become disillusioned and cynical. I made a choice. I took a tangent to find a way back to a life that had meaning for me…and I joined the Peace Corps and came to Ghana. I can tell you now, without any doubt, that if anything in this world has meaning, art making has meaning; it is important. My students here spend the majority of their days copying complex notes from the blackboard into their assignment books, without ever understanding what they are copying. They have gone the majority of their young lives not communicating with anyone in their families because they are deaf and cannot hear what is being said. They grow up resigned to days filled with manual labor, and when finally sent to school they are expected to fail academically. When I open the door to my classroom, my students come running, joyfully screaming to make art. I pull out paper and pencils or fabric and scissors, and we make things, and they no longer have a disability, or at least not one that matters---in my classroom they find their confidence because anything visual and hands-on is a real strength of theirs. It is a thrill for me to use my visual skills in way that my MFA degree perhaps never envisioned or intended. When I used to walk into white-walled galleries in America and see the same neutered, over-cooked product hanging in a 24x36 inch frame, or an aluminum can on its side on top of several stacked pieces of plywood next to some blobs of expanding foam, I really wondered whether art had meaning, whether I gave a damn. But, ya know, it’s not about that gallery--well, it can be about the gallery, because art can be meaningful to those who view it and experience it…but most importantly, art has meaning for the maker, and it is in the making itself where value is found. In Ghana, it’s hard to compete with soccer (it’s big here), but I would argue that art class is the highlight of my students’ lives. It may seem an exaggeration, but they love it. Really. And I feel lucky, honored, to be able to open that classroom door everyday and give it to them. Many of us lose touch with the value of making as we become adults and professionals because the pressure to sell, to support oneself and family financially, is unavoidable. But I have to thank my students who have reminded me of the power of…folded paper to make a bird. I spent an entire morning recently ‘helping’ make 50 origami birds---the kids crowded around me as I made each fold in the complicated process, and not one single student was going to let me leave until they had a finished “flapping bird” in their hands. In other news: --I’ve started working one-on-one with some of the mentally disabled students because I can’t give them the in-class attention that they need when I have 24 other students who also need help. I had been planning to do this for a while, but I’m not currently an expert in how an autistic student might best learn, or what they need from me, but I had a ‘stars-aligning’ moment that pushed me into action. Usually, in class I have 4 students tugging on my arms at all times—I’m dripping sweat (literally) and walking from student to student helping each one. And it’s the students who really can’t do it on their own without me who get left behind, staring forlornly at their mangled yarn weaving. But for one glorious moment, no one was tugging at my arm and I was able to help Basheru, inch by inch. I lifted each strand of vertical yard and he fed the horizontal yarn underneath each one, becoming increasingly confident with how his hands held the yarn and pulled it through on the other side. I had chills during this experience. He turned to the other students and signed, “See, I understand, I understand!”, with a big smile on his face. He’s usually so beaten down by the other students and teachers that I only see him whining gloomily around campus, but on this particular day he was very proud of his weaving. That is the sort of attention that Basheru requires, and which is almost impossible here because every teacher has 20-25 students. So, I’m trying to meet with some of the autistic kids a couple nights a week and work with them on simple projects, like the alphabet or numbers or art. --One of the teachers told me that his ‘professor’ in college told him that he should only work at the deaf schools for a few years because ‘the students can’t learn.’ He’s looking to move to the hearing schools. --Evidently the attendance posters I made for each class (I give a star to each student for arriving on time) were a big hit at a Ghana-wide education conference. Representatives from the Ghana Education Service had come to my classroom a month ago and photographed themselves standing in front of the posters, and I guess those photos were presented at the conference. Now I’ve been asked to demonstrate to my fellow teachers how to make them. Maybe there’s hope for systemic change after all. --On a particularly low note, my working relationship with the Japanese ICT volunteer at my school just completely deteriorated, plummeted, and sank. I will say that blame can be placed on both sides, and in the future when I mean ‘no,’ I will definitely say ‘no’ upfront. When Daigo arrived in November he asked me if he could do an ICT project in my ‘class,’ by which he meant that he wanted to use my classroom. Okay, no problem. Oh, you need cardboard? Here’s some. You need to store it in my storage room? Okay. Then I noticed that glue was missing and a pair of scissors was broken, and other supplies had been used. He hadn’t asked, and I can tell you that ALL of the supplies in the closet were either bought by me or donated by someone who I solicited. I kept quiet. Then this term rolls around, and he asks if he can do another project in my room, and if he can keep his paper in my storage room. Okay. He comes in (repeatedly) when I’m teaching and asks me when I will be leaving the room. He asks if he can use the room in between my two classes—I have to sit outside. Okay. Then I notice that he is using my precious few markers for his ICT project---without asking. I arrive to find half the caps off of the markers and at least a dozen brand-new markers totally used up. I tell him, “Please, don’t use those markers--I was saving them for a special project with the JHS students.” In fact, I have a big sign on the cabinet door that says, “Please don’t take supplies from this cabinet. They are for art class, and many of them have been sent from America by my friends and family.” I thought that was making it pretty clear, but evidently I needed to be explicit. I also noticed that students were allowed in and out of the storage room (which is off limits) while I wasn’t around. Then, Daigo also wanted to be using pencils, rulers, sharpeners, and erasers, and taking them to another classroom while I was trying to teach using the same supplies. I told him, ‘The headmistress has pencils and rulers. You really need to get your own supplies. This closet is not a store.” But evidently I should have just said “No.” “No,” on the very first day, unequivocally. But, instead, being the passive-aggressive sort of person, I finally just locked the cabinet with a big extendable combination lock I had brought from home. A few minutes later, Daigo came storming over to my house, guns blazing, and asked for the combo. “No,” I said, “I put that lock on it so that you wouldn’t continue to use the supplies.” That comment led to Daigo completely blowing up, screaming at me outside my house, saying that I was a liar and a bad person. Eventually, he calmed down, and I explained how hard I had worked to piece together an art program with supplies, and that I have meticulously planned projects for all of the supplies that I have gathered, and that all I ask is to be able to control and be accountable for what happens in the art classroom and storage room. I told him that the art room is my world and my passion. I told him that if he asks for something once, it’s okay, but if he asks 10 times or he doesn’t ask at all, it’s no longer alright. Subsequently, whether he thinks I’m a control freak nutcase or whatever, he has retreated and even apologized. I have to say this was the low-point of my PC experience thus far, and I’m just shocked it happened with another foreigner. I think I can confidently say I’ve reawakened dormant WWII tensions. I think I’m going to have to start complimenting Daigo on his country’s automobile engineering prowess if I want to prevent WWIII.

