Thursday, February 12, 2009
Musics!
I don't know what is with the weird intro on this video, but I always sing this one with the little girls that live next door when they come over and eat all our mangos.
...and Akon gets more rotation here than most any American artist except for Celine Dion...oh wait...
...and now we have "I Go Chop Ya Dollar". This is a Nigerian song from a "Nollywood" Movie, that I randomly bought at a music stand just because I loved the name of it. To "chop" is slang for "take", this is why it can be used in the context of theft or eating, as in "Have you chopped dinner yet?" or "We tried to chop this obruni's dollars late at night, but he jumped off his bike and just ran way too fast for us!"
And finally, we have the song that basically won Obama the election. I haven't actually heard this here, but there have been countless times that I have sang with people while discussing politics:
Monday, February 9, 2009
????????????????
I already wrote this once, but due to slow internet and a power outage, it was lost. This is my attempt at a recreation.
Basically today I encountered many examples of the frustrations of trying to do something meaningful in Africa. None of them firsthand, but they are still worth mentioning.
First of all, it was reported by the BBC today that the Red Cross/Crescent has been working in Zimbabwe in response to the Cholera outbreak. Over 3000 people have died from the water-borne disease. The Red Cross/Crescent has been setting up water distribution sites where they are purifying and giving out water in at-risk areas. However, it was reported that right near some off the distribution sites people were still consciously choosing to get their drinking water from the boreholes, where it was known that they were infected with the disease. The Zimbabweans did not like the taste of the chlorinated water and decided to drink from their usual spot. So…what’s the solution?
Another water-related example comes right here from the project I was working on last week. Apparently many of the communities that had boreholes constructed for them to provide safer drinking water quit using them after a few months. Efforts had been made to place the boreholes as close to the community as possible. And that was the problem. The long walk to the distant river or dug-out served as the social center for the women of the village. It is the African water cooler reserved for gossip about men (you will almost never EVER see a man fetching a 5 gallon pot of water and carrying it back on his head). This is the result of leaving women out of the development process. While I was in the field, in most of the interviews conducted, whether they were the community or household interviews, the men did all the talking, and men were doing the interviewing. I imagine if there was more attention paid to women things would be done more efficiently.
I read an article this morning that was extremely disturbing. It was about pregnant women in Ghana, particularly in the predominantly Christian south, foregoing proper medical care for “prayer centers.” Instead of delivering their baby with a doctor in a hospital, they go to a Christian center to pray for long periods of time with the people who work at the center (I doubt they are priests or any legitimate religious figure). This is partly because most people in Ghana didn’t get the message that in 2005 the government made maternal healthcare free. Free! Awesome! I mean, awesome if you have access to a hospital…But many people here have taken their devotion to their faith so far that it puts their life in danger. Plus these prayer centers charge money. One woman, who the article highlighted, refused to go to the hospital for weeks. Even though she was in desperate pain she remained in the prayer center, refusing food and water for several days. When she was on the verge of death, she was finally taken to a hospital, and it was found that her child had been dead for a week. This bizarre devotion seems like the result of a dangerous blend of imported Christianity and traditional African beliefs. Or maybe it is the perceived correlation of the abundant wealth in the Western world and Christianity. I don’t know if that exists, but it seems logical that people would make that association.
And finally, another unfortunate situation for women. I met a couple Peace Corps girls last week during the trip out of town. One of them was complaining about a program a Ghanaian man had started to help victims of Domestic. She was not complaining about the program, but the man himself. She knew a woman who had been beaten and she went to him to ask what to do. He told her that she shouldn’t tell the police or anybody else, and no he couldn’t really help either. The response? “Well, that’s how it is here. Men beat their wives. This is part of our culture.” And this is the guy who is supposed to be watching out for the women.
All of these issues pose obstacles based in culture. I hate the idea of “behavior change” as a means to help people’s situation. I mean, who are we to come and say, “oh, no, sorry, your culture is wrong. If you don’t want to be poor anymore, well, you’re just gonna have to be more like…us.” But at the same time, who are we, as people, “global citizens” to idly stand by while women are beaten, or drinking disease-carrying water, or being convinced that intense prayer is better than a doctor…
And this is what keeps it interesting. Unfortunately, as I could have predicted, I will leave here with far more questions than answers.
Basically today I encountered many examples of the frustrations of trying to do something meaningful in Africa. None of them firsthand, but they are still worth mentioning.
First of all, it was reported by the BBC today that the Red Cross/Crescent has been working in Zimbabwe in response to the Cholera outbreak. Over 3000 people have died from the water-borne disease. The Red Cross/Crescent has been setting up water distribution sites where they are purifying and giving out water in at-risk areas. However, it was reported that right near some off the distribution sites people were still consciously choosing to get their drinking water from the boreholes, where it was known that they were infected with the disease. The Zimbabweans did not like the taste of the chlorinated water and decided to drink from their usual spot. So…what’s the solution?
Another water-related example comes right here from the project I was working on last week. Apparently many of the communities that had boreholes constructed for them to provide safer drinking water quit using them after a few months. Efforts had been made to place the boreholes as close to the community as possible. And that was the problem. The long walk to the distant river or dug-out served as the social center for the women of the village. It is the African water cooler reserved for gossip about men (you will almost never EVER see a man fetching a 5 gallon pot of water and carrying it back on his head). This is the result of leaving women out of the development process. While I was in the field, in most of the interviews conducted, whether they were the community or household interviews, the men did all the talking, and men were doing the interviewing. I imagine if there was more attention paid to women things would be done more efficiently.
I read an article this morning that was extremely disturbing. It was about pregnant women in Ghana, particularly in the predominantly Christian south, foregoing proper medical care for “prayer centers.” Instead of delivering their baby with a doctor in a hospital, they go to a Christian center to pray for long periods of time with the people who work at the center (I doubt they are priests or any legitimate religious figure). This is partly because most people in Ghana didn’t get the message that in 2005 the government made maternal healthcare free. Free! Awesome! I mean, awesome if you have access to a hospital…But many people here have taken their devotion to their faith so far that it puts their life in danger. Plus these prayer centers charge money. One woman, who the article highlighted, refused to go to the hospital for weeks. Even though she was in desperate pain she remained in the prayer center, refusing food and water for several days. When she was on the verge of death, she was finally taken to a hospital, and it was found that her child had been dead for a week. This bizarre devotion seems like the result of a dangerous blend of imported Christianity and traditional African beliefs. Or maybe it is the perceived correlation of the abundant wealth in the Western world and Christianity. I don’t know if that exists, but it seems logical that people would make that association.
And finally, another unfortunate situation for women. I met a couple Peace Corps girls last week during the trip out of town. One of them was complaining about a program a Ghanaian man had started to help victims of Domestic. She was not complaining about the program, but the man himself. She knew a woman who had been beaten and she went to him to ask what to do. He told her that she shouldn’t tell the police or anybody else, and no he couldn’t really help either. The response? “Well, that’s how it is here. Men beat their wives. This is part of our culture.” And this is the guy who is supposed to be watching out for the women.
