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Average Sunday

I open my eyes to the sound of my sistah Asana hesitantly saying my name.
-Madame Jeneefah, I’m going to the farm.
I instinctively reach for my phone to check the time. Sunday 6am. AHG! I don’t know why I’m surprised.
-You’re going to the farm?!
-Yes
-Can I come?
-You want to come to the farm?
-Yes
-But it’s far, how will you get there?
-How are you getting there?
-I will walk
-Then I will walk with you!
-But it’s far, you will tire.

At this point I was already out of bed throwing on some clothes, I was not taking no for an answer. She already thinks I’m crazy and this didn’t help to change her opinion–I’ll take crazy over lazy any day. 

-Don’t leave, I’m coming! 

She laughed at me while I sprayed my (already burnt) body down with sunscreen, I wasn’t making this mistake again. Then I applied some SPF 50 to my already slightly burnt face, threw my camera and three bags of ‘pier wata’ into my bag and we were off! 

-How can we go? You didn’t take tea. (Breakfast)

I brushed off her comment saying that I would pick up some bread at the station(a piece of road where “buses” stop to pick up passengers to Tamale). All of the vendors in Tolon surround that area. 

-Fine, then we should take your bicycle.

ARE.YOU.F.KIDDING.ME?! I can hardly carry myself on that thing never mind two of us. This is a terrible idea! But I went with it, I didn’t want to ruin my chance of going to the farm.

-Uh, ok. If you think we should.
Sure enough, we fell off the bike. We laughed dusting the red dirt off ourselves and picking up the bike that is already rattling from the amount of times it has hit the dirt since meeting me. Then she told me to sit on the back and she would ride instead. This girl is tiny, she is definitely stronger than me but I’m nearly twice her size! I humoured her and sat on the back but OF COURSE she couldn’t move!
More laughter.
We are still in hysterics walking with this bike that has proved to be useless for the pair of us when her brother cousin uncle male relation (I’ll never understand how family members are classified here) approaches on his motorcycle. After a brief conversation in Dagbani she tells me he will take me to the farm on the motorcycle. I race back to the house to pick up my helmet and we’re off! On the way we blew a tire and ended up having to walk to the farm after all.
It was far.
If I had to walk the whole way it would have taken nearly 2 hours. 

Upon arrival I greeted everyone(in Dagbani of course), sucked back a bag of ‘pier wata’ already regretting only packing 3, kicked off my shoes(like everyone else) and got straight to work(or at least I tried). Everyone stared at me in disbelief talking amongst themselves in Dagbani and giggling. After a few minutes of this Asana broke into english.

-You want to plant groundnuts?
-Yes, that’s why I came. 
Why else would I wake up at 6AM(!!) to go to a farm?! 
-Haha, uhm… ok. 

She hands me a “Canadian size” handful of groundnuts–about 20. This girl is clearly not taking me seriously. She points to the holes in the ground and tells me to put one in each hole and then cover the hole with my foot. After a quick demonstration I get to work, the handful she gave me lasts maybe a minute. I look up and see that EVERYONE has stopped working and is staring at me in silence. I look at Asana and she smiles when I ask her for more. The tall guy yells “AH! She learns fast!” and every cheers and laughs and breaks into Dagbani, the guy with the moto yells “AH! She tries!” more cheering. You know that feeling… when you KNOW you are the odd one out and you are just hoping that everyone will accept you and then they do! That’s how I felt. It’s like I passed their secret test and I was accepted into the club, “A yuli?” “A yuli?” (What is your name?) suddenly everyone wanted to talk to me. The excitement was flying around in English and Dagbani and it lasted the whole day.

Step 1
Pound the stick into the ground to make a hole.

Step 2
Take some groundnuts from the bag.

Or from Rahama, the small girl who is dying to help!

Step 3
Drop a groundnut into the hole.

Step 4
Cover it with your foot.

Don’t forget to stop for water 

And a hearty lunch of cowpea and maize. I think this is my new favorite. 

I managed to almost keep up with everyone for most of the day–everyone was very impressed! (Special thanks to my parents for the strong work-ethic) Sweat was pouring off me to the point that they wouldn’t have to wait for the rains to help the crop. The bottoms of my feet actually burnt from walking on the scorching hot dirt. When I first arrived I didn’t understand why there were trees in the middle of the field, wouldn’t it be more efficient to just have a plain open field? I really started to appreciate the trees when I felt like I was walking across hot coals(it’s amazing how fast you work in this condition) until reaching the shade of a large mango or doha doha tree where I learnt you slow down and try to coat your feet with the cold dirt before venturing back out to the hot coals. 