Me with the Zosali chief, a man who has led a fascinating life, speaks great english, and now sits in a comfortable chair underneath a big tree, surrounded by dozens of local children.

Beach at Elmina

Our hut at Elmina.

Dad in his net. There was no fan, it was hot; it got a little rocky for a while.

Boats at Elmina Harbor

Elmina

Market and harbor at Elmina; dad hates shopping in Ghana even more than the U.S. :)

Our composting toilet at Elmina...they were not impressed.

Last morning sunrise at Elmina.

On the road...exhaust ...

on the road

scenes from the road

Kente weaving village near Kumasi

I took this picture of dad because he looked so unhappy with the guy bothering him about buying kente. They both caught me taking the picture and this is what I ended up with...looks like a nice moment,eh?

Their first FanIce's.

The fancy hotel room with AC and hot water they sprang for after I made them crap in hole and no fan for 3 nights.

Old mosque outside of Bole.

Fantastic tree.

Elephants!

Elephant drinking water. We were 10 feet from this guy. The sounds he made sucking up the water were really funny.

Same guy.

I rode on top the jeep on the safaris. Between the dust and the tsetse flies my photos came out kinda funky.

Safariing; and mom's pineapple head :)

Cards!

This is us with our driver, Ben, who was awesome.

Dad as a red head after we drove on dirt roads all day.

Road scenes

I love Baobab trees!

Mom and dad with Ben at my house.

Mom doing her wash.

Dad and his drawers

Chief brought us palm wine.

Mom was not a fan.

Walking up the road in my village to the Welcome Ceremony for mom and dad.

Us with the chief and some village elders (and others)

Pouring of libations for mom and dad.

Dancing...even dad tried :)

Me introducing mom and dad to the village.

The Queen MOther's linguist presenting dad with a chief's smock.

The village ladies dressing mom in her dress.

Dad thanking the village.

Kids in my village doing cultural dance for mom and dad.

Us at Elmina Slave Castle.

Me getting my braids taken out at the beach. Dad told me they smelled (and they did).

Mom stamping adinkra symbols near Kumasi.

Mom and dad at Wli Waterfalls

Mom and dad with my Chief.

Mom pounding fufu with Francis

Mom and dad eating fufu and light soup.

I have a small problem here in Ghana. I sleep facebook. Every night around midnight or 2am, I wake up for some reason or another. It either happens in one of two ways. I completely wake up and I am … Continue reading →

I was walking this morning when I saw this fire. I knew it was near the school so I found a trial heading that way. When I came up the children were all outside beating the fire with branches, and the girls were bringing large pans full of water putting it out. I pulled this in and I hope you can see all the children working. See the water being poured on the fire. Here comes more water. You might ask where are the teachers? The two I saw were on the porch watching the action. As I walked away and spoke with the teachers I thought about how different it would have been at a school in American. Always something to see when I walk and visit with neighbors.

My last post was six weeks ago when I was raging about local politics....but i didn't know the half of it then ...probably not even the quarter of it. The 'system' here is patronage..and at the rural level, it is dispensed by chiefs.

Almost every piece of contracted 'business' that is transacted locally..be it an agreement to build walls, or permission to put up a wayside food stand, or (let's say) an NGO hiring a local person to work in the new Community Library, or the 'fees' charged for operating a little stall in the Anloga marketplace is a 'transaction' that, as a matter of course, goes through one of the local chiefs. They decide who gets hired and who gets black-balled (a meritocracy it isn't). They decide who can set up a business and who can't.

It's a very old-fashioned system and before colonialism and before independence it was the way it had always operated-tribalism. In Ghana/The Gold Coast, the colonial system and the tribal system co-existed side-by side and the colonial system really only operated at the high end and the tribal system continued as before..with only the occasional war between the two groups. Unlike colonies in East Africa or South Africa where large chunks of land were given over to white farmers the tribal system controlled the lands all along.