All of these issues pose obstacles based in culture. I hate the idea of “behavior change” as a means to help people’s situation. I mean, who are we to come and say, “oh, no, sorry, your culture is wrong. If you don’t want to be poor anymore, well, you’re just gonna have to be more like…us.” But at the same time, who are we, as people, “global citizens” to idly stand by while women are beaten, or drinking disease-carrying water, or being convinced that intense prayer is better than a doctor…
And this is what keeps it interesting. Unfortunately, as I could have predicted, I will leave here with far more questions than answers.
Friday, February 6, 2009
New Digs
Before I left for my trip to the field, I had been asking around to anyone I could about new living situations. Nothing was wrong with the guesthouse that I was staying in (the staff was kinda lame, but that is to be expected) but it was quite pricey even with my massive discount (from $18/night to $10/night). Eventually I met a woman named Pat who has worked with NGO’s and organizes homestays. She also owns an outdoor drinking spot away from the city center, which I think I mentioned in a previous post. She told me she had something lined up, so when I returned from the field I went to her bar so she could show me where it was.
But before I go in to that, I have to have a little side note. Anyone who has traveled to developing countries has definitely seen people wearing shirts donated by, well, us. You know those shirts from the baseball team you used to be on, or that collared shirt with the old company logo on it that you thought were being given out to the needy. Well this isn’t the point, but they are sold cheap to clothes dealers in these countries and then resold to all the people in places like, say, Northern Ghana. Usually they are pretty non-descript or uninteresting, but sometimes they are, for whatever reason, completely hilarious. Usually this has to do with the shirt’s “gender agreement” like the two times I have seen young men in “Powder Puff Football” t-shirts complete with rosters on the back, or the shiny Redken shirt I remember seeing on my first trip to Belize. One I remember seeing in a market in Nicaragua worn by a large woman, angry-looking and aging, was so vulgar I would not put it on the internet, and I am sure she did not speak any English. The one I saw that day at Pat’s bar, however, was by far the most entertaining to me, and the fact that Ghana’s official language made it quite puzzling. A fit guy probably in his mid-20’s was wearing this tight shirt that said, “DOES THIS SHIRT MAKE MY TITS LOOK BIG?”. This poses so many questions, one of the best I think is, “who donated that? And did they know it would end up on a non-English speaker in a far-off country?” I really need to start keeping track of all the shirts I see abroad.
Anyway, Pat showed me to my homestay, a mere 2 blocks from her bar, and across the street from her house, where a Dutch volunteer stays. It is not a family homestay, as the traditional setup is, but just one guy, a relative/family friend of Pat, named Awine (I think that’s how it’s spelt, otherwise, it is pronounced Aweenay), and he said his English name is Gregory, but that’s lame. He is 30, though I think he looks 25, and he likes to sculpt his guns (my words, not his)…His words were that he works out at the gym…wherever that is. Also, he says he works as an electrician, though he hasn’t worked much since I’ve gotten here, I am guessing because I paid him up front.
I like the place a lot. My room is good sized, with a bigger bed than I had at the guesthouse. There is a table, and some pictures up so it feels kinda homey.
It is pretty dingey, and I had to pay him for the first month (about $90, including breakfast and dinner) up front so that he could buy locks for the doors.
He also said he would buy a mirror so I could shave more effectively (Awine doesn’t grow facial hair, except for his ballin mustache) but I am still waiting.
It does not have a big wall and gate around the house, as most homes with foreigners living with them do.
There is no running water, just a bunch of 5 gallon jugs we fill from a pipe down the street, which is nice because when the jugs sit in the sun the water gets pretty warm, allowing me my first hot (bucket) shower here in Ghana.
The kitchen is small, and Awine does the cooking (though I keep trying to help) and it is all done over charcoal, no gas or electric. I think cooking something simple like rice would be hard for me to do well over charcoal.
When I saw limes in the kitchen, I asked Awine what he uses them for. “Well, I sweat a lot,” he said, “so before I shower rub lime under my armpits…Oh, and I also use it when I cook dog.”
We have a puppy, couldn’t be more than a month or two old (he probably won’t be ripe before I leave). Super cute and looks like it could be a rottweiler when he grows up. I accidentally stepped on his leg on the way out the door this morning. I felt so bad, and its little yelps were so sad. Though it was also very repetitive and sounded kinda like that noise you’re supposed to listen to for 60 seconds while looking at the picture of a racecar and try not to laugh. That made me feel a little better about the situation. I love that dog.
BTW, I have an issue with Ghana’s bathroom culture. And I will explain this vaguely. For some reason they have western toilets, though I believe traditionally people clean themselves…Indian style, as I know it. Even in other parts of West Africa I hear they use squatters. This poses a problem, as many times there are no trash cans for TP, or no TP, or no faucets/buckets for water by the toilets. I like India’s bathroom culture, the way it is set up is no problem for me. And Western style, well I grew up with it. And Mexico/Central America was Western style with trash cans for TP…But Ghana is just confused. Trying to be modern, but inevitably this is still Africa and that doesn’t always work. I hope that made sense to at least some of you.
Awine is very kind and accommodating, though it is weird because he insists on waiting on me. I mean, at my home stay in Guatemala it did not seem odd for my middle-aged host mother to cook for me and do all the dishes, I mean, that was part of the agreement. It’s the same here, but Awine feels more like a roommate, since he is young and it’s just us two. I would rather help with the chores, but he insists on doing them. Though it might be better. I am not used to cooking and cleaning the way he does and would be terribly inefficient, but I would still like to learn for the 2 months I am here.
Bugs are everywhere. Mostly ants, quite a few mosquitos, some other little beetly things. I finally put up my mosquito net.
On Tuesday Awine brought me my breakfast (tea, sugar, bread) but he also hooked me up with a ripe mango (almost too ripe). This was exciting as most of the mangoes around town were still green. Also, I haven’t had more than one or two mangoes since my 3-week mango binge in Managua, Nicaragua about 11 months earlier. The first bite tripped me out. It was truly a life-altering experience to see how much this sensation was identical as it had been across the ocean a year before. For anyone that trips out on familiar scents or flavors that you associate with a place you have traveled, try tripping on it in a new country and it’s way more bizarre.
