I've been thinking about this blog for a while. Not sure what to say. I thought about a bunch of different things-- themes, if you will. Still haven't come up with anything, but, I think, I'm just going to go for it. Otherwise, this blog is going to become incredibly outdated...

The last months, weeks, and day in Ghana were incredible in so many ways, and exhausting and stressful in so many others. The last three market days I went to ended in wet, rainy nightmares, walking through inches of mud in the middle of the night to get home. I packed my days with friends, and it never seemed like enough. I passed out of my sewing apprenticeship and became an official "Madame." I was enstooled as a chief in my community, wrapped in a black and white cloth called "May God Bless You Until We Meet Again."

On my last morning, I stood at the side of road, encompanied by my closest friends. An hour and a half later I was hoisted into a big Benz bus. My bags were thrown up after me. I looked out the window-- at Lucy, Solomon, Hannah, Pigri, and Sofu, taking them in, trying so hard to absorb them into my very being and burn their images onto my retinas. Never wanting to forget anything.

I watched Ofosu pass me by and leave my sight for who knows how long, and then I hid my face in my shirt and cried. The driver turned and asked me why. I said, "Me ku fie." I'm going home.

The necessary exposition: Scarily enough, two years ago now (scary, because, it’s already been two years) I was writing my undergraduate “capstone,” a thesis of sorts, if you will, about the theatre’s role in forming/ fathoming/ creating a national identity in postcolonial Zambia. This all began long before I knew I was coming to Ghana or Africa, back when joining the Peace Corps was somewhat of a whimsical idea that had popped into my head.

In short, the capstone was comprised of a litany of complications, double standards, and impossibilities, which are inherently part and parcel of an already complicated state of affairs. In writing it, I came off as somewhat of a mediator, piecing each piece together in an attempt to do what, I’m not exactly sure. It’s still a work in progress. Anyway, a reoccurring theme in my research was these drama competitions between national dramatic troupes comprised of ex-pats and Zambians alike, sometimes exclusive, sometimes not. Some were geared towards urban audiences, and others, rural communities. Judges were often brought in from Britain, for whatever reason you might like to derive, to preside over the affairs, and an overarching complaint was that these judges were never able to maintain an unbiased opinion. Traditional Zambian troupes complained that western conceptions of drama were different from their own, and the judges were unable to part from their preconceived notions of how drama should operate on the stage. This point was most poignantly articulated to me when one Zambian troupe member described in an article that the pinnacle of his drama brought the Zambian audience to their knees in fits of laughter, while the British judges sat back, tears brimming in their eyes. I say most poignantly, because I never really understand how. What exactly happened on stage to produce such disparate reactions? I perused the manuscripts for clues and remained in the dark, lingering there through finals and long after I handed in my capstone, received a grade, and graduated—a difference in humor, I probably explained it in my most scholarly and knowing façade. Four months later, I boarded the plane for Accra.

Now, obviously, we can’t talk of Africa in any sort of blanket statement, but I found, through my research, that many parallels could be drawn throughout Africa in regards to this particular topic, which is why I’m going to make the conclusion I’m going to make in about one paragraph. Sorry if I ruined the ending.

So, about a year ago now, I was working at a secondary school here in Ghana with some students who were competing in a drama competition. There were four separate groups, and all of the dramas were to be about family planning—in NGO/ politically correct/ government friendly lingo, that’s all the different modes of contraceptives available in Ghana at this time. The students were thrilled, as any sixteen, seventeen, eighteen year old would be, to talk about sex. In all of the dramas some handsome, youthful couple engaged in a sexual innuendo that resulted in pregnancy, however, only in one, did the young girl decide to have an abortion. She ate charcoal—an all too common method of abortion among the youth in rural communities and probably urban too. After finding out she was pregnant, she (we’re speaking of the actress) runs home and ingests the charcoal, sending her into spastic fits, full-heartedly performed, and leaving her on the ground dead. The actress’s audience of peers jumped up from their seats laughing, shouting, clapping, and high-fiving one and other. I sat uneasily in my seat, not wanting to be held responsible by the headmaster for this seemingly tasteless outburst. I searched for his concerned face in the crowd, unable to find it, because such a concerned face didn’t exist. Rather, I found him laughing and clapping along side of the students. I turned to the Ghanaian judges, male and female I should specify to eliminate any elements of misogyny, and they also followed suit. I too began laughing, possibly out of relief, but, I think, even more so because I finally knew what that he had meant.

A blurb I wrote recently...

I was in the kitchen preparing lunch when I heard a cacophony of angry shouting, skin slapping, and one distinct frightened cry, which I knew, from experience, belonged to Gloria. My four year old neighbor, who just weeks ago contracted some sort of respiratory infection, fell into a coma, and woke up paralyzed on the right side of her body. The brain damage seemed severe. A once talkative, rather gregarious girl was reduced to one sound- one sporadic frightened wale that could wake you up in the middle of night, bringing tears of desperation to your eyes.

I walked to the window to get a view of the commotion. I saw a group of about four women from another part of town with cutlasses and picks in hand. They were struggling on Gloria’s left arm, while Gloria’s mother was struggling back on the right. Gloria, being tosses and turned in the middle, shouting out of the left corner of her mouth, is broken free from her mother, and the women carry her to the side of the house where I now see a large hole that they previously dug. The women dangle Gloria over the hole, as her grandfather sprints to her rescue. Gloria’s mother’s attention is now diverted to the yams boiling over on the fire. As she tends to lunch, the grandfather frees Gloria from the grasps of the women and steals her away to the safety of her room. Outstretching his limbs into an “X,” he blockades the door. By this time, I’ve left my kitchen and am standing in front of the house with a number of other spectators. The women beat the grandfather, shouting at them to allow them access to the child. One scrappy woman, succeeds in entering the room, but becomes blockaded inside, Gloria in hand. Gloria’s mother continues to stir the pot.

I turn to my landlord and say, “They are fighting,” fishing for some sort of explanation.

He replies, “Yes. Gloria’s sickness is too much. She is alive, but she wants to die. That is why she is not getting better. So, the women have come to bury her. “

Speechless for a moment, mulling over exactly what he’s telling me, “So, does the mother want them to bury her?”

“No.” I begin wondering why she then seems more preoccupied with pounding fufuo, than with her daughter who is in the process of being buried alive.

Gloria’s grandfather is yelling at the women to go home and leave the girl alone. I see a smile creasing the corner of her mother’s mouth when she sees me watching. She laughs my name under her breath, which isn’t all that atypical, but I still wonder why.

Things seem to die down. Spectators begin resuming to their homes. It seems Gloria will not face her death today, but I’m still standing there. Leaving, to me, just doesn’t feel appropriate. Standing beside me, my friend lets out a sigh and a brief chuckle of amused satisfaction.

He turns to me, “Uh hoo. I don’t know how to say it…They were playing. They were making a play. That is our tradition. This is what we do when someone is sick like that.”

It was staged. The grandfather had requested these women from another clan to come and do what they could not—to “bury” Gloria. Maybe to scare the sickness out of her—to instill the fear and reality of death in a girl who seems to have given up on life.

Many scholars contend there is no historical theatrical tradition in Africa that predates the western tradition. What theatre that does exist now is assumed a result of westernization or colonialism.

When describing pan-African culture, however, an anthropologist can hardly overlook the inherent theatrics. How can two such truths co-exist? Personally, I would contend that they cannot, but it truly depends on what you allow harbor under your umbrella of “theatre.” I prefer to maintain a rather larger, all-encompassing, perhaps multi-printed, umbrella myself. But, I guess, using an umbrella in African rains (with the exception of North Africa, which isn’t generally characterized with monstrous rains) would be like swimming in raincoat, anyhow. Why? And, who cares?

Anyway, aponche is a goat…

Like a broken record, I will say, it's been far too long since my last post. I hope everyone's new year is continuing on smoothly. This is probably the last acceptable time for me to refer to it as a new year, though it may already be inappropriate. I think blog posting sometime forces a moral or lesson to be learned. And, apparently, I don't have any morals and/or lessons to impart upon my audience. I mean, obviously, I'm learning new things yada yada, but I don't know that they are all that entertaining for you visual pleasure. I was reading a Peace Corps memoir the other day, and the author wrote, "Africa was everything I never knew before, until I got to know it." I feel that's fitting and rather axiomatic, though I'm just going to use it in reference to myself and Ghana, in this case. I kind of wish I would have said it myself. It's true. 20 months ago, Ghana was enigmatic, convoluted being, with whom my relationship with was very dispersive. And now, it's just like any other place, think, or relationship. I could be anywhere, and I'm here. It's a home. Maybe not my biological, hereditorial (is that a word?) home, but it's a home that is mine, nonetheless.

Work is good. Busy. Life is also good. There's a new baby in my life. Babies are my new past-time. Her name is Gladys, and she never cries and always laughs. Unless she's hungry, but she isn't even hungry all that much. I'd probably steal her if I was at all ready to have a baby full-time in life. But for now, I'm sticking to part-time. Part, part-time even. Anyway, I love her.

Bismark, who is the most faithful and consistent baby in my life, is a complete and utter riot these days. He's even becoming too cool to have me around him and his friends sometimes. I thought my novelty may have had a little more longevity, given my disparate-ness/melatonin levels. But, alas.

Enough about babies you don't know. I saw a snake yesterday. A VERY prodigious snake. It was longer than me, and, if it was alive, it definately could have consumed me. So I'm told, this type of snake likes to move rather surreptiously, hiding in trees and then POUNCING on its predator, strangling it do death and then eating it. Make me not want to go to farm anytime soon.

I'm studying some new vocab in prepartion for the GREs, in case you wondering what all these awkward words were about. They're not my real vocabulary. Just my fake GRE-prep vocab, so you can ignore them and I'm sure the condition will go away on its on post-examination in June. I'm still a little stumped on the significance of quaff, however. "To drink deeply." When and how should I use that? And what exactly do they mean by drinking deeeeply. It sounds a little vampiresque to me, which doesn't entirely make me feel comfortable with the word nor its relevance to my post-graduate education...

I still miss you.

Love, Cyn

I’ve sufficiently passed the half-way point now. Eleven more months. I recently took a vacation with my family. We took a cruise through part of the Mediterranean, visiting Spain, Malta, Cyprus, Egypt, and Greece with significant layovers in Morocco, which have afforded me the opportunity to write this blog.

I hadn’t left Ghana for fourteen months, and while I wasn’t going home, I was definitely entering a culture much more akin to my own. It was shocking—pleasantly shocking, I guess. I took the longest steam hot showers after I walked around in the bitter cold all day bundles in my coat, scarf, and occasionally gloves. I ate myself sick everyday on fresh vegetables, apples, grapes, cheese, olives, pizza, dark meat, light meat, fish, ice cream, cookies, cake, coffee, you name it. I wore make-up and fixed my hair every morning, and they remained un-phased all day in my new climate. I spoke in English all of the time (or, at least, on the boat) and with an abandon, fostered by the knowledge that I was being fully understood. I ate with my right hand and my left hand. I didn’t greet everyone I passed. I went to the movies.

It was shocking, but, I think, more shocking was how quickly the shock wore off—how quickly I nestled into my comfort zone and thrived there. I feel like I’ve changed so much in the past year. My perspective on many things (development, international relations, foreign aid, global responsibilities, life generalities…) has been radically changed and re-changed. Many of my ways of changed, but most of my ways have stayed just the same. I still love corny movies, pedicures, getting my hair cut, shopping, and new toothbrushes, among other things. I still dislike tours, souvenir stores, and bargaining, also, among other things. I still feel at home with my family.

I’m still me.

