Just some of the conversations and events from today, basically an overly indulgent journal entry:
When I woke up this morning (approximately 6 AM) the people in my compound were already up and awake, it’s an odd yet comforting way to start the morning; rising sun, annoying roosters and a smooth and steady swishing sound as one of the women in my compound sweeps away dust and dirt from the day before. I usually lay in bed for a little while trying to regain my orientation, I do a little daydreaming and listen to a little music. Some days I’ll be up at 4, it all depends on the night before. It was a nice surprise when I arrived the other day, Elizabeth had given me a new prayer mat, the old one was too small for me, so she bought me a new one, it was a nice bday gift even if she was unaware of the occasion.
When I got off the floor at around 7am, I sat in my chair (had a carpenter build a table, chair and shelves for me), shaved my head and had a few cigarettes, listened to a little more music and then went to take a bath (nice cold bucket of water in the concrete bathing section). Every morning I come to a sort of standoff with someone in the compound concerning bath water, they sometimes let me fill my bucket (from a refurbished oil drum filled with either rain water or water from a borehole nearby) other times they refuse to allow me to do so. Today a new woman was in the compound, she insisted in some other language and I couldn’t refuse (I’ve gotten decent at rebuttals in Bassare unfortunately this woman was a Konkomba). So she filled my bucket and placed it in the bathing section of the compound. After the usual morning greetings I went to bathe. It’s always fun walking back through the compound, white towel wrapped around my waste, various tattoos poking out from my pasty white skin as if to say hi, they must be lonely underneath my clothing, not partaking in any of the days many greetings. The skull on my forearm has looked a little depressed lately, it must be feeling neglected.
Entering my room and starting to dress I noticed the top of a head bob past my window followed by laughter. There were new kids in the compound (must have come with that insistent woman), I wonder what he saw and why he was laughing. In my defense the water was cold.
I then had my first surprise of the day; in one of my books I found some cash, three Cedis. I don’t remember putting it there. I remember wondering if the family was slyly repaying me the cash I had given them for the room and food, they were pretty adamant about not accepting repayment for what they believed to be a Christian duty and somehow a blessing.
I packed up my laptop, notebook, cell phone and other random office related items and tried to sneak out the door. Elizabeth has been bugging me to wash my book bag for a while, to be honest the thing was getting kind of dirty and is falling apart. It’s been on my back from here to Tamale a few times, both while bicycling and by tro-tro. The last time I came back from Tamale (two nights ago) I traveled in the back of a pickup truck with 21 other adults and three babies. It was an interesting trip. Ghanaian Sardines, three rows of us basically sitting on one another's lap. After repacking my things into a rubber (polyethylene bag) and giving Elizabeth my book bag I remembered the green peppers and carrots I had picked up in Tamale and I gave her those. She responded by giving me this marvelous orange fruit that I’ve never seen before, she said it was coco. Supposedly one cuts the fruit open and chews on the seeds, she described it as being like toffee.
After the surprise exchange of gifts I jumped on my bicycle and headed towards town, I had travelled around 5 feet before my tire deflated. That bike has been through a lot, maybe it needs some attention, it’s starting to groan and moan and might need new bearings. I don’t think it imagined itself being road through Northern Ghana by a crazy white man, I wonder if it misses Asia, longs for its friends. At least it will be able to brag about its adventure if it ever makes it home again. Do bicycles see the Michelin tire man on their death bed, do they dream of a new pair of brake pads and lubricant, do they lust after unicycles?
Walking through the other homes before reaching the street I had my third surprise of the day, a girl came my way and started lifting up her shirt (she is homeless and not entirely there, the people in the District take care of her decently well, every now and again she’ll approach me while I’m eating on the roadside and do something interesting). My eyes were instantly on the ground, as I quickly made my way onto the main street.
