Eunice's story

Hi everyone!

Just about two months left until I conclude my time here and all is going well.

One of the projects I am most proud of from my Peace Corps service is the mobile antenatal care clinic, or “pregnancy school” which myself, Osei and some of the local nurses implemented. The concept was to bring some of the antenatal care to the pregnant women in my clinic-less village, as well as educate women about various health topics that affect their pregnancy, unborn child, and family as a whole.

Over the course of seven monthly sessions, we educated 43 pregnant women and 15 mothers of newborns about topics including the importance of antenatal care, the baby’s growth in the womb, nutrition, malaria, family planning, HIV/AIDS, protecting and caring for the body during pregnancy, preventing and treating diarrheal diseases, and use of the locally grown super food moringa.

Women came on a regular basis, active and engaged, until their children were born. Some mothers even came with their newborns to learn more about nutrition, moringa and malaria!

I am incredibly proud of this program and thankful for the hard work and dedication of my counterpart, Osei, who often went house-to-house encouraging women to attend, and the nursing staff, who came in every month on a moto on treacherous roads to share their expertise.

I recently wrote a vignette about one of the success stories of the pregnancy school. Here is Eunice’s story:

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Sharing a one-room house with five children and her husband, Eunice Daboa struggles to make ends meet. Money is tight even after selling the cocoa crop for the year. The debt from the funeral costs for her eldest child have made this even tighter, and her husband’s grief is still visible a full year after the accident in the river.

It us up to Eunice to keep the family together – to cook, clean, help tend to the farm, and care to their everyday needs. Eunice’s own pregnancy, in its second trimester, does not change this. Though Ghana offers free health care for pregnant women, Eunice can’t afford to spend the five cedis round trip to the clinic, so she does not go.

The second trimester of a pregnancy is crucial in all pregnancies, but especially in Ghana. Eunice should be receiving Intermittent Preventative Treatment in pregnancy (IPTp) to rid her body and the placenta of malaria parasites that kill so may pregnant women and unborn children here. She should be having her first scan (or ultrasound) to make sure the baby is developing normally.

And though she has already raised six children, there is still much for her to learn about how to best care for herself, her family, and her unborn child. She may regularly give her husband all the stew that contains the meat and vegetables necessary for her and her baby to be healthy, and she still does not sleep under a mosquito net to help prevent malaria.

After her first attendance at the pregnancy school, we visit her house and discuss the importance of her seeking care at the local clinic. She has already taken the first step by coming to our program, but with limited resources, our nurses cannot perform all the tests and provide the scope of care necessary at this stage of her pregnancy.

Understanding that her poverty is more extreme than most in this “cash crop” village, I give her the money necessary for her transportation and maternal health book. The next day I see Eunice in a car on the way back from the clinic – the nurses have provided her with additional care and a clean bill of health. Despite an exhausting list of responsibilities, Eunice looks radiant.

Without the intervention of the antenatal care clinic, or pregnancy school, we may not have been able to detect and help women like Eunice. She displayed willingness to learn and better the health of her family – hanging the bed nets she received during the distribution and requesting moringa seeds to plant so she may fortify her family’s food.

In January 2014, Eunice and her family welcomed a health baby girl. Mother and baby are both doing well.

 Osei provides Eunice with her bed net at the distribution

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I hope you enjoyed Eunice's story of unwavering perseverance when faced with hardship. I am inspired and humbled by this woman.

A big thank you to Bouvier Rous Eulen, who sent me all of the information she received from the doctors during her pregnancy. It was very helpful in creating the educational materials for the classes!

I will be back stateside in late May after a trip with some pretty great people. Looking forward to seeing you all!

Much love,

Alisa

My Ghanafoo

Realizing that I have less than four months left of my Peace Corps service does a lot to me. First, it puts a smile on my face – I will see my family and friends so soon! I have an awesome post service trip ahead and am looking forward to continuing some of my work in the future, but (hopefully) with pay.

Then I think about all the people that helped make Ghana my home and I can’t help but already miss them. I’ve included both of these people in my blogs before, and talk about them constantly, so here’s a snap shot of two of my favorite humans in all of Ghana. Maybe when I come home and talk about them, you’ll feel like you know them too?

Gifty

Gifty has been my rock since coming to my community. She is intelligent, kind, independent, beautiful, and honest, and I am lucky to know her.

Our friendship began when she heard me squeal at cockroaches in my latrine. I could tell she was trying to understand, but couldn’t help but tease me from the beginning, “Here is a millipede,” she said pointing to one of the slow and omnipresent creatures, “Are you afraid of these also?”

She had me there.

Our friendship evolved into daily dinners at her shop, talking about life, and learning about each other. It also helped that she has one of the most adorable children in the village, Justice, with her incredibly kind husband Jackson.

I didn’t know that I would ever be able to connect with someone here as much as I have with Gifty. She is among the few Ghanaians who got to know me as a person, behind the novelty of my skin color and national identity. She knows when I am upset, what to say, and comes up with the most perfect explanations about it all. We laugh until tears come, and listen until the other is done talking. I love her as my sister and one of my very best friends. I would never have made it without her.

Or if I did, there would be one less beautiful smile and the palm nut soup would have been a lot less great.

