Well I'm at the end of the West African adventure... the past few weeks have passed in a blur and I am struggling to recollect the detail of them! After we returned to Ouagadougou I fell ill with a particularly nasty intestinal infection but was amazed at the efficiency and professionalism of the Burkinabe medical system (albeit private system) - I was given comprehensive reports of all the bacteria in my system and prescribed proper antibiotics that came in a labelled box and not just unidentified pills in the corner of an envelope like in Ghana! I guess Africa, like the rest of the world, is full of inconsistency and while Burkina Faso is one of the poorest countries in the world it also supports a wonderful private medical system (I certainly wouldn't hold such positivity for their public system though I'm sure and probably adequate health care is something far beyond the reach of the majority of Burkinabe). So the infection knocked us back a few days and we left for Bobo Diollasou later than expected - unfortunately I was ill for most of this time also so the majority of my impressions of Bobo came from within the walled compound of the Rastafarian 'auberge' we stayed at!! It was a great experience though because not only was it a guesthouse (with three rooms) but also a bar, restaurant and recording studio for local artists! It was more like staying in some bizzarre extended Rastafarian family and there were small dreadlocked children running around the entire time with an array of dogs and cats and wonderful African art and two huge mango trees that were wonderful to sit under during the heat of the day!! The music in Bobo was incredible however (and the main reason why we journeyed down there) and so a lot of time was spent listening to music. I ventured out one day to see the old part of the city, like a village within a city, and incredibly poor which was really sad within this relatively prosperous city - halfway through our exploration of the 'old centre' I had to return to the auberge though from the huge pains in my stomach!! Never mind, it was a great experience nonetheless and we travelled back to Ouagadougou with the Rastafarian family in the back of a colourful muralled Bedford van with "Zion" painted across the front!! After Hedy's patient nursing of me during the previous week she fell ill the day we returned to Ouagadougou and was diagnosed as having contracted malaria for a second time! So it was my turn to play nurse and this extended our stay in Ouagadougou for another two days...
I finally made it through the border back to Ghana on the 31st and spent two nights at the Hand in Hand project before heading down to Accra to meet Emily (my friend working for Medecines sans Frontieres next door in the Ivory Coast) on the 2nd of April. We spent a wonderfully relaxing and inspiring week at an eco-lodge on the coast near an area called Dixcove - what a wonderful time and what a wonderful friend to share it with!! It was a perfect ending to my West African journey and so important to have time to digest everything that I have experienced and to compile my thoughts on the experience...
Ghana is a wonderful and complex country filled with natural resources, huge 'people power' and huge potential to develop into a "first world" nation but it is jam-packed with small NGOs and development organisations who have been working there for years without any real social or environmental change or sustainable and lasting development from their presence. In fact the environment in Ghana is worse than it has ever been with massive deforestation, soil erosion, water and air pollution, huge waste issues particularly relating to the black plastic bags that everything is sold in and are then thrown out the windows of buses and acres of land completely burnt in the north simply to make it easier to catch "bush meat" by creating fire traps with no regard for the huge environmental impact (it would take decades to restore the soil quality and to regenerate the destroyed scrub). Sure there have been schools, orphanages and hospitals built and thousands of volunteers have passed through the borders to help run these institutions but is this success? I am not so sure. There must be over 400 small NGOs and development organisations working in Ghana alone and this is completely without regulation or the requirement of them having to be accountable to a higher authority for the effectiveness of their work. And the huge number of volunteers who come to work in the country (while doing a wonderful service and doing so with the best of intentions) actually implicitly perpetuate western cultural imperialism. Even with the best will in the world just the presence of volunteers in small villages creates this from their bringing with them "necessities" like mobile phones, iPods, electronic clocks, even shoes and clothing are through their presence western cultural imperialism and I am beginning to have doubts about the effectiveness of the presence of so many volunteers. In addition to the implicit cultural imperialism and the creation of a misconstrued perception of the "western world" the huge amount of NGOs and development organisations has also (in my opinion) disempowered the Ghanaian people from resolving their own problems. In Ouagadougou we met a British documentary film-maker who was travelling through the region providing some basic medical kits to remote villages - he said every Ghanaian village he went to the people expected him to make an analysis of their village and to answer all of the problems that they experienced. "What is wrong with our village?" they would ask, "what are you going to do to fix it?". He said it was quite shocking and like nothing he's encountered before in his travels to many other remote parts of the world. I began to realise the dangers of having too many development organisations in a country and began to realise some of the issues that surround this sort of work. Especially in Ghana people have become over-reliant on foreign help for the solution to all of their problems and I think this is incredibly dangerous for the spirit of the people within a country, I guess in NZ terms it's like destroying someone's mana. Of course the issues are incredibly complex and Emily and I discussed this for days without coming to a clear conclusion but something we thought would help to reduce the harm would be for a government (if able) to dictate the requirements of the country from development organisations ( i.e. for the construction of accessible schools in all regions and volunteer teachers to train locals teaching methods and the provision of books) and then have the NGO be accountable to the government (or regulatory authority) for completing this goal within a specified time period and a date for completion, with the NGO leaving the country and having the local population then take responsibility for running the new infrastructure. The other obvious issue is the dis-empowerment of people by having so many volunteers brought in from overseas instead of training local people to carry out these roles themselves - I think MSF is a good example with their policy of having a staff comprised 80% of local employees and 20% foreign volunteers. This ensures in some small way that the organisation is working in a way that is sympathetic to the beliefs and culture of the local community and that is also in keeping with the desires of the community for their own development. I think I need to think about all this in much more detail before I can adequately convey my thoughts but I think that the crux of it is that I think that development work should be focused on empowering local people to resolve their own problems. And the involvement of foreigners is really dubious as to its effectiveness - while yes I can say that the children of the orphanage benefited from my presence, to what extent did my presence also damage them with the implicit cultural imperialism that I undoubtedly brought with me and also from the short time period of my involvement. I know for a certainty that the smaller children developed strong bonds with me through my care for them that would have been broken by my departure and this is certainly emotionally damaging when there is no permanent mother figure in their lives or any consistent care-giver. I think I have concluded that to actually be of any lasting benefit you must dedicate your life to the cause. The only NGO that I was really impressed with, and really certain as to its effectiveness, was the Hand in Hand project and I think that that is solely from the fact that the woman who set the project up (Ineke) has dedicated her life to it - she has lived for 33 years in Africa (25 of those years in Ghana). She speaks the local languages, she understands local culture and the problems of the local community (and the issues of the country in a broader sense) and has dedicated her life to it. I think it takes a lifetime to understand the issues let alone begin to resolve them and while I care deeply for the plight of Africans, I don't think that it is something that I want to dedicate my life to. At this stage if I will dedicate my life to anything it will be to a cause in New Zealand. So I guess I'm less sure about the role of development organisations than I was at the beginning of this journey and I'm more confused about the world!! But, I think that's also healthy and I can definitely see some areas for improvement - perhaps the role of international organisations should only be for emergency aid work in times of crisis and in stable countries should be only to provide expertise in setting up infrastructure that is sympathetic to local culture and beliefs and training local people to run that infrastructure therefore empowering people in their own development and limiting cultural imperialism by western countries?? I don't know the answers right now, but my head is certainly full of the questions!!
It was an incredible experience though and something I will never forget. I just hope that my environmental and cultural footprint on the lands in which I travelled was as light as it could be. I will have to think in much greater detail and do much more research on the issues surrounding development work to reconcile the questions that have been stirred within me and will limit my international volunteering to environmental causes until I have reached a more definite conclusion!! Planting trees seems wonderfully simple in comparison and the potential for creating harm is pretty limited!!
Friday, 13 April 2007
I can hardly believe it but I have left - en route to Morocco but having to stop over in London due to restrictions with the flights. How strange to not be in Africa anymore and even stranger to be here in London where it feels like a complete other world so devoid of colour and smell!! Travelling into the city was quite awful, sitting next to me on the train were two wealthy English women talking about their recent skiing holidays, the layout of their chateaus in the Swiss Alps, the private schools their daughters attended and how they hated having to cater for vegetarians! It was awful to listen to them; how artificial are their worlds!! I felt like a person in grieving - being on the tube was harder still, surrounded by so many white people - so white that they are almost transparent and all wearing suits and faces absent from all emotion, staring down in front of them. I felt so alone and so alien! Public transport in Africa is so... public! Everyone wants to know who you are, where you're from, your family history, your religion, your world. Life is so public in Africa and so incredibly private here. It truly is a completely different world, but yet geographically, reasonably close. I've found it really hard to readjust and can't wait to leave again on Sunday morning for Morocco. Admittedly however after taking my first hot shower in three and a half months (which was truly divine) I felt like I could get used to living in the "Western World" again!
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
The ancestors, the Mami Wata, Somba Country, Gorom Gorom and more... March 2007
Sunday, 18 March
Finally I have a chance to compile my thoughts on the events of the last week, what an incredible journey it has been... Benin has stirred something deeply within me, moved me in a fundamental and permanent way that I almost can't describe. From the first night of our stay in Benin I felt this rousing in my soul which has not left me since; we sat outside our small hotel on Route de Esclaves in Ouidah and heard the most amazing tribal, drum based music that filled the night with a powerful rhythm and moved people to dance in the street, adults and children alike, dancing not like Europeans do with a movement of the legs but rather they danced with their entire beings, their heads bowed, their backs arched, as if they were not just dancing but instead the music was passing through their bodies and they had succumbed to this innate necessity to move with it, in it. It was an incredible moment and I felt my heart ache to be a part of it; the music calling to me, urging me to dive into this culture, to this land, and that calling has not yet left me.
I am now in Natitingou, a town in North Western Benin; today we returned from "Somba Country", the home of the Betamaribe people, but that is racing ahead and first I must share the incredible experiences of the previous week... Hedy, Marie and I left Ouidah last Sunday and travelled to Porto Novo, a beautiful and refined city with parks and book sellers, cheese, coffee and bread! We walked through the city and the market area admiring all the Beninoise people who dress in much more 'African' clothes than anywhere else we have seen, all brightly coloured fabrics with large hats or headscarves, such a beautiful and colourful sight; the people are obviously proud to be Beninoise and not trying to dress like 'westerners' like in Ghana or Togo. We were walking down a lane when we saw these huge beings that strongly resembled haystacks with small grills in the front!! We stood back in amazement and watched these beings pass, accompanied by many small laughing children and more serious adult guides; we had seen egunguns in Ouidah but these looked completely different and we just watched in amazement! Later we discovered that these beings are called the 'Night Watchmen', kind of like voodoo security guards who monitor the town and communicate with the spirits - if people break the laws of the town, or displease the spirits (even by simply littering) the night watchmen will come to their house and yell out their offences in a terrifying and loud voice - if the person has seriously disobeyed the laws then the night watchmen are also capable of killing the person, a scary thought... the world of voodoo here is so real - there are shrines and temples everywhere and the force of voodoo (or vodun) in the people is huge; it is an incredibly strong political and social force with 80% of the population practicing voodoo. Spirits are real here, real and honoured and feared - it is incredibly interesting and we were lucky enough to have an audience with a voodoo priest in Porto Novo also. The priest wore bright coloured robes with a matching hat and many beaded necklaces, each to represent the different aspects of voodoo - the voodoo of the water, the voodoo of fire, the voodoo of the ancestors and necklaces that show his status as a priest. We sat in his compound next to large structures that are houses to the three spirits that he communicates with which he interestingly calls 'the father', 'the son' and 'the holy spirit'. Next to those structures was a large rock shrine dripping in the red substances of previous offerings to the spirits; the priest said he would communicate with the spirits to ask for our good health, happiness and wealth - he first poured an amber liquid over the shrine and rang a large bell while chanting in a low toned voice; this process lasted about five minutes and then we had to make an offering (CFA3000) on a woven oval box which he offered to the spirits and broke a kola nut over it, the pieces landing in an equilibrium meaning that the spirits were happy with us and that we already possessed wealth, happiness and health; following this good news we had to chew the kola nut (very, very bitter and mildly intoxicating), drink blessed water from a communal calabash and then take a shot of strong schnapps. It was a wonderful experience and quite different from the experience with the malam in Ghana.
From Porto Novo we made a trip to a stilt village called Eguegue, about 12 kilometres down the river; we again took a pirogue with two brothers who lived in the village and explained to us the history. Eguegue started as a> refugee camp from people fleeing the slave traders, they built houses on the marsh lands in the lagoon and learnt to fish - over the years the community has developed and now over 10,000 people live in this community, earning money from fishing and trading in the market in Porto Novo. It was a beautiful ride out to the village and so interesting to see this wee bamboo houses on tall wooden legs rising out of the water - children ran to greet us shouting "Yovo, Yovo!" And we were invited to sit inside a stilt house with an elderly grandmother who told us about her life; she had grown up from a small child in the village and was poor but happy, her eyes glowed with life and she welcomed the small children into her home, holding them on her lap while she talked with us (bare chested but wearing a skirt as seems> to be common with women in villages in Benin).
On a day trip to Cotounou to replace Hedy's stolen camera and mobile we visited the large fetish market there - it was a pensive journey, not knowing what we would discover but as we turned into the lane of the market we could immediately smell it, the stench of death overpowering and nauseating - tables and tables of animal parts; heads of snakes, crocodiles,> monkeys, dogs, goats, leopards, hundreds of beautiful coloured birds, the feet of cats and the shells of turtles, snake skins and cow skulls, live chameleons and hedgehogs - what an overwhelming and frightening sight!! A fetish seller invited us to speak with him and explained to us the various meanings of the animals and what they are used for; I was invited to crawl under this table heaving with death to make an offering to the fetish of the market and we came away with three small personal fetishes (secrets of Dahomey but apparently made with owls' inners and wood and various other secret ingredients) - a travellers fetish, a workers fetish and a 'lucky doll'.
Marie returned to Ghana after this and so Hedy and I continued on alone to Abomey, home to the kings of Dahomey (Benin's original name) - we stayed in the most wonderful, eccentric hotel (La Lutta) which was really the extension of someones home filled with fetishes and books and woven cloth - we were the only yovos now, having last seen a handful of other travellers in Cotounou - Abomey was such a wonderful town, teeming with history, the owner of the hotel ("the King") drove us around on his zemi-john to show us the remains of the old palaces and the various fetish shrines around Abomey, we sat outside under the stars until late into the night to learn about voodoo and wow, what a wealth of knowledge we discovered!
Voodoo honours one main god, Mawu-Lessi (although that god is actually more like a pair of twins). Humans cannot communicate directly with this god so> there are lesser gods and spirits that act as mediums between the physical world and the world of God and spirits. Therefore there are "priests" and other people who the spirits choose to act as mediums and to represent the spirit world in the physical world - there are a number of sects which carry out this role for different forms of voodoo (the voodoo of the water, the voodoo of iron, the voodoo of the ancestors etc). The spirits communicate via the priest or priestess to tell what is needed to rectify the problem, the person then carries out this (like purchasing various parts of animals) and returns to the priest/ess who communicates with the spirits who then tell what is required to be done with the animal etc. It is obviously far, far more intricate and complex than that, but that is the reasoning for the animal sacrifice and the fetish shrines - when we were speaking with the voodoo priest he said "you can study voodoo for the rest of your life but you will only ever learn what can be seen between two blinks of the eyelid"... What has interested me most about voodoo is the feminist side of it - for once this is a contemporary religion where women are as equally empowered as men and involves Goddess worship! Specifically the voodoo sect of Mami Wata, the Goddess of water. The Mami Wata sect is almost exclusively female, because people do not 'choose' to join the sect but rather the spirits choose the people - and Mami Wata, she prefers women!! The Mami Wata dress in amazing white robes with the priestesses wearing red scarves in their hair, they cover their faces with white powder to symbolise purity and wear many bright necklaces and bracelets - Mami Wata loves to laugh and members of the sect often fall into trances where they laugh and laugh, dance and sing. Unfortunately we didn't see any Mami Wata ceremony but I felt so drawn to this that I am certain I will return to Benin to find the Mami Wata and learn more about this...
Equally with the empowerment of women, nature is respected and revered - trees are spirits also and some play an important role in the community, bright bright cloths of red and white were wrapped around some tree trunks and when we asked what that represented we were told that the trees had asked for it - the trees were also prayed to by people in the community.
Somehow I think that the reverence of voodoo has meant Benin has maintained environmental standards much higher than their neighbours - the streets were so clean, there are trees, plants, flowers and even grass in places - animals appear to be so much more respected and cared for (aside from those > who are sacrificed...) The practice of voodoo is also a huge political and social force in Benin, over 80% of the population practice voodoo and 10% are formally initiated. It has survived for 2000 years, through the colonisation by the French and the centuries of missionaries trying to convert the people to Christianity or Islam, declaring voodoo a satanist and> idolatrous cult but the people have clung tightly to their beliefs and it is so inspirational to see!!
Anyway, Abomey was wonderful, the old ruined palaces intriguing - we even saw the throne of one old king which was mounted on the skulls of four of his former enemies!! We travelled north to Natitingou from Abomey and as is usual for African countries poverty became more apparent the more north we headed and the land more arid, but still there were trees and still we didn't see the abuse of animals like in Ghana or Togo. From Natitingou we left for Somba country, the home of the Betamaribe people, suppposedly thought to have originally been from the Burkina Faso area but chased away thousands of years ago - they are anthropologically very interesting as they are individualist rather than community or village based; preferring to live in their mud fortresses alone in the centre of their plots of land rather than in a group or village. They are also very strong in their culture; surviving (perhaps due to their isolation) the colonisation, the slave trade and the missionaries that swarmed West Africa and destroyed so much historic culture - the Betamaribe didn't even begin to wear clothes until the 1970s!
