small small pic

So I actually got to farm, lasted for around seven hours. I was weeding a field before they planted maize. It was fun, my left hand was eaten up by the hoe, the family was impressed but won't let me farm again (they hadn't seen blisters before). These pics are from the farming session, Kpandai and from my trip down to the River Otis (through Nkanchina). They are low res, but the connection here is starting to bug out, plus it is getting towards curfew time here in Tamale (no EWBers out past 10pm).

Enjoy

Road to Tamale

Note: this is a pretty fractured telling of my trip from Kpandai to Tamale, some notes were taken on the road, most were added today(three days after the trip). I’ve got some decent pictures, hopefully they will upload from this cafe. I may have messed my camera up trying to take a video during a storm, I’m probably going to bike back tomorrow morning, I’ll try to get some better pictures this time around, but won’t be able to share them as I’ll be in Kpandai till the week I leave Ghana(August 20ish), although my departure date is up in the air right now, I may stay until Dec…

Piktures pretty disappointing, low quality and only from the first half of the voyage. Lost the stuff from when the storm began, camera is working spotty right now.

It’s 3:56 am, I’m about to depart, 42 miles to Salaga, 72 Miles from Salaga to Tamale. Should be an interesting trek. Listening to “Fat Time” by Miles Davis, eating fresh groundnut paste(PB my family made for me, haha Canada!), and enjoying a cigarette while sipping some Nescafe instant coffee. Mmmmmm. Why am I doing this? Mostly to see. My bike rides through Kpandai have shown me a lot of the district, given me a way to relax and sweat out some of that infernal palm oil they literally soak food in over here (not complaining, just a bid hard on the arteries). The mosque is doing it’s thing, the roosters are once again pleading with the world to show them a greater purpose. Poor bastards.

1 false dead end: after biking in the dark for almost 2 hrs I suddenly felt lost. I hadn’t seen many people and it was still before sunrise. I took out my map and checked for any possible false turns. I didn’t know what community I was in, couldn’t find a sign. I pushed on, the road seemed straight, but there weren’t any people to ask. I came to a dead end. There was an opening, the road stopped, there was a clearing(looked like a yam field) and I almost ran into a group sheep just relaxing on the road. I cursed the sheep, took a picture and returned the way I went. I finally found a person on the road, they understood “Salaga” and pointed me back towards the dead end. The sun had started to rise as I approached the dead end sheep, and much to my surprise I found them to simply be resting on a raise in the road. Laughing at my self and breathing a sigh of relief I began my journey again.

14 water satchels (seven ltrs of water):even with this much water I constantly felt dehydrated. When I got into Tamale I drank at least 5 ltrs more, barely urinated during the day or the next morning.

3 Minerals (two sprite, one coke): I consume more pop out here than in Canada.

1 Egg and Bread: during my stop in Salaga.

2 Double Nescafe’s with cream and sugar, one in the am, one in Salaga.

1 bag of chips (cookie like things my host family gave me)

10 or so spoonfuls of groundnut paste: perfect way to start a morning.

1 Feral Cow: Ninja jungle cows.

1 speed bike: My bike is strong!! I had brought the bike back to my fixer three days in a row, working out the kinks. Ended up getting a welder to do some work on the back axle. I love these Asian bikes, they’d be perfect for city driving, slim tires, one speed. It’s even got a disk breaking system for the back tire.

3 minor crashes, it’s hard biking while talking on a cell phone, or having a conversation with a motorcycle driver and navigating a dirt road.

