Singing To Myself – Goodbye

This will be my last blog post (at least written from Ghana, perhaps I’ll write one more once on the ground in Canada to talk about what‘re-integration’ feels like).  Thanks to all of you who have read, commented on, questioned, thought, or felt anything from my writing.  I leave Kpandai in a few days, and leave Ghana in just over a week.  This post will be rather vague, but hopefully some conversation can be sparked face to face if I’m lucky.

I was listening to a song the other day and a lyric rang true with me.  Antje Duvekot sang out:

“I gave you my best shot, but you never could tell.  Gonna pack my suitcase, sing to myself, goodbye.”

And that’s how I feel.

I gave you my best shot,

There were highs and lows like I’ve never experienced in my life.  There were days I was in the office until 9pm, and days I stayed home, lying in my bed/running to the toilet, and watching Battlestar Galactica all day (yeah…I never thought I’d see the day, but I see what Dwight Schrute was all about now).  There are so many things here that are out of your hands, and one thing I learned was how to determine what is out of your sphere of influence and how to cope with that and work around it.  I remember a return JF saying to me before I left Canada, “Do your best, that’s all you can do, and if you can say you did, you won’t be disappointed with yourself”.  Of course there were other things I could have done better, other ways I could have leveraged this experience, days I could have pushed myself harder.  I wasn’t that “pro star JF” but what does that even mean?

But you never could tell.

Ghana has not experienced tremendous development since my arrival.  I have not ‘boiled the ocean’.  I’ve done small-small in Kpandai, one tiny District in the nearly forgotten Northern Ghana.  My impact?  Impossible to measure.  But there have been changes that I’ve catalyzed.

My DAO (Extension), Mr. Issah, ran an interactive training workshop for all the AEAs on understanding group dynamics.  He discussed gender issues, good facilitation, group formation, and ‘food for thought’ on how AEAs’ perceptions of farmers and farmers’ perceptions of AEAs affect the relationship.  This workshop was the first part of a new way of training AEAs.  This was all Mr. Issah, but it was also the result of us sitting down together, sparking a conversation about what good training looks like and what is currently lacking in the AEA skill set.

There are farmer groups out there that are learning business concepts from their AEAs to better manage both their own agriculture ventures and group projects.  They’re keeping records, opening bank accounts, analyzing markets, calculating profit, and discussing their alternative options for how they can improve their businesses and ultimately make more money (I hope..!).  At this moment, 11 AEAs have been trained on AAB (in Kpandai), 6 of whom I think will actually continue after I leave.  Approximately 131 farmers are going through the program.

131 doesn’t even come close to the 90,000 farmers that live in Kpandai.  Is it worth the cost of sending me over?  Even if AAB is sustainable, and that 131 turns into 13,100, is it worth it?  Are the poorest of the poor actually benefitting?  What else needs to happen?

I haven’t boiled the ocean, but it’s a drop.  And drops create ripples, right?

Gonna pack my suitcase,

Do I want to go home?  Mostly, it’s about that time – though I’m sure this would feel different if I didn’t have this departure date set from the start and people I love on a different continent.  There are other things that just wear on you, like the complete disregard for timeliness, or the extremely low ICT skills (you can’t save something in ‘Recent Documents!’), or the sometimes passive attitude to domestic violence, or the fact that everyone always has to know where I’m going, or the constant moments you put your life at risk by entering a tro.

I am saying those difficult goodbyes.  I am, literally, packing my things into my giant 70L backpack, but it’s not just material things I’m bringing back with me.  I’m bringing back 4 months of intense, at times ridiculous, experiences, stories, and learnings.  No person is the same from one day to the next.  The personal growth, and understanding of myself in these past four months has been unreal.  Seriously, I have never, ever, been so challenged, and so rewarded, by any other string of experiences in my life.  I have also never felt so confused about so many things.  I came to Ghana with millions of questions in my head.  I’m leaving Ghana with billions.  This continuous questioning, the continuous realization that underneath it all, you still have no idea what’s going on, the pushing yourself to soak up every day, is mentally and physically exhausting.

I hope that I will not forget.  I hope I will not sink back into a life that is solely daily routine and habit.  I hope I can keep this mindset that each day should be more challenging than the last.  It will be a lot tougher in Canada than it has been in Ghana, I’m sure.  I hope I can share this experience to anyone who will listen, and I hope I can learn from that person and gain new perspective from their (your) insights.

Sing to myself.

This one is going to be a bit of a stretch, stick with me.  Here’s a bit of self-reflection.