We had to travel about an hour from Natitingou into the very north east of Benin, down red dirt roads into the middle of nowhere!! When we reached the last town, Boukombe, we met with a guide from an ecotourism NGO that only uses female guides and have set up excursions into Somba country, all of the profits being given to the Betamaribe women. Even though this is such an incredible part of the country and such an interesting group, we were the only 'tourists' that had been there since July 2006!!! (This was quite wonderful however as we didn't encounter the jaded faces of people in remote areas saturated with camera happy tour groups as in other parts of Africa!!) With our young guide and two small boys from the family we were to stay with we began the walk into Somba country - and what a walk! Four hours across red piste stone tracks; arid ground for miles and brilliant hills on the horizon - on and on and on... the Betamaribe are truly remote, but what an amazing experience!!! Their houses are incredible, architectural masterpieces - small mud forts with circular turrets and thatched roofs: you have to stoop down low to enter and through a kitchen at the front of the house, then through an animal shelter and to climb up stairs - a branch with grooves for feet cut in - and out onto the roof which is flat and closed in by the exterior walls - the tops of the four turrets serve as storage compartments for grain with the top of the thatched roofs being removable, underneath this is a small cubby for sleeping when it is cold; otherwise the family sleeps on the flat roof, protected from animals> and from any aggressors by the complex entry - the houses are truly wonderful - and so amazing to see in their solitude centered in an arid field of maize or grain. The family we were to visit were so welcoming and although the communication wasn't verbal we managed to understand each other so well; what an incredible group of people!! The poverty was huge - none of the people wore shoes, the soles of their feet hugely cracked; life is so hard for them, working for hours in their fields and the one day of market per week a four hour journey on foot and back again, but their eyes glowed and they welcomed us into their world with such openness it was heartwarming and inspiring. As soon as we arrived (exhausted and swollen from the heat and the walking) we were given children to hold, buckets for fetching water, our faces were touched, our hands were warmly held, we were part of their family, and they a part of ours. We slept the night on the flat roof under the stars, with no light pollution the sky was brilliant and the air cool - much better than in a stuffy hotel room!! Unfortunately a large grey spider became entangled in my sleeping 'natte' and in his fear bit my thigh quite aggressively!! I was deep in sleep by this time and so flew from my slumber with a sharp jolt of intense stinging pain!!!!!! I lept up and awoke everyone else who all inspected the bite on my leg, declared it not poisonous although large and then hunted down the poor spider and ended its life abruptly. I felt a little afraid for awhile and the bite area on my leg stung for about 24 hours but it was all so worth it to be there and experience life with the Somba. The children were incredibly beautiful; all the women topless and the older men, the Grandfather of the family, retaining his 'traditional' dress (nothing but a small wrap around his groin, his wonderful thin legs poking out, smoking a pipe and so interested to look at us, strange white women with bags full of strange things!!!) It was sad to leave them and we promised to send photos via our guide, Antoinette, who was an Betamaribe orphaned so grew up in an orphanage in Boukoumbe and now runs a small sewing business and accompaines the few people who journey to Somba country every year. The small boys walked with us back to Boukoumbe, where it was market day, and we witnessed for the first time animal abuse in Benin - a man was dragging a piglet tied by its front leg - of course it couldn't walk like this and was hoppîng on three legs, screaming in pain and fear, his front leg twisted by the man pulling > on the rope. It was an awful and disturbing sight and the piglet was so stressed out that I felt compelled to act and bargained with the man for the> purchase of the piglet. I had to pay about US10 but I successfully saved this stressed wee being and we fed him water and untied the rope; all the Beninoise at the market crowding around in amazement at this white woman who> had bought a pig!! We named him Louie, took his photo and gifted him to the children with strict instructions that they were to carry him home to their family who would care for him and raise him till a ripe old age. They were> so shocked as a pig for them is a huge thing, and after seeing the way that the Betamaribe kept their animals very carefully, even providing them shelter in their houses, I feel confident that Louie will be cared for.
Friday, March 23rd...I am now writing from Burkina Faso!!! We arrived here three days ago after > spending two amazing days in the national park in the north of the Benin where we saw lions, slept in the open and swam in beautiful waterfalls with> the local children who dived from rock faces completely fearlessly!!! Burkina is very different from anywhere we have been before - it is the second poorest country in the world and unfortunately, that is quite apparent. We entered from Benin and stayed in Fadi n'Gorma before heading north to Gorom Gorom which is near the most north western border with Niger. For miles we drove through nothingness - the land completely barren,the soil erosion so huge it was like looking at a mining quarry, every village we passed so incredibly poor, the houses nothing more than tiny mud huts in the middle of this baking hot sahel, no vegetation, no hope of growing anything in this barren soil, no water, no wells, the lakes dried up > as we are now in the middle of dry season here, the hottest time of year.> It took over 12 hours to reach Gorom Gorom, the last leg of the journey in an old ute jammed with people, about 16 inside with 8 more on the roof on > top of the luggage, nearly all the people were Tuareg or Fula nomads, the men wrapped in turbans and long robes - we were squished like sardines> between these people on hard wooden benches, foolishly I had worn a singlet (my last piece of clean clothing) and I think that the sight of all the white flesh was too much for the old nomad sitting next to me who at one> point licked my shoulder!! I felt a rough wetness and turned around; I think he was taken by surprise by his own action and a sudden look of regret and shame crossed his face and he turned away!! It was quite funny all in all and being in a ute jammed with old nomads was an experience I have never had before!! The hotel, a Catholic mission, left a lot to be desired - the bathroom and toilet crawling with huge black cockroaches, not the tame brown> ones that inhabit the coast of NZ but huge fearless African roaches that fly!!!! I had tears in my eyes at the sight of them and after the long> journey it was more than I could cope with. We washed under a tap in the> yard and spent a baking night in the airless room before waking early the following morning to experience the Gorom Gorom markets...
The market is a huge event, nomads from Chad, Sudan, Niger, Mali and Burkina> come to trade animals, food, metals and leathers. Gorom Gorom is practically complete desert, winds howling in and wiping up the sand - within five minutes we realised why nomads wear their turbans completely covering their faces! The market was huge, pulsating, intriguing, full of colour and life - the Fulani woman crowded the exterior, wearing the most beautiful coloured clothes and scarves, they retain economic independence from the men, their wealth kept in the form of silver coins and silver jewellery tied into their hair and around their arms and necks - their faces are tattooed during important life events and they are stunningly beautiful - tall, slim, dark, mysterious. They offered us milk fresh from their cows which is drunk from small spoons, we held their children and stared aghast at their beauty and admired their independence; the hardship of their lives> in this incredible climate where the mercury rises well into the 40s - it > was 46 degrees when we were there and the sun is fierce. We had to wrap ourselves in scarves to protect our skin and understood why these women are so covered, only their faces showing under the bright fabrics. We bought dates from Arabic date sellers and watched the camels and cows being traded> - bulls as big as camels with horns that are huge and curled!! Donkeys and goats and sheep with no wool, this is life for so many - it was a sensory > feast and exhausted we clambered back onto a rickety bus and made the long> journey to the capital, Ouagadougou, late last afternoon.
Today is my 23rd birthday. It feels strange to have a birthday in a country where all the girls we have spoken to don't even know their own age - I guess when poverty is at this level there is no space in their worlds to count numbers or years, no celebration of time that passes, life is one day after another, selling peanuts and dates from bowls on heads, attempting to make enough money to eat the next meal, to feed the children. We have breakfast at small cafeterias (stands that sell bread, rice and instant coffee with condensed milk) - small boys no more than 10 stand at the entrance holding empty tin cans, waiting for people to finish and then> quicky scrapping the plates into the cans, then pushing it into small mouths with little dirty hands. It's quite heartbreaking to see, no school, no books, no holidays or presents. Just life, one day after another. In saying that though the people are proud, strong, they laugh, they joke, they don't look at us with unkind envy but rather a deep curiousity. It is a very interesting country; the Arabic influence is very apparent, as is the large nomadic influence. The big names of development are all here - the country is lined with projects from Save the Children, World Vision, Oxfam, the UN... they're all here and it's interesting to see, but also is such an indication of how hard life is for the people of Burkina Faso. I am glad to be here though and tonight we will eat dinner in a Tuareg tent to celebrate my birthday - it will be an experience!! In a few days we will head to the south west of Burkina and in a week or so Hedy will enter Mali and I will return to Ghana. What a journey this has been...
Finally I have a chance to compile my thoughts on the events of the last week, what an incredible journey it has been... Benin has stirred something deeply within me, moved me in a fundamental and permanent way that I almost can't describe. From the first night of our stay in Benin I felt this rousing in my soul which has not left me since; we sat outside our small hotel on Route de Esclaves in Ouidah and heard the most amazing tribal, drum based music that filled the night with a powerful rhythm and moved people to dance in the street, adults and children alike, dancing not like Europeans do with a movement of the legs but rather they danced with their entire beings, their heads bowed, their backs arched, as if they were not just dancing but instead the music was passing through their bodies and they had succumbed to this innate necessity to move with it, in it. It was an incredible moment and I felt my heart ache to be a part of it; the music calling to me, urging me to dive into this culture, to this land, and that calling has not yet left me.
I am now in Natitingou, a town in North Western Benin; today we returned from "Somba Country", the home of the Betamaribe people, but that is racing ahead and first I must share the incredible experiences of the previous week... Hedy, Marie and I left Ouidah last Sunday and travelled to Porto Novo, a beautiful and refined city with parks and book sellers, cheese, coffee and bread! We walked through the city and the market area admiring all the Beninoise people who dress in much more 'African' clothes than anywhere else we have seen, all brightly coloured fabrics with large hats or headscarves, such a beautiful and colourful sight; the people are obviously proud to be Beninoise and not trying to dress like 'westerners' like in Ghana or Togo. We were walking down a lane when we saw these huge beings that strongly resembled haystacks with small grills in the front!! We stood back in amazement and watched these beings pass, accompanied by many small laughing children and more serious adult guides; we had seen egunguns in Ouidah but these looked completely different and we just watched in amazement! Later we discovered that these beings are called the 'Night Watchmen', kind of like voodoo security guards who monitor the town and communicate with the spirits - if people break the laws of the town, or displease the spirits (even by simply littering) the night watchmen will come to their house and yell out their offences in a terrifying and loud voice - if the person has seriously disobeyed the laws then the night watchmen are also capable of killing the person, a scary thought... the world of voodoo here is so real - there are shrines and temples everywhere and the force of voodoo (or vodun) in the people is huge; it is an incredibly strong political and social force with 80% of the population practicing voodoo. Spirits are real here, real and honoured and feared - it is incredibly interesting and we were lucky enough to have an audience with a voodoo priest in Porto Novo also. The priest wore bright coloured robes with a matching hat and many beaded necklaces, each to represent the different aspects of voodoo - the voodoo of the water, the voodoo of fire, the voodoo of the ancestors and necklaces that show his status as a priest. We sat in his compound next to large structures that are houses to the three spirits that he communicates with which he interestingly calls 'the father', 'the son' and 'the holy spirit'. Next to those structures was a large rock shrine dripping in the red substances of previous offerings to the spirits; the priest said he would communicate with the spirits to ask for our good health, happiness and wealth - he first poured an amber liquid over the shrine and rang a large bell while chanting in a low toned voice; this process lasted about five minutes and then we had to make an offering (CFA3000) on a woven oval box which he offered to the spirits and broke a kola nut over it, the pieces landing in an equilibrium meaning that the spirits were happy with us and that we already possessed wealth, happiness and health; following this good news we had to chew the kola nut (very, very bitter and mildly intoxicating), drink blessed water from a communal calabash and then take a shot of strong schnapps. It was a wonderful experience and quite different from the experience with the malam in Ghana.
From Porto Novo we made a trip to a stilt village called Eguegue, about 12 kilometres down the river; we again took a pirogue with two brothers who lived in the village and explained to us the history. Eguegue started as a> refugee camp from people fleeing the slave traders, they built houses on the marsh lands in the lagoon and learnt to fish - over the years the community has developed and now over 10,000 people live in this community, earning money from fishing and trading in the market in Porto Novo. It was a beautiful ride out to the village and so interesting to see this wee bamboo houses on tall wooden legs rising out of the water - children ran to greet us shouting "Yovo, Yovo!" And we were invited to sit inside a stilt house with an elderly grandmother who told us about her life; she had grown up from a small child in the village and was poor but happy, her eyes glowed with life and she welcomed the small children into her home, holding them on her lap while she talked with us (bare chested but wearing a skirt as seems> to be common with women in villages in Benin).
On a day trip to Cotounou to replace Hedy's stolen camera and mobile we visited the large fetish market there - it was a pensive journey, not knowing what we would discover but as we turned into the lane of the market we could immediately smell it, the stench of death overpowering and nauseating - tables and tables of animal parts; heads of snakes, crocodiles,> monkeys, dogs, goats, leopards, hundreds of beautiful coloured birds, the feet of cats and the shells of turtles, snake skins and cow skulls, live chameleons and hedgehogs - what an overwhelming and frightening sight!! A fetish seller invited us to speak with him and explained to us the various meanings of the animals and what they are used for; I was invited to crawl under this table heaving with death to make an offering to the fetish of the market and we came away with three small personal fetishes (secrets of Dahomey but apparently made with owls' inners and wood and various other secret ingredients) - a travellers fetish, a workers fetish and a 'lucky doll'.
Marie returned to Ghana after this and so Hedy and I continued on alone to Abomey, home to the kings of Dahomey (Benin's original name) - we stayed in the most wonderful, eccentric hotel (La Lutta) which was really the extension of someones home filled with fetishes and books and woven cloth - we were the only yovos now, having last seen a handful of other travellers in Cotounou - Abomey was such a wonderful town, teeming with history, the owner of the hotel ("the King") drove us around on his zemi-john to show us the remains of the old palaces and the various fetish shrines around Abomey, we sat outside under the stars until late into the night to learn about voodoo and wow, what a wealth of knowledge we discovered!
Voodoo honours one main god, Mawu-Lessi (although that god is actually more like a pair of twins). Humans cannot communicate directly with this god so> there are lesser gods and spirits that act as mediums between the physical world and the world of God and spirits. Therefore there are "priests" and other people who the spirits choose to act as mediums and to represent the spirit world in the physical world - there are a number of sects which carry out this role for different forms of voodoo (the voodoo of the water, the voodoo of iron, the voodoo of the ancestors etc). The spirits communicate via the priest or priestess to tell what is needed to rectify the problem, the person then carries out this (like purchasing various parts of animals) and returns to the priest/ess who communicates with the spirits who then tell what is required to be done with the animal etc. It is obviously far, far more intricate and complex than that, but that is the reasoning for the animal sacrifice and the fetish shrines - when we were speaking with the voodoo priest he said "you can study voodoo for the rest of your life but you will only ever learn what can be seen between two blinks of the eyelid"... What has interested me most about voodoo is the feminist side of it - for once this is a contemporary religion where women are as equally empowered as men and involves Goddess worship! Specifically the voodoo sect of Mami Wata, the Goddess of water. The Mami Wata sect is almost exclusively female, because people do not 'choose' to join the sect but rather the spirits choose the people - and Mami Wata, she prefers women!! The Mami Wata dress in amazing white robes with the priestesses wearing red scarves in their hair, they cover their faces with white powder to symbolise purity and wear many bright necklaces and bracelets - Mami Wata loves to laugh and members of the sect often fall into trances where they laugh and laugh, dance and sing. Unfortunately we didn't see any Mami Wata ceremony but I felt so drawn to this that I am certain I will return to Benin to find the Mami Wata and learn more about this...
Equally with the empowerment of women, nature is respected and revered - trees are spirits also and some play an important role in the community, bright bright cloths of red and white were wrapped around some tree trunks and when we asked what that represented we were told that the trees had asked for it - the trees were also prayed to by people in the community.
Somehow I think that the reverence of voodoo has meant Benin has maintained environmental standards much higher than their neighbours - the streets were so clean, there are trees, plants, flowers and even grass in places - animals appear to be so much more respected and cared for (aside from those > who are sacrificed...) The practice of voodoo is also a huge political and social force in Benin, over 80% of the population practice voodoo and 10% are formally initiated. It has survived for 2000 years, through the colonisation by the French and the centuries of missionaries trying to convert the people to Christianity or Islam, declaring voodoo a satanist and> idolatrous cult but the people have clung tightly to their beliefs and it is so inspirational to see!!
Anyway, Abomey was wonderful, the old ruined palaces intriguing - we even saw the throne of one old king which was mounted on the skulls of four of his former enemies!! We travelled north to Natitingou from Abomey and as is usual for African countries poverty became more apparent the more north we headed and the land more arid, but still there were trees and still we didn't see the abuse of animals like in Ghana or Togo. From Natitingou we left for Somba country, the home of the Betamaribe people, suppposedly thought to have originally been from the Burkina Faso area but chased away thousands of years ago - they are anthropologically very interesting as they are individualist rather than community or village based; preferring to live in their mud fortresses alone in the centre of their plots of land rather than in a group or village. They are also very strong in their culture; surviving (perhaps due to their isolation) the colonisation, the slave trade and the missionaries that swarmed West Africa and destroyed so much historic culture - the Betamaribe didn't even begin to wear clothes until the 1970s!