After Independence, in 1957, Ghana tried to impose a few different systems..progressive nationalism, socialism, maybe even extreme socialism, and now what would we call it ... a vaguely Western-style democracy..with reasonably fair multi-party elections, a powerful presidency but no presidents-for-life, an executive, a legislative and a judicial branch and a 'market economy'..if one is being reasonably generous. But the tribal system still operates underneath that because the reach of the government and the civil service doesn't really extend to a community or an area like ours...some government monies are spent here but not much. There is very little evidence of government here in Whuti apart from its single Primary School run by the Ghana Education Service. There is no Health Service here (and no doctors), no Post Office or Police presence ..hell, the district capital even ordered that our speed bumps be removed as unauthorised .

In return, of course, the community pays no taxes..there are no property taxes; i would be very, very, very surprised if there is a single Personal Income Tax payer residing in Whuti ;and i would be equally surprised if there is any business in Whuti paying Business Taxes.

In other words, the government barely exists at this level.

So back to patronage and the tribal system of disbursing it...how does that affect me, why do i care?

i want to get this right and i want to get this said clearly..and it hasn't been easy for me to see the Library's future through the mists.

So maybe, first a few facts.

The Library (and the Computer Centre) is wholly funded and always has been, by a small, committed NGO in the US which has operated in Ghana for fifteen years and this could be called Act III..the Last Hurrah. Indeed Acts I and II (set in other parts of Ghana) are over and did not end well. Because of the NGO's founder's age and other concerns, this work is likely to be ALAD's final effort. (ALAD = African Literacy, Arts & Develop)ment Association

The Library has been operating successfully on a daily basis since 22 September 2010 i.e. 16+ months ago. And the Computer Centre has been operating on a daily basis as a revenue-generating internet cafe since 15 November 2011 (Thomas' 10th birthday). Less than three months and the revenues are very small because we have no high-speed connection and because there isn't a lot of disposable income round here. But it might get better.

Notwithstanding the fact that we have been operating the Library for 16 months..with as many as 500+ users a week...it will be officially opened on 21/22 July 2012 with a ribbon-cutting and speeches, and dancing and drumming, etc. It will be a fine occasion with (hopefully) lots of dignitaries, including ALAD's founder.

It costs between $450 and $600 a month to operate the Library and Computer Centre. The founder has committed to funding the Library's operations through at least the end of 2012 and possibly into 2013, but he has a declared intent to step down as ALAD's president in mid-2013.

And then what happens?

There is neither a plan nor a probability.

The community's (or ALAD's in a death spiral) have no ability to come up with a deep-pocketed external funding source to the tune of a committed $7000+ per year.

Only a resourceful, enterprising, imaginative, concerned (Ghanaian) organisation could possibly do that. and if such does not exist then the Library is on a downhill slide.

It is possible to conceive of such a (Ghanaian) organisation with the Whuti-Srogboe or Srogboe-Whuti diaspora ..and certainly Dr Sam's wonderful work in nearby Atorkor say it is doable.

But...try to superimpose that on Whuti and the chiefs and elders of Whuti and it just doesn't work.

They are intellectually dull, they are poorly educated, they are committed to the old ways, and they do NOT care about the children which is surely why we're doing the Library.

The PCV has been lucky. He has got things going..and, believe me, 500+ Library visitors for a community library in Ghana is HUGE! And computers too, for children who've never seen them.

But..to recap, the Opening Ceremony is in July 2012, which, not coincidentally is my COS date, and the founder will be here to discuss the future...knowing that he and ALAD will not fund the Libray much longer..

..and knowing that it will take a Mighty Heart to come up with the 'deal' that will ensure the Library's future.

In fact, there is no such deal.

And we are foooling ourselves to think that the local chiefs and elders will ever come up with the money to run the Library.

So whatever is said, there is a time-limit on business as usual at the Library.

How long? six months to eighteen months is my guess.

And disintegration of 'business as usual' is not an overnight thing..it happens gradually, day-by-day, week-by-week.

What does that mean in the Library...well, books go missing, the place gets messier, salaries/wages don't get paid, computers go walk-about.

This is the future..this i know. And so, the only question is how long i stick around to watch this.

The counter-balance is that on a day-to-day basis i am helping children.

It will become more and more difficult after the end of this school year in early July. Diminishing returns. Probably impossible.

I don't want to leave..how can i stay, how long can i stay?

Anthony Bourdain’s travel show No Reservations provides a great introduction to the culture – and especially the food – of different areas of the world. Paul, one of my future Peace Corps training partners, found a link to the No … Continue reading →

One week from today I meet the other Health: Water and Sanitation Peace Corps Trainees.  We spend the night in historic Philadelphia – perhaps getting a chance to see Constitution Hall the Liberty Bell – before heading to Africa. We … Continue reading →

Peace Corps is one of the many things on my bucket list and I am so excited to be able to finally cross one off! However, I also have an extensive list of things I absolutely have to do before I leave the states. In addition to spending tons of of time with my family and friends, my list includes:

Austin City Limits Music Festival (ACL) -- done

Austin, Texas (in general)

The Lake House

Bourbon Street

Houston Area Things

Dinner at Brennan's

Galveston, Texas

The Zoo

MFAH -- done

The Menil

The Museum of Natural Sciences

Bayou Gardens

Houston Rodeo (& Cook-off)

Crawfish Festival

New York City

Central Park Zoo

Guggenheim

The Met

Bodies

MOMA

Empire State Building

Sushi and Pizza that are actually good

Because I'm such an amazing planner, I did attend ACL last year and it was amazing! My girlfriend, Deirdre and I loaded up the car and headed to Georgetown where we stayed with her sister-in-law. For the next three days, we made the trek into Austin, spent the whole day in the sun with outstanding music, and spent the evenings soaking up good ol' hippie Austin culture. I'm bummed that I won't be able to make it this year, but there's always 2015!!!

