The block was electric on Tuesday night.  Finals are so spread out that most people don’t have anything to do.  There’s more hanging out, more general nonsense going on.  Those of us on the fourth floor have come together at the end.  Everyone can feel the time running short and we just want to enjoy what’s left with each other.  I’m not sure why that is, but towards the end of things people seem to forgo their egos a bit and band together regardless of differences or anything along those lines.  I’ve noticed it here and been a part of it here. 

There is just a unique dynamic among all of us boys from California.  I noticed it when we first boarded the plane in San Francisco I couldn’t exactly pin it down, but there was just something different and pleasant about those of us coming to Ghana.  It’s interesting to see how that something that I noticed four months ago has developed.  It seems like people have forgone their baggage and dropped their attitudes and maybe you have to do that to survive in a situation like the one we have all found ourselves in.  It could be we all had the disposition to begin with, but I think it has been more of an adaptation than anything else.  That could be it.  That something I noticed on the plane could have been the ability to adapt and the level of maturity and self-awareness that is required to do so.  It goes without telling that all of us: Travis, Pierre, Joe, Ian, Sterling, Sandro, Nikkos, Matt, Brendan, Shane, Marlon, Alex, Eric, and Ryan have all spent our time in ways that can’t be repeated and can’t be imitated, but they can be shared and that’s the beauty of having friends.

Four parasites and bladder stones, plane rides home and plane rides back.  Falling through rusted corrugated steel roofs and traditional medicine to fix what has been broken.  Grand schemes of riding a motorcycle across exotic landscapes come crashing down in a mess of metal and concrete.  Traveling across borders into different worlds where the bullet holes remind you of the violence of men.  Missing a gear and shoving the Sergeant up a burnt red dirt road, shoving alongside of men from a different life sharing in the sweat and the laughter.  Beautiful dry landscapes dotted with dinosaur like Baobab trees and adobe style houses zooming by as the sun sets in this part of the world.  Sullen faces and bloated bellies, children asking for money and parents nowhere to be seen.  Shameless poverty against a backdrop of wealth and greed; skyscrapers rooted in slums.  A culture dedicated to the hospitality of others yet there is no trust for their own.  “You want to do business here…you need four eyes…two is not enough.” 

It’s Thanksgiving today in another part of the world…

I'm Not A Hater

I was having a conversation with Heather and she mentioned that my messages have become negative.  She was confused because she was under the impression that I was having a “good” time in Ghana and that my experiences so far have been positive, yet my blogs sound negative and a bit harsh.  I could feel myself becoming defensive, wanting to deny any bad sentiment and reassure her that I am having a great time and that I am incredibly content and thankful for my experiences.  I held back the urge and thought about what she was brought up.  It’s true actually, the last few things that I have written have been critical and they have described confrontational situations.  I think that in a way my thoughts may be perceived as cynical, but I’m not that cynical is the write word to use.  I’ve been in this country for over four months now and I’ve traveled across the majority of the landscape.  I’ve eaten dinner at expensive international restaurants in the heart of Accra and I’ve slept in bare and basic guesthouses in the most rural areas of the north.  I’ve chatted with young children, university students, businessmen, and old-timers about Ghana about America and all other sorts of things.  I’ve done my best to accept everything that Ghana has to offer and I’ve attempted to do so with out reservations, with an open mind and an open heart.  As the freshness wears off and the excitement of being in a new place subsides reality tends to sink in a bit more heavily.  When I started to have a handle on my life here and slip into a routine; to know what I liked and disliked, my messages became a bit more critical…possibly.  I’m not convinced that critical has to have a negative connotation attached to it necessarily.  What it comes down to is the fact that I have some kind of responsibility for portraying Ghana and my time here in a fair and balanced manner.  Of course I am not writing a travel guide or a published article, but the people reading my accounts are probably forming some of their own opinions about Ghana based heavily on what I have been saying.  If I raved endlessly about how great the country is and how wonderful the food and the culture are then no doubt I those of you reading would form positive opinions about Ghana.  If I complained about how hard life is and how easy it is to get sick and how impossible it is to ever fit in then I would most likely be guiding opinions in a different direction.  That is the irony of being in a place like Ghana.  Ghana is everything at once.  The people are strong and beautiful; the country reveres foreigners and prides itself on unbelievable hospitality.  The culture is rich and old yet it is dying quickly.  The streets are crowded and filthy trash overflows from open sewers and the sky is thick with pollution and smoke from burning heaps of rubbish.  The diet is simple and the culture restrains people from trying new things.  The dominant religion is Christianity roped on the back of colonialism and packaged in authority and control.  Many beaches second as public lavatories and petty crime and theft are rampant.  Corruption seems to rot through every layer of society from the top of government to the bottom of the streets.  As a student and a traveler I have more freedom I this country than I have ever felt before.  If I want to travel I just go because I’m sure that if I get lost there will be someone to help me find my way.  Random people are genuinely interested in who I am and where I come from.  Friends invite me to their home and into their places of worship.  All of these things are happening right now, its impossible to experience all of the good without the bad.  For those of you who desire order in your lives, who need everything separated and organized into its proper place Ghana is not the place for you.  I don’t think that I have become cynical at all.  If anything I have become realistic and I have been honest.  I am biased that’s a given.  My experience is unique the way that I see the world is not independent from the way that I have been raised within it.  In my own defense, although I’m not sure who is judging me maybe I am judging myself, I am not bitter and I am not cruel.  I most definitely recognize problems and I always look for solutions, but even that has changed. 