When I joined EWB a few years ago, I didn’t really care that much about development, and I definitely didn’t know anything about it.  If you told me that in a few years I’d be sitting in northern Ghana typing a blog post about my summer spent there, an ocean away from the world I knew, I’d have snorted in your face and said “shove it” because I used to say that in 2008, which in hindsight is quite rude, sorry.

Even as I learned more and began to understand more about international development, I still wasn’t extremely engaged in the economics and politics of it all.  It wasn’t until May 9, 2010, when I was on a bus from Accra to Tamale, that I realized I wanted to be in Ghana, and I actually do care about, and I actually am interested in development.  It always has, and always will, come down to the people for me.

That first week and a bit, I saw poverty all around me.  I tiptoed through the markets, not wanting to step on fish bones or goat poop, and afraid of the eyes looking, judging, and the foreign tongues that were undoubtedly talking about me.  Children with ripped clothes and bare feet were shouting.  I saw women sitting on the ground, with blankets spread in front of them, selling 6 poor looking tomatoes or some tiny bags of sugar.  I was completely out of my comfort zone as I purchased mango slices, and watched in awe as a woman hacked away at a mango with a machete, always inches from slicing off her hand.  I peed in a smelly, public urinal, facing the other female JFs as we laughed about the experience, but inside I was thinking “how do people live like this?”.

I no longer see poverty.  I see Northern Ghana.  I hear women brag about their daughters’ school marks.  I see men walk, hand-in-hand, down the dirt path to their farms.  I listen to the pounding of fufu into the night, or the beat of a drum at a funeral, or the singing of a woman dressed in colourful African prints as she sways her hips to the music blaring out of one of the shops.  Small children no longer have my pity; most of them are actually quite annoying, just like in Canada. Although mangos are no longer in season, I have no hesitation or thought when I approach a woman, point to a pile of groundnuts sitting on a wooden table, and say “Anoula, 20 pesewas. Enh, nsay cosou.” (Good evening, 20 pesewas. Yep, thank you).  The colours of tomatoes have become a richer shade of red. I think “I love life here”.

Goodbye.

Tomatoes in the Market

Quick Update on my Situation

A few things have changed in my life here in Kpandai that I want to send a quick update on.

My work is starting to come to a close.  AAB is rolling forward in Kpandai – all the AEAs have been trained, I’ve been going to the field with most of them, and the majority of them are understanding and appreciating the program concepts and valuing how it works with their farmers.  Sorta.  That being said, if the office staff are not on board, the program will not be sustainable.  Therefore, over the past several weeks and for the weeks remaining, I have been developing and implementing a sustainability plan to ensure the program continues in the district.  This means working more with office staff and less with field staff.

In addition, I am working extensively with my District Agric Officer (DAO) of Extension.  He will be championing AAB when I leave.  We are also working together to develop a new training program for all the AEAs, one that includes more than just one-off workshops but also includes monitoring and evaluation and a hands-on approach.   Modules include Understanding Group Dynamics, Facilitation Best Practices, and Quality Reporting.  Will this be sustainable?  Probably not, but I do think getting the ball rolling is important, and identifying new, more effective training strategies with the man responsible for training is valuable.  Finally, I am working with my DDA small to talk about different leadership styles.

Kpandai is also receiving a professional short term EWB volunteer in the fall.  Two districts in the Northern Region have been given this opportunity, and Kpandai made the cut.  Therefore, in the next few weeks I will be trying to prepare for this transition.  The hope is that he will only be monitoring and supporting AAB, bumping up sustainability, but focusing more on management level changes.  I must say I’m jealous.

My home life has changed quite dramatically in this past week.  My goodbyes here have unfortunately already begun.  My Mama Monica left to Accra almost two weeks ago.  She will be spending a month there because her daughter is in her final month of pregnancy.  She left with her son Richard and the chief.  The day after, Sister Fidelia went to a village to farm soybean for a few extra cedis.  I don’t think I’ve introduced you to her – she’s Mama Monica’s daughter, 26, and finished her schooling in Tamale (she’s going to become a teacher), so she’s been in Kpandai for about a month.  Anyway, she left on Friday.

Because Mama Monica left, Rachel left to her village.  Brother Paul also left.  Brother Lazarus is often working his tractor in a village in Kitare.  Since Madam Phina stays at her bar, and cooks there, and doesn’t stay in the house, I am now the oldest female in the house.

Basically, that leaves me, Nana (or Miriam), and Joefere in the house.  Ah, but what about Jessica?  And here is where it gets interesting.  I debated sharing this story, but it’s my life, so here goes.