12:13 am, taking a break under a tree, next to a big pile of cow droppings. Ever hear of a feral cow? They exist!! So far I’ve seen three herds of cows (one heard appeared to be oxen or maybe cows on steroids), even saw a brown cow all by itself, grazing in the woods. I’ve been travelling for around 8 hours now, only a few minor muscle cramps and spasms. I ran out of water about 2 hours ago, got so thirsty I considered drinking some of the brown water conveniently placed in delicious looking pools by the side of the road, it looked like chocolate milk, maybe a gift from the brown cow? Who knows, I ended up going to a market and picking up some satchels, all better now. The most interesting thing I’ve seen so far was back in Kpandai district (in Balai), it was around 6:40ish (I’ll have to check the time stamp on my pictures) next to a pretty well built bridge. Approaching the bridge I could see around 10 females gathering water, when I got to the other side I saw around 40 or 50 girl child and elderly woman all balancing huge bowls of water on their head. I would have taken a picture, but to be honest I don’t agree with snapping people without their permission, hate it when it is done to me, not my right to do it to someone else. You’ll have to take my word for it, it was surreal. I’m about 70 Miles in, the road was paved for around 10 miles after Salaga (capital of East Gonja District), and sometime soon it will be paved again, hopefully the last 30 Miles go quickly.

1 Village Chief: at around the 8 hr mark I took a break to work out a cramp in my thigh I sat down, sparked up and took out my laptop for a music break (sooooo important to have music, I have been lending my mp3 player to the DPO for his trips to Tamale, would have been great to have with me, if you’re ever in Ghana bring as much music as you can, share with everyone you can, I’ll have to write a post on music, they don’t do traditional in my District except for weddings and funerals, but man do I have a lot to say about culture and music). After sitting there for around 5 minutes a farmer came out from a field. We chatted for a while and exchanged numbers. He claimed to be a village chief and the conversation gravitated around hunting feral cows, sheep and what he was farming. Told me a great story about how he was in the Jungle hunting feral cows, saw these bright shining eyes and fired away, ended up with two Feral cows. They cut the tails off and bring them home, the meat is supposed to be delicious. It was a great conversation, wish I could have chatted longer(maybe I’ll pass by his village on the way back). We were interrupted by a group of Fulani women, they offered me some raw goat cheese, it looked delicious, but probably would have killed me. When I departed the Farmers friend(small boy, about 13) followed me for a few Km.

1 Intense storm: Approaching the last major village before Tamale(was on asphalt at this point, about 40 miles left to go) I saw some angry looking clouds, even angrier sounding thunder (gunshot lighting, ground shaking roars, f**king awesome storms in Ghana). I was actually hoping for rain on the trip, it brings the temperature down by at least 10C, first you get a slow cool breeze, then the temperature drops, then you get a hurricane like wind(I’m assuming that is what it is like) and all of a sudden, BANG side ways rain and you’re soaked in 30 seconds.

1 Soaked/spoilt digital camera: I was taking video as I approached the village on my bike, the wind got so strong I had to walk, my camera got soaked and the best video I had from the entire trip is nowhere to be found. I’m pretty pissed(which is why I am planning on going back to Kpandai tomorrow morning by bike).

1 hour of shelter provided by a Ghanaian family: When the rain starts to come, before the harsh wind all the Ghanaians disappear, it takes about 5 minutes and you’re in a ghost town. I was trying to walk forward through the storm when a woman ran out and motioned for me to come with her. They brought me into their hut and offered me some porridge. It was a lot of fun, I was soaked to the bone but felt warm. One of them(the woman who ‘rescued’ me) spoke english, so we sat and chatted. They had a baby with them, usually the babies cry or scream when they see me (not just me, they scream at the sight of any white person) but this one giggled. It was a pretty cool overall.

1 Marriage proposal: the only bad part of my 1hour stay with the family was caused by a pushy Ghanaian. He came over and basically harassed me, trying to show off for the women. He ended up trying to marry the english speaking woman off to me. Pushy bastard. I was glad when he left.

1 Change of clothing: Stripped naked during a storm. After I left the hut and got out of the community(it was still raining) I found a tree and stripped down, took me about 5 minutes, my body was frozen and getting my legs through the shorts was a task.

