This Moment

21 August, 2008
Let me tell you about this moment.

It’s Thursday, mid-afternoon, just past 3 pm. I spent my morning exploring the local “big” town, the district capital about 20 minutes away. The sprawling town is still decidedly smaller than the “big” city of Koforidua that I grew accustomed to living near this summer. I was able to pick up a few necessities during my walkabout, including matches and kitchen knives, but I’m still headed to a nearby market day tomorrow to find other (more edible) goodies. I’m at site for good as of yesterday, which means sitting happily alone in the little blue-painted cube I now call my own. Aside from shopping, the biggest accomplishment of my day was treating a new mosquito net with insect repellent.

In the background of this moment I’m listening to the Olympics in Beijing via BBC World Service, bounced to my corner of Ghana from Ascension Island. I had to look at a map for that one, by the way. My world feels both very small and very big, and I’m not sure where I fall in its Big Picture. The change in routine this past week left me with parting gifts: a stuffy-headed, sore-throated cold, uneven sunburn, mysterious insect bites, and copious amounts of exhaustion… but even so, I’m ok. I find myself breathing deeply, relaxation trickling into my toes. Here, now, I can sit - and simply feel, breathe, hear, be. Tomorrow the frustration can return, next week the exasperation may take hold, and sometime soon I will return to feeling helpless, hopeless, and fed up. So be it; those moments will come on the coattails of their own stories. It is this moment I want to share. In this one, as the second hand ticks slowly around my dusty clock’s face, I am smiling. I am content. I simply… exist.

Life is good.

“If you surrender completely to the moments as they pass, you live more richly.”
Anne Morrow Lindbergh

One obscenely, horrendously, incredibly long update

Super Extreme Update Extraordinaire.
(Which I know is long overdue.)

Where am I? What am I doing? What’s the news? How am I? I’ve done a terrible job answering those questions since June (June??!!), I know. I’m going to try and remedy that a bit now. Grab a sandwich, it’s gonna take a while.

Where am I?
I am at site. I moved here for good (or until my Close of Service, whichever comes first) last Wednesday. The first day of classes for 1st Term isn’t until September 14th…ish… — which means at the very minimum I have three weeks until I start teaching. That’s assuming I actually teach on the first day of class, which won’t be the case if I am assigned a roster full of Form 1 students (which is most likely given the way the ICT curriculum works). Which brings us to the next question.

What am I doing?
Good question. The one everyone is asking, especially after they’ve done the maths and realized I have 20-some days to “sit around and do nothing”. Actually, truth be told, that is what I’ve done for the last 48 hours or so. It’s been blissful. If you kept up with my Asia Travels last year, this weekend has reminded me of the interlude I spent in Hong Kong: a lot of reading, a lot of writing, and a lot of mental stretching and deep breathing. Clearing the cobwebs out of my brain’s corners; sweeping the popcorn up between shows. My biggest accomplishment since arrival has been washing a massive pile of laundry, the scale of which put Kilimanjaro to shame (it’s funny to think how I define “massive pile of laundry” now, versus a few months ago.). The high point of today was having my 50gal water barrel delivered, along with the worthier-than-gold water filter (yay, no more subsisting on sachet water! I’ve traded chlorine for chalk as a flavour additive!). I made two trips to the borehole and called it good. If my barrel holds 50 gallons, and I consume 15 gallons a day (stupid flush toilets that suck water, give me a pit latrine anyday), and only have two 5 gallon buckets with which to transport water, and find myself sweaty and muddy after only two borehole trips, and splash a lot while walking slowly and pitifully past at least 6 Smalls on the way… I should have a full barrel before nightfall. Arithmetic is so much easier when one calculates the Small Child Factor.

On a less immediate scale, though, I do have a bit here on campus to keep me busy between now and whenever I start teaching. Regardless of my actual first day of classes, I’ve also been assigned the role of Head of House for a girls’ dormitory, the actual scope of which I’ve yet to ascertain. So as soon as faculty begin to trickle back to campus I will need to corner another Head of House — and figure out exactly what the job description includes. Additionally, I’ve got to find the right person to pass me on the the other right person who knows the school carpenter, so that I can get a bookshelf and clothing shelf built posthaste (or at least within the next two weeks. I’m desperately tired of living out of a suitcase!). Optionally, if the school would just dash* me the lumber, I have a hammer and a lot of motivation.