When I arrived back at my compound I was greeted by the usual 20 kids(I have no idea where they all come from!) “Madame Jeneefah ha-lo!”x100 as they all swarm around me, even though I was absolutely exhausted their excitement gave me just enough energy to greet them all. 

Small Napari, who points at me and says wife(he’s less than 2) “Hello!”
Small Asana(different from the other Asana), the one who encouraged everyone to say Madame Jeneefah ha-lo instead of Salminga ha-lo “Hello!”
Moniru, he’s quiet and tries to act much older than his age “Hello!”
Girl with the contagious laugh “Hello!”
Boy that carries a slingshot(need to stay on his good side) “Hello!”
I don’t recognize the faces of a lot of the other children, just their voices, because I hear them outside my window constantly. “Madame Jeneefah, ha-lo”
While I was in the shower room(also the place to pee) transferring the freezing cold water from the bucket to the cup to my sore burnt skin and cringing at the pain while cursing myself for not spraying my neck with sunscreen this morning. I experienced a growing sense of appreciation for my food–an epiphany really. I mean sure, I imagined that farming was hard work and I had read about farmers in Africa not getting fair prices for the raw product that they sold to people around the world to be processed. This was different. This was the realization that EVERY.SINGLE.PEANUT. that I carelessly spread on my bread in the morning was planted by someones (literally) burning feet and then also harvested manually. In Canada I can wander over to a grocery store and pick up my KRAFT Peanut Butter (crunchy, of course!) and my best guess is that the peanuts are produced somewhere in the states but I’ve never really bothered to look into it. But here when I eat groundnut soup, those groundnuts are coming from THAT farm. When we run out, we wait until next harvest.
I wish I could tell you that I’m as strong as all the Ghanaians I live with, that after my bath I felt revived and ready to do my Sunday chores(or at least my laundry). The truth is I collapsed into bed and didn’t so much as roll over for three hours. When I finally talked myself into getting up I saw my sister Asana doing laundry. This girl would have been up at 4:30AM as usual to pray and start her chores like fetching water, ironing clothing and preparing breakfast. She woke me at 6AM all bright eyed, biked to the farm, worked longer than I did, biked back home, bathed and spent the last three hours doing laundry and probably solving the worlds problems while healing small children. OK, maybe that last bit was an exaggeration but this girl is seriously hard working. After going to the station with me to buy laundry soap and mangoes(I thought the mangoes would give me energy) she finished the laundry and started studying. On the other hand, I was still too tired to do my laundry and went back to bed.
Not exactly a day off!
 
3 Comments

Posted by on June 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

The sky is eating the moon!

Last night I was laying in bed, peacefully finishing up some work when my sistah BURST into the room.

– Madame Jeneefah! Come quick! The asfasdkj!!

The excitement in her voice startled me out of my thoughtful daze.

– The what?

– The asdfasdalkj!!

I pulled the mosquito net out of the way. I guess I thought if I could see her better I would be able to understand what she was so excited about.

– What?

– The sky is eating the moon!

OK, now I’m interested! I jump out of bed, fix my mosquito net(so I can maintain a somewhat bug free zone, however small), and run outside. The image is breath taking, there isn’t a cloud in the sky and with the lack of lighting the stars appear to be hanging just out of reach. The large orange moon is slightly covered and my eyes are glued to it. Two of my brothers joined us, the four of us stood in the compound, silently starring at the sky. It turns out running was hardly necessary, the sky was taking AGES to eat the moon! Abdellah broke the silence asking me if I could hear the drums, for the first time since I had run outside I let my other senses kick in.

Image courtesy of Google

Image courtesy of Google

I heard praying, as usual but I also heard drums and children singing–it was so loud, I don’t know how I missed it before. I looked over at the three of them, we are all about the same age and I thought of how this moment wouldn’t feel out of place in Canada. They were talking and laughing with the usual large gestures, big pats on the back, friendly pushing and slapping hands. Their laughter didn’t seem to be towards me, which was unusual, so I asked them what was up.

They said that when they were kids, on the day of the eclipse they were told that if they misbehaved God would allow the sky to eat the moon and the light would be gone. So when the sky starts to eat the moon they have to pray and cheer and beg God to let the moon go free so everyone can have light. That’s why all the children were at the school drumming and singing.

“Zom naa wuni zago bahi” (Please God, release the moon)

 
5 Comments

Posted by on June 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

SHIT!