Last night, we lost power, which is not uncommon, but usually short-term. I was in the bathroom, and as shocking and disorienting as it was (everything literally went black) I couldn’t help but laugh at the brilliant timing. Without fans, it was too hot to be inside, and had already started sweated quite a bit. I sat outside with Awine and our neighbors for a bit before he said, “let’s take a walk”. So we headed into the dark streets, which were now pleasantly populated due to the widespread power outage. We wandered to a tucked away spot where we met one of Awine’s girlfriends for a drink. I cannot remember her name, but her friend was Joanne, who was visiting from Accra. We talked about Ghana and politics and the IRS (she works for Ghana’s IRS). She was great to talk to because she was not in the least bit shy to share her opinions of foreigners and foreign aid, which were not too positive. I tried to defend myself, but I she made a lot of good points. She said that foreigners seemed snobbish, which I did not doubt. I told her that it is hard to be friendly to everyone after a month of attracting so much attention and being called “white man!”, “obruni” and other synonyms everywhere you go. She had a lot of interesting perspectives though, and I thoroughly appreciated her honesty. The typical conversations I have with people consist of them telling me how much they love America and want to go there and, “can you take me to America with you?” Now, I understand that they are trying to leave a difficult economic situation, but what can I do to help them? Plus, I feel that most people here should feel blessed to live in Ghana, which is far more economically stable than most of Africa, as well as much more peaceful. I have much more sympathy for people trying escape conflict or famine, than people simply trying to get rich quick through a few years of work in America.
On the way back from the spot, Awine and I meandered in the darkness through the narrow dirt back roads that felt more like walking through a rural village, but the occasional reminders that we were in a city did pop up. Like after a dozen sheep crossed in front of us, we were passed by someone on a motorbike. Many of the homes were the round style with a thatched roof seen in rural areas, but instead of mud, they were made from concrete, and a few even had satellite dishes. Lots of people were still outside escaping the heat, many catching sleep on a bench or lying on the ground. It was a very peaceful walk and Awine told me that sometimes he just walks all night, like he had done the night before when he couldn’t sleep. He said he had gone out around midnight and walked and ran until he returned at 4 in the morning. And he was STILL up before me! By the time we got home power was back and we were able to enjoy the comfort of our fans.
Has anyone reading this ever listened to Esperanza Spalding (other than Harley)? I have been listening to that and it’s pretty rad.
In other news, I have been back in the office working on all the photos from the previous week along with a few other random projects.
But before I go in to that, I have to have a little side note. Anyone who has traveled to developing countries has definitely seen people wearing shirts donated by, well, us. You know those shirts from the baseball team you used to be on, or that collared shirt with the old company logo on it that you thought were being given out to the needy. Well this isn’t the point, but they are sold cheap to clothes dealers in these countries and then resold to all the people in places like, say, Northern Ghana. Usually they are pretty non-descript or uninteresting, but sometimes they are, for whatever reason, completely hilarious. Usually this has to do with the shirt’s “gender agreement” like the two times I have seen young men in “Powder Puff Football” t-shirts complete with rosters on the back, or the shiny Redken shirt I remember seeing on my first trip to Belize. One I remember seeing in a market in Nicaragua worn by a large woman, angry-looking and aging, was so vulgar I would not put it on the internet, and I am sure she did not speak any English. The one I saw that day at Pat’s bar, however, was by far the most entertaining to me, and the fact that Ghana’s official language made it quite puzzling. A fit guy probably in his mid-20’s was wearing this tight shirt that said, “DOES THIS SHIRT MAKE MY TITS LOOK BIG?”. This poses so many questions, one of the best I think is, “who donated that? And did they know it would end up on a non-English speaker in a far-off country?” I really need to start keeping track of all the shirts I see abroad.
Anyway, Pat showed me to my homestay, a mere 2 blocks from her bar, and across the street from her house, where a Dutch volunteer stays. It is not a family homestay, as the traditional setup is, but just one guy, a relative/family friend of Pat, named Awine (I think that’s how it’s spelt, otherwise, it is pronounced Aweenay), and he said his English name is Gregory, but that’s lame. He is 30, though I think he looks 25, and he likes to sculpt his guns (my words, not his)…His words were that he works out at the gym…wherever that is. Also, he says he works as an electrician, though he hasn’t worked much since I’ve gotten here, I am guessing because I paid him up front.
I like the place a lot. My room is good sized, with a bigger bed than I had at the guesthouse. There is a table, and some pictures up so it feels kinda homey.
It is pretty dingey, and I had to pay him for the first month (about $90, including breakfast and dinner) up front so that he could buy locks for the doors.
He also said he would buy a mirror so I could shave more effectively (Awine doesn’t grow facial hair, except for his ballin mustache) but I am still waiting.
It does not have a big wall and gate around the house, as most homes with foreigners living with them do.
There is no running water, just a bunch of 5 gallon jugs we fill from a pipe down the street, which is nice because when the jugs sit in the sun the water gets pretty warm, allowing me my first hot (bucket) shower here in Ghana.
The kitchen is small, and Awine does the cooking (though I keep trying to help) and it is all done over charcoal, no gas or electric. I think cooking something simple like rice would be hard for me to do well over charcoal.
When I saw limes in the kitchen, I asked Awine what he uses them for. “Well, I sweat a lot,” he said, “so before I shower rub lime under my armpits…Oh, and I also use it when I cook dog.”
We have a puppy, couldn’t be more than a month or two old (he probably won’t be ripe before I leave). Super cute and looks like it could be a rottweiler when he grows up. I accidentally stepped on his leg on the way out the door this morning. I felt so bad, and its little yelps were so sad. Though it was also very repetitive and sounded kinda like that noise you’re supposed to listen to for 60 seconds while looking at the picture of a racecar and try not to laugh. That made me feel a little better about the situation. I love that dog.
BTW, I have an issue with Ghana’s bathroom culture. And I will explain this vaguely. For some reason they have western toilets, though I believe traditionally people clean themselves…Indian style, as I know it. Even in other parts of West Africa I hear they use squatters. This poses a problem, as many times there are no trash cans for TP, or no TP, or no faucets/buckets for water by the toilets. I like India’s bathroom culture, the way it is set up is no problem for me. And Western style, well I grew up with it. And Mexico/Central America was Western style with trash cans for TP…But Ghana is just confused. Trying to be modern, but inevitably this is still Africa and that doesn’t always work. I hope that made sense to at least some of you.
Awine is very kind and accommodating, though it is weird because he insists on waiting on me. I mean, at my home stay in Guatemala it did not seem odd for my middle-aged host mother to cook for me and do all the dishes, I mean, that was part of the agreement. It’s the same here, but Awine feels more like a roommate, since he is young and it’s just us two. I would rather help with the chores, but he insists on doing them. Though it might be better. I am not used to cooking and cleaning the way he does and would be terribly inefficient, but I would still like to learn for the 2 months I am here.
Bugs are everywhere. Mostly ants, quite a few mosquitos, some other little beetly things. I finally put up my mosquito net.
On Tuesday Awine brought me my breakfast (tea, sugar, bread) but he also hooked me up with a ripe mango (almost too ripe). This was exciting as most of the mangoes around town were still green. Also, I haven’t had more than one or two mangoes since my 3-week mango binge in Managua, Nicaragua about 11 months earlier. The first bite tripped me out. It was truly a life-altering experience to see how much this sensation was identical as it had been across the ocean a year before. For anyone that trips out on familiar scents or flavors that you associate with a place you have traveled, try tripping on it in a new country and it’s way more bizarre.