 

Gifty and I in on Christmas morning at her mother's village

 Beautiful Gifty and Justice

Osei

Osei has been my Ghanaian father, friend, and loyal work partner since I arrived bright-eyed and optimistic in the place I would call home for the next two years.

He truly cares about our community and wants to make it a better place. He has supported me through it all, helping me turn my ideas into reality and making my service successful. He knows when to temper my, well temper, provide advice when I’ve gotten too eager, and support me once I’ve made a decision.

I once managed to leave my bedroom door unlocked during a weekend away. Osei called to advise (and lightly scold) me, then proceeded to sleep in my hallway to protect my belongings for two nights until I returned. What a sweet man. (He refused to sleep in my bed, even though I begged him.)

He is also one funny guy and has earned the nickname “Fastest Ghanaian in the West” for his warp speed stroll that leaves me, though six inches taller, in a jog to keep up. Here are some examples of my fast and furious(ly )funny father’s epic comedy:

Scene 1: Osei and younger man playing “African checkers” outside of a spot (or bar) with a group of friends while I sit next to the circle.

Osei slams down a piece (as is requisite for all checkers here) and says, “Come and collect your pad.” He then leans over to me and says, “Because he is on his menses.”

Proof positive that men worldwide call other men “women” as an insult during competition. This joke may not appeal to my female readers, I suppose. I laughed though.

Scene 2: Conducting house-to-house education about the importance of sleeping under a bed net. He is translating my English to Sefwi and I can’t figure out why everyone is laughing.

A younger woman who speaks some English informs me he has just said the following, “If you feel it is too hot to sleep under the net, you should be sure to remove your clothing (finger wag) but be careful not to bump buttocks in the night.”

I definitely didn’t say that.

Oh, Osei. What would I do without you? Certainly not our secret handshake (shake, snap, fist bump, high five). 

 

Osei and I during the bed net distribution

Osei gives his "thumbs up" for the borehole drillers

Here's to the next few months with my favorite Ghanaians, and to many, many more with my American family and friends. I'm so incredibly blessed.

Chocolate, chocolate everywhere, and not a drop to eat

As I sit and drink my Swiss Miss Instant cocoa to satisfy one of the chocolate cravings I usually ignore here, I can’t help but laugh at the irony. Here I am, in a West African village and surrounded by cocoa trees, and the best I can do is instant chocolate sent from America?

It’s not that Ghana doesn’t have processed chocolate. They do. It’s just not very good and is difficult to find. Ask a villager about chocolate and they invariably say “Milo,” which is a vitamin-fortified hot chocolate drink here. Most have never eaten a chocolate bar, or if they have, it flakes in their mouths with the ever-satisfying texture of chalk.

But I digress. I mean to tell you about my time as a cocoa farmer. We are in late cocoa season, and the 50 kilo bags of beans are still regularly being dried all around the village. Cocoa farming is hard work. Such hard work, in fact, that I will never take chocolate for granted.

The process of farming cocoa is really a year-round effort. There’s spraying with fertilizer, pruning the trees, weeding the newest mangled additions to the farm, planting of root trees and tubers to stabilize the trees, and general inspections to make sure “black pod disease” has not infected the crop.

The pods, which house the budding cocoa beans, grow along the whole of the tree. Once the pod is yellow and about two pounds, it is ready to be plucked. After all the pods are plucked, it must be gathered from around the farm (usually on the day after picking) and brought to one pile. 

 

Cocoa pods grow along the tree

I had the pleasure of helping Gifty and Jackson “carry” cocoa and was exhausted after a measly five hours of work. Bend, toss, bend, carry, drop, repeat. Somewhere in there, Gifty demanded that I no longer carry the cocoa to its destination, but instead I “carry” her, which is an expression used to mean to help someone lift something heavy on their heads so they may carry it.

Gifty and Justice walk through the cocoa farm

Once gathered to a central location, the pods are cracked with a machete and pulled of its beans. Oddly, the sticky substance inside the pods that surrounds the beans tastes exactly like sour apple Now and Laters.

After enjoying nature’s candy for a few minutes, all the beans are placed in a pile with cocoyam or banana leaves placed on top while it ferments for a couple of days. Once fermented, the cocoa must be dried in the sun for a few days and is then sold for a little more than 100 USD per 50 kilo bag.

From there, it goes to local emporiums and is later shipped off to the capital city of Accra and sold to various companies, later to become delicious chocolate.

So basically, whoever figured out that chocolate can be made from these beans is one of the best humans to walk this Earth.

To celebrate this blog post, I’ll eat some American chocolate, sent by my lovely parents. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone!

Black is beautiful

As a white volunteer in rural Ghana, I attract a lot of attention. Usually it’s just marvel at my fair complexion and different hair. On some occasions, however, it’s something else.

“Nana Yaa, give me your hair.”

“I like your skin. I want mine to be light like you.”

“Your nose is small. It is good.”

To be honest, I find it really disheartening. Here are people in some of the poorest and most remote areas of the world, yet many still adhere to the Westernized ideal of beauty: to be light is beautiful and to be dark is less than.