We had to travel about an hour from Natitingou into the very north east of Benin, down red dirt roads into the middle of nowhere!! When we reached the last town, Boukombe, we met with a guide from an ecotourism NGO that only uses female guides and have set up excursions into Somba country, all of the profits being given to the Betamaribe women. Even though this is such an incredible part of the country and such an interesting group, we were the only 'tourists' that had been there since July 2006!!! (This was quite wonderful however as we didn't encounter the jaded faces of people in remote areas saturated with camera happy tour groups as in other parts of Africa!!) With our young guide and two small boys from the family we were to stay with we began the walk into Somba country - and what a walk! Four hours across red piste stone tracks; arid ground for miles and brilliant hills on the horizon - on and on and on... the Betamaribe are truly remote, but what an amazing experience!!! Their houses are incredible, architectural masterpieces - small mud forts with circular turrets and thatched roofs: you have to stoop down low to enter and through a kitchen at the front of the house, then through an animal shelter and to climb up stairs - a branch with grooves for feet cut in - and out onto the roof which is flat and closed in by the exterior walls - the tops of the four turrets serve as storage compartments for grain with the top of the thatched roofs being removable, underneath this is a small cubby for sleeping when it is cold; otherwise the family sleeps on the flat roof, protected from animals> and from any aggressors by the complex entry - the houses are truly wonderful - and so amazing to see in their solitude centered in an arid field of maize or grain. The family we were to visit were so welcoming and although the communication wasn't verbal we managed to understand each other so well; what an incredible group of people!! The poverty was huge - none of the people wore shoes, the soles of their feet hugely cracked; life is so hard for them, working for hours in their fields and the one day of market per week a four hour journey on foot and back again, but their eyes glowed and they welcomed us into their world with such openness it was heartwarming and inspiring. As soon as we arrived (exhausted and swollen from the heat and the walking) we were given children to hold, buckets for fetching water, our faces were touched, our hands were warmly held, we were part of their family, and they a part of ours. We slept the night on the flat roof under the stars, with no light pollution the sky was brilliant and the air cool - much better than in a stuffy hotel room!! Unfortunately a large grey spider became entangled in my sleeping 'natte' and in his fear bit my thigh quite aggressively!! I was deep in sleep by this time and so flew from my slumber with a sharp jolt of intense stinging pain!!!!!! I lept up and awoke everyone else who all inspected the bite on my leg, declared it not poisonous although large and then hunted down the poor spider and ended its life abruptly. I felt a little afraid for awhile and the bite area on my leg stung for about 24 hours but it was all so worth it to be there and experience life with the Somba. The children were incredibly beautiful; all the women topless and the older men, the Grandfather of the family, retaining his 'traditional' dress (nothing but a small wrap around his groin, his wonderful thin legs poking out, smoking a pipe and so interested to look at us, strange white women with bags full of strange things!!!) It was sad to leave them and we promised to send photos via our guide, Antoinette, who was an Betamaribe orphaned so grew up in an orphanage in Boukoumbe and now runs a small sewing business and accompaines the few people who journey to Somba country every year. The small boys walked with us back to Boukoumbe, where it was market day, and we witnessed for the first time animal abuse in Benin - a man was dragging a piglet tied by its front leg - of course it couldn't walk like this and was hoppîng on three legs, screaming in pain and fear, his front leg twisted by the man pulling > on the rope. It was an awful and disturbing sight and the piglet was so stressed out that I felt compelled to act and bargained with the man for the> purchase of the piglet. I had to pay about US10 but I successfully saved this stressed wee being and we fed him water and untied the rope; all the Beninoise at the market crowding around in amazement at this white woman who> had bought a pig!! We named him Louie, took his photo and gifted him to the children with strict instructions that they were to carry him home to their family who would care for him and raise him till a ripe old age. They were> so shocked as a pig for them is a huge thing, and after seeing the way that the Betamaribe kept their animals very carefully, even providing them shelter in their houses, I feel confident that Louie will be cared for.
Friday, March 23rd...I am now writing from Burkina Faso!!! We arrived here three days ago after > spending two amazing days in the national park in the north of the Benin where we saw lions, slept in the open and swam in beautiful waterfalls with> the local children who dived from rock faces completely fearlessly!!! Burkina is very different from anywhere we have been before - it is the second poorest country in the world and unfortunately, that is quite apparent. We entered from Benin and stayed in Fadi n'Gorma before heading north to Gorom Gorom which is near the most north western border with Niger. For miles we drove through nothingness - the land completely barren,the soil erosion so huge it was like looking at a mining quarry, every village we passed so incredibly poor, the houses nothing more than tiny mud huts in the middle of this baking hot sahel, no vegetation, no hope of growing anything in this barren soil, no water, no wells, the lakes dried up > as we are now in the middle of dry season here, the hottest time of year.> It took over 12 hours to reach Gorom Gorom, the last leg of the journey in an old ute jammed with people, about 16 inside with 8 more on the roof on > top of the luggage, nearly all the people were Tuareg or Fula nomads, the men wrapped in turbans and long robes - we were squished like sardines> between these people on hard wooden benches, foolishly I had worn a singlet (my last piece of clean clothing) and I think that the sight of all the white flesh was too much for the old nomad sitting next to me who at one> point licked my shoulder!! I felt a rough wetness and turned around; I think he was taken by surprise by his own action and a sudden look of regret and shame crossed his face and he turned away!! It was quite funny all in all and being in a ute jammed with old nomads was an experience I have never had before!! The hotel, a Catholic mission, left a lot to be desired - the bathroom and toilet crawling with huge black cockroaches, not the tame brown> ones that inhabit the coast of NZ but huge fearless African roaches that fly!!!! I had tears in my eyes at the sight of them and after the long> journey it was more than I could cope with. We washed under a tap in the> yard and spent a baking night in the airless room before waking early the following morning to experience the Gorom Gorom markets...
The market is a huge event, nomads from Chad, Sudan, Niger, Mali and Burkina> come to trade animals, food, metals and leathers. Gorom Gorom is practically complete desert, winds howling in and wiping up the sand - within five minutes we realised why nomads wear their turbans completely covering their faces! The market was huge, pulsating, intriguing, full of colour and life - the Fulani woman crowded the exterior, wearing the most beautiful coloured clothes and scarves, they retain economic independence from the men, their wealth kept in the form of silver coins and silver jewellery tied into their hair and around their arms and necks - their faces are tattooed during important life events and they are stunningly beautiful - tall, slim, dark, mysterious. They offered us milk fresh from their cows which is drunk from small spoons, we held their children and stared aghast at their beauty and admired their independence; the hardship of their lives> in this incredible climate where the mercury rises well into the 40s - it > was 46 degrees when we were there and the sun is fierce. We had to wrap ourselves in scarves to protect our skin and understood why these women are so covered, only their faces showing under the bright fabrics. We bought dates from Arabic date sellers and watched the camels and cows being traded> - bulls as big as camels with horns that are huge and curled!! Donkeys and goats and sheep with no wool, this is life for so many - it was a sensory > feast and exhausted we clambered back onto a rickety bus and made the long> journey to the capital, Ouagadougou, late last afternoon.
Today is my 23rd birthday. It feels strange to have a birthday in a country where all the girls we have spoken to don't even know their own age - I guess when poverty is at this level there is no space in their worlds to count numbers or years, no celebration of time that passes, life is one day after another, selling peanuts and dates from bowls on heads, attempting to make enough money to eat the next meal, to feed the children. We have breakfast at small cafeterias (stands that sell bread, rice and instant coffee with condensed milk) - small boys no more than 10 stand at the entrance holding empty tin cans, waiting for people to finish and then> quicky scrapping the plates into the cans, then pushing it into small mouths with little dirty hands. It's quite heartbreaking to see, no school, no books, no holidays or presents. Just life, one day after another. In saying that though the people are proud, strong, they laugh, they joke, they don't look at us with unkind envy but rather a deep curiousity. It is a very interesting country; the Arabic influence is very apparent, as is the large nomadic influence. The big names of development are all here - the country is lined with projects from Save the Children, World Vision, Oxfam, the UN... they're all here and it's interesting to see, but also is such an indication of how hard life is for the people of Burkina Faso. I am glad to be here though and tonight we will eat dinner in a Tuareg tent to celebrate my birthday - it will be an experience!! In a few days we will head to the south west of Burkina and in a week or so Hedy will enter Mali and I will return to Ghana. What a journey this has been...
Beginning the journey east... March 2007
Tuesday, March 6th...Well it's over. I can hardly believe it! But yesterday morning I took my pack and walked out of dusty Besease and away from the children for the last time. It was hard to leave the children, especially the young ones who I built such a bond with. It is a strange feeling to spend such intense time with them and then to walk away, knowing that I probably will never see these children again. And having to accept that - that this is the nature of 'development' work. Of course I will never forget them, and I will never forget my time in Besease and the lessons I learnt there. I think for the children it is easier, they are used to volunteers who come and go, bringing presents and promises and the tastes of a better life enjoyed by those lucky enough to be born in foreign continents and into foreign lives. Of course it is never easy though and they begged me to stay "just another month, until another volunteer comes". It was sad to say goodbye. I think that they will remember me mostly for the little coloured stars that Mum sent though!! They would line up outside my door or my window in the morning saying "Luisa, please, stars!!" and I would fill little cupped hands with piles of shiny stars which were stored deep in lint filled pockets to brandish on the playground to envious peers. As I left I threw handfuls of stars over them and blew kisses and fought back the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. It was a sad and reflective journey east. I am now in Hohoe, near the border with Togo. Last night I arrived and met up with Hedy and Marie (a Swiss volunteer) - early tomorrow morning we will cross the border to Togo. Today is Ghana's independence day, there are big celebrations across the country as people cheer "Free Forever! Ghana is free forever!". Although to me it seems empty somehow, because Ghana is not really 'free', it is colonised in another form, the pseudo colonisation of trade restrictions and political impositions by countries like the UK and the US and those who control the World Bank and the IMF and the other institutions that Ghana has taken massive loans with, complete with massive strings. In saying that are any of us really free though? Is any country truly free or instead are we bound together with our mutual economic dependence? Perhaps none of us are free, but I would suggest that these poor west African states are the least free of all. It is nice to see the celebrations though and patriotism is running high with bright flags flying, cars tooting their horns and children marching in the streets.
Sunday, March 11...
Bonjour du la Republique Beninese!!!!
So much time has passed and so much has happened since I began the above email... We are now in Porto Novo, the capital city of Benin... I can scarcely believe we are here already, but I will begin the story at the beginning... and apologise for the typing as I am using a French keyboard with the keys all in different places!!
We left from Hohoe early on Wednesday morning, arriving at the tro tro station at 7am only to wait five hours for the tro tro (this time the most wonderful old PK blue ute from the 60's!) to fill up! We passed the time by helping the workers shout "Kpalime, Kpalime, Bra bra, tem tem!!" (Come come quick!) The ute finally pulled out of the station complete with 16 passengers all crammed in like sardines and our luggage piled high on the roof, along with tires, sacks filled with yam and bunches of plantain, all held on with a big net - we were off to face the border!! The drive towards the border was amazing - the hills that line the edge of Ghana are incredibly green and lush - we peered out the back window of the ute drinking it all in and buzzing with excitment about what our journey into Togo would bring... unfortunately when we reqched the border we were turned back by the control guards as Marie and Hedy didn't have pre-purchased visas and so we had to take our packs, farewell our fellow passengers and walk back to the main road to begin the journey down to Aflao were we could cross the main border - by 5pm that evening we had crossed to Togo and were only bribed once for 1000CFA which was much better than we had expected. After a brief stop in Lome to change money we drove straight to the town Agbodrafo, nestled on the shores of Lake Togo and about two thirds of the way across the country (taking about an hour to drive there - Togo is a very small country!). When we arrived at the lodge it appeared deserted with the lights all out and only the gentle lapping of the lake audible, it was so dark and quiet, eerily so, but after locating the manager we settled down to sleep and when we awoke we were greeted by the most beautiful view! The lake was huge and so calm, fishermen were dotted all over its surface in their traditional wooden pirogues fishing with nets and collecting crabs from the shore line. Everyone spoke French very well and they speak French to each other rqther than their traditional African dialect which was such a difference to Ghana were English is spoken reluctantly over their traditional dialects! We arranged a pirogue ride over the lake to Togoville, the founding village in Togo and the home of Togolese animism. The pirogue ride was beautiful but we kept commenting on how deserted everything felt, there were no tourists, no volunteers, in fact we were the only guests in the entire 'auberge' and it didn't appear that they ever had guests... after we crossed the lake we were met by a guide at the shore who led us around Togoville, pointing out various fetish shrines and showing us the old areas where the slaves were held - it was a lovely small village and the people were very friendly - it looked amazingly different from Ghana, with many more palm trees and the people appearing very different in their stature and facial features (much thinner and with higher cheekbones). After a few hours we returned to the shore to catch the pirogue back to the auberge on the other side of the lake; by this time the wind had picked up quite substantially and the calm lake was disturbed with white crested waves, we clambered back into the wooden boat, children running out into the water with us and diving and splashing at the helm of the boat - the children ran out after the boat, their beautiful dark bodies clearly visible jumping in the water and waving us goodbye as we journeyed out further onto the lake. After a few hundred metres it became apparent that the boat was taking on a substantial amount of water, both through cracks in the hull and from waves splashing over the sides. As we passed over an area called "Hippopotamus Hole" (the deepest part of the lake previously home to hippopotami) the gondolier passed me a calabash and I began to scoop the water from the bottom of the boat!! It was hard work and an endless task as the water continued to come into the boat but it was an amazing and empowering feeling - bailing water from a pirogue on Lake Togo, how far I had come and how free I am, and indeed how free we all are! Once we had reached calmer waters the gondolier bezgan to speak with us (in French - I am kucky to be with Marie and Hedy, both fluent) about his life in Togo. Togo is controlled by an autocrat who seized power following his despot father's death - Togo has been rife with corruption and coups for 20 years now and riots in Lome two yeqrs qgo resulted in 500 civilian deaths; as a result educated people from the cities hqve fled to the villages to live lives as simple fishermen and farmers in poverty but relative safety from the dangers held in the lawless cities. The gondolier had fled from Lome, "if you become too vocal, too political or it is known that you are opposed to the regime then they will come and take you from your home" the gondolier said "the police will take you and drag you away to kill you". And so nobody speaks a word of opposition, it is a country ruled in fear. We thanked the gondolier repetitively for having the courage to tell us these painful truths and gqve hi, some money to help him in his life. Back at the lodge we began to realise why the counbtry seemed so deserted and why Lome appeared like a cowboy town from the wild west...
The next day we caught a taxi to Aneho, a beach town on the border with Benin, and here our suspicions about Togo were all confirmed. The day was incredibly hot, after walking about the town in the morning we had to spend the afternoon lying on the concrete floor of the motel to cool our overheated and exhausted bodies. Again we were the only guests in the entire hotel and saw no other foreigners anywhere in the town. Aneho appeared very nice, although very sandy, with no shade and the stores seemed all to be very empty, the supermarket had little more than some old bottles of wine, cans of tuna and an empty battery box! At about 6.30 we decided to walk down the main road to buy street food for dinner (all the chop bars were empty) - we had a nice dinner of rice and beans sitting next to an empty train track and began to wander back to the hotel when a man ran up to Hedy and grabbed her bag - she screamed and held tight onto her bag but the man pulled at it so hard that the material ripped from the strap and the man sprinted down an alley toward the dark beach, we were all screaming "THIEF THIEF!!" as loud as we could, to alert the locals to the danger but noone seemed to do anything for what seemed like the longest time! People approached us after about 30 seconds and we communicated what had happened, Hedy was now in complete shock and we managed to get back to the hotel where we asked the clerk to call the police - we were told "there is no point; the police will not do anything". "No matter" we said, "please call them anyway". Eventually a policeman arrived in an old beat up red toyota, he was not wearing a uniform but the clerk seemed to know him so we went with him to the police station. "The police station actually no longer exists" the man told us, "some rioters tore it down last year so we work from the gendarmerie near the border". The night got stranger and stranger. When we arrived at a big crumbling stone building we were told this is the gendarmerie (and quickly thought of an escape route in case it wasn't), we went inside and after Hedy bribed the officer CFA6000 he agreed to write an attestation about the robbery so that she could at least use it to claim insurance for the stolen camera, cellphone, money and memory cards. It was a long night and we all felt very shaken. A woman at the hotel told us we were very lucky, "Usually they'll slit your throats to take your money" she said "never go out at night in Togo". At 8am the next morning we left for the border, grateful to be leaving and grateful that it was only material objects that had been taken. Now we realised why there were no tourists in Togo...!
The border crossing to Benin was very smooth, 'no man's land' filled with market sellers with huge piles of produce, fruits and vegetables, watches and sunglasses and men selling every currency under the sun 'for a price' where we were forced to change money at appalling low rates and in doing so support the black market of currency trading! Rife all over West Africa and the majority of which is Algerian currency??
As we drove from the border to Ouidah, another coastal town, we felt hesitant, all promising each other that from now on we would be more careful, and if anything else happened like that we would leave. We needn't have worried as Ouidah was the most wonderful place, with many French tourists and the most wonderful energy to it!! Benin is amazing, the French influence is so strong here - the streets are paved, the sewers underground, trees grow alongside the roads and everywhere there are French bread sellers and vegetable sellers, and voodoo fetish shrines!!!! Of course the country is still very poor and in the northern region and in small villages people meek out a hard existence but how wonderful what we have seen has been!! We visited the Route de Esclaves where tens of thousands of slaves were marched in chains to waiting slaver ships en route to America or Europe. It was haunting and sad and I could feel the linear sense of chained beings marching to the sea in fear: a monument marking the Point of No Return stood on the beach, wonderfully African in design and so fitting. Ouidah is filled with zemi_johns, old Yamaha motorbikes which zoom around (no helmets) to transport all manner of things and people (sometimes four on one bike!!).
Being in Benin is like being in some strange parralell universe, a hybrid between Africa, Frqnce, Brazil and some sort of mystical other world where spirits are real and honoured. We have already seen many voodoo priests and egunguns who walk the streets in brilliant dress to communicqte the spirits to the living. It is truly incredible!! Last night we sat out till late in the night at the hotel and listened to the most inspiring African tribal music and watched the people dancing in the street; their bodies tqken over with the power of the music, compelled to dance and so breathtaking in doing so...
The time on the computer is about up so I must rush the end of this email but there is so much more to say about our wanderings into Benin - I will write again soon. After a fez days we will head north; to Abomey and then onto the northern territories; home of the incredible Somba people...
Sunday, March 11...
Bonjour du la Republique Beninese!!!!
So much time has passed and so much has happened since I began the above email... We are now in Porto Novo, the capital city of Benin... I can scarcely believe we are here already, but I will begin the story at the beginning... and apologise for the typing as I am using a French keyboard with the keys all in different places!!