Outside of my Primary Job Description of “Secondary School ICT Teacher”, Peace Corps requires encourages “Secondary” (or even Tertiary) Projects. The scale and scope of those are up to the individual volunteer, but the idea is to facilitate branching out from the home community (which in my case is the school campus, on which I both work, eat, and sleep.) into the surrounding area (isolated though I feel her at school, there are no less than three seperate communities within walking distance). While I won’t realistically be starting anything secondary for at least a term, there’s still a lot I can do while I wait. The over-cliche, much-derided, somehow-pretentious phrase - community integration - nevertheless makes a good point. This weekend notwithstanding (I needed it, ok?!), a substantial part of my “success” (measure that how you will) here will depend on my connections to, impressions upon, and ultimate integration within the communities around me. As isolated as I feel even when I go to Market Day on my own, it won’t help to give in to the impulse to stay on campus, fetch water, cook supper, and read a book.

So ultimately… all that flowery talk is just a way of saying I’m going to be doing a lot of walking around, waving at kids, greeting people, getting lost with the intention of getting found, saying the same things over and over (”Yen fre me ‘obruni,’ ye fre me Ama Serwaa! Me ye teachani wo AMASS. ‘Peace Corps’? Peace Corps. Peace corpse? Ahaa.” Etc.), and buying two eggs or “2000″ (roughly 1/4 loaf) bread at a time just so I have an excuse to visit more than one market seller. And wait, I’m getting paid (well, somehow) to do this? What’s the catch?!

What’s the news?

        I moved to site!

Really. That’s the news.

Bonus: my clothes are clean. This is GREAT NEWS.

How am I?

You have a lot of good questions. I’m still trying to answer this one myself.

For now, I can tell you that the 10 weeks of Pre-Service Training was . Ultimately, it was a learning experience, which (obviously) was the intent. For better or worse I’ve “passed” with flying colours, successfully sworn my allegiance to the US Government, and made the transition of a single letter, from “PCT” to “PCV”. I conquered a lot of initial fears, made a lot of friends (and maybe a few enemies), tried a hell of a lot of new things — and, I believe, successfully navigated The End Of The Honeymoon’s dark waters. A lot of drama has been inevitable. Stick 35 34 33 32 shellshocked USA natives together with the same in HCN trainers, morph everyone involved into 24/7 cultural lab rats, add copious amounts of stress, miscommunication & frustration, simmer for 10 weeks — “drama” is putting it kindly. I contributed to my share, and if anyone who still hates me is reading this, I apologize. Sincerely.

But aside from all that… I’m still here.

And sometimes that’s enough.

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*Language Lesson of the Week:
    ”Dash. v., see: To Dash. Small gift or favour. Can be lighthearted, e.g., “Your sandals are very beautiful! Dash me your shoes!” (note; may actually be a serious request, obrunis take care) or used in a legitimate sense, e.g., most edible market items are expected to come with a dash. Many things are bought in value and not unit amounts, e.g., “10,000 bread” instead of “1 loaf bread”; it’s common to have the seller “dash” a fractional unit amount over the agreed upon value amount. This is where building relationships within a community comes in handy: there may be 10 women selling tomatoes, and each of them sell the same pile of tomatoes for the same 3000 pesowah - but if you visit Auntie Vic instead of Sister Giftie each time you’re making spaghetti? She’s still going to put just 3000gp tomatoes in a bag, but after a while, she’ll start dashing you a little more on top than her neighbors would. And if she doesn’t then you go back to Sister Giftie very contritely, and maybe dash her some of your American-cooked spaghetti by way of apology. The American in me is flabbergasted by the commonality of “free stuff.” The broke Volunteer in me is very happy.