Except for one thing. For those of you who don’t know…I’ve now been alive for 24 YEARS. : )

I wish you all cheerful holidays and inspiring new years. And all of my love.

My 10 new year resolutions…

1. Stop hating hand-washing jeans

2. Stop saving all of the hard clothes to wash for the very end (i.e. the jeans)

3. Find away to get less dusty in the dry season

4. Stop wiping my dirty hands on my clean clothes—bad, bad habit

5. Floss more—gross, right?

6. Take the GREs

7. Apply to grad school…and decide if I want to go…

8. Sew better

9. Start getting my ideas for a non-profit off the ground

10. Never forget I’m not here to prove anything to anyone—not even myself—and, by “here,” I don’t mean Ghana

Number 1 new year resolution for next year…

1. Spend 100x more time with my family and friends in the U.S….I’ve never stopped missing you. You still make my life.

So, once again, it’s been far too long since my last blog post. And, I don’t really have anything prepared, so I’ve decided to pull one of my recent journal entries…a somehow censored journal entry, of course. Anyway, here it is:

Listening to my I-pod sends me into a sensory overloaded walk down memory lane. Music always does that to me. Even more so in Ghana. I get glimpses of what sometimes feels like a former life-- sitting in a coffee shop, watching a movie or football game, sitting at the dinner table with friends, sipping wine after a good meal. I want so badly for that life to feel like this life.-- simply a continuation in a different location. I don’t want to feel disjointed. I want the transition to be seamless. That seems like the appropriate way-- the politically correct way. People are people anywhere you are, right? So, why should the discrepancies in my lifestyle seem so jarring some days? Why can’t I imagine living in the U.S. anymore? Why does my home seem unfamiliar-- unknown? Why is that realization horrifying to me? What have I done in coming here? What have I done to myself and to those I live with?

Some days, when students or friends I’ve lived and worked with for a year now ask me for money, food, t-shirts, whatever I happen to be holding in my hand at any given moment, I wonder if I’ve done more harm in being here than good. I wonder if I’ve set people up for failure just by my very presence. As if I’ve led people to believe that all that is good comes from outside, and that they’ll never make it without aid from elsewhere. That I’m here to give something to them that they would be incapable of achieving on their own.

The thing that keeps me here is the prospect of reaching some different realization at the end of the two years-- that there must be some reason I signed on for that long. I don’t like to back out on my commitments. That and the realization that whether I stay or go really makes no difference in this regard. The damage and/or good has alredy been done. It began when Peace Corps began. The ramifications, whatever they may be, have already begun to unfold, and they’re permanent and far bigger than me and anything I may do or say. Of course, there’s always acting out of principle--but, well, I guess I’m still trying to figure out just what that principle is, and I fear making a snap judgment. Acting out of principle has become far more moot to me since moving here. I remember the exhilaration I used to get in college when I could feel myself really wrapping my mind around a theory or character-- like I was really grasping some fundamental principle of life that would change the way I lived and my small sphere of influence in the world. But, here, the world and all of it’s principles and theories span beyond even the peripheral vision of my mind. It’s so grandiose that I can spend long afternoons and sleepless nights just gawking at the prospects of it without ever making any headway on my own opinions or principles. The options and potential outcomes are infinite. I guess people always say that, but now I really know why, because that’s all the reason and principle I can concoct. At least at this moment. Maybe at the end of next year I’ll feel differently, but it seems unlikely.

More than daunting, it’s scary. I see some many errors and irreconcilable problems in development and international relations, and I don’t know if I’m suppoed to find a solution or simply admit the inevitability of it all and find a way to live and work within that. That sounds dismal, and I don’t mean it too. But, I guess, it is a bit sobering-- I think it has to be. Some things are just like that, and we’re kidding ourselves if we think there are any simple solutions for such a complicated global climate in which we find ourselves. And I think we also kid ourselves if we believe we should just try to save whoever we can save. Send to school whoever we can send. Buy a bicycle or a house or a library for whoever we can-- helping one is better than helping none. I don’t think I believe that anymore. It seems that helping one merely fosters co-dependence-- not only in regard to that one person, but to everyone else who sees that one “being helped” and decides to wait for their help to arrive. Maybe that one you send to school or feed will becomes Ghana’s next president. But do we just say that so we can sleep at night knowing we’ve “done something?” I’ve fed someone, I’ve clothed someone, and I’m not sleeping because it doesn’t feel right. It’s not enough. It’s not even an attempt, but simply a flippant gesture in false acknowledgement of a fundamental problem. A band-aid over an un-clotted flesh wound that’s turning into a staf infection, which so many Peace Corps volunteers have come to know and, of which, are now able to identify the initial symptoms. And for what? To write about it in our journals, and when we’re old we’ll tell our children and grandchildren about it, and we’ll sleep well knowing we’ve truly “lived” and “played our part.” It’s not that simple-- not that small.

But, you know, I can say all of this, and I still don’t know any more than the next person what to do about it. How exactly do you change an institution that has now engrained itself into a global demeanor and manner of living? Please, I would love even conjecture…I need more than my own…

Sometimes I wonder how I’ll incapsulate this entire experience in my mind at the end of next year-- A time when I ate more starch than I previously though consumable in one’s lifetime, and they called me Pigri. That’s all I’ve got so far…

I love living here, but I think maybe it’s selfish when the implications of my being here are far heavier that just having a good time or easing my conscience…

So, I've decided to take advantage of my current stint in the med unit (once again and, hopefully, one and for all!) to do a little one year marker post...I've haven't quite reached one year yet, but it's getting pretty close believe it or not. I don't always know that I believe it. It's really gone by fast...at least in retrospect...but even in real time too most of the time.

I'd like to start with a universal HAPPY BIRTHDAY for all the birthdays in the past year that I may have missed. I tried to keep up, but it's amazing how a lack of seasons as I know it can really mess with my sense of time. I promise to try to be better this year. Now that I'm adjusted, I shouldn't have any excuses...aside from lack of phone network--so, don't expect any well wishes to come promptly...but I'll really try to make them come.

Also, thank you for all of the letters, e-mails, phone calls, and care packages. They've saved me from the temporarily overwhelming wallows of my soul at times. lol. And, it's a fact, I have every card, picture, and knick knack sent still decorating the walls and shelves of my house. I even still have the Christmas decorations up! Every letter has been saved, read, and re-read. So, it's no small joke-- thank you.

I've reached and surpassed by first big mile marker in my stay here in Ghana. I had been thinking about my sister's visit since day one. Since before day one, really. And, I don't believe it's a lie to say that I thought about it on days one through 308 (now that's a rough estimate) too. And, as most of you know, her visit has come and gone! And it was definitely the mile-stone I expected it to be-- at least in terms of significance. Though, I don't think I ever knew exactly what to expect--nor did I really expect exactly what occured. I spend a lot of my time here explaining-- explaining my life back in the States-- my family, my friends, college, grocery stores, cities, suburbs, snow, religions, races, foods, states, dating, etc., etc. I often explain myself, my beliefs, and where I come from to even my closest friends who I've already explained myself, my beliefs, and my home to on a number of occassions. My landlord always tells he wouldn't believe the things I say about my life and home if someone else had told him, and so I think he asks me the same questions over and over again just to double check my facts--make sure I'm really not making any of it up. lol. And, while I love explaining, those who know me know I'm more than a slight introvert. So, always explaining myself and my decisions, while constantly keeping me self-aware, can also be very exhausting and overwhelming. Fair enough. I think I've figured out my coping routine by now. But, I guess, what I hadn't really come to realize until my sister's arrival was how much MORE explaining would have to be done. I think I speak for most PCVs when I say--well, maybe I just think of for myself lol...that's safer---ANYWAY, I speak for myself when I say, most of my homesickness and founded in a desire for my comfort zone, where I fit in, go unnoticed, flourish as a hermit, and never really have to explain anything about myself because no one really cares or, if they care, they already know. So, when a bit of home comes across the Atlantic, I guess I was expecting a piece of my comfort zone-- maybe even a week of comfort zonal bliss lol. But, understandably so, there was a ton of explaining to do about most everything-- what I eat, what I buy, how I bathe, where I go to the bathroom, how I sleep with roosters living in my house, etc., etc. I think, by the end of the visit, we got to that comfort zone--probably even half-way through. But the first few days were incredibly overwhelming for me. I didn't want to explain. I just wanted Jen to see and understand--everything. Obviously that's unrealistic, but that's me. My favorite moment of the whole visit, however-- when I really think we reached the brink of my return to normalization (word?) was when Jen and I were about to go to bed at our last destination (Busua Beach), and I said, "Want to play Egyptian War?" and she said, "Yeah! It's been a long time since we've played that one!" I pause for a moment, trying to remember that last time, before I realize and then say, "Of course it has. We haven't been together in a year." I'd forgotten. So, I think my sister's visit--my first milestone and almost one year marker-- gave me a glimpse of what returning home may be like-- alittle overwhelming, perhaps a little lonely-feeling at first...However, now I know when I get home, it's my sister who will be the one (it could be you too, if you come and visit! : ) ) who know's who and what I'm talking about when I'm telling stories about my time here in Ghana. And that seems like a good deal to me.

I had another "one year marker"-esque moment of awareness right before my sister's visit too...The past few months have been very hectic and filled with travelling for me-- between training a new group of volunteers and falling sick on more occassions than I'd prefer. I had two drama projects about malaria and smorgasboard of "life skills" with my students hanging over my head that just never seemed to come off on any of the many re-scheduled dates. Now, I've become pretty accustomed to this and try not to let it define my as a person lol, but I was started to get a bit antsy. The school term had ended and I just wanted to get them over with, so that we could start on new projects when school resumed. No life force really cared what I wanted-- per usual and probably fair. But, eventually, myself and two friends and/or co-workers that I was working on the projects with decided to just force it and call it a day. The idea was for the students to learn about marlaria prevention, hiv/aids prevention, hygeine habits, study skills, and saving/budgeting, create their own dramas on the topics, and perform them for the community to show off what they learned and share their knowledge with their parents/families/community members. It rained all day. And anybody who knows Ghana knows nothing happens in the rain, which makes natural sense. But Solomon, Philip, and I were defying Ghana and nature on this day. Out of necessity. Or desperation. Or exhaustion. Of course, Ghana and nature laughed in our faces. The students were so excited they waited around all day and had no qualms about performing in the rain. And really no qualms about performing to a non-existent audience--because no community members showed up...well, one guy did. And my sanity is forever indebted to him, though I'll probably never know Konkomba well enough to explain that to him. It was a competition. I forgot to mention that. So, I'm sitting there, getting rained on, scoring my students who are getting rained on while they perform. And, I just keep telling myself that we at least succeeded in educating the students. Their dramas were wonderful. Even some of the younger, less vocal ones really stepped up. Sooo, so what if they weren't able to bestow their knowledge on anyway else. Half the goal was achieved! Half a success is still a success! It's like milk in a glass-- it's half full! These are the things I'm telling myself. Those who know me well, know I must have been incredibly frustration, irritated, and mad at myself during this moment in time and space. I was. Borderline furious at some ambiguous entity that began to manifest itself in everyone and everything. I wanted to cry. Good thing it was raining...

So, it all went off. The students performed. We announced a winner in a private little party of other students, myself, my two collaborators, and one community member. We dranks minerals and ate biscuits. And, I went home to cleanse my soul of pain and feelings of failure, trying to remember all those sayings about the youth as our future etc. etc. My friend Solo followed me home, and we hung out for a bit. As he was about to go he turned to me and said, "What you are doing with those students is really great. Before you and Allison (my predecessor and love) came to work with them, they couldn't speak like that in public. They didn't have confidence like that, and they couldn't speak English so fluently. So, thank you. God shall bless you for that."