Yesterday, with my friends, Dawn and Matt, I visited the MFAH for the King Tut exhibit. If you have the opportunity to see this, I definitely recommend it! I've been to so many exhibits where I've walked out disappointed, but this one really rocked it. There were statues of several Egyptian pharaohs and other figureheads such as Ahkenaten, Ramesess the Great, Kafre, and Hatshepsut. In addition, there were some amazing things from the tomb such as gold sandals, a bed (that was so small and seemed terribly uncomfortable), a gold canopic coffinette (that actually held his stomach), a sarcophagus of a royal cat, and a model boat (that supposedly could carry him across the river to the afterlife). There was this awesome 17 foot statue of Tut that really brought to life the majestic nature of the era. Additionally, there was a small sarcophagus that had originally contained two fetuses. The neatest was there were 43 shabtis (slave statues) found in the tomb that apparently would come to life and serve the pharaoh in the afterlife.

Once we finished with the Tut exhibit, we moved on to a newly constructed Asian exhibit with pieces from Indonesia, Korea, China and India. this was awesome!!!! I have this fascination with Indian deities so it was super neat to get to really examine them up close. There was even a small section on African art with some pieces from Ghana. Most of the pieces from Africa and Asia (minus India) were jewelry and headpieces made of hammered out gold. It's amazing how gold was such a commonly used material that is now so rare and expensive. After yesterday, I really hope that I'll have the ability to travel to Egypt to visit Cairo, Luxor, The Valley of The Kings and as many other sights as I can squeeze in!

So....While I work on knocking out my pre-departure bucket list, I leave you with these two questions:

1) If you could visit any place in the world, where would you go?

2) If you were leaving the US for over 2 years, where in the US would you

have to visit before you left?

It was so hot this afternoon I did things inside and read a lot. About 4:30 I decided I had to get out so I went out and realized the “neighborhood” was outside by the borehole getting ready to do the wash. The little girl Brenda that is so afraid of me was carrying a little can (that hot chocolate comes in) on her head. When I spoke to her she stopped and pulled her panties out of the can. She was going to wash also.Here are the small girls, Brenda and her cousin washing their clothes under the tree. They are taught very young to start the wash. She was standing like the big girls when I took the original picture but when I asked her to look at me she sat back down. She does not have any panties on so I am guessing the three pair she had in her can was all her panties. Lambert the young man that helps me with Fra Fra and Amena who lives with me were together so Amena’s mother could cook dinner. She understands the camera now so he is holding her arm so she can not touch. I think they are cousins. Here is a small girl carrying a bucket of water this is her second that I saw her carry. She is young but she is also doing the washing and showing me how it should go then has to stop to carry water I am assuming for her Mother but I am not sure. Anyone can be asked to do these chores and they do not argue they just do it. As Brenda’s mother pumps she has Brenda’s little brother on her back. The brother likes me also notice he is smiling at me as I take his picture. It has really gotten hot in the afternoons and they tell me this is nothing. I maybe in trouble. The other day I brought my washing out so I could play in the water. Today under the shade tree it was very pleasant. Maybe spending lots of time under the tree. Amena and I played this morning and she discovered my skin up close. She sort of picked my chest and arm and decided it was okay and forgot about it. Pretty funny. I taught her to shoo away the goat and birds. So I guess it was a good day in Ghana.

My day started at the bank where I got really pissed for waiting and waiting just to find out I didn’t get paid yet. Left the bank and called Cara crying because I don’t have enough money to eat and … Continue reading →

Anyone who talks to me knows that while I constantly observe and appreciate my life's relative coolness, I consider it to be pretty normal. I know; I know it sounds contradictory, but it's true. My 'Holy crap I'm in Africa' moments exist within a constant state of actually living in Africa. It is for this reason that my blogs grow scarce (and my pictures rank lower in total number than my dad's did in a 10 day trip); I generally feel I haven't got much to say because this life has become my 'mean.'

Sometimes, though, I'm given the chance to see my life through someone else's eyes (something usually accompanied by compliments and praise, the likes of which make me blush like a rose in the spring) and it dawns on me that, like other Peace Corps volunteers were for me, I'm a kind of role model now.

I had the opportunity about two weeks ago to dine with some awesome, inspiring people; people making a living doing everything I'm interested in (One Campaign employees, political advisors, political lobbyists and campaign runners, etc.). I mean, I listened to these men and women talk about doing campaign work for people like Reagan and Gore, about their 'leg-up' positions as the personal assistants to famous Senators, about their involvement in very historical moments in Washington. It was fascinating; I could have listened to them talk all night. What I found mind-boggling was that they seemed to feel the same way about me.

As I casually discussed my projects, my daily existence, and my every-day working life, I realized that it was absolutely out of the ordinary for them. They considered it as inspiring and important as I considered their experiences (and let me tell ya: that's a kick in the teeth).