Last night, we lost power, which is not uncommon, but usually short-term. I was in the bathroom, and as shocking and disorienting as it was (everything literally went black) I couldn’t help but laugh at the brilliant timing. Without fans, it was too hot to be inside, and had already started sweated quite a bit. I sat outside with Awine and our neighbors for a bit before he said, “let’s take a walk”. So we headed into the dark streets, which were now pleasantly populated due to the widespread power outage. We wandered to a tucked away spot where we met one of Awine’s girlfriends for a drink. I cannot remember her name, but her friend was Joanne, who was visiting from Accra. We talked about Ghana and politics and the IRS (she works for Ghana’s IRS). She was great to talk to because she was not in the least bit shy to share her opinions of foreigners and foreign aid, which were not too positive. I tried to defend myself, but I she made a lot of good points. She said that foreigners seemed snobbish, which I did not doubt. I told her that it is hard to be friendly to everyone after a month of attracting so much attention and being called “white man!”, “obruni” and other synonyms everywhere you go. She had a lot of interesting perspectives though, and I thoroughly appreciated her honesty. The typical conversations I have with people consist of them telling me how much they love America and want to go there and, “can you take me to America with you?” Now, I understand that they are trying to leave a difficult economic situation, but what can I do to help them? Plus, I feel that most people here should feel blessed to live in Ghana, which is far more economically stable than most of Africa, as well as much more peaceful. I have much more sympathy for people trying escape conflict or famine, than people simply trying to get rich quick through a few years of work in America.
On the way back from the spot, Awine and I meandered in the darkness through the narrow dirt back roads that felt more like walking through a rural village, but the occasional reminders that we were in a city did pop up. Like after a dozen sheep crossed in front of us, we were passed by someone on a motorbike. Many of the homes were the round style with a thatched roof seen in rural areas, but instead of mud, they were made from concrete, and a few even had satellite dishes. Lots of people were still outside escaping the heat, many catching sleep on a bench or lying on the ground. It was a very peaceful walk and Awine told me that sometimes he just walks all night, like he had done the night before when he couldn’t sleep. He said he had gone out around midnight and walked and ran until he returned at 4 in the morning. And he was STILL up before me! By the time we got home power was back and we were able to enjoy the comfort of our fans.
Has anyone reading this ever listened to Esperanza Spalding (other than Harley)? I have been listening to that and it’s pretty rad.
In other news, I have been back in the office working on all the photos from the previous week along with a few other random projects.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
In the Field Pt. #
Ok, I posted some photos because everyone's all like, 'oh Joey, I wanna see some photos!" And as much effort as it took, as much time as I wasted in the office trying over and over to upload them, I am kinda disappointed in everyone's lack of gratitude (yeah, "0 Comments"). Therefore, anyone who actually reads this for entertainment/procrastination, is being punished for your apathy with a fairly boring post. After this, though, it should be much more interesting.
Love you!
Joey
Our first visit in Nadowli was to a community that was having their borehole rehabilitated. The previous one, built by another NGO, had quit working and their nearby well had also run dry. They were one of 5 communities whose boreholes would be reconstructed through this project. When we arrived, a local construction crew that had been hired to create the concrete foundation was just getting started. While they worked diligently under the beating sun, the community met with Ishaque and one of the DWST members under the shade of a large mango tree. They seemed happy about the new borehole, but I wondered how optimistic they really were. When I get a chance to conduct some of my own interviews, I hope that these types of questions will be answered.
The next community, Sankana, was fairly substantial compared to the other communities we had been to, which were pretty much 5-10 families out in the middle of nowhere. Their pump was not functioning and was due to be rehabilitated soon as well. We paid a visit to the school where they had been given about 8 mango seedlings and several dozen acacia seedlings. The headmaster welcomed us, and Ishaque asked to see the progress on the trees. A couple of the mango seedlings looked like they might make it, but most looked like the stick fences were inadequate protection from animals, bugs were getting at the leaves, or were dry from lack of water. Then we saw the acacia, about 100 feet from a developing acacia forest. Almost everyone looked like a dry twig in the ground. Ishaque scolded the headmaster for not bothering to water them, especially with a large body of water close enough to see. He said he had watered them once, but still looked very embarrassed. Irregular rains (flooding in the rainy season, draught in the dry season) are partially due to the heavy logging and lack of vegetation in the region. This is a big problem, though. I think this tree-planting idea is a good step in the right direction, but without some sort of immediate return, the community will find little incentive to take the long hike down to the river to water dozens of seedlings.
The next project seemed like a very interesting one. It was down by the afore-mentioned body of water, a flooded river behind a dam, and worked with the local fishermen to help them use the large amount of water to grow crops. When we first arrived, the plot of land next to the river seemed abandoned. One man, who I am still not sure if he was a fisherman or not, was hanging out around several dozen dry teak seedlings. At this point Ishaque was fuming. He kept asking the man why they had not been watered, especially with plenty of water a mere 20 feet away. I felt bad for the guy, but it was true. It seemed difficult to understand why the group of fishermen would start a crop of teak trees, funded by the NGO, and just not water them. We moved on to the other side of the river, which looked in much better condition. They were growing onions, tomatoes and other crops on this side. A couple of men were tending to them. I asked the man from the DWST if the fact that growing onions and tomatoes produced an immediate reward had led them to only focus on side of the river. Teak can be very useful and valuable lumber, but at this point they were just twigs, while the onions were already onions. He thought it sounded logical, but it also did not hurt that they had constructed some concrete aqueducts to irrigate the fields, which had not been done with the teak. We came across another obstacle of course. The section of aqueduct that crossed a creek was destroyed during the floods this past year, leading to about half of this side’s crops to be left thirsty. There were so many good ideas with marginal results. As frustrating as it was, I was glad that I was beginning to learn how projects worked and didn’t work, and how to ask questions.
The last community we visited was fairly standard. They had drilled a borehole that led to no water, and were waiting for a new drilling. Interviews were conducted with the community and the elderly men were excited about my facial hair, saying that we were the same, as they had prominent white beards.
That night Osei managed to get the air conditioning in the Land Cruiser to work, as it had not been functioning since the day we departed. I had not really minded, as this was still far and away the most luxurious transportation I had ever had outside the U.S. The next day, though, the reward came not so much through cooler air, but the luxury of having windows rolled up. At the end of the day I was not completely caked in red dirt. Just lightly coated.
Our first visit was to another community that was getting their borehole rehabilitated. The construction crew I had seen the day before was already at work, dismantling the old slab of concrete, preparing to start from scratch.
We were unable to meet with the second community on the list, as they were having a funeral that day, so we went on to the third community, which was scheduled to get their first pump installed today. Unfortunately, the construction crew had gone to the wrong site. They did not seem disappointed or even surprised. Either they did not have much faith in the reliability of NGO’s or after countless generations walking long distances to unclean water sources, one more day was not too long to wait. Either way, the neighboring communities had working boreholes, and when they asked if they could use them because their water source had run dry, they were regularly refused.