Also, that reminds me:
“Living in Ghana” Tip of the Week:
If you keep reading this blog, and you try to follow any mentions of prices and currency, I’m probably just going to confuse you. A lot of that will be just because I don’t like numbers, but a lot of it is also due to the recent re-denomination of the Ghana Cedi. Until December 2007, one Cedi was worth 10,000 Pesowahs. 10 Cedis, then, equalled 100,000 Pesowahs, and so on and so forth. After December 2007, however, one Cedi now equals 1,000 Pesowahs. Officially, “everyone” has switched over painlessly to the new system; realistically, though, you’re still going to hear both used interchangeably. The exchange rate, incidentally, is very close to 1GHC = 1USD (thought the USD is actually fractionally weaker at the moment, which I find funny). So when I tell you I’m making 6 dollars/day (or 60,000 Ghana Cedis on the old system, get it?)… I’m dead serious. Perspective-altering, isn’t it?

Photos?!

Final blog update of today; wanted to let you all know that I’m currently uploading a handful of photos to the gallery. Finally, I know! At the rate of the bandwidth at this internet cafe, I should be finished uploading in about 30 minutes.

The permalink to the shiny new Ghana gallery is here:
http://whimsicorical.com/gallery/v/pcghana/. At the moment the images in the gallery’s root are from June and July, when I have more time I’ll fix the (lack of) organization.

Anyhow… enjoy.

Update, Apologies, and my Site

“What day is it?” A friend asked me this yesterday, in complete seriousness. It took me a fraction of a second too long to reply. “Monday!” For those of you not paying attention, that means it’s Tuesday as I write this now. If I’m lucky it will Tuesday when I post this also — 7 days from now.

Time has a weird way of manifesting itself here. On the one hand, a day can drag on to infinity — but on the other, a week will fly by. My apologies for not keeping up my end of communication; part of it is due to losing track of time, a lot of it was because it’s amazingly difficult to find time (and money!) to get myself to a (functioning) internet cafe. Sorry, all. Thanks in advance for the pile of emails I opened my inbox on today — I’ll work on replying to them offline and try to get back online before September.

This past week I’ve been on “site visit”; while the days are pleasantly long, the week has somehow vanished. I still have a few days left before returning to training, and I’m enjoying every moment. Suffice to say I really look forward to moving here in a few weeks. We swear in on the 19th of August, which gives me over a month before classes start for the term. Plenty of time to get to know my new site.

Oh yes. My site. My school is Asin Manso Secondary School, in the Central Region. The local town is - amazingly enough - Asin Manso. Feel free to google it and send me anything you learn; you’ll probably find out more than I already know fairly quickly. The town itself is a 10-15 minute walk from my school gate, which is not bad at all*. The student body is relatively large for a school receiving a volunteer: around 1600. I will be the 76th faculty member… meanwhile, at least one of my fellow trainees will be the 6th teacher at their school. I can’t imagine how different our experiences are going to be! I live on campus, as do another 20 or so other teachers. I don’t actually have a house or flat of my own; I share a compound house with another teacher. “Compound house” means a collection of rooms all open onto a central courtyard. I have one room, plus I share access to a kitchen, bath, and toilet. No running water but I only carry a bucket 55 steps to the water source (I counted). Electricity is present and fairly constant.

Though I only have one room, I plan on visiting Peace Corps-neighbors often for mental breaks and cooking fiascos. My nearest is less than 10 minutes away, and the kitchen there is somehow* awesome. Cape Coast is only 40 minutes away, so I also plan to visit the “Big City” at least once a month (even if only for banking, post office, etc.).

School is closed for now, so I haven’t met many staff or faculty members yet. The ones I have, though, are incredibly kind and welcoming. Before I arrived I was worried about the possible dynamics that might come with being the newest, youngest, whitest, peace corpsest, etc.-est teacher in such a big school. My department counterparts, housemate, headmaster, co-teachers: all that I have met have immediately accepted me as just another teacher, which has been good.

So that’s all I know about my site for now. Once I swear in and move here for good, my schedule should be less Property of the US Government and more my own. With any luck that will mean more frequent blogging and email writing. Until then: Life is good.