We left from Hohoe early on Wednesday morning, arriving at the tro tro station at 7am only to wait five hours for the tro tro (this time the most wonderful old PK blue ute from the 60's!) to fill up! We passed the time by helping the workers shout "Kpalime, Kpalime, Bra bra, tem tem!!" (Come come quick!) The ute finally pulled out of the station complete with 16 passengers all crammed in like sardines and our luggage piled high on the roof, along with tires, sacks filled with yam and bunches of plantain, all held on with a big net - we were off to face the border!! The drive towards the border was amazing - the hills that line the edge of Ghana are incredibly green and lush - we peered out the back window of the ute drinking it all in and buzzing with excitment about what our journey into Togo would bring... unfortunately when we reqched the border we were turned back by the control guards as Marie and Hedy didn't have pre-purchased visas and so we had to take our packs, farewell our fellow passengers and walk back to the main road to begin the journey down to Aflao were we could cross the main border - by 5pm that evening we had crossed to Togo and were only bribed once for 1000CFA which was much better than we had expected. After a brief stop in Lome to change money we drove straight to the town Agbodrafo, nestled on the shores of Lake Togo and about two thirds of the way across the country (taking about an hour to drive there - Togo is a very small country!). When we arrived at the lodge it appeared deserted with the lights all out and only the gentle lapping of the lake audible, it was so dark and quiet, eerily so, but after locating the manager we settled down to sleep and when we awoke we were greeted by the most beautiful view! The lake was huge and so calm, fishermen were dotted all over its surface in their traditional wooden pirogues fishing with nets and collecting crabs from the shore line. Everyone spoke French very well and they speak French to each other rqther than their traditional African dialect which was such a difference to Ghana were English is spoken reluctantly over their traditional dialects! We arranged a pirogue ride over the lake to Togoville, the founding village in Togo and the home of Togolese animism. The pirogue ride was beautiful but we kept commenting on how deserted everything felt, there were no tourists, no volunteers, in fact we were the only guests in the entire 'auberge' and it didn't appear that they ever had guests... after we crossed the lake we were met by a guide at the shore who led us around Togoville, pointing out various fetish shrines and showing us the old areas where the slaves were held - it was a lovely small village and the people were very friendly - it looked amazingly different from Ghana, with many more palm trees and the people appearing very different in their stature and facial features (much thinner and with higher cheekbones). After a few hours we returned to the shore to catch the pirogue back to the auberge on the other side of the lake; by this time the wind had picked up quite substantially and the calm lake was disturbed with white crested waves, we clambered back into the wooden boat, children running out into the water with us and diving and splashing at the helm of the boat - the children ran out after the boat, their beautiful dark bodies clearly visible jumping in the water and waving us goodbye as we journeyed out further onto the lake. After a few hundred metres it became apparent that the boat was taking on a substantial amount of water, both through cracks in the hull and from waves splashing over the sides. As we passed over an area called "Hippopotamus Hole" (the deepest part of the lake previously home to hippopotami) the gondolier passed me a calabash and I began to scoop the water from the bottom of the boat!! It was hard work and an endless task as the water continued to come into the boat but it was an amazing and empowering feeling - bailing water from a pirogue on Lake Togo, how far I had come and how free I am, and indeed how free we all are! Once we had reached calmer waters the gondolier bezgan to speak with us (in French - I am kucky to be with Marie and Hedy, both fluent) about his life in Togo. Togo is controlled by an autocrat who seized power following his despot father's death - Togo has been rife with corruption and coups for 20 years now and riots in Lome two yeqrs qgo resulted in 500 civilian deaths; as a result educated people from the cities hqve fled to the villages to live lives as simple fishermen and farmers in poverty but relative safety from the dangers held in the lawless cities. The gondolier had fled from Lome, "if you become too vocal, too political or it is known that you are opposed to the regime then they will come and take you from your home" the gondolier said "the police will take you and drag you away to kill you". And so nobody speaks a word of opposition, it is a country ruled in fear. We thanked the gondolier repetitively for having the courage to tell us these painful truths and gqve hi, some money to help him in his life. Back at the lodge we began to realise why the counbtry seemed so deserted and why Lome appeared like a cowboy town from the wild west...
The next day we caught a taxi to Aneho, a beach town on the border with Benin, and here our suspicions about Togo were all confirmed. The day was incredibly hot, after walking about the town in the morning we had to spend the afternoon lying on the concrete floor of the motel to cool our overheated and exhausted bodies. Again we were the only guests in the entire hotel and saw no other foreigners anywhere in the town. Aneho appeared very nice, although very sandy, with no shade and the stores seemed all to be very empty, the supermarket had little more than some old bottles of wine, cans of tuna and an empty battery box! At about 6.30 we decided to walk down the main road to buy street food for dinner (all the chop bars were empty) - we had a nice dinner of rice and beans sitting next to an empty train track and began to wander back to the hotel when a man ran up to Hedy and grabbed her bag - she screamed and held tight onto her bag but the man pulled at it so hard that the material ripped from the strap and the man sprinted down an alley toward the dark beach, we were all screaming "THIEF THIEF!!" as loud as we could, to alert the locals to the danger but noone seemed to do anything for what seemed like the longest time! People approached us after about 30 seconds and we communicated what had happened, Hedy was now in complete shock and we managed to get back to the hotel where we asked the clerk to call the police - we were told "there is no point; the police will not do anything". "No matter" we said, "please call them anyway". Eventually a policeman arrived in an old beat up red toyota, he was not wearing a uniform but the clerk seemed to know him so we went with him to the police station. "The police station actually no longer exists" the man told us, "some rioters tore it down last year so we work from the gendarmerie near the border". The night got stranger and stranger. When we arrived at a big crumbling stone building we were told this is the gendarmerie (and quickly thought of an escape route in case it wasn't), we went inside and after Hedy bribed the officer CFA6000 he agreed to write an attestation about the robbery so that she could at least use it to claim insurance for the stolen camera, cellphone, money and memory cards. It was a long night and we all felt very shaken. A woman at the hotel told us we were very lucky, "Usually they'll slit your throats to take your money" she said "never go out at night in Togo". At 8am the next morning we left for the border, grateful to be leaving and grateful that it was only material objects that had been taken. Now we realised why there were no tourists in Togo...!
The border crossing to Benin was very smooth, 'no man's land' filled with market sellers with huge piles of produce, fruits and vegetables, watches and sunglasses and men selling every currency under the sun 'for a price' where we were forced to change money at appalling low rates and in doing so support the black market of currency trading! Rife all over West Africa and the majority of which is Algerian currency??
As we drove from the border to Ouidah, another coastal town, we felt hesitant, all promising each other that from now on we would be more careful, and if anything else happened like that we would leave. We needn't have worried as Ouidah was the most wonderful place, with many French tourists and the most wonderful energy to it!! Benin is amazing, the French influence is so strong here - the streets are paved, the sewers underground, trees grow alongside the roads and everywhere there are French bread sellers and vegetable sellers, and voodoo fetish shrines!!!! Of course the country is still very poor and in the northern region and in small villages people meek out a hard existence but how wonderful what we have seen has been!! We visited the Route de Esclaves where tens of thousands of slaves were marched in chains to waiting slaver ships en route to America or Europe. It was haunting and sad and I could feel the linear sense of chained beings marching to the sea in fear: a monument marking the Point of No Return stood on the beach, wonderfully African in design and so fitting. Ouidah is filled with zemi_johns, old Yamaha motorbikes which zoom around (no helmets) to transport all manner of things and people (sometimes four on one bike!!).
Being in Benin is like being in some strange parralell universe, a hybrid between Africa, Frqnce, Brazil and some sort of mystical other world where spirits are real and honoured. We have already seen many voodoo priests and egunguns who walk the streets in brilliant dress to communicqte the spirits to the living. It is truly incredible!! Last night we sat out till late in the night at the hotel and listened to the most inspiring African tribal music and watched the people dancing in the street; their bodies tqken over with the power of the music, compelled to dance and so breathtaking in doing so...
The time on the computer is about up so I must rush the end of this email but there is so much more to say about our wanderings into Benin - I will write again soon. After a fez days we will head north; to Abomey and then onto the northern territories; home of the incredible Somba people...
Farewell to Besease, March 2007
Well here I am, the end of one journey and the beginning of another. On Monday I finish my work placement in Besease and begin the travels east into French Africa...I can hardly believe that I've already finished my placement. It has gone so quickly, but I can feel in my spirit that I am ready to leave - I feel tired, spread thin, and need a break. Living in the orphanage is hard work, like being mother, teacher and friend to 24 children around the clock!! But the journey has been a rewarding one and I do feel that I have accomplished something during my time and set in place some systems that will help future volunteers, and, more importantly, provide the home and the children more structure and routine in their daily lives. Aside from the volunteer manuals, experience books and roster system, we have developed a link with the Ahmadiyya Muslim hospital in the nearby village Asokore who have agreed to see the children for free, including providing free medicine! Which is so generous of them in a country where there is no free public health care, emergency or otherwise. My study group is gearing up for their exams in April - I have arranged a local man from the village to take over running the group and teaching in exchange for a few English lessons! So the rest is up to the universe and I have to trust that the systems put in place will be continued. I'm meeting the director of Child Aid today for a debriefing - the weekend will be spent with the children and Monday morning I will head to the Volta region to meet up with Hedy, a Dutch volunteer who I will travel east with over the next few weeks... we will cross the border to Togo on the 7th of March - the day after Ghana's independence day (50 years since independence this year!)
Last week I took two days off and went to visit the "Hand in Hand" project, a home for disabled people in Nkoranza. It was simply wonderful! The project was started 15 years ago by a Dutch doctor and a Ghanaian man to care for intellectually disabled children who are otherwise alienated from society here. Traditionally disabled children were thought to be either the return of a punished ancestor or the rape of the mother by water spirits. Therefore the children were feared and cast out from the community - traditionally being left by the river for the water spirits to "take back". In modern times children are more commonly left under bushes, or on the roadside to die of dehydration. There is no social welfare here and no support for disabled people. A number of children with intellectual disabilities are kept in psychiatric hospitals with adults suffering from chronic mental illnesses like schizophrenia. The Dutch doctor (Ineke) saw this huge problem and so bought some land from a local chief and began the project to care for disabled people. Slowly orphanages began to bring disabled children to the project and some were transferred from the state psychiatric hospitals and the community began to grow - it's situated on the outskirts of a farming-based village but feels like a wonderful oasis in the desert of poverty and struggle. It is a large compound, neatly walled with many bright bouganvillea trees and fruit trees, a big security gate with a security guard, paved walkways, tame donkeys who roam around grazing on the grassed areas, four big friendly labrador dogs and a medley of chickens and cats. The children live in round huts - three to one full time caregiver who also lives with them - there are about 40 adults and children living at the project, the majority of whom suffer from cerebral palsy. There is a set of houses that are semi-independent for the adults who can care for themselves to some extent and they have set up "sheltered workshops" for the adults to carry out meaningful work and obtain training - they make beads from recycled plastic and glass and thread beautiful bead necklaces and bracelets - there is also a kente cloth weaving workshop where a few of the older men have been taught to weave kente. It is a process which takes them an immense amount of time as their muscles do not work properly, but the joy on their faces as they work is immense. In a country where any paid work is hard to come by, the opportunity for disabled people to work and generate income is amazing. The younger children and those who are so disabled as not able to work at all are cared for throughout the day in a seperate area, with a play ground and swimming pool where once a day all the children and adults swim. The energy of the place was overwhelmingly positive. They have also set up three small guest huts where visitors can come to stay and observe the project - visitors are encouraged to get involved and to swim with the children, to assist in their care and to assist in the workshops - and it works so, so well. The children (and adults) love the visitor's involvement and it feels very genuine, very meaningful. The entire compound is clean and bright and well cared for - there is even a retired priest who was invited to come and spend his retirement there - he spends his days walking with the children and doing gardening. In the visitor rooms a copy of the annual report for the project lies on the bedside table with every dollar accounted for and open to public viewing - I have never seen such transparency and openess in any development organisation anywhere. It was incredibly refreshing and inspiring. The cloth and jewellery that the children make are sold, both to visitors and through a disabled persons co-operative in the Netherlands. All of the profits are put back into the project, and it shows! I am going to try to set up a link between Trade Aid and this project as I think that these beautiful creative jems would be perfect for the NZ market! I hope to return to the project and stay for longer, perhaps on my journey back through Ghana from Burkina Faso... The contrast between this project and the orphanage at Besease is huge though, and I felt saddened to think that the orphanage in Besease could share the same energy, the same positivity and creativity if only it was managed in a constructive and honest way. I shared my thoughts with Child Aid who have made a commitment to bettering the home in Besease and are already using the donation funds to finish off the kitchen building and to rewire the home so that there are lights for all the rooms. They have also agreed to send volunteers on a regular basis, and so hopefully I am the first of many...
As I prepare to leave the home, and Ghana, I am becoming more reflective of my time here and what I have learnt - about the nature of giving, of receiving, of patience and of care. About the complex patchwork of issues that surround development work and the nature of life for Africans. My Buddhist teacher said to me before leaving that the biggest piece of advice that he could give me was to give (money, time, energy, love) with no expectation of anything in return - not even an expectation of acknowledgement. He said to give with no acknowledgement and to want to continue to give is a sign of true loving compassion. I can't say that I have mastered this and some of the behaviour of children (and adults) here is quite hurtful, but I have definitely begun to understand this idea... as for Ghana in general, several things have disturbed me quite deeply - the absolute disregard for the environment and the absolute disregard for the lives of animals. I don't know if I can justify poverty as an excuse for this behaviour in my mind but if anyone has a theory, I would love to know.
Last week I took two days off and went to visit the "Hand in Hand" project, a home for disabled people in Nkoranza. It was simply wonderful! The project was started 15 years ago by a Dutch doctor and a Ghanaian man to care for intellectually disabled children who are otherwise alienated from society here. Traditionally disabled children were thought to be either the return of a punished ancestor or the rape of the mother by water spirits. Therefore the children were feared and cast out from the community - traditionally being left by the river for the water spirits to "take back". In modern times children are more commonly left under bushes, or on the roadside to die of dehydration. There is no social welfare here and no support for disabled people. A number of children with intellectual disabilities are kept in psychiatric hospitals with adults suffering from chronic mental illnesses like schizophrenia. The Dutch doctor (Ineke) saw this huge problem and so bought some land from a local chief and began the project to care for disabled people. Slowly orphanages began to bring disabled children to the project and some were transferred from the state psychiatric hospitals and the community began to grow - it's situated on the outskirts of a farming-based village but feels like a wonderful oasis in the desert of poverty and struggle. It is a large compound, neatly walled with many bright bouganvillea trees and fruit trees, a big security gate with a security guard, paved walkways, tame donkeys who roam around grazing on the grassed areas, four big friendly labrador dogs and a medley of chickens and cats. The children live in round huts - three to one full time caregiver who also lives with them - there are about 40 adults and children living at the project, the majority of whom suffer from cerebral palsy. There is a set of houses that are semi-independent for the adults who can care for themselves to some extent and they have set up "sheltered workshops" for the adults to carry out meaningful work and obtain training - they make beads from recycled plastic and glass and thread beautiful bead necklaces and bracelets - there is also a kente cloth weaving workshop where a few of the older men have been taught to weave kente. It is a process which takes them an immense amount of time as their muscles do not work properly, but the joy on their faces as they work is immense. In a country where any paid work is hard to come by, the opportunity for disabled people to work and generate income is amazing. The younger children and those who are so disabled as not able to work at all are cared for throughout the day in a seperate area, with a play ground and swimming pool where once a day all the children and adults swim. The energy of the place was overwhelmingly positive. They have also set up three small guest huts where visitors can come to stay and observe the project - visitors are encouraged to get involved and to swim with the children, to assist in their care and to assist in the workshops - and it works so, so well. The children (and adults) love the visitor's involvement and it feels very genuine, very meaningful. The entire compound is clean and bright and well cared for - there is even a retired priest who was invited to come and spend his retirement there - he spends his days walking with the children and doing gardening. In the visitor rooms a copy of the annual report for the project lies on the bedside table with every dollar accounted for and open to public viewing - I have never seen such transparency and openess in any development organisation anywhere. It was incredibly refreshing and inspiring. The cloth and jewellery that the children make are sold, both to visitors and through a disabled persons co-operative in the Netherlands. All of the profits are put back into the project, and it shows! I am going to try to set up a link between Trade Aid and this project as I think that these beautiful creative jems would be perfect for the NZ market! I hope to return to the project and stay for longer, perhaps on my journey back through Ghana from Burkina Faso... The contrast between this project and the orphanage at Besease is huge though, and I felt saddened to think that the orphanage in Besease could share the same energy, the same positivity and creativity if only it was managed in a constructive and honest way. I shared my thoughts with Child Aid who have made a commitment to bettering the home in Besease and are already using the donation funds to finish off the kitchen building and to rewire the home so that there are lights for all the rooms. They have also agreed to send volunteers on a regular basis, and so hopefully I am the first of many...
As I prepare to leave the home, and Ghana, I am becoming more reflective of my time here and what I have learnt - about the nature of giving, of receiving, of patience and of care. About the complex patchwork of issues that surround development work and the nature of life for Africans. My Buddhist teacher said to me before leaving that the biggest piece of advice that he could give me was to give (money, time, energy, love) with no expectation of anything in return - not even an expectation of acknowledgement. He said to give with no acknowledgement and to want to continue to give is a sign of true loving compassion. I can't say that I have mastered this and some of the behaviour of children (and adults) here is quite hurtful, but I have definitely begun to understand this idea... as for Ghana in general, several things have disturbed me quite deeply - the absolute disregard for the environment and the absolute disregard for the lives of animals. I don't know if I can justify poverty as an excuse for this behaviour in my mind but if anyone has a theory, I would love to know.
The Big City, The Big Lessons, February 2007
Greetings from Accra, Ghana's capital city...
