Making a difference?

Jordan here: Yesterday, Sarah and I took a trip to Tumu to prepare for a day we’ve arranged for the Form 3 students. That is the equivalent of 9th grade and there are 11 of them. 1 out of the 11 has seen a computer before and they are all expected to be able to use and answer test questions on their end of term exam that is the gateway to Senior high school. We came early to get the place set up and ready for them to arrive. We put our faith in my counterpart to see the students onto the vehicle and help get them here. As I sit here at our friend Travis’s place at the training college waiting (praying) our students show up on the vehicle that will hopefully (we’re still praying) showed up on time, knows where to go and gets the students here at a reasonable time, I reflect on some of our thoughts about making a difference as a Volunteer. These thoughts are quite common especially for your first year as a volunteer. The emotional roller coaster of ups and downs is ongoing. One day you think “wow look at the difference I’ve made just by teaching a few students or joining someone at the farm and telling them about planting trees to improve the soil” and the next day “wow, I’ve been sitting around here just wanting to chill at my place and not do anything.”
It turns out I sit at a sub-office a week later, knowing the training in Tumu with the students went great and watching these students interact with a piece of technology they probably thought they wouldn’t get to use was amazing. Even my counterpart was learning for the first time with us. It made me think that my oldest niece Terrina, a 7th grader, can operate skype, types probably 50-60 words a minute, and has a ridiculous Facebook following is on average 4-5 years younger than these kids. Izebella and Olivia, my two younger nieces can play games, operate a mouse, and just recently print a document are several years younger than Terrina. I think we opened some eyes.
All considered, reflecting on the day, one student put it into perspective. He remembered most not the room full of computers, the air conditioning, or the impressive college-level campus, but the flush toilets. I think the quote was “Madame Sarah, the toilets, when you push the handle, the water comes and just takes your $#&^ away!!”
This weekend, I took a friend of mine to Tumu to attend a training on the shea tree. It is an incredibly economic tree especially for women in Northern Ghana and there are many ways their cultivation, management, and processing of the product (shea nuts or oil) can be improved to increase their productivity. Firstly, they could use parklands of well protected shea trees to make collection fast and efficient. No one here plants them. Some say you’ll die if you do, and some just thinking planting a tree that won’t turn profit for 15 years isn’t worth it. That where I come in. Along with shea, I want to manage a massive tree plantation with shea, mango, guava, moringa, cashew, and cassia. If these are protected, each family could improve their nutrition, financial burdens, and perhaps send another child to quality education which in turn (several years down the line) can help to bring the living conditions of the village up a bit. My friend that came to the training with me is super excited, I’ve made the proper contacts with NGOs and now we’ve just got to educate the community about the nursery that will start in April. I plan to write some Peace Corps grants and perhaps open a grant site for interested parties at home to donate small pockets of cash to build strong fencing. However, I’ve got lots of ideas on how to properly use a chunk of change. The hardest part is the sustainability factor. If the community appreciates it and is invested in it, they will use it and protect it when we’re gone. We’ve got our work cut out for us. However, if it were easy, everyone would do it :)

Our friend, D-Dub

Jordan here: We have a friend that we’ve come to call D-Dub. This is simply because we have no idea what her real name is and when we describe her to each other, we just call her ‘the deaf woman’, hence DW, D-Dub. I’ve mentioned her before, but since we see her nearly everyday, I felt she deserved her own entry. She lives in the compound next to us and she’s got to be 60 years old. Each day she grunts at us as we pass to head to school or catch some breakfast and gives us a sort of “so big” pose indicating she’s asking us if we feel strong. We return the gesture as she smiles and giggles to us through her 5 or 6 teeth she still has. Although she has “told” us several times, she tells us which children are hers, and whose mother the children belong to by pointing to her breast and making a suckling motion with her mouth. She also feels free to walk into our compound with various things to dry on our cement patches ie ground nuts, peppers, etc. I guess that’s okay. She doesn’t usually bother anything. She helps keep some of the kids in order around our place and sometimes she gives us small produce things. Sometimes she comes in when we’re not in the mood to communicate with her. It can be frustrating! It takes me back to the days of playing and coaching baseball. In other words, since she doesn’t use any recognized ASL (American Sign Language), her sign language is all her own interpretation. Just like my signs to tell a runner on first used to be a whole lot of rubbish and if I scratched my butt at the end, that meant steal, I feel myself making a series of hand and body signs and think to myself “I have no idea what we just said to each other”. Today she came and was startled by a group of dragonflies sunning themselves on one of the walls. To explain that she thinks they bite her (I’m not sure that’s true) she actually pulled out her breast and showed me her insect bite on her chest. Hmmm, just another “holy crap, we’re in Africa!” moment. All in all, she’s wonderful neighbor who nearly always has a smile for us. I can only imagine in her many years the things she’s seen and could tell me about the old days. However, I just think it may take longer than usual. But who am I kidding, I’ve got some time today.

Sala celebration

Jordan here: Last weekend was the Sala (not sure about the spelling) celebration. It apparently happens 70 days after the end of Ramadan, the month-long Islamic fast during August. After learning more about it, I see similarities that remind me that it’s a small world after all. I thought, being a Christian, that this would be a completely foreign concept and there would be so many customs and traditions to learn about. Except, throughout the day it felt like a combo of Easter and Halloween. First of all, what I heard from the Ghanaians from the history of the celebration was that it was to remember when Mohammed (or Abraham) was asked by God to demonstrate his faith to Him by sacrificing the life of his only son. When he was about to follow through with God’s challenge, God commanded him to stop and to sacrifice an animal instead since he had proven his faith. I’m nearly positive that the exact same story was told to me in Sunday School. The morning of Sunday comes and we’re told everyone puts on their nicest clothes and all walk together to a sacred worship place. Prayers were about the same as the other prayers that happen at that time in the day. And they only lasted about 20 minutes. For all the pomp and circumstance, I thought there’d be more. I’ve heard longer Lutheran sermons J Sarah and I didn’t participate but we observed and I was allowed to take a bunch of pictures. They even put a traditional head wrap for Sarah for the occasion so the pictures turned out great. Then everyone took pictures with family in their nice clothes (like every holiday or family get-together I’ve ever been a part of my entire life) walked back home to change out of the stuffy clothes, and made a big morning meal (Easter breakfast-ish). We took the chance to go and greet a ton of people and every Ghanaian is obsessed with pictures and especially being in them. It’s good my Mom bought me an 8 gigabyte memory card or else I may not have enough space. Then we came home finally and take a quick afternoon nap and went to watch the women’s dance group dance the traditional dances. Of course they wanted Sarah to join since she’s a woman so I got lots of good pictures and video. And now that we had our Sisaali names, everyone wanted to hear about it and smiles were plenty around the village. Then we made our way over to a compound that belongs to some of our best friends and is next door to Osman and his family. She made us rice and stew and we of course stuffed ourselves and played with Bahadjia, Osman’s hilarious daughter. Throughout the day, the tradition is to approach others in the community and ask “barakada sala” which translates please give me something small for sala. It sounds very much like “trick or treat”. So we carried around a bag of jelly beans and would give one to the small children that asked respectfully. Sometimes older kids and adults would ask for things and usually they want money. If you have nothing to give, you say “a la guro”. Later that night, the youth danced to hip hop music until late at night and many kids asked us to come but we were exhausted. So we went home and slept. Apparently, its also like Christmas and its not just a single day, but more like a season. So dancing continued for a few more days and more “barakada sala’s”. Overall it was nice to be a part of the first big community-wide festival and learn more about our place.

Yay Sisaali names!!

