The Power is yours!

This amazing revelation came to me a couple of weeks ago but I somehow forgot to post anything about it. Anyway I was talking to my friend Kofi one night and he looked at my hand and said about my ring, "what power are you wearing tonight?". I asked him what he meant and he said that I was wearing a Planeteer ring and I must be wind because the ring was white. I looked at him in utter shock and said, "YOU watch Captain Planet" and then together we broke out into song singing the theme song and shouting the powers. Then he tells me that one of the Planeteers is Ghanaian!? Yes, Earth is Ghanaian, his name is Kwame, which is Ashanti for being born on a Saturday. Kwame was also the name of the first President of Ghana, Kwame Nkrumah. Apparently he used to watch it growing up all the time. I was so happy and we continued to make Planeteer jokes and sing the song all night much to our friends' disapproval. Who would've thought...a cross-cultural moment over Captain Planet...just beautiful!

Signed, Sealed, Delivered...

...and it's mine! I am thankful today for mail. They are little rays of sunshine in my days and I cherish them so much. God Bless Nicki, Susan and Mom for sending me letters and cards these last couple of weeks. And God Bless Megan for sending me a care package with chocolate covered coffee beans, natural soap and corn nuts...you really know me too well. I received this bundle of joy today. You are my shining star...

Hearing from all of you is an enormous source of support, whether through email, facebook, text messages and mail. I promise to reciprocate and I've found the most beautiful handmade cards so I hope I can get some messages to many of you over the next couple of months.

Nyame eye! (God is good!)

Making the right move...

Sorry for the overload of entries but I need to get a bunch of my chest that I wrote these last couple of weeks and haven’t had the opportunity to post because of work and moving…speaking of which…

I’ve moved! After two months in the suburb of East Legon, my roomies and I have moved to Osu, just a mere two blocks from our office. We’ve wanted to move for some time now, but were in circumstances, which did not permit us to move. The main road out of Accra, towards Legon (where we used to live) is two lanes and goes down to one just before our exit. So often times it would take hours to get home. Many of the tro tros would make grand detours through the back roads just to avoid the congestion. We’ve also had to come into work late and leave early so we could avoid traffic, meaning we’ve been working shorter days. We are now able to walk to the office and everything else we need is close by or a short tro tro ride away.

Caitlin and I are sharing a two-bedroom apartment and Jody is upstairs in a single. The apartment complex sits in a compound with small cottages around the perimeter. Everyone that lives there is a foreigner and so far we are mainly comprised of Germans, Dutch, Danes, Canadians and one American. It has been interesting getting know everybody and learning from each other about our experiences. Another bonus about this place is there will always be someone close by to travel with on the weekend or someone to have dinner with should you find yourself home alone. We are also a short walk from the Irish pub and the live music bar Bywel’s (not that that’s what sold the place to us…you all know me better than that…wink, wink)

These last couple of weeks have had many highs and lows. I managed to get out of the city last weekend, which was a high. As the pictures show I visited a beautiful beach called Kokrobite. I bought some batik cloth from a Rasta on the beach from Togo. Even after speaking in French with him I still couldn’t manage to barter properly. I also required some more batik this weekend at the major market in downtown Accra, called Makola. I’ll be getting a dress made from the fabric and will probably have some left over for another piece.

Last Sunday, the girls and I went to the Botanical Gardens in Aburi. We left in late afternoon and spent a few hours there before the grounds closed. We realized we were going to be heading home in the dark which had us on guard. We had taken two tro tros to get there and new we would have to stop in a town called Madina to transfer to another one. Unfortunately as we were getting from one tro tro to the other, we came across a drunk man that wanted to show us what tro to take and was trying to take our hands and guide us. When our tro tro came, a lot of people were rushing it to get one. The drunk man pushed Jody into the tro tro, seemingly trying to help her. However, after we’d driven off we realized that he had slit her bag open with a switchblade and taken her camera and phone. The experience was shocking and disturbing. We’ve been so careful with our bags and keeping our guard up, but still something like this happens. Fortunately for us we have the most amazing boss, Ebenezer, who came to our aid. He brought us to the police station, which I knew would yield little results. The best scenario they could offer us would be to stage the theft again and hope that the man would come to us and attempt his next move. I would never have considered such a situation, but in Ghana when there is no trust in the authorities, the public takes justice into their own hands. The police do not discourage this behaviour either because they know people want justice and they lack capacity or are too overwhelmed to be able to respond to such thefts.