This morning I woke up at 6:30 not feeling very well. I had a headache and some pretty bad stomach cramps but I haven’t been getting my period so I put the pain down to that. Eventually the pain was getting worse and I decided to visit the latrine to relieve some of the pressure. As I went to bend down over the tiny hole in the ground and line myself up with it perfectly so not to make a mess, I realize that I was already shitting. Complete liquid was pouring out of me, and completely missing the hole in the ground (I’m sorry to whoever has to clean that latrine). I’d like to point out that every. single. day. I eat the exact same thing, so it’s unlikely that I’m still getting used to the food. I was really surprised and my cramps started to fade a bit so I walked back to the compound, gave my sistah the key (the latrines are locked so that the whole community doesn’t use them and make them dirty), took some tylenol for the headache and went to sleep.

I woke up again around 7:30 and the exact same thing happened. I realized that I was going to be late for work so I texted the planner and tried to go back to sleep. The people in my compound wake up at 4:30am to start their day. I feel like they are not unique in Ghana, it seems like everyone wakes up incredibly early and is immediately productive with chores or prayers. The fact that it was 7:30 and I was still in bed seemed to be a little upsetting to my family. Each woman, with their limited english came in to ask me what was wrong. I figured the easiest way to communicate was to rub my stomach and head and groan. In all honestly I would probably do the same thing in Canada because I turn into a HUGE baby when I’m sick. One of the women told me to get up and have tea, apparently my problem was that I hadn’t had anything to eat–I was skeptical but not in the mood to try to argue with her.

During my breakfast, or tea as it’s called here, the planner and one of my colleagues came to check on me. She brought me fried plantain (everyday when she packs lunches for her children she packs one for me as well). I should explain that fried plantain is a HUGE treat! It’s one of the VERY few sweet dishes here and easily my favourite thing. Little did I know at the time that I would never get to taste that sweet sweet plantain. I was really excited to see them, and I assured her that I would be fine soon and would see here at the office in a few hours. She told me to stay home and rest but I REALLY wanted to go to Tamale to see my friend Evan, the other Junior Fellow from Dalhousie and I needed to get a ride with them after work.

After tea I was really feeling shitty (no pun intended). Walked the 5 minutes to the latrine and started to feel really dizzy. This is where the story gets a bit hazy but I remember trying to quickly get out of the latrine because I thought I was going to faint. It was really important for me to get out of the latrine for two reasons: I would fall into my own shit AND no one would notice I had fainted if I was in the latrine.

BLANK

I found myself laying on the gravel like ground just outside the latrine with the hot sun melting through my skin. I had no idea how long I had been laying there but I remember forcing myself up and starting to walk towards the compound but everything was white, I couldn’t see anything.

BLANK

I found myself laying in one of the rooms of the compound with my host mother, who speaks no english, beside me rubbing my head like my own mother would do if I were sick at home. It was so comforting but I was so weak and confused and I had no way of asking her what had happened. I looked at her with apology and confusion and she looked at me with worry and sympathy. She made a motion that leads me to believe I threw up but I can’t be sure. Three family members showed up and told me that they were going to take me to the clinic. They helped me to my room and my sistah dressed me. I fell into the front seat of the Nissan truck, holding my stomach and closing my eyes. The bumping ride there had me near tears, but I didn’t have the energy(or the fluid) to start crying.

We pulled up to a small concrete building that had been painted canary yellow. There were cracks running along the walls and posters about breastfeeding on the side of the building. When we walked inside there was a room to my left and two offices to my right. No scrubs, no paperwork (although they did ask for my ID at one point). I quietly greeted the man in the office and let my host family take care of the rest while I sat on a long wooden bench forcing myself to not lay down. My Dagbani, the local language in Tolon, is still in its early stages and I had no energy to try and interpret what was being said. They borrowed my drivers license and issued me a health card. There’s a picture of it below, I had a to do a mirror image so you could read it and some kids got curious so that’s who’s in the background.

I was invited into the next office where there was a small table littered with bottles and packages of pills and a desk covered in papers that seemed to be patient records. There was an older man sitting behind the desk wearing a button up shirt, dress pants and a sympathetic smile.

-Your stomach?

-Yes, my stomach hurts, so does my head. I have been running (Ghanenglish for diarrhoea), and fainting and I might have vomited.

-Running?

-*frustrated sigh* Yes

At this point I’m confident that everything I just said was lost in translation. One of my family members, I was too tired to notice who, must have picked up on my frustration and assumably explained the situation to him in Dagbani. He shows me something that appears to be a sewing needle, I conclude that he’s pricking my finger to test for malaria and give him my hand. As I do a huge wave of nausea comes for me. I start asking for a bucket, with no response. Bucket, pail, vomit… at this point I’m just throwing around random words hoping that I won’t end up puking on the floor.