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* Note on Ghanaian English: I typed a few Ghana-English terms in this entry, and almost deleted them afterwards — but decided to leave them in, along with a Fun Cultural Tidbit. There are a lot of small words, phrases, sounds, gestures, etc. that contribute to Ghana-English. Two of the most common are use of the words “at ALL” and “somehow”. “Koraaaa” is the Twi equivelent to “at ALL”, and is used often. Stress, volume, and length of the last sylable extend the emphasis. “Me’n pe se di banku koraaaaaaaaaaaa” - I don’t like to eat Banku AT ALL. (Sorry, fellow Ghanians. Banku doesn’t like me; it’s mutual.) The pronounciation is somehow similar to “a TOLL”… which brings me to the other word, “somehow.” The short explanation is to simply replace any American-English instance of “sort of,” “kind of,” and in some instances “maybe” or “so-so”, with the Ghana-English “somehow”. The long explanation is somehow more nuanced, but I have yet to completely grasp it. Now go, speak somehow Ghana-English, and have no trouble at ALL.

Language Class

(I have a lot of somehow-pretyped blog entries from the past few months, as I get online I will try to post them. Consider any misspellings and typos a bonus - I’ve become lazy.)

Wed, 16 July 2008

“En kye; Braa ntem. — Don’t keep long; come back on time.” It’s 7:30 when I bid my homestay family goodbye for the morning. It took me many weeks to adjust to hearing their parting admonitions, regardless of my destination, as standard phrases of parting. As I walk out of the courtyard, I cast a glance eastward, towards the mountains that send this little valley town its daily dose of rainy season goodness. This morning our rolling green hills are shrouded in fog. The maize fields usually visible are obscured by a misty screen of rain. I have maybe an hour. Language class is scheduled for 8:00-12:00, so with a smattering of luck I should stay perfectly dry. Downfalls here rush in hard and fast, but rarely last long. As my gaze shifts, I catch the eye of a magpie in a nearby nut palm. I love these giant birds; they’re the black-and-white crows of Ghana. This one cocks his head to stare disdainfully at the street before us both.

This street is alive with activity, the threat of rain granting an extra buzz of electric energy. It’s early yet, but the neighborhood’s rhythm is already in full swing. Tables and stalls materialize along the roadside: you could tether yourself to a ten foot radius and still live for a month on the cornucopia of merchandise within arm’s reach. Fruits and vegetables, fish and maize, phone credits, soap, rat poison, water sachets, fabric, shoes, ice cream. Lizards scuttle brazenly between the legs of swarming goats who, in turn, are stalked by ever-present chickens. Beady eyes watch for any and all edible spoils of the goats’ movements. A dropped maize cob is set upon by a furious mess of feathers and squawking dust.

“Amma Sara, Ma kwe-oo!” The shouts assail me as soon as I enter shouting distance. I shift my water bottle self-consciously to my left hand, freeing up the “polite” right hand to wave in return. The call-and-response greetings swirl and meld around me until no one is sure where one set ends and another begins. No matter. The phrases we send bouncing back and forth, the market ladies and me, are stilted. Dusty, perfunctory, rote exchanges. The smiles and laughter that accompany, though, are not. Below the cacophony of socially correct greetings, connections are being made without a word. If I look carefully enough, I can see it happening — but too often it’s something I don’t notice until I’ve passed on by. Like watching life breathed into the world through the retrospect of time-lapse photography. I see it in the shy grins and boasterious giggles of my Small Entourouge, in the good-natured teasing from the women selling oranges… in the shuffling dance steps of a toothless old woman who shows her appreciation for my garbled Twi by grabbing my hands and whirling me around.

“Ashe bofro anopa”. I flag down a bofro seller, spending 10 “cents” on a hot chunk of sweet fried bread. After the first week of interminably long language classes I learned to plan ahead for snack breaks. Bofro and a handful of groundnuts, maybe a miniature banana or two, and my mind is able to think and learn in Twi for a few more hours. The exchange takes only a few moments; the vender stops and swings the box down off her head in a deceptively simple maneuver. We exchange coins and bread, and I attempt to move on. Too late; the seconds I spent standing still were enough to allow a fairly large contingent of my Small Child Army to gather. A few nights ago my host mother warned me for the nth time that if I don’t take my porch chair indoors at night it might get stolen. I countered with the comment that if anything were ever stolen from me, I have enough Smalls to send an army to beat the thief and rescue my stuff. She laughed, and the idea stuck. Every obruni here has their respective swarm of smalls — I, apparently, am blessed with my own Army.