I received a newspaper clipping from home about UC Berkeley and its recently created institute for development studies.  The article focused mainly on how the institute proved somehow that my generation, the Millenials or Generation ‘Me’, as we are popularly referred to are not completed self absorbed, narcissistic, spoiled drones.  In fact we care about starving children and poverty and the AID’s and we want to study these things and we want to solve these problems.  Generation ‘me’ wants to help and therefore we can be selfless individuals and global citizens who want to change the world.  The article was very positive and uplifting, it gave off the sense that as the world seems to be spiraling out of control there are some people who are working hard to do the right thing.  I should have felt better, I should have been proud…I mean UC Berkeley is practically in my backyard at home and here I am in Ghana, a developing country, so I should understand and appreciate what the institute for development is trying to do.  Strangely, that’s not how I felt.  Call disillusionment or cynicism or whatever you want, but the truth is the idea of rich white people sitting in fancy conference rooms and lecture halls arguing over theories and academics does not stir up those grand feelings of altruism that they should.  It reminds me of Anne Rein’s novel The Fountainhead.  Without getting into too much detail I’ll just say that she has a crazy social philosophy in which the altruists are the bloodsuckers and the selfish are the champions.  On the face of it that sounds ridiculous, but Rein is quite convincing.  The problem as I see it is that the Berkeley institute is still operating within the same system as all of the development theories and schemes have before.  It is still people and ideas from the outside being forced in.  If you send someone to clean up my house, yet I don’t see the point in keeping it clean how long do you think it will stay spotless?  I say lets stop telling people how to live especially when we have no idea why they are doing what it is they do in the first place.  We try to implement plans without even understanding the motivations behind the people we are ‘trying’ to help.  Is it really selfless because I see ambition and desire and maybe a need to justify how we live at home as motivation for the whole ordeal?  Now look what’s happened I’ve gotten so far off track.  I started all of this with the intention of explaining that in fact I am a happy person and a positive person and all I’ve done is raise more criticisms.  Well, I’m everything all at once then…I can smile and tell you what I see wrong and there is nothing false in my expression. 

 

 

Disillusionment

It's always a little tricky to decide what to put in this blog.  I suppose the audience is quite wide and fairly diverse... my parents, my friends, even my grandparents (sometimes) so I'm never absolutely sure.  To tell you the truth I'm writing this thing just as much for me as any of you.  I hope that didn't come off as too selfish, but it's the truth.  When things happen, good or bad, it's great to write them down.  I never did anything like this before coming to Ghana, but once  you start you feel driven to continue.  Sometimes I share adventures, sometimes its thoughts, subjective opinions, or everyday experiences.  I think this one covers all the bases actually... at to me.  Something to think about while reading.  Allowing yourself to become angry, I mean really pissed off in another country is an interesting feeling.  It makes you feel like you have some invested stake, at least at some level I think.  