I simply don’t see it that way. I have seen more natural beauty in Ghana than I have seen anywhere in the world. The beauty-obsessed women Los Angeles have nothing on the smooth, flawless skin, and confident posture that I see here every day.

Even more disheartening is the surge of skin bleaching sweeping Africa. In Nigeria, 77% of women use these products on a regular basis, and 59% in Togo, 35% in South Africa, and 25% in Mali. Some of the biggest celebrities throughout the continent are engaging in the practice, thereby increasing its desirability to citizens across Africa.

The Velasco material (clothing) billboards that line the streets of Accra and Kumasi generally feature women with lighter black complexions and more “anglo” features: small, pointy noses and oval-shaped faces.

Considering all this, I decided to lead a session at our recent Western Regional Girls Leading Our World (GLOW) camp reminding young women that to be black is beautiful.

When designing the program, I decided to confer with Sarah Watson, a black American Peace Corps volunteer here in Ghana. She mentioned that she has been taking portraits of young women around her community and is working with the district assembly’s office to post some of them on a billboard at the entrance of town. Young women in rural Ghana are often not used to seeing photos of themselves displayed and tend to shy away from exhibiting outward confidence about their appearance. Overall, I thought it was a compelling way to broach the subject of loving their ebony skin.

Her approach sparked an idea for my project as well – what if the girls could see themselves on a screen, directly related to a conversation about black being beautiful? The morning of my presentation, I went around the camp and took photos of each of the girls, never addressing why or when they would see them again. Most of them were happy to pose, despite their non-smiling appearances. (The typical Ghanaian does not smile for pictures then flashes their gorgeous pearly whites as soon as the camera snaps.)

When the session began, I asked the girls to tell me what they think is beautiful. Girls raised their hands and gave an array of answers that all fed into them already knowing that black women are beautiful.

“Madam, the buttocks is beautiful.”

“Hips are very nice.”

“When a person is calm, they are beautiful.”

I was impressed with their responses. Not a single girl mentioned light skin or small noses. Perhaps these girls didn’t need my help after all.

I decided to introduce the subject any way, particularly because there was one girl who had likely already engaged in mild skin bleaching (the products available on a wide scale are more harsh and often leave red marks on the cheeks and the edges of the face. Don't worry -- I approached it lightly to avoid embarrassing her). I asked the girls if they ever hear people say that lighter black skin is preferable to darker skin. They had.

Felicity Yaa Pomah (yes, Yaa Pomah is also my name) is a teacher, all around bright and empowered woman and excellent mentor for the girls. She told the story of how a man in her town told her she is too dark and should be lightening her skin in order to appear more beautiful. She responded that she will never bleach her skin, because she is beautiful as she is.

This sparked a lively conversation about how they have similar pressures, but do not want to submit. In some sectors of the culture, it is also an expression of wealth (and thereby success) to bleach one’s skin, thereby adding to the social adoption of the practice.

I also explained the dangers of skin cancer, which were non-existent prior to skin bleaching. They have been given the gift of dark skin to withstand the high sun. It should be celebrated, not scorned or marred.

I then commenced the slideshow of their portraits taken earlier in the day, which set off a roar of giggles. Like the girls in Sarah’s town, most had never seen their photo on a large scale, nor do I think many of them had associated themselves with being beautiful.

When asked whether they ever looked in the mirror and only saw bad things, most of the girls (and volunteers) raised their hands. This sparked a discussion about the importance of confidence and self-acceptance, as well as the love of our most important type of beauty – the one that comes from within.

I may not be the expert at being black, but I understand what it’s like to feel pressure to fit into a typecast of what is beautiful.

The typecast is outdated. It’s ethnocentric. It’s just plain dumb.

I hope this generation of young African women feel empowered to say so. I hope the girls in our GLOW Camp are part of this group.

Here are some of my favorite portraits from the slideshow.

These Girls Have It

Hello everyone!

Some fellow volunteers and I will be hosting a Girls Leading Our World (GLOW) Camp here in Ghana in late August. We are about 1/3 of the way to our fundraising goal to put on this awesome camp and we need your help!

Our GLOW camp will help young women from our communities by teaching them about leadership and opportunities available for women in Ghana, including having a panel of successful women speak to the girls about how they overcame adversity. It will be a full five-day schedule, including talks about health, creativity, decision-making, self confidence (and more!) that we hope will inspire and empower these young women to achieve their dreams.

Things are a bit different here in Ghana, where young girls wake up at 5 a.m. to sweep the compound, fetch heavy loads of water, and prepare food before going to school. Once home, they do laundry, dishes, fetch more water, help prepare the meals, then do their homework. The teachers in my community were able to choose three young women who manage to do all this AND do well in school based on academic performance and letters they wrote describing why they want to attend the camp. 

Here’s a brief introduction to the girls selected.

Sandra Nkuah is among the brightest students in her school and a favorite among teachers and students. She has managed to avert peer pressure to drink and have sex because she wants to avoid compromising her future. Her ultimate goal is to become a doctor so she can help others. She likes playing football (soccer) and reading.