The final community visited on the trip was by far the most remote. It took a solid hour to get there from the previous village. It was located on a game reserve and they had been told recently that they were no longer allowed to hunt. This demand seemed fairly ridiculous, as it seemed impossible to enforce this far away from any legitimate road. The people in the village seemed to think so too, as most of the boys and young men had slingshots either in their hands or in some pocket. They all laughed when they were asked if they hunt. “Well, they came and told us not to anymore! Haha!” an elderly man replied with a grin. I couldn’t blame them. If anything, if I was told that I lived on the only land in the area that still had certain species, I would feel that I had failed as a hunter. The people in this village were extra jovial, and especially curious. I felt very relaxed and cheerful in their presence. When we left, they were so grateful for our visit (which really just consisted of a few interviews, viewing their future borehole site, and a few casual photos) they gave us six huge yams as we left. I felt that accepting gifts like this from the communities we were working with might complicate things ethically, but I knew this was a better issue to handle later. This might have been my journalism ethics kicking in, but I feel that the same logic could work with development work. If a particular community regularly rewards the representatives from the NGO working with them, it could taint the relationship, and let the communities in the most need get looked over. Later, however, I asked an independent about this etiquette and was informed that turning down such a gift would have been extremely rude.
That night, I realized I had been in Ghana an entire month. Unlike previous trips of this length, the time had flown by, and I could not believe that I would have to leave in only two more months. I was also glad. I have already seen so much of this country. In the past week I have taken in almost as much of northern Ghana as I have of northern Idaho. I have learned a lot, but as always, the more I know, the more I realize I know nothing. The troubles here in Ghana, and even more so in the rest of Africa, are a complicated riddle, of which the answer seems far from understood. If anything, I am coming to terms with the fact that African problems require African solutions, and figuring out my place in that is proving difficult.
Love you!
Joey
Our first visit in Nadowli was to a community that was having their borehole rehabilitated. The previous one, built by another NGO, had quit working and their nearby well had also run dry. They were one of 5 communities whose boreholes would be reconstructed through this project. When we arrived, a local construction crew that had been hired to create the concrete foundation was just getting started. While they worked diligently under the beating sun, the community met with Ishaque and one of the DWST members under the shade of a large mango tree. They seemed happy about the new borehole, but I wondered how optimistic they really were. When I get a chance to conduct some of my own interviews, I hope that these types of questions will be answered.
The next community, Sankana, was fairly substantial compared to the other communities we had been to, which were pretty much 5-10 families out in the middle of nowhere. Their pump was not functioning and was due to be rehabilitated soon as well. We paid a visit to the school where they had been given about 8 mango seedlings and several dozen acacia seedlings. The headmaster welcomed us, and Ishaque asked to see the progress on the trees. A couple of the mango seedlings looked like they might make it, but most looked like the stick fences were inadequate protection from animals, bugs were getting at the leaves, or were dry from lack of water. Then we saw the acacia, about 100 feet from a developing acacia forest. Almost everyone looked like a dry twig in the ground. Ishaque scolded the headmaster for not bothering to water them, especially with a large body of water close enough to see. He said he had watered them once, but still looked very embarrassed. Irregular rains (flooding in the rainy season, draught in the dry season) are partially due to the heavy logging and lack of vegetation in the region. This is a big problem, though. I think this tree-planting idea is a good step in the right direction, but without some sort of immediate return, the community will find little incentive to take the long hike down to the river to water dozens of seedlings.
The next project seemed like a very interesting one. It was down by the afore-mentioned body of water, a flooded river behind a dam, and worked with the local fishermen to help them use the large amount of water to grow crops. When we first arrived, the plot of land next to the river seemed abandoned. One man, who I am still not sure if he was a fisherman or not, was hanging out around several dozen dry teak seedlings. At this point Ishaque was fuming. He kept asking the man why they had not been watered, especially with plenty of water a mere 20 feet away. I felt bad for the guy, but it was true. It seemed difficult to understand why the group of fishermen would start a crop of teak trees, funded by the NGO, and just not water them. We moved on to the other side of the river, which looked in much better condition. They were growing onions, tomatoes and other crops on this side. A couple of men were tending to them. I asked the man from the DWST if the fact that growing onions and tomatoes produced an immediate reward had led them to only focus on side of the river. Teak can be very useful and valuable lumber, but at this point they were just twigs, while the onions were already onions. He thought it sounded logical, but it also did not hurt that they had constructed some concrete aqueducts to irrigate the fields, which had not been done with the teak. We came across another obstacle of course. The section of aqueduct that crossed a creek was destroyed during the floods this past year, leading to about half of this side’s crops to be left thirsty. There were so many good ideas with marginal results. As frustrating as it was, I was glad that I was beginning to learn how projects worked and didn’t work, and how to ask questions.
The last community we visited was fairly standard. They had drilled a borehole that led to no water, and were waiting for a new drilling. Interviews were conducted with the community and the elderly men were excited about my facial hair, saying that we were the same, as they had prominent white beards.
That night Osei managed to get the air conditioning in the Land Cruiser to work, as it had not been functioning since the day we departed. I had not really minded, as this was still far and away the most luxurious transportation I had ever had outside the U.S. The next day, though, the reward came not so much through cooler air, but the luxury of having windows rolled up. At the end of the day I was not completely caked in red dirt. Just lightly coated.
Our first visit was to another community that was getting their borehole rehabilitated. The construction crew I had seen the day before was already at work, dismantling the old slab of concrete, preparing to start from scratch.
We were unable to meet with the second community on the list, as they were having a funeral that day, so we went on to the third community, which was scheduled to get their first pump installed today. Unfortunately, the construction crew had gone to the wrong site. They did not seem disappointed or even surprised. Either they did not have much faith in the reliability of NGO’s or after countless generations walking long distances to unclean water sources, one more day was not too long to wait. Either way, the neighboring communities had working boreholes, and when they asked if they could use them because their water source had run dry, they were regularly refused.
The final community visited on the trip was by far the most remote. It took a solid hour to get there from the previous village. It was located on a game reserve and they had been told recently that they were no longer allowed to hunt. This demand seemed fairly ridiculous, as it seemed impossible to enforce this far away from any legitimate road. The people in the village seemed to think so too, as most of the boys and young men had slingshots either in their hands or in some pocket. They all laughed when they were asked if they hunt. “Well, they came and told us not to anymore! Haha!” an elderly man replied with a grin. I couldn’t blame them. If anything, if I was told that I lived on the only land in the area that still had certain species, I would feel that I had failed as a hunter. The people in this village were extra jovial, and especially curious. I felt very relaxed and cheerful in their presence. When we left, they were so grateful for our visit (which really just consisted of a few interviews, viewing their future borehole site, and a few casual photos) they gave us six huge yams as we left. I felt that accepting gifts like this from the communities we were working with might complicate things ethically, but I knew this was a better issue to handle later. This might have been my journalism ethics kicking in, but I feel that the same logic could work with development work. If a particular community regularly rewards the representatives from the NGO working with them, it could taint the relationship, and let the communities in the most need get looked over. Later, however, I asked an independent about this etiquette and was informed that turning down such a gift would have been extremely rude.