Instant coffee brewed to perfection.  The perfect balance of white sugar cubes, Nescafe classic and Cowbell powdered milk paired with a delicious bowl of white oats, ready in seconds, equals the breakfast of champions.  Seriously though, I can make this shit taste like Starbucks.  Actually, it’s already been a fairly eventful day considering its not even 8 AM yet.  I woke up to the familiar distortion of homemade gospel music crackling from one of those megaphone/speaker systems.  Ghana is quite fond of these noise-making contraptions… sound quality is less than stellar if you want my opinion.  Anyways, today it was gospel; yesterday it was fervent, righteous croaking, and the day before that it was pretty much the same.  At some point enough is enough.  When the preaching started I got up, put on a pair of shorts and walked downstairs to have a word.  I know for a fact there are plenty of people living in this building who can’t stand these obtrusive prayer sessions.  Think about all of the Muslims living in Annex A- I’m sure they don’t appreciate it.  So I approach the self proclaimed pastor and ask her kindly, “you know we’ve been woken up every morning this week and I am really tired… do you think you could just leave us alone this morning?”  She looked at me, quite shocked that I had approached her and asked her bluntly to leave.  She replied, “No I don’t think so.”  “Well you know this is against school policy.”  “No its not.”  At this point people listening on their balconies chimed in, “let her continue”, “leave her alone.”  Tired and frustrated I lost it for a moment and shouted, “you guys are ridiculous… its 6:20 in the morning.”  “Ridiculous!” they mimicked… and now for my favorite response “go back to your country.”  Wow.  Lesson learned: don’t question the system, don’t speak your mind, don’t stand out, and don’t tell people they are being ridiculous.  I slipped for a second- so sue me. 

Random Conversation...

One thing about being in Ghana is that you can't hide from pertinent issues.  The soft fuzzy warm blanket of western security is removed from your eyes and you are confronted with shit everyday that is really not good, for lack of a better word.  On the plus side it makes you think and observe and discuss and even if you aren't fixing all the problems right now, which is impossible, you are giving them some thought.  Here are some thoughts from part of a conversation I had with some friends, Ghanaian and American, about some of the issues most people would probably rather ignore.   

Bossman (yes that is his name) asked me this question, if I feel like everyone has the same capacity for self-realization and creativity than why is it that the U.S is in the position it is in and Ghana is where it is?  That’s sort of the million-dollar question isn’t it.  Bossman feels that the education system is to blame.  In his opinion the University teaches students how to recognize all of the problems, but doesn’t show students how to approach those problems with practical solutions.  Basically theory and no application.  It’s funny because I remember having a conversation with my teaching assistant Vicken last school year about virtually the same issue.  I had been taking this upper division course about the public policy process from an almost completely theoretical standpoint.  The class focused on decision making within the policy arena and I was super engaged and interested.  And at the same time I was getting frustrated because as I learned more about how the components of the system functioned I saw things I wanted to change, but I couldn’t understand how to bridge the gap between recognition and change.  What I was feeling then is what Bossman is bringing up now and I realize that this is a universal challenge.  Digging a bit deeper in our discussion we came across something that I found to be incredibly telling and crucial.  The difference is not so much in how or what we are taught at our respective institutions, but the self-confidence and empowerment to take a risk and try something to bridge that gap.  The truth is that college can only do so much especially when you study value based, intractable issues… you know the big ones like how do we protect the environment or guarantee equality in the world.  Education can only prepare you, but there are certain things that I am beginning to realize cannot be taught in the standard sense of the word.  The point is that answers to so many issues are yet to be discovered so how can they be taught.  I said to Bossman you know I understand what you are getting at and I feel like the point of all of our schooling is to give us the tools, but it is up to the individual to decide how to use them.  To use them you must at least feel like there is some hope of success otherwise why would anybody even try.  There needs to be some support for imagination and vision from within.  People talk about development in Africa and they point their fingers at so many factors that could explain the developmental plight of this continent.  They say the legacy of colonial rule left most of Africa stripped naked and the lasting effect has been dependence on those same old colonial fathers.  I don’t think you can blame colonialism forever, at some point like Barack Obama said: Africa needs to take Africa’s problems into its own hands.  I am not trying to discount history in fact I think that the dependence that may stem from the colonial days is still very real and very apparent, but again recognizing it and overcoming it are two very different stories.  

