Touchdown

Arriving to Ghana, I miss Egypt and Malaysia terribly. It’s (a slightly misplaced) homesickness. I feel unsure of things here, don’t know what to expect, don’t know if I’ll like it. I’ve had the typical jitters expected: emotional, miss my family and friends, shaky hands, can’t sleep, lie awake at night wondering what is to come and if this was a smart choice and if I can handle it. And this time, I think of Egypt and Malaysia and know that I had those same feelings at the beginning and that it all worked out fine-no, better than fine.

Despite my experience that this unease eventually vaporizes, thoughts keep popping into my brain. Why subject myself to this new turmoil? Why not go back to those places I know I love? Where I know the food. Have friends I miss. Where I can speak the languages at least somewhat (here, there are so many languages, I keep having people tell me how to say something, but then the next person tells something-or the same thing-in another tribal language. I even keep hearing their words as Arabic and Malay words). Why make friends here that I’ll just have to leave?

It is only natural that I should think and feel these things. And because I know that, I am coping well. A familiarity with the unfamiliar. I also am happy to know that I have no return ticket, so if I should decide to leave, I can do so easily. My first day here I kept thinking about going back to Egypt and how happy that would make me.

Arrival

Solomon, the accountant at the NGO where I am volunteering, greeted me at the airport with a placard bearing my name. His friend Michael had driven and his neighbor Charlotte had come along for the ride. I was comforted when Charlotte held my hand as we walked to the car while at the same time acutely aware that an American would never do that. The next day, after talking to my mom, I thought about asking her for a hug, but resisted.

[Note: there will be references throughout this blog to my time in Egypt and Malaysia. This hug story is the first. I won’t explain such things for two reasons: this is mostly a journal for myself & you should have read my Malaysia blog!]

I am staying with Solomon for now. He stays in a compound, meaning that the buildings and yard are surrounded by a wall (this one has nails sticking up on the top of it). There is a main house where the owners live and then a sort of annex. This annex has about 5…”suites”…each of which has it’s own front door and contains two rooms. Because it is only Solomon that is living there, the first serves as a living room and the second a bedroom. There is a shared toilet (outhouse, I suppose) and a concrete, roofless room beside it for bathing. A kitchen off the last “suite” is shared by Solomon and his neighbor.

Solomon has insisted that I take the bed (and keep the fan) and he’s been sleeping on the floor in the front room. I had been told several weeks ago by email that accommodation had been arranged at a teacher’s hostel in Nungua (a suburb) for $50. Two days before coming, I was told that wasn’t possible, but that a room in a hostel for $7 was available. Since coming, Solomon has also said I can stay at his place, sharing a room (and bed) with a girl in the main house and keeping my stuff in his house. I already feel bad enough that my stuff is in his room, that he has been sleeping on the floor, that he has been cooking for me. He’s offered more than a few times. I wonder, will he be offended if I want to move? Would he actually not be put out by that arrangement? It seems such an inconvenience. For me, I know that I would constantly feel uncomfortable and like I was in the way. I would never have “personal space,” that oh-so-American valued concept. I want to floss, to shave, to pluck. How to do those things without a bathroom? A sink? A mirror?

Plus, I haven’t even mentioned the real annoyance-the commute. His place is in Teshie Estates, another suburb type area. It takes at least an 1 hour to get to work because of the traffic. And that is draining. It’s not like sitting on a nice train or driving your own car. First, you walk about 5 minutes, wait for a tro-tro (mini-van) to fill up with people, and then proceed through painstakingly slow traffic. This morning from a tro-tro, I noticed two women walking; five minutes later I looked out and saw them standing there as we crept by, that’s how slow we were going. Then you walk another 5 minutes and get to the office. Going home, you have to add another tro-tro to get to the main station to get a tro-tro back. Whew. I can only envision that if I were to live there, my days would consist only of going to work and coming home. Any other exploration would be out.

To avoid the worst traffic, Solomon typically gets up at 4 or 5 and makes it to the office early. Yesterday, Solomon had to go to visit another city, so I went on the tro-tro with a neighbor so that I wouldn’t get lost (I could have handled it most probably, but it seems everyone wants to hold my hand, no complaints though). We left about 5:30 am and I made it to the office slightly before 6:30 am. It seems everyone sleeps pretty early and wakes up before the sun. Since I’m not on a real schedule now from jetlag, it was no problem-I’d woken up at 3 am and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep anyway.

