Honor Killings, The Rooster Edition

I'm on a roll, folks!  Next Sunday, we're visiting Boti Falls so I'm getting a jump on the blogging.  Try not to overindulge.  

It’s difficult to explain, but somehow, you get used to seeing people wielding machetes.  Dawn to sunset, machetes all around!  How else does one hack plantains, bananas, and the like from a tree whilst in Africa?  I have no other ideas.  I will say though, the first time I saw a man with a machete, it scared the crap out of me.

But things are different here.  It’s normal to kill your dinner.  I tried to block this thought until my “maame” (fantastic home stay mother) brought about the hilarious image of her slaughtering a chicken to defend my honor.  I was sitting outside, eating my dinner as per usual, and a jerky chicken came by and knocked over my bowl of (ahem) chicken.  Without flinching, maame looks at me and says, “I kill him and make for you.”  I’m pretty sure I had that little jerk in my jalof (rice dish) last night.  He was a little tough, but revenge tasted sweet.

For those of you who think I’m being gross or extreme, my apologies.  I’ve become desensitized as a result of the horrific noises that come from the animals all around me.  It’s mainly the roosters.  And the goats. 

The lizards are chill and, quite honestly, the hens don’t really bother me much.  Crickets?  Chirp away!  But the roosters!  And the goats!  These animals make each noise like it will be their last.  Oh well, at least the baby goats are friggin cute.  (see below)

This will be a nice time to segway into what I learned about Ghanaian funerals a few days ago, but all of the sentences I’ve managed to scrawl out have been, well, a bit morbid.  So let’s just say I’d like to share some interesting information that I learned about Ghanaian burial customs.  Our language instructor always sends us home with questions to ask our families and they always lead to some interesting tidbits.

When you bury a chief in most villages, you cannot speak of his death for weeks!  If you do, there are severe penalties.  I heard death, but with the declining influence of the chief and his elders to carry out sentences, I’m pretty sure this is no longer true.  He is also buried inside of his house.  Brings new meaning to the phrase “home is where the heart is.”  Anyone?  Anyone?  No?  OK.

Internet time is a runnin’ low -- I must bid farewell.  I’ll do my best to update weekly (except next week), but unlikely to have any more internet access than that.  Training is getting intense and we have little free time. 

And since you were wondering, I don’t really NEED anything, but WANTS are a poppin’ up.  Coffee ground for a French press, baby wipes, chocolate (in some less melty form) and Cliff bars would be great.  It’s only been a couple of weeks though and I’m adjusting nicely.  Not required to keep reading my blog…


Talk to you all in a couple weeks!

Wash away!

Greetings from Ghana!  I’m in a town outside of my training site called Koforidua (sp?) getting my interwebs on.  This Vodafone shop has air conditioning and a flush toilet! It feels so good. 

I’m just going to come out and say it – I’m the dancing oboruni (white person) about town.  It all started when I was learning to cook Ghanaian style and my home stay aunts, grandma, and mama started with the moves. 

“Wash away, wash away” as they simulated a scrubbing motion and threw one hand up to a sound I can only describe as “nooint.”  I think that’s the sound of throwing out the water, but I digress.  I started doing it with them, learned a few more moves, and now whenever they take me anywhere, they have me perform my “azonto dance” for their friends.  It usually ends in howling laughter, but I’m just going to take it as a compliment.  Besides, grandma LOVED when I did the robot and the running man has now become “run away, run away, noint.” 

Speaking of wash away – cleaning anything here is a lot more work.  Hand washing laundry is not for the weak of forearm.  And boy, do Ghanaians scrub!  I’m just going to try to hide from my mom when I wash clothes so she’ll stop telling me “scrub harder!”  My American clothes are used to pampering…sorry, ma.

I also carriedwater on my head for about the length of two football fields on grounds much more rickety.  I didn’t spill.  Two times.  Imagine that.  One trip is the amount of water I use for my two daily bucket baths.  Usually my “sister” or the “small boys and girls” fetch the water, as they are much more skilled, but I need the practice for later.  I will never take a shower and/or running water for granted again.  Ever. 

These adjustments are but a small price to pay to live here in Ghana, and specifically among the people of Anyinasin.  They have been so friendly and welcoming and are providing a nice transition to our lives at site.

Though much of our training still focuses on the culture, we are now beginning to learn a little about our projects and the Peace Corps approach.  I have no idea where I will go (it will be Twi-speaking!) but I know that I will do my best to help the wonderful people of Ghana.  For now, I will continue to practice Twi and work to integrate here in the Eastern region.  Even if it means dancing like a fool.

Don't say No No to the Tro Tro

We’ve been in Ghana for a week now and it’s been amazing.  Exhausting and overwhelming, sure -- but mainly amazing.  We’re currently in a location a few hours northeast of Accra and in the first official week of training.

For me, each day feels like a week – it’s hard to believe that I can learn Twi, nuances about the Ghanaian culture and safety and security; receive vaccinations until my arms is about to fall off;  AND get to know a group of kind, energetic, talented and diverse individuals.  There is so much to learn and I am doing my best to embrace knowledge with open arms. 

Last week, we had “Accra Quest” where we ventured into the capital armed with 10 cedis, minimal Twi, and a few of our counterparts to locate various sites around the city.  We were prepared via a mini tour on our first day, a map, and a hilarious skit introduction to life on a tro, which was our mode of transportation to and from our current location.  Please google “tro.”  I have no idea what will come up, but it’s bound to be ridiculous.  At least, that was our experience.  More on this later.