Smoke and Mirrors

I’ve always been slightly fascinated by politics.  I remember when I was in High School we had a career day.  Professionals from various disciplines, doctors, lawyers, chefs, business people, came to school and gave short presentations on what their jobs were like, how they got involved, and all of that fun stuff.  I heard a few different people speak, but the one that stands out was the politician.  I was interested in the first place because the only real sense of a politician was what I had gathered from textbooks, television, movies and that sort of thing, but I had no practical idea of what a politician was all about.  I only had this very abstract notion of the profession, if you want to call it that, whereas I could tell you exactly what being a doctor entailed, if you asked me what a politician did I probably would have fumbled with any answer at all.  Alright, so I went and heard this politician speak and I expected to walk away with a clear job description, something that I could go home with and say, “hey Mom guess what I learned at school today.”  Well, that’s not what happened.  After the presentation I think I was more confused about the idea of this politician and what she did than ever before.  Thinking back it all makes perfect sense to me now.  There is nothing concrete about a politician or politics in general.  That’s the point I think.  As soon as you try and lay a finger on it you’re lost completely.  Politicians are shifty folks in fact I’m fairly sure that they don’t actually do anything at all.  They talk a lot about doing things, but you will never find one with a hammer and nails.  It is really fascinating stuff.  Maybe I just figured it all out though.  That woman was able to talk to all of us with the explicit purpose of explaining what it means to be a politician what her function is in society and when we walked out of that room she had succeeded revealing almost nothing.  It is all becoming clear to me now the job description was there not in what she said, but in her ability to functionally say nothing.  She was damn good. 

Here I am now quickly approaching the end of my college days, undergrad at least, and what have I chosen to study… environmental policy.  It’s not politics proper, but its politics through and through.  Like I said its fascinating stuff because when it comes down to it politics is just individuals making decisions.  Obviously there are a lot of bells and whistles and smoke and mirrors that are involved, but when you boil it all down strip off the layers of bullshit you find an individual making a decision.  What I’m trying to get at, and I can see I’ve deviated a bit, is the political life on campus here at the University of Ghana.  The student government serves as a microcosm for the political culture within the culture.  Before coming to Ghana I was never interested with student government and school politics.  I’m realizing now that I have not idea what goes on at UC Davis as far as politics are concerned.  I don’t know how the system works or even if it works at all.  I have known a couple of people who have been in office or run for office, but that is about the extent of it.  The student government is there, but it’s not in your face like it is here.  As I am writing there are students downstairs casting their votes for Legon Hall JCR government officials.  Before I get into it I should probably give a quick breakdown of the University of Ghana student government as far as I understand it. 

