Rastas and Nima Kids

Last night we took the advice of last year's group and decided to go to Reggae Night on the beach. All 16 of us ended up coming out, which meant taking four different taxis and hoping we all ended up in the right place (in Ghana, they don't use street names or addresses to figure out where they're going, just landmarks). I took a cab with Jess, Mara and Megan who soon became my husband and sister wives.

After settling for a price, to the first thing the taxi driver said when we got into the cab was, "You're one man, why do you have three women?"

From there, Jess created an elaborate back story for us. We're a childless, polygamous family from Canada who have been attending the University of Ghana for two months. Apparently I, along with my other sister wives, are good cooks but we take all of our husband's money to buy dresses. Jess also tried to tell the driver that we were smart and good to talk to but he didn't care very much about that.

Somehow we all managed to make it to Labadi Beach without any problems. I just want to note now that I didn't take any photos because last year's group said we shouldn't bring anything nice so I left my phone at home. I think they must have gone to the sketchy one down the road because it was a really great environment. Oh well, there's always next week.

Ghanaians are extremely friendly, so it wasn't a surprise that we were greeted by a swarm of people as soon as we came in. Some were trying to sell us bracelets, some were obviously rastas with their dreadlocks hidden beneath beanies, but the who came up to Jess and I was different.

He politely came up to welcome us and introduced himself as OJ. As is customary in Ghana, we chatted about where we're from and what we're doing with our lives. OJ said he was an actor from Nigeria, a country east of Ghana that has recently been in the news because of the Boko Haram kidnappings and shootings.

OJ got really excited when we found out we were journalists because he said he has a lot of experience and knowledge as a 38 year old African that he has had no way of sharing thus far because of the way the media often works in Ghana. It is not uncommon for journalists in Ghana and West Africa to take bribes in exchange for media coverage, something I hope I won't have to deal with here. OJ's words to me were: "I want someone to tell my story before I die."

It was really cool talking with him throughout the night and the more I listened, the more I was convinced of this man's experience and wisdom. My favorite conversation with him wasn't about corruption or poverty though - it was about the weather. He almost refused to believe that it rains almost every day in Oregon and that it gets as cold as freezing.

Aside from talking to OJ, I got to experience two other really cool things at Reggae Night. The first was walking into the ocean, which doesn't seem like a big deal considering how often I visit the Oregon Coast, but it was actually really amazing to think of where I was standing. I grew up in New York and I've swam in the Atlantic Ocean too many times to count, but here I was on the other side, thousands of miles away but still standing in the same ocean.

The second was dancing with my housemates to the live reggae band. Everyone danced with everyone, including the Ghanaians and Nigerians, and some people even got on stage to dance next to the live band. It was such a fun and carefree atmosphere, as if no one had ever had a struggle in their live. In short, is was paradise. 

This morning we visited an elementary school in Nima, the community we drove through earlier this week and I wrote about in my second post. The school was tucked away in the alleyways of Nima and it would have been impossible to find if teachers from the school hadn't come out to meet us. 

I don't know how I handled the amount of cuteness that was in that school. We walked into the classroom and found ourself sitting across from around 100 school children in matching purple uniforms. They were no different than children in the US - most were fidgeting, some were talking to each other and a few were fighting and it took the teacher several tries to quiet all of them down. 

I'm trying to upload the videos I took of the kids' performances but the internet is extremely slow so it might be a while (I'll post an update when they're up!)

First, the Ghanaian national anthem was played, then 12 kids came out and dance a traditional African dance. There was a little girl with thin braids and beads in her hair that was particularly charismatic who would later go on to star in almost all the other performances. After the first dance, a group of between four and seven year olds recited poetry for us in both English and French. They'd start out by yelling (yes, yelling) their name, age, school name, and grade, then recite their poem in the same loud voice. 

The program continued on to include the choir and a fashion show where Adorable Little Braid Girl stole the show. She modeled like a pro, holding up the edge of her skirt while she walked, smiling big and striking poses Tyra Banks would be proud of. 

I caught some of the last dance the students did on tape, which I'm going to attempt to upload, but let me just say those kids can get down. Halfway through the song our group got pulled up and into the dance circle with the kids. One by one, or sometimes in pairs, they brought us into the middle to dance solos with them. Even though I know most of us were nowhere near as good as those kids, it was still a really fun time for everyone. 

After the dance we gave our donations of school supplies to the students and Kaylee said a few words to them, thanking them for their performances and telling them to work hard. Then the teachers let the kids loose and soon the room was filled with little circles of little kids and obronis playing hand games. They were similar to the ones I played in middle school (Quackadillioso, Concentration, Double Double This This), just with different words. 

It was almost impossible to leave the school, and not just because kids were grabbing onto my hands as I was trying to leave. They were just so happy and excited to have us there and play with us that I felt bad leaving, even though I have every intention of going back to the Nima school. Before getting on the bus, someone from the school (I'm pretty sure it was the headmaster) said we were welcome back to volunteer or teach American song or dance. They rocked at African traditional dancing but we'll see if they can handle the Cotten-Eye Joe or the Cupid Shuffle.  

Note: I swear I did not force them to take this photos. Half of the
kids just didn't smile for pictures. 

Pictures from the Aburi Botanical Gardens

My Reality Ride

I don't think I've ever felt as privileged as I did riding down the streets of urban Accra today. I wasn't surprised to see the impoverished conditions of the people in communities much poorer than East Legon, where we're staying. I expected the crowded, littered streets and homes made of scrap metal and whatever else could be found, though as an Oregonian, I was appalled at the amount of garbage discarded in the waterways and piled up in empty lots. As I looked at the rivers (if they could be called that) leading into the ocean I thought of how beautiful and clean the Oregon Coast is and how awful it would be if it was too contaminated to enjoy. I drive an hour to get to the beach while the people in these communities can't even fully enjoy the beach that is right in their backyard. The negative impact of this garbage on the health of people in these communities is obviously serious, and something like having a safe beach seems trivial in comparison, but that's kind of the point. I have the privilege of driving in my car an hour away to the beach and it would break my heart to not be able to because of pollution, while the lack of a beach is just a minor side effect of the sanitation issues these people face.