1 Motorcycle dealer; I met a parts dealer on the way, he seemed to be quite well off, with a main office in Tamale plus several branches in other communities. He was returning from his weekly rounds to the markets, dropping of parts and checking in on his staff. He drove beside me for about 20 minutes, just chatting away. He said he loved travelling on the road, never knew who he would meet. Offered me a free moto whenever I was in Tamale(which I had to decline due to EWB policy on motorcycle use by JFs.)

1 serving of watchie (beans, rice, noodles topped with hot peppers). The rain picked up again about an hour after I left Kpelbe, I ended up taking cover and grabbing a bite to eat. This was closer to Tamale, so the people were less friendly.

1 pack of cigarettes: These things are rough on the body, going to have to quit soon. I found an a street vendor(had a shop) around 30Km from Tamale, chatted with him for around 20 minutes. We talked of his family (they were Dagomba, long lineage in the Tamale area), spoke of Accra and how intense and overwhelming it is. Chatted about Canada. He told me about a local school that had been built by a bunch of foreigners, they came over here and laid the brick by hand. Doing all the work themselves, and now they send over a group every summer. Walking through the community, keeping tabs on its development and maintaining the school(which was supposed to be quite impressive). He was pretty old, almost senile, forgot to give me my change(which was fine by me), gave me a box of matches with super Mario on the front. Pretty cool dude.

1 French Fulani (Burkina Bay): I can speak colloquial French, who’d of thought it? Somewhere between the 25 and 23 km markers before Tamale I was joined by a Fulani returning from a near by market. He was selling rubber slippers for 3 Cedis a pop (kind of expensive). We talked about Canada, what he had seen on television; big houses, green pastures, etc. He explained using hand gestures, Franglaise, and the occasional animal call that he was a Sheppard who lived near by and had come over from Burkina Faso. He spoke of his family, having moved to Ghana with his father, and spoke of the poor sales from his market. The Fulani are interesting, they usually are hired to herd cattle. Doing the community action plans(development plans for communities, outlining the problems they are experiencing) it is common to see “Fulani stealing cattle” as a huge problem, I think it is bs, these people get a bad rap. They have no homeland, they are true nomads, rarely educated but seem to serve a purpose in the lands they occupy. But really, what the hell do I know?

15.5 Hours of travel: Left at 4:15am, arrived in Tamale at 7:45pm. Sunrise to sunset.

6 hours of rain: I was hoping for a light rinse, I ended up with constant downpour.

1000 Smiles: they declined in intensity the closer I got to Tamale, people really seemed to get a kick out of an Ebroni travelling through their village on a one speed. The smiles I received felt genuine and I had no problem returning them. It was kind of fun, I started experimenting with my greetings, sometimes bowing low over the handlebars to show respect (works great with the groups of women), sometimes trying out my limited Twi, Basare or Dagbani, interchanging my broken greetings based on the area I found myself in. Man I haven’t smiled that much while sober before. I felt like I was at my sisters wedding, everyone was somehow a friend.

So why did I do it? I wanted to see a bit more of Northern Ghana. I wanted to know what it is like to bike to Tamale (it is rarely done, but what if you had to do it?). I needed the exercise, and wanted the experience, it is pretty simple.

When I was around 30 or so Km from Tamale some of my co-workers passed by in car. They backed up the vehicle and offered me a lift (insisted on one). I explained to them that I had to finish, I couldn't explain why but they understood. One thing about these overseas placements is that things don't ever finish properly, you never get what you want, you never see drastic impact. It's tough stuff, seeing so much and being helpless (aren't we supposed to be the liberators with our landcruisers, bank accounts and M&E requirements?). I suppose I wanted to see at least one thing through to the end before I go back to Canada, it was in my control. I wanted to bike to Tamale. So I finished. I almost cried when I saw the lights of Tamale (not really, but yeah kind of), my legs were cramping (for the last 20 km I would bike for 2km then walk for 10minutes, wash rinse repeat), I was almost passing out as I rode. It is silly, it was just a bike ride, but it was a great experience and I was able to finish something I started.