The incident has reminded all of us of how blessed we are. We were protected that night from much worse, if the man had been knocked from behind, who knows where that blade would have ended up. We are also reminded that we are vulnerable in this country and it requires constant vigilance and awareness of our surroundings. I know Jody is still struggling with the loss. She had memory cards in her camera case with some irreplaceable photos on them. I think we are all determined to move forward from the situation though, as I wouldn’t want the incident to mar our experience or image of Ghana.

p.s. Had a special Canadian moment at kareoke the other night. A Ghanaian man got up to sing "Ironic" of all songs. To our surprise, the whole bar started singing with him and everyone was just screaming the lyrics. It was surreal. I'd much rather have Ghanaians rock out to Alanis than to Nickelback which unfortunately surfaced later in the night.

Morning commute

I think I’m having some strange nostalgia for my morning commute from East Legon to Osu since moving two blocks from my office this past week. I’m not sure why the thought of sitting in traffic, with diesel billowing around me while being squished between two people should excite me but there something about my morning and evening commute from the quiet streets of East Legon to my office in Osu that I really enjoyed.

I left the guest house at 8:30 every morning. We used to leave earlier but after much trial and error found 8:30 to be less busy and catching the tro much easier. I walked down the short unpaved road called Dakar Ave, although it would never be described as such because no one cares for street names in Ghana. As I walk this short distance I greet school children in uniform and men and women carrying things on their head or talking on cell phones. When I reached the main road I crossed the street minding the meandering tro tros and vehicles come from all directions. I stood and watched for a tro tro to come my way and for the mate that hangs his head from the side window announcing which direction he is heading. I look for a mate that makes a circular motion with his hand, yelling “soy-cul, soy-cul, soy-cul” which really means “circle, circle, circle”. I repeat this action so the mate knows to stop and pick me up. This tro will go all the way to Nkrumah Circle but I will get off half way at “37” to transfer to another tro to Osu.

The tro pulls away and joins the rest of the traffic. More often then not, the driver takes a detour from the main road to avoid traffic before joining the main road that adjoins the Liberation highway. I hand the mate 30 Gp…about 25 cents as the driver hurtles through eroded road ways, over numerous bumps and trenches. We make our way towards the highway and the tro slows down while cars attempt to merge on to the highway. Men selling gum and newspaper walk up and down the small aisles between the vehicles. When we reach the highway, the tro makes a stop to pick up more passengers. Then we pick up speed and a cool breeze comes in through the windows. The traffic is only light momentarily. At every traffic light, women selling papaya, doughnuts and water walk between the cars, yelling out their wares. I am amazed at their skill. A young woman can run alongside a tro tro in flip flops with 10 L of water in sachets on her head in a bowl with her hand outstretched making a transaction of water for 4 pesewas.

We reach one the major tro tro hubs, “37” and I get off. I have to cross the highway at this point which is often a challenge, even at the crosswalks. When I cross I walk along the sidewalk where stalls are opening up for the day. They sell everything you could need. Shoes, clothes, cosmetics, radios, fish, food…and most importantly peanut brittle (so delicious). I cross another street to catch a tro tro heading to Osu. I pay a similar price, only 25 pesewas. I sit with other men and women on their way to work and I wonder who they are and what they do. I don’t have to get off until the last stop so I can sit and gaze out the window at the morning activity on Oxford Street. I arrive at work about an hour after I leave East Legon and walk the short distance from the stop to the office.

Don’t ask me why I fancied this time, but I think it's because it was a good time to be left with your thoughts. There is a certain rhythmic pattern to it that I can control from one day to the next, especially when I can never know what to expect at work. It’s almost like commuting in Toronto on the subway, the lull and sway of the subway. Just as I knew every morning I would be standing on the subway with a coffee in one hand and crossword in the other, do I know that I’ll be sitting on a tro wiping sweat from my brow and greeting the morning in Ghana.

p.s. Some of you may remember that I took a short jaunt to Victoria in early May. I was at Environmental Justice Camp hosted by the Anglican Church of Canada’s eco-justice committee and the diocese of British Columbia. Here is an article I wrote about the camp and some of the issues we discussed during that week. http://www.ontario.anglican.ca/docs/dialogue/September%202007.pdf

The article appears in the September issue of the Dialogue, the newspaper of the Anglican Diocese of Ontario.

Tribute to Harry Potter

I don’t know why I became so attached to the Harry Potter series the way I did. Perhaps, it was because they came out when I was making a transition from child to adult and not really wanting to grow up, I was clinging to those magical things that only a child’s innocence can experience. Perhaps it was because, like Harry, I have a scar on my forehead although mine looks something more like the profile of a bobby pin than a lightning bolt. Nonetheless, I felt an attachment to Harry, something I’m sure all of you that have read the series have experienced as well. Over the last decade, we have gotten to know the characters so well and we’ve become so involved in the story.