Jessica’s father is a fairly wealthy man that works for Ghana Education Services.  He lives in Kpandai town.  He is married.  Jessica’s mother lives in her village, Kabonwule.  The mother is not the wife.

Jessica has stayed with Mama Monica for a long time.  The wife and father have their own young children and cannot have Jessica in the house.  Mama Monica and the father do not want Jessica in Kabonwule with the mother.  Apparently the mother will then consistently demand cash from the father – enough not only for Jessica, but also herself, all her children, and her sisters.  Mama Monica felt the mother could not take proper care of Jessica.  SO Jessica was going to go to the grandmother in Kabonwule.  She would be leaving two Thursdays ago at 1pm (I meant to post this a while ago).

I returned from work on that Thursday, prepared for the 415^th chapter of my time here in Ghana to begin.  And saw Jessica sitting around the cooking pot with Nana.  Apparently, the father had said that he didn’t want me to be lonely so Jessica should stay with me until I leave.  [Some background:  When Mama Monica left that morning and I learned Jessica and all the others would also go, there were obviously some waterworks, but I remained dignified]

My initial reaction was obvious panic.  Nana would be running Mama’s stationary shop during the day and cooking for me, her and Joefere.   Joefere is in exams.  I am working at MoFA.  The others are all scattered, who would take care of Jessica?

I biked to Jessica’s father’s house (I know him fairly well – he is not negligent, he comes to the house often to see Jessica and ensures her well-being).  Jessica insisted on tagging along on the back of my bicycle.  I also received a flat tire, as icing on the cake.  I wish I didn’t mention cake.

I caught him just as he was leaving to Accra.  He would be gone for a little while but would be back shortly.  I told him that I definitely wouldn’t be lonely and didn’t really need Jessica to keep me company, we can’t really speak the same language anyway, plus she’s 5.  I said that I could take her to Kabonwule to her grandmother if he couldn’t.  He told me he wanted Jessica to stay with me in Kpandai, handed me 10 GhC, and drove away.  This sounds pretty bad, but he has been calling continuously to ensure she’s okay, and I understand she wants to stay in town where the water is readily available and clean, the latrines are many, and the food and treats are plentiful.

She sleeps in my bed (or did until I kicked her to the mat on the floor, don’t ask), I take care of breakfast and lunch and Nana cooks dinner.  She often turns up at my office if she’s bored, sitting outside on the porch with her ‘baby’ (doll).  When she says she has a tummy ache, I’ve discovered that means she wants a pity biscuit.  I have to yell at her if she doesn’t bathe.  I wake up Nana, Edith (Mama Phina’s daughter who works and stays at the bar but sleeps in the compound) and Joefere to help me sweep the compound in the mornings.  I go grocery shopping with Nana and decide what our little, weird dysfunctional family will eat that evening.

I am now amazed how Mama Monica does it.  She’s a teacher, she owns a shop, she has a grown and growing family on the other side of the country, but doesn’t want to live there because she has grown to love Kpandai and there are tons of children like Jessica who have come to depend on her.  When I asked her if she likes cooking, she laughed harder than I’ve ever heard.  “Sarah!” More laughter.  I realize she’s probably never been asked that, and I probe.  Finally, “Me, no, I don’t like to cook, but I do it, because who else will do it?  These children need to eat!”

Mama Monica will be returning to Kpandai two weeks after I leave.  L  My time here is drawing to a close, so this week Jessica will take her 2 bags that hold all her worldly possession out of my room and head to her grandmother until the school break has finished and classes resume in Kpandai again.

¾ of my family leaving has been sad, but it has helped me spread out goodbyes.  I hope it means my last few days here will be a little less tough and I’ll be able to focus mostly on wrapping up work.   Ah who am I kidding…

Less than two weeks in Kpandai!  That means only one or two posts left, and possibly one when I’m in Canada, so let me know what you want to hear!

The Atorsah Family

Much Love,

Sarah

On Being A Woman

I have now been in Ghana for three months.  I haven’t really talked about gender yet, so I thought perhaps it warranted a post.

During pre-departure and in-country training, we talked about gender A LOT.  I had discussions with past volunteers and listened to stories and situations that I knew I’d find myself in.  I am now so used to the way of things are here regarding gender that it didn’t even occur to me that someone reading this from home would want to learn about it.  Keep in mind every experience is different!

There are specific differences that occur when Maclean, the other JF working in Kpandai (at the District Assembly) walks down the street and when I walk down the street.   He is a white male, and therefore on the top of the hierarchy in Ghana.  People don’t grab his hands or yell at him or hiss at him nearly as often as they do to me.  The number of marriage proposals he receives in a day doesn’t even come close to rivaling my tally.  If he is seen having a Ghanaian beer with a white female, he is patted on the back, not chastised.