Random Things

 

I’m in Tamale again, this time it is an unscheduled visit(I posted last week using a cellular device my EWB coach brought to Kpandai). I got pretty sick over the weekend, extreme pains in the right abdominal muscles, constriction of the throat, trouble breathing and one hell of a fever. The doctor in Kpandai suggested pneumonia, my coach half suggested, half forced me to come to Kpandai to visit a 'hospital. So I now have some pretty strong anti-biotics running through my system, the first dose was in Kpandai: I’ve never before had a reaction to needles, but having an injection forced into ones thigh turned out to be my breaking point (or close to it). One for each leg the nurse literally forced what must have been 60ml of fluid into each quad, deep into the muscle. Almost puked, almost fainted, took about 10 minutes to get to my feet. Still walking funny two days later, but what the hell it appears to have worked. I’m about to head to Tamale to try to get some work done, I’ll post again in around 10 days when I am scheduled to be here again. There are two items in this posting, one finished(killed me first snake ma, you proud?), the second is how can it be possible for a westerner to accurately perceive and convey the message of poverty. If I have time during the week I’ll do up a proper part 2. it’s been something bothering me since I arrived, if I don’t have time you’ll be left with a simple outline. Sorry, the internet connection is somewhere between dial up and smoke signal in speed and I’ve got a bus to catch, I’ll stick up a picture of a dead snake and some more words in a week.

 

1.) Green Mambo

I killed my first snake a couple of weeks ago(didn’t mention it in the last posts), I had gone home from work to take a break, and felt a pull towards the toilet (this pull being almost as constant as gravity), I was at the government bungalow which is equipped with a lovely flush toilet enclosed in a concrete structure. I opened the door and saw a meter long bright green tail swish through the water and disappear into the holding tank hole. I decided to take a leak(the need to urinate was stronger than any fear, the fear probably adding to my need to urinate). Out of curiosity I flushed the toilet on my way out and sure enough a 1.5 meter snake came out with the water. I slammed the door and shuttled out to find some assistance, glad that I had chosen to urinate before flushing the snake out.

So Theo and I (Theo being an interesting character, Theo is doing his national service in Kpandai having finished his studies in Business) went back to the toilet and tried to find the snake, it was no-where to be seen. So I flushed the toilet again, low and behold an angry Green Mambo came flying out, Theo went running screaming loudly, I almost lost it, couldn’t control the giggling (maybe it’s part of the culture shock, but an apparently lethal snake seemed absurd at the time, maybe I’m just stupid, who knows. It was funny to see a grown Ghanaian man scream). When we had regrouped (he went about 50 meters behind the toilet, I went out in front) he explained to me how dangerous the snake was.

We decided to kill it, how could we in good conscience leave a poisonous snake in the toilet for someone else to discover? What a pleasant surprise? Our plan was simple, find a big stick and smash the thing. Returning 10 minutes later we found the snake coiled half way up the inside of the door frame, attaching a nail to the end of the pole(around 10 foot long) Theo attempted to squish the snake by slamming the door. Slam, scream, run. We regrouped and cautiously approached the door, the snake had been caught in the door, but wasn’t dead. We opened the door and it dropped down to the floor, open, scream, run. Regrouping a third time and perching on the concrete wall enclosing the toilet structure Theo swore he saw the snake poke its head out from behind the toilet. We sat there thinking for a while and decided to flush the snake out with a bucket of water. So Theo got the water and I kept watch. Throwing around 10L of water at an angry/scared poisonous snake may seem dumb, but boy is it fun. It only took one shot/splash, Theo threw and I squished, killing the snake before it got more than a foot away from the toilet. Splash, squirm, squish, sigh, giggle?

I’m sorry to say that I didn’t have my camera present during our escapades, and the only photo I have is from the night after. I wish I had a video of the second time the snake came out of the toilet, angry at Theo and I for disturbing it during its dip (one needs to keep cool in Ghana). That snake coming out of the toilet bowl at full speed, winding its way up the tank at lighting pace was a sight to behold, unfortunately you’ll have to take my word for it.