 Sandra, displaying her individual twist on the school uniform, in line for the close of school

Paulina Mensah is a smart and vivacious young woman who lives with a family that is not related to her, thereby doing work in exchange for food and boarding. She does well in school, keeps a tidy home, and helps out with her new baby “brother” while her family goes to farm. She would like to be a police woman in the future. She likes dancing and always lights a room up with her smile.

Paulina, refusing to show her teeth while smiling 

Sarah Gyapong is another promising young woman who does well in school and dreams of becoming a nurse one day. She says that when she goes to the market town and sees the nurses in their uniform, she feels happy and knows that’s what she wants to do. She is a sweet and mild-mannered young woman who is well liked in the community. 

Picture coming soon!

Please help Sandra, Paulina and Sarah go to this camp and donate today by clicking on the link below and selecting the amount you would like to give. Every little bit helps! Thanks in advance.

https://donate.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=13-641-032

Much love,

Alisa

The Teacher I Like Best

Last week, I asked Mary, my neighbor and my enthusiastic English student, to write an essay about school and learning. This is what she wrote...


The Teacher I Like Best

Mrs. Nana Yaa Pomah is the name of my best teacher. She is twenty years old. She comes from U.S.A. but stays at Kwafukaa.

She is dark complexion and about four feet three inches tall. She have a little tribal mark on her left chin, a broad face and a pointed nose.

She likes laughing.

Mrs. Nana Yaa Pomah is a good teacher. At times she likes playing and sometimes she likes learning.

She is beautiful woman.

The subject she likes best is English. When she teach me I am understand.

Mary, in the middle 

So, as you can see, I have changed quite a bit since you all saw me last. Hope you all recognize me when you see me in the next couple weeks!

It Takes a Village

Justice balances his little legs off the edge of my lap and giggles, seemingly unwitting of what happened last week -- that his precious life was compromised.

I arrived home one afternoon to find my best friend in my village, Gifty, closing up her shop and preparing to go to the hospital. She told me that her two and half-year-old son, Justice, was brought there by her husband Jackson and she was going to join them.

A little panicked, I asked what his symptoms were -- fever, headache, vomiting, diarrhea, and she described how his eyes were rolling back into his head, “like this” as she demonstrated. We hurried to find a car, with no luck. Taxis only leave my village intermittently and none were around. After an anxious hour, a man with a motorcycle returned from farm and took Gifty to see her baby.

Everyone here knows Justice is my favorite little guy. I talk about him constantly and adore just about everything he says or does. In fact, I would venture to say that Justice is a lot of people’s favorite. Men returning from farm brush off their exhaustion, put down their machetes, and come to pat his slightly-too-big-for-his-body head, chanting his nickname, “Justo!”  Usually, he’s playing car with a variety of circular objects, running back and forth with his signature boundless energy.

He’s the kind of kid who’s going places. His parents have done everything right, including saving money for future schooling and teaching him early. This little guy can already repeat the English alphabet and count to twenty. Who else did that at two?

Justice and Jackson practice shadow boxing

With the family still at the hospital, I spent the night in worry, and can only imagine how Gifty and Jackson felt.

In the end Justice was fine, but he contracted malaria. Malaria is a disease which kills nearly 650,000 people in Africa every year, most of them children under five. With limited immunities to the disease, young children are more likely to develop cerebral malaria, which can lead to severe developmental issues and even death.

But there are the “strong men” in my community who believe they have little to worry about. While Gifty and her family sleep under a bed net every night to protect against malaria, many people brush off its importance, saying it is too hot and they aren’t worried about malaria. After all, they’ve had it several times before, and they’ve survived.

But this is not always the case for the children. Many Ghanaians do not understand that if they are infected, a mosquito can bite them, and re-infect someone else, including someone vulnerable to malaria’s harsher effects. If every person sleeps under a bed net every night, all year round, we can eventually eradicate this terrible disease.

While my counterpart, Osei Nkuah, and I work to educate our community and promote bed net usage for all people, we must also rely on our fellow community members to help spread the word.

A West African proverb says that it takes a village to raise a child, and in the case of surviving malaria, it is most certainly true.

I have the pleasure of working with Stomp Out Malaria, a forward-thinking and inspired malaria eradication initiave in Peace Corps. For the past couple of years, Stomp has helped train, coordinate and promote volunteer-led malaria prevention and control programs throughout the Peace Corps Africa posts.

For more information about the work volunteers are doing to Stomp Out Malaria, please visit the web site at stompoutmalaria.org.

What I Do

What I Do

I realize I haven’t blogged in a while, and I’ve told you all very little about what I actually do here. Sure, I dance at church, chase adorable children, and laugh with my village friends here, but I also do work. Considering I have been here for more than a year, maybe I should explain what that entails.

I am a community health volunteer working on a Behavioral Change Communication (BCC) project with both a national partner (www.goodlifeghana.com) and a local NGO, though most of my work is separate and done with my awesome counterpart, Osei Nkuah, also known as “Manga” and “Chairman.”

Osei gives a "thumbs up" to the borehole drilling team

Basically, I use the materials provided by the national campaign to educate my community with Osei as my interpreter. I can get around in my local language, Sefwi (and sometimes Twi), but I cannot express the complexity of health issues without his help.