The roads in Kpandai Town have had asphalt for over a month, at least 3km in a straight line through the town. One can see the wear and tear tolled out by Ghanaian weather, the gutters are filled with mud from a recent downpour, and the road is starting to fall apart as one hits the curb. The roads here are under a lot of pressure, the torrential rains, the trucks filled with what must be 5-10,000 yams, the pickups with over 20 people in the back, plus a few on top. I’d say this is one of the only places I’ve ever been where owning a hummer would be justified; unfortunately they seem to be built for the people who need them least.
Walking down the main road towards my office for the first time in two weeks I found myself in a constant and seemingly never ending conversation, one person after another greeting me and welcoming me home. It was a good run, I knew at least a third of them and the adults were intermingled with a group of primary children who must have been on their way to class, cute little buggers in their matching uniforms.
I made my usual stop for egg and bread at Kpandi’s stand (he is from my family, the one non-Christian of the group having converted to Islam at an early age). We have a routine, I arrive in the morning groggy and discombobulated, he fixes me a nice egg and bread with nescafe, provides a few interesting anecdotes and I leave prepared for the morning. I had brought a few green peppers for him, he usually refuses my money when I return or am leaving Kpandai for Tamale, I pay him back by bringing in whatever I can, usually Jam or Veggies.
I remember talking to someone a few days ago about the limitations in my daily interactions, how I’ve never spoken to a Ghanaian female my own age while in Kpandai. Low and behold surprise number four; a beautiful stranger walks over and sits down. She was from The Upper West region, here in Kpandai to do research for her final project at UDS (University of Development Studies in Wa), she had been researching gender equity in the education system and was with a group of students from UDS who were all researching an aspect of development or human rights in Kpandai. We talked for a while and to be honest I was feeling pretty awkward, having just complained about the lack of such a situation I found myself speaking with a beautiful Ghanaian woman of a similar age. Maybe it’s the awkwardness I miss? She told me the office was empty, with almost everyone attending a Muslim naming session for the recently created child of one of my co-workers. I got my Nescafe and egg and bread to go and headed towards the office once again. I wish they would pack drinks in plastic bags in Canada, much more fun and compared to the ridiculous bottling we tote around not that bad for the environment. Of course you’d have to recycle the baggies and not burn them like they do here.
As I arrived at the office I found she was telling the truth, not a soul to be found. To make things worse the door to my office was locked and someone had taken the spare key from the main office. So I sat upstairs in the main office and ate my breakfast. I then did a little work, tried to figure out what I’d do in an empty office and decided against having a one man dance party.
So I made my way back to the compound to rest for a while and wait things out, I had no clue where the naming ceremony was taking place and everyone must have had their cells turned off at the moment. When I arrived back at the compound I explained my situation to Elizabeth and found that she had taken my dirty clothing from the room and had already started washing it. It’s funny, sometimes it feels wrong having someone else do your laundry, I remember a day probably one month ago, work was extremely stressful, we were in full flight with the DWSP and I hadn’t washed my clothing in over a week. I came back from the office exhausted, and having missed the nights meal I slunk to my room to sleep the stress off. When presto: fresh clean clothing ironed and laid out on my shelves and a pot filled with rice and tomato/hot pepper stew, with two not one BIG pieces of chicken. Didn’t know whether to have a one man dance party or eat. Choose to eat. Same thing today, I sometimes make a big deal out of washing my own clothing, getting my own water or picking up after myself, other times you can’t help but shut up and be grateful. This is one of those times.
I sprawled out on my new prayer mat, noticed that Elizabeth must have washed my bed net while I was away, the thing is once again white and not the brownish color I had left it in. She had even sewn closed the holes, I personally thought the duct tape was a nice touch but it does look better sewn. It didn’t take long for me to pass out, slept till around 10:30 am when the sixth surprise of the day, Ahmed is back! Which is probably the best news I’d had in a while. I had called him that morning but hadn’t received a response, Ahmed had been at our Finance Officers naming ceremony, must have been interesting for Ahmed as he just had his first child a few weeks ago.