We (Amanda, Carrick and I)\ntravelled down here from Besease on Tuesday morning with an Amadiya Muslim\nfriend - Amanda and Carrick leave for Togo tomorrow and so I thought I would use the opportunity to get my onward visas and to do a few things in Accra that I had wanted to do. Accra feels much different from any other part of Ghana - the wealth here is so apparent in comparison to central / northern Ghana - mainly due to the development levels here being very high. I believe that this is true for much of Africa - the colonisers settled on the coasts of all the countries and developed these areas as they were comfortable and profitable (slave trading, exporting minerals etc) and it also meant that the colonisers did not have to travel far into the heart of the continent which proved very difficult due to the dense jungles, the tropical diseases and the less than welcoming indigenous peoples... Accra is like the best and worst of Ghana - luxury, wealth, development (to African standards of course - the open sewers are still on either side of the road and our 'hotel' does not have running water or glass windows) and the worst of poverty; people pushing carts to make money, desperate beggars, shanty towns and street children. Accra feels hard, it is hugely expensive in comparison to Besease and the people are less open, less friendly - people grab your arms everywhere, wanting to sell you things, wanting to steal from you. Being 'obroni' is so obvious, everywhere, there is never any anonymity. It's like wearing a giant neon sign on your forehead. We do our best to hide our obroni status and use twi as much as possible when speaking with Ghanaians. This seems to help enormously in avoiding being scammed - they laugh and the barriers seem to come away as soon as a few words of twi are injected into the transaction negotiations... I guess it shows more of a respect for their world and they must be used to dealing with so many ignorant and disrespectful foreigners (which there are plenty of in Accra")
Yesterday morning we rose early and, taking advantage of the luxury Accra offers, drank coffee at a coffee bar!! This was my first coffee in five weeks and wow... I had forgotten how much I love coffee!! It was bliss and we felt so decadent to sit down at a table in air-conditioned comfort and begin the day like Europeans! This small luxury was enjoyed but short lived and we met Romeo, a Liberian refugee friend of Chris Williams (thanks Chris!) who I had contacted a week previous - Romeo took us to the Liberian refugee camp about an hour outside of Accra - we had to take three different tro tros, at the station the 'mate' of the van yelled "Liberia, Liberia!!" - Romeo told us that they no longer say "refugee camp", it is now known simply as Liberia. I thought it was wonderful that the negative connotation had been removed. During the tro tro ride he told us about his life. He lived in Liberia with his family, attended school and had a relatively normal life in this progressive West-African nation until 1989 when the civil war began. The civil war began as a tribal clash which quickly escalated into full scale civil war between armed rebel groups -the fighting didn't reach Romeo's town until 1990. He was 7 years old. He remembers being at school, another normal day, when he heard gun shots and screaming in the street. There was chaos as people ran and the teachers and students fled from the school - he ran home to his family but when he arrived they were gone (he thinks they must have run to the school to find him). The streets were chaos, people were being shot, raped and killed, he didn't know what to do so he ran after a crowd of people fleeing from the town. He followed this crowd to the sea ports where a man looked after him and got him on board a ship of refugees being taken to Ghana. When the ship ported there was again huge confusion as thousands of people flooded the streets, panicked and in shock, this wee boy lost the man who was caring from him and in the frenzied crowd again found himself completely alone - seven years old and in a foreign country. The UN refugee agency took him to the refugee camp set up outside of Accra on barren land (where he was by no means the only child separated from his parents) and he has lived there since - for 17 years now. My eyes pricked with tears as he spoke, the pain of separation from his parents apparent in his face, his hope as he spoke of his belief that one day he will find them again, or one of his two siblings. I couldn't imagine how hard, how painful, how frightening life must have been for this small boy. And for thousands just like him - now all over the world.
As we drove and I digested this painful story we saw a man killed on the road outside of Accra. He was in his mid-twenties, a young, handsome boy - his crumpled body lying on the black asphalt, his head at an angle that confirmed his fate - a trail of blood running down his arm. People were running about yelling, frantic. I felt sick to my stomach - shocked - like I had been kicked in the throat. I have never seen a man killed before and it made death such a reality, such a painful, intense reality. I realised how every death is as shocking as this one before me. That every death in the civil war in Liberia, every death of every person everywhere, is as shocking and as gruesome. War, genocide, 'conflict', is often so arbitrary, so remote, so theoretical. We hear of it as a figure, often a figure with a trail of zeros, this figure is bounced around in books, in academic circles, in human rights groups - a million deaths, a hundred thousand killed, 'mass murder'. But there is no such thing. Mass killings do not happen but rather thousands of individual killings. Individual deaths. Every one of these people as important as the last. Every one of these people with beliefs, with fears, with dreams. Just like you and just like me. Just like this man whose contorted body lay before us on the road. My heart sat hard in my chest like a stone. I wanted to vomit, to scream. I put my head in my hands and wept. I wept for this man whose young life was so quickly taken from him before us, I wept for the man sitting next to me, I wept for all the people whose individual lives had been taken from them in mass killings everywhere, for all the refugees from all wars, for those who never escaped. It was a brutal, shocking morning.
We eventually arrived at the camp, although it is hardly a camp anymore, more like a village of its own. Years have passed since the UN tents stood tall, in their place now small concrete structures or wooden shacks. Little alleys lead all over this wee village, this mini-Liberia. Small shops, small attempts at business, at rebuilding lives, stand everywhere. Little chop bars (places that sell cheap food, usually rice and goat or fish stew) and market stalls selling shoes or vegetables or water. The ground is so dry, so dusty, covered in small pebbles. It feels like another country entirely and everyone, everywhere is Liberian. And everyone of these Liberians is a refugee, with equally as painful memories and stories as this brave man who led us around. The UNHCR had set up offices on the outside of the camp, they are organising a census of the camp and repatriation programme as the civil war has long ended and Liberia is now recognised as being 'safe'. Lines of people waited to see the officers - we looked at the notices informing of the programme - the UN will give each family a pack (including mosquito net, tarpaulin, cooking pan, kerosene) and US$5 for each person upon arrival in Monrovia (Liberia's capital). US$5... I asked Romeo if he wanted to be repatriated. He said "where would I go? My home is gone, I have no family, I have nowhere to go and there are no opportunities in Liberia. What would I do with $5? Buy dinner?". He is right. How can you build a life in a country with no support on $5? It was amazing to actually see the UN working though, for me they are so often just a theoretical organisation, something removed and arbitrary. It was amazing to see that this organisation actually exists and to see it in action. The WFP was also there and many small NGOs who have set up schools and other support structures, like counselling and mentoring for young people, violence support centres for women and HIV/AIDS clinics. The camp was an incredible experience, and a heartwarming one. It restored my faith in humanity, at the resilience of people, who will loose everything and rebuild their lives again, strive for education, for success, for spiritual awareness. We met a woman whose husband had been sent to the USA and now sends her money - she uses the money to set up a small business selling small grocery items and runs a micro-economic funding scheme for women to start their own small businesses in the camp. The refugees are technically not allowed to work in Ghana, but the government overlooks the economic community occurring in the camp. None of the refugees are given any money, I am not sure how the UN or the Ghanaian government expect them to survive, so as soon as anyone receives a small amount of money they try to set up a business venture within the camp, or build a shelter for themselves. For people like Romeo, with no family or support and no prospect of employment, life is hard. He lives on the goodwill of friends who allow him to sleep on their floor. He said when people started to build in the camp he worked making bricks from clay and with the profit he funded himself to attend a training school but he fell ill and had to stop making the bricks and attending school. His dream is to start a small business to earn enough money to finish his schooling - he wants to do marketing - and to find his family again. He is now 25.
Set up in the camp were huge notice boards lined with photos of children's faces. These are all faces of children who had become separated from their families and were in refugee camps in other parts of the world. Romeo said that somewhere in another part of the world his face is on one of these boards in the hope that someone in his family would one day see it and contact him. I guess the prospect that his family did not survive the rebel attack is not one that he will entertain. The hope, the will to survive, the ability to dream of a secure future was something that astounded me in him. I left him with some money and said I would keep in contact. I don't know what I can do to help these people, but as we drove away from this dusty and poverty stricken camp I felt deeply moved, deeply changed. The journey back to Accra was spent in silence.
We arrived back in Accra and made our way to the Togolese embassy to collect our onward visas (we managed to get a visa that caters for Togo, Benin, Burkina Faso, Niger and the Ivory Coast) - it was an interesting experience in itself. The Togolese embassy official tried to bribe me at the desk, advising that I should give him an extra CFA5,000 as a 'gift'. I said "oh, is this the way it works in Togo?". He laughed and I refused to be bribed. I made sure I was given a receipt told him if I was asked for more money at the border I would have the border guards call him directly! He then asked me to marry him and kept us in his office for 45 minutes, not giving our passports back, and giving us a lecture on how women should be obedient to their husbands. Amanda and I were shocked. I told him he would hate being married to me as I would never be obedient. He laughed and said that he would get African medicine to make me obedient and I told him I was too strong for any medicine he could give me. If this is the embassy official I hate to think of the ordeal that awaits us at the border.
In the late afternoon we met Aleem again, the Amadiya Muslim friend who drove us to Accra. Aleem had organised us to meet the Amadiya Muslim Mission's chief in Accra. This man (Ameer Adams) is also the head of the Amadiya Community in Ghana. He has won many international peace awards and is apparently a very revered man, working as part of the reconciliation commission in Ghana. The Amadiya community is persecuted in Saudi Arabia, Iran and Pakistan. It is a branch of Islam that is pacifist, their motto being "Love for all and hatred for none". They run schools and hospitals throughout the world - their goal is to serve humanity and practice tolerance and love. The Ameer welcomed us into his home and served us coconut milk, fresh tropical fruit and a herbal tea and talked to us about his work and his faith and his beliefs. He was an incredibly interesting man, and very funny - we were laughing and laughing! He was very kind-hearted and has challenged the Muslim community on many claims that are made about the Koran stating things like that 'infidels deserve death'. There was a case two years ago in Nigeria where a woman found guilty of adultery was sentenced in a Sharia court to be stoned to death. This man made a challenge in the Nigeria media for any Muslim to show him where in the Koran this was condoned. He was abused by many Muslims for daring to say this, but (unsurprisingly) no one could find anything in the Koran which condoned this woman's stoning. The community runs homeopathy centres near Besease so they have invited me to visit their hospitals and the homeopathy centre. Of course I agreed and really valued the opportunity to meet this man. Amanda and I decided not to raise the issue of the veil and womans' rights in Islam and in the Amadiya community as we didn't think it appropriate, but this is something we discussed afterward and said even though the Amadiya community disproved many commonly made negative claims about Islam we still didn't feel that women were truly equal here either.
Tomorrow I return to the orphanage and to my newly implemented roster... the home is feeling slightly more structured with this roster system but ensuring that the tasks are done every day is definitely easier said than done. It usually involves chasing them around the yard, shouting encouragement and guiding them through the work. It's an exhausting process and helping a 10 year old clean a boys' toilet when there is no running water is definitely not the most pleasant of volunteer tasks! Perhaps this is why it hasn't been done until now and I hope that the new system is upheld. Once the precedent is set and the routine established then the home will be a much cleaner and more structured environment. After the children finish their tasks I reward them with a bright sticker which they put on their forehead or earlobe and march off to play, proudly displaying their medal to their peers! This has proved a great way to encourage others to do their tasks. I think that the lack of water is the biggest impediment to their lives, fetching the water from the pipe is really hard work and it's amazing to see how they will conserve the water once fetched! One bucket of water will be used to wash all their clothes, then the dirty water will be used to wash their shoes, with the remainder being used to flush the toilet! The children work hard and are usually quite helpful - I often wonder how a child in the 'developed world' would react if made to walk to a well, manually pump up water and carry it home in buckets on their head every time they wanted to wash or drink or clean anything! Perhaps they would reconsider the amount of times they turn on a tap every day? Most of the children in the home are slim, their arms ripple with muscle from all the physical work - one of them kindly pointed out how my arms are "soft" - I laughed and said "yes, I don't fetch enough water!!".
There has been some disturbing events in Ghana recently. From talking with Aleem, who is the headmaster of a school run by the mission, he told us about a deworming programme in schools set up by UNICEF in partnership with the Ghanaian government. They have been deworming children in schools for the past week - so far 10 children have died and 37 have been hospitalised. I can't believe this could happen. Of course both organisations are desperately trying to cover up their tracks but it seems to me that this medicine hadn't been adequately tested before being released to these young children and their malnutritioned bodies couldn't handle the strength of the poison in the dewormer. It's an absolute tragedy. Aleem alerted all the schools and parents he could to tell the schools not to administer any drugs to the children. If this happened in a "developed" country it would be headline news - the companies would be held to account, prosecuted for negligence, the families would be compensated (but how can you compensate for the death of a child?!!?). Here, it's swept under the carpet.
I also have heard (through a congratulatory article in the Economist, my only source of international news!) that GM crops are now being released in Africa. A genetically modified maise crop is being planted in southern Africa. The article congratulated "African scientists" for this "new" technology and said that it hoped many more GM crops would be soon to follow. I was horrified and outraged. The article said that GM in Europe has been halted by "scared consumers" - more like INFORMED consumers who realised that the release of GM crops cannot be retracted once planted and if cross-contamination occurs then there is no stopping the process. Again, Africa is used as a testing ground for western science. GM is no African invention and its implementation here is little more than a mass experiment. There is no public forum to discuss this issue. The local farmers probably won't even realise what GM is and what the dangers are of its release. Food supply here is fragile enough without unleashing some short-sighted experiment onto the local plantations. I feel so powerless in the face of it; when I talk to Ghanaians about it most of them don't even know what genetific modification is and the lack of access to information or to the internet will ensure their continual ignorance of its potential dangers.
The third piece of disturbing information I have received relates to child slavery in Ghana - poverty stricken parents are selling their children to work on fishing boats, on plantations and in quarries. An NGO has counted hundreds of children working in slave conditions such as these now. I felt so shocked but then realised that child slavery actually exists here in many more less obvious forms - the small children who sell chewing gums and handkerchiefs through the windows of tro tros are also child slaves. They are kept from schools to make money for their parents, or for street child gangs. This problem is so entrenched that I don't know how it will be overcome. The trade is so apparent, but also so underground. The apathy of the Ghanaian government and the corruption of the police force will ensure that this trade and the abuse of these children is not a temporary problem but a permanent one. I'm sure that child labour and child slavery will also become even more apparent as we journey west into Togo and Benin, countries that suffer from even greater poverty than Ghana.
We (Amanda, Carrick and I)\ntravelled down here from Besease on Tuesday morning with an Amadiya Muslim\nfriend - Amanda and Carrick leave for Togo tomorrow and so I thought I would use the opportunity to get my onward visas and to do a few things in Accra that I had wanted to do. Accra feels much different from any other part of Ghana - the wealth here is so apparent in comparison to central / northern Ghana - mainly due to the development levels here being very high. I believe that this is true for much of Africa - the colonisers settled on the coasts of all the countries and developed these areas as they were comfortable and profitable (slave trading, exporting minerals etc) and it also meant that the colonisers did not have to travel far into the heart of the continent which proved very difficult due to the dense jungles, the tropical diseases and the less than welcoming indigenous peoples... Accra is like the best and worst of Ghana - luxury, wealth, development (to African standards of course - the open sewers are still on either side of the road and our 'hotel' does not have running water or glass windows) and the worst of poverty; people pushing carts to make money, desperate beggars, shanty towns and street children. Accra feels hard, it is hugely expensive in comparison to Besease and the people are less open, less friendly - people grab your arms everywhere, wanting to sell you things, wanting to steal from you. Being 'obroni' is so obvious, everywhere, there is never any anonymity. It's like wearing a giant neon sign on your forehead. We do our best to hide our obroni status and use twi as much as possible when speaking with Ghanaians. This seems to help enormously in avoiding being scammed - they laugh and the barriers seem to come away as soon as a few words of twi are injected into the transaction negotiations... I guess it shows more of a respect for their world and they must be used to dealing with so many ignorant and disrespectful foreigners (which there are plenty of in Accra")
Yesterday morning we rose early and, taking advantage of the luxury Accra offers, drank coffee at a coffee bar!! This was my first coffee in five weeks and wow... I had forgotten how much I love coffee!! It was bliss and we felt so decadent to sit down at a table in air-conditioned comfort and begin the day like Europeans! This small luxury was enjoyed but short lived and we met Romeo, a Liberian refugee friend of Chris Williams (thanks Chris!) who I had contacted a week previous - Romeo took us to the Liberian refugee camp about an hour outside of Accra - we had to take three different tro tros, at the station the 'mate' of the van yelled "Liberia, Liberia!!" - Romeo told us that they no longer say "refugee camp", it is now known simply as Liberia. I thought it was wonderful that the negative connotation had been removed. During the tro tro ride he told us about his life. He lived in Liberia with his family, attended school and had a relatively normal life in this progressive West-African nation until 1989 when the civil war began. The civil war began as a tribal clash which quickly escalated into full scale civil war between armed rebel groups -the fighting didn't reach Romeo's town until 1990. He was 7 years old. He remembers being at school, another normal day, when he heard gun shots and screaming in the street. There was chaos as people ran and the teachers and students fled from the school - he ran home to his family but when he arrived they were gone (he thinks they must have run to the school to find him). The streets were chaos, people were being shot, raped and killed, he didn't know what to do so he ran after a crowd of people fleeing from the town. He followed this crowd to the sea ports where a man looked after him and got him on board a ship of refugees being taken to Ghana. When the ship ported there was again huge confusion as thousands of people flooded the streets, panicked and in shock, this wee boy lost the man who was caring from him and in the frenzied crowd again found himself completely alone - seven years old and in a foreign country. The UN refugee agency took him to the refugee camp set up outside of Accra on barren land (where he was by no means the only child separated from his parents) and he has lived there since - for 17 years now. My eyes pricked with tears as he spoke, the pain of separation from his parents apparent in his face, his hope as he spoke of his belief that one day he will find them again, or one of his two siblings. I couldn't imagine how hard, how painful, how frightening life must have been for this small boy. And for thousands just like him - now all over the world.