My group (Heather and Sheila!) waited at the main road and quickly found a tro to Madina, then Madina to Accra.  Sure, we were squeezed together and the man in the front seat to Madina was blaring what sounded like a football announcer yelling for a goal, but we made it to Accra in a little over an hour with no issues. 

“Close your fly!”  A taxi driver yelled from a distance about my sweat-soaked pants.  Thanks, extremely straightforward Ghanaian man.  If not for you, I’d likely have walked around Accra as the obruni (white person) with her fly down.  So far, bluntness is my favorite quality of Ghanaians.  Once someone calls me “fat,” which apparently means “healthy,” I may think differently. 

On with the quest – first came the National Theatre.  We walked across the street and were confronted by two “guards” sitting under a tree talking to a man.  They lightly interrogated our purpose at the theatre and told us we can walk around. 

We asked the standing man to take our photo and he obliged, making sure we took several angles of the three of us smiling.  When done, he asked for money for food and I handed him 10 pesewa.  Ten pesewa is enough to buy a small bag of water (yes, bag) and he made it known.  “I can’t get any food with this!”  We said we had no more money and went on our way.  Lesson learned.

On to our way to the next sites, Independence Square and the Accra stadium, we walked through a tro station and were quickly engrossed by the smell of raw sewage.  As health and water sanitation water workers, we were exposed to one of the main sanitation issues in Ghana.  We made our way through the station and were offered various items for purchase – water, mentos, fried dough, smoked fish, etc.  It was tough to feel hungry amidst the smell.   Besides, we were on a mission.

The stadium is impressive, as is Independence Square, which serves as a reminder of when Ghana achieved independence from the UK in 1957.  There wasn’t much traffic for a Saturday, and we quickly took a picture, asked where the presidential castle was located, and hopped into a tro back to the station.  We then caught a tro to Madina after a little confusion and were on our way. 

Things were almost moving too smoothly.  It looked like we were going to be back early.  Of course, this couldn’t last for long.  Our tro made a detour and dropped us off in the middle of the city of Madina, not the station.  We asked to go there and they told us that we needed to get off in the city.  Uh oh.

Pardon my language, but hoooly shit.  Madina was much more bustling than the part of Accra where we ventured.  There were people hawking goods everywhere, tons of traffic, and more consecutive honking than I’ve ever heard in my life.  People were busy and we were confused. 

I’ll spare you many of the details, but it took about an hour just to get out of the city and to the station, which was no more than half a kilometer away.  We all kept our cool, asked for directions, and shared a laugh when we realized that people with whom we never spoke knew which tro we were trying to catch.  Overall, the people were helpful and friendly. 

We did receive directions from a girl that led us the wrong way down a road where we encountered a Ghanaian street shouting match.  Man vs. parking attendant.  Been there, done that, but not with quite as much fervor nor with an audience.  Oh yeah, and the attendant could only cite me through a ticket, not by placing tire damaging spikes in front of the car.  With a line full of traffic, the violator couldn’t back up nor could he go forward.  Best just to pay the fine, buddy.  Just not without a fight.

We eventually made it back via a couple of tros and a some friendly Ghanaians.  Turns out, there was no rush.  We were still among the first few groups back.  We agreed that though it threw a wrench in our intended course, we learned a great deal on the detour that will serve us well in the future.  We also impressed ourselves by staying cool-headed – not an easy thing to do in the hot Ghanaian sun.

That’s all for now, folks!  I have many more stories to tell, but little time to tell them.  I will keep you updated as much as possible.  In the meantime, feel free to send me letters (or packages, hehe) to the following address:

Alisa Langford, PCT

Peace Corps
PO Box 5796
Accra-North, Ghana
West Africa

Much love to you all!

Airport Greetings

Greetings from the Newark Airport!  We've all managed to limit our luggage to about 80 lbs of crap and are waiting for our trip to Ghana. 

As many of you know, I've struggled with what to name my blog for some time. I settled on Ghana with the Wind a couple of weeks ago thanks to my wordsmith friend, Brian.  (Hey, thanks)  Turns out, it's not available as an IP address, so it's <insert name here> in Ghana.  Clever girl.

Admittedly, I've been procrastinating beginning the writing process, because it often feels like there is nothing worse.  Four hours in Newark Airport (with more than two to go!) -- yeah, there is worse. 

While many played games on the floor, a few of us sat and drank.  At an airport bar.  For three hours.  We viewed the modeling photos of one of the servers, spoke much of "hatereade" and got to know each other a bit better.  It was great to find someone else who hates ketchup, except on the occasional burger.  Candied tomatoes?  Bleh.

I can't wait to get to Ghana.  I know that this will be the journey of a lifetime and am excited to learn about the culture, speak Twi, and work with the people.*  I'm happy with my decision to join the Peace Corps -- it's nice to feel this resolved and content.  I'm trying not to set too many expectations about what Ghana will be like, but everything I've seen suggests that this will be an amazing place filled with wonderful people.

To my family and friends -- I love you dearly and will connect with you as soon as I am able when I arrive in Ghana.  It may be a few days though.  Please hang tight. 

Much love,

Alisa

*I plan to embrace the Oxford comma