Perspectives

I’ve now been living with my family in Tolon for two weeks now. Although I am a long way away from being able to identify most of the people in my compound by name, I have started to recognize and know many of them by their faces. My host father’s first wife, Adisa, lives in the compound and she has four children. The youngest is a three year old girl named Sala. Sala is almost as round as she is happy. The next oldest is a nine year old boy named Baba. I don’t know Baba very well; he spends most of his time with other young boys. Arysha is thirteen and she is the second oldest. The oldest is Mineara who's seventeen, but who I don't interact with much.


Just some of my compound's residents. Adisa is in black, behind the pot. Arysha is in yellow, behind her. Sala is in the redish dress in the front row.

Arysha and I are still good friends. People have started saying I will take her back to Canada with me. While I hope this is purely humour, I have tried hard to stress that it is not an option. Besides, once most Ghanaians hear how cold it gets in Canada they seem to loose interest. I will consider stressing this point further in the future.

The other day I was asking Arysha questions and discovered that she’s never been further than the neighbouring town of Nyankpala (about 10 kilometers). This was pretty mind blowing for me. Although I hadn’t really put a lot of thought into it, I had assumed almost everyone in Tolon had been to at least Tamale (a 45 minute bus ride costing fifty cents). In effect, this means that she’s never seen a traffic light, a gas station, a computer (probably not anyway) or a restaurant. If her father didn’t send her to Nyankpala for school she would have never seen a paved road. Interestingly, she’s had plenty of experience with television, coca cola and cell phones. The wildest part is that her family is relatively well off, her town is a district capital and her country is one of the most developed on the continent. I can’t even imagine what the world must look like to a young person living in a remote village in a country not so developed as Ghana.


Arysha has never been more than 10km from her home in Tolon.

This new understanding has helped explain a number of things. Arysha refers to Canada as “my village”. To her everyone lives in a village because this is all she has ever known. I once tried to explain where Canada is and how I flew to Ghana, but she has absolutely no context. The entire concept of large distances is foreign. I don’t think she even understands the idea of an ocean. When I showed her some of my pictures from home I was confused by her lack of interest. She asked a few questions, at first she thought the Westminster Church in Winnipeg was my house, but other than that she flipped through them quickly without paying much attention. Even snow didn’t spark her interest. My new theory is that she simply can’t understand the content. Perhaps she doesn’t even know where to start asking questions.

One of my goals in coming to Ghana was to get to know some of the many people in this world who are working to lift themselves out of poverty but who face overwhelming obstacles. In EWB we use the name Dorothy to symbolize these individuals and they become the ultimate motivation for the work that we do in Canada and overseas. Recently I’ve been thinking about whether I’ve found a Dorothy in Ghana. While Arysha isn’t particularly poor, her future rests heavily with that of her nation. In many ways she is a product of successful development: she’s well fed, she’s happy, she goes to a good school and she even has health insurance. Her ambition is to become a nurse and there’s a pretty real chance she may realize this goal. At the same time it's far from a sure thing and there are many obstacles to overcome. There are also many many young people with futures that are far less bright. In short, I find her story motivating because it's a reminder of what is possible but also a reminder of how far there still is to go.


Arysha is a reminder of what is possible.

On a slightly lighter note, I’ve been working on my Dagbani. Just about everyone I meet is keen to teach me (which is somewhat overwhelming) and I’ve managed to obtain some Dagbani children’s grammar books. Although I’ve never put any serious effort into learning another language before (French clearly doesn’t count), I’ve noticed some interesting things about language in my area of Ghana.

People say “sweet” when something tastes good. This caused some confusion at first since people would offer me food and ask “is it sweet?”, to which I would cautiously reply, “not really, is it supposed to be?”.

There are two methods of preparing food: “cooking” and “frying”. Cooking essentially means boiling.

Dagbani, as do most African languages, has a specific word for white person: “seminga”. Apparently the first piece of English children learn is “hello seminga”, which they enjoy chanting at me as I walk by. Maybe children just aren’t my thing, but I find this particularly annoying. My annoyance sparked some further investigation. Apparently “seminga” can be used to describe basically anyone who isn’t black (Chinese, Middle Eastern, etc.). Although Indian people seem to fall into a bit of a gray zone (or should I say brown haha), I don’t think most would hesitate to use the term. To me this further emphasizes people’s perspective on the world: there are African people and then there are other people.

There is no differentiation between genders in Dagbani pronouns (there is no “he” or “she”). As a result, I’ve noticed my host sister Arysha (who is still learning English) will often use the two English terms interchangeably. This doesn’t seem to bother anyone else, but tends to confuse me greatly when she’s talking about a man and using “she”. It didn’t help that at first I couldn’t differentiate between younger male and female children.