 

2.) Three issues with a westerners view of poverty (especially my own).

2.1) You’re not allowed to see it:

2.2) You are not allowed to experience it.

2.3) Even if you did have the option to experience it would you understand it?

Pictures

So we have a few high res pictures I was able to upload from a high speed connection in Tamale, some elephants, some roads and trees, my co-worker the DPO Ahmed Alhassan, a monkey, warthog(grass cutter), a mysterious math problem I found in the Catholic guest house here in Kpandai, a picture of me infront of the district planning office. Good stuff, I've got a few hundred elephant pictures to share when I get back to the land of high speed.

Enjoy.




- Hasan

It’s a wonderful world?

Ah, what is one to say after over two months of life in Ghana? First a semiformal apology to those I left trembling in anticipation for an update, welcome to life on Ghana time. Everything is relative, and I know that  in Canada it may seem like a month has passed since I have posted. Without the help of a calendar and the occasional phone call from my EWB overseers here in Ghana I wouldn’t be able to tell you the date. My point being that over here procrastination is not possible, and I am not to blame… Yeah, I’m over indulging a bit, so sorry y’all. BUT I’ve got some pictures and a few things to say.

I know that around two months have passed, one month since I’ve posted but it seems like much longer and paradoxically much shorter than that:

Some days I awake feeling as though I’ve just arrived fresh off the plane; white as the wind blown snow, unsure of my surroundings, cursing the incessant braying of sheep and the siren like call of a rooster gone mad. The rooster is aware of its position in life, it knows that being tasty keeps it alive, it understands that its purpose is to be eaten and that is why it shrieks at all times of the day, for seemingly no reason at all. Is it hunger, fear, desire, hate?

Others days I awake feeling a strange sense of comfort, my senses satiated, my mind at ease. Why would one be angry at the rooster? Does it not clean the ground forming an essential part of the decomposition chain? Is it not mans best friend in the fight against the mighty cockroach, showing valor and vigilance in a battle which seems never to end? Do not forget the taste of a freshly plucked bird roasted over charcoal, lightly dosed with pepper…. Mmmmmmmm burnt avian friend with herb, a delicacy anywhere in the world.

So maybe this post will be about the local cuisine?

A brief breakdown(you’ll have to wait for food pictures) and ranking:

Kenke: Take some maize(corn) powderize it with alarming force, ferment for several days then wrap in maize leaves and serve with fish and peppay (local pepper) sauce. Delicious! Probably my favorite local food, the peppay is a dangerous thing, too much and you’ll limit your activities that day to toilet patrol. It is hit and miss with the fish as well, there is one species called Talapia(sp?) which is delicious head and all.

Ranking: no. 1

 

Tz: Take some Maize powder add a bit of Guinea corn powder (it is sometimes made with Cassava), add a few secret ingredients(I apologize for my lazy reporting, I hear more names and facts in a day here than I could digest in a month), pound to a pulp with big wooden mallets(interesting process) and serve with the soup de jour. Tz in my humble opinion goes best with dry Ochra soup, and some big chunks of mystery meet (beef is best).

Ranking: no.2(although it is catching up on the Kenke).

 

FouFou; Take some Cassava, Yam, and sometimes plantain, pound thoroughly. In my district only Yam is used and I’m not as fond of it as Tz or Banku. Probably has something to do with an experience I had about 4 weeks or so ago. I went to a restaurant in Kpandai with Ahmed, it was late and the lights were out (power is fairly spotty in Kpandai). We sat down to enjoy a serving of Foufou large enough to feed an army (or Ghanaian farmer), the sauce was good and things were going well. I took a piece of the mystery meet and bit in, and continued biting in for around 15 minutes, the meet was well without meat. I had gotten a piece of skin with inch thick grizzle attached. In Ghana when a sheep is killed they roast the hair off with open flame, then cut straight through the sheep, bone, skin and all. It is fine to eat and sometimes quite pleasant, but every now and then you get what I had in my mouth, the skin too thick for my teeth, the fat almost impossible to tear a piece off. I sat there sitting in the dark fighting with nausea eventually I swallowed the meat but could not go on. I barely touched the rest of the meal and am now afraid to eat in the dark. So yeah, foufou is attached to a fairly bad experience. With explains the low ranking.