Before you start thing that this is turning into a personal ego-stroke session, though I do think Solo's comments did save my ego from extinction-- or temporary extinction, to be less dramatic. The real moment of awareness came in his comment about English fluency. I actually usually request that the students speak in Konkomba when they perform. They usually beg to speak in English, and whether I agree or not, they speak in English when they get up there-- and I run around in the last moments looking for a translator lol. I really struggle with deciphering cultural evolution from cultural death sometimes. Particularly here, where I try to be completely and utterly cultural non-domineering. Try. I haven't quite figured out if that's an attainable goal yet, but I'm staying optimistic. Anyway, the cold hard facts are that English fluency is a valued asset in Ghana. It's a marker of education and potential for affluence. More people speak English in Ghana's more developed regions. In it's lesser developed regions, fewer people speak English. The stereotypes ensue. They're not really stereotypes. They're just a reality. If my students want to go to high school, training college, university, etc. If they want to get jobs and change their economic standing, their social standing-- They have to speak English, and they have to speak it well. I don't know exactly how I feel about that; my feelings waver with my mood, the day, the moon...I'm not very good at being realistic. Or practical. I don't really care for it. But this is not about me or my life. It's about my students and their lives (now you can really hear the dramatic instrumentals in the background, yeah?).

Anyway, all I'm saying is, it was a moment of awareness or atonement with the cultural reality here. Perhaps, one might say, if they were meandering about such a PhD dissertation topic, as I might be, a post-colonial cultural reality. "We can never go back to before." That a line from a song in a one-woman musical called An American in New York that debuted starring my best friend Maggie. Kidding....sort of...it's from some musical that I don't know, but Maggie would know, because she did sing it in An American in New York....This whole half of the paragraph has probably only been mildly humorous for a sole reader-- Maggie. My apologies.

Now, this is a marathon entry if we've every seen one, yeah? Well, here's to the year-- almost! I think one of the hardest realizations has been that life goes on for all of you even when I'm not there. lol. Now, obviously, I knew that it would. But, that doesn't mean that I understood what it would feel like. So many of my life's VIPs have fallen in love, fallen sick, engaged, married, birthed children, graduated, died. Everday I think about you, and I try to re-assess whether I've made the right decision in being here. Living in a culture that values family so strongly, I often wonder what in the world I was thinking when I decided to leave mine. My only answer-- I am coming back. Soon--ish. 15 months-- ish. I think, perhaps, the other harderst realization (so many hard realizations--whatever that means) was that my life would go on too. That I would feel so dramatically changed as a person some days, and none of those VIPs would be there to know it. Luckily, I've found some new VIPs to add to my currently distant aged (like wine) VIPs. And, luckily, 98% of my life is far less dramatic than this paragraph. Thank something divine for that. : )

So, happy almost one year! Cheers!

Disclaimer: This story is a bit worrisome, but just hang on until the end. At no point did I truly need to fear for my life. It was merely nightmarish (and no reflection of the Peace Corps experience in general). Not fatal. Okay, go--

Last Tuesday night I went to bed in pants and a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, wrapped tightly like an egg roll in large pieces of cloth, and I still shivered my way through the mostly sleepless night. I was beginning to think Arctic winter had hit West Africa when my 103* temperature reasoned me out of such an outlandish conclusion. By morning, however, the fever had dropped to 99*, and I thought I was on my road to recovery. I began going about by usual daily routine. I'm sure you can see where this is going. Anytime one is writing about going about their normal routine something completely abnormal is bound to happen...Indeed it did. By two that afternoon, the vomiting began, accompanied by severe abdominal pains. The fever returned, and as I went to call the Peace Corps doctor at my spot of reception, I collapsed. Thankfully, a friend of mine was on his way to my house, saw me, and called the doctor for me. This friend is also a trained medical orderly of sorts and immediately called the ambulance, carried me on his back to the clinic, injected me with a fever-reducer, and unsuccessful tried to start me on an IV of fluids. By this time, I was shaking from the fever and my abdomen was on fire. When the lifted me into the ambulance I put on quite the vocal performance, screaming and wailing. The two hour ride to the hospital wasn't much better. The hospital itself wasn't much better than that. I was diagnosed with malaria, among other intenstinal infections. Unfortunately, they weren't really prepared to treat me, and well, I'll leave out all the gruesome details, but I was fairly horrified on many occasions by the IVs, shots, and draws of blood that I knew should not be as painful or bloody as they were. They truly truly did their best, but they're severely under-staffed and under-funded.

Because I'm prone to slip in to states of anxiety at times such as the one I'm speaking of, I did just that. Loud, high-pitched wheezes fell forth from my mouth, marking each failed intake of breath. I didn't even recognize myself at first. I was hyperventilating and, unfortunately, had left my inhaler at home in the rush. They put me on oxygen, and I was able to relax a bit. At least, relatively speaking. Night fell again (this is the second night by now), and my oxygen tank ran out. A friend who was with me at the time went to request another one, only to return to me, mildly wheezing again with a grim look on her face. "The hospital doesn't have another tank. They only had that one." I didn't say anything. Maybe because I didn't have the breath to support sound, but I was also incredibly livid. I don't know exactly at who or what, but anger was surging through my body (it had been a long two days, by this point), exacerbating my wheezing again. My friend said, "Cynthia, you'll be fine if you just let yourself calm down." Of course, she was right, but how exactly to do that was more of my dilemma.

Ready for the cheesey last scene? I promise this is exactly what happened...

I laid down flat on my back and laid my un-IVed hand on my lower abdomen. I closed my eyes and slowly began to inhale, feeling my abdomen begin to blow up like a balloon with these words running through my head, "Breathe through the diaphragm. Stand up straight. Open the rib cage wide like a gate."

It was a pretty pitiful inhale at first, but gradually it improved. I made it through the night, and the next day, I was taken to another hospital in Accra where I was able to get everything I needed for my road towards recovery.

Anyway, just thought my fellow Perf-101ers would find this one humorous. lol

Love you guys.

So, once again, it’s been incredibly too long since my last post. However, in my defense, I actually wrote a blog a few weeks ago, saved it to my pen drive, and then it gotten eaten by a virus, and I just haven’t had a chance to write another one. Anyway, things are going well here. I think I’ve reached a new level of integration—I’ve grown tired of all of my "earthy/ look like I just walked out of a Landsend catalog" attire that makes me feel like I’m camping in Ghana, rather than living. Not to knock those who buy their normal attire from Landsend or the like. Many people truly pull that look off and enjoy it. Unfortunately, I am not really one of those people, and I never really have been. I don’t feel comfortable in clothing that absorbs my perspiration while simultaneously shielding from the sun’s rays with built-in SPF 45. And skirts that can be zipped into pants and capris and, finally, cute little totes with built-in carabineers, so that, when it comes time for packing, you can attach that small ambiguous tote to your backpack loop without anyone ever suspecting you’re carrying 1/3 of your wardrobe around---yeah, who ever invented those—ingenious, but also not my style. So, I’ve initiated a gradual parting-of-ways from many of my old clothes and started purchasing some new items that suit my person and my soul, rather than making me feel like a boy scout. I know that probably just sounds like a somewhat interesting excuse to go shopping for new clothes, and, of course, in many ways (or all ways), it is. But, the other day when I walked down a path in my village wearing real-live denim and a simple tank with a few strands of beads around my waist a friend of mine called out, "Pigri, now you look like a Ghanaian!" I was wearing an outfit, unbeknownst to him, that I would wear on any normal day in the States (as opposed to my litany of boy scout uniforms), but since he had never seen me dressed like that before, he assumed I picked up the look in Ghana. I feel that validates my soul-filled, integration-inducing justification for my new wardrobe. I’m continuing to live more and more normally and comfortably, and I feel like my friends and co-workers are really starting to get to know who I am, particularly my love for mismatched clothes and layers in this case.

In my last blog, that unfortunately never got to see the light of cyberspace, I talked about a book called The Village of Waiting by George Packer. I recommended it to anyone who was looking for an interesting read, and I "required" it for anyone that is coming to visit me here. It’s about a Peace Corps volunteer who served in Togo during the 80s. If you plan to read the book, you may want to skip the next couple of paragraphs so that I don’t spoil it for you. So, if that’s you……STOP!

So, in the book, Packer describes a lot of the same physical and emotional discomforts that I’ve been experiencing since moving to Ghana. It’s amazing how similar some of his descriptions of his daily life are to my current life. His site in Togo is right on the Ghanaian border and, actually, fairly close to wear I live. He has a really great way of describing some of the more blatant cultural disconnects, as well as things like the cuisine and public transportation (to name a few items). All and all, he’s a pretty great, descriptive writer, and I think he captures a lot of the initial, superficial struggles that PCV is this region face.

However, more importantly, I think he targets a lot of the emotional/psychological struggles that we face, as well. Now, Packer’s assignment is fairly different from mine. He was an English language teacher in French-speaking Africa, and, from what I can tell, his site was slightly more urban than mine. So we part ways a bit there, but he still addresses something that I address at least once a day and up to 40 times a day, which is my justification for being here (here meaning Ghana, meaning Peace Corps, meaning life). Some days it’s an up-hill battle, trying to figuring out if I’m doing the right thing here—if my presence is doing more help or more harm. Some days I just know I’m in the right place. But my perspective on globalization, poverty, inter-cultural relations, international diplomacy, the global economy, and all those other big ticket items has drastically shifted since coming here and continues to shift with each passing day. There are so many issues and/or problems with so many ambiguous or non-existent solutions with which grappling can be incredibly overwhelming. And, often times, you’re doing a lot of the grappling alone—the only one in your village coming at the issues with your perspective that is arguably broadened by your access to international news and cultures, as well as education, but is also arguably irrelevant and out-of-touch with everyone around you. It’s often hard to say whether or not my irrelevance makes me useless here or not, and sometimes my occasional complete and utter loneliness (despite being surrounded by a community of 1400 people) makes me feel useless and/or non-existent even more than my cultural irrelevance. Packer says in his book that each day he woke up in Togo, he never felt he was where he was supposed to be. He lasted a little over a year and a half before he ETed, leaving for a brief vacation and never coming back. I remember reading the book, feeling the lessening pages in my right hand, wondering how he would ever wrap it up that quickly. Then, within a turn of a page, it was all over. He simply called PanAm and went home the next day. I was really irritated—really, truly. And, I couldn’t figure out why, at first. But I realized, what was most aggravating was not that Packer gave up on Peace Corps goals or his development work, pronouncing them moot. But that he just picked up and left his friends without a word. He never said goodbye. He never talked to them again. Who does that?! I felt like he ruined everything. Like, he came in to "help the people," and then left when he felt he’d "done his job." It just doesn’t work that way, I don’t feel. Although, I guess I can’t critique too much, because I don’t know exactly how to explain how it does work. I just feel you really need to know the people in your community you’re trying to work in, and if you really know them, you wouldn’t be able to pick up and go just like that. The "cultural-gap" is just not that un-traversable.

I think, more than anything, what keeps me here are my friends. Even now I’m horrified at the thought of leaving my friends in a year and half—not being able to see them complete school, get married, or watch their children grow up. Not being able to just call them up and see how they’re doing, which I can’t really do now, but is my usual method of maintaining long-distance friendships. Living here is becoming more and more like living anywhere else, especially now that I’m doing it in denim ; ).