As we drove and I digested this painful story we saw a man killed on the road outside of Accra. He was in his mid-twenties, a young, handsome boy - his crumpled body lying on the black asphalt, his head at an angle that confirmed his fate - a trail of blood running down his arm. People were running about yelling, frantic. I felt sick to my stomach - shocked - like I had been kicked in the throat. I have never seen a man killed before and it made death such a reality, such a painful, intense reality. I realised how every death is as shocking as this one before me. That every death in the civil war in Liberia, every death of every person everywhere, is as shocking and as gruesome. War, genocide, 'conflict', is often so arbitrary, so remote, so theoretical. We hear of it as a figure, often a figure with a trail of zeros, this figure is bounced around in books, in academic circles, in human rights groups - a million deaths, a hundred thousand killed, 'mass murder'. But there is no such thing. Mass killings do not happen but rather thousands of individual killings. Individual deaths. Every one of these people as important as the last. Every one of these people with beliefs, with fears, with dreams. Just like you and just like me. Just like this man whose contorted body lay before us on the road. My heart sat hard in my chest like a stone. I wanted to vomit, to scream. I put my head in my hands and wept. I wept for this man whose young life was so quickly taken from him before us, I wept for the man sitting next to me, I wept for all the people whose individual lives had been taken from them in mass killings everywhere, for all the refugees from all wars, for those who never escaped. It was a brutal, shocking morning.
We eventually arrived at the camp, although it is hardly a camp anymore, more like a village of its own. Years have passed since the UN tents stood tall, in their place now small concrete structures or wooden shacks. Little alleys lead all over this wee village, this mini-Liberia. Small shops, small attempts at business, at rebuilding lives, stand everywhere. Little chop bars (places that sell cheap food, usually rice and goat or fish stew) and market stalls selling shoes or vegetables or water. The ground is so dry, so dusty, covered in small pebbles. It feels like another country entirely and everyone, everywhere is Liberian. And everyone of these Liberians is a refugee, with equally as painful memories and stories as this brave man who led us around. The UNHCR had set up offices on the outside of the camp, they are organising a census of the camp and repatriation programme as the civil war has long ended and Liberia is now recognised as being 'safe'. Lines of people waited to see the officers - we looked at the notices informing of the programme - the UN will give each family a pack (including mosquito net, tarpaulin, cooking pan, kerosene) and US$5 for each person upon arrival in Monrovia (Liberia's capital). US$5... I asked Romeo if he wanted to be repatriated. He said "where would I go? My home is gone, I have no family, I have nowhere to go and there are no opportunities in Liberia. What would I do with $5? Buy dinner?". He is right. How can you build a life in a country with no support on $5? It was amazing to actually see the UN working though, for me they are so often just a theoretical organisation, something removed and arbitrary. It was amazing to see that this organisation actually exists and to see it in action. The WFP was also there and many small NGOs who have set up schools and other support structures, like counselling and mentoring for young people, violence support centres for women and HIV/AIDS clinics. The camp was an incredible experience, and a heartwarming one. It restored my faith in humanity, at the resilience of people, who will loose everything and rebuild their lives again, strive for education, for success, for spiritual awareness. We met a woman whose husband had been sent to the USA and now sends her money - she uses the money to set up a small business selling small grocery items and runs a micro-economic funding scheme for women to start their own small businesses in the camp. The refugees are technically not allowed to work in Ghana, but the government overlooks the economic community occurring in the camp. None of the refugees are given any money, I am not sure how the UN or the Ghanaian government expect them to survive, so as soon as anyone receives a small amount of money they try to set up a business venture within the camp, or build a shelter for themselves. For people like Romeo, with no family or support and no prospect of employment, life is hard. He lives on the goodwill of friends who allow him to sleep on their floor. He said when people started to build in the camp he worked making bricks from clay and with the profit he funded himself to attend a training school but he fell ill and had to stop making the bricks and attending school. His dream is to start a small business to earn enough money to finish his schooling - he wants to do marketing - and to find his family again. He is now 25.
Set up in the camp were huge notice boards lined with photos of children's faces. These are all faces of children who had become separated from their families and were in refugee camps in other parts of the world. Romeo said that somewhere in another part of the world his face is on one of these boards in the hope that someone in his family would one day see it and contact him. I guess the prospect that his family did not survive the rebel attack is not one that he will entertain. The hope, the will to survive, the ability to dream of a secure future was something that astounded me in him. I left him with some money and said I would keep in contact. I don't know what I can do to help these people, but as we drove away from this dusty and poverty stricken camp I felt deeply moved, deeply changed. The journey back to Accra was spent in silence.
We arrived back in Accra and made our way to the Togolese embassy to collect our onward visas (we managed to get a visa that caters for Togo, Benin, Burkina Faso, Niger and the Ivory Coast) - it was an interesting experience in itself. The Togolese embassy official tried to bribe me at the desk, advising that I should give him an extra CFA5,000 as a 'gift'. I said "oh, is this the way it works in Togo?". He laughed and I refused to be bribed. I made sure I was given a receipt told him if I was asked for more money at the border I would have the border guards call him directly! He then asked me to marry him and kept us in his office for 45 minutes, not giving our passports back, and giving us a lecture on how women should be obedient to their husbands. Amanda and I were shocked. I told him he would hate being married to me as I would never be obedient. He laughed and said that he would get African medicine to make me obedient and I told him I was too strong for any medicine he could give me. If this is the embassy official I hate to think of the ordeal that awaits us at the border.
In the late afternoon we met Aleem again, the Amadiya Muslim friend who drove us to Accra. Aleem had organised us to meet the Amadiya Muslim Mission's chief in Accra. This man (Ameer Adams) is also the head of the Amadiya Community in Ghana. He has won many international peace awards and is apparently a very revered man, working as part of the reconciliation commission in Ghana. The Amadiya community is persecuted in Saudi Arabia, Iran and Pakistan. It is a branch of Islam that is pacifist, their motto being "Love for all and hatred for none". They run schools and hospitals throughout the world - their goal is to serve humanity and practice tolerance and love. The Ameer welcomed us into his home and served us coconut milk, fresh tropical fruit and a herbal tea and talked to us about his work and his faith and his beliefs. He was an incredibly interesting man, and very funny - we were laughing and laughing! He was very kind-hearted and has challenged the Muslim community on many claims that are made about the Koran stating things like that 'infidels deserve death'. There was a case two years ago in Nigeria where a woman found guilty of adultery was sentenced in a Sharia court to be stoned to death. This man made a challenge in the Nigeria media for any Muslim to show him where in the Koran this was condoned. He was abused by many Muslims for daring to say this, but (unsurprisingly) no one could find anything in the Koran which condoned this woman's stoning. The community runs homeopathy centres near Besease so they have invited me to visit their hospitals and the homeopathy centre. Of course I agreed and really valued the opportunity to meet this man. Amanda and I decided not to raise the issue of the veil and womans' rights in Islam and in the Amadiya community as we didn't think it appropriate, but this is something we discussed afterward and said even though the Amadiya community disproved many commonly made negative claims about Islam we still didn't feel that women were truly equal here either.
Tomorrow I return to the orphanage and to my newly implemented roster... the home is feeling slightly more structured with this roster system but ensuring that the tasks are done every day is definitely easier said than done. It usually involves chasing them around the yard, shouting encouragement and guiding them through the work. It's an exhausting process and helping a 10 year old clean a boys' toilet when there is no running water is definitely not the most pleasant of volunteer tasks! Perhaps this is why it hasn't been done until now and I hope that the new system is upheld. Once the precedent is set and the routine established then the home will be a much cleaner and more structured environment. After the children finish their tasks I reward them with a bright sticker which they put on their forehead or earlobe and march off to play, proudly displaying their medal to their peers! This has proved a great way to encourage others to do their tasks. I think that the lack of water is the biggest impediment to their lives, fetching the water from the pipe is really hard work and it's amazing to see how they will conserve the water once fetched! One bucket of water will be used to wash all their clothes, then the dirty water will be used to wash their shoes, with the remainder being used to flush the toilet! The children work hard and are usually quite helpful - I often wonder how a child in the 'developed world' would react if made to walk to a well, manually pump up water and carry it home in buckets on their head every time they wanted to wash or drink or clean anything! Perhaps they would reconsider the amount of times they turn on a tap every day? Most of the children in the home are slim, their arms ripple with muscle from all the physical work - one of them kindly pointed out how my arms are "soft" - I laughed and said "yes, I don't fetch enough water!!".
There has been some disturbing events in Ghana recently. From talking with Aleem, who is the headmaster of a school run by the mission, he told us about a deworming programme in schools set up by UNICEF in partnership with the Ghanaian government. They have been deworming children in schools for the past week - so far 10 children have died and 37 have been hospitalised. I can't believe this could happen. Of course both organisations are desperately trying to cover up their tracks but it seems to me that this medicine hadn't been adequately tested before being released to these young children and their malnutritioned bodies couldn't handle the strength of the poison in the dewormer. It's an absolute tragedy. Aleem alerted all the schools and parents he could to tell the schools not to administer any drugs to the children. If this happened in a "developed" country it would be headline news - the companies would be held to account, prosecuted for negligence, the families would be compensated (but how can you compensate for the death of a child?!!?). Here, it's swept under the carpet.
I also have heard (through a congratulatory article in the Economist, my only source of international news!) that GM crops are now being released in Africa. A genetically modified maise crop is being planted in southern Africa. The article congratulated "African scientists" for this "new" technology and said that it hoped many more GM crops would be soon to follow. I was horrified and outraged. The article said that GM in Europe has been halted by "scared consumers" - more like INFORMED consumers who realised that the release of GM crops cannot be retracted once planted and if cross-contamination occurs then there is no stopping the process. Again, Africa is used as a testing ground for western science. GM is no African invention and its implementation here is little more than a mass experiment. There is no public forum to discuss this issue. The local farmers probably won't even realise what GM is and what the dangers are of its release. Food supply here is fragile enough without unleashing some short-sighted experiment onto the local plantations. I feel so powerless in the face of it; when I talk to Ghanaians about it most of them don't even know what genetific modification is and the lack of access to information or to the internet will ensure their continual ignorance of its potential dangers.
The third piece of disturbing information I have received relates to child slavery in Ghana - poverty stricken parents are selling their children to work on fishing boats, on plantations and in quarries. An NGO has counted hundreds of children working in slave conditions such as these now. I felt so shocked but then realised that child slavery actually exists here in many more less obvious forms - the small children who sell chewing gums and handkerchiefs through the windows of tro tros are also child slaves. They are kept from schools to make money for their parents, or for street child gangs. This problem is so entrenched that I don't know how it will be overcome. The trade is so apparent, but also so underground. The apathy of the Ghanaian government and the corruption of the police force will ensure that this trade and the abuse of these children is not a temporary problem but a permanent one. I'm sure that child labour and child slavery will also become even more apparent as we journey west into Togo and Benin, countries that suffer from even greater poverty than Ghana.
Life in Besease, February 2007
So I caught malaria...!! I guess it was somewhat inevitable after my bold words about how healthy I was feeling... I began to feel ill last weekend and spent an agonising 24 hours with violent vomiting and diarreoah and as it was 'lights out' my misery was only heightened by the lack of a fan! So there I lay with a small flickering candle and several children peeking through the wire mesh that is my window chanting "Luisa is sick, Luisa is sick" in twi! Being so ill actually made me realise how truly public life is in Ghana - it felt like half of the village walked past the window, or through my room, to look in and witness the obroni heaving over a bucket and lying flat on the floor with wet rags on her head!!! The next day Amanda and Carrick took me to the local clinic run by catholic nuns and after my hand with a massacred with a needle they diagnosed me as having a 'light case' of malaria. So I am taking a colourful cocktail of obscure and unknown medication - when I asked the nurse to explain to me what each pill was she said "because you're sicko, they're to make you feel better"... I'm well on the road to recovery now though and feel much better although my energy levels are very low which I find immensly frustrating! So life continues... the children are becoming more and more familiar with me, and I with them. The new volunteer who was supposed to arrive last weekend didn't, and so I face the next month alone again. And as of Tuesday I will feel much more alone as Amanda has now completed her required hours at social welfare so she departs Ghana for good with Carrick. Wow. We have grown quite close over the past month and I really value all her help - she is so familiar with Ghanaian culture and custom, she even speaks twi! So being with her is really fun and her presence will be sorely missed by all. In saying that, a UK Ghanaian man, Daniel, is going to come for a few hours each day to help me do some more physical work around the home - the children couldn't believe it when they first saw him "a black man?" they said "a black man is going to help?!". They are so used to the volunteers being white and female that they couldn't believe it and looked at him with a bewildered curiosity. I think his presence will be a real value - especially as the home has more males than females and they could benefit hugely from a positive male role-model. Even if only for one month. I wish that there could be more permanent volunteers here as I think what the home lacks is consistency - children need stablity and routine in their lives - but living in Besease can feel so exhausting that I think you would need to be superhuman to live there for any real length of time. I have finished drafting the manual however and am implementing a set roster which is to be laminated and set on the wall so hopefully this will provide at least some consistency in the role of future volunteers and the work that the children are expected to do.
The heat continues. And, strangely, the rains are increasing. It is dry season however but it has now rained (and when I say rained, I mean the skies open up and release a fury upon the earth!) four times since I have been here. This is unusual but all the Ghanaians who I speak to say "the weather is changing all the time, you can't go by the old seasons anymore" - the rains are not due to come until April / May. I love it when it rains though - everything is refreshed and the colours are so intensified. I love the colours here - everything has such colour - the little shops (which are like little wooden shacks with doors that open outwards to display their wares) are painted bright blues and bright greens (and all have some reference to religion in their title as if enticing the good will of the spirits: "If God wills it Rasta-Hair Dos" or "Blessed Jesus Fried Rice"!!) - the ground is always such a brilliant terracotta red, and the greens of the forest are intense. Life is colour here. Colour and smell. I read a fantastic passage about the smells of Africa by a Polish man, Ryszard Kapuscinski, who lived in Ghana and it is so good (and so accurate) that I feel compelled to record it here:
"Something else strikes the new arrival even as he descends the steps of the airplane: the smell of the tropics.... we instantly recognise its weight, its sticky materiality. The smell makes us at once aware that we are at that point on earth where an exuberant and indefatigable nature labors, incessantly reproducing itself, spreading and blooming, even as it sickens, disintegrates, festers and decays. It is the smell of a sweating body and drying fish, of spoiling meat and roasting cassava, of fresh flowers and putrid algae - in short, of everything that is at once pleasant and irritating, that attracts and repels, seduces and disgusts. This odour will reach us from nearby palm groves, will escape from the hot soil, will waft above stagnant city sewers. It will not leave us; it is integral to the tropics".
The malam who I went to see sent me a message the other day - the spirits had told him that I am to be robbed!! He was concerned and so made me a special alm for protection which is a small vile of clear oil - before I travel anywhere I must dab the oil into the palm of my hand and using the first finger of my right hand put a spot of the oil onto my forehead and chest and rub some on my forearms and the spirits will protect me. I must say it has acted as a wake up call to me to be more cautious in my dealings, sometimes I forget that I am in Africa and become too relaxed about personal safety.
I am becoming tired of the starchy diet and long for fresh vegetables - after a month of the Ghanaian diet I can feel the difference in my body - I can't wait to cook for myself again! Ghanaians use oil like a vital ingredient in their meal and I don't think I ever want to eat white rice again in my life after I leave Africa!! At least fresh fruit is available and so I try to eat as much as possible - it revolves around three varieties though: pineapple, banana and orange.
On Thursday Carrick and I went to a monkey sanctuary in a village, Boabeng-Fiema, about 180k from Kumasi. 180k seems like an easy distance when thinking like an obroni but to travel 180k in Ghana took us five long, hot, dusty hours in a tro tro! Most of the road was dirt and very uneven, the van rattles and crashes over the holes, the windows shaking and dust coming in everywhere! The dust is so fine that it permeates everything! You have to hold a handkerchief over your mouth and nose but still it settles in your hair, in your clothes, on your skin - everything is covered with a soft layer of red and you can feel it irritating your lungs the entire ride! The monkey sanctuary was definitely worth it however - the people of the village believe that the monkeys (two species, the Mona and the Colobus) are 'children of the gods' or that they are the souls of the ancestors. Therefore the monkeys can do as they please, roaming the village to scavange food, eating from the plates of the villagers and taking food from cooking pots!! If a monkey's body is found dead then it is buried with full honours by the local fetish priest, laid out in a small wooden coffin and buried in a cemetery which is reserved for the bodies of monkeys and the fetish priests. Each grave is marked with the monkey's details: sex, age and the date it died. It was a beautiful sight! I loved that the animals were so respected by the villagers and the monkeys were very sweet, unafraid of humans (aware of their protected status?) they came close to us and ate peanuts that we fed them. We left the village by about 4pm and caught a ride back to the closest town with a German man who was there - by the time we found a tro tro returning to Kumasi it was 6.30pm and already night was falling - night comes quickly here, sunset lasts about 20 minutes, and I was filled with the thoughts of warnings of travelling at night! In the distance we could see lightning flashing in the sky and halfway through the journey the storm was upon us - rain poured in the van and the driver was skidding around - trucks and other vans zoomed past us and us past them on this dirt road, honking their horns as the only measure of safety, everyone driving so fast that I felt terrified, apparently they must go so fast in order to skim over the tops of the bumps... it was a long journey back and I must say for most of it I was clutching my pounamu and fearing that I wouldn't ever get home again!!