Time is another interesting subject. As anyone who’s traveled knows, not all parts of the world are quiet as time oriented as Canada. Simply put, people aren’t as concerned about being late. When talking to farmers, questions such as “how much time do you spend doing this?” are fairly ineffective. People simply work while it’s light out and there’s work to be done. Also, the concept of “an hour’s walk” was fairly incompressible to Arysha, although it may have been more of a language barrier than anything.

I expected to be learning another language, what I did not expect was to be re-learning the language I already knew. I will continue to work on my Ghanaian English as well as my Dagbani. My goal is to be able to carry on a somewhat complex conversation in Dagbani before I return to Canada in August.

I realize I haven't written much about my work. I've actually been pretty busy visiting villages and talking to farmers about rice production. I hope to prepare an entire blog post on this for next week, but thought I'd start by sharing a few interesting pictures from my village adventures:


Notice anything unusual about the shirt this woman is wearing? Ever wonder where all the used clothing that no one buys goes? Now you know.

Used clothing is sold to the developing world by the tonne. While your gut reaction might be positive (surely poor people need clothing), this practice is quite hurtful to the domestic textile industry. At the same time, I'm not sure what the alternative is, should we just pour all of our used clothing into Canadian landfills? Just like the electronics industry, I feel like this is another example of the western world dumping its waste in developing countries.


Although more expensive construction utilizes concrete blocks, the majority of buildings are still constructed from mud bricks.


I believe this man is constructing part of a grass roof. Grass roofs are still very common, although there are some who can afford metal roofs.


Gineau Fowl (kind of like chickens) are often transported in baskets weaved from what I believe are sorghum stocks.


Shea nuts. Many people have probably heard of the Body Shop and their use of shea butter in skin products. The butter is made by boiling and drying the stone (shown above), cracking it open and grinding the seeds inside. The green part is also quite tasty.

Tolon

I am settled in Tolon now. Some of my coworkers at the Ministry of Food and Agriculture call it a village, but it’s really more of a town. The population is around two or three thousand. Tolon is the capital of the Tolon-Kumbungu District in the Northern Region. A district is similar to a municipality, while a region is more like a province. Some facts about the Tolon-Kumbungu District:

• About 135,000 people live in the district (51 people / square km).
• The main crops are maize, rice, millet, yam, cowpea, pigeon pea and soya beans.
• It is responsible for twenty-five percent of the regions total rice production.

Tolon is largely Muslim, although there is a significant Christian population as well. A small number practice traditional African religions. The town has a number of mosques and one Baptist church. The remaining Christians hold their church services in the school house. There seem to be a number of schools around, although I haven’t determined exactly what purpose each serves. Also in Tolon is a medical centre of some kind, a meeting area for the district assembly (government), the Ministry of Food and Agriculture’s district office (where I work) and a World Vision office (which is in the same building as us).

The community seems to be fairly well off, there are a number of boreholes and latrines and from what I’ve seen so far they’re well maintained. All but the poorest residents have electricity, although it’s often sporadic (the Ministry of Food and Agriculture just installed a backup generator for our office). Most are also taking part in the government’s health insurance program. There are a number of tractors in the community and most people pay to have their fields tilled. Unfortunately rising fuel costs are making tractors less and less profitable. Talking with some of the Ministry of Food and Agriculture field staff this morning, it appears people are finding it harder and harder to pay off their tractor loans given the rising operational costs.

Tractors are becoming increasingly unprofitable as fuel prices rise.

Poverty certainly still exists in the area however. During my first day at the office I met a man named Adam who works as a mason for World Vision building latrines and lives in a village about an hour and a half walk away. He said all the animals in his village have started to die and no one has been able to figure out why. Often villagers invest their income in animals and then sell them later when they need money. For those whose animals have died, it will be very difficult to raise money to pay someone with a tractor to till their field. Adam says they will be forced to till their fields by hand, which can take a month and will reduce yields, sending the farmers and their families further into poverty. The story of Adam’s village exemplifies the vulnerability of the poor. To me, development means reducing this vulnerability.

My host family is Muslim and one of the better off families in the town. My host father, Imuro, is the town’s spokesperson at the district assembly and is in charge of addressing issues brought forward by the community. He has two wives and six children (5 girls and 1 boy), although only his first wife lives in our compound. Several of his brothers and their wives also live in the compound. It might be a while before I figure out exactly who everyone is and how they’re related.


Imuro is my host father and represents his community in the local government.


My host father's brother's son. Name to be determined.


Some of the family children. Names and relationships to be determined.

The men’s rooms are all made from concrete and have corrugated metal roofs. Mine also has a ceiling fan, florescent light, electrical outlet and small bathing area. Imuro and his brother, Mohamed, have televisions in their rooms. The women and children sleep in buildings made of mud and/or concrete with grass roofs. All buildings have electricity.