In truth, this happens a lot; I forget that (though coming to Africa was my choice and, therefor, doesn't seem very extraordinary to me) my job, my experiences, and the life I lead aren't considered normal to most people. I'm living 'a life inspired;' a life inspiring.

I couldn't tell you exactly how this feels; like any lightbulb moment, it brightens my surroundings like a sonic boom and then it's gone. I could never claim to be inspiring, either - this whole experience has been one full of gratitude and child-like niavity from the from the start. I'm humbled by my work every day, and am often surprised at my luck in doing exactly what I came here to do. Opening an office or building a borehole is as equally awe-inspiring for me because I recognize the people around me who have created that success. Everything here is like a shot in the dark - one in every six attempts errupts into a sparkle of light, but most of the time I've no idea what I'm doing.

I guess it's because we get dropped here - into jobs we've never experienced, a culture we've never explored, a language we don't know - and everything becomes trial and error; we spend two years of our lives in a perpetual state of free-fall until we're plopped back down into the lives we used to know. It's why this job is so unique, anyone who tells you different isn't telling you the whole truth. It's a part of the appeal and it's a part of the struggle.

To wake up one day and decide to be inspiring is backwards - that's never the order anything in life happens. All I can do is lead a life I'm proud of and, so far, I consider myself pretty lucky in that regard. Maybe I inspire someone to apply for the Peace Corps, maybe I help get someone involved in an NGO or research about certain social and political climates - all of these things are wonderful and humbling, but all I've really done is pass the torch and continued living.

It's a fleeting, beautiful thing, you see; captured in blinding, fuzzy moments that stop time, but it's also a cycle. We each keep on living, doing the things we each find amazing; it's the great thing about life: potential - the power of doing. Maybe I've inspired, but that's not really the point, is it? The point becomes, what will you do with it?

xx

My favorite thing about Ghana is waking up every morning not knowing what the day might bring. When you travel this feeling tends to fade over time, as you acclimatize to your new location. Yet thankfully it has remained true, and resulted in very surprising (both good and bad) days.My most recent example of this took place during our regional meeting two weeks ago. Like all good meetings it took place at a bar, as I firmly believe that a few drinks is the proper way to prepare for any serious, and potentially contentious, discussion. However the bar was home to an angry dog, which took offense to my presence and bit me. The bad news was that I possibly had contracted rabies, the good was that I had earned a free trip to Accra, the capital city! I spent a few days there, enjoying pizza, happy hours at Ryan's Irish Pub and knockoff Lucky Charms for breakfast. After my sojourn in Accra, I headed north to Kumasi, for our official In Service Training.In Service Training is meant to take place after 3 months at site, to gauge how new volunteers are coping with a radically new environment and to prepare them to begin projects. However due to some scheduling confusion ours took place after almost 5 months at site. It was great to see everyone, and more most people it seemed to be a much needed break. We learned about grants, project planning, and had lengthy sessions on cultural awareness and other gripping topics. But more importantly; our hotel had hot showers, a swimming pool, and air conditioning! And the African Cup of Nations was (and still is) taking place, which was a lot of fun to watch. I don't know if it's being aired in the US, but for more info go to: http://www.cafonline.com/competition/african-cup-of-nations_2012Now I'm headed back to my village, with an empty wallet and plans for the next 6 months. I'll put up a post later on in the month about some of my project plans! Miss everyone at home as always, but very happy to be exactly where I am.

So, we haven’t been paid yet and I am struggling. I had 10 cedis Thursday which were supposed to last me until we got paid. I bought two things that were supposed to total 1.60 with the 10. I got … Continue reading →

The contents of this website are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. government or the Peace Corps.

Saturday about 7:30 pm, on main street in the village where I live. These residents are not waiting to get into a club, but are watching football (soccer) at a small kiosk that has a TV and sells small house hold items. It is Ghana's second match in the first round of the African Cup. They defeated Botswana last weekend and are playing Mali this evening. The Ghana Black Stars are one of the favorites to win the Cup.

I have not seen or experienced anything else in Ghana that reaches even near the level of passion that football does. Any object that is even a little bit round is quickly turned into the ball by the young children and the match is on. Work stops and a crowd gathers to watch the Primary and Junior High school teams compete.

The school where I teach has a team which is ranked in the upper quarter of the teams in the local league. They practice and sometimes compete on a field that is uneven, half dirt and half grass, full of stones and goat droppings, the school porch sitting on one inbound line, and a old tree stump just to the left of one goal. It is fast, straight ahead and physical. Players must strap everything on tight and bring their "black and blue" game in order to compete. They are "all in" and cannot wait to get the game going. Spectators are no less involved and disputed calls often result in a large number of fans on the pitch pointing fingers, yelling loudly, often not even involving the single referee attempting to control the match. I attended the soccer games my three children played, but they were not even close to this level of intensity.

I am rooting for the Black Stars and it would be a neat experience to celebrate winning the Cup with the Ghanians. The village just erupted in cheers as the Stars scored their second goal in the match.

I will also have the opportunity to be a witness to the election of a President of Ghana this coming December. Listening to the morning talk shows with the other teachers, it seems the campaign has begun and like the campaigns in the USA, will be competitive and full of

passionate debate on the issues.

