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Gratefulness

As I was jogging recently, I came across a barren stretch of dirt. It was entirely uneven – one side a full five feet higher than the other, with large rifts and piles of broken glass on the ground.   Looking further, I could see a nearly-naked toddler playing barefoot with a soccer ball. The ball was ratty – the outer patch coverings were worn out, flaking, and decrepit. It was a size five soccer ball – about half as tall as the toddler. Putting two and two together, I soon realized that this was a makeshift soccer field.

I jogged near the toddler and motioned for the ball. At first he had a confused look that read, "What could an Obruni want with a soccer ball?" As soon as he passed the football, I started juggling and quickly dispelled all notions that I didn't know how to play. The toddler and I started passing, and other children soon joined in.

A crowd quickly gathered to watch the Obruni pass. Eventually I was asked, amidst much laughter, if I wanted to join a full-size soccer game with adults and miniature goals.

Their mindset was that I would surely decline their offer, since my 'Obruni-body' wasn't tough enough to play with Obibinis. They thought I would surely be afraid of breaking a bone, and ending up in the hospital.

To their surprise, I agreed to play. I handed a reliable-looking Ghanaian mother my house-key to hold onto, and moved a 2 cedi bill ($1.20) from in my pocket to under the bottom of my shoe for safekeeping.

The toddler I passed with gaped at the money, staring with his mouth wide-open. With a completely straight face, he pointed at my shoe and asked me, "How did you gotten so much money?"

I paused, at a lack of words. This wasn't a large amount of money – I brought just enough for three coconuts. But what really hit me was his tone. Unlike the begging kids on the street, he wasn't asking for money. He was simply shocked at the idea of another kid having so much money by himself, and was puzzled as to how I attained it.

I wasn't sure how to respond to his question. Answering, "It's just two cedis…" would've only fulfilled the 'Obrunis being rich' stereotype. And if I told him the truth – that I brought 2 cedi to buy three coconuts, he would've been shocked at my gluttony and misuse of money.

I resolved the issue by telling him that my host mom sending me out to buy her cell phone credit. This white lie was ultimately the best decision – as I wasn't seen as just another 'rich Obruni', and the money was well-explained. Completing my fairy-tale ending, I played a great game of soccer, scoring once on a breakaway. Ghanaians eagerly picked me up and started chanting, "Landon Donovan!"

The Point of this Post: Being grateful for all that you have. Whether you 'hate high school', don't have the opportunity of spending Thanksgiving with your family, or  don't like the direction your life is headed; think about everything that you have been blessed. While I feel like I am basically reiterating the commonly known 'theme' of Thanksgiving, it feels different coming from Africa.

When I tell people I'm from America, most look puzzled  and ask me, "Why would you come here? Everyone here wants to go there!" The United States, consists of only 4{3a5a0fd47fd42b6497167aecc6170a94848f1ba936db07c4954344fcfff1d528} of the earth's population, and most of the other 96{3a5a0fd47fd42b6497167aecc6170a94848f1ba936db07c4954344fcfff1d528} want to become one of us. Always remember – you're part of the lucky 4{3a5a0fd47fd42b6497167aecc6170a94848f1ba936db07c4954344fcfff1d528}.

I'm seeing now that America really is the 'land of dreams.' People in many countries across the world simply don't have the opportunity to control their lives as Americans do. In the United States, the value of kids being able to 'become anything they want to be," is enshrined from youth. Kids aspire to become astronauts, actors, and even cavemen (I was an odd child…)

In countries like Ghana, many families stick to a 'be real' approach. Kids often follow in their family's footsteps, or choose one of the socially acceptable careers (lawyer, scientist, teacher, etc). People don't believe it's possible for an ordinary person to change the world by themselves. When I told classmates that no matter what my career ends up being, I want to leave a mark on the world – they openly treated my ideas with scorn.