RE-START! For those who left us briefly…

As for work, it’s going well. I working on all the projects I’ve talked about before and a few new ones. I’ll keep you posted with any interesting developments. Sewing’s going well. I’ve made some cute clothes and bags, of late. I think my messenger bag made out of flour sacs is currently my hottest item. My ground nut farm is growing strong (which cannot be said of my vegetable garden that’s turned into two-planted okra garden), and I’m currently brainstorming a list of things to do with the exorbitant amount of ground nuts that I’ll have in a few months. All suggestions are welcome! Oh! And, I’m currently training a new group of PCVs, which has been a blast. It’s been really fun meeting new people and coming back to the training site, hanging out with my home-stay family.

It’s also really nice to not be the "new person" anymore—to finally feel like maybe I know something about something—just maybe. : ) It’s a pretty cool sense of accomplishment.

Anyway, I should get going, but I’d like to say one last thing in honor of the recently passed Father’s Day. One of the most important things I’ve gained from this experience, and I know this sounds trite, but I have no shame, is a whole new kind of appreciation for my family and my home—fathers, especially included. So, happy fathers day to the fathers, especially mine. I love you, Dad.

Dear Class, 2/7/2009

Life as an eighteen year old in Ghana varies from place to place and family to family just as it does in the states. An eighteen year old in a rural village is bound to have a very different experience from that of an eighteen year old living in a town or city. In much the same way, as Ghana is undergoing consistent development and change, an eighteen year old whose family embraces more “modern” practices will have a very different experience than one whose family maintains more traditional practices. In Ofosu, the families tend to be slightly more traditional. We are located between two larger towns, so we see the more modern trends, but they’re not always as relevant in our rural, predominantly yam-farming village.

So what does all this mean for an eighteen year old in Ofosu? Well, for one, as farming families, the children are often expected to accompany their parents to farm. This can, consequently, often delay their schooling, according to the common timeline we see in the States. An eighteen year old in Ofosu is generally just finishing junior high school, if they’re going to school at all. They will go to school Monday through Friday, as we do in the States, though they often finish much earlier—usually no later than noon. Teachers usually end school early so they can go to farm, market, or because the weather is just too hot and they don’t feel the students are retaining anything. Their reasoning is not always so valid. There is definitely a teacher accountability problem here in Ghana. However, there’s also an issue with timely payment for teachers as well. Teachers are, understandably so, less willing to teach when their paychecks have not arrived.

Students are expected to fetch water and fire wood for their teachers. On certain days, they are to go to their teachers’ farms to work for them. On Saturdays, all children go to farm with their families. Ofosu becomes a ghost town. As one of my friends put it, “We go to farm on Saturdays. We do not fool with that. About that, we are very serious.” So, an average eighteen year old goes to farm on Saturdays and raises yam mounds, prepares seeds, and digs up harvested yams, cassava, groundnuts, etc. They carry it back to their homes (maybe 2-8 miles away) on their bicycles or their heads. Once they return home, they peel the yams and take them to the mill for grinding [This is a task for females in particular].

Sunday is a less serious day for farmers. If they’re Christian, they may not go to farm at all. However, after church, the average eighteen year old is probably washing their clothes by hand at the river or with water they fetched from the borehole. They have to make sure their uniforms are clean for the next school day.

Life for an eighteen year old in Ghana is fairly routine. When they aren’t at school or farm, they’re just hanging out, playing cards, soccer, mancala (called owari in Ghana), etc. Their aren’t any places to “go,” especially because there are no jobs for teenagers, so they rarely have any money. Many teenagers have never been farther than the next market town.

There are two homes with generators and televisions in Ofosu. On certain nights, they play dubbed Nigerian films. Occasionally, if a teenager has money, they’ll go to see one of these films. There are also a few youth clubs that pull money together to rent speakers and host small dance parties. These clubs require fees, however, so the teenager must have some sources of income to join.

As for dating, it doesn’t really happen—at least not publicly. Men and women aren’t really expected to have that kind of contact until they’re married. This is a rule that is increasingly broken, as evidenced by the increase in teenage pregnancies. All of this, however, is kept very hush-hush. I find when I enquire about the marital status of some of the younger mothers I know, I am rarely given a straight answer.

I think that pretty much covers it. Questions are welcome.

Sincerely,

Ama Cynthia

So, I haven't really updated in quite a while. I'd say there's about two reasons for that-- one, it's incredibly difficult to update from the computer I have only periodic access too; and, two, and probably our biggest culprit, I don't know exactly what to write about. Things have really started normalize for me. I've created my routine and really started getting into my work. I sew about four days a week. I've started men's clothing! In term of Peace Corps work, I work with the clinic weighing babies and talking to mothers about nutrition. I'm also working with the HIV/AIDS club (which the previous volunteer started) at the school. We planted 100 moringa seeds last week (50 at the clinic and 50 at the school farm), and I think next we're wanting to work on a new HIV/AIDS drama that the kids want to perform in our neighboring villages. I'm also working on an educational family planning program that will, hopefully, come off by the end of April. And a few other things in the works, as well.

I'd say, of all my projects, family planning gives me the hardest time-- like psychologically. Which should be interesting, because the district health team is unleashing a whole new family planning campaign. I just feel like the size of peoples families and what that means is so embedded in Ghanaian culture that to change that is like changing a culture--perhaps even, replacing a culture with another more "western" culture. Like for example, my village is made up of four families--that's it. Four. Obviously, family planning could change the entire face of our village--well, over time, and the entire culture surrounding these four extended (but not as extended as you would assume) families. Now, obviously that's not a bad thing necessarily. Culture isn't stagnant. And, when you travel further south you'll already see smaller, more nuclear-focused families. But, you also see a lot of Ghanaian culture somehow blended with more "western" influences. And, well, I'm just trying to avoid some uni-global culture, because, you know, I can do that single-handedly. ; ) Anyway, I just don't want to step on any cultural toes for the sake of the culture-- and the people, too, but obviously they can just make their own decisions. So, yeah, I guess that's my conclusion. People are capable of making their own decisions. I'm just presenting the options-- the pros and cons. Alright, enough of that rambling...

In my personal life, I've had two major cooking revelations-- one, making flat bread out of ground soy beans mixed with oats, honey, and a little salt and baking powder. And tom brown cookies! Tom brown is this combination of ground soy beans, ground nuts, corn, millet, and sometimes some other things. Anyway, you can make some delicious porridge with it, but I've also discovered a way to make cookies with it, as well! They taste a bit like peanut butter cookies, but they have a lot more protein. Anyway, I'm trying to take the village by storm with them-- eliminate the protein-deficient babies. Just kidding. Well, I mean, I would like to eliminate protein-deficiency, but as for taking the village by storm. I'm trying to be a bit more subtle. : ) But yeah, those are my two cooking successes. They've really helped me beat the fufuo bloat. So, onward and upward, my next ventures include a home vegetable garden, fruit drying, and potentially ground nut farming. I'll be sure to keep you posted.

So, yeah, keeping busy and feeling good! Hope everyone's doing well. Will I ever stop dreaming of the day I get to see you all again? Probably not. But, I've definitely made a home here too. So, for whatever that's worth-- Sending love- Cyn

3/8/2009

Dear Class,

“Somehow” is a word often hear coming out of the mouths of Peace Corps volunteers in Ghana, as well as Ghanaians (when they’re speaking English, of course). “We will do it—somehow,” “Somehow, we will do,” “We did it—somehow.” That and phrases like “If tomorrow,” “If I finish,” an “If I get a car.” People very rarely promise anything beyond the present moment. Perhaps that sounds irresponsible, lazy, or defeatist. But in Ghana, or at least in Ofosu, it’s just practical. If you didn’t concede to these qualifiers, you’d lose your mind. This letter provides a case in point.

I intended to travel to one of the nearby market towns—the district capital today to write this letter and send it off to you. It’s Sunday, so there aren’t many cars on the road. Many Christians take the day off, and with that lack of demand the cards don’t fill. If they don’t fill, they don’t move. So, getting a ride to town on Sunday can be tough, but usually one or two cars pass throughout the day.

I got up early, packed my things, went to church, greeted a few friends, and was out by the road around 11:30 am. It was a bit early. Most cars don’t start moving until after church—sometime mid-afternoon. But, I didn’t have much else to do, so I thought I would just hang out. There are always people around to occupy your time.

So, I sat down and talked with some people. Around 12:30, I laid own to take a nap. Around 1:30, a friend came to sit with me. She roasted some ground nuts, and we bought some bananas to go with them. Six bananas and plenty of ground nuts later, we looked through a TIME and Cosmo magazine sent from home. I tried to explain to her all of the scantily-clad women she was completely appalled by. I told her not everyone in the U.S. dressed like the stars or the models advertising lingerie, boy lotions, perfumes, etc.

Around 3:30, she headed home. Around 3:35 a five-passenger car passes with nine people in it an all of their bags. It’s a no-go. By 4:30, I’m losing hope and tell myself just to hold out until five. By this time, everyone who greeted me on their way to farm this morning is now greeting me on their way back home. 5:00 comes and goes—I head to the tree under which I receive cell phone reception to message a person I was to meet in town that I wouldn’t be making it tonight. I hit one button and the cell phone battery died. I was going to charge it when I got to town where there’s electricity. I had tried to charge it yesterday with my solar charger, but it rained. I was frustrated. The last time I was in town, trying to e-mail you a letter the power went out while I was typing, and I lost the whole document. When I re-type it the internet connection went down, then the power went out again for four days. But, I realize I ha no reason to be frustrated. I’m not the only one living here. All of this is something everyone here is used too, and without me even sending that message, the person I was supposed to meet in town will assume I didn’t get a car and network reception is poor in my village. An, everyone I had “ify” plans with on Tuesday will understand why I had to spend the extra night in town, because I didn’t get a car on Sunday. We’re all living, working, hanging out in Ghana—somehow. We concede to that which we cannot control and eat bananas, ground nuts, keep each other company, have fun, and go on with our lives while doing it.

So, if tomorrow, and if I get a car, and if the power is on, and if the internet is working, I will type this letter and send it to you—somehow.

Sincerely,

Ama Cynthia

Dear Class, January 17, 2009

I thought it would be interesting to talk a bit about education here in Ghana. It works a little differently here than it does in the States. For example, in Ofosu here, we only have elementary school and J.S.S. (junior high school). To move from elementary to J.S.S., the students must take an all-encompassing final exam. If they do not pass, they cannot move on.

Similarly, students who want to go to S.S. (high school) must take an exam covering all they have learned in J.S.S. Because we do not have an S.S. in Ofosu, students here must also list their top six choices of all the S.S. schools in Ghana. If they pass the exam, they will then be assigned one of those six schools, along with a topic of study (i.e. general arts, poly-technic, etc.). All of the student's classes will revolved around this topic, although they have a few core classes outside of the topic as well. Students who come to S.S. from out of town, like the students from Ofosu, live in dormitories and have a cafetaria where their meals are prepared. This is a nice amenity, but also very expensive. School fees this past year averaged 450 Ghana cedis, which would be closer to US$2,500 in our economy. In the south, however, many towns have their own S.S. schools, and the students can remain at home, so the fees are a bit lower.

For students in Ofosu, however, going to highschool is similar to going to college in the U.S. It's not as common, and they must move away from home to do so. They're also usually about the same age as college students in the U.S.-- seventeen or eighteen years old. Many students don't enter scchool as young as we do in the states or they're taken out at various times to helpat farm, with the family, or they simply don't have the money that year to pay for school fees. In the south, however, it is different. I saw many more students finishing S.S. at eighteen, as opposed to starting.

After S.S., if students choose to go on, which is rare in this part of Ghana, most will take another exam to place them in a training college with another specific major. Just like S.S., they have very little choice in where and what they study, so many students may opt not to go or to wait if they are given an assignment they do not care for. I was talking to a guy my age that other day who, for one reason or another, has been waiting to go to S.S. for six years because he only want to go for general arts. and that topic is always filled.