That night, I realized I had been in Ghana an entire month. Unlike previous trips of this length, the time had flown by, and I could not believe that I would have to leave in only two more months. I was also glad. I have already seen so much of this country. In the past week I have taken in almost as much of northern Ghana as I have of northern Idaho. I have learned a lot, but as always, the more I know, the more I realize I know nothing. The troubles here in Ghana, and even more so in the rest of Africa, are a complicated riddle, of which the answer seems far from understood. If anything, I am coming to terms with the fact that African problems require African solutions, and figuring out my place in that is proving difficult.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
In The Field Pt. @
Our second day in the Lawra District consisted of visiting the two communities of blind farmers. The first one was about 30 minutes outside of the main town. When we arrived I saw a blind man retrieving water from a small dug-out, and carry it back to the 100’x100’ fenced farming area. The farming community was made up of all the blind, deaf, and disabled people in the surrounding villages. They were also assisted by a few people without disabilities.
Their borehole, located at the center of the garden, was not producing water. Some said that the dry season had caused the water table to lower. However, it had worked a year ago, during the driest part of the year, during Ishaque’s last visit, and there had been extra-heavy rains since then. This lead me to be pretty sure that it was some sort of mechanical failure with the pump. Ishaque suggested that some of the pipes deep inside had collapsed. Either way, their backup dugout did not look like it would be producing water for the crops for much longer.
The people working in the garden seemed excited by our presence, which always makes my job easier. A few days earlier, in Tamale, a fellow foreign NGO volunteer seemed skeptical that the rural Ghanaians would be the least bit interested in having some guy with a big camera coming in to take photos of them working. I tried to be optimistic, offering that they would understand that I was there to tell their story, because people really are interested in their struggle. Whether that was true or not, the people in all the villages seemed happy to have their picture taken, although quite bashful at times.
After observing for a while, the team gathered the community of about 20 farmers under the mango tree for a group interview. They expressed a need for a new borehole (this one had been built several years ago by a different NGO) and money for more water cans and seeds. Around the time that the discussion was wrapping up, one of the women approached us with a dirty yellow 5-gallon jug with foam creeping out of the opening. She poured a brownish liquid into a large, dried and hollowed gourd bowl (a kalabasha), handing it to one of the men that had helped translate. Then she poured a bowl for me. It was “pito”, the locally made millet brew. I knew that it was rude to refuse it, unless you strictly do not drink alcohol, like Ishaque a Muslim, and Osei, a very devout Christian. I watched as the guy next to me downed his in one large gulp (and this was not a small pour), and I hoped it was not too strong as I planned on working effectively for the rest of the day. I poured out a splash into the dirt, a tradition to pay respect to the dead, which amused everyone. When I giggled at their giggling, we all erupted in laughter. Everyone delighted in me finishing the pito (in several drinks though) with a smile on my face. It was tasty, sweet, and not too strong, allowing me to complete my work without stumbling. After this, the community broke out into a loud song in their local language, everyone clapping their hands, some of the elderly women getting up to dance, others breaking out into a shrill cry of “ayayayayayayay!” We thanked them for their time and we were sent away with another song, this time a charming tune consisting of a makeshift English word, “Byah, byah!” Most of them followed us halfway back to the car waving. It was exciting, but I was still discouraged by their lack of a quality borehole. In fact, I noticed that this was the third community in a row we had visited without improved water facilities.
The next blind and disabled community was much larger and actually had a well-hydrated well in the middle of their crops, though they seemed to have a problem with their fences, as cows getting inside seemed to be a constant problem. At one point, kids trying to chase one out caused the cow to stumble over the fence and nearly destroy that portion, making the crops even more susceptible to bovine invasions. It seemed that this would be a common issue with development work. As soon as one problem seems to be solved, more, unforeseen problems would come to take their place.
I met the village shaman, a blind man who did most of the talking during the discussion. He seemed to hold the highest social status among them, though he still wore a shredded orange t-shirt that exposed most of his aged torso. He said that even though he could not see it, he was glad I had taken his picture.
We tried visiting another village, but when we arrived, it was mostly empty. We were informed that there was a funeral, and nobody was available for interviews. We drove further through the labyrinth of dirt roads and paths that pass as roads to two more villages that were unavailable due to funerals. We had had the same problem the day before in another village. We were unable to visit the total of 6 communities as planned, making the trip less efficient as I saw it.
What was the point of the Global Water Initiative and the Water and Sanitation team? To improve the quality of water resources so that people do not fall victim to waterborne diseases and to improve food security so that starvation was not a problem. However, we could not even evaluate the conditions of communities participating in the projects because people were dying all around us!
Ishaque seemed frustrated as well, pointing out that this excursion into the field could have been planned much better. We were finished in the Lawra District and headed back to Wa, which we used as a home base to visit project sites in the Nadowli District.
Their borehole, located at the center of the garden, was not producing water. Some said that the dry season had caused the water table to lower. However, it had worked a year ago, during the driest part of the year, during Ishaque’s last visit, and there had been extra-heavy rains since then. This lead me to be pretty sure that it was some sort of mechanical failure with the pump. Ishaque suggested that some of the pipes deep inside had collapsed. Either way, their backup dugout did not look like it would be producing water for the crops for much longer.
The people working in the garden seemed excited by our presence, which always makes my job easier. A few days earlier, in Tamale, a fellow foreign NGO volunteer seemed skeptical that the rural Ghanaians would be the least bit interested in having some guy with a big camera coming in to take photos of them working. I tried to be optimistic, offering that they would understand that I was there to tell their story, because people really are interested in their struggle. Whether that was true or not, the people in all the villages seemed happy to have their picture taken, although quite bashful at times.
After observing for a while, the team gathered the community of about 20 farmers under the mango tree for a group interview. They expressed a need for a new borehole (this one had been built several years ago by a different NGO) and money for more water cans and seeds. Around the time that the discussion was wrapping up, one of the women approached us with a dirty yellow 5-gallon jug with foam creeping out of the opening. She poured a brownish liquid into a large, dried and hollowed gourd bowl (a kalabasha), handing it to one of the men that had helped translate. Then she poured a bowl for me. It was “pito”, the locally made millet brew. I knew that it was rude to refuse it, unless you strictly do not drink alcohol, like Ishaque a Muslim, and Osei, a very devout Christian. I watched as the guy next to me downed his in one large gulp (and this was not a small pour), and I hoped it was not too strong as I planned on working effectively for the rest of the day. I poured out a splash into the dirt, a tradition to pay respect to the dead, which amused everyone. When I giggled at their giggling, we all erupted in laughter. Everyone delighted in me finishing the pito (in several drinks though) with a smile on my face. It was tasty, sweet, and not too strong, allowing me to complete my work without stumbling. After this, the community broke out into a loud song in their local language, everyone clapping their hands, some of the elderly women getting up to dance, others breaking out into a shrill cry of “ayayayayayayay!” We thanked them for their time and we were sent away with another song, this time a charming tune consisting of a makeshift English word, “Byah, byah!” Most of them followed us halfway back to the car waving. It was exciting, but I was still discouraged by their lack of a quality borehole. In fact, I noticed that this was the third community in a row we had visited without improved water facilities.