When people ask me for money, it's an instant, "No," without any thought. This is why the toddler stands out in my mind so much. By not asking for my money but rather making a statement about it, he made me realize how fortunate I am not only for my possessions, but also for the opportunities I have in life. Thanks to him I am even more grateful for all my family, friends, and mentors who helped me along the way.

Speaking of being Grateful… While Thanksgiving stands as my favorite holiday, the concept of mass-gluttony is a bit nauseating at the moment (despite the fact that I'm going to the U.S. Ambassedor's house tomorrow for a feast). As I tell Ghanaians, poverty exists in both the United States and in Ghana. As far as excessive gorging goes, everyone knows that the first potato chip is always the best one, so why not stop when you're at a point where somebody else would enjoy the food more than you? There's hungry people all over the U.S. – if your situation permits, seek them out and offer a special meal this Thanksgiving.

At the very least, think about how fortunate you are in life. Not just on Thanksgiving, but during everyday of the year.

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Lora’s Pollo Recipe

On the trotro home from school today, a woman in front of me had a large wooden box on her lap full of pastries for sale. I asked her what they were, and got a one word response:

"Coconut."

Upon hearing the "C-word", my hands immediately grabbed a 20 pesewa (12 cent) coin from my pocket. I ordered one piece of it.

It was still hot from the fryer and had a slightly dense, yet slightly flaky texture. The primary flavor was of toasted coconut taste, with a certain creaminess.

I finished it in a matter of seconds. "What is this?" I found myself asking her.

"Pollo," she replied.

I knew that I needed to learn how to make pollo, and asked her if she would teach me how. Alas – English was futile. She responded by opening the container, staring at me, and holding up fingers to ask how many more I would like.

The man two seats away from us overheard the conversation, and asked me for a pen and paper. I complied, and he soon began talking to her in Twi and writing down notes.

About 15 minutes later, he handed me back the following recipe:

How to Prepare Pollo

Materials:

Dry Coconut
Sugar
Little Water
Salt
Nut Milk
Flour
Cooking Oil

Step 1:
1. With the help of a grater, grate your dry coconut.
2. Make a sugar solution.
3. Mix the sugar solution with the ground coconut.
4. Add salt per taste.

Step 2:
1. Mix your flour with a ground nut milk (depending on your preference/quantity).
2. Mix your nut milk and flour with the mixture from step 1

Step 3:
1. Roll your mixture on a flat surface.
2. Cut or divide to your proportions
3. In the cooking oil, fry until a light golden brown

[hr]

Despite there being no indication of quantities on the recipe, my eyes glowed with excitement. I thanked the pollo seller and the translator repeatedly in Twi (meda wo ase).

As my stop was soon approaching, I quickly asked her for her name (Wo din de sen?).

"Lora."

As I exited the trotro, I gave her a 5 cedi ($3) bill to thank her for her troubles and recipe. I stepped off of the trotro- only to have the crinkled-up bill thrown at me in disgust, and hear her yelling at me in Twi. The only word I could understand:

"Obruni!"

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Jogging in Ghana

The lack of sidewalks and other amenities in Ghana changes jogging into a video game. I constantly have to become Mario to jump over  pipes or open drains, duck rapidly to avoid running into ‘Back to the Bible 2011’ signs, and maneuver through obstacles including roasted plantain stands, coconut carts constantly obstructing the pavement, and roads so uneven you’d think they were paved by an alcoholic. The street is a fight for survival against arrogant trotro drivers who think they ‘rule the road’ and overpriced taxi drivers begging for you to stop running and pay for a lift back home –  I stop for no one.

Actually – that's a lie. I stop for everyone. As soon as Ghanaians notices a foreigner like me running down the street, constantly hear yells of, “Obruni,” and loud hisses desperately trying to get my attention. It would be rude to continue running, so I drawback to say hello. Usually this ‘hello’ results in fifteen or more minute conversations – due to their kindness and intrigue. We start talking, and after I say that I’m from the United States, excited Ghanaians ask me if I am, “friends with Obama,” and I can’t help but smile. One overly infatuated guy even showed me his underwear with Obama’s face on it… amusing, yet slightly creepy. I also make a habit of wearing Manchester United jerseys (my favorite football club). People notice my attire and start cheering me on, high-fiving me, or even start booing as I run past them. It’s a great feeling to be in a nation of football lovers.