Here and There

I can’t help but think of Egypt and Malaysia. Things that would have seemed strange the first time I encountered them, don’t. Food and water bought in plastic sandwich bags on the side of the street. Buses that only move once they’re full of people. Toliets that don’t flush (you pour a bucket of water down the toilet bowl, water that you have to fetch from the well). People carrying things on their heads (though much, much more common here).

Though aware of bucket baths before, the only time I can recall taking one was when I was visiting Lynn at the Thai Burma border. And that time there was a big concrete tub already full of water in the indoor bathroom. Here, you have to fill a bucket from a similar concrete tub by the side of the house, take it to the bathing stall. The amount of water we use/waste in the US is only too apparent when this alternative is experienced. I saw a story on the news last night that some places are having water shortages and the people have to wake up as early as 3 am to go fetch their water, far, far away.

And to think I had wanted to come to Africa on Peace Corps. [Note: I’ve suspended my application, but it can be reactivated anytime in the next year. Going to the Balkans has definitely gained in attractiveness…if I want to do Peace Corps at all. Also, fyi, I was accepted by the University of Iowa for law school, but am still not sure. Not sure. Not sure at all. So I think I’ll be deferring and buy myself some more time. I want to look into Peace and Reconciliation Studies as another alternative. I’ve spent some of my sleepless hours since arriving trying to figure out what to do with myself and I haven’t made any process…]

Back to me being spoiled. I have a much deeper appreciation for the lack of transportation troubles in Iowa and the circumstances in Egypt and Malaysia that eased the burdens of the horrendous traffic there (in the first instance I lived close to my office and in the second, the train made the traffic inconsequential).

I only remember having to wash dishes outside with a garden hose once in my life (in Boston in the winter!), after I broke Erika’s garbage disposal during Thanksgiving. Yet having no sink is a way of life here…and without a garden hose, too.

My initial impression is that living here will be work. It won’t be as easy as the countries I’ve been to before (though it may be on par with villages in Cambodia). The residential area where I live has dirt roads and reminds me of the villages in rural Egypt, not the suburbs of a capital city.

Lady Luck

I’ve lucked out. Before arriving, I made contact with a Fulbrighter here. She’s working on her first novel and has a two-year old son. Talk about tough! It turns out that the compound where she lives is two blocks away from my office! Since no other rooms are available right now in the compound, I can stay in her extra room. Rent is $200/month, but it is in a good location, has a shower!, and is near restaurants so I can maintain my laziness about cooking (not an option so much where I’ve been staying), and includes having a cleaner. I can have laundry/ironing done for about $4 (I don’t think there are any washing machines here!), but maybe I’ll do my own if I have everything else so cushy!

The other people in the compound are ex-pats (right now there are several Germans, another Fulbrighter and I’m not sure who else). I think this is kind of against my policy of avoiding ex-pats, but maybe it’s not that different from the kinds of places I lived abroad before. And just because I live amongst them doesn’t mean I have to associate with them excessively. I will be better positioned to go exploring and exert extra efforts to get to know Ghanaians because I’ll have a solid, strong, relaxing base to go back to. I had the same internal debate in Malaysia, where I paid $150/month for a nice apartment in the city center across from a train stop, but could have been paying half that in a less convenient place while living more “Malaysian” (meaning, more like a Malaysian of average means). Comfort, convenience, and the resulting mental sanity win out. Plus, staying at the hostel, which may or may not be more authentically Ghanaian, is actually more expensive. I’d be Lokko to pass this compound up. (That’s the name of my soon-to-be street!)

I already feel more relaxed.

But I am very thankful to have had the chance to stay with Ghanaians, especially right at the start. It has given me greater insight into the way people live and move than I experienced in Egypt or Malaysia because I only stayed with locals on rare, short occasions (Qafr Sa’a for a few days in Ramadan, with Nahla in Ismalayya, longhouse in Borneo, etc). All the transportation gave me a good viewing platform to watch people.

I Dream of Africa

Yesterday, I stared out the tro-tro window and thought, so this is Africa. Connotations of Africa: alluring, mysterious, full of adventure. I’ve thought about coming to Africa for a long time. I’m here now and I sense that there is still another “Africa” out there, more exotic, more vibrant.

The Africa of my mind: a dance party, black magic, safaris, rocking church services. Bathing and traffic didn’t figure into that image. I had thought of the romance of it, not the reality.

While my mind has been making comparisons of how things are the same (a coping mechanism?), I decided to focus on the unusual. A man carrying a cage of chickens on his head. A taxi with three people in front and two goats in the backseat. Women carrying tiny babies by strapping them to their backs with a length of cloth.