It is after two to four years of training college that students move on to university. Some go straight from S.S. to university, but you're more likely to be insured a job if you go through a training college. You get a lot more hands-on experiences that way.

The common alternative to all of this, however, especially for Ghanaian girls who are less likely afforded the opportunity for education out of obligation to the family, is apprenticeships. Every trade has a system of apprenticeships. The most commonly seen in Ofosu are hairdressers and seamstresses. These trades are in the highest demand, because most people have their clothes custom made, and women often wear their hair in braids or weaves. Custom-made clothing sounds pretty fancy, I know, but here it's the only way-- unless you buy second-hand clothing that's shipped in from abroad. There aren't any clothing stores like we have in the States. You simply go to market, buy a certain yardage of fabric, and then take it to a seamstress or tailor and tell him or her what you would like.

I have actually started an informal seastress' apprenticeship myself, so I can tell you a bit about my experience. As with most things in Ghana, it is very hierarchicaly. When you're wearing your uniform you must bow to your Madame (teacher_ and all other Madames and elders in the village. When you return home, you must bow to your mother and father before taking off your uniform. You must stand straight all of the time, and if your Madame addresses you, you must stand.

I initiated my study by bringing a member of my household, sodas, and beer to my Madame, along with a said fee. Tehn we signed an agreement that outlined all of the rules and terms. Our agreement includes four days out of the week at the workshop and one day of service to my Madame. So, we work Monday-Wednesday and Friday, and on Thursday we go to farm or do work around the house. This past Thursday we built a bathing room at my Madame's house.

Upon finishing the apprenticeship, which usually takes about three years, but my Madame says I can do it in one and a half or two, [Many of the apprentices have little to no formal schooling, so they are not familiar with math. This makes taking measurements hard for them, and it takes them a bit longer to learn how to do it.] I will pay another another fee and purchase twenty-four yams, a chicken, and two cases of soda to host a small gathering of all nearby seamstresses and apprentices. My Madame will publicly bless me at this occassion, and then I am free to go about my work as I wish. Schooling in Ghana generally includes a lot of prayer. It is a widely Christian nation. At the workshop, we pray before opening and closing each day, and when my machine arrived, the first thing my Madame did was pray over it. It's very different from our seperation of church and state in the States.

Well, I think that cover it for now. As always, feel free to ask questions!

Sincerely,

Ama Cynthia

Happy New Year! So, I started off my personal celebrtion with a true Ghanaian breakfast-- rice, hot pepper sauce, and entire smoked fish. I finally ate my first fish head. I spent most of new year's eve beginning my seamstress apprenticeship! I learned to make buttonholes and hemmies, as well as the four different types of pleating-- knife, box, and two others that are currently escaping me. There are also guarders, but I'm not quite sure what those are yet. And, there's "shoulder" and "cut and join" style when it comes to shirts.

I also fetched my first bucket of water with my fellow apprentices. They thought it was a riot, and theyw ouldn't even fill my small bucket the whole way. Sofu (my landlord) was absolutely appalled when I strolled up with a bucket on my head. "Don't do that again, you hear!"

The firsts don't stop there, though! I also helped braid my first weave. On someone else, it should be noted. Not my own weave. Everyone gathered around, laughing at me, as per usual, astounded that I knew how to braid.

After than I learned to make a Ghanaian stew out of these small kala seeds. I also pounded some fufuo with one of my fellow apprentices. I got in about 15 good pounds before they decided I was too tired to go on. That's the most I've gotten in yet! I usually get stopped after one.

After dinner at my counterpart's house, I went home for dinner at my own house. Living in Ofosu has been such a balancing act when it comes to food. Everyone wants to feed me, and they don't take "no thanks" or "I'm full. I've already eaten two lunches, two breakfasts, dinner, and four sticks of fried ground nuts (kuli kuli) today." for an answer.

Before dinner #2, I made tea for everyone as my own mini new years celebration. I find I'm less homeisck if I do something notably "special" or atypical on holidays. I never make tea here, and my family certainly never drinks it. It's comparatively fairly expensive. Which, is exactly what it was perfect for this special occassion.

After tea and dinner #2 came the real new year celebration-- Ghanaian style. Or, Ofosu style. Four hours of church. They even rented a small generator, mics, a light bulb, speakers, and an electric guitar for the occassion. We dances, sang, clapped, prayed, and gave thanks until midnight when everyone whipped out scarves, twirling them through the air and sweaping the floor with them, yelling "Happy New Year!" for my sake and " Efi shia paaaoo!"

I was shocked I made it until midnight. I have stayed up past 9 p.m. since being in Ofosu. That was part of my motive behind the tea.

The next morning, New Years Day, we met for church in the morning again, still using all the rented equipment, minus the light bulb. I was invited back to the church in the afternoon for a party they were throwing in honor of the preschool they just opened-- definitely party-worthy. I've yet to see another preschool in Ghana. They opened the celebration by saying, "We have with us today a pastor from Dambai and a white lady!" Hilarious. Anyway, all and all, a happy beginning to a, hopefully, happy year!

And then it was Christmas! Just as I was winding down from my holiday spirit/holiday homesickness, I start to notice people bathing in the middle of the day. I notice new earrings on Dori (the young girl I live with), new hairdos, and a lot of rice. I myself have had three servings by 5 p.m., and we usually eat dinner around 7 p.m. And then, like beautifully colored fireworks going off, the streets are filled with big, bright Ghanaian dresses and people shouting, "Efi shia paaoo!" I say to Sofu (my landlord), "Everyone is dressed so nice. Why?" He looks at me completely confused and says, "Because we're celebrating Christmas!" Me: "Aye! No one told me!" Sofu: "Ohhh, for this you must forgive us." I do, of course.

The minerals and biscuits are abounding. City Club (one of the villages youth clubs) is having a party-- lots of music until late into the night. I stepped out early, exhausted and it seeming primarily a high school student function. Not like the Muslim Club party I'd been to on the 26th where I was able to dance with a number of older women carrying children on their backs. Champion Club is having their party tonight (Jan. 3rd), so we'll see how it goes. Solomon told me later that they celebrate the Christmas and New Year together on the second and third days of the year. So, today is still Chistmans, and Solomon is taking me to greet the chief and elders today. We'll, undoubtedly, eat another round of rice in enormity, accompanied with palm wine, soda, and biscuits. Merry Christmas!

Oh, and as for Christmas surfacing without my even knowing, I feel like that's a lot of how things go for me here in Ofosu. Everyone seems to know what's going on so much so that they rarely need to talk about it, or at least not in English to me. It's a small village, and everyone knows their role without really having to be told. So, I, consequently, never know what's going to happen until it's already happening, which can be confusing but always adds a little bit of excitement to my life.

Here's another letter for the class...this one's a bit heavy...

Dear Class, January 2, 2008

I thought it would be interesting to discuss race and post-colonialism in Ghana. They are two subjects that seem to come up time and time again here; however, not among Ghanaians, but rather myself and my fellow Americans. Usually they come up in response to some interaction with a Ghanaian, but I've never had a discussion about either subject with a Ghanaian that I haven't provoked myself. Neither subject seems to be very relevant to Ghanaians in their daily life, at least from their perspective (or, at least what they've expressed to me of their perspective). However, as an American who has been culturally trained to be hyper-sensitive to both and all other subjects revolving around "political-correctness," I see these two constructs and their ramifications playing out everyday in Ghana. I've seen a lot of things that owuld make any "good American citizen" cringe with awkwardness, anger, embarassment, or a combination of all three.

First, on the subject of race, which truly does not operate in Ghana at all as it does in the U.S. In fact, it doesn't exist in Ghana when you're dealing with Ghanaians themselves, as they are all one race, which may be why they have constructed the term so differently than we have in the U.S., where we are comprised of many different races. So, for example, in my village, race would never come up if I wasn't there (the sole minority of Ofosu) and doesn't come up for many people in my village, except for in regards to me. And, when it does come up, very rarely does anyone notice that it's come up, aside from myself.

A day does not go by in Ghana when I'm not referred to as a white lady. If I'm in a place where people don't know my name, it's not considered offensive for people to greet me by calling, "White lady!" "Where are you going, white lady!" The twi word for this is "obruni," and it's not uncommon for a crowd of small children and the occasional adult to chant "obruni" when I walk down the street, or sing it even. Yes, there's even an obruni song. This can be incredibly off-putting, at first, but the truth is, these people are just trying to acknowledge me as a guest to their country. They're trying to welcome and include me. Hospitality is hugely important in Ghana. And, they just so happen to know I'm a guest because of my skin color, so, as a result, that's how they address me.

I still get "white lady" in my village too, but ti's not used as a substitute for my name. Rather, when I'm doing something they don't think white people/people from outside of Ghana who clearly have enough money to travel to Ghana, being as they are here could/would/should do, they often verbally acknowledge it-- "White lady fetching water!" "White lady pouding fufuo!" "White lady sewing" etc.

With these examples it becomes apparent that Ghanaians do seem to associate certain attributes to whiteness (i.e. wealth and lack of need for manual labor, which also implies educated, which in Ghana's hierarchical social system denotes a very high level of respect). However, these aren't solely assumed of me because of my whiteness along, but because I'm in Ghana, which means I could afford to get here. Also, my job as a health worker denotes my higher education. So, it doesn't have as much to do with my race, as it does with me being a person from another country who's been able to make it all the way to Ghana. My whiteness is just a physical marker of that. It's just another adjective.

However, to complicate things a bit, it should be noted that not only white people are referred to as white. Ghanaians, for example, often refer to all Americans as white, regardless of if they are of African, Asian, South American, etc. descent. Some people do think all Americans are white. They even think if they come to the States they too will become white. However, even if they do know we are a multi-racial nation, they refer to us as white people. When I talk about my African American friend in a nearby village, I often get responsed like, "He's a white black man!" I often try to explain why an American would prefer not to be addressed by their race, and especially why my friend would not like being called a white black man. I usually get nods and smiles, and then they do it again anyway-- "So, how is that white black man? Does he like Ghana?" It often makes my head spin. I try to wrap my head around the way they conceive race here, and I often give up in defeat. Race is just not the same here, and, simply put, it has no negative connotation or stigma. It just is what it is; which is interesting, because when you think of why race can conjure up such horrible stigmas in the States, you can easily come up with a history for why this is the case. Horrible atrocities have taken place in the U.S. revolving solely around race and ethnicity. However, in the case of Ghana, I would say the same is true.

Which brings me to our second topic-- colonialism. Granted, I don't know a lot about colonialism in Ghana specifically, but I do know it was a very dibilitating institution in Africa as a whole. And, while Ghana was the first African colonly to receive independence in 1957, becoming a leader in African development and the pan-Africanist movement, 1957 was not that long ago-- only 52 years. So, one might think that the horrors of colonialism and the slave trade would still reverberate horrible racial stigmas. In my three months in Ghana, however, I've still yet to see a single example of such a reverberation. Although, the reverberations of colonialism still remain clear. For one, all schools operate in English. Children are forbidden to speak in their local vernacular and are often caned for doing so. Mnay signs, almost all advertisements, and product packaging is written in English or French. English is often spoken intermittently on the radio. Ghana is also an avidly overt Christian nation in the south and predominantly Muslim in the north-- two religions that are not native to Ghana. And, lastly, when I ride my bike between villages, I'm often bombarded by people calling out "Fada!" The Volta Region in which I live was actually German-occupied and "Fada" is what they called the German priests who came to stay with them-- the first white people the people in these villages have ever seen. That was a sort of laudry list if all the reminders of colonialism I've witness so far. To be honest, I don't really know what to make of it all. It seems rather complicated, but ultimately the Ghanaians seem completely unaffected by this. They don't see it as good or bad. It just is, which is a bit telling of Ghanaian culture-- very resigned to fate, from what I've seen. What will happen will happen and what is, is.