I just finished reading the last book. I left Canada, three days before the book was released and believe you me I was thinking of calling my travel agent to postpone my flight, just so I could get my fingers on a copy. A little bit of something died when I turned that last page, the end of a journey that I’ve shared with so many people. For all of you who know me, the following won’t surprise you. I sat down to read the end of the book a few nights ago, curled up on my couch with a cup of cocoa. I had been racing through the book not only because it was hard to put down but I had to get the copy I borrowed back to its owner before she flew home to Ireland. Anyway I was sitting there and at one point my eyes welled up and I could hardly see the page anymore. I blurted out, “I’m such a sap!” while my housemate Caitlin, not realizing that I had been crying thought something had happened to me. I started laughing and crying and couldn’t control it (maybe I’ll attribute some of that to the heat). Anyway I settled back with some Kleenex and continued reading to the end.

My family and friends are already aware of how much of a geek I am for this sort of thing. So this tribute should not come as a surprise. I want to take the opportunity to thank those people that made reading the Harry Potter series a memorable experience.

To Sarah - for being the best night nurse there is, wiping my brow with a cold cloth and reading Harry Potter to me in a small cabin at Camp Hyanto when I was delirious with a fever of 102 in 2001

To my sister Tracey - for buying me glow-in-the-dark Harry Potter pajamas when everyone else thought I was too old for such things

To mom - for buying me all the books in hardcover because you wanted to make sure they would last for my children to read and for coming to the movies with me even though you hadn’t read the books yourself

To Val - for imparting in me the importance of storytelling and the parallels that run through the Harry Potter story and the story of our faith, and for letting us turn a church into Hogwarts

To the youth of St James - for laughing at me when I walked around dressed like Aragog with eight legs dangling from my sides and for humoring the interns when we turned a church into Hogwarts and made you make potion, read tea leaves, and perform charms.

To Ariana - for pronouncing Hermione as Her-moine, and for letting me drag you to the fifth Harry Potter movie before I left for Ghana

To my fuzzy buddy - who gave me a light up Harry Potter wand that I still have with me today and actually brought to the last movie with me

To J.K. Rowling - thank you for listening to your imagination on that train from Manchester to London, for letting the world remember what it is like to be a kid and for telling such a poignant story of good vs. evil that would make the likes of C.S. Lewis and J.R. Tolkien proud

Accra Psychiatric Hospital

Last week we visited the geriatric wards at the Accra Psychiatric Hospital. HelpAge provides cooked meals to the patients every two months or so. They also offer small financial support and other services to the hospital and its staff and patients. We came with two huge pots of jollof rice and stew, one each for the male and female wards. After weeks of office work I was eager to have some hands-on interaction with the elderly, however minor the role, which in this case was serving lunch. I had been to the hospital once before to speak with the medical director about holding an event with the patients for the UN Day for Older Persons. At that time I had never entered the wards so this was my first opportunity to see the inside of the wards and get a better idea of the conditions at the hospital. Hospitals in general exude a certain smell of sterility, but a hospital in the inner-city of Accra with concrete walls and floors and open windows takes on the smells of its surrounding environment as well as those of its patients. We went to the female ward first and it was indeed damp, musty and the smell of sterility along with urine infiltrated the thick walls. When we opened the door, a woman chewing on fish bones came running at me yelling “obruni” and wanting a hug and than just stared at me blankly and spoke. According to my colleague Francisca, the woman was speaking nonsense. We moved into an adjoining courtyard and began to serve lunch to the women. They were so excited and kept asking for more. Some were very responsive and talked to us while others that I imagine were suffering from dementia didn’t respond to our presence. One woman would not dress and walked around the courtyard nude speaking loudly and pointing at nothing. There was one woman that the nurse informed me had been left there a few days ago and she didn’t speak any dialect that they knew and no one knew her name. When I had served her she replied with “Merci” so the nurse asked me to ask her what her name was in French. Unfortunately, her reply did not yield a name, she was simply babbling. I wondered how a family could simply rid themselves of a family member like her. Maybe she didn’t have any family and someone thought this would be the best place to bring her. However, the nurse informed me of many instances where families leave elderly at the hospital or never come to pick them up after treatment. There remains a strong stigma around mental illness in Ghana, to the extent that people with mental illness are still referred to as “mad”. These attitudes are causing a drain on an alrealy over-burdened health care system where these individuals could be cared for by their families they are left to the care of nurses and doctors.

