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!