But, I would really like to know what you think of all this, so feel free to send me your comments and questions, and we can continue to sort through these two tough subjects. Also, feel free to bring up other topics, as well.

I hope your holiday break treated you well!

Sincerely,

Ama Cynthia

I have a new name! I was formally introduced to my community the day after Christmas and they named me Yaa Pigri. Yaa means Thursday-born. They geve me this name because I arrived in Ofosu on a Thursday, so I was "born to Ofosu" on Thursday. Pigri means having gone and come. They're calling me this because I am the second volunteer at Ofosu, so as the one before me has gone, I have come. Oh, and Be yin me means "My name is" in Konkomba.

So, I wasn't so sure how I felt about all these new names I've been getting here in Ghana. I happen to like my U.S. birht name very much, and I wasn't sure if compromising it was somehow compromising my identity-- sacrificing it to my Ghanaian life. But, I'm decidedly not thinking of it that way. Rather, I'll think of it as a welcome addition. I've found it's not rare for people in Ghana to adopt new names at various phases in life. My former Twi teacher and friend, who also happens to be a traditional ruler/chief, told me about three times in his life when his named had changed, one being when he was instooled as chief. However, when he goes back to his childhood home, he is still called by the name he was given at birth. So, the names are like markers of various destinations he's reached throughout life. I think that's pretty interesting. It kind of reminds me of confirmation names, or in the bible, when people changed their names after having serious encounters of God-- which, I guess, are what confirmation names are symbolic of. Anyway, the point I was tryint to make, kind of, was it seems to be a rather historical tradition. I like it.

So, we're into the new year celebration time. Christmas isn't so big here. Many people attend church conventions on or around Christmas to commemorate the birth of Jesus, but the day itself remains a pagan holiday in Ofosu, for the most part. The new year is celebrated far more.

I did do a little Christmas celebrating myself, though. A couple of days before Christmas I met some other volunteers in town. We made some amazing American food-- turkey, alfredo pasta. hot pockets, stuffing, and sauteed cabbage (my personal contribution). We also ate plently of candy and chocolate from our care packages. I ate until I was sick, and it felt so good.

I spent Christmas day in my village where nothing much was happening. But, I put on a new dress, made some cinnamon toast for myself and the family I stay with for breakfast, and then I roasted some groundnuts and mixed them with M&Ms and went around sharing them with people in my village. They were as interested in the M&Ms as they were in the ziploc bag I was storing them in. They'd never seen one before. It was fun.

So, all and all, not like the Christmas I've grown used to, but interesting day to say the least!

Merry Christmas!

Love,

Yaa Pigri Ama Cynthia Ann Jennifer Caul : P

So, I've been writing letters to a class back in the States, and there's been a request to post these letters on my blog, so without further ado!

Maakye! (Goodmorning!)

8 November 2008

I hope this letter finds you all well in the U.S! I guess, I will

start by introducing myself. My name is Cynthia, though many people

in Ghana call me Ama or Ama Cynthia. Ama means daughter born on a

Saturday, and everyone in Ghana has a name like this that corresponds

with their birth day. I grew up in the Pittsburgh area. I have one

sister and one brother. I love to dance, act, read, and run to name a

few of my interests. I went to college in Washington, DC; and, in

September of my senior year, I decided to begin the application

process for the Peace Corps. After the interview and medical exams, I

received an invitation to Peace Corps Ghana; and on September 30,

2008, I took off for Accra (the capitol of Ghana)!

Two-thirds of the Peace Corps mission is about cultural exchange

between the United States and other countries all around the world.

So, in writing these letters, I would like to share a bit about

Ghanain culture with you, as well as try to answer any questions you

may have. In many ways, Ghana is very different from the U.S., but

there are also many similarities.

The most notable differences for me living in Ghana so far are the

changes in priorities. When I wake up in the morning, I no longer

think about putting on make-up (almost no women in Ghana wear

make-up), fixing my hair just right, or matching my clothes perfectly

(very few homes have more than a small, facial mirror for seeing

yourself). While Ghanaians prize a well-kempt appearance, they are

far less worried about these smaller things (i.e. make-up, hair spray,

curlers, gel, cologne, perfume, etc.). Clothing is more about

function in Ghana, than about keeping up with the latest styles and

trends. Most Ghanaians do not make enough money to enjoy many of

these amenities we are used to in the U.S.

Instead, when I wake in the morning, I make sure to sweep my

room. The floor is made of cement and easily collects dust and dirt

throughout the day. Ghanaians typically sweep their floors every

morning to get rid of this dust. Their brooms are different from

ours, as well. They are much smaller, and to sweep with them, on must

bend over or kneel. After sweeping, I collect water in a bucket

(water is gotten from the nearest river, pipe, or borehole) for my

bath, which I take in a small room with a hole in the floor where the

water can drain. If I need to, I use the latrine, which I must walk

outside to reach. It is important not to forget my toilet paper (or

t-roll, as they call it here) and flashlight (if the sun has not yet

risen). Some mornings, I wash my clothes by hand in a bucket or bowl

of water. I try to do this a couple of times a week; otherwise, it

takes a very long time. It's best to wash clothes in the morning when

the sun is strong, so the clothes will dry quicker. I also try to

wash my shoes every morning, as they often get covered in dust

throughout the day from the dirt roads. By in large, simple tasks in

the U.S. take a lot longer in Ghana without washing machines, dryers,

vaccuums, flushing toilets, electricty, or running water. I've

learned to appreciate the work that goes into these tasks a lot more

since being in Ghana.

Well, that's all for now. Please, let me know if you have any

specific questions you'd like me to answer, or if there's anything in

particular about Ghanaian culture you'd like me to write about. And,

if you'd like to figure out your birth day name in Ghana, I've

included the chart below!

Sincerely,

Ama Cynthia

Girl Boy

Mon Adwoa Kwodwo

Tues Abena Kobena

Wed Ekua Kwaku

Thurs Yaa Yaw

Fri Efia Kofi

Sat Ama Kwami

Sun Asi Kwasi

Hello Ama Cyndi,

Thank you for writing our class. We are excited about continued correspondence with you and possibly some of your community members once you move to the Upper Volta Region. We have a ton of questions for you about Ghana and the culture:

What do people eat?

The diet here is very starch and carbohydrate heavy. People eat a lot of yams, plantains, corn, and cassava, because they are so widely available and very cheap. They often mash these foods with a large mortar and pestol in large balls (the consistency of mashed potatoes almost) and eat them with a tomato, ground nut (like peanuts), or palm nut stew or soup. Mashed yam is called fufu, as is mashed plantain and cassave, mashed corn is banku or kenki (depending on how it is prepared). It's definitely an aquired taste, but I'm starting to like them. Yam fufu is definitely my favorite. It is the closest to mashed potatoes.

Do your vehicles run with gasoline? How much is gas?

Yes, the run with gasoline, however, gas stations are nothing like they are in the states. The gas is often held in large aluminum barrel and pumped into the car or a small bottle, which the driver then pours into the car. Also, cars are not in as good of condition here as in the states. In road in one car in northern Ghana where the fuel was stored in a bottle sitting in front of the passenger's seat. Gas is very expensive for Ghanaians. It's actually only about $1.09/gallon in US money, but that is about 5 times more expensive for the average Ghanaian (when you compare it to their average wage and cost of living) than it would be for the average U.S. citizen. So, it would be closer to $6/gallon in the U.S.

Do you have MacDonald's or any fast-food restaurants?

No, there are no fast food restaurants in Ghana like we know in the U.S. Though, people do sell food (like fried eggs, rice, boiled or fried yam, etc.) on the side of the road that you can get made fairly quickly. They call this food "chop."

Do people use drugs?

Yes, some people do use drugs in Ghana, most commonly marijuana. However, there is a very bad stigma associated with it, and the people take it very seriously. Most Ghanaians I've talked to do not even want to talk about drugs, for fear of being associated with them.

What kind of footwear do they use?

They wear sandals or go barefoot for the most part. In the urban, more developed areas you see more sandals and shoes than you see in the more rural areas (like where I will be living). Shoes are very expensive here, though. So, if you were shoes you are viewed as very wealthy.

Do they have jobs? What kinds of jobs?

Almost everybody is a farmer here, so they work very long, hard hours. Sometimes 16 hour days. However, in the more urban areas people have jobs at banks, post offices, or schools. Trading is also a common occupation. The family I am staying with now owns a store where they sell soda, soap, toilet paper, water, some canned foods, and chop. Stores here, however, are not like stores in the U.S. You can't really walk inside of them. Instead the trader displays his/her good on a shelf behind the counter, you tell them what you would like to buy, and they take it down and sell it to you.

Do they have television? Is there cable?

Some people in the more urban areas have televisions. However, it's fairly rare. They do not have cable, for the most part. There are only a couple of channels, and they rotate the programs that they air on each channel. There isn't really a schedule of programs like we have in the U.S.

What are the main similarities between Ghana and the US?

They are a primarily Christian nation. While the culture is very different, it is the people that are primarily the same. Just like us. they want to earn higher educations and get good jobs so they can make money and support their families. They want to be surrounded by friends and family. They want to have fun and experience new things.

What do children do for fun?

Children in Ghana work a lot. They are often expected to go to farm with their families, cook, and clean. This doesn't leave as much time for playing as kids in the U.S. might have. They also do not really have toys, because it's simply too expensive. However, they are very creative about making their own toys out of garbage or anything they find lying around. One of the most common of these home-made toys is what they call a car, which is an old bicycle tire that they push with a long stick. They like to race their cars down the streets.

What do they have in Ghana that we don't have in the US?

They have many, many goats and chickens that roam the streets unattended. They have a lot of waterfalls, a lot of farms, very hard rains, and a lot of warm weather. They also have a lot more handmade goods-- baskets, cloth, beads, etc.

What is a teenagers social life like?

There aren't as many things for a teenager to do here like in the U.S. But teenagers here still love to socialize with one and other, like they do in the U.S. Boys usually love to play soccer, which they call football here. Girls usually have more chores to do at home, but they often visit one and other to talk and gossip. Word spreads very fast in the small towns in Ghana. Everyone knows almost everything about everyone within their community. They have a very communal way of life and a very large extended familial tradition. Extended families often live in the same house or on the same street. In my homestay family, I live with my homestay grandmother, brother, aunt. and four cousins. My homestay mother, father, two sisters, nieces, and nephews live in another house a couple houses down from us.

Teenagers usually go to highschool, but this is definitely more common for boys than for girls. In the more rural areas, most girls only complete the third grade. After highschool a select few end up going to university. They must take a long exam to get accepted, and it takes about one year to get your results. My homestay brother took his exam this past June, and he's hoping to get his results in time to go to university next september.

Is marijuana legal? Do people smoke it?

No it's not legal, but just like in the U.S. you find some people who still smoke it.

Do they have jails?

Yes, but I do not know much about them. I will find out more, so I can let you know more about them.