I noticed a missed call, must have slept through it. It was from one of the long term volunteers here with EWB, he was checking in on me. I quickly explained that I hadn’t started with any of my three objectives at the office because it was vacant, but surprise surprise Ahmed is back, which means things are going to happen. I quickly dressed, repacked my rubber and headed back to the office.
I met Ahmed about half way; after about a dozen more greetings I noticed someone was beeping their horn at me (I sometimes wander around not noticing where I’m going, good thing the office is almost a straight line away from my compound, lucky I’ve not ended up in another District while riding my bike, well, that’s only happened once but that’s a different post, ever bike through Northern Ghana at 9pm without a bicycle light? Wasn’t intentional, that’s all I’ll say). Ahmed was heading to his quarters on motor cycle to pick up a few documents. We went our separate ways. That’s a common theme out here, meeting and greeting someone then going off on your own path. Every time you walk down the street you’ll bump into one person or another, sometimes the only chance you have to get work done is to wander around the office or main road and look for the person you want to work with. One never truly knows what is happening in the District, it’s an odd system of communication which requires that you be in the right time at the right place in order to keep on top of things. Some mornings I’ll show up at the office and find it vacant, only to later learn everyone is attending some workshop or another, they themselves only having learnt of the workshop at 4am that morning.
Sitting in the office waiting for Ahmed, I noticed that our ceiling fan had disappeared, the AC unit on the wall wasn’t working and the room was quite stuffy. We must have had another power surge, the electricians out here don’t install circuit breakers, a few weeks ago one of our computers was fried. I’ve tried to explain the concept of using fuses to protect from these constant surges, it only costs a few Cedis to protect expensive equipment, unfortunately the electrician doesn’t want to be told how to do his job, I can’t really blame him. It’s odd, the power lines seem to be added and added to the grid, I don’t know if anyone is taking into consideration the effect this has on the system, hopefully someone at the power company is taking note and has a plan…
After Ahmed came back we got to work. Kpandai will be undergoing an assessment fairly soon, the FOAT (Functional Organizational Assessment Tool) is done in all Districts in Ghana, it is a program of partnership between Donors and the Government of Ghana, over a three day period, November 7-9th our office will be assessed. They will be looking for documents recording almost every aspect of functionality, from the minutes and attendance of meetings to updated quarterly reports on expenditures and tender documents for projects in the District. If a District passes the basic requirements they are given a certain percentage of a big pot of capital, then after the basic requirements they are assessed on performance indicators, the higher they score the more money they receive. Kpandai is a new District, but the officers in this district are extremely capable and professional, the only problem is making sure everything is properly signed, in the right form and easily accessible. We went through the list of requirements, discussed our status on each one and tried to figure out where we should be focusing our attention. It is always interesting talking to Ahmed about the District, he has a complete understanding of the work being done in the District and without him I think the District would be strong but severely lacking, he seems to tie everyone together. We had Kenke for lunch and I consumed far too much hot pepper sauce. Spent the next couple hours running back and forth to the washroom (love this office, two flush toilets!). After piecing together a few documents with him I went home for the day.