Oftentimes, we go house-to-house and educate people on topics ranging from malaria prevention to condom usage. It always draws a (slightly embarrassed looking) crowd when this white lady pulls out the wooden penis to demonstrate the proper application of a condom. Luckily, most Ghanaians view sex as a funny, rather than taboo, issue and they eventually end up watching and listening quite intently.

I do other educational events in my market town and beyond, but I think the most impactful work is done in the village. I’m their neighbor, their white lady, their Nana Yaa Pomah. They see me every day, so they aren’t as distracted by my pale skin, blue eyes and freckles like the Ghanaians who live outside my village.

About six months ago, I went to my village Junior High School and asked the students if they were interested in joining a health club, where they would learn about health topics from me, then teach them to smaller children. After a few lessons, including hygiene, hand-washing, and interactive decision-making lessons to help these teens make positive decisions about sex and drugs, they told me they were ready to teach.

Eight of the kids divided into four groups and co-taught hand-washing lessons to the primary school kids and seemed to enjoy the work. The younger children learned about how germs spread by shaking hands via baby powder and the older kids were taught a hand-washing clapping / song game created by the fabulous Linda Smittle from my training group.

All-in-all, it was a successful day of school health education and leadership training.

JHS girls practice the song they will teach

I am also working with my community and the local government to build a clinic via concrete donated by the district, community labor provided by the village, and eventually, a nurse and small staff provided by Ghana Health Services. This is a large project to undertake, and my main role is to serve as a liaison between the government and the community. So far, the village has spent a community labor day clearing the bush with their machetes and we are now waiting for the district to bring the bulldozers to level the area. The community is excited about the project and ready to do the work – wish us luck!

I think that’s a nice little snap shot of some of the work I do in my village. Hopefully, I can keep you all posted more often.

Kisses to America, I miss it so!

Ain't no thing but a cockroach wing

I vividly remember the disgust I felt when I went to visit my site and discovered there were cockroaches in my latrine.  I could handle it during the day because I could see them run away, but the thought of visiting during the night made me shudder to my very core.  I hate cockroaches.  Bleh.

Flash forward about six months in Ghana.  The latrine is no cockroaches’ land after the application of some handy white powder and it’s really not a concern to me. BUT I walk into my room after being gone for about ten days and there’s a dead little guy lying by my door.  I kick it to the side and go about my business.  The other volunteer who came with me didn’t seem to mind either.  In fact, she put her bag on the scene of the cockroach crime.

What the hell happened to us?  How could we be so gross?  So you just join the Peace Corps and become a hippie? 

The last question depends on the person, but the best response is it just doesn’t bother us anymore.  Call it desensitization…call it what you will.  I’ve seen chickens slaughtered, dead rabbits in a hand I need to shake (and invariably, do), goats copulate, and a cat run by with a lizard flopping in their mouth. 

Today, I felt a drop of something wet fall from the roof of the store (a shack, basically) and on to my arm while I was eating.  Since it’s not raining we could only assume it was lizard urine.  If I didn’t have to use the private at that time, who knows how long I would have waited to clean up.   

The point of this blog wasn’t to tell you all how gnarly I’ve become, though I know you are all thinking you will not be giving me a hello hug when you see me next.  Instead, I want to illustrate how seven months (as of today!) can change long-held perspectives. 

Many of the things that used to seem to matter just don’t anymore.  I laugh at myself more.  I feel happiness in small successes.  I see the best and worst in people and still think it’s possible to change. 

If that isn’t worth seven months of my life, then I don’t know what is.

P.S. To those who wonder what the hell I do besides get down at church and eat chicken spines, here’s a look at some of my malaria education work. 

http://stompoutmalaria.org/weekly-awesome-ghana-volunteer-and-counterpart-spotlight-alisa-langford-and-osei-nkuah-jonas/

 

Nyame Adom II: The Offering

Today I visited the Catholic Church (called “Roman” by Ghanaians) as part of my tour de l'eglise.  There have been a few interruptions with timing and I was finally able to attend after a couple of weeks of trying. 

Everything seemed status quo based on my previous experiences – traditional religious components mixed (The Lord’s  Prayer in Twi, in this case) with a whole lot of dancing and singing. I was called up to the front to greet and describe my reason for being in Ghana, and I was pleased to find that saying these sentences in Twi has become second nature. 

I did my dance down the aisle a few times, took a few photos, and felt more like I was ticking a box than seeing anything new or interesting.  But that’s the thing about life – things are never what they seem.

Toward the end of the ceremony, they called the women up to deliver offerings of various foods and household items.  I assumed these were for the family of the baby who was blessed immediately afterwards, and as you’re likely suspecting, I was wrong.

The priest addressed me and told me that though the people of my village have little money, they would like to give me their prayers…and all of the baskets of items that were sitting at the front of the church.  I was so surprised that I let out a very loud “oooohhh!” that made the congregation burst out laughing. 

After many thanks and doing my best to conceal the desire to cry tears of joy, I led the congregation to my house.  By lead I mean we danced our way home – is there really any other way?!

They dropped off the various items, which included avocados (called pears here), oranges (that are green), rice, canned fish, eggs, bread, and soap.  We then danced a bit more in my courtyard and I saw them off as they headed back to church.