“Amma Sara, wo ko ahe?” I’m going to class, I’m going to class, I’m going to class! The question and my answer is repeated incessantly as I continue down the street. An inquiry and answer that weaves through the constant greetings until it’s indistinguishable from itself. Everyone is going somewhere in Ghana — and if you’re not going somewhere at this second, you’re still going somewhere eventually. If a destination isn’t immediately apparent, the polite thing to do is ask, at least once. As the local white girl, I get more than my fair share of curiosity. A gaggle of Smalls reply, unbidden, that they are going to school as well — a fact made obvious by their faded yellow uniforms.

“Obruni, ba baaaaai!” The last echo of a dozen Smalls too young for school chases me around the corner. It’s nearly 8am. I’m not late, just on time. It has taken the better part of half an hour to walk only a few blocks - I can actually still see my house from here, if I climb up a flight of stairs to look. Between the greetings and smiles and impromptu dances; the conversation and questions and introductions and partings — I’ve walked a few hundred meters from my home to language class, yet feel as if I’ve already had a full mornings’-worth language practice. And, I hope, I’ve extended my roots a little further. Built upon a few relationships, shared a little more of myself. Found a little more comfort in my own identity here among my family of strangers.

Not long after class begins, the skies open. Shouts and squeals pulse past the windows like phantom butterflies, as disembodied shadows run to take cover. My language instructor raises her voice to be heard over the sudden noise, but class goes on despite the interruption - there are only 4 of us here, so we just crowd closer. Machine gun drops beat a tattoo on the tin roof over our heads.

It is what it is

Hello, world. I’ve just recently gotten my laptop to my homestay house, so with any luck I should be able to get a few “real” entries up here within a few weeks. My plan is to type at home and take the results on pen drive to whatever internet cafe I can get to. I know I still haven’t posted much by way of “daily life” stuff… it just feels weird rehashing all that when it’s really not that interesting. If you are really curious about what’s going on, track down my mom and ask her – I just sent a 4-page email filled with daily-life goodness, so plenty to satisfy your curiosity!

This week (and next) I’m doing Teaching Practicum… which means by the time I finish writing lesson plans at night, I have very little desire to write anything else original. So for today’s entry I just typed up my last (paper-)journal entry. Enjoy.

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Tuesday 1 July (National Holiday; No School.)
Early morning, before Technical Class.

The times in which I can actually sit and notice and appreciate the sites/sounds/smells/tastes/sensations that make up Ghana are (as yet) few. 90% of my time here has been complete sensory overload, where all I can do is take in, take in, take in. In order to survive all I can do is give myself to the experience – to process is to miss the forest because I am so desperately clinging to the trees. It is only this morning that I have had time to breathe and think and reflect… and begin to accept.

Because I’ve just decided: this week is to be one of acceptance. I know, haven’t I been dong that since I got here? But no, I haven’t, not really. I’ve been absorbing and acclimating – learning to tolerate and adjust – but not really accepting.

This is Ghana.
Ghana is confusing, this experience can be frustrating; there is complete chaos — and I am not a part of the whirlwind.
I am far from being Ghanaian.
I accept this. I accept to the mindset that this is not, and cannot ever be, a world into which I was born familiar. Most importantly, I adjust myself from a sense of transience “This is Ghana, but This Too Shall Pass”) to one of permanence “This is Ghana, and it is home.”).

This is Ghana.
It breathes with a life-rhythm completely alien to my comprehension: from the rhythm of the chant coming from the boys who just ran down the street, to the sound of the girls’ clapping game in the market square, to the hypnotic beat of fufu being pounded. There is a heartbeat here, steady amidst the chaos. An easy rhythm of life that is as natural as the laughter in the streets – yet one against which my own heart is still struggling. There have been moments when something “clicks”. Maybe language, maybe accent (yes, there’s an accent to pick up), maybe conversation, or maybe just walking down the street at dusk. Whatever it is, a few seconds pass where I am able to feel comfortable in my own skin and not like a complete outsider, and it’s as if I’ve won the lottery! It’s like finding the instructions to some mysterious dance and being able to fall into it gracefully… for a few steps. Most of the time, though, it’s similar to me trying to play the drums - I understand the logic that drives the rhythm, but I cannot convey that into myself.

