A rather African day...

Some days are more typically “African” than others, and this has to be one of them. My morning was spent showing a Ghanaian friend where to get nice Ghanaian presents (he was buying a wedding present for a Canadian friend) and then spent much of the afternoon with my seamstress as she fixed, then refixed, then adjusted my most recent dress.

However, the late afternoon was one of those “I live in Ghana” experiences!

I met Omar, a friend of Sister Marjorie’s. He started a project with Sr M and she wanted me to go along and see it and take some photos. Originally, we were to meet and ride there independently, but he couldn’t get a motorbike at short notice, so asked me to “pick” him. Thankfully I’ve had quite a bit of picking experience lately (thanks to all willing guinea pigs, both vols and brave guests!) so taking a rather small man on the back was not too big a deal.

We rode for what felt like ages along dirt tracks, over large bumps, through rocks, