Just had to post this

In your face Dennis!

Get a Cash Advance

For the record...

The birthday cake
Originally uploaded by jenicra84

I have now owned my MacBookPro for one (glorious and blissful) year. To this date, it has never, ever, not ONCE given me the blue screen of death (which I understand is actually a black screen of death in the Mac world, not that I would personally know).

"You know how I know you love your Mac?"

"'Cuz you made a birthday cake in commemoration. "

Three Months

That is approximately how long it takes to miss a place that takes everything out of you in a wonderfully heart-crushing way.

I'm ready to go back now.

Olfactory Memories

While walking home from work this afternoon, I caught a familiar scent. I was underneath an overpass and a big old truck had just passed by, leaving a black cloud behind. There were pigeons roosting in the eaves and pigeon poop covering the ground. I could smell the fumes from a nearby painting project. It smelled just like the heart of Accra.

I'm so flippin' famous

I know it's been kind of a radio silence here since I got home. This site was put up for a specific purpose, a purpose that has kind of ended (obviously). I'm not ruling out posting here in the future when the mood strikes me, but I'm not going to be updating constantly. However, the hometown newspaper did write a feature on my trip, so I thought I'd link to it here. Having actually written a few newspaper articles in my day, I was a little wary of the entire thing, because I know how hard it is to give an accurate portrayal with the snippets you get from an interview. Michelle did a really excellent job, though, (as I knew she would, have worked under her tyrannical reign at the Warrior Spirit) and I was very pleased. The only tiny error would be that the orphanage is actually in Ve-Deme, within Ghana's Volta Region. If any Lebanonites/children of the freakin' editor of the paper have a chance to get me a hard copy, it'd be much appreciated.

Lebanon grad teaches in Ghana

The Sounds of Kente

Here are a couple of videos of boys weaving kente cloth at Tafi Abuipe. Not only is it amazing to watch them do this, but it sounds neat too.

African Drumming

Another quick video, this one of some of the boys at the Volta Home School. They are drumming during the Wednesday morning religious service. Despite my dislike of the church services, I loved hearing the kids singing and drumming. You'll get a taste of it here.

Rainy Day at Volta Home

This is a very short video that tries to show you what life is like in Ghana when it rains. The point is that we all just sit around waiting for the rain to stop and that the noise it makes is so incredibily loud that you can't even hear yourself think. The little boy in the front trying to talk to the camera is Abraham. Ama and Godwin are just behind him.

Yumm.

David's Pizza: sun-dried tomatoes, mushrooms, and lots of cheese. Delicious.

I'm Home

...and tired and sick. Probably just a cold (and the likely ensuing ear infections, knowing me). No fever, which is a good sign. I've started uploading photos on flickr, but I'm not really in the mood for labeling and organizing right now. Over the next few day, that will happen.

It's good to be home.

In other news:

- A copy of the film Forts and Castles of Ghana finally arrived in the mail today. I put it as number one in my queue in February. Ironically enough, it was waiting in the mailbox when we got back from the airport today.

- Spokane Public School District contacted me today. I have been hired as a substitute for the school year. So I've got to complete the orientation program for new substitutes and I'm in. This is good news.

Extortion on the Seas or My Weekend at the Lake Volta Seaside

Shout out to my 'rents, who are not only reading, but commenting! Very cool, especially for my mom, who has barely conquered email!

Since Jennifer arrived Monday (6/18), we've been planning how we would spend our weekend (my last weekend in Ghana!). We had decided to go to the eastern shore of Lake Volta, Kpando (Kp makes a sound like an explosive 'p' so it's pronounced Pan-doe) and then down to Tafi Abuipe and Tafi Atome. We left Friday afternoon (6/22) and would return on Sunday.

Leaving Ve-Deme Junction, we got the first tro-tro that went by and got dropped off at Golokuati, about 12 km down the road. From there, we got onto a very sketchy old tro-tro and waited in the heat of the day for the car to fill so we could head to Kpando.

We make it to Kpando in about 45 minutes, the tro-tro struggling the entire way and it dies suddenly and loudly at the last stop, Kpando market. Smoke filled the tro-tro as we clamoured out, grateful to be there after the rough ride. We chalked it up to experience (which turned out to be the word of the weekend), and made our way down to the market in hopes of finding a taxi that could take us to nearby Fesi. In Fesi, there is a woman's cooperative that makes and sells pottery, and we wanted to go and observe, take pictures, and make some purchases.

We find Kpandu Potters (Kpando and Kpandu are interchangeable) with the assistance of some children. There are about a half-dozen women on a covered porch, working with clay in various forms and stages. It was a really nice place, and they had some lovely artwork. I bought some, but you'll just have to wait to hear more about that. :)

Anyways, we round up our purchases and hop a tro-tro back into Kpando proper, only a 10 minute drive or so. We consult our map and head toward Catherine's Lodge (or so we think). After about 25 minutes of walking and not seeing the landmarks, we hire a taxi to take us there. When we arrive, we see that we were going in the completely wrong direction. Sigh. I can't read a map for the life of me, I swear.

But Catherine's Lodge is very nice. It costs us more than double what we had expected, but still only about $5.50 when split between two people. There is running water and a fan and it's clean, all of which means a lot here. We shower, then go sit outside in the gazebo, reading until just before dusk. We head out in search of dinner, but we don't know where we're going (of course). Luckily, Isaplan, the guy that runs the hotel ran into us and led us to Rosie's, a decent restaurant. I'm growing very weary of Ghanaian food, but I figure I'll make it for the next four days.

We eat, return to our room, and sleep. The next morning, we head to Afram Plains, the port area of Kpando, in hopes of catching the ferry that crosses Lake Volta East-to-West. It quickly becomes apparent that this isn't as simple as it should be. Instead, we decided to charter a smaller boat, shared with others. An older man dressed in all black helped us negotiate terms with a father and son duo with a boat. The deal was that we would pay 25,000 cedis each to cross the river with them, buy them lunch and allow them a break, and then we would return for the same price. Thus, we would pay them a total of 100,000 cedis plus the cost of lunch to take us there and back.

When we arrive on the shore, neither of us are sure where we were exactly. The trip took a lot longer than we had expected: nearly 90 minutes, and we were expecting more like 45 minutes. We figure out that we have crossed Lake Volta, meaning we are in the small village of Agordeke.

This is were our plans begin to fall apart. The father grunts and points out the "resthouse" to us, which we don't really understand. We try to sit in the little "canteen" (this is a really small place, so it's more like some one's outdoor kitchen) and get our lunch started so we can head out, because it's so much later than we thought. We had arrived at the port at 8:45 am and it was nearly 1:30 at this point. Then the son makes it clear that they do not intend to head back to the other side of the lake today.

Inside, I'm instantly freaking out. We are on the other side of the biggest man-made lake on the continent. There are no taxi-cars, no tro-tros, not nearby. Even if we could get one, we would have to go west and then south around the lake, then back north and west again to get to Kpando. It would take many, many hours: Like 12. The men are trying to say that they will take us back for 200,000 cedis. We're not sure if this is just a misunderstanding or if they're swindling us. It's so frustrating. We just barely speak a common language and I'm trying to be firm without being rude. We are not staying here and they are taking us back to Kpando today.

After about 2 hours of them hemming-and-hawing and doing nothing about the situation at hand (in a way that only Ghanaians can do), we finally agree to them taking us back for 130,000 cedis. We're not happy about it, because we feel like they are going back on their deal and are just ripping us off because we have no other options. I don't know if this was the plan from the get-go, and I guess we'll never know, but it was stressful and scary and just awful.

I was really proud of the way that I (well, both of us) handled the situation, it could have easily turned ugly. It was pretty ugly as it was, with the father kind of storming off and leaving the son to deal with us.

It takes forever for us to leave, because we have to make a stop at a fishing village a little further up the shore, where the father leaves us out in the sun for about 90 minutes, just waiting. It was nearly 4 pm when we started the trip back to Afram Plains. Luckily, the wind was with us and it only took us about an hour. We were hot, tired, sunburned, hungry, and haggard. When we finally got back to the hotel, we showered and just locked ourselves in for the night, without dinner (or lunch or breakfast, too). We were both asleep by 7:30 and slept hard until about 6-7 am.

So, I spent yesterday (6/23) on Lake Volta, had a uniquely African experience, and survived to tell the tale. And I earned a wickedly-bad sunburn out of the deal.

"Hey, White Person!"

6/16 - I have decided to go on a walk to the nearby village of Ve-Deme, so I go out to insist to Grandma that I do indeed want to go on a walk, no I'm not going anywhere in particular, no I don't want one of the older boys to accompany me, etc. Walking for the sake of walking here is pretty much grounds for being thrown in the loony bin. But I wanted to see the village before I left. Also, I haven't been sleeping well at night and I was hoping to tire myself out before bed.

So I depart. The hills and cliffs surrounding the village are breathtakingly gorgeous and I immediately regret not bringing my camera along. I can't ever think of a time when I've regretted bringing my camera along with me, here or back home. You'd think I'd learn to just have it with me always. Anyways, I walked for about 50 minutes total, arriving back at Volta Home just before dark.

The walk was pleasant enough, but it kind of depressed me. Everywhere I go here, I am remarkable. Children, adults, dogs, even the goats and chickens take notice when I walk by. I enjoy being inconspicuous at home, but that is impossible here. Everyone I walk by makes noise at me. The constant attention is so tiring, so draining.

It made me wonder if there is anything similar to this occurrence back home. Black skin is common enough that it need not be commented on, though who would yell out "Hey, you! Black person!" aside from the stray 3-year old with incredibly embarrassed parents. Maybe a little person would draw as much attention, but American society dictates that we at least attempt not to stare and we certainly don't follow them down the street shouting "Dwarf! Hey Dwarf!"

"Obruni."

"Yovo."

"Obollo."

I would be happy not hear these words for a long, long time.

Food for Peace

6/15 - At about 7 pm, a semi-truck drove by the orphange, it's bright orange light illuminating the whole place. Immediately, the kids were running towards it, jumping and screaming. I had no idea what was going on, and it took a few minutes before I was clued in by Mercy. Everyone gathered around to supervise the delivery. The truck carried 50 bags (totalling over 2,755 pounds) of flour, corn meal, and sorghum grits and 60 5-gallon drums of vegetable oil. The food was arriving via USAID from the United States.

As the younger children danced around and the older kids began unloading the food, I felt a feeling I haven't felt in a long, long time. Maybe since September 11, 2001. Not exactly patriotism, but not that far off. I didn't feel ashamed to come from the U.S. It was nice to be able to feel proud of where I come from instead of embarrassed, even if it didn't last long. It was a really nice moment. Thank you.

She's here!

My last week here at Volta Home has been much improved by the arrival of another volunteer, Jennifer. (I can't escape it even here, it seems, as that makes 3 Jennifers at the orphanage/school). She's a teacher as well and from Minnesota. She could pretty much be devil spawn and I'd thouroughly enjoy her company, but she's very pleasant.

In other news, I will be home in 10 days. Wow.

Congratulations!

A shout out for all those graduating tomorrow: Congratulations! But the big question lies lurking nearby.

What now?

I'm with you on that one!

Anyways, congrats to Wendy, Sara, Cody... there are others, I'm sure! Have fun tomorrow, if you're attending the services!

Soon, Very Soon...

In less than two weeks, I will be home, enjoying the luxuries of American life once more. Since I can't think of much to write, I will share with you the long (and growing longer) list of things I want to eat, do, and see when I get home. But mostly just eat.

People
I told David that I don't know how we're going to get home from the airport on June 29th, because it's going to be very hard for one of us to drive while we're being hugged, kissed, and squeezed the entire time. I hope to spend a solid 3 days straight basking in the glory of David. I'll even follow him to the bathroom.

I can't wait to make a trip to Oregon to visit family and friends and share my pictures and stories with them, and hear what they've been up to.

I miss my kitties! I can't wait to play with Ginsberg, and see what Burroughs looks like with a lot more fur. Also, I hear that Burroughs doesn't hide anymore - I'm so excited!

Food
This is, by far, the largest category. I have been obsessing about food since about 4 days after I got here. It's totally ridiculous, but I can't stop! I plan on gaining at least 5 pounds on cheese alone.

Taco Bell
Margaritas
Picnic food: corn on the cob, potato salad, chips, Gardenburgers
Pizza from David's Pizza
Cereal
Ethnic food: Mexican, Indian, Italian, German - restaurants in general
Fondue with rye bread
Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
Fajitas, with cheese, of course
Spaghetti, with cheese, lots of it
Popcorn with butter... not margarine
Bagels and cream cheese
Warm biscuits (from Olde European, perhaps?)
Cookies, cookies, cookies
Grapes
Ice cream
Plain old crackers and cheese
Yogurt
Snickers, Reeses, and Almond Joys
Apples
Strawberries
I could go on, but I think I should just stop there...

Also, cooking. I love to cook, and I really miss it.

Entertainment

I'm going to read different books then the three I have with me. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows will be here shortly.

I'm going to walk to the AMC theater every day for a week and watch movies while David is at work. Mindnumbing entertainment and air-conditioning!

I also plan on renting a ton of movies that I've missed while I've been gone, though it'll be a few more weeks before they're out probably.

I can't wait to watch trashy reality TV again. I'm going to admit something here: I love CBS's Big Brother. I hope that show is still on this summer. If it is, I plan on catching up on all the episodes in one day and watching it all summer long.

Technology

All modern appliance, including, but not limited to: washer/dryer, dishwasher, microwave, oven/stove, blender, tap water, flush toilet, shower, laptop computer, wireless highspeed internet, refridgerator/freezer, etc.

Uploading photos and organizing them on Flickr. The lack of organization is driving me crazy.

Miscellaneous

Going grocery shopping is going to be mind-blowing. Not only will I be able to buy anything I could possibly want, but I can then take it home, but it in the fridge, and eat it.

Swimming: Lake or pool, I don't care.

Taking a bath!

Driving and walking where I want to, when I want to, and alone if I so desire.

Oddly enough, I have a strong urge to go camping when I get home. It's funny, since I've basically been camping for the past month, that I want to do it some more when I get home. It's probably just the enticement of camping food. Mmmm...

Watching fireworks on the 4th of July. Again, not normally a big fan, but it sounds like a blast right now.

Getting a haircut! Also, washing my hair with shampoo and conditioner and not a bar of soap.

Going to the Farmer's Market Saturday mornings

Wearing real shoes again, not flipflops or "slippers" as they're called here

Sleeping in.

Ordering food and having it delivered straight to my door.

Volta Home

I've added a link to the place where I am staying and teaching at (Volta Home) in my sidebar. If you visit the site, you will see a picture of two girls on the bottom right. They are Sarah and Penny, two very energetic 5 year olds.

Violent Acts of Discipline

I will preface this entry by saying that I expected things would be different here than they are at home. Duh, right? But this incident was simply too much.

June 12 - I was in a good mood this morning as I headed off to the schoolhouse. I'd spoken with David on the phone, and he'd arranged my flight back home for me (first class, I'm very excited!), I would be traveling to Hohoe later in the morning to pick up money at the Western Union, and I had a fun game planned for English class.

At first, everything appeared to be fine. But, as the class finished copying their notes from the previous lesson, I began to hear yelling and screaming in the open walkway of the school building. I peaked my head out the doorway to see what was going on.

Classrooms were being lined up, one by one, and being beaten. Beatings are the main form of punishment here, so this is not that unusual. I've pretty much gotten used to the casual smack of a child, despite the bitter taste it leaves in my mouth. That is to say, I don't like it, but I deal with it. But this was different. The students were being beaten: hit with sticks and hands and feet. All the male teachers were hitting each individual child repeatedly, as hard as they could. These are men in their twenties and thirties, in peak physical condition, railing on little kids, straining and sweating at the effort of it all. It was highly disturbing.

The kids, some as young as six years old, were screaming, crying, shaking with feat. As they were hit, over and over again, they fell to the ground in pain, rolling up into the smallest shapes they could, trying to protect themselves. No body part was exempt: heads, necks, backs, arms, bottoms, the backs and fronts of the legs, the tender area behind the knees... nothing was off-limits. I saw marks forming before my eyes, bruises and welts. These children are as dark as night, most of them. Such marks do not come easily with such coloring. I saw blood dripped from open gashes on several children.

I could barely peel my eyes away. When I looked at the teachers, I could see the sick joy in their eyes. They were smiling! They were laughing! I felt sick, I wanted to throw up. I turned back into my classroom, fighting back tears. I just wanted to yell and scream and make them stop. I wanted to run away and never, ever come back. I was about to leave the classroom, gather my things and head to Hohoe early to escape this awfulness when Isaac (one of the head teachers) appeared in my doorway: "I need to speak with your students."

I hesitate, breathe in, and ask him quietly if he intends to beat them, too. He nods, and I shake my head. I can hear the kids screaming and crying loud as ever, and I tell him that if he wants to beat children, he can take up his own class time to do it. I won't have it during mine. He nods and walks away without saying anything.

Simultaneously, I feel very brave and very stupid. I had put my foot down and said no! On the other hand, I might have just worsened the students' punishment by resisting Isaac. I don't know. It felt like the right thing, but maybe it wasn't. Either way, it felt good.

I didn't ask my students about happened to them later that day, after I left. I'm not sure I want to know. I was deeply disturbed by the whole thing. I don't even understand why the teachers thought the students deserved this. I heard a couple of half-reasons: they hadn't been studying, they were late for school, etc. But if you asked me, I'd say some asshole of a "teacher" got an itch to beat the shit out of some defenseless students, and didn't need much more of a reason than that.

Later, I tried to look back at the incident with an open mind. Was I just being sensitive? Was I inflicting my American values onto Africa lifestyles? After some consideration, I really, truly feel like what I witnessed was a case of corporeal punishment gone way, way too far. If I had been walking by a parent beating their child in this way back home, I would have called the police. I probably wouldn't have even tried to intervene directly, because the acts were violent enough that I would think that the parent was deranged, mentally unstable, and that if I tried to stop them, they'd pull out a gun and kill us all. It feels that severe, even hours later. It was just incredibly violent.

I can't get the images out of my head. With all this going on in the background, I focus on my class and try to get our game started. Class passes quickly and I head back to my room to gather my thoughts and my things. I am grateful to be leaving for town.

You Ain't Seen Nothing Until You've Seen A Two Year Old Wielding A Machete

June 11 - Today, I witnessed many examples of how different the lives of African and American children are.

For example, today Godwin was hanging out in front of my room, carelessly swinging around a machete. He's two.

For example, 7 year old Bright climbed one of the many fruit trees this afternoon. I averted my eyes when, 40 feet up in the air, he started jumping up and down on one of the flimsy branches, trying to break free a fruit.

For example, Todzine (Tah-gee-nay), age 3, walks up to me this evening with something in her mouth. I ask her what it is, and she pulls out a bare razor blade.

In America, these children would have been carted off by Child Protective Services long ago. But in Africa, no one blinks an eye. Except me.

Note: This will be the last of the posts today, though I do have more that I want to write about. I witnessed some nastiness at the school this morning that really upset me, but I think I still need more processing time before I can write about it clearly. It's in the same vein as this post, but not quite as light-hearted. Stay tuned for more. I think I've posted 6 or 7 times in total, so make sure you read all the way back if you want the full story. They may have slipped onto the second page by now, I'm not sure.

Home Sweet Home

It's funny, but I find that whether I'm talking or writing in my journal, I avoid using the word "home" to describe the places I'm staying in Ghana. This isn't my home, and it doesn't feel like home at all, not even a temporary one. I feel like if I were to write that word down or say it alound, I might be stuck here forever.

I thought that this place would feel like home in a new way: it is, after all, the home of humanity. Many, many years ago, the first humans popped up on this continent. Africa, this ancient land, I thought, would feel like home. But still, I don't feel as though I've come home. I thought at least some part of me would feel peaceful and serene here. That in some corner of my mind, it would feel like coming back to where it all began. I am disappointed. At first, I was upset with myself, because I thought that I must have some mental block that wasn't allowing me to feel at home here. Now, I'm not so sure.