Interesting times in my village and in the country of Ghana.

Have you ever been in a room filled with really old books covered in dust & cobwebs, mice, lizards, earwicks (or earwigs? not sure on the spelling), & excretions from all of the above? I have. Remember I mentioned in my last post that I took up the Sisaali book inventory project for SILDEP? Well I thought that the boxes & piles of books in the office & watchman’s room were bad, but that was only the start of it…the worst was yet to come. When Margrit, Jonas (the Swiss carpenter), & I went to SILDEP’s supervisor’s mother-in-law’s house, there was an entire room off of her semi-compound that held all that I mentioned above…including chewed up boxes & books, a bunch of items that the supervisor’s mother-in-law owns that look like they haven’t been touched in years, & the largest sack of shea nuts that I’ve ever seen. So, over the past few days, Jonas & I have become master book counters, cleaners & exterminators. I don’t know how many cans of Raid we went through, but it wasn’t & will still never be enough to kill all of the earwicks that were & still are crawling around in the books & boxes. And throughout the cleaning & exterminating, we’ve been wearing gloves because these earwicks have a pretty nasty pinch. To make matters worse, in the cleaning process Jonas & I had realized that the shea nut bag had a hole at the bottom of it…that would explain why the nuts were hidden in all nooks & crannies of the room – those darn mice. So we brought another bag to pour the shea nuts into but it wasn’t big enough so as of right now, we put half of the shea nuts in the new bag & kept the other half in the big bag with a hole in it - & we were still barely able to drag both of the bags outside. The poor old supervisor’s mother-in-law just returned home from being in the hospital for some sort of a toothache, so she’s been watching us work all afternoon under the heat of the sun day in & day out, & I think she gets tired by just watching us work. On the first day that Jonas & I began working at her place, a little boy related to her kept trying to steal my pen that I was using to write down how many books there were, so the next day Jonas gave him one of his pens…which might or might not have been a bad idea because the first thing the little boy went to write on were the books that we were counting. Anyway, Jonas & I haven’t seen the boy in a few days, but the supervisor’s mother-in-law just told us (she’s pretty fluent in English) that the little boy had asked her what type of soap we (Jonas & I) use. She thought this was a strange question to ask, so she asked the boy why he was asking such a silly question. So apparently the boy excitingly replied to her in Sisaali, “I want to use the same soap that the white people use so I can be white like them!” As the woman told this story to Jonas & I, the three of us began laughing hysterically. Oh children really say the funniest things, but it’s an interesting idea though. Imagine if soap could magically change your skin color…I wonder if there would be more or less racism in the world if changing your skin color were that easy.As for other news, SILDEP is busy preparing for the Peace Corps Dry Season Farming IST (In-Service Training) this weekend. My job? Making more berry & papaya jam by picking the fruits from the garden & mashing them together, & baking brownies & a mock apple pie (using green papaya instead). Living at SILDEP with a full kitchen is awesome. I’ve also been helping the day watchman to water the garden once in a while so I’m getting a few pointers on gardening from him. And of course there’s always helping Lydia with her moringa. This time she was crushing the outside shell from the moringa seeds so that the seeds could be weighed & packaged to sell at the guesthouse, so I was showing her how to use the scale to weigh them. It doesn’t help that she forgets what numbers are greater or lesser than other numbers, but she gets to the correct number on the scale eventually…so in the end, she’s teaching herself, which is exactly what I had planned. Moreover, I have been working on updating SILDEP guesthouse’s brochure because the Burkina Faso border patrol passes it out to people driving into Ghana & since they ran out of brochures to hand out, they need more - & preferably updated ones. And this morning I just went to a Naming Ceremony, which is a ceremony in Ghana that happens 1 week after a baby is born & it is the only time that the baby’s name is announced to everyone. A traditional Naming Ceremony would have had a lot of dancing & drops of water (& alcohol apparently) put on the baby’s tongue, but this was a Christian Naming Ceremony so we just did a lot of singing & praying before the name, Jane, was announced for the adorable baby girl wrapped in a blanket in her mother’s arms. What can I say? I keep busy.

Love, as always, Rachel

PS- Thanks to my family back home for keeping me updated with sports as the days to the Super Bowl draw nearer…GO GIANTS!

We have less physical metaphors for cherishing, and destroying, our memories. The tear-stained letter smelling faintly of her perfume; the crumpled photograph at the bottom of the drawer, his face burned out with a cigarette; the note of encouragement, creased from being carried in your pocket as a good luck token, deliberately lost in desktop clutter such that it will be found again, at random, or perhaps, exactly when it is needed.

Once, I dated online, and such was the need for a sense of connection to my physical reality, that I would put on the same scented lip-gloss, play the same album, even wear the same straw hat, just for a sense of presence.

Once, I dated by cell phone, and would lay on my bed with my phone clutched to my chest, dreamily playing the text-message sound. When my phone died and all our text messages were lost, what evidence existed to stand testament, to prove the reality of what we had shared?

We have spent thousands of years learning how to preserve our paper records, and many tragedies occurred before we learned about multiple-copies, acid-free paper, fire-proof boxes, foreign translations; we've tried vellum, and stone, and ritual memorization. So it's no surprise that our digital data will take some time to perfect from obliteration.