The next blind and disabled community was much larger and actually had a well-hydrated well in the middle of their crops, though they seemed to have a problem with their fences, as cows getting inside seemed to be a constant problem. At one point, kids trying to chase one out caused the cow to stumble over the fence and nearly destroy that portion, making the crops even more susceptible to bovine invasions. It seemed that this would be a common issue with development work. As soon as one problem seems to be solved, more, unforeseen problems would come to take their place.
I met the village shaman, a blind man who did most of the talking during the discussion. He seemed to hold the highest social status among them, though he still wore a shredded orange t-shirt that exposed most of his aged torso. He said that even though he could not see it, he was glad I had taken his picture.
We tried visiting another village, but when we arrived, it was mostly empty. We were informed that there was a funeral, and nobody was available for interviews. We drove further through the labyrinth of dirt roads and paths that pass as roads to two more villages that were unavailable due to funerals. We had had the same problem the day before in another village. We were unable to visit the total of 6 communities as planned, making the trip less efficient as I saw it.
What was the point of the Global Water Initiative and the Water and Sanitation team? To improve the quality of water resources so that people do not fall victim to waterborne diseases and to improve food security so that starvation was not a problem. However, we could not even evaluate the conditions of communities participating in the projects because people were dying all around us!
Ishaque seemed frustrated as well, pointing out that this excursion into the field could have been planned much better. We were finished in the Lawra District and headed back to Wa, which we used as a home base to visit project sites in the Nadowli District.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Let's try this again
So, here's my second attempt at putting up a couple of photos. These are from, I believe my 3rd day in Busua. Kids were flying.
In The Field Pt. !
So, about the last blog entry, the blank one, I was trying to post a couple photos, which people keep asking for, but they kept failing to upload, so I will try again later.
The next couple blogs will be adaptations of something I had to write for the program to put on the web, so if anything sounds redundant, that’s why.
After my first two weeks in the Catholic Relief Services office in Tamale, Ghana, I was re-energized with opportunity to go out into the field and visit some of the project sites. So far most of my time in the office had been spent reading reports about the current projects and their progress, re-writing and organizing pieces of writing to create newsletters and other publications, and letting the staff members use me for my slightly superior knowledge of Windows and Microsoft.
So, on Tuesday, January 27, I was leaving Tamale, the dusty, red, bustling capital of the Northern Region. With the level of poverty, dry landscape and a predominantly Muslim population, it is a world away from the southern half of Ghana, where I had spent my first two weeks in the country.
I left with Osei, the driver, and Ishaque, the Monitoring and Evaluation Officer, to head into the upper west region to visit rural communities taking part in the NGO’s Global Water Initiative, a multi-faceted project that includes the drilling of boreholes (for water-pumps), digging of latrines, and planting of trees, as well as education in sanitation. We would be gone for about 6 days.
Within minutes of departing we were out of Tamale. A few more minutes later and we had left the comfort of the pavement, and were barreling down a deep-red dirt road. At times it was washboard, at times it was deep and soft. The style of home changed from village to village. Round and square mud huts with thatched roofs at first, and the farther we moved north, the more they looked like angular adobe settlements like we frequently associate with the American southwest. Occasional concrete buildings were built for projects set up by NGO’s, or spreaders of the good word: the churches rectangular with sharply-sloped roofs, the Mosques with minarets adorned with a crescent and star. English on one, Arabic on the other.
After the four-hour drive, through which I was unable to read project reports due to the condition of the road as well as my fascination with what was going on outside, we arrived in Wa, the capital of the Upper West Region, which shares a border with Burkina Faso and Cote d’Ivoire.
We arrived later than expected, and were unable to meet with our partner NGO as planned. We checked into our guesthouse, a small building within a large compound of dorms and classrooms at the local school for the blind. For dinner we had some fufu, with groundnut, soup and guinea fowl.
The next morning we had that meeting with that NGO, ProNets, who oversees the drilling of the boreholes and training of those who build and maintain the pumps. Apparently there had been miscommunication, certain documents had not been looked over, and other things forced us to reschedule the meeting for a couple days later, when we would be passing through the town again.
Then we headed north and had another meeting in Nadowli. This time it was with the District Water and Sanitation Team (DWST), the government agency that we partner with to implement this program. Again, it seemed that we would need to meet on the way back to take care of more issues. It seemed as if a lack of communication (whether it was poor facilities, or a failure of the people to effectively communicate, I don’t know) was a significant obstacle that this project was facing.
Some more driving north and we arrived in Lawra, a tiny district very close to the northwesternmost corner of Ghana. We had a meeting with the DWST and proceeded to head out with them to two of the ten rural communities that this project is working with. Their mission was to conduct interviews with individuals in the community as well as have a group community discussion. I hoped that I could figure out a way to be of service. My scope of work here is to use my journalism skills to write human-interest stories and take photos for the NGO's publications. I knew this would be difficult as there was a very limited amount of time for me to work, as well as a lack of translators.
When we arrived in the first community, Pavuu Yegartenga, I followed one of the two men from the DWST to conduct an interview with a head of household, a hobbling middle-aged man with a cane in a relatively large mud complex. My “photo ops” were of his surviving mango saplings, contributed by the GWI project. I quickly fulfilled that requirement and asked about the condition of their water source. The drilling for the borehole had yielded almost no water, so the village was still getting all their water from a nearby “river”. I asked if I could see it, while they conducted their interviews, I followed the man’s son there. Now, it was not one of those dramatic 3-hour walks you hear of some people making in parts of Africa, but we went probably a kilometer before we arrived at the watering hole. I couldn’t imagine having to walk that far any time my water ran out, and return with about 5 gallons in a metal bowl atop my head. Worse yet was the condition of the water. It was not a flowing river, but a tiny, still pond that I assume becomes part of a river during the rainy season. What’s more, this was also the watering hole, and therefore defecation spot, for livestock and other animals. As I watched and took photos, women and children from both sides of the pond came down to get water, giggle at the pale guy, and helpfully point out the 5-foot crocodile hanging out on the edge of the water.
The next community that we visited, Koro Bagangu, was noticeably free of an crosses or crescents, which I confirmed later meant that it was of the 10% of Ghana that maintains traditional animist beliefs. This had little significance for the moment, though, as in the hour we spent there we were mostly concerned with the quality of water in the village. Luckily the borehole here was drilled and successfully found water, however the pump was yet to be in place (within the next two weeks I heard) and they were still using next village’s pump for drinking water, and the closer “dugout” for washing. I was taken for a look, this time by a small entourage of children and a couple adolescents. The dugout was a small ditch dug under a cluster of trees that holds water. It was predictable filthy, and was told that it would dry up within a month, making me, and I am sure the village more so, hope that the pump was in place in time.