There are four residency halls associated with the University: Legon Hall, Akuafo Hall, Mensah Sarbah Hall, and Commonwealth Hall.  Each hall is an autonomous entity, with its own government, its own reputation, culture, and style.  Its crazy, students seriously identify with the hall that they stay in.  There are all kinds of ridiculous rivalries and what not between them and I’ve experienced a bit of it since being here.  Anyways, the elections going on right now are for the hall level governing bodies.  There is a student body government as well, Student Representative Council, but those elections aren’t taking place until next semester when I’ll be long gone.  From what I gather the hall level elections are just as important if not more important than those for SRC.  Hall governments are similar to local government and it seems like student officials have more power at the ‘local’ level.  When I say more power what I really mean is more direct access to money.  I mean that’s what it all comes down to anyway, right?  Student dues are separated into two accounts, which I still don’t fully understand, where one of the accounts is controlled by the University administration, and the other is left in the hands of the hall officials.  The hall account is based on housing dues paid by the students and the money is supposed to be used to improve the condition of the dormitories and that sort of thing.  Now this is the key part so pay attention, the elected student treasurer is in charge of and has direct access to that bank account.  There is a limit on what can be extracted, but it is something absurd like 10,000 Ghana Cedis, which is like 7,000 U.S dollars.  Students, kids are given the opportunity/responsibility to control a substantial chunk of money with almost no oversight from the University.  I’m having a hard time grasping this concept and that’s why I wish I knew more about the student government at home.  Even at the University level there is obvious corruption students are embezzling funds.  Why am I rambling about all of this?  Probably because I feel like no body else is.  Maybe there are a few people who care, but there is no accountability.  There is no body to hold the corrupt responsible for their corruption and until that happens it will just continue.  At home or here it doesn’t matter the same shit is happening…its just more raw here, more flagrant because it doesn’t have to be wrapped under as many layers of lies and bullshit. 

I’m reading Fear and Loathing on The Campaign Trail ’72 by Hunter S. Thompson.  Maybe that’s why I’m rambling.  

Belief

Ok, this one is a little deep, but I guess it just comes with the territory.

What if someone asked you what you believe in?  In this case they might be referring to god and faith and religion, but it could just as well be about anything else.  How do you respond to a question like that; I mean its sounds simple enough on the face, but really, think about it.  Think about who is asking the question?  How would they answer it.  What do you believe is simple when your answer has already been written.  What happens when its not?  It is the unwritten that is the ‘unknown’ and the unknown is enlightened.  Maybe. 

        “Jesus said: If those who lead you say to you: “See, the Kingdom is in heaven”, then the birds of the heaven will precede you.  If they say to you: “It is in the sea,” then the fish will precede you.  But the Kingdom is within you and it is without you.  If you know yourselves, then you will be known and you will know that you are the sons of the Living Father.  

The Gospel According to Thomas.

 Do you even have to say anything?  

Killer Flies and Human Rights

Its 5:00 AM my eyes are bloodshot and stinging, I would describe my general appearance as tired and greasy, and my mouth tastes like stale sleep. The bus ride back from Bolga was just under 14 hours and the swelling in my feet and ankles serves as an annoying reminder of just how long I’ve been sitting on my ass. I’m tired but I have class at 8:30 AM so I think I’ll rest my eyes for about an hour and get back up again. Fortunately, I was able to sleep for the majority of the journey home thanks to a couple of Advil PM’s and a relatively comfortable seat. Seriously though that’s the way to go…pop a couple of those babies and you’ll be out for at least a few hours. Advil PM- my new long distance travel secret. Now that I’m back on campus I should probably recap the last six days or so since Ian and I covered a lot of ground.

It’s difficult (and exhausting) to describe six days of consecutive traveling so I’ll try and focus on the finer points…maybe squeeze out some significance from those. Location is a good starting point I guess: the tour covered the northeastern section of the Northern Region and a large chunk of the Upper East. Northern Ghana is a fairly stark contrast from the south in terms of the land and the people. Southern Ghana is where the action is if you’re talking about the movers and the shakers. Development is definitely unevenly distributed in this country and the north is getting the short end of the stick in some respects. I have to be careful here not to get into a deep intellectual discussion about development and education and poverty and all that fun stuff because…well because this is just not the time or place. I just want to give some background, a setting from which the rest of my story can be told. The north is dry, hot, dusty, Muslim, beautiful, expansive, poor, and worthwhile.