Ranking: no.4

 

Banku: Take some Maize add some Cassava (differs from Tz in the fact that it is using fresh Maize and Cassava instead of powder), add some mystery ingredients and serve with a side of palm tree soup.

Ranking: no.3

 

My breakfast is a cup of Nescafe (instant coffee), with equal parts water, sugar, and condensed milk. Ghanaians love their sugar! This cup of Nescafe is accompanied by an egg&bread, two eggs fried in an excessive amount of palm tree oil, with some diced onion (or fresh green peppers if you’re lucky) and served in a 8inch piece of white bread. All in all an unhealthy breakfast, but delicious none the less. It kind of makes me wonder where the idea of a egg mcmuffin came from.

 

During the day I snack on groundnuts(peanuts!), boiled egg(guinea fowl), tea bread and the occasional banana or orange (hard to find fruit in Kpandai). I avoid the local foods during the day for two reasons. First the size of serving is enormous, think three or four cereal bowls worth of condensed maize! Second is my bodily reaction to such heavy food during the day, I believe it is the combination of heat and heavy food that does it to me. EWB has a term for it called the ‘brown menace’, the brown menace: an ever pursuant enemy, lurking in the shade of a palm tree, waiting to spoil your new shorts(hasn’t happened yet, but there have been some close calls, and I happen to be one of the lucky ones, other JF’s have not shared fortune).

Water comes in satchels, five Peswas will get you one 500ml plastic baggie filled with the life giving stuff.

A meal: Kenke, fish, sauce costs one Ghana Cedis.

Groundnuts come in at 10 Peswas for a handful, I’m in heaven over here, fresh groundnuts are in abundance!

Since moving in with my family my diet has improved, I now eat a full and hearty meal of TZ every night, wake up licking my chops and have not been able to avoid grabbing a midday meal for a couple of weeks. I’ve also found a almost constant supply of oranges, which although slightly sour (harvest season is a few weeks away) do provide a nice kick throughout the day. Also worth noting is the freshly produced groundnut paste available, I plan on brining back at least 2L to Canada and I may even be able to grind it myself (the family has several acres of groundnuts on their farm).

 

So yeah the food is great, much different than in Canada but I now crave Kenke as much as pizza. Mmmmm pizza… Well maybe not.

 

Ooops, almost forgot. The Bananas are small, but taste like a starburst fruit chew, a mixture of fresh grapes and sweet banana. Mmmmm.

The Family and my first Sunday service

 

I moved in with a host family around the beginning of June, they are a slightly conservative Christian family of the tribe Basari. Extremely helpful, humble and a few of them speak excellent English. The head of their household is Father Latom (sp?), a 70-80ish farmer who seems to hold a great deal of respect both amongst the family and in the community at large. The woman I speak most often with is sister Elizabeth, a women I have yet to see simply relax. My two companions in the compound are Ezekiel and Sandy, an interesting pair, both of them 16-17 and attending school. I’ll speak a bit about Elizabeth and my ‘two friends’ as she refers to them.

 

Elizabeth speaks very clear english, her vocabulary is not as extensive as my ‘two friends’ but she is much easier to understand and speaks with little noticeable accent, I almost never have to ask her to repeat anything. From the day I walked into the compound it was apparent that she is the backbone of the place, always in command, always looking to help out in some way and seeming to go 24 hours a day. I do not know how old she is, she seems to be around 60, but still strong as an ox. She typifies the African woman, resilient and compassionate, she is the first person I let help me with my laundry and I swear she must be bionic to get those stains out. It seems almost misogynistic to recall the washing power of a woman as a sign of her strength or worth, so I’ll explain a bit more. I started washing my clothing by hand before I left Canada, so by the time I arrived at the compound I had been washing my clothing everyday for over a month. When I arrived in the compound I didn’t feel comfortable having someone else do it for me, so I agreed to work with the kids on my laundry, we never got around to it and the weekend was approaching.