There is neglect for these individuals, as was evident by the conditions of the hospital. Such an environment will not encourage inclusion into a loving environment, which so many elderly need to fight the isolation that many often experience. Often people think elderly are a drain on the system because they are not contributing to society. However, people often overlook the contributions that these older people made when they were younger and more mentally stable. There was one woman in the ward that embodied this challenge. She used to be a nurse and the patron of the general hospital in Accra. She made me laugh because she introduced herself as Rose, Princess of Wales. I told her it was an honour to meet her. The economist in me knows that individuals discount the future way too much. They cannot place themselves in the shoes of an elderly person to know what it will be like when they age. People prefer to spend now rather than save for later, we attribute the best years of our lives to when we were young, and we neglect to treat the elderly the way we would want to be treated when we have reached their age.

The men’s ward was less lively mostly because the men were watching the Ghana-Spain match, but they also seemed more timid and unsure about us entering their courtyard. Something I failed to observe while I was there was the evident gender inequality that existed in the hospital between the male and female wards. Ebenezer told us later that the female ward receives an immense amount of support from church groups and women’s organizations. They had cots neatly lined with nets and blankets. The men however were not receiving the same treatment. Although women remain marginalized in the world there are instances where work for equality of one group can focus so much on that group that equality between the two groups is forgotten.
When we left, Jody made an important point. Nat asked her how she felt and she said she was sad because we came and went so quickly. What real impact were we having in their lives? What was sustainable about my work? Could that role not have been filled by a Ghanaian to foster self-sufficiency? Whenever my thoughts turn to this inner conflict, I try to bring the situation down to a smaller scale. I remember the smile of the woman when we opened the door to the ward. I remember the woman that wanted her picture taken with me and then pointed at her chest and then mine and said “buddy”. Even if it was just a smile and compassion, there was something I offered that day that changed their day. Perhaps their influence on me was much stronger, because their stories and faces can only strengthen my resolve to advocate for them.

I know this is a long entry but I have a prayer request. The three northern regions and parts of the western region of Ghana are suffering from intense flooding that ravaged the area last week. There are six people confirmed dead and an estimated 400,000 people have lost their homes. Entire villages were flooded, ruining homes, infrastructure and crops. Hundreds of livestock including cattle were washed away in the flood, this along with the loss of crops has posed a critical food security issue in the region. The Ghanaian government is responding with relief items. Please pray that these relief items are reaching those in need. Pray also for the families of the victims of the flood and for general protection and calm for those forced to live with family members or in schools unsure of where their future lies at the moment.

A Long Walk to Freedom

I finished reading Nelson Mandela's A Long Walk to Freedom the other day. My Ghanaian friend Francis lent me the copy in Canada shortly before I left under the premise that it's something anyone spending time in Africa should read. I've come to learn that anyone spending an extended period of time in Sub-Saharan African will no doubt have a discussion about South Africa. As I've mentioned, my colleague Jody spent seven months in South Africa last year so I've been getting my fair share of these discussions. To my surprise, I sped through the book pretty quickly, probably because I've wanted to quench a thirst I've had for understanding apartheid and why one of the most developed African nations continues to experience poverty and injustice. I can say I've learned quite a bit about current situations in South Africa, everything from HIV/AIDS to sustainability to water privatization. However, my understanding of these issues was lacking the political and historical context in which these issues came about and what perspectives and attitudes exist around them.

Mandela writes with a certain eloquence and humility. I cannot doubt that he was the hero of the freedom struggle. I know there has been criticism about his acquiescence to the regime when he was released from prison and that he weakened his stance on the values of the ANC. However, the man spent 30 years in prison where life did not change from one day to the next. Meanwhile, the world changed dramatically during those years outside those walls. The man was so far removed from the physical struggle of apartheid that his youthful eagerness had subsided. He even mentions that a young man is liberal and becomes more conservative in later years. I don't think his commitment to the struggle ever wavered, only the approach he was willing to take to bring about change. He saw what the armed struggle was doing to his people and he knew that both sides needed to meet half way for progress to be made.

There were instances in the book when I was inspired. His story is fascinating and to share the most personal things about your life with so many people amazes me. The way he speaks of his family and the sacrifices he made to be a father of a nation rather than to his children is heart-wrenching but beautiful. There were other instances where I was confused with the amount of Xhosa, Zulu and Dutch names that he drops that I could barely keep track of the story. Perhaps one of the most useful things I extracted was the Mandela workout that's been recommended by another intern. The running on the spot is an attractive alternative to running on the roads here because of fear that I'll run into an open gutter or get trampled by a tro tro.