I am in a very unique position.  I automatically receive (uncomfortable, often undeserved) privilege and respect because I am white – I’m at the top of the totem pole.  Ah, but I’m also a woman, which nudges me closer to the bottom.  I just don’t fit into the hierarchy.  So why is this challenging?  Let me illustrate with a few examples.

The second most important man at the District Assembly refuses to make eye contact with me and doesn’t ask me any questions, or thoroughly answer mine.  I’m pretty sure this is because of my gender due to other comments he’s made.  When he was asked what his siblings did, he only responded about what his brothers did.  After probing, it turned out his sisters were just as successful, if not more, but that didn’t seem to count to him.   The only meaningful conversation we’ve had revolved around the number of children women should bare.

Every time I leave a farmer group meeting, my AEA is forced to explain that I am not looking for a husband.  Usually proposals are just jokes, and they don’t really irk me that often, but there are definitely times they get under my skin.  This one male that works in an office near mine always calls me his wife.  I joked around with him for a bit, explaining that it would take 1,000 sheep for me to marry him.  He said his father owned 10,000 in the Upper East region.  I said it would also take several elephants.  He laughed, and assured me that there were plenty of elephants in Mole Game Park (where I coincidentally spent an amazing week with the other JFs for a mid-placement retreat).  I indicated I had a fiancée at home (boyfriend doesn’t translate well – it means mistress (mister?)).  He said he would be happy being my second husband.  When I indicate that he doesn’t even know me, why would he want to marry me, is it because I’m white?  He lists off personality traits that I don’t have, and even if I did, there’s no way he could know I have them.  Finally, I said it would take 100 horses.  He finally gave up, defeated, and mumbled that I should know there is a serious shortage of horses in the world right now, they’re nearing extinction.  Point Sarah.

Joking aside, it’s exhausting sometimes.

It is always women surrounding the cooking pot or the washing bin.  It is women carrying water on their heads.  When there is a funeral, which can last either 3 days or 7 days in my experience, the women stay up from sunset to sunrise, dancing, as do the men, then the women work from sunrise to sunset cooking while the men rest and drink pito (local brew).

When you’re in the village and they can only afford to send one child to school, it is likely to be a male rather than a female.  In my office, where there are over 15 government MoFA staff, only one is a woman (and she is an unpaid secretary).

I have heard men discuss polygamy, agreeing that if one wife does not have all the characteristics a man wants or if she cannot satisfy all his needs, he will need to find another wife that has those qualities or can fulfill those needs.

I went to a village, Kabonwule, where my host mama and the chief and several of my host brothers and sisters are originally from.   There was a very intense, public quarrel between a husband and wife that required the chief to separate them.  It turned out the woman had sent their son to fetch water while she was cooking because she couldn’t just leave her pot.  The husband was furious.  I was furious that the husband was furious, but my mouth remained shut.  Instead, Madam Delphina spoke up – a very strong, powerful woman.  She told the husband he was being ridiculous – it made sense for the son to fetch water.  The chief also supported the wife.  I couldn’t help but think two things – these are the people effecting change with gender equality, and I wonder what will happen when we leave this village.

There are changes – one of my AEAs from Accra cooks regularly for people, including lunch for me!  My host brothers pound fufu and help us sweep the compound sometimes.  It’s there.   I’ve seen how outspoken and vibrant most women are here in Ghana, how they often unofficially ‘rule the roost’ and command respect, how they’re running restaurants and credit unions.  I  don’t want to project this image of helpless, oppressed women, it’s definitely not like that.  But not all women have equal opportunity.  Ah it’s so hard to explain without causing generalizations!

One thing we didn’t really discuss at length in training is the advantages of being a female in Ghana.  It appears that people feel more comfortable greeting me or talking and laughing with me because I’m seen as more approachable (at least initially) than a white male.  My office staff feels comfortable calling me in on nights and weekends, whereas they’ve indicated they’d have a tougher time doing so if I were a male.  When I indicate I want to learn how to cook, and I want to eat my dinner on the compound floor with my sisters, and when I want to contribute to the cleaning of the compound, I am not met with as much resistance as a male might be.  [Of course, I don’t know what it’s like being a male in Ghana, so this is based on discussions with male volunteers and is not fact, just observation.  ]

My time here is coming to a close and I have a lot more things I want to say.  I hope I don’t become too redundant.  Please continue to let me know what you’d like me to talk about!