Office Space

I was surprised to find that the office has air conditioning! And, the people dress nicely. Solomon wears a tie almost everyday. I wore capris and a button down, ¾ lengthened sleeve shirt and sandals on my first day and he basically told me I should dress nicer. I didn’t bring many nice clothes---I’m volunteering at an NGO for crying out loud! They’re allowed-no, expected!-to be casual! I was annoyed a bit and defensive, but I know it is a cultural thing. Francesca said there is strong classism here and being able to dress up to go to work marks you as distinct (and superior) to a day laborer.

I was immediately put to work on a grant proposal due Friday. The problem was, I had to read a lot of get some familiarity with the organization and then the rest was an exercise in mind-reading. The director has the ideas in her head, but unfortunately I’m not privy to them. I made an attempt, met with her again to clarify and finished this morning. Not bad. The other things on my To Do list are a bit unclear as well, but the director was out much of today, hence I had time to blog! I hope I will have a chance to get to the field offices, where more exciting, people-to-people work is being done. Here in the national secretariat there is a director, accountant, administrative assistant, local intern and cleaner.

I think I may be a bit bored with the work-I’ll be updating the website, writing proposals, helping with conferences. Probably quite a bit of down time, too, in which case I’ll limit my hours at the office. It makes me feel like development/NGO work isn’t what I want to do (though this is after only two days and may be premature). Where are the people in it? And conferences always seem like a waste of time and money. [This is when my brain starts to tumble into the abyss of my future.]

Yesterday, the director came back in the middle of the day with curly, twisted hair. Today, the administrator came with braids, disappeared and was then returned sporting smooth hair. There seem to be lots of possibilities for hair here (not for me) and I’ve seen a lot of signs for wigs. I may have to invest in one...(I can hear my mother now: watch out for lice!)

Blurbs

· The week before, I had momentary, fleeting bouts of anxiety, panic and excitement, but was otherwise pretty level. I couldn’t eat much the day before and of my departure. I woke up with a nervous stomach. Crawling into bed with my mom in the morning, I could feel the tears coming, but once I got up and busied myself was okay again. I called two friends, one in Malaysia, the other in Egypt. It comforted me to talk to them, but also made me miss them even more.

· On the way to the airport, I remembered how I had been very sick on the drive to Connecticut before my freshman year of college. We had to pull off at rest stops several times so that I could throw up. Nerves. For at least two weeks before Egypt, I was a mess. Couldn’t eat, sleep, lots of tears. Look how far I’ve come, baby!

· I heard the call to prayer my first morning here and it was such a comfort. The second morning, I was already awake and moved to the front room to hear it better. I love that sound.

· On my first day here, I walked into the front room and a movie was on television. I looked at the subtitles and was shocked---they were in Malay! It was right after I had talked to my mom on the phone and the tears were already close to the surface. That was just too much. I read the Malay, happily, puzzled. Until I realized it was a VCD and the case had an Indonesia label on it. Hail to the pirates!

· I’ve been told Ghanaians are the friendliest people, but I’m not sure I’ve experienced that. Nobody really says anything to me in the street or seems to notice me (which is fine, just very different from a lot of countries I’ve been to). When I’ve been introduced to someone, they’re nice enough, but don’t really engage me in conversation. Solomon, however, has been extremely hospitable, giving up so much for me. The neighbor girl who I followed yesterday morning to the tro-tro insisted on paying for me. The office cleaner forced me to let her carry my bag of lunch. So I suppose in that way, they are friendly, but where are all the smiles? It hasn’t been like it had been hyped up to be. Not yet anyway.

· I “learned” to cook last night, but really I just watched Solomon and couldn’t reproduce it myself if I tried. I’m not sure I’d want to anyway, seeing how much palm oil he was using! After dinner, Charlotte and I went for a walk around the neighborhood. There were few lights and since the roads are dirt and uneven, I was cautious about falling. Using my cell phone as a flashlight didn’t really work, either. When we returned, we stood outside the compound at her mother’s storefront and I added the Ga way to say “How are you? Fine” to my repertoire. It was kind of like sitting on the stoop, but there wasn’t anyplace to sit. Almost every house/building seems to have a store, usually with limited wares and a lot of it looking dusty. I’ve also never seen so many places to get your hair done and little booths to place phone calls.

· “Can you walk to the main road?” Solomon asked. The normal American response would be: yes, yeah, sure. Me? “Can.” In a very Malaysian way. And I keep wanting to add lah after I say “no” to something.