As if to top it off, I finish each jog with a coconut, freshly butchered off the street. It’s perfectly refreshing and serves as positive reinforcement of running. My current tally is 53 coconuts in 40 days; by the time I return home I’ll require a five-step program to end the madness.

Due to the friendly nature of Ghanaians and my coconut addiction, each 30 minute jog ends up taking me roughly two hours. It’s a riveting experience; no two jogs are similar' and every day I meet new people and learn more about the friendliness of the African culture. I see jogging as a way of ‘building bridges’ between people – Ghanaians have a stereotype that foreigners are usually lazy, and are genuinely shocked to see an American exercising. I’m helping alter that generalization. And besides – I’ll do anything that gives me an excuse to ‘suffer through’ another coconut.

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Ghanaian School: Overview

In order to understand Ghanaian high school, one must understand that the goal here is to pass the West African Senior School Certificate Examination (WASSCE). The goal isn’t to learn practical knowledge for use in the real world, rather to pass the examination  required to graduate, receive your diploma, and go to university.

Picking Classes: When in Ghanaian high school, class ‘groupings’ are picked, rather than the individual classes. For example, as I am in ‘Arts 4’, which is composed of economics, history, government, and literature. I had to do all four of those classes – no picking and choosing. The main sections of the school are arts, science, and vocational studies. Other classes include French, Bible studies, chorus, food and nutrition, chemistry etc.

Teachers Changing Classes: This is proving to be one of the most difficult aspects to get used to in Ghanaian schools – the fact that you sit in the same classroom all day with the same people, while the teachers go from class to class. Besides our 30 minute break in the middle of the day, there’s little opportunity for movement, you’re sitting in terribly comfy desks (see below) and you’re with the same students all day.

Teaching Styles: Ghanaian education is done ‘textbook-style.’ When teachers teach terms, many of them read definitions straight from the book, and you are expected to know the textbook definition and nothing else. If you add or forget words to the textbook definition it is considered wrong, despite the fact that you’re pretty much saying the same thing that’s in the book. Another thing is that teachers in America lead you to discover knowledge, by getting you to interact with the textbook with worksheets, powerpoints, etc. Here, the teacher stands in front of a class “like a God” (as my history teacher says), and teaches you exactly how things are. There’s no debate, and what the teacher says is taken for the absolute truth.

Taking Notes: In America, notes are taken so that you can study them later on. Notes here are periodically inspected/collected by the teacher, and you’re expected to write ‘word for word’ what the instructor says. It’s rather difficult for me, seeing as in America shorthand is what I write everything (excluding essays) in. ‘
For instance, let’s say I have to copy the sentence: ‘Biology is the science of life and of living organisms.

A Ghanaian would take a full minute to copy it word for word.
I would take 5 seconds to write ‘Bio = sci of live organ.’

Teachers seem to be puzzled when they read my notes, but I have no intentions of switching to the Ghanaian style.

Teachers not Showing Up: At Achimota, one of the premier schools in Ghana, the class prefects are held accountable for the teachers’ attendance – and mark the times they arrive/leave, as well as the lesson taught, etc. However, in most schools across Ghana, teachers will continue to be paid regardless of whether they show up or not. I’m not 100{3a5a0fd47fd42b6497167aecc6170a94848f1ba936db07c4954344fcfff1d528} sure how it works –something to do with the government corruption. Nonetheless, even at Achimota, I’ve already had several teachers not show up due to the fact that my class is one of the ‘more rowdy’ ones in the school. Sometimes they leave notes to be read/copied, other times they give no notice. Either way, it’s not likely to have any effect on their job security.

 

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Where Time isn’t Money

Americans are obsessed over time. From fast food to the latest electronics, we’ll gladly open our wallets to save a few seconds. If there was an invention to avoid the hassle of peeling bananas, it would sell like hotcakes… banana hotcakes that is.