After arriving back from work at 5:30 I began writing, it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything online and I felt like writing. So I started “The Upswing” and “DWSP:” and after sitting in the room for about an hour I heard a knock on my door. It was Faar letting me know that the TZ was hot and ready to go. Tonight was a treat, I hadn’t had decent TZ in almost two weeks, it’s odd how much of an appetite someone can develop for such food. Faar has been doing well in school, he’s a bright kid, speaks French, English, Bassare, Konkomba, Nawurri and probably a few other languages. I remember seeing him late last night studying outside, he was reading about mercury thermometers, I told him that Mercury was a poison, he laughed but will likely trust me (hopefully). Sometimes when we are finished eating he’ll start telling wild stories, I can never tell if these stories are first person or some random tale passed between the children, sometimes I hear them outside the compound recounting some bizarre event and laughing manically. Tonight he was telling me about a mystery lizard, I had asked him why the Bassare were afraid of salamanders, we switched to chameleons, then to a mystery lizard that was somewhere between a Labrador dog and crocodile in length. He told me that as a child in Togo he had captured and killed two of them, once while returning from the farm he found a mystery lizard crossing his path, chased it down and beat it to death with a stick, the other time returning from school he chased one into the hollow of a tree where it lodged it’s upper body leaving its hind legs exposed and then beat it to death with a stick. I was a bit skeptical about this lizard, I’ve seen many things in Kpandai and on the road to Tamale, I’ve seen a weird squirrel like animal (grass cutter), I’ve seen some extremely odd birds (one red bird with a tail at least 5 times its body length, another with an odd metallic shine on its body), I’ve seen chameleons, black and green snakes but I haven’t seen a dog sized lizard. So we involved the whole family in the discussion and after some moderate disagreement a length and size was agreed upon. They are around 3 feet long, can swim decently fast, have an extremely powerful tail and taste grrreat! He promised to take me to the families garden where they sometimes encounter these mystery lizards.
At the end of our chat he asked when I’d be leaving Ghana, told me he thought I had gone for good when I hadn’t shown up the week earlier (I went to Tamale for the Data Management workshop, stayed longer to sort my head out), told me that he was going to miss me when I leave. I’ll only be here for another month and a half, that’s not a lot of time, there are so many things I have yet to do out here, so much work to be done, so many experiences to have, so many new animals and reptiles to eat.
After supper I decided to take another bath, I find that out here one needs to scrub down twice, once in the morning and once before hitting the hay. If you don’t clean off after a day in this sun you can feel the accumulated grim all over your body, makes it hard to fall asleep. This time they let me fill my bucket.
After washing off the day’s grime and redressing (making sure to wear a tshirt and shorts so my tattoos could breath) I began a conversation with Elizabeth, it was during this conversation that I brought up the mystery money which had appeared in one of my books, she explained that since she wasn’t the government she wouldn’t chop my money, she had found it in the room while putting the new mat in and stuck it in one of my books. We ended up having quite an animated discussion on snow and the concept of a snow storm. Turns out she knew exactly what I was talking about, during the Dry Season and more specifically during the Harmattan; when the wind blows strongly and the air is so dry your skin cracks open they have sand storms in Kpandai so thick you cannot see two feet in front of you, from there my explanation of a snow storm wasn’t hard for her to understand. It’s funny, she has a very limited English vocabulary but I find her to be one of the easiest people to understand over here. It says something that a Togolese woman who hadn’t finished junior high can explain almost anything to me using hand gestures, a few words and appropriate pauses in her speech. Makes me a bit ashamed of my own communication skills, and if you’ve made it to the end of this posting you probably understand why.
A recount of the day:
Surprise 1: Mystery Cash: turns out to just be a simple good deed. To “chop” in a Ghanaian context either means to eat, e.g. you go to a chop bar for TZ or FuFu or to cut a little money from the top. It is a practice one hears of constantly when working in the District. People justify it by saying the government does it, so why can’t they?
Surprise 2: Mystery Fruit, anyone know what to do with an orange fruit that supposedly has toffee like seeds? Well, besides eating it?
Surprise 3: In a Ghanaian context to “Flash” someone means to call them on your cell phone and hang up before they have answered. You do this when low on credit or if you are calling a rich white friend.
Surprise 4: Oh beautiful stranger, where have you been for the past five months? How hard will it be for me to re-integrate into the Canadian culture, where communication between a male and female is constant and doesn’t mean marriage? It’d be hard to say I’ll be more awkward when approaching the finer half of our species, as if such a thing could happen.
Surprise 5: Clean clothing and bed net. Sometimes you’ve just got to shut up and be grateful…
Surprise 6: Return of the wayward son. Life approaches normality with the return of my Planning Officer.