It was more than just the beach though. It was incredibly uncomfortable riding in a huge, air conditioned bus through what were basically the slums of Accra. I wanted to get out and walk but that wouldn't have changed the fact that I'm a white American and it wouldn't have changed the fact that I'm way "better off" than the people around me. It seems incredibly unfair that because I was born to parents in the United States, my life was set up to be "better." It's not as if I've never had financial worries or struggles, but I got and am continuing to get an education, I've never had to worry about having a roof over my head or food in my stomach and I grew up in an area that was clean and safe.

I know all of that isn't my fault and I don't feel guilty because of it, but it's still uncomfortable to know that people see "privilege" when they look at you, especially when that's not a feeling you're used to at all. In the United States, I wouldn't be considered "privileged." I work my ass off to be able to attend the University of Oregon. I can't help but look at people whose parents' hand them everything and feel a twinge of resentment but that's probably how people in those communities will look at me when I'm walking through the marketplaces there. And I don't blame them.

I want to end this post by explaining why there are no photos with this blog entry. The reason is that it felt wrong to me to take photos from my position of privilege in the bus. I don't like the idea of taking tourist photos of people's poor living conditions, especially from behind glass like you would of animals at the zoo. I know people had different motivations for taking photos, but I wasn't okay with the whole situation and felt really weird about it, especially not being able to talk to the people I'd be photographing. When I start my internship and even walking around, I don't think I will mind taking pictures, but it's important to me to interact and make a connection with whoever I'm photographing to put myself at an equal level with them. That's what I'm looking forward to most about the work I'll be doing at my internship.

First Day :)

Today was my first full day in Ghana and I have to say, so far I'm loving it here.

We woke up this morning at around 8am and after a delicious breakfast, we had an orientation with Leslie and Dr. Michael Williams. Most of it was stuff we already knew and stuff I was prepared for - take your malaria pills, don't hang out in isolated places alone, start low when you're bargaining for goods - but nothing could have readied me for the touchy-ness. Now, I'm generally okay with being close to other people, even strangers. Handshakes are fine. Hugs are a little awkward, but also fine if we've spent some time together. But in Ghana, there seems to be almost no concept of a personal space bubble.

As soon as we got off the bus at the market, about five vendors came up to our group and were ushering us towards their shops. It was almost like sheep dogs herding sheep into pens. It was very different than being at an American mall, probably because employees there are going to be paid whether or not you go into the store, so they don't really care whether you stop by or not - for Ghanaians, this is their livelihood so they'll do anything to get you into the stall. I didn't have this experience myself, but I know a few member of the groups were guided into the stores by their arm, not aggressively, but definitely insistently.

I also bargained for the first time in my life which is something I thought would be way more uncomfortable than it actually was. I know I was probably ripped off but I'm still pretty proud that I stood my ground on what I was willing to pay and I paid what I thought was fair based on what I would have paid in the US. If I was Ghanaian I'm sure I would have gotten a better deal but there's nothing I can do about being a white American.

I got my Ghana World Cup jersey for 25 cedis, which is about $8 in US dollars. It was more than Leslie said we should pay but I really liked it and it fit perfectly so I was okay with it. I also bought a Mancala board for 40 cedis ($13) which I know I probably paid too much for but I was tired of negotiating and I wanted it.

I thought I was going to feel bad paying so little in US dollars for things at the market but I don't. The vendors basically do whatever to get you to buy, including lie (a lot of people were told that the jerseys they were looking at were the ones Ghana was going to be wearing tonight) and bother you until you give in. They won't sell for a price that's really too low but since they regulate their own prices, you never know if you're getting a good deal and you're probably not. At least, I'm not yet. I'm sure I'll start to figure out what's fair and not fair but I also know I'm going to be subject to the "obroni tax," meaning I'll get a worse deal than a local would.

After we were done at the market we went to a restaurant/bar called "The Living Room." It was one of the coolest restaurants I've ever been to and I'm sure we'll be eating there a lot. It was all outside, there were quite a few trees for shade and there was a huge piece of canvas tied between two palm trees that was used as a projection screen.

For dinner, I had fufu in "light soup." I'm not really sure how to describe fufu other than weird. It's a kind of doughy ball made from cassava and plantains and it was served floating in the soup. One of the people who tried it described it as "spicy Spaghetti-Os" but since I've never had Spaghetti-Os, I can't confirm that.

The Ghana vs. Germany game started at 7, so a few of the other people in the group and I went and sat up by the projector screen in the middle of the Ghanaian crowd. I have never been more into a soccer game in my life. When Ghana scored the first goal, everyone went wild, jumping around, giving hugs and handshakes (Ghanaians have this special handshake that I tried to learn where you shake hands, then slide your hands away and when it reaches your last finger and thumb, you release in a snap) but that was nothing compared to the second goal that put Ghana ahead 2-1. I think I got the longest stranger hug of my life. It was a little uncomfortable because the only people I'm used to hugging that long are my family and my fiance, but I know it's something I'm going to have to get over.

Right now it's 10:30 and night and I'm happy to report that it feels like 10:30. I think/hope that means I'm adjusting to the time difference pretty well, but I know the struggle is really going to kick in once our internships begin in a little over a week. Until then, I'm going to enjoy being a tourist.

Good night!