The Offering

Me, the priest, and the congregation

Dancing in the streets

 

The goodz

I was truly overwhelmed by the kindness the people showed me and it got me thinking about my Catholic family back home (my Filipino family).  The Rous / Ferrer family has showed me such incredible love and encouragement and didn’t think twice about throwing me a going away celebration. 

Though I’m not Catholic, I often wear the Our Lady of Mt. Carmel scapular that the titas gave me before I left because it reminds me that I have family and friends in this world that love me and want me to be safe.  The offerings of citrus, soap and sardines made me feel that maybe I have it here as well. 

I want to offer thanks to all of my family and friends who have showed such an outpouring of love and support as I begin this new chapter in my life.  It means more to me than you will ever know. 

Laughter is the best medicine

Yesterday, I was feeling a bit under the weather and have been recovering all day.  Jackson and Justice, my friend Gifty’s husband and baby, have also been sick today.  After spending much of my day shut inside, I ventured out to the shop and was offered dinner of rice balls and palm nut soup.  Per usual, Gifty’s cooking was delicious. 

I spent some time answering brother Jackson’s plethora of questions about America, then I decided to take my leave…

Me: Thank you for dinner.  I am going to bed now.  (yes, I do speak like that here)

Jackson: Okay, good night.  Yours sincerely.

Gifty: You say what?

Jackson: My English teacher taught me to say ‘yours sincerely’ when the person is going to sleep.

Gifty: That is only for signing a letter! 

She then proceeds to laugh until she cries for about twenty minutes, intermittently making cracks at him in Sefwi (the local language in my village) and slapping her knee with a dish towel -- all with a baby on her back.  Her unabridged laughter created a chain reaction where I couldn’t stop laughing either.  It was a snorting, have to gasp for air, kind of laugh.

Meanwhile, Ghanaians have such a strong sense of humor and thick skin that in no way does brother Jackson seem offended by the ruckus his words have caused.  In fact, he joins in and makes a joke about his teacher being “a very old man.”

It felt good to laugh like that with Ghanaians –- feeling a bit more like home.

Yours sincerely.

Nyame Adom – Part 1

In response to the question of “wo ho te sen?” (or “how are you?” in English), the most common response I receive in my village is “nyame adom,” meaning “the grace of God.”  The full response of “nyame adom, me ho ye” (by the grace of God, I am fine) has been clipped for either the sake of expediency or coolness, one cannot be sure.

What one can be sure of, however, is that the missionaries in Ghana have done their jobs, and done them well.   There is not a single Western religion that I know, which I have not seen represented in some form whilst here in Ghana.  There are even many Christian churches of which I’ve never heard, and had to google to verify their existence. 

To put this into perspective, I live in a village of 1,600 to 2,000 people (census schmensus) and there are eight churches.  Yes, eight.  This does not count those who subscribe to traditional beliefs.  Some of my fellow PCVs live in much smaller villages and have the same number of churches. 

In my village, we have the Pentecostal, Anglican, New Apostolic, Harris, Methodist, Roman, Seventh Day Adventists, and Deeper Life churches.  On my tour d’eglise, I have been to the first four.  You see, I decided that as part of my integration into the community, I should visit each one at least once.  Woaahhoooaahh, I’m halfway there… *

Off to church (my house is to the back-right)

During most of the services, I have no idea what they are saying.  I can pick up “nyame” and “adom” because of the aforementioned greeting response.  From there, I understand when I need to stand up (“soree”) and every once in a while I catch the cue for when I should say “amen” in unison with the congregation.

Somehow, I never fail to know when it’s time to dance.  If there is one thing that I have in common with Ghanaians, it’s a shared love of dancing.  I’m fairly certain that if I were to attend many of the churches in their country of origin, there would be far less dancing, if any at all.  It seems the missionaries learned the lesson of adapting to local customs to increase sustainability some time ago.

The usual means of dancing is in line to the front of the congregation, round and round in a few circles, then back to your seats.  This held true for the Pentecostals and the Anglicans, but with more drums in the latter.  Staying true to their German roots, the Apostolic did not dance, but they did sing some lovely hymns. 

The Harris Church had a special joint congregation with surrounding communities that lasted nearly five hours.  (My counterpart insisted I take a 30-minute lunch break, and I happily obliged.)  Despite its length, I found this service to be the most enjoyable.  The singing was nice, spirits were lively, and the dancing (oh the dancing!) was fanfreakintastic. 

There were several calls to do a “line dance” and I even had a special dance where the men shaking the axatse got down low and so did I.  Not that low, it’s church, after all.  Though I’ve always been a drum beat kinda dancing girl, the axatse is quickly becoming my favorite instrument in Ghana.  It’s basically a “shaker” made from a hollowed out calabash and the players hold the woven beads on the outside with one hand and shake with the other to produce music, beautiful music. 

http://www.dancedrummer.com/axa.html

After a little more than four hours of service, we all got up and danced through the streets.  Not in the overly choreographed manner of Westside Story, but in a sort of parade, led by about ten girls waving flags in unison.  We all did our own versions of the walking dance, which can often look like the running man in slow motion, and with less knee action.  Sometimes, the old women have the best “scoot” moves that are remind me of soul dancing -- my favorite.