But all was okay and the malam's protection prayers must have worked! The following day I heard from a friend, Hedy, who I met while in the northern region - Hedy decided she wants to travel to Togo and Benin with me so we will cross the border from Ho on March 7th! I'm really happy that she will accompany me as she can speak French (and they are both Francophone countries) and she is a really interesting, outgoing and positive person - the perfect travelling companion!! I can hardly believe that in less than a month I will be leaving Ghana - it has gone so quickly! Next week I will travel to Accra to get my onward visas and to visit Ma's family (the mother of the orphanage) in Tema... it will be nice to have a few days away from the orphanage.
Last week it was announced that the Ghanaian government will reissue the currency (cedi) and knock four 0's off every bill. They say to "make it easier to count" but it seems to me to be more of an attempt to hide the increasing inflation problem in the country. The more time I spend here the more I see that the government tries to hide all its problems rather than confront them. I have spoken with Ghanaians about this and they agree - because Ghana is a child of massive IMF and World Bank "assistance" they want to appear like all of the programmes instilled by these organisations have worked successfully when in reality they haven't... the currency reissuing is quite representative of their system... when it doesn't work, cover it up. Like the problems in the education system, the health system, social welfare etc...
Well, as usual, time is running short and I must get going with the day's activities to be home in time to run the study group...
The heat continues. And, strangely, the rains are increasing. It is dry season however but it has now rained (and when I say rained, I mean the skies open up and release a fury upon the earth!) four times since I have been here. This is unusual but all the Ghanaians who I speak to say "the weather is changing all the time, you can't go by the old seasons anymore" - the rains are not due to come until April / May. I love it when it rains though - everything is refreshed and the colours are so intensified. I love the colours here - everything has such colour - the little shops (which are like little wooden shacks with doors that open outwards to display their wares) are painted bright blues and bright greens (and all have some reference to religion in their title as if enticing the good will of the spirits: "If God wills it Rasta-Hair Dos" or "Blessed Jesus Fried Rice"!!) - the ground is always such a brilliant terracotta red, and the greens of the forest are intense. Life is colour here. Colour and smell. I read a fantastic passage about the smells of Africa by a Polish man, Ryszard Kapuscinski, who lived in Ghana and it is so good (and so accurate) that I feel compelled to record it here:
"Something else strikes the new arrival even as he descends the steps of the airplane: the smell of the tropics.... we instantly recognise its weight, its sticky materiality. The smell makes us at once aware that we are at that point on earth where an exuberant and indefatigable nature labors, incessantly reproducing itself, spreading and blooming, even as it sickens, disintegrates, festers and decays. It is the smell of a sweating body and drying fish, of spoiling meat and roasting cassava, of fresh flowers and putrid algae - in short, of everything that is at once pleasant and irritating, that attracts and repels, seduces and disgusts. This odour will reach us from nearby palm groves, will escape from the hot soil, will waft above stagnant city sewers. It will not leave us; it is integral to the tropics".
The malam who I went to see sent me a message the other day - the spirits had told him that I am to be robbed!! He was concerned and so made me a special alm for protection which is a small vile of clear oil - before I travel anywhere I must dab the oil into the palm of my hand and using the first finger of my right hand put a spot of the oil onto my forehead and chest and rub some on my forearms and the spirits will protect me. I must say it has acted as a wake up call to me to be more cautious in my dealings, sometimes I forget that I am in Africa and become too relaxed about personal safety.
I am becoming tired of the starchy diet and long for fresh vegetables - after a month of the Ghanaian diet I can feel the difference in my body - I can't wait to cook for myself again! Ghanaians use oil like a vital ingredient in their meal and I don't think I ever want to eat white rice again in my life after I leave Africa!! At least fresh fruit is available and so I try to eat as much as possible - it revolves around three varieties though: pineapple, banana and orange.
On Thursday Carrick and I went to a monkey sanctuary in a village, Boabeng-Fiema, about 180k from Kumasi. 180k seems like an easy distance when thinking like an obroni but to travel 180k in Ghana took us five long, hot, dusty hours in a tro tro! Most of the road was dirt and very uneven, the van rattles and crashes over the holes, the windows shaking and dust coming in everywhere! The dust is so fine that it permeates everything! You have to hold a handkerchief over your mouth and nose but still it settles in your hair, in your clothes, on your skin - everything is covered with a soft layer of red and you can feel it irritating your lungs the entire ride! The monkey sanctuary was definitely worth it however - the people of the village believe that the monkeys (two species, the Mona and the Colobus) are 'children of the gods' or that they are the souls of the ancestors. Therefore the monkeys can do as they please, roaming the village to scavange food, eating from the plates of the villagers and taking food from cooking pots!! If a monkey's body is found dead then it is buried with full honours by the local fetish priest, laid out in a small wooden coffin and buried in a cemetery which is reserved for the bodies of monkeys and the fetish priests. Each grave is marked with the monkey's details: sex, age and the date it died. It was a beautiful sight! I loved that the animals were so respected by the villagers and the monkeys were very sweet, unafraid of humans (aware of their protected status?) they came close to us and ate peanuts that we fed them. We left the village by about 4pm and caught a ride back to the closest town with a German man who was there - by the time we found a tro tro returning to Kumasi it was 6.30pm and already night was falling - night comes quickly here, sunset lasts about 20 minutes, and I was filled with the thoughts of warnings of travelling at night! In the distance we could see lightning flashing in the sky and halfway through the journey the storm was upon us - rain poured in the van and the driver was skidding around - trucks and other vans zoomed past us and us past them on this dirt road, honking their horns as the only measure of safety, everyone driving so fast that I felt terrified, apparently they must go so fast in order to skim over the tops of the bumps... it was a long journey back and I must say for most of it I was clutching my pounamu and fearing that I wouldn't ever get home again!!
But all was okay and the malam's protection prayers must have worked! The following day I heard from a friend, Hedy, who I met while in the northern region - Hedy decided she wants to travel to Togo and Benin with me so we will cross the border from Ho on March 7th! I'm really happy that she will accompany me as she can speak French (and they are both Francophone countries) and she is a really interesting, outgoing and positive person - the perfect travelling companion!! I can hardly believe that in less than a month I will be leaving Ghana - it has gone so quickly! Next week I will travel to Accra to get my onward visas and to visit Ma's family (the mother of the orphanage) in Tema... it will be nice to have a few days away from the orphanage.
Last week it was announced that the Ghanaian government will reissue the currency (cedi) and knock four 0's off every bill. They say to "make it easier to count" but it seems to me to be more of an attempt to hide the increasing inflation problem in the country. The more time I spend here the more I see that the government tries to hide all its problems rather than confront them. I have spoken with Ghanaians about this and they agree - because Ghana is a child of massive IMF and World Bank "assistance" they want to appear like all of the programmes instilled by these organisations have worked successfully when in reality they haven't... the currency reissuing is quite representative of their system... when it doesn't work, cover it up. Like the problems in the education system, the health system, social welfare etc...
Well, as usual, time is running short and I must get going with the day's activities to be home in time to run the study group...
Monday, 23 July 2007
Settling into Besease...
A second greeting from Kumasi on a sweltering hot African day... last night I experienced my first tropical storm - wow!! About 6pm the dry sky was filled with lightning and booms of thunder, the air was warm and moist and there was a strange stillness around - all the animals were quiet and were nowhere to be seen - I lay outside awhile and watched the sky - the flashes of lightning were so close together, lighting up the dark sky with such intensity! Then a few warm, fat drops of rain fell... my first time to feel African rain! After 5 minutes the rain stopped and I went inside disapointed... about 10 minutes later the sky opened up and the rain began to pour from the heavens!! I have never heard it rain so hard in my life!! Wow - the noise was deafening, and then the winds began... howling through the building, the tin roof pounding, the doors banging - the electricity went out and we were alone in the darkness with this immense display of mother nature's power! It was amazing - I found a candle eventually and realised the lock had broken on my door - it was a bit scary but I tied the door shut with string and enjoyed the cooler temperature to sleep in! When I left Besease for Kumasi today (about 12) the electricity was still out but the ground had the most glorious smell of earth and the air felt so fresh. It was a beautiful morning - although unfortunately the orphanage didn't fear so well and half of the concrete banister that surrounds the exterior had come off! But after the cooler morning the sun has come out in it's usual intensity and as per normal my skin is beaded with sweat and my clothes are sticking...
Life in Besease continues... the orphanage is challenging and I am beginning to realise the level of problems in Africa... it can be a bit overwhelming when I think about it. The problems here are so great that I don't know how they will ever be overcome. Even the smallest thing is an immense challenge (like teaching the children that it is not wise to throw their rubbish on the ground - they just think you're stupid - what else is the ground for?!!). I take the orpahange as a microcosm of greater Africa and it is already teaching me so much. The church which "runs" the orphanage is virtually permanently absent - they receive money every month from an American organisation and the majority of the funds disappear in paying the church members salaries for doing the most inconsequential jobs! Like the "administrator" (who has been there twice in the time that I have been living there) decided to double his monthly salary for petrol costs in driving to the orphanage from Kumasi (about 45 minutes). Then he says that he does the work "from the goodness of his heart"!! And the children go without... without enough food, without enough clothing, with no underpants, no bedding, no school books. The 24 children who live in the home were expected to use 7 bars of a soap for an entire month. For washing themselves and for washing their clothes. This is what the "administrator" thought was appropriate. I have had to buy the children's school books and text books from my own money because otherwise they simply wouldn't have them! And the same goes for soap, underpants and pyjamas. There is simply not enough money and I feel certain it is because the money is taken by the church members who run the home to make a profit for themselves. It is immensly frustrating. Amanda (the Canadian student there) has been working with social welfare and trying to install a social worker to attend the home twice weekly - social welfare has written reports about the orphanage and offered advice but the church will not take the advice because social welfare is partisan and "doesn't understand the way the church works" or "doesn't understand the religion". And when Amanda or I offer advice (Amanda has been trying to get them to change the systems for a year now) they disregard the advice because "you are obroni, you don't understand how it works in Africa". And so, we pay for the things the children need or we see them go without. It feels overwhelming and the immensity of the issue is exhausting! And this is one small orphanage in a rural Ghanian village. Extend these issues to a continent rife with corruption and the obstacles to development here can begin to be comprehended.
I have begun to feel quite helpless in the face of it all!!! But, I am taking every day as it comes and trying to do the best for the children with what I have and what I can provide. Even if I can only slightly positively influence their lives for the time I am here then it is all worth it. And as was explained to me before I arrived - things here progress very slowly. Life is slow - frustratingly slow at times (like this computer!). I am trying to set up systems at the orphanage in an effort to keep things cleaner and more organised but the children miraculously can't understand English when one is asking them to clean their room!! It's a challenge, but they are worth it. And when I see them smile and see that they are being taken care of then it is all worth the struggle. Life is hard for them - and will be hard for them for a long time, the biggest chance they have to escape the poverty trap is to do well at school and either get scholarships to foreign universities or get sponsored to complete university in Ghana and get a well-paying job. For most they will never acheive this though and the level of unemployment in Ghana is huge - there is no welfare system here either. If you don't work, or beg or steal then you go hungry and homeless. People sell things everywhere - anything - even pencils and shoelaces - they will try to sell to you through the windows of buses or on street corners. Women walk through traffic in the blistering sun all day with children strapped to their backs trying to sell things to passing traffic - I think how hard life must be for them and how it must appear that "obroni" have it so easy. And perhaps it's true... perhaps we do have it so easy. On Saturday another volunteer arrives - a 30 year old from Holland - hopefully her and I will be able to set up more of a routine and perhaps get some much-needed cleaning done around the orphanage! I think it will be easier then. I have also decided to stop working at the community school. After some sadistic behaviour by the teacher I decided that to stay would be to be a passive participant in child abuse. The children would be beaten for anything - for misspelling a word (an offence which the teachers are constantly guilty of!) they would have to come to the teacher with their fingers held in a bunch - she made another student bring her a plastic 30cm ruler and with the sharp edge of it she brought the ruler down hard on the children's fingertips - again and again and again. The children were yelping with pain and pulling away - their eyes filled with fear. For not remembering their times tables they would be beaten around the head and back - for lateness or "disrepectful behaviour" they would be caned - I counted 12 times a child was caned in one setting. And Amanda told me of an incident she witnessed where a child was layed out on a table, their legs and arms held, and their back caned repetitively - just like how the English colonisers treated African slaves in the 1800s and that is deemed human rights' abuse, why is this not also!?! I decided that I could not participate in the system that allowed this to happen and found out the ministry of education requirements for discipline - this behaviour is definitely outside the mandate (the ministry allows the headmaster to cane a child no more than four times on the palm or the buttock for a certain type of offence - lateness and disrepect - definitely not for getting the answer wrong and definitely not by the teachers!). So this morning I went to the school and waited for an hour to see the headmaster. While I waited I spoke to one of the teachers and told him my thoughts - "you can't say that to the headmaster!!" he said "say something else, but don't tell him that you are leaving because of the discipline, I don't know how he will react - it will never cease so why tell him?". I said that because it won't cease I MUST tell him and that I had a responsibility as a human being to tell him, no matter his response. When I finally could speak with him he gave me a big exapserated sigh. "You don't understand" he said "African children are very different from European children" (how so, the pigment in their skin?) "if you tell a European child to sit down, they sit down. If you tell a European child to go to school, they go to school" (what sort of magical country does he think I come from?!!) "African children must be disciplined and they only respond to being beaten, otherwise they would not come to school". I told him that I thought they would not come to school for fear of being beaten. He said that all "obroni" dislike the discipline used at the school but that we don't understand African ways. I explained to him the ministry of education regulation and said that beating the children for getting the answers incorrect is illegal. He said he agrees and would inspect the classes and "redirect" the teachers if he saw it "but I am a very busy man, and I can only go and inspect the classrooms when I have some time". So I doubt anything will eventuate, but at least I said my peace. Perhaps the problem lies in the fact that people do not talk audibly about the behaviour - that the teachers are afraid of the school systems, and of the headmaster. The violence acted out in the school perpetuates itself in the orphanage; the children beat each other and I am constantly breaking up fist fights - between girls, between boys, between boys and girls! Even as young as 3. Someone must break the cycle and it must start somewhere! The teacher agreed with me, but will anything happen?
\u003cbr\>So I am focusing my time on the orphanage. Writing a manual to help other volunteers and trying to work out a roster for jobs. I am also attending the social welfare office to see how social welfare works in Ghana. Yesterday I was allowed to sit in on a family mediation where a man had died and his family had not allowed his wife any of his property as they believed she had killed him by putting a curse on him! In Ghana women have very little rights under the law and if a woman wants to leave her husband she is entitled to nothing. She has to buy her husband a bottle of schnapps to appease him and then she walks away with nothing. Of course very few women will leave abusive relationships and the development of womens' rights is trailing sadly behind. On Thursday I am going to youth court with the social worker which I'm very much looking foward to.\n\u003cbr\>\u003cbr\>The highlight of my week was Sunday when I went to a malam (a traditional African fetish priest) with one of the older boys at the orphanage (he wanted something to help his football team win a match they are playing on Friday!!) I couldn't pass by the opportunity to experience this first hand so early Sunday morning we left... we had to take a tro tro to another village and there we began to walk into the forest. What a journey! We walked for about an hour through this incredibly dense, green forest - the air was so humid and the bush kept rustling with snakes fleeing as they felt our footsteps approaching. We met many people who were journeying through the forest - cocoa farmers and yam farmers, women carrying massive bundles of vegetables on their heads and men with machetes going to harvest crops. They were all so friendly and when I greeted them "akwaba" they would laugh and give me things - I collected two oranges and an avocado - they must have wondered what an obroni was doing so far into the forest! A cocoa farmer stopped us and allowed me to watch him collect the cocoa pods from the trees with a long pole, he cut one of these green pods open and showed me the cocoa beans inside: white and gooey and not particularly appealing! I tasted one, the gooey exterior is very sweet but tastes nothing like cocoa! (The seeds are dried in the sun before being transported to Europe for turning into chocolate). After about an hour of fast paced walking we arrived at the malam's house, completely isolated apart from one neighbour in the middle of this West African forest! As we walked through the forest nearing the house we were surrounded by the most brilliant butterflies I have ever seen in my life! It was incredible - butterflies of all sizes, gold and green and blue and purple, flying in front of me and next to me, darting from one bush to another - it was incredibly magical and apparently a sign of good luck.
Once we arrived at the house - a tidy compound with three mud buildings and straw roofs and a cooking fire in the centre, we waited for about an hour on a wooden plank while the malam was called in from his farm - we sat with some of his children and one of his wives (he has two). One of his sons had dreads and all the others had shaved heads, Ato (the boy from the orphanage) explained that this boy has dreads because the spirits have chosen him to become the next malam. As such he cannot cut his hair until his father dies, if he does then he will fall ill and die. The boy was bewitching! He had the most beautiful, sparkling eyes and kept shyly stealing glances at me and looking away! (I think seeing an obroni woman out there was a novelty!) The wives could not speak english but smiled and greeted me warmly with their presence, they wanted me to photograph them and laughed and laughed at their images on the screen! Eventually the malam arrived and we were permitted into the room (without shoes or socks) - the room was small and cool and dusty - in the centre was a shrine with schnapps bottles, two wooden post red with the blood of sacrified animals and surrounded by white feathers and a small bowl with black powder inside and two white eggs. There were various other instruments for diving and some obscure objects that were apparently a part of a spirit - the malam sat on a stool in one corner and we faced on a small stool - he had a kind face with smiling eyes and a gentle demeanour. He smiled at me and asked me to ask any questions I wanted (Ato translated) - I talked to him about the spirit world and his work as a malam and the traditions, I could write immensely about our discussions but this email is long enough as it is so I will summarise with the explanation that the tradition is ancient, passed down from father to son - the spirits choose the son who they want to become the next malam - he takes no payment for his work but gifts are required for the spirits. He said we all have spirits and when we die our spirits will leave our body and enter another (reincarnation!) but some spirits do not go into other human beings and these are the ones with which he communicates. He said he will prepare something for protection for me and my family and he told me that the spirits liked me so he allowed me to photograph him and the room (including the objects that were part of a spirit) - afterwards we sat under a tree with his wives and his children and he told me that he would like me to stay and become his third wife and provide him with white children!! I laughed and laughed and told him that two wives were more than enough! The wives laughed and asked me to stay - they were all so kind and welcoming and open that a part of me wouldn't have minded to stay in the forest and live with them!!