BLANK

I found myself laying on a thin foam mattress in a small canary yellow room cracks running through the concrete walls. There was another bed beside me and a sink in the corner. I could hear a loud discussion in Dagbani, someone was opening the windows saying, somethingI hear often here “lights off” the power is out. I start to wonder why the health centres don’t even have generators this annoys me too much so I close my eyes.

“JENEEFAH”

I open my eyes, the doctor is standing beside me. I see an IV stand and he has a tube attached to a needle attached to what looked like a plastic bottle in his hand. I starred at the needle for a minute and shot him a WTF look, wishing that I would have remembered the sterilized needle from my suture kit. Napari, one of my family members said something in Dagbani and the doctor disappeared returning with a needle still in its packaging.

– What’s that? *Pointing to the bag of fluid they are about to put in me*

– Fluids.

REALLY? Fluids? Thanks. That wasn’t obvious ATALLL!

The bag is labeled and I decide to just go with it. I call Evan, partially because I want to let him know that I won’t be able to make it to Tamale and partially because I’m craving the comfort of talking to someone I know, who can speak to me in Canadian English.

After two bags of IV ‘fluids’, three packages of oral rehydration salts and one cipro (a pill with A LOT of uses!) I was feeling extremely hydrated! I asked to use a toilet, turns out they don’t have running water. No toilet and no latrine, it’s a good thing my bowel movements stopped or I would have been squatting in the grass with my IV.

I walk with my family (who kindly stayed by my side the WHOLE time!) to the District Assembly to update my colleagues who are all genuinely concerned about me. I also call my mom, who is even more concerned about me (SORRY MOM!) especially because I don’t have enough phone credit to stay on the line.

-Hi mom, I.have.to.make.this.really.quick.because.I’m.running.outa.credit.but.I.spent.the.morning.in.a.hospital.don’t.worry.though.I’m.fine.

-Wait, what?! Are you ok? What happened?

-It’s.a.long.story.I’m.fine.we.can.talk.about.it.later.I.love.you!

-Uhm ok, I love you too!

Wow, I only realized now as I was typing that what a brief unexpected phone call that must have been for my mom. I don’t know how she puts up with me.

I was still feeling a bit sick but I decided that I would be better off in Tamale. I wanted to have electricity, a shower, a toilet, western food, easy access to better health care and mostly a friend that could provide comfort and easily communicate with me. I also felt guilty about worrying my family and I didn’t want them to have to try and take care of me with our limited communication.

The fact that my guest house had more amenities than the clinic I was in really bothered me. I’m lucky to be able to disappear to Tamale for the weekend until I feel better. It’s comforting for me to know that if something serious happens to me my insurance will pay to get me the care I need even if it means transporting me to a different city or country. This is not the case for the hundreds of other people that live in Tolon and I’m led to believe that this is common in Ghana, or at least it is in the Northern Region.

How does a Health Centre function without electricity or water? How is it sanitary to go outside to use and squat in the grass while you’re hooked up to an IV because there is no running water in order to use the toilet?How do you store immunizations? How does the doctor wash his hands?

I was talking to a colleague about this and he said “I can check my email on my phone but I can’t use a toilet at a clinic.” He went on to tell me that his wife died giving birth because she needed a blood transfusion, the clinic wasn’t able to keep blood and HE was sent (the frantic husband) to the blood bank to get the blood. The process took him a few hours and by the time he returned she was dead.

Physically I’m feeling a lot better but mentally I’m really annoyed. I mean, I guess I knew this was the case. I’ve read it in textbooks and heard the statistics, I’ve even been working with some of the data. But to actually experience it really changed my perspective–those statistics have a completely new meaning for me. Building a clinic in a community is not the same as making sure the community has access to health care.

 
17 Comments

Posted by on June 10, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Two Shots

I posted a 140 character version of this on Facebook the night that it happened but I thought I would elaborate, because it’s quite different from what I’m used to. I’m sorry I don’t have any photos to go with this post, I haven’t experienced it visually because I don’t go out alone at night.

The other night after killing a fairly large cockroach that was crawling up my wall I decided that I had had enough adventure for the day and went to bed. An hour or so in I hear two loud gunshots, instead of getting up to investigate I decide to pretend I didn’t hear anything. A few minutes later I hear two more that sound even closer to me, it definitely sounds like a long gun so in my sleepy daze I decide that someone is hunting and I shouldn’t worry about it. Wait, WHAT? Someone is hunting, when it’s pitch black outside? What could they possibly be hunting all there is around here are cows, goats and poultry and I’ve been “lucky” enough to witness the death of all three. Now I’m freaking out a bit, I sit straight up in bed. I can’t hear anyone in my compound (I live with 20ish people so this is unusual). I pull back my mosquito net, grab my phone (flashlight and source of comfort) and venture into my compound. After walking past a couple empty huts I notice Rabbi on the other side of the compound. She speaks some english and there’s no one else around so I feel like it’s my best choice.