It was a daily discussion point, these kind people really wanted to do my laundry! Maybe I was getting disheveled to the point of embarrassing them? I don’t think I was doing that poorly, sure there were stains on my white shirt, but hey, what is a stain but the sign of a shirt one has lived life to the fullest in? The weekend came and I hadn’t done a wash in 4 days, so Saturday I made an agreement with Elizabeth, I’d go farming and upon my return she and I would go through the smelly mass of cloth on my floor. I went farming, and returned to the cleanest crispest clothing I’ve had in years, the whites were white and it smelled good, not just like cloth but of freshness. She had done it while I was gone, and done it better than I could have if I’d taken a full day to scrub each piece. In some sense it was a violation of trust, but when she did it I realized I was going to have to temporarily dispel with my views of household chores, I was going to have to respect the way things went in the household. It was odd and I haven’t gotten quite used to it, she has done my laundry twice now, without me being aware (she snuck in my room while I was travelling to Tamale). That’s just the way it is… I’m not allowed to do laundry in the compound, I not allowed to fetch my own water (the older males simply don’t do such things), I haven’t been allowed to help with the cooking, she manages those operations in the compound and takes pride in what she does. I have more to say on her, but not to post online for others to see. Interesting woman.

 

My ‘two friends’. Interesting pair, both intelligent and well spoken, both diligent in their studies. They both have a lot to learn about this world and it would be interesting to have a conversation with them when they reach their 20’s.

One of my first interactions with Ezekiel, during one of my first visits to the compound revolved around an evangelical healing preacher who’d come to visit Kpandai, he enthusiastically recounted the 200+ blind and 200+ crippled who had been healed by the power of Jesus! I approached our future discussions cautiously, afraid that I had landed myself in a mad house, but besides that one conversation and a few jabs sent my way concerning a white mans ability to farm, or clean, or do anything besides type on a computer things have been great. He is soft spoken and honest, and has provided me with many useful insights into the life of a Ghanaian youth.

Sandy is equally interesting, more reserved and slightly less clear in spoken english, he is also one year younger than Ezekiel, which may explain the roles they play in the compound. One interesting thing about Sandy is that he gives English lessons to younger children almost every night. I have seen him in the morning ironing school uniforms for the younger children and then at night they set up a chalkboard and go through man,woman,men,women,person,thing over and over and then over again. It’s pretty damn cool.

So yeah, those are the three people I spend most of my time with in the compound, there is also a little boy who sometimes follows me around, he speaks a bit of english and is an interesting little dude.

 

Oh yeah, before I forget. I went to church and it didn’t burn down from the wrath of an angry spaghetti monster. The family is part of the evangelical church of Ghana (ECG), one of the older males in their extended family is a pastor, and their family plays a key role in the activities. I went last Sunday (not sure what date), it was almost great. When they sang and clapped I clapped along, when they prayed openly; each person saying his own individual prayer out loud, the room filled with Basarai, Konkomba, Twi and English prayers. Which was almost touching, it would have been great if the guy behind me wasn’t screaming in english and spitting foam on the back of my pants, “BY THE POWER OF JESUS! YOU SHALL REPENT!! (splash) BY THE POWER OF JESUS YOU WILL OBEY!!”. It was almost cool that one church member made the effort to translate the service into English for me, interesting hearing a service in two foreign languages(the church is mostly Basarai and Konkomba) then softly spoken in English, it would have been better if I could have gone without the English translation.

I’ll say this about music: when the singer is speaking english you listen to the words, they become an integral part of the song, and you can’t hear the song without the words. When a singer is speaking in a foreign language you can accept their voice as an instrument, and appreciate the nuances of the audible experience. I wanted the experience without the words.