Typical women's housing.

Not everyone in the family speaks English, so I tend to interact more with some than others. Imuro took me to watch the town’s football team (which he coaches) practice the other day. The next time I came I decided to participate, which was a humbling experience to say the least. I will likely constrict my role to that of a spectator in the future.

Imuro’s thirteen year old daughter, Arysha, and I are quickly becoming good friends. She is the only female in the compound who speaks strong English. During my first couple days she showed me around and translated many of my introductions. The other day I showed her Frisbee and now she continues to ask me to show her more games. She also wastes no time in informing me of my cultural mishaps. These include (but are certainly not limited to) eating alone in my room, sitting on my hands, handing something to someone with my left hand and eating my food from the centre of my dish outwards. Arysha seems particularly bright and her father sends her a half hour drive every day to Nyankpala for school. Apparently this is because there was no nursery school in Tolon when she started and now her father wants her to continue in Nyankpala. Presumably, especially given the relative quality of her English, the school in Nyankpala is better. Interestingly, the school in Nyankpala does not teach its students to read or write in Dagbani.


My favourite Ghanaian, Arysha.

I still have a long way to go in terms of integrating. I would like to take my Dagbani beyond the simple greetings I somewhat understand now and hope to enlist the services of a teacher. Food has been a slow process but the situation is improving. At first I didn’t have a very strong appetite (perhaps related to the food poisoning) but I am now able to finish most of my food. I’ve watched the women cooking on several occasions but would ultimately like to play a little more active role. My physical health has been good since arriving, although I was mentally and emotionally overwhelmed when I first arrived. Since then I’ve adjusted and I’m feeling quite comfortable now. Tolon is beautiful and my family is extremely nice. I expect I will miss them very much when the time finally comes to leave.

Yam mounds on some of the farmland adjacent to Tolon.

Tamale

Sorry for the delay in posting here, it's been a rough couple days. I had food poisoning yesterday and have been generally unwell since arriving. Doing better today though.

To recap what's been happening:

Our plane landed in Accra on Thursday night. I think most of us were a little freaked out, it was dark, we couldn't see much and people were pretty obnoxious. Mary (a long term EWB volunteer) picked us up and took us to a guest house (which is basically a motel) where we stayed the night. The next morning we took the 13 hour bus ride to Tamale (13 hours is really a best case scenario). What struck me most at this point was the contrast between apparent wealth and poverty. Most of the buildings are made from some combination of corrugated metal, brick, mud and concrete and are mostly one or two stories only. At the same time there are occasional western style buildings that could just as easy be found in Canada. I say apparent wealth because I really have no idea how poor people are. For example, many women sell fruit and water in traffic, but some seem fairly well dressed. And the houses may seem poor by western standards, but the climate here is obviously different.




Pictures from the bus ride to Tamale.

Once arriving in Tamale we had two more days of training, one of which involved a scavenger hunt adventure into the market place. I met a little kid (young boys are called "small boys") named Ernest and he took me around for a little while before disappearing. I bought some fabric to have a shirt made later, and even managed to haggle the price down a little bit (I imagine I still got ripped off). Later I met a young man named Sinbad who teaches dance at the cultural centre. I wanted him to show me some dance moves, but he said the centre wasn't open on Saturdays. Instead he took me to his friends art shop and attempted to give me a drumming lesson, although my sense of rhythm doesn't seem to have magically improved since coming to Ghana as I had hoped it would. Some of the art was amazing though, I would like to come back before I leave. Although I know the prices he was quoting me were really really high, I'm sure if I make a Ghanaian friend he/she could probably get stuff for a third of the price.

During the second day of training we had lunch with several Ghanaian friends of some of the long term volunteers. Most of them are involved in development work themselves and it was interesting to contrast our interactions in the market the previous day with this more educated conversation. I talked with a man named Peter about education. He says that Ghanaians learn all about America, Canada and Europe, but very little about their own country. I guess it is a product of colonialism, but it's rather ridiculous that Ghanaian children learn about dairy farming in Denmark or corn production in the states and yet know very little about different parts of Ghana or about Ghanaian history. Yet even despite this massive distortion, Ghanaians are incredibly patriotic and are proud to be such a peaceful nation.

On Monday morning everyone departed for their respective placements throughout Ghana. I am going to be living in Tolon, which is about a 45 minute drive outside of Tamale (most people are much further than this). My boss, Madam Hawa picked me up Monday morning but I got sick soon after arriving at the Ministry of Food and Agriculture office in Tolon. I spent the rest of the day in the bathroom and sleeping on the couch and decided to return to Tamale for the night. Henry also returned to the guest house and it was good to see a familiar face. I'd like to think all this getting sick now means I wont later, but I doubt that's how it works.