Due to an extremely well-fortified language barrier, communication with community members, for me, was impossible. I would have liked to get one of the local translators to help me, but they were all helping with the interviews, which dealt with a fairly narrow view of their life: latrines and water sanitation, and we had a limited amount of time to work. I think I made some nice images, though, that could help to pretty-up some of the publications and compliment any stories dealing with water that I may write. After finishing up in the second village the sun was about to set and we had to get back to town.
Back in Lawra we had tea and bread for dinner, as food options in this little town were limited to non-existent. Afterward I noticed that due to the lack of power in the town, the stars were extremely bright, and, just like I always can back home, I noticed Orion the Hunter directly above us. I asked Ishaque and Osei if they knew about constellations. I then had to explain what they were, to which Ishaque replied sternly, “We do not have time for such things.” Good point. I laughed sheepishly and went on with my evening.
The next couple blogs will be adaptations of something I had to write for the program to put on the web, so if anything sounds redundant, that’s why.
After my first two weeks in the Catholic Relief Services office in Tamale, Ghana, I was re-energized with opportunity to go out into the field and visit some of the project sites. So far most of my time in the office had been spent reading reports about the current projects and their progress, re-writing and organizing pieces of writing to create newsletters and other publications, and letting the staff members use me for my slightly superior knowledge of Windows and Microsoft.
So, on Tuesday, January 27, I was leaving Tamale, the dusty, red, bustling capital of the Northern Region. With the level of poverty, dry landscape and a predominantly Muslim population, it is a world away from the southern half of Ghana, where I had spent my first two weeks in the country.
I left with Osei, the driver, and Ishaque, the Monitoring and Evaluation Officer, to head into the upper west region to visit rural communities taking part in the NGO’s Global Water Initiative, a multi-faceted project that includes the drilling of boreholes (for water-pumps), digging of latrines, and planting of trees, as well as education in sanitation. We would be gone for about 6 days.
Within minutes of departing we were out of Tamale. A few more minutes later and we had left the comfort of the pavement, and were barreling down a deep-red dirt road. At times it was washboard, at times it was deep and soft. The style of home changed from village to village. Round and square mud huts with thatched roofs at first, and the farther we moved north, the more they looked like angular adobe settlements like we frequently associate with the American southwest. Occasional concrete buildings were built for projects set up by NGO’s, or spreaders of the good word: the churches rectangular with sharply-sloped roofs, the Mosques with minarets adorned with a crescent and star. English on one, Arabic on the other.
After the four-hour drive, through which I was unable to read project reports due to the condition of the road as well as my fascination with what was going on outside, we arrived in Wa, the capital of the Upper West Region, which shares a border with Burkina Faso and Cote d’Ivoire.
We arrived later than expected, and were unable to meet with our partner NGO as planned. We checked into our guesthouse, a small building within a large compound of dorms and classrooms at the local school for the blind. For dinner we had some fufu, with groundnut, soup and guinea fowl.
The next morning we had that meeting with that NGO, ProNets, who oversees the drilling of the boreholes and training of those who build and maintain the pumps. Apparently there had been miscommunication, certain documents had not been looked over, and other things forced us to reschedule the meeting for a couple days later, when we would be passing through the town again.
Then we headed north and had another meeting in Nadowli. This time it was with the District Water and Sanitation Team (DWST), the government agency that we partner with to implement this program. Again, it seemed that we would need to meet on the way back to take care of more issues. It seemed as if a lack of communication (whether it was poor facilities, or a failure of the people to effectively communicate, I don’t know) was a significant obstacle that this project was facing.
Some more driving north and we arrived in Lawra, a tiny district very close to the northwesternmost corner of Ghana. We had a meeting with the DWST and proceeded to head out with them to two of the ten rural communities that this project is working with. Their mission was to conduct interviews with individuals in the community as well as have a group community discussion. I hoped that I could figure out a way to be of service. My scope of work here is to use my journalism skills to write human-interest stories and take photos for the NGO's publications. I knew this would be difficult as there was a very limited amount of time for me to work, as well as a lack of translators.
When we arrived in the first community, Pavuu Yegartenga, I followed one of the two men from the DWST to conduct an interview with a head of household, a hobbling middle-aged man with a cane in a relatively large mud complex. My “photo ops” were of his surviving mango saplings, contributed by the GWI project. I quickly fulfilled that requirement and asked about the condition of their water source. The drilling for the borehole had yielded almost no water, so the village was still getting all their water from a nearby “river”. I asked if I could see it, while they conducted their interviews, I followed the man’s son there. Now, it was not one of those dramatic 3-hour walks you hear of some people making in parts of Africa, but we went probably a kilometer before we arrived at the watering hole. I couldn’t imagine having to walk that far any time my water ran out, and return with about 5 gallons in a metal bowl atop my head. Worse yet was the condition of the water. It was not a flowing river, but a tiny, still pond that I assume becomes part of a river during the rainy season. What’s more, this was also the watering hole, and therefore defecation spot, for livestock and other animals. As I watched and took photos, women and children from both sides of the pond came down to get water, giggle at the pale guy, and helpfully point out the 5-foot crocodile hanging out on the edge of the water.
The next community that we visited, Koro Bagangu, was noticeably free of an crosses or crescents, which I confirmed later meant that it was of the 10% of Ghana that maintains traditional animist beliefs. This had little significance for the moment, though, as in the hour we spent there we were mostly concerned with the quality of water in the village. Luckily the borehole here was drilled and successfully found water, however the pump was yet to be in place (within the next two weeks I heard) and they were still using next village’s pump for drinking water, and the closer “dugout” for washing. I was taken for a look, this time by a small entourage of children and a couple adolescents. The dugout was a small ditch dug under a cluster of trees that holds water. It was predictable filthy, and was told that it would dry up within a month, making me, and I am sure the village more so, hope that the pump was in place in time.
Due to an extremely well-fortified language barrier, communication with community members, for me, was impossible. I would have liked to get one of the local translators to help me, but they were all helping with the interviews, which dealt with a fairly narrow view of their life: latrines and water sanitation, and we had a limited amount of time to work. I think I made some nice images, though, that could help to pretty-up some of the publications and compliment any stories dealing with water that I may write. After finishing up in the second village the sun was about to set and we had to get back to town.
Back in Lawra we had tea and bread for dinner, as food options in this little town were limited to non-existent. Afterward I noticed that due to the lack of power in the town, the stars were extremely bright, and, just like I always can back home, I noticed Orion the Hunter directly above us. I asked Ishaque and Osei if they knew about constellations. I then had to explain what they were, to which Ishaque replied sternly, “We do not have time for such things.” Good point. I laughed sheepishly and went on with my evening.
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