During our parade, many people joined from the sidelines, if for no other reason to coax the oboruni (me) into doing the azonto dance.  I respectfully declined and continued with my scoot scoot down the market road, by the taxi station, around the football field, and finally to an open clearing where they sang and we shuffled our feet some more. 

After about an hour, I was dripping in sweat and exhausted from the African sun and decided to take my departure.  I was told that I needed to pay my respects to the priest, who put his hand on my head and said a prayer in Twi (or Sefwi, I dunno) for about five minutes as I knelt before him.  Though I was spent and on the brink of dehydration, the last hour of the Harris Church service was easily one of my most enjoyable experiences at site.

I have four more churches to attend, and will update you with how it goes. I also have a great video from the Harris Church service, which I hope to upload when my connection is faster. In the meantime, be well and many thanks for reading.

* Finish the line for the full (ahem) clever effect.

Where there is no oboruni

I realize that it’s been a while since I updated my blog.  Sorry, folks.  This is a girl on the Ghana go. 

Let me catch you up to date.  We completed technical training and have all been officially sworn in as Peace Corps volunteers.  I am currently at my site in the Western region and could not be happier.  Some days are better than others, but today has been an exceptional day. 

My friend Gifty returned from visiting her mother in the Eastern region so I hung out with her all day.  We had American coffee and American biscuits (Thanks, mom, dad and Mama Sue!) and she taught me some more Twi.  Her English is good and she’s funny and feisty – all a nice combo for a good teacher. 

I tried to pound fufu (google it) but it didn’t go so well.  I never thought it would happen, but I crave this food.  It’s basically a ball of dough that you eat with your hands in piping hot soup.  Not generally my idea of a good time, but it can be so goooood.  I don’t even mind eating the chicken meat from around the neck (this is considered prime meat cause it’s juicy) and peeling the bones from the fish.  All in the name of protein.

Another funny thing that happened today – I came back from the market and heard that I was just on the news for the Peace Corps swearing in ceremony.  Gifty came running from her store, “Sister Alisa!  Sister Alisa!  You were on the television!  You were dancing!”  I really wish I could have seen it. 

I should also mention that only Gifty and her husband call me Alisa.  To everyone else, my name is Nana Yaa Pomah.  I am named after the Queen Mother of my village and am also considered one.  You heard me, I’m a freaking Queen Mother.  It’s basically a ceremonious title, but I am supposed to serve as the head of all the women here.  The chief (yes, we have chiefs and mine is awesome) told me that the community will treat me as their mother and with respect at all times.  So far, so good. 

My village is surrounded by thick bush that is full of cocoa.  Everyone here is a cocoa farmer.  They endure the hard labor involved with bringing chocolate to our American and European palates (they lump us together here, something which I can only imagine many Americans and Europeans alike will not appreciate).  I have yet to go to the bush to partake in the farming activities.  Right now, they are preparing for the rainy season in hopes of a successful harvest in a few months. I will go and learn more about it when the time comes. 

I did, however, go fishing today.  And by fishing, I mean that I went to watch them pull the fish from the trap in the river.  Except I was late – I arrived home from my “trot” at 6:45 only to find my counterpart yelling that we would be late for fishing.  He told me 7:30 so I thought I had plenty of time.  I need to really remember that he is the only early Ghanaian and things always happen before he says.  Most of the time, Ghanaians have their own sense of time that involves them beginning 1-2 hours after the scheduled time. 

Anywho, I digress.  We walked through the bush and to the river to greet the fisherman.  They built a damn that forces all the fish to go through one location where BAM! they have a trap.  They caught many fish and gave me two of the best ones.  Gifty (who is an excellent cook) will prepare the fish for us tonight.  I can’t wait.

I take many of my meals with Gifty and her family.  She’s my best friend in my village and she thankfully speaks English pretty well.  Her husband, Jackson, is also quite nice and they have one of the cutest children in all of Ghana.  His name is Justice. 

I’ve received some messages about what I need over here.  Though I am finding everything I need pretty well, there are some “creature comforts” which would be much appreciated.  Though I’m surrounded by cocoa, they do not produce chocolate here.  I can only find it at an “oburoni store” in the big cities and it is quite costly.  So, chocolate in fun size form (Gotta watch it) is great.  Skittles, Starbursts and things like this would also be nice.  Also, Clif and/or Fiber One bars, beef jerkey, trail mix, coffee, nail polish (I got time, gotta keep my paws pretty), and any kind of seasoning you think would be nice to cook with.  Even prepackaged pasta pesto packs…. As for the kiddos in my area – they seem to like coloring books and colored pencils.  Maybe some educational books with the ABCs?  There are plenty of places to get gently-used clothing for cheap, so no need to send any of this…

Thanks for tuning in.  Until next time…

Lizard Push Ups

Hello, my blog lovin’ friends and family!  I’m in a town called New Tafo this fine Monday providing my brain with a much-needed break after my Language Proficiency Interview (LPI) today.  My brain runneth over with Twi.  So much so, that I’m having trouble writing in English.  