Shyam and I Monday morning before going our separate ways.


Motor bikes parked outside the Regional Ministry of Food and Agriculture office in Tamale.

On the Move

Arriving in Accra in a few hours. It's been s long flight, but I'm feeling alright all things considered. A portion of us headed into Amsterdam for a few hours during our layover and didn't regret it. The Dutch transportation system is pretty awesome. We took a train from the airport to the city centre, which was about 20 minutes. The streets were quiet when we first arrived fairly early in the morning, but started to pick up as we were leaving. Bicycles seem to dominated the streets and the whole system manages to maintain a chaotic balance between bikes, pedestrians, cars and trains. Perhaps everyone just has a little more patience, but either way it as a very warm place.


Myself and some of the other JFs during out stopover in Amsterdam.

Thinking back to the last week, pre-departure training was a pretty intense experience. Sessions started at 9am every morning and ended anywhere from 6pm to 10pm. Topics included the structure of development (donors, NGOs and individuals), safety, security and health, cultural integration and methods of participatory fieldwork. We struggled through the challenges of real life development project case studies and tried to learn as much as possible about our particular projects. Just about every session involved some sort of group participation and as the week progressed we found ourselves doing more and more “real” activities such as making presentations, role playing and conducting interviews.

But the biggest lessons of the week didn't come in the form of specific skills or knowledge. The most important thing I got out of the week was and understanding of just how hard what we're about to do is. It's not that I didn't know this before, but knowing and understanding are two very different things. And no amount of development knowledge, facilitation techniques or frameworks can change the fact that this is going to be hard. The skills and knowledge we picked up this week are good starting tools, but really in the grand scheme of things they're drops in a bucket. They aren't puzzle pieces we can fit together to find answers, there aren't even answers to find. All there really is is learning. I think I'm about to do a lot of learning...

Andrea just told me to look out the window of the plane and down at the Sahara desert. It certainly looks like a desert, there isn't really a better way to put it. Starting to get really nervous now. I guess I know I can do this, I'm just not sure how. Here's hoping for the best. Besides, it's a little late to turn back now.

Reserving Judgement

Predeparture training is now in full swing. On Wednesday morning Henry and I boarded our plane in Winnipeg and arrived in Toronto. Henry is also a Junior Fellow going to Ghana this summer, but is from the University of Manitoba and will be working with the Africa 2000 Network in the good governance sector. Wednesday evening was fairly low key, we got to the EWB house in downtown Toronto, snagged two of the few remaining bunks and met the 20 or so other Junior Fellows for the first time since the National EWB Conference in January. Levi, EWB's director of overseas sending, gave a short introductory speech outlining the current bed bug infestation in downtown Toronto (still none to be seen) and gave a brief outline of the next week of training.

Thursday was pretty straight into workshops. We covered a number of more general topics including our hopes and fears for the summer, how we each choose to define development and what makes an effective agent for change. We were presented with the following list of characteristics of effective change agents:

1. Internally driven and motivated

2. Willing to push yourself

3. Committed to impact/results/Dorothy*

4. Committed to learning and thinking

5. Humility/patience/accepting of ambiguity

6. Able to build trust

7. Follow all communicating, reporting and safety requirements

Although we brainstormed what each meant as a group, number five seemed to have particular resonance with me. It reminded me of something Sarah Lewis (a former long term volunteer with the Ministry of Food and Agriculture in Ghana) said a few weeks ago about confronting moral issues that she felt very strongly about. She gave the example of the attitude many Ghanaian men have about the worth of female education and described how she dealt with these situations. She said her strategy was to reserve judgement. Before deciding this person was wrong, she would try to learn as much as she could about whether their attitudes were typical, about why the attitudes existed and about how they could be overcome. In the case of female education, Sarah described how it would have been ineffective to tell fathers they should send their daughters to school because it was the right of all women to have an education. Instead she said the key was to engage people on a level they really identified with. She would talk about this prominent Ghanaian woman who was very well liked and was about to enter the government before her sudden death. Throughout Ghanaian society she is held with respect and admiration. When she asked fathers, "wouldn't you like your daughter to grow up to be like that?", they would agree that this would make them very proud of their daughters.

I think this idea of reserving judgement transcends international development or cross cultural experiences. It's so easy to say someone else is just wrong, but it's so much more effective to try to understand what their feelings are and why they feel that way. Even if you do decide to disagree with them, just the process of trying to understand them builds respect. At the risk of sounding over dramatic, I think the world would genuinely be a better place if everyone took this approach. I think disagreement is always going to exist, but that it's the lack of respect that's really damaging in relations, either between individuals or on a larger scale.

* Dorothy is a metaphorical individuals used in EWB to represent our boss: a man or woman in a developing country striving to work themselves out of poverty but meeting often insurmountable obstacles.