Ghanaians live on the opposite side of the spectrum. While certain aspects of their life such as the education system and medical visits require being on time, almost all other parts of life here runs late.

This morning my AFS “Auntie” sent a text to my host-mom and said that she, “would be picking me up at 8:45 A.M. to drive to Achimota Secondary School to pick up my uniform.”

I woke up at 7:30, planning to get a haircut. However, by the time I finished showering and eating it was already 8:15, and I didn’t think 30 minutes would be enough time to walk to and from the barbershop.

Forsaking the haircut, I waited for my Auntie. 8:45 soon arrived. So did 9:00, 9:30, 9:45, 10:00, and 10:15. I was starting to worry for her safety when, lo and behold, at 10:27 she finally knocked on my door.

Theoretically, not only did I have enough time to get a haircut, but also if the barber had accidentally cut me, I would’ve had enough time to go to the emergency room and get stitches – with time to spare for bowfloats and coffee.

When Americans are late, they’ll call in advance to let you know, and usually apologize profusely. Ghanaians are so used to it that when Auntie came into the room, her body language seemed as though she didn’t even notice she was close to two hours late.

My host-mom said if you show up on time to a party, you’ll be the only person there. People will normally start arriving anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour after it "begins." I'm rapidly coming to realize that is the truth.

This post isn’t meant to argue that the Ghanaians concept of time is bad, or good. It’s just “different,” and takes time to get used to it.

But thanks to my latest experiences in Ghana, I know one thing for certain. Next time I have a get-together at 8:45, I won’t wake up until 9:30.

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A Tale of Two Breakfasts

AKA: The inside story of why I’ve been on the toilet for the past 30 minutes

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. It all started on a sunny Wednesday. I had just finished 30 minutes of straight jogging (as a graduate of the “Couch to 5k” running program,) when all of a sudden I came across a man with a machete… and a large pile of coconuts.

I bought one for 60 pesewas (40 cents), and he immediately started hacking at the coconut while turning it, until it was clean-shaven at the top. On the top, he cut a hole for me to drink out of  of it roughly the size of a quarter.

After drinking the juice at a speed similar to Charlie Sheen drinking alcohol, I handed the shell back to him and expected it to be thrown away. But Mr. Coconut Man had a different idea in mind. He grabbed the coconut, and proceeded to chop it into 4 pieces. He carefully scooped out the white, creamy inside with a spoon- as is done to an avocado.

He then handed me the coconut shell once more to eat my fill of the soft, creamy, innards.

It was delicious… yet my quest for refreshment was not fulfilled. I proceeded to order another coconut. It was even better than the first, and as I left the stand, my blissful belly was feeling very satisfied.

Innocent Coconuts - murdered by heartless people such as myself

 

I began to jog home, but quickly had to stop due to the condition of my belly gurgling from all the ingested coconut water. I slowed down to a walk, and in a few minutes I came across a woman in a stand selling some type of fried dough for 20 pesewas (13 cents). I couldn’t resist, and bought one. I bit into it expecting sweet breakfast doughnut, but a savory and oily hushpuppy flavored batter awaited me. It was good, but it caught be off guard. I later learned that it was made from black eyed peas, and was called koose (recipe here).

After eating two coconuts and one koose fritter, I slowed my pace even more to an even-slower crawl and ended up cramping regardless. After arriving home, I took a quick shower, and then readied myself to take a nap. Five minutes later, my host-mom came knocking on my door:

“Breakfast is ready!”

A Note on Eating in Ghana:

It’s part of the culture that you should try eating everything, and always do your best to finish your plate, to not waste food. It was wrong of me to eat so much food outside, as breakfast is usually served in the home. Denying the food would’ve been understandable, but since I had only been with my host family for a few days, not the best thing to do since I wanted to bond with them.

“…. Be there in a minute!”