I recently copied the contents of my old floppy disk backups onto my external hard drive backup. I found emails that only survived by the grace of not being paper. But I could only read a few of the unsorted thousands before it felt the easy preservation was more of a burden than a pleasure. Events of my past I'd prefer to view through a blur of romantic nostalgia were less enjoyable seen with perfect and unforgiving clarity. Some of the emails were from an ex, and I found that the satisfaction of burning a letter is much more resonant than the dullness of 'deleting'. Even now I have the lingering unease of my multiple, identical backup copies scattered through the years on CDs, hard drives, and cloud. I am doomed to find, and delete, the same emotional booby-traps for years to come. I only have to rip up a paper letter once. Do we want to keep everything, if it means we will never lose anything?

I've attended events where the inevitable digital photo slideshow in the after-party will run longer than had the event itself. I've missed spectacular sights because I was searching for my camera to preserve what I could have just enjoyed. If I was forced to be more selective about which mementos to keep, I could shape a narrative of my life, honor memories by investing time, energy, and money in their presentation. I suspect this is much of the allure of scrapbooking.

When data is both proliferated and obliterated so easily, what role of privacy? I struggle to understand discretion possible only by being too obscure for my leaked data to draw attention, yet what if I become famous, or infamous? What a boon to paparazzi, to bereaved, to law enforcement, to biographers!

I doubt the paper letter will ever entirely fade away, as it has a weight of emotional significance unrivaled by email. Without a backup or backspace, I have to be deliberate in my words and promises. Writing a letter is faith that I'll hold the same ideas and feelings from when it is written to the future when it's delivered; it becomes an artifact of shared time. Most of all, I find comfort knowing the paper I hold in my hands, will later be held in the hands of someone I love.

Inspired by: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/29/magazine/what-happens-when-data-disappears.html

We have less physical metaphors for cherishing, and destroying, our memories. The tear-stained letter smelling faintly of her perfume; the crumpled photograph at the bottom of the drawer, his face burned out with a cigarette; the note of encouragement, creased from being carried in your pocket as a good luck token, deliberately lost in desktop clutter such that it will be found again, at random, or perhaps, exactly when it is needed.

Once, I dated online, and such was the need for a sense of connection to my physical reality, that I would put on the same scented lip-gloss, play the same album, even wear the same straw hat, just for a sense of presence.

Once, I dated by cell phone, and would lay on my bed with my phone clutched to my chest, dreamily playing the text-message sound. When my phone died and all our text messages were lost, what evidence existed to stand testament, to prove the reality of what we had shared?

We have spent thousands of years learning how to preserve our paper records, and many tragedies occurred before we learned about multiple-copies, acid-free paper, fire-proof boxes, foreign translations; we've tried vellum, and stone, and ritual memorization. So it's no surprise that our digital data will take some time to perfect from obliteration.

I recently copied the contents of my old floppy disk backups onto my external hard drive backup. I found emails that only survived by the grace of not being paper. But I could only read a few of the unsorted thousands before it felt the easy preservation was more of a burden than a pleasure. Events of my past I'd prefer to view through a blur of romantic nostalgia were less enjoyable seen with perfect and unforgiving clarity. Some of the emails were from an ex, and I found that the satisfaction of burning a letter is much more resonant than the dullness of 'deleting'. Even now I have the lingering unease of my multiple, identical backup copies scattered through the years on CDs, hard drives, and cloud. I am doomed to find, and delete, the same emotional booby-traps for years to come. I only have to rip up a paper letter once. Do we want to keep everything, if it means we will never lose anything?

I've attended events where the inevitable digital photo slideshow in the after-party will run longer than had the event itself. I've missed spectacular sights because I was searching for my camera to preserve what I could have just enjoyed. If I was forced to be more selective about which mementos to keep, I could shape a narrative of my life, honor memories by investing time, energy, and money in their presentation. I suspect this is much of the allure of scrapbooking.

When data is both proliferated and obliterated so easily, what role of privacy? I struggle to understand discretion possible only by being too obscure for my leaked data to draw attention, yet what if I become famous, or infamous? What a boon to paparazzi, to bereaved, to law enforcement, to biographers!

I doubt the paper letter will ever entirely fade away, as it has a weight of emotional significance unrivaled by email. Without a backup or backspace, I have to be deliberate in my words and promises. Writing a letter is faith that I'll hold the same ideas and feelings from when it is written to the future when it's delivered; it becomes an artifact of shared time. Most of all, I find comfort knowing the paper I hold in my hands, will later be held in the hands of someone I love.

Inspired by: http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/29/magazine/what-happens-when-data-disappears.html

This is a rough approximation of the miles we traveled during training:

Accra to Kukurantumi, to homestays (PC bus)- 100 km, 3 hours

Anyinasin to Kumasi, to Counterpart Workshop (PC bus)- 150 km, 4 hours

Kumasi to Bolga, to site visit (Metro Mass)- 560 km, 9 hours (+ several hours waiting time)

Bolga to Tamale, to PEPFAR activities (Metro Mass)- 160 km, 3 hours (+ several hours waiting time)

Tamale to Techiman, to off-site technical training (tro)- 260 km, 4 hours

Techiman to Tumu, to shea IST (PC bus)- 450 km, 10 hours

Tumu to Bolga, to off-site tech training (PC bus)- 150 km, 3 hours

Bolga to Kumasi, to KSO (PC bus)- 560 km, 10 hours

Kumasi to Anyinasin, return to homestay (PC bus)- 150 km, 3 hours

Anyinasin to Bolga, arrive at site for good (Metro Mass, tros)- 710 km, a couple of days

Totals: 3250 km, countless hours...

