The last 24 hours have been all new experiences filled with happiness, frustration, and a little bit of fear. Last night Haruna took me out to the small town where he lives about 20 minutes drive from the hostel. People seem to have a lot of respect for him since he works outside the village where people either sell goods on the street, or farm the little area of land that they have and as it turns out, he has a wife and a one year old daughter to take care of as well. The people here really stress ideals of pride, honor, love, family, respect, because they absolutely have to. Exiting the womb a Ghanaian is like pulling the shortest straw on life…at least that’s how we see it. Your life expectancy is more than 20 years shorter than that of a developed nation. 20 years. Long time. Of course that’s not how they see it and it seems as though they want to waste none of the time they have complaining, fighting, sulking, or feeling anything but happy to be alive as a Ghanaian. Getting to know Haruna, I have been able to politely prod into how he and his people live and how they understand one another. I am currently reading a book titled, Mutual Aid, by Petr Kropotkin and every day I read I find explanations that appropriately sum up the sentiment here:
“These folk so much identify their lives with that of the tribe, that each of their acts, however insignificant, is considered as a tribal affair. Their whole behaviour is regulated by an infinite series of unwritten rules of propriety which are the fruit of their common experience as to what is good or bad-that is, beneficial or harmful for their own tribe.”
I don't mean to compare this society to that of a tribal one, it just seems that when anyone needs anything in the community, they share the burden and leave no one to fend for themselbes. On our way to his town, Haruna paid for the trip out there (about 25 cents) and I thanked him and said I would pay on the way back and this guy behind us says to me with a big smile, no no you don't understand, that’s not how it works in Ghana. Your friend pays for you, because he his is your friend, and here in Ghana, we may be hungry, but we will always take care of each other. Right, and then this dude with long dreds in the front seat blurts out…Sharing is caring! Haha. And then to cap it off, the dreded man’s friend turns around and points to me and says, and you know the rasta man, NEVER lies. To which the entire trotro strated laughing. Funny people who know how to let people know how to live.
Met lots of people later in the evening and realized that everyplace you go, you meet some people you really like, and some people not so much who seem to be a little standoffish. It’s the same here in Ghana…only minus the standoffish people. The people here are unbelievable. Ok so we walked home through some smaller villages and we came to one called Dame (pronounced dah-may) a place where, as Haruna explained to me, if the husband of a couple dies, the woman must marry the brother of the deceased if such a brother exists and is not already married. Wild.
Another thing I noticed tonight is that few people can actually say my name and it often comes out Mac or Max and when I try Matthew, I realize the ‘th’ sound doesn’t exist in their pronunciation. Haruna has then given me an African name, Kwame, which he calls me because he especially cannot say my name and also because he wants me to be wrapped into his culture as much as possible and has vowed to find me an African woman so as to ensure that I return some day. Seeing that I have been proposed to twice already it seems like that not may be such a large problem…but I cant feel that special considering white women over here get proposed to the same amount as I have in a week, except in about 10 minutes.
The next morning was my first day of work and had a meeting at 10:00 am and in order to make sure I wasn’t late I woke up at 6:15 which was a swell idea, because I ran into some serious frustration attempting to find my way around. I backtracked twice and arrived 15 minutes before my meeting all sorts of sweaty. This dude, Charles Abbey, with whom I’m working is an awesome guy and as it turns, well accomplished and well connected…and being close friends with my professor, he is also a big fan of Wake Forest. We first discuss how I’m going to go about getting in contact with the right people and the adequate information and it becomes apparent that he is one of the leaders of promoting economic development and fair trade throughout the country. After he gives me names and places we discuss the state of the economy and society of Ghana and he fears the worst for the pending Economic Partnership Agreements between Europe and underdeveloped Africa due to be signed this December. Ghana, among other sub-regional markets, requires help and it should come from an unrestricted free trade agreement that could devastate, for example, the agricultural sector. In my research today I found out that 90% of the agricultural sector is composed of peasant farmers who would undoubtedly suffer the moust. “We are shouting, we are shouting as loud as we can,” Mr. Abbey explains and it seems he will not stop shouting until he knows the Ghanaian people are safe from corrupt politics. The political system here is brutal. Even though Ghana became independent before any West African country in 1957, their politicians have been craven in their attempts to install appropriate economic measures for its people... At least ever since Kwame Nkrumah, the first president after gaining independence was around. He is the George Washington of Ghana with buildings, universities, parks and city regions named after him. I always try to ask people about politics now and in the past and people, even if they weren’t around then, seem forlorn in the state of politics these days. They blame the current president, John Kufour for acquiescing to the desires of the West for personal benefit at the cost of his people. The politicians are in fact the richest people in the nation and it doesn't make the people feel good when they spend millions on celebrations and little on them.
Anyhow, we talked about how kind Ghanaians are and yet crime is on the rise with the influx of refugees from Liberia, Sierra Leone and Nigeria. After our conversation he set me up with meetings at two institutions in the small towns of Weija and Dzorwulu (pronounced, of course, jurwulu) where I spoke with the managers at a rural bank and microfinance development institution giving me hope for where this research can go. More on this will follow later on in the process, but it was a successful day, before the start of a weekend of travel.
Saturday began with the eating of fufu (with the stress on the last syllable) which we ate right down the road in Medina, consisting of soup, fish and doughy delight. We arrive at the roadside establishment, which is basically a shack on the side of the road to sit in, and a completely open kitchen about 5 meters behind. The pictures really do a better job at describing the experience, but the lady takes the huge wooden rod and pounds the dough until she deems it ready after which you think she’s going to cook it somehow. Instead she sticks it in the huge pot of stew for about 5 seconds, ladles the dough and the soup out into a bowl and then slaps a small fish right on top. I think the guide book described it perfectly saying that fufu is one of the things in Ghana you must try, but you won’t miss upon your return. You sit in the shack with four people and ten times as many flies (honestly, maybe more) and hope that between the time you scoop the food with your fingers into your mouth, flies haven’t already parked it on your food. It was one of those things where I wanted to be careful about what I was eating, but when an African kid takes you to eat with him, eat is what you should do. I felt pretty quesy after and sure enough had the runs by the next morning but it was a good experience and I’m glad I did it.