Our first stop was Larabanga. We checked into the friendly Salia Brothers Guesthouse, the only legitimate establishment in town as far as I’m concerned. The owner of the joint, Al Hasaan, is a friendly and charming man with a bright smile and a calm and steady demeanor. He comes off as an incredibly big fish in a very small pond. I’m just glad to see that he has chosen not to abandon his pond like so many other bright and talented Ghanaians and is doing his best to build up the seriously underdeveloped tourist industry in Larabanga. The town lies about 5 kilometers from the entrance to one of Ghana’s largest land reserves, Mole National Park. We rented bikes from Al Hasaan and made our way to Mole. It felt damn good to get on a bike even though the bike was way too small and required exorbitant amounts of energy to move. Our hiking tour was scheduled for 3:30 so we killed some time taking the ‘office loop’ off of the main road into the park. The heat wasn’t overbearing, yet, so we felt game for a nice 16 km ride. Things started off pleasant enough until the Tsetse flies mounted their formidable attack. Tsetse flies are terrible insects and they hurt like hell. I found they usually go for the wrists, fingers and ankles, which can be rather disturbing while trying to ride a bike and look out for wildlife. Ian and I were literally chased by these awful things for the majority of the loop. I can’t imagine what anyone watching us would have thought as we bounced down the road slapping and cursing at the onslaught of flies. We didn’t stop once for fear of being swarmed and it was only when we joined back with the main road that the flies retreated back into the forest to prey on whatever it is they prey on. All you large forest creatures… I feel your pain. We cooled down at the Mole motel, sipped on some nice cold cokes, and watched a strange new program about improper burial of bodies all over Accra. Actually, the whole situation is quite bizarre. Bodies are being buried just about anywhere people can find room and that old saying of six feet deep isn’t exactly being heeded. Appendages are popping up all over the place and the smell is rather unpleasant according to local sources. Once again I question the capacity of Accra to plan just about anything properly.

Mole could be a great national park, but like so many other things here it lacks proper funding and therefore doesn’t reach its full potential. The park is massive, but only a small percentage of it is accessible by foot and 4X4 expeditions aren’t really worth the money in my opinion. The biggest attraction is the possibility of spotting elephants in their natural habitat…apparently this is the wrong time of year and we didn’t see any. On the brighter side I did get a great picture of two baboons doin’ the nasty. It was quick and looked seriously unpleasant for the female. Interesting stuff.

That night we slept on the roof. In the morning I woke up to the sound of a blaring Arabic prayer and opened my eyes to watch the sunrise over a scorched savannah horizon. We hurried to check out what is commonly referred to as the oldest Muslim Mosque in Ghana and possibly West Africa as a whole. The first written recordings of the structure date back to around 1421 and looking at the Mosque I could believe it. I snapped some photos and Ian and I ran back to the guesthouse to grab our bags before the 7 o’clock bus came into town.

The next point of interest on our excursion of rural Ghana was the Gambaga escarpment a rocky plateau that stands roughly 1500 feet above sea level. We had heard about these supposed witch’s camps on and around the plateau and were curious to see for ourselves. The guidebook briefly mentions one in Gambaga so we went to check it out. Fortunately we met the ‘director’, an older gentlemen named Simon, of the Gambaga Outcast Home Project as we were checking into our guesthouse and arranged with him to see the camp in the morning. The camp is really just an area of traditional style homes within the town that has been designated for the containment of alleged witch’s. In order to see the village we had to pay the chief an old wrinkling, illiterate man who basically play prison warden to the ‘witch’s’. The chief’s son escorted Simon, Ian and myself into the camp where we were allowed to talk to a few of the women and take pictures of the settlement. The chief’s son is present as an intimidation factor so that the women don’t say anything to tourists that could be damaging to the chief or the communities reputation. One of the ‘witch’s’ that we talked to said she had been in the camp for over 25 years banished from her husband, her family, and her community to live out the rest of her days in this prison. The majority of the women were accused of spiritual witchcraft in the form of dreams. Simon later told us that much of the accusations stem from jealously between wives in polygamous marriages. These women bring the matter to the village chief who performs some sort of ridiculous ceremony that involves slitting the throat of two chickens and letting the drop to the ground and it is based on this evidence that women are exiled to the camp. Simon is running this humanitarian project, with virtually no funding or help, in order to ensure better conditions for the women and also attempting to change local sentiment towards the matter of ‘witchcraft’, because that is the real root of the problem. The whole experience was quite eye opening to say the least and frankly infuriating to see such a blatant violation of human rights. We talked with Simon for some time after the tour as a sort of debriefing and then caught a lorry to continue on our haphazard adventure.