This does not include other miscellaneous, day-to-day travel between training sites and sleeping locations:

Day travel around Accra; field trip to Boti Falls; back and forth between Kuku, Anyinasin, Masse and New Tafo and training locations in the area; Bolga to Kongo several times at site visit and off-site training; Tamale to Gushie (PEPFAR site); travel around Techiman; Tumu to shea IST site.

Its exhausting just thinking back on it all.

Our progress has surpassed even my own expectations. In just about a month we have coordinated the expansion of the building, installation of window, ceiling, desks, and computers to convert the former store room into a lab.before...

...and after

Locally hired laborers completed the masonry and carpentry work.


raising the walls

before......and after
framing the windowbefore...

...and after

A teacher did all of the wiring. Below he's using the students' help to bury an earth wire to ground the inside circuit. grounding the circuit

Students also helped with porting materials from town, painting, and organizing.students paintingI bought computers (10 Dell Optiplex gx150 and 1 Dell Optiplex gx270) with flat screen monitors from a place called Divine Anchor in Kumasi. The man who helped me, a Ghanaian university graduate in computer networking, was very good about packaging all the equipment for the long and rough return to Donkorkrom. The computers are in place and networked together and sharing an internet connection. They're operating windows XP and hosting such software as Rosetta Stone, Mavis Beacon, Wikipedia for Schools, and WordWeb. I'm currently working on a solution to clone the contents of one computer to appear on the rest. We will begin ICT practicals with the students next week, the third week of the term.

1. AcrobatAnt package 2. Free stuff – like food, taxi rides, private car rides, package delivery 3. Parasite is dead! Bye bye Gladys 4. I got a calendar! 5. Random adventures 6. Not getting paid and having only 10 cds … Continue reading →

Smoothing the bush cut boards to try to make them even and smooth, notice the workbench is a real bench but he put his hammer head under the foot because it was broken off and kept falling over. The things was a little wiggly so he put in the braces in back but it was still a little wiggly and I was afraid it would fall over so no problem he wedged a piece of board again the wall and the shelves so now no problem them are stable. So now all is off the floor and in a place-just have to cover with material to keep some of the dirt off. You should have seen how brown the top of my green netting was. Took it out and shook it now I am going to see how long until it is brown again. This is front door to our house – so you see why there is so much dirt in the house. The windows are the same way. The only thing is with the stucco mud bricks etc. it is a little cooler than most houses inside. Rob could not believe the difference from outside to inside when he came over. About the end of pictures so I thought I better send them while the computer was acting nice. Barbara

Just wanted to bring to your attention the above link titled "Atakora Computer Center." Clicking it will take you to a thread of the blog(http://atakoracomputercenter.blogspot.com) with updates on the computer lab we're starting at the school.

Our students are in their first week of a two-week period of exams. The Cape Coast tests are 60% of their overall grade and if you want to see a quiet campus, then these two weeks will be the time to come. No one is wasting any time walking or talking with friends, they all have books open, pens and pencils at the ready, and lots of time poring over the facts and formulas that their tests will

     Oh, my.      You cut your hair.      It’s really short.      It looks like the crew cut I had when I was eight years old.      Excuse me, sir.      It will … Continue reading →

So, word on the street was I had a package. I was expecting one from my old co-workers since Christmas. I haven’t been so excited for a package in ages. So it was delivered today – which is really rare, … Continue reading →

Don't miss the 'Girls Dance' video (at right)!

My students watching a movie I showed them on my laptop about deaf American performers called "See What I'm Saying." Powerful Peace Corps moment.

see my tiny laptop?

You can laugh, but the water sachet pom pom project was a big hit with the P4-P6 classes.

finished pom pom

Yes, that's a sprig of cilantro on the right--the only one I've seen so far, and I'm sure it will die soon.

Abyssinian Roller

sheep taking a break from the heat

We rode our bikes to Adayilli, a fishing village along the White Volta River. This is the fish market.

They're called grasscutters, but they look like big rats.

toward Adayilli

cattle drive

children of Adayilli, coming to meet us

seriously out in the middle of nowhere

White Volta River

Savelugu School for the Deaf girls ready to play soccer

morning soccer match

Abyssinian Roller (I thought I was going to name my first-born child 'bearded barbet,' but now I'm thinking 'Abyssinian Roller.'

lentil burger with cheese (made by me!)

Woodcarving demo during In-Sevice training in Kumasi. This is an Ashanti doll in progress.

That's a big tool for a small job.

Machete carving

finished product on right

to fire the clay bowls

preparing to fire clay bowls

finishing touches on the clay bowls (mortars); polishing with a stone

kneading the clay

Mary and Joe Bee from the left, the two Education Coordinators/Directors for PC

pottery ladies

kiln being opened after firing

My newest 'counterpart,' Rosarius, who accompanied me to the training event in Kumasi. He's the Primary 5 teacher at my school.

Just your normal bush fire, nothing to get excited about.

The dust that accumulates inside my house in one week, swept into a pile.