-Sistah, was that a gun shot?
-*confused look*
Two more shots fired
-Do you hear? What is it?
-Ah, yes a gun
-Why are there gunshots?
-Someone dead
-From the gun?
-Yes, dead
-Someone was shot with the gun?
-No, no someone dead, fumral
-Oh, a funeral! At this time?
-Yes, chief dead

After talking to MANY different people and asking them the same questions I have learnt that when someone dies they bury the body immediately but they wait until right before the rains(now) to have the funeral. I’m told this is the best time of year for funerals because it’s cooler out, there is more food for the celebration and farming season hasn’t quite started. I also found out that the amount of gun shots represents information about the person. 4 shots = Man, 5 shots = woman, constant shooting = chief I’m sure there are more that I don’t know about yet. The funeral lasts from dusk to dawn and the gunshots, drumming and other random noises go on ALL night! There were funerals three nights in a row, and hundreds of people attend them.

 
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Posted by on June 9, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Bad Wife

Before leaving the office yesterday I went to say good bye to the District Chief Executive (the top of the hierarchy at the district level) and he asked me what I was eating. Now keep in mind that I only arrived in this district on Monday and I don’t have access to a stove or microwave or any of the things I would be used to using in Canada. So when he asked what I was eating I thought it was reasonable that I was eating Mangoes (SOO MANY MANGOES!) and biscuits but when I told him that he wasn’t pleased and organized to get a truck to take me into Tamale today (even though it’s a holiday!) to get some cooking supplies. During the ride I was talking to my friend Napari the driver and he asked if I was married (super common question) I told him I wasn’t because I can’t cook so I would be a bad wife. He was SHOCKED to hear that I couldn’t cook! So shocked that when we got back to Tolon he took me to his compound to introduce me to his family. During the introductions I met Amina which is his oldest brothers wife and a great cook (his words) and he insisted that I come back so she could teach me to cook. I did. It was amazing! I plan to continue my cooking lessons with Amina, I’ll keep you posted and hopefully I can take pictures next time!

 
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Posted by on May 25, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Fish

I know this may sound a bit crazy but I have a pretty intense fear of fish. It’s completely irrational and I have no idea where it comes from, it just exists. Somehow, I managed to avoid eating fish during all my travels but in Ghana it seems this is impossible! There is fish EVERYWHERE and I’m not talking about fish sticks or filets I’m talking about straight up fish, nothing removed, grilled on both sides!

So here I am in the dinning hall at the guest house in Tamale face to face with my dinner. I go into deep concentration thinking that I can intellectualize my way out of this dilemma with some classical conditioning techniques. In order to relax for minute, to avoid bursting into tears, I decide to look out the window on my right to distract me and right beside me I see two men cutting the heads off chickens and chickens ACTUALLY running around with their heads cut off. Now, in any other situation this may have made me feel pretty uneasy but all I could think of was THANK GOD we aren’t having fish again for supper

 
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Posted by on May 23, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

I have spent the last 72 hours finding my way to Northern Ghana. I can’t believe how much has already happened and I haven’t even started work yet!

Leaving Toronto, one of the group members wasn’t able to travel through the United States because she has a passport from Iran. I thought this was absolutely ridiculous but in the end she made it to Accra, Ghana before we did! We went through a series of unfortunate events including delays, missed flights, arguing with Airport staff to get them to hold a flight and then finding out in Washington that they didn’t actually talk to anyone and we missed our flight to Ghana which meant staying the night and being re-routed through Germany—you know, just little things. Next time remind me to skip the states all together! 

We sat in this airport for HOURS singing, talking, skyping and playing with some circus supplies that Tanya brought until the airline found us another flight.

On the plus side I had a chance to check out DC, sleep on a queen size pillow top mattress with Egyptian cotton sheets (all to myself!) and buy Milka chocolate in Frankfurt.

In Accra we stayed at a guest house that everyone who has come here through EWB has staying in. I have to say, sleeping under the mosquito net kinda made me feel like a princess sleeping in a canopy bed. We had to get up early to make it to the bus station to Tamale and we have been sitting here all day. The bus was suppose to leave at 8am, right now it’s noon and still have no idea when it’s coming. This is equally as frustrating as waiting in airports but the people are A LOT nicer, which honestly changes everything. 

 
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Posted by on May 18, 2011 in Uncategorized