So I am focusing my time on the orphanage. Writing a manual to help other volunteers and trying to work out a roster for jobs. I am also attending the social welfare office to see how social welfare works in Ghana. Yesterday I was allowed to sit in on a family mediation where a man had died and his family had not allowed his wife any of his property as they believed she had killed him by putting a curse on him! In Ghana women have very little rights under the law and if a woman wants to leave her husband she is entitled to nothing. She has to buy her husband a bottle of schnapps to appease him and then she walks away with nothing. Of course very few women will leave abusive relationships and the development of womens' rights is trailing sadly behind. On Thursday I am going to youth court with the social worker which I'm very much looking foward to. The highlight of my week was Sunday when I went to a malam (a traditional African fetish priest) with one of the older boys at the orphanage (he wanted something to help his football team win a match they are playing on Friday!!) I couldn't pass by the opportunity to experience this first hand so early Sunday morning we left... we had to take a tro tro to another village and there we began to walk into the forest. What a journey! We walked for about an hour through this incredibly dense, green forest - the air was so humid and the bush kept rustling with snakes fleeing as they felt our footsteps approaching. We met many people who were journeying through the forest - cocoa farmers and yam farmers, women carrying massive bundles of vegetables on their heads and men with machetes going to harvest crops. They were all so friendly and when I greeted them "akwaba" they would laugh and give me things - I collected two oranges and an avocado - they must have wondered what an obroni was doing so far into the forest! A cocoa farmer stopped us and allowed me to watch him collect the cocoa pods from the trees with a long pole, he cut one of these green pods open and showed me the cocoa beans inside: white and gooey and not particularly appealing! I tasted one, the gooey exterior is very sweet but tastes nothing like cocoa! (The seeds are dried in the sun before being transported to Europe for turning into chocolate). After about an hour of fast paced walking we arrived at the malam's house, completely isolated apart from one neighbour in the middle of this West African forest! As we walked through the forest nearing the house we were surrounded by the most brilliant butterflies I have ever seen in my life! It was incredible - butterflies of all sizes, gold and green and blue and purple, flying in front of me and next to me, darting from one bush to another - it was incredibly magical and apparently a sign of good luck. Once we arrived at the house - a tidy compound with three mud buildings and straw roofs and a cooking fire in the centre, we waited for about an hour on a wooden plank while the malam was called in from his farm - we sat with some of his children and one of his wives (he has two). One of his sons had dreads and all the others had shaved heads, Ato (the boy from the orphanage) explained that this boy has dreads because the spirits have chosen him to become the next malam. As such he cannot cut his hair until his father dies, if he does then he will fall ill and die. The boy was bewitching! He had the most beautiful, sparkling eyes and kept shyly stealing glances at me and looking away! (I think seeing an obroni woman out there was a novelty!) The wives could not speak english but smiled and greeted me warmly with their presence, they wanted me to photograph them and laughed and laughed at their images on the screen! Eventually the malam arrived and we were permitted into the room (without shoes or socks) - the room was small and cool and dusty - in the centre was a shrine with schnapps bottles, two wooden post red with the blood of sacrified animals and surrounded by white feathers and a small bowl with black powder inside and two white eggs. There were various other instruments for diving and some obscure objects that were apparently a part of a spirit - the malam sat on a stool in one corner and we faced on a small stool - he had a kind face with smiling eyes and a gentle demeanour. He smiled at me and asked me to ask any questions I wanted (Ato translated) - I talked to him about the spirit world and his work as a malam and the traditions, I could write immensely about our discussions but this email is long enough as it is so I will summarise with the explanation that the tradition is ancient, passed down from father to son - the spirits choose the son who they want to become the next malam - he takes no payment for his work but gifts are required for the spirits. He said we all have spirits and when we die our spirits will leave our body and enter another (reincarnation!) but some spirits do not go into other human beings and these are the ones with which he communicates. He said he will prepare something for protection for me and my family and he told me that the spirits liked me so he allowed me to photograph him and the room (including the objects that were part of a spirit) - afterwards we sat under a tree with his wives and his children and he told me that he would like me to stay and become his third wife and provide him with white children!! I laughed and laughed and told him that two wives were more than enough! The wives laughed and asked me to stay - they were all so kind and welcoming and open that a part of me wouldn't have minded to stay in the forest and live with them!!
I also attended a Ghanian/Duth rastafarian wedding on Friday night which was another experience altogether but I am running fast out of time as I must get back to the orphanage by 5pm for the study group I have set up...
Oh and something I missed in the previous email! While we were at the national park there was a scorpion in the bed! I had never seen a scorpion before and it caused a bit of a stir... to say the least! My fear of large spiders is well and truly cured though as I share my toilet and wash room (shower bottom with a hole for a drain and a bucket) with several large but seemingly friendly spiders...!
I have begun to feel quite helpless in the face of it all!!! But, I am taking every day as it comes and trying to do the best for the children with what I have and what I can provide. Even if I can only slightly positively influence their lives for the time I am here then it is all worth it. And as was explained to me before I arrived - things here progress very slowly. Life is slow - frustratingly slow at times (like this computer!). I am trying to set up systems at the orphanage in an effort to keep things cleaner and more organised but the children miraculously can't understand English when one is asking them to clean their room!! It's a challenge, but they are worth it. And when I see them smile and see that they are being taken care of then it is all worth the struggle. Life is hard for them - and will be hard for them for a long time, the biggest chance they have to escape the poverty trap is to do well at school and either get scholarships to foreign universities or get sponsored to complete university in Ghana and get a well-paying job. For most they will never acheive this though and the level of unemployment in Ghana is huge - there is no welfare system here either. If you don't work, or beg or steal then you go hungry and homeless. People sell things everywhere - anything - even pencils and shoelaces - they will try to sell to you through the windows of buses or on street corners. Women walk through traffic in the blistering sun all day with children strapped to their backs trying to sell things to passing traffic - I think how hard life must be for them and how it must appear that "obroni" have it so easy. And perhaps it's true... perhaps we do have it so easy. On Saturday another volunteer arrives - a 30 year old from Holland - hopefully her and I will be able to set up more of a routine and perhaps get some much-needed cleaning done around the orphanage! I think it will be easier then. I have also decided to stop working at the community school. After some sadistic behaviour by the teacher I decided that to stay would be to be a passive participant in child abuse. The children would be beaten for anything - for misspelling a word (an offence which the teachers are constantly guilty of!) they would have to come to the teacher with their fingers held in a bunch - she made another student bring her a plastic 30cm ruler and with the sharp edge of it she brought the ruler down hard on the children's fingertips - again and again and again. The children were yelping with pain and pulling away - their eyes filled with fear. For not remembering their times tables they would be beaten around the head and back - for lateness or "disrepectful behaviour" they would be caned - I counted 12 times a child was caned in one setting. And Amanda told me of an incident she witnessed where a child was layed out on a table, their legs and arms held, and their back caned repetitively - just like how the English colonisers treated African slaves in the 1800s and that is deemed human rights' abuse, why is this not also!?! I decided that I could not participate in the system that allowed this to happen and found out the ministry of education requirements for discipline - this behaviour is definitely outside the mandate (the ministry allows the headmaster to cane a child no more than four times on the palm or the buttock for a certain type of offence - lateness and disrepect - definitely not for getting the answer wrong and definitely not by the teachers!). So this morning I went to the school and waited for an hour to see the headmaster. While I waited I spoke to one of the teachers and told him my thoughts - "you can't say that to the headmaster!!" he said "say something else, but don't tell him that you are leaving because of the discipline, I don't know how he will react - it will never cease so why tell him?". I said that because it won't cease I MUST tell him and that I had a responsibility as a human being to tell him, no matter his response. When I finally could speak with him he gave me a big exapserated sigh. "You don't understand" he said "African children are very different from European children" (how so, the pigment in their skin?) "if you tell a European child to sit down, they sit down. If you tell a European child to go to school, they go to school" (what sort of magical country does he think I come from?!!) "African children must be disciplined and they only respond to being beaten, otherwise they would not come to school". I told him that I thought they would not come to school for fear of being beaten. He said that all "obroni" dislike the discipline used at the school but that we don't understand African ways. I explained to him the ministry of education regulation and said that beating the children for getting the answers incorrect is illegal. He said he agrees and would inspect the classes and "redirect" the teachers if he saw it "but I am a very busy man, and I can only go and inspect the classrooms when I have some time". So I doubt anything will eventuate, but at least I said my peace. Perhaps the problem lies in the fact that people do not talk audibly about the behaviour - that the teachers are afraid of the school systems, and of the headmaster. The violence acted out in the school perpetuates itself in the orphanage; the children beat each other and I am constantly breaking up fist fights - between girls, between boys, between boys and girls! Even as young as 3. Someone must break the cycle and it must start somewhere! The teacher agreed with me, but will anything happen?
\u003cbr\>So I am focusing my time on the orphanage. Writing a manual to help other volunteers and trying to work out a roster for jobs. I am also attending the social welfare office to see how social welfare works in Ghana. Yesterday I was allowed to sit in on a family mediation where a man had died and his family had not allowed his wife any of his property as they believed she had killed him by putting a curse on him! In Ghana women have very little rights under the law and if a woman wants to leave her husband she is entitled to nothing. She has to buy her husband a bottle of schnapps to appease him and then she walks away with nothing. Of course very few women will leave abusive relationships and the development of womens' rights is trailing sadly behind. On Thursday I am going to youth court with the social worker which I'm very much looking foward to.\n\u003cbr\>\u003cbr\>The highlight of my week was Sunday when I went to a malam (a traditional African fetish priest) with one of the older boys at the orphanage (he wanted something to help his football team win a match they are playing on Friday!!) I couldn't pass by the opportunity to experience this first hand so early Sunday morning we left... we had to take a tro tro to another village and there we began to walk into the forest. What a journey! We walked for about an hour through this incredibly dense, green forest - the air was so humid and the bush kept rustling with snakes fleeing as they felt our footsteps approaching. We met many people who were journeying through the forest - cocoa farmers and yam farmers, women carrying massive bundles of vegetables on their heads and men with machetes going to harvest crops. They were all so friendly and when I greeted them "akwaba" they would laugh and give me things - I collected two oranges and an avocado - they must have wondered what an obroni was doing so far into the forest! A cocoa farmer stopped us and allowed me to watch him collect the cocoa pods from the trees with a long pole, he cut one of these green pods open and showed me the cocoa beans inside: white and gooey and not particularly appealing! I tasted one, the gooey exterior is very sweet but tastes nothing like cocoa! (The seeds are dried in the sun before being transported to Europe for turning into chocolate). After about an hour of fast paced walking we arrived at the malam's house, completely isolated apart from one neighbour in the middle of this West African forest! As we walked through the forest nearing the house we were surrounded by the most brilliant butterflies I have ever seen in my life! It was incredible - butterflies of all sizes, gold and green and blue and purple, flying in front of me and next to me, darting from one bush to another - it was incredibly magical and apparently a sign of good luck.
Once we arrived at the house - a tidy compound with three mud buildings and straw roofs and a cooking fire in the centre, we waited for about an hour on a wooden plank while the malam was called in from his farm - we sat with some of his children and one of his wives (he has two). One of his sons had dreads and all the others had shaved heads, Ato (the boy from the orphanage) explained that this boy has dreads because the spirits have chosen him to become the next malam. As such he cannot cut his hair until his father dies, if he does then he will fall ill and die. The boy was bewitching! He had the most beautiful, sparkling eyes and kept shyly stealing glances at me and looking away! (I think seeing an obroni woman out there was a novelty!) The wives could not speak english but smiled and greeted me warmly with their presence, they wanted me to photograph them and laughed and laughed at their images on the screen! Eventually the malam arrived and we were permitted into the room (without shoes or socks) - the room was small and cool and dusty - in the centre was a shrine with schnapps bottles, two wooden post red with the blood of sacrified animals and surrounded by white feathers and a small bowl with black powder inside and two white eggs. There were various other instruments for diving and some obscure objects that were apparently a part of a spirit - the malam sat on a stool in one corner and we faced on a small stool - he had a kind face with smiling eyes and a gentle demeanour. He smiled at me and asked me to ask any questions I wanted (Ato translated) - I talked to him about the spirit world and his work as a malam and the traditions, I could write immensely about our discussions but this email is long enough as it is so I will summarise with the explanation that the tradition is ancient, passed down from father to son - the spirits choose the son who they want to become the next malam - he takes no payment for his work but gifts are required for the spirits. He said we all have spirits and when we die our spirits will leave our body and enter another (reincarnation!) but some spirits do not go into other human beings and these are the ones with which he communicates. He said he will prepare something for protection for me and my family and he told me that the spirits liked me so he allowed me to photograph him and the room (including the objects that were part of a spirit) - afterwards we sat under a tree with his wives and his children and he told me that he would like me to stay and become his third wife and provide him with white children!! I laughed and laughed and told him that two wives were more than enough! The wives laughed and asked me to stay - they were all so kind and welcoming and open that a part of me wouldn't have minded to stay in the forest and live with them!!So I am focusing my time on the orphanage. Writing a manual to help other volunteers and trying to work out a roster for jobs. I am also attending the social welfare office to see how social welfare works in Ghana. Yesterday I was allowed to sit in on a family mediation where a man had died and his family had not allowed his wife any of his property as they believed she had killed him by putting a curse on him! In Ghana women have very little rights under the law and if a woman wants to leave her husband she is entitled to nothing. She has to buy her husband a bottle of schnapps to appease him and then she walks away with nothing. Of course very few women will leave abusive relationships and the development of womens' rights is trailing sadly behind. On Thursday I am going to youth court with the social worker which I'm very much looking foward to. The highlight of my week was Sunday when I went to a malam (a traditional African fetish priest) with one of the older boys at the orphanage (he wanted something to help his football team win a match they are playing on Friday!!) I couldn't pass by the opportunity to experience this first hand so early Sunday morning we left... we had to take a tro tro to another village and there we began to walk into the forest. What a journey! We walked for about an hour through this incredibly dense, green forest - the air was so humid and the bush kept rustling with snakes fleeing as they felt our footsteps approaching. We met many people who were journeying through the forest - cocoa farmers and yam farmers, women carrying massive bundles of vegetables on their heads and men with machetes going to harvest crops. They were all so friendly and when I greeted them "akwaba" they would laugh and give me things - I collected two oranges and an avocado - they must have wondered what an obroni was doing so far into the forest! A cocoa farmer stopped us and allowed me to watch him collect the cocoa pods from the trees with a long pole, he cut one of these green pods open and showed me the cocoa beans inside: white and gooey and not particularly appealing! I tasted one, the gooey exterior is very sweet but tastes nothing like cocoa! (The seeds are dried in the sun before being transported to Europe for turning into chocolate). After about an hour of fast paced walking we arrived at the malam's house, completely isolated apart from one neighbour in the middle of this West African forest! As we walked through the forest nearing the house we were surrounded by the most brilliant butterflies I have ever seen in my life! It was incredible - butterflies of all sizes, gold and green and blue and purple, flying in front of me and next to me, darting from one bush to another - it was incredibly magical and apparently a sign of good luck. Once we arrived at the house - a tidy compound with three mud buildings and straw roofs and a cooking fire in the centre, we waited for about an hour on a wooden plank while the malam was called in from his farm - we sat with some of his children and one of his wives (he has two). One of his sons had dreads and all the others had shaved heads, Ato (the boy from the orphanage) explained that this boy has dreads because the spirits have chosen him to become the next malam. As such he cannot cut his hair until his father dies, if he does then he will fall ill and die. The boy was bewitching! He had the most beautiful, sparkling eyes and kept shyly stealing glances at me and looking away! (I think seeing an obroni woman out there was a novelty!) The wives could not speak english but smiled and greeted me warmly with their presence, they wanted me to photograph them and laughed and laughed at their images on the screen! Eventually the malam arrived and we were permitted into the room (without shoes or socks) - the room was small and cool and dusty - in the centre was a shrine with schnapps bottles, two wooden post red with the blood of sacrified animals and surrounded by white feathers and a small bowl with black powder inside and two white eggs. There were various other instruments for diving and some obscure objects that were apparently a part of a spirit - the malam sat on a stool in one corner and we faced on a small stool - he had a kind face with smiling eyes and a gentle demeanour. He smiled at me and asked me to ask any questions I wanted (Ato translated) - I talked to him about the spirit world and his work as a malam and the traditions, I could write immensely about our discussions but this email is long enough as it is so I will summarise with the explanation that the tradition is ancient, passed down from father to son - the spirits choose the son who they want to become the next malam - he takes no payment for his work but gifts are required for the spirits. He said we all have spirits and when we die our spirits will leave our body and enter another (reincarnation!) but some spirits do not go into other human beings and these are the ones with which he communicates. He said he will prepare something for protection for me and my family and he told me that the spirits liked me so he allowed me to photograph him and the room (including the objects that were part of a spirit) - afterwards we sat under a tree with his wives and his children and he told me that he would like me to stay and become his third wife and provide him with white children!! I laughed and laughed and told him that two wives were more than enough! The wives laughed and asked me to stay - they were all so kind and welcoming and open that a part of me wouldn't have minded to stay in the forest and live with them!!
I also attended a Ghanian/Duth rastafarian wedding on Friday night which was another experience altogether but I am running fast out of time as I must get back to the orphanage by 5pm for the study group I have set up...
Oh and something I missed in the previous email! While we were at the national park there was a scorpion in the bed! I had never seen a scorpion before and it caused a bit of a stir... to say the least! My fear of large spiders is well and truly cured though as I share my toilet and wash room (shower bottom with a hole for a drain and a bucket) with several large but seemingly friendly spiders...!
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