Jordan here: Well, we finally have our Sisaali names. We’d been asking to get a name from our chiefs (Kulfuo’s chief would give Sarah her name and Tarsor’s chief would give me my name) for our names and ceremonies. Finally, one day Osman, my counterpart and assembly man for the 2 communities shows up at our door after Sarah had gone to school and said he had just come from the school. He told me that the chief in Kulfuo wanted to give Sarah her name that day and Tarsor’s chief would give me mine the next morning. Very Ghanaian to come and tell us something like that a couple hours before it happened. So I dropped my afternoon plans (I actually had plans this time) and headed to meet Sarah to be there when they gave her name. We arrived and waited for all the elders (except the actual Kulfuo chief because he can’t really move, being like 100 years old or something) to gather. Then Osman gave a little explanation about us and the elders conversed about what the final decision would be for her name. Then they gave the explanation that since they didn’t even apply for a Volunteer (Tarsor did but since we’re a couple, they got 2 Volunteers instead of just me) they were very lucky to have someone give up so much to come and serve. So it was out of respect for their development that Sarah came to live with them for two years and also, in life, no matter whom you’re with, friend of enemy, you should always give respect. This of course is a value Sarah holds true and always has. Her Sisaali name was then “Zilay werie” which means “respect is always best”. She was super excited and we arranged the elders so she could take the equivalent of a group picture and I snapped it. Then we went with Osman to greet the chief and thank him for the name. After that we jumped on our bikes and rode home. The next morning since Osman said it would start around 9 or 10, the elders were gathered and waiting at his compound at 8am. We quick changed out of our lazy-morning coffee-drinking clothes and into our chief greeting clothes and scuttled over. The ordeal seemed much like the day before. Eventually they gave the explanation that I came to this place not to give away money and not to live like a king and make lots of money. I came to do good work and to teach the community something and to live like them. By doing this and integrating with the community, I gain respect and a respectable reputation to my name. And perhaps after 2 years, all the communities will know me and remember me. Maybe something I plant (ie orchard or tree plantation or something) every time someone will see it they will think, “a white man came here and helped us plant this and take care of it. He was a good man.” In that way, his name is great and he came as a volunteer, not with lots of money. So it came the my name would be “Fenni te dua” which translates to “a good name is better than riches.” Wow, I was thrilled and the more I thought about it, the more I felt it fit me. We came not as paid foreign aid interns, but just to live as part of the community and share our ideas and skills alone. But in life, and when I someday leave it, I don’t want to be remembered as wealthy but as rich in stories, respect, friendship and caring.
We can walk around now and hear people call our names from across a football field’s distance and we call back with a small piece of Sisaali we’ve learned. Everyone thinks the names are great and soon people from both communities will gather at the Junior high school, a central gathering place, and we’ll all celebrate the names with dancing and music and friendship.

Yay Sisaali names!!

Jordan here: Well, we finally have our Sisaali names. We’d been asking to get a name from our chiefs (Kulfuo’s chief would give Sarah her name and Tarsor’s chief would give me my name) for our names and ceremonies. Finally, one day Osman, my counterpart and assembly man for the 2 communities shows up at our door after Sarah had gone to school and said he had just come from the school. He told me that the chief in Kulfuo wanted to give Sarah her name that day and Tarsor’s chief would give me mine the next morning. Very Ghanaian to come and tell us something like that a couple hours before it happened. So I dropped my afternoon plans (I actually had plans this time) and headed to meet Sarah to be there when they gave her name. We arrived and waited for all the elders (except the actual Kulfuo chief because he can’t really move, being like 100 years old or something) to gather. Then Osman gave a little explanation about us and the elders conversed about what the final decision would be for her name. Then they gave the explanation that since they didn’t even apply for a Volunteer (Tarsor did but since we’re a couple, they got 2 Volunteers instead of just me) they were very lucky to have someone give up so much to come and serve. So it was out of respect for their development that Sarah came to live with them for two years and also, in life, no matter whom you’re with, friend of enemy, you should always give respect. This of course is a value Sarah holds true and always has. Her Sisaali name was then “Zilay werie” which means “respect is always best”. She was super excited and we arranged the elders so she could take the equivalent of a group picture and I snapped it. Then we went with Osman to greet the chief and thank him for the name. After that we jumped on our bikes and rode home. The next morning since Osman said it would start around 9 or 10, the elders were gathered and waiting at his compound at 8am. We quick changed out of our lazy-morning coffee-drinking clothes and into our chief greeting clothes and scuttled over. The ordeal seemed much like the day before. Eventually they gave the explanation that I came to this place not to give away money and not to live like a king and make lots of money. I came to do good work and to teach the community something and to live like them. By doing this and integrating with the community, I gain respect and a respectable reputation to my name. And perhaps after 2 years, all the communities will know me and remember me. Maybe something I plant (ie orchard or tree plantation or something) every time someone will see it they will think, “a white man came here and helped us plant this and take care of it. He was a good man.” In that way, his name is great and he came as a volunteer, not with lots of money. So it came the my name would be “Fenni te dua” which translates to “a good name is better than riches.” Wow, I was thrilled and the more I thought about it, the more I felt it fit me. We came not as paid foreign aid interns, but just to live as part of the community and share our ideas and skills alone. But in life, and when I someday leave it, I don’t want to be remembered as wealthy but as rich in stories, respect, friendship and caring.
We can walk around now and hear people call our names from across a football field’s distance and we call back with a small piece of Sisaali we’ve learned. Everyone thinks the names are great and soon people from both communities will gather at the Junior high school, a central gathering place, and we’ll all celebrate the names with dancing and music and friendship.

We're going, going,...Ghana!:

We're going, going,...Ghana!:
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