Dear Class, November 22, 2008

You all asked some really great questions. I hope my answers were helpful. To follow up on a couple of the questions, first, dealing with prisons in Ghana: as I said, there are some prisons in Ghana—or at least one in Accra. It is often difficult to get complete answers from people here about things in Ghana, because traveling is very expensive for them. To get from the southern-most part of Ghana (where I’m staying now) to the mid region costs about 15- 20 Ghana cedis, which is more equivalent to $100 U.S. dollars. That is a lot of money when the average farmer in Ghana only makes maybe 1,400 Ghana cedis a year = $7,000. Simply put, most Ghanaians don’t travel much, so they don’t always know much about places outside of their town or neighboring towns. But I do know, there is at least one prison. I am told it is a little different than our prisons in the U.S. The cells are completely bare—no running water, toilet, bed, or electricity. People are held there for many of the same offenses as in the U.S. Theft, however, is a much graver crime here. It is perceived on the same level as murder, in some cases.

I would also like to talk more about the differences between Ghana and the U.S. There are no trains or intra-national planes in Ghana. All transportation happens by car, bicycle, or motor-bike. Most people don’t own their own cars, but instead travel by a system of cars and vans to move about Ghana. This is similar to taxi systems or the Greyhound in the U.S. These vehicles, however, do not move on a time-based system. They only leave their station when all the seats have been bought. I once waited for three hours in Hoehoe for the car to fill and move to Nkwanta (a 3-4 hour trip). I know people who have eight hours. Trips are also lengthened by the lack of paved roads. Drivers must drive slowly to avoid large potholes in the road. So, inevitably, traveling in Ghana is often lengthy, taking an entire day or two to get from one town to the next. The nice thing, however, is that when you come into a town, traders often run to the car, carrying their goods (often food) on their heads. You can buy a meal without leaving your seat. You can also request that the driver stop in front of a particular stand so you can buy whatever you may be looking for. I don’t think we have anything like that in the U.S. I suppose, it is similar to fast food, but I’ve even seen people ask the driver to stop so they could pick up some small trees for planting.

I am currently visiting my permanent side in Ghana—Ofusu. It is very different from where I’m staying now in the southern part of Ghana. There is no electricity, and the water sources are very far from the town. There are a few boreholes (water pumps), but not enough to service the whole town, so many people go to the rivers (there are two on either side of the town) to collect their water. During the dry season, however, these rivers often dry up into stagnant puddles. We are now at the beginning of the dry season, and the rivers are already about five feet shallower than during the rainy season. With no other source of water, people will continue to collect their water from these stagnant rivers, facilitating the spread of diseases. When the water is flowing, it is safer for consumption, but diseases breed in stagnant water, which really becomes a health hazard for the community during the dry season. Part of my job will involve working with the community to try and find a solution for this problem.

I will also be working on a few other projects within the community, namely private latrine construction, child malnutrition/ maternal health, and malaria prevention. There are only a handful of private latrines in Ofusu, which means that many people are “free ranging” or defecating in the open. Needless to say, this is another health hazard for the community. Malnutrition is another problem the community faces. The Peace Corps is now heavily promoting moringa farming to combat this challenge. Moringa is an edible plant containing a number of nutrients, namely Vitamin A and protein (two of the most commonly missing nutrients in malnourished people). And lastly, malaria is fairly prevalent in Ghana and in Ofusu. I’ll be working to educate the community about the benefits of sleeping under mosquito nets, as well as maintaining their grasses and water sources. Mosquitoes are drawn to stagnant water and bushy areas.

I’ll also be doing general health education in the school about HIV/AIDS, hand-washing, environmental health (there is currently no means for trash disposal in Ofusu), and whatever other health needs arise. It’s sure to be a busy two years!

Despite all of these things, however, I’d like to note that Ghanaians, from my experience, are an incredibly happy, friendly, and hospitable people. The community has taken care of me completely during my five-day stay here, offering me food, shelter, water, and even sweeping my room for me. They know they have problems, and they’re slowly trying to identify and solve them. However, development is a very slow, difficult, and expensive process. That is one thing I’ve learned time and time again so far here in Ghana. It’s a constant reminder for me to be grateful for living in my own country.

People’s faces light up here when I tell them I’m from the U.S. America is equivalent to an unattainable paradise for them. They way to know everything about it, and they dream of going there one day. They don’t even know much about it. They have little to no conception of the kind of electricity and electronics we have, nor the running water, flushing toilets, or accessible food/clothing/etc. Yet, they’re still excited by the very thought of “America.” I try to explain that we have our problems too—pollution, poverty, floundering economy. They try to understand, but I don’t know that they always believe me. However, they don’t resent me for it. They don’t even act jealously. They simply welcome me into their community and culture with open arms. I’m grateful for that.

So, I hope the beginning of this holiday season finds you well! I’m looking forward to hearing any more questions or comments you have.

Sincerely,

Ama Cynthia

Hi Cyndi,

>

> We went over your letter today. The kids are really having a great time

> learning about Ghana.. it is a lot of fun! We have a couple more

> questions...

>

> In your new home:

> How big are the 2 rooms?

They are each about 10 feet by 6-7 feet.

> What are they made out of?

It is the Peace Corps standard that my house must have a cement

exterior to prevent it from falling during the rains. However, this

is not the standard in my northern community. Cement is fairly

expensive, so most of the homes are simply made of clay that is baked

by the sun. This presents a lot of potential hazards for the families

during the rainy season. Accidental casualties or deaths are not

unheard of. The rain re-liquifies the clay, and the houses begin to

collapse, sometime with people still inside of them. Cement housing

is more common in the more developed, souther parts of Ghana.

> Is it like a house?

It looks like a house more or less, but it's all one-level and

fairly narrow. Most houses in Ghana are square or L-shaped with the

rooms lined up along the outside and an outdoor courtyard in the

middle. Kitchens are generally in this center courtyard, consisting

of a coal pot or fire pit. Rarely do people cook inside. The weather

is simply too hot, and the fumes from the fire would be awful.

>

> What kind of animals are around you? What kind do you commonly see? Are

> there any snakes, sropions or spiders? Is there anything poisonous that you

> have to look out for?

There are many goats, pigs, cows, and chickens that roam freely.

They belong to nearby families, but they are rarely kept penned up.

In order to tell whose chickens are whose, families will dye parts of

the animals (I've seen hot pink and green chickens.), shave various

parts of them, tie their legs together, or even cut one or both their

legs off. I've also seen some really beetles, cockroaches, lizards,

and gechos. I've seen a few small snakes, and I've heard of people

who've ran into scorpions. There are some poisonous snakes, but Ghana

is currently facing a huge de-forestation problem that has killed off

most of their wild life. Consequently, it seems pretty rare to run

into anything too dangerous.

>

> Also... We are doing a cultural comparison... Could you answer the following

> questions for us:

>

> 1. Celebrations: What kinds of celebrations are important in your

> home-stay family? In Ghana?

Ghana is primarily a Christian nation, so Christmas is a pretty

big holiday here. In my village up north, the celebration is carried

over three days (December 25-27). I've also heard that the date of

Christmas changes from village to village. In another village up

north it's celebrated on January 3rd. Most of the very northern part

of Ghana is Muslim, so Ramadan is big holiday for them. I don't know

much about this, but it's about a month of fasting and prayer, with a

celebratory breaking of fast at the end.

The new year is also widely celebrated. I've heard it's even

bigger than Christmas, but I haven't yet experience it.

There are also many other festivals celebrated throughout Ghana,

depending on your tribe in village. There's harvest festivals--like

the yam festival, coacoa festival, etc. I've also heard of a fire

festival in the Upper West, where there are big bon fires and people

run around with torches, singing, dancing, and eating. It's a

celebration of the fire gods, I believe.

Lastly, funerals are a huge celebration in Ghana. They involved

singing, dancing, eating, and a lot of money. Families will save

money for years if they have to in order to host a proper Ghanaian

funeral. They generally spend hundreds of dollars on accomodation for

all of their guests who come from all over Ghana. Saturday is

typically funeral day, at least during harvest season when people have

money. You will see everyone dressed in black and red, and you'll

hear blaring music along with many other noise-makers. People who

attend the funerals are also expected to give money to the family of

the diseased. This helps deflect the cost of the funeral. The last

funeral I was at raised 600 Ghana cedis. Funerals aren't quite so big

in the north, because people don't have as much money. However, the

importance of the funeral remains the same from what I can tell.

> 2. Greetings: How do you generally greet people you don't know? People

> you do know?

In Ghana everyone greets EVERYONE. Even if you don't know them at

all, it is standard to say good morning/afternoon/evening to everyone

you see, along with asking them how they are doing. You should always

answer "I'm fine, and you?" It's not proper to say anything else than

"I'm fine," unless you know the person very well and feel comfortable

explaining your concerns to them.

Also, when you're eating, you must invite everyone you see to eat

with you. It's very rude if you don't. Rarely will they take your

invitation, but it's always appreciated. Likewise, you will always be

invited to eat. You can simply say "Thank you," and decline or

accept. Either one is fine.

> 3. Beliefs about hospitality: How do you show hospitality in your

> community? In your school? In your home?

Hospitality is very big Ghana. You must always received a guest

to community with open arms, providing food, drink, room, and any

other services. I've had people sweep my room, fetch my water,

prepare my food, clean my clothes, etc.

Teachers are held with great regard, and students are expected to

fetch their water and tend to their farms whenever needed.

Occasionally, you will also see students taking large pieces of fire

wood to school for their teachers. I guess it's akin to "an apple for

the teacher."

> 4. The role of the family: Is there a particular age at which you

> celebrate an important event in your life with your family or community?

Traditionally, there was a "coming of age" ceremony for boys and

girls when they reached puberty, but I've heard that it's very rare

these days. I think one of the most notable differences between the

U.S. and Ghana on this subject, is that birthdays are not at all a big

deal here in Ghana. Only recently did people start documenting their

birthdates, and that's only in the more developed areas. In more

remote villages, people rarely know how old they are.

> 5. Attitudes about personal space and privacy: How important do you feel

> it is to have personal space and privacy?

There is definitely a different attitude towards personal space

and privacy here in Ghana. Sometimes it seems there's no such thing.

Often people here think if you are alone than you are unhappy. I've

been at my house reading, and people will come in and watch me read

just to keep my company, because they don't want me to be unhappy.

It's very difficult to spend anytime in your room without having a

number of people come greet you and ask if you are okay. People

rarely stay inside here. They're always outside sitting together,

regardless of if there doing anything together.

Also, since this just happened while I was writing this e-mail,

when a person turns on the radio or television, it is custom for them

to turn the volume up very loud. They idea is that everyone should be

able to hear what they are listening to. They're sharing the music,

news, or television program.

I've arrived! I am now officially a Peace Corps Volunteer, and I've officially moved into my village, painted and cleaned my house, and unpacked my things. I have a home in Ghana! I live witha really sweet family in a small yam-farming village, where we eat yams morning, noon, and night. I've had boiled yams, mashed yams, roasted yams, yams fried in olive oil, and yams fried in palm oil. I am now a master of yam consumption. I'd say my favorite is yam fried in olive oil. It's pretty much like a french fry, but roasted yams comes in a close second. Mashed yam (fufuo) too, if it's served with the right stew. I don't have my stove set up yet, so many people in the community have been sharing their yams with me in abundance with the intention of fattening me up. It's a point of pride for them, that their volunteer should grow fat during her stay in their village. Ghanaians don't really understand why Americans prize lean figures as the pinnacle of beauty. Here, more robust figures are considered ideal, and commonly heard compliments include, "Wow, you have grown fat!" and, "Fat lady!." Some women even take mild steroids to beef themselves up. That, however, is more common with the wealthier women living in more southern towns.

So, now that I'm in Ofosu, I've started settling in and getting to know people. I went to two HIV/AIDS programs in neighboring villages performed by a club the previous volunteer started. I also started learning Konkomba-- the most widely-spoken language in Ofosu. Though, I'll still be using Twi at market or during travel. Tai is more universal. Konkomba is proving to be a hard language to learn. There are six different dialects of it spoen within Ofosu and that always seems to throw me for a loop. They're similar, but not similar enough for my untrained ear.