I accept this all: my strangeness in a strange land. I accept. I allow the frustration and sense of separation to wash over me, without allowing it to take hold within my soul. I content myself with the present and wait for tomorrow to take care of itself.

This is absolutely Ghana.
I accept this… and relish the revelations the future will bring.

I’m in Ghana!

I don’t have very much internet time at all, but just wanted to post in case anyone was worried I didn’t make it all the way here.

So yes, I’m here! I made it. I’m in Accra right now. I will attempt to get more online eventually, but for now internet access is going to be pretty sketchy.

I head out to visit a current volunteer at her site tomorrow; I’ll leave her Wednesday and head for our long-term training site (where I will spend the next 10 weeks). Sometime soon after I get to the training site I will be buying a cell phone, so if you would like to keep in touch please do so! It will be free (yes FREE) for me to receive calls, so I suggest either Skype Out (around $.15/min to call me) or a phone card (I heard www.phonecards.com has good advice but I don’t know any good cards personally).

Thanks to everyone who has written me — I can’t reply to you all but I’ve read each email.

I’ll write again soon.

I’M IN GHANA! YAY!

Itinerary and to-do lists

Closing in on three weeks before departure… in three months, when you start hearing rumours of my disillusionment, send me an email and remind me of the anticipation and excitement I’m feeling right now.

I’ve always liked having a concrete flight itinerary to hold in my hands: dates, times, and airports that can fuel the travelbug fantasies. Here’s what will get me stalkers to Ghana:

Date	Departure airport	Departure time	Arrival airport	Arrival time
June 7th, 2008	Columbus, GA	06:15	Atlanta	06:48
June 7th, 2008	Atlanta	08:40	Philadelphia	11:01
June 9th, 2008	Newark	20:40	Amsterdam	10:15
June 10th, 2008	Amsterdam	13:40	Accra	18:15

Yes, if you’ve done the math, it would be quicker/cheaper for me to just drive directly to Atlanta on the 7th. I didn’t make the reservations. Hurray for traveling on the US-GOV’s dime?!

Things to do before I leave:

• Hit up my doctor for 3 months’-worth of prescriptions & a current Yellow Card.
• Burn through (maybe just burn) a pile of half-finished sewing projects.
• Switch banks and decide what method will draw the most interest on my tiny stack of cash.
• Do the whole legal-matters thing, give my parents Power of Attorney, etc.
• Convince Auburn University I really don’t owe them money.
• Look into property insurance for computer & camera.
• Register to vote absentee this November
• Pack.

Promises to fulfill before I leave:

• (Finally) visit a few specific people.
• Camping trip in Callaway with my mom & mutual friend.
• Teach a (different) friend to knit and cook Thai food.

Strange lists, maybe, and thankfully they don’t consist of much at all. If I missed anything, I’m sure someone will let me know.

An Address, I have one

Belated addendum to the “staging packet” update: I now have an address in Ghana. This will be good throughout the next 27 months, but I may get a second (at-site) address after September as well.

Sara Safavi, PCT
Peace Corps
P.O. Box 5796
Accra North
Ghana

Pro tip: I like to get mail.

28 Days Later

Last time I did a calendar check, I had 8 weeks before staging.

I now have 4 weeks. Three more Saturdays. That’s it.

The end of this week was filled with bits of newsy goodness. Thursday, I found out I’d been (re-)granted medical clearance - so the hand surgery fiasco is officially over - and Friday, I got a “Welcome to Peace Corps Ghana” email from my future Country Director. Today I got my staging packet in the mail: if you, too, know what a staging packet signifies, you understand how excited that made me. I made the “do this 3 seconds after you get your staging packet” call to Sato, which means I finally-for-real-and-true have entered the system that will take me first to Philadelphia, then a few days later to Amsterdam, and finally: Accra.

It’s really strange to have spent the equivalent of an entire semester playing the day-counting, hour-ticking, waiting game to a departure date. When I finally do make it to Philly/Amsterdam/Accra, it will take some time to realize I can finally stop counting.

Here’s to no more waiting.