Despite my horrible illness last week (fever, chills, the whole bit), my body is adjusting quite nicely to Ghana.  I’m surprised, but relieved.  I think it’s why my Ghanaian mom calls me “Anokyewaa, din din,” which is Anokyewaa (my Ghanaian name) plus “din din,” which means tough.  Sure, Ill take it.

The idea that when one goes to Africa they will immediately lose weight is false.  Sally Struthers is full of it.  The food is good here and there are carbs for days.  Yams! Coco Yams!  Plantains!  Cassava!  Rice!  So unless you are the type who only eats meat and cheese and aren’t finding much in this way here, you have to be careful.  

On this note, I’ve accepted that I need to maintain a workout routine as I did in the states.  But without a high-octane gym, how is one to exercise?  The answer is in the roads, my friends.  With that, your dear Alisa is hitting the streets of Ghana (relatively) regularly and is now training for a half marathon (baby steps), which takes place September in Accra.  A few of my fellow PCTs have agreed to train with me, and I’m confident that we will all finish. 

This will come right around my 30^th birthday.  I can’t think of a better way to tell aging to suck it, can you?  Anyway, being surrounded by a lot of folks freshouttacollege is helping keep me young.  

Have you ever seen a lizard do push ups?  I have.  It’s spectacular.  If a male lizard can do push ups for days, I can run a half marathon.  They’re really setting the bar high.

Back to the lizard.  I can’t just throw out something that great without further explanation.  I’ve been trying to video it for weeks, but I never have my camera on me or I’m in class and it would be extremely rude.  The male lizards do push ups, but the female ones do not.  I can only surmise that this is the way male lizards display feats of strengths to the lizard babes.  So you see, it’s not much different than the muscle man cages of Venice or your local Gold’s Gym.  

Another PCT (T is for Trainee) says it reminds him of The Jersey Shore, because they are always doing push ups.  I can see it.  We also just learned that Snookie is pregnant.  Lawd ha’ mercy.

Alright, I must keep the blog short this week.  Have to pack for Kumasi.  Going to learn our sites on Wednesday!  Much love to the US of A!

Weighing In

Ghanaian babies are darn cute.  Heads a bobbin’ on their mommies’ backs, eyes big when they spot an oboruni, and feet danglin’ as they are weighed in.

Cute baby

Everyone that knows me is aware of my love of sweet lil babies.  Man, are they cute here.  And in abundance.  Babies everywhere – especially at the monthly “baby weighing day” at Tafo’s hospital.  Clothed in their Sunday best, mother and child (and only one dad, sadly) traipse into the city to weigh in, consult with the nurses, receive immunizations, and learn about various aspects of health, particularly breastfeeding. 

There were 40 to 50 babies, ranging from six weeks to five-years-old, and I fell in love with them all.  Most of them were so well-natured – very little crying, kicking and screaming.  The other funny thing – moms don’t mind if you hold their babies.  They sort of just trust you to hold him properly and not drop him or her on his lil head. 

Baby Weighing

I think it’s because pretty much everyone handles babies here from an early age.  In any case, hanging around Ghanaian families has made me realize how protective Americans are of their families.  We shield are children from the slightest danger and would never trust a stranger (and maybe some people we know) with our children.  Not a stone in their paths.

Of course, seeing my little brother run around with grandpa’s enema device might be a bit unclean and the toddler I saw wielding a machete should probably stick to My Lil’ Pony. I think we have a little to learn from each other. 

Back to my little brother, Kwaku, pronounced “Kwelku.”  This little guy is so darn cute.  He’s one and a half and talks like he’s a forty-year-old preacher.  Well, except he doesn’t really “talk” as much as he makes hilarious imitations of people talking.  People come buy and talk to him all the time.  You can see even the most serious Ghanaian (they exist, sort of) melt to pieces when they do. 

Oh man, I can hear the song the “Yum com kwaw” (not actual name) song on the radio and I know that little guy is dancing his little head off.  Such a cutie.  I won’t go outside though because I owe you folks a blog.  I take my commitment to your reading pleasure seriously.

And now the DJ is singing over the song.  This happens a lot.  Like, every song.  I prefer this to the other Ghanaian radio phenomena I’ve heard though, which I’ve just dubbed the “talk and play.” 

It’s exactly like it sounds.  They play the music for three to five seconds, then talk, play the music again in a similar time increment, continue their sentence, then play again.  This will go on for hours.  Usually, they increase the time they play the song and the time they talk so it’s not as spastic.  I don’t know which is worse.  Knowing your song will be cut off or the false comfort created by playing the song for a minute.

I’ve asked why they do this, and no Ghanaian has been able to tell me.  An American posed that they are using the time to think of what they want to say next.  Could be.  Likely just a difference in style though.  Those DJs sound like they think they’re sooooo cool when they bust a talk and play.

Alright, my followers of blog.  I’m off to sleep in the comfort of my mosquito net.  Yes, you caught me.  I don’t just blurt these out whilst being timed at an internet café.  I blurt these out whilst half asleep after a full day of language class, technical training, and greeting every person I pass.  

We have our language text next Monday, so I won't be travelling to the internet next week, then we're off for more intensive technical training in the Northern Region.  Not sure when I'll be on next.  Don't miss me too much!