I begrudgingly slumped out of bed. At the table, the most extensive breakfast I’ve had to date awaited me. It was “continental”, according to my host-mom, and included large omelets, white bread, baked beans, and milo (hot chocolate).

Somehow I found room in my stomach to down an entire omelet, two slices of bread, and a fairly sizable amount of beans.

Finally…

Every story must have an ending. It just so happens that mine wasn’t the happiest of endings. Although I "did my host-momma proud" by finishing the plate, it had its own consequences. I’m not going into details, but you can reread the subtitle of this blog post just to get an idea of the results.

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Impressions of Accra – the First Few Hours

Note: This posting was written on 9/12/11, but due to lack of internet, it hasn’t been posted until today.

Even though our group has been staying in Accra at the Coconut Point Regency Hotel, we haven’t really experienced the city due to constant orientations and lectures. However, yesterday we took a trip to the center of Accra and walked around for a few hours. Here are the first impressions:

•The Traffic: To sum it up, Accra is as busy as New York, but much crazier and hectic. First of all, cars (not pedestrians) have the right of way. If you’re walking across the crosswalk and the stoplight turns green for the cars, you better start running. Cars will slam on the accelerator, and start honking at you immediately. A personal estimate is that at least 50{3a5a0fd47fd42b6497167aecc6170a94848f1ba936db07c4954344fcfff1d528} of all vehicles on the road are either trotros (see below) or taxis. People drive like complete jerks – cutting people off, not letting people merge, and even driving on the sidewalk just to pass someone. It’s probably a good thing that AFS doesn’t let us drive over here…

• The Trotros: Generally speaking, a trotro is any form of public transportation besides a bus/taxi that is designed to carry many people. In Ghana, they are either a large van or very small bus, and are the primary form of transportation for Ghanaians (most cannot afford a car). There are also a variety of hand signals used to show the conductor where you are going, and conductors also yell out of the side of the vehicle their destination. I will be taking 2-3 separate trotros to get to Achimota once my school begins this Tuesday.

• Using Their Heads: Ghanaians carry everything on top of their heads. In just a few hours, I saw cartons of eggs, chocolate bars, mini-fridges and even clay pots balanced on their heads. Although people carrying everything on their head looks very silly at first, it makes perfect sense because it helps avoid back strain and is much easier for carrying heavy items long distances. Sometimes people wrap cloth in a circle to help stabilize their goods, while other times it’s flat on their head. Regardless, I have yet to see a Ghanaian drop anything.

• The Market: It’s almost indescribable; absolutely chaotic, yet perfectly in order. To be honest, it’s still overwhelming for me – the constant shouts of “Obruni” and “buy this” while watching where I am stepping in the unpaved path are so different from home. Everything from Nigerian movie DVD’s and bananas to t-shirts and fufu pounding sticks are sold. Every couple of seconds the smell changes completely between anything from garlic and old fish to human excrement, so be careful about how deeply you inhale.

• Poverty: To be honest, while poverty does exist in Ghana, it’s not as overwhelming as you think. I have yet to see something that I couldn’t imagine taking place anywhere in the United States. One thing that was new for me (coming from Naples, Florida) was the following people asking for money.

o The Kids: While they are very cute when asking for money, they usually aren’t Ghanaian. Most kids we’ve seen have been Mali, and beg for money which they then proceed to give to their parent. Their parent may then proceed to buy food for the kid, but it’s just as likely that they will use it to buy alcohol or drugs for themselves.

o The Handicapped: As you are driving, handicapped people will either wheel themselves to you, or do something else to get your attention. This type of begging does take some getting used to. According to our orientation, if a child is born handicapped, there is a large chance they will be abandoned on the streets because many African parents believe handicaps to be a form of witchcraft.

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Safely in Ghana

Hello everyone! As of now, I have officially spent about 36 hours in Accra.

This post is just to inform everyone that I am safe. I don't have very much time for an in-depth post, but Ghana is absolutely amazing. Hopefully there will be many postings and photos to come.

If you have any questions or comments, comment away. Don't forget to subscribe!