“These folk so much identify their lives with that of the tribe, that each of their acts, however insignificant, is considered as a tribal affair. Their whole behaviour is regulated by an infinite series of unwritten rules of propriety which are the fruit of their common experience as to what is good or bad-that is, beneficial or harmful for their own tribe.”
I don't mean to compare this society to that of a tribal one, it just seems that when anyone needs anything in the community, they share the burden and leave no one to fend for themselbes. On our way to his town, Haruna paid for the trip out there (about 25 cents) and I thanked him and said I would pay on the way back and this guy behind us says to me with a big smile, no no you don't understand, that’s not how it works in Ghana. Your friend pays for you, because he his is your friend, and here in Ghana, we may be hungry, but we will always take care of each other. Right, and then this dude with long dreds in the front seat blurts out…Sharing is caring! Haha. And then to cap it off, the dreded man’s friend turns around and points to me and says, and you know the rasta man, NEVER lies. To which the entire trotro strated laughing. Funny people who know how to let people know how to live.
Met lots of people later in the evening and realized that everyplace you go, you meet some people you really like, and some people not so much who seem to be a little standoffish. It’s the same here in Ghana…only minus the standoffish people. The people here are unbelievable. Ok so we walked home through some smaller villages and we came to one called Dame (pronounced dah-may) a place where, as Haruna explained to me, if the husband of a couple dies, the woman must marry the brother of the deceased if such a brother exists and is not already married. Wild.
Another thing I noticed tonight is that few people can actually say my name and it often comes out Mac or Max and when I try Matthew, I realize the ‘th’ sound doesn’t exist in their pronunciation. Haruna has then given me an African name, Kwame, which he calls me because he especially cannot say my name and also because he wants me to be wrapped into his culture as much as possible and has vowed to find me an African woman so as to ensure that I return some day. Seeing that I have been proposed to twice already it seems like that not may be such a large problem…but I cant feel that special considering white women over here get proposed to the same amount as I have in a week, except in about 10 minutes.
The next morning was my first day of work and had a meeting at 10:00 am and in order to make sure I wasn’t late I woke up at 6:15 which was a swell idea, because I ran into some serious frustration attempting to find my way around. I backtracked twice and arrived 15 minutes before my meeting all sorts of sweaty. This dude, Charles Abbey, with whom I’m working is an awesome guy and as it turns, well accomplished and well connected…and being close friends with my professor, he is also a big fan of Wake Forest. We first discuss how I’m going to go about getting in contact with the right people and the adequate information and it becomes apparent that he is one of the leaders of promoting economic development and fair trade throughout the country. After he gives me names and places we discuss the state of the economy and society of Ghana and he fears the worst for the pending Economic Partnership Agreements between Europe and underdeveloped Africa due to be signed this December. Ghana, among other sub-regional markets, requires help and it should come from an unrestricted free trade agreement that could devastate, for example, the agricultural sector. In my research today I found out that 90% of the agricultural sector is composed of peasant farmers who would undoubtedly suffer the moust. “We are shouting, we are shouting as loud as we can,” Mr. Abbey explains and it seems he will not stop shouting until he knows the Ghanaian people are safe from corrupt politics. The political system here is brutal. Even though Ghana became independent before any West African country in 1957, their politicians have been craven in their attempts to install appropriate economic measures for its people... At least ever since Kwame Nkrumah, the first president after gaining independence was around. He is the George Washington of Ghana with buildings, universities, parks and city regions named after him. I always try to ask people about politics now and in the past and people, even if they weren’t around then, seem forlorn in the state of politics these days. They blame the current president, John Kufour for acquiescing to the desires of the West for personal benefit at the cost of his people. The politicians are in fact the richest people in the nation and it doesn't make the people feel good when they spend millions on celebrations and little on them.
Anyhow, we talked about how kind Ghanaians are and yet crime is on the rise with the influx of refugees from Liberia, Sierra Leone and Nigeria. After our conversation he set me up with meetings at two institutions in the small towns of Weija and Dzorwulu (pronounced, of course, jurwulu) where I spoke with the managers at a rural bank and microfinance development institution giving me hope for where this research can go. More on this will follow later on in the process, but it was a successful day, before the start of a weekend of travel.
Saturday began with the eating of fufu (with the stress on the last syllable) which we ate right down the road in Medina, consisting of soup, fish and doughy delight. We arrive at the roadside establishment, which is basically a shack on the side of the road to sit in, and a completely open kitchen about 5 meters behind. The pictures really do a better job at describing the experience, but the lady takes the huge wooden rod and pounds the dough until she deems it ready after which you think she’s going to cook it somehow. Instead she sticks it in the huge pot of stew for about 5 seconds, ladles the dough and the soup out into a bowl and then slaps a small fish right on top. I think the guide book described it perfectly saying that fufu is one of the things in Ghana you must try, but you won’t miss upon your return. You sit in the shack with four people and ten times as many flies (honestly, maybe more) and hope that between the time you scoop the food with your fingers into your mouth, flies haven’t already parked it on your food. It was one of those things where I wanted to be careful about what I was eating, but when an African kid takes you to eat with him, eat is what you should do. I felt pretty quesy after and sure enough had the runs by the next morning but it was a good experience and I’m glad I did it.
No comments:
Post a Comment