A read that I recommend to all. Unfortunately, even after reading such an extensive narrative of apartheid I still don't think I have the whole picture. I want to read accounts of what was happening outside the prison walls during the most violent years of the struggle. Jody will be lending me one shortly that I hope will give me more insight into the struggle and the current attitudes that continue to create a tense environment in South Africa.

Although Ghana did not experience the brutality of apartheid there are parallels between the two states. Both produced notable leaders for African unity whose ideologies of pan-africanism inspired many countries to assert there independence from colonial influences. The situation in South Africa will always perplex me and I pray that several generations from now that racial relations will be restored in that country. Although time is of the essence, I think it is only time that can heal the wounds of South Africa and foster reconciliation. There is also a need to educate all South African children about their country and why they must actively pursue peace and understanding between the races. After reading this book, I've become a little more aware of my role as a foreigner in a developing country. I want to ensure that the skills and experiences I leave here are beneficial and sustainable. I want to make sure that there is equal knowledge being shared between me and the people I encounter in my work here. Not sure how all of that came out of a book but Nelson definitely got me a thinkin'...

Success with Photos

Well, I'll be gosh-darned. I was actually able to post a picture! After a month and a half I'm sure you were all starting to think I actually wasn't in Ghana, because there was no photographic proof. Anyway here is another picture that goes with the last. Meet Alfred Amonkotey. An 87 year old man from Bubiashie that atrributes his good health to a strict diet that includes a cup of bitter cocoa after 5 pm. He was by far our favourite at the day centre because of his sense of humour and obvious sense of style.

More pictures to come soon!

Down to 6 months...

Not that I'm counting or anything, but it's already September...it will be exactly 6 months until I set foot on Canadian soil. It does seem very far away but at the same time I've been quite busy this last week and time does seem to be slipping through my fingers. As I promised in my last entry, I will give you an update of the last week of events.

Last Friday, I went to see a play at the National Theatre called "The Dilemma of the Ghost", which was based on a Ghanaian folktale where a ghost is stuck at a fork in the road between Elmina and Cape Coast and cannot decide which road to take. The play highlighted the challenges of introducing a member of the diaspora to their native culture. A Ghanaian man marries an Afro-American and brings her home to Ghana where the man must decide between honouring his wife or his family. The costumes were amazing and we are hoping to go back next week to see another play. The series of plays being shown are free and being sponsored by the "Ghana @ 50" celebrations. The national theatre is also somewhat of an architectural marvel. It reminded me of a cross between the Museum of Civilization and Noah's Ark.

Let's see then last Saturday after our plans to hit up the Botanical Gardens were rained out we decided to go see the National Museum in Accra but after taking a long winded trotro ride through the city we ended up at the National Monument. Ghana's first President Kwame Nkrumah is buried here and the monument was erected in honour of him. There was a museum there about his life and he's work as a pan-african politician. The most interesting part, apart from the photos of Kwame dancing with Queen Elizabeth, then smoking cigars with Castro, then shaking hands with Mao, was talking to the young man that tended to the museum. We asked him how one would purchase the written works of Nkrumah and he told us that they were very hard to find in Ghana becasue current governments do not want the youth to read his works and start anything radical. Nkrumah had "socialist tendencies" as I like to call them, which I'm sure the current government, which seems largely interested in its revenue accounts than its people would want to control amongst the people. I am always amazed to hear about this lack of access to information and it is somewhat disheartening that the youth of Ghana are not being taught the ideologies that formed their country.

Apart from these cutlural and educational moments, my week has been spotted with random highlights. The girls and I ate dinner with the Nigerian producer of the African reality show, The Next Movie Star. Our friend works for the sponsor of the show which is how we ended up at this restaurant on the coast watching the housemates doing activities on the beach. I could have spent hours at this place because the view was breathtaking and I got lost in staring at the moon and listening to the waves crashing. A moment that reminded me with great admiration of sitting on the Malecon in Havana and staring into the sea.

Jody and I somehow managed to get invited to an AIDS walk being hosted by the housemates of this reality show, which is somewhat like American Idol. I can only describe the walk in the following way:

Take a bus full of potential movie stars, a box of flyers about AIDS, a crate of half-dried t-shirts with the Next Movie Star logo and an AIDS message on the back, one 6-person brass band, several Nigerian show-biz men on cell phones and two Canadian hippies looking confused...and what do you get? Yes, an AIDS walk...they somehow pulled it off, but Jody and I knowing full well that the show was being promoted first and foremost over the need to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS. Nonetheless we were entertained for the afternoon.

I do have a lot more to share about events of the last week but I will save it for later. The picture, if posted successfully is of an elderly support group in a neighbourhood of Accra called Bubiashie.