Also! In case you were wondering, my birthday was amazinf. My ye mfie aduonu miensa! I am 23 years. Birthdays in Ghana aren't a very big deal, or any deal at all, generally speaking. However, my homestay family knew that wasn't the case in the U.S., and they surprised me with a dress made from Ghanaian tie and dye, batik fabric, a necklace, earrings, and these fancy Ghanaian shoes that are part of the chief's paraphenelia. When I was all dressed up, they procedded to tel me how beautiful I looked over and over again. It was pretty nice! My American friends and I spent the day watching American movies on my friend's lap top and eating candy from our care packages. They even had a small "cake" made for me-- sweet bread, which they covered in nutella, crumbled oreos, and M & Ms. I shared the sweets with my homestay family and some of the neighborhood children. The kids loved them, but I think most of the adults could have down without. Sweet, sugary foods aren't as popular here in Ghana. The heat and all the sweating really maked you crave saltier foods. Anyway, it was the perfect way to ring in my new year in Ghana.

December 7th also happened to be election day here in Ghana. Everything went peacefully for the most part, but no party received a majority, so there will be a run-off election December 28th between the two leading parties. We're hoping for continued peace, and it looks like the odds are in our favor! I'll keep you posted.

Alright, I'm still working on the pictures. Cross your fingers for speedy, virus-free internet!

Love,

Cynthia

Hello, Everyone! I didn't realize how difficult blog writing was going to be! I never know what and what note to include, but hopefully I'll get better at it with time. I think the most note-worthy thing that's happened since my last post is that I finally went to visit the village I'll be staying in for the next two years. It's a medium-sized village (maybe 1800 people) in mid-east Ghana.

I'm going to be working with three agencies/projects in Ghana--Carter Center Guinea Worm Eradication, Ghana Health Services, and the Ghana Sustainable Change Project. My job, specifically, is rather free-form. There are a lot of projects I would love to do in my community, but for now, I'm not exactly sure how it will all pan out. There are a lot of things that could be done and figuring out just what is the most immediate, pressing concern can be rather overwhelming. The projects I think I will be working on initially, however, are the construction of private latrines-- there are very few in my village and no communal latrine. "Free ranging" or open defecation is a serious health concern in the village. Secondly, moringa farming-- a plant high in protein and vitamin A, along with many other nutrients that are not found in the readily available foods of the area. The community eats fufuo, mashed yam, for almost every meal. This provides the necessary starches and carbs, but all the other nutrient/food groups are lacking. In short, malnutrition is another health concern in the community. Most of the children I saw are showing physical systems (i.e. distended bellies) of Kwashmakore (protein-deficiency). Lastly, I'd like to work with the HIV/AIDS Awareness youth club that was started by the previous volunteer. Apparently, they love to do dramas, which is right up my ally! This will include teaching health/life skills in the schools, within the club, and in the community.

So, that's to start, but, who knows, it could also take the whole two years. From what I understand, my community's development has been consistently stagnated by lack of leadership and unity. This is definitely a foreseable challenge for me. I'm nervous, but very excited, as well.

I was overwhelmed by the friendliness of the community and the whole-hearted way they welcomed me to the village. However, I'm not surprised. I've found Ghana to be notably hospitable so far. The community provided me meals, swept my room, fetched my water, and constantly made sure I was comfortable and happy.

My housing situation is the standard minimum that Peace Corps requires-- 2 rooms with locks, a bed, desk, latrine, and place to bucket bath. The previous volunteer also left some other furniture for me. That being said, it's also the nicest living situation in the community, and the lady who showed me my home could not have been happier to bestow this gift to me. She held on to my arm, taking me on the short tour beaming from ear to ear, "Madame, all of this is yours. Everything you see is yours only. We have built this for you." It was if she was giving me the keys to the palace, and in many ways, that's exactly what she was doing. It was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. I was/am very grateful.

Speaking of being thankful, I hope everyone had a lovely and thanks-inducing Thanksgiving! It was definitely a difficult day for me, but I was surrounded by people who've given me much to be thankful for during my first couple of months here in Ghana. And, I guess, that's all it's really about, right? : )

Some humorous/interesting tid-bits from my Thanksgiving:

- two people made sweet potatoes with a jack-o-lantern peep marshmallow topping (peeps compliments of a care package)

- those who made the turkey began the process by killing the turkey

- I ate my first salad since being in Ghana! and a bite of a snickers bar!

Alright, that's all for now! Only a couple more weeks of training and I become a REAL volunteer!

All my love and best wishes!

Cynthia

p.s. I'm working on the pictures...

It's been a while! Sometimes the thought of writing a post seems rather daunting. I don't know what to and what not to include. So much has happened since I've arrived in Ghana. I've already learned so much and experienced many "firsts"-- i.e. first bucket bath, first latrine use, first encounter with a chief, first health lesson taught, first family planning and malaria skits performed, first Ghanaian dress (I'm totally addicted), first Ghanaian beads (also addicted), first fufuo, banku, kenki (I definitely spelled those last two wrong...), and many other firsts.

It was difficult to be here at first. I was extremely homesick, and I definitely cried more than a hand-full of times. I still miss home-- my family and friends, but with each day, I get more and more comfortable here. The prospect of living here for two years does not seem quite so daunting anymore.

Right now, I'm living with a family in a medium-size town in Southern Ghana, but come December, I will move to my permanent site in the Upper Volta Region. Upper Volta is far more remote and less developed. So far, I've visited the area twice, and I'm very excited about living there. It seems there will be a lot of work for me to do, but I also often wonder if I really will/can be effective there (here, in general). I wonder what kind of change I can really bring to a country and culture that is rather different from my own. I wonder if it's even my place to do so. But, people seem so happy to have us here. They go out of their ways to make us comfortable, and I know there must be a good reason for that. I also try to remember that 2/3rds of the Peace Corps policy is about culture exchange--not just development projects, and I know I can facilitate cultural exchange just by simply living here.

As for the question about things I need-- (but, please, please,please don't feel obligated to send anything...)

Shampoo

Conditioner

Bandannas (I sweat like a champ here...)

Pictures

Poems/Quotes---anything to hang on my walls

Magazines

Newspaper clippings

Peanut Butter M&Ms

As you can see, I don't really "need" anything to serious. Mostly, if you have the time, I'd love to receive letters from anyone and everyone. Receiving mail here is decidedly one of the best feelings in the world. So, if you've got the time, write me letters, and I'll write back as promptly as I can! I hope you're all well! Sending euphoric vibes from across the ocean--take that as you will...

All my love,

Ama (Saturday-born daughter) Cynthia

Hello everyone! I am in Ghana! The time has finally arrived. I just came back from a site visit in a village in the Upper Volta region of Ghana. It was an exciting and challenging experience. No electricity, running water, and very little cell phone service. I must say, I was very overwhelmed when I first arrived, but by the end I think I overcame alot of my initial apprehensions. There have been some serious highs and lows so far, but an over-arching excitement in the fact that I've made the right decision in coming here. I'm very happy to be working with the Peace Corps. I love their mission and approach to development and cross-cultural exchange. I can tell this is going to be an amazing, yet trying experience. So much has happened since I arrived in Ghana, and unfortunately I don't have the time to explain it all. Nor do I think I could ever have enough time. I've realized since being here that it's going to be very difficult to explain my life here to those back in the states-- a challenge I didn't necessarily foresee. However, I think that's just all part of the experience, and I look forward to blogging and hearing from you all. Hopefully, I can write a more descriptive blog soon, but for now, I'm heading back to training. I just wanted to announce I've arrived, and I've hit the ground running!

All the best, All my love

Cynthia

As you're about to jump out of plane that's flying, say, 1500 feet in the air, you begin--or rather I should say, "I began," to get this feeling that my large intestine was slowly creeping up into my chest cavity and throat and just resting there, stifling any hope for diaphragmatic breathing--or any other form of oxygen intake, for the matter. Now, I wouldn't say that that's exactly how I feel right now, but it's close. Therefore, I've named this stage of my pre-departure "Free Falling." It is slightly more calm and pleasurable than the previous stage that was more akin to monster butterflies thrashing around in my stomache. So, I guess you could say, I definitely have some serious nerve-action, but I wouldn't call them bad nerves. I'm not really scared or regretful. I'm just anxious and filled with anticipation. My thoughts are filled with questions about what my experience is going to be like every moment of the day that I'm not physically distracted by another person. My mind is racing, and this generally turns sleeping into more of a pipe dream than any obtainable reality.

So, I think this is my body's way of telling me to get going. I'm ready to start this new experience. I feel like there are so many unknowns-- I don't know exactly where I'll be, where I'll live, or what my job will be. I'm so excited to start figuring all of these things out and get situated in my new environment.

I think this will be my last post in the States. The next day will be filled with my final farewells here in Pittsburgh, so let us a meet again in Ghana!

I suppose it was really a US American farewell and more of a Ghanaian "Hello!" But regardless, my parents threw me a going party this past Saturday at their house. Some friends, some family, and LOTS of food (that we've been eating and will continue to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for quite some time). It was really nice to see everyone one last time before I go, and I only cried two times. So, all and all, I think it was a success! My grandma gave me my birthday and Christmas gifts for the next two years. That broke my heart a little. It's weird to think I won't be here for the holidays. However, the party got me pretty excited for my departure too. I talked a lot about my ambiguous job description and location and showcased my reusable feminine wear, and now I'm getting anxious to resolve those ambiguities and use that reusable feminine wear! I'm ready to get going! Though, I am greatful for a little more time at home.

Today I shipped some books to the Peace Corps office in Accra. It took the the postal guy 20 minutes of all the wrong packaging before he realized I was going to Ghana and Guyana. Simple mistake. I also opened a line of credit at the bank this morning, and the teller told me I should find a job that pays. I don't usually tell people about my leaving for the Peace Corps, but I was recently encouraged by a friend to be a little more openly proud of the fact. So, I tried it out, and you know, I think I'm just going to keep my occupation to myself from now on. ; )

Sooo, my first post! Ta Da! I've never been very good at this blogging business, but I'm going to really try my best this time. 12 days and counting!

Some pictures from my party...

My monster cake, compliments of my mama...

Grandma Isabel! She's pretty fierce. And Erin! Also pretty fierce...

Saying goodbye to my godmother Elaine...

Sister, sister! Some Schatzel girls-- Aunt Anna and Aunt Diane...

Another Schatzel girl-- Aunt Carolyn. Uncle Leo and Uncle George--not Schatzel girls...I was thinking about writing a bookumentary-- "The Schatzel Girls and the Men Who Married Them"--if you have any good stories or anecdotes to contribute do tell... ; )

My mom (Schatzel girl), Aunt Sue (not a Schatzel girl), Aunt Kathy (Schatzel girl)-- bunny ears compliments of Uncle Harry (married to a Schatzel girl)

The same picture, but I felt it was worth including because my mother is so artfully displaying how to prevent your eyes from looking small in photos. "Just don't look into the lens!" she says...Whether you choose to take her advice or not, I'll leave up to you...

Uncle Leo blessing my new home...

Anna Banana (technically a Schatzel girl) and her 24 beads. Anna is the true capitalist of the family. She's also sideways, and blogspot is pretty set on keeping her that way, but I'll do what I can to get her right side up in the future...

Some Cauls--Uncle Tim, Marissa, Erin, Dad...

Maureen and Paul-- no relation, but snazzy dressers...

And Corey...also not related, but he can do a mean jig...He didn't turn out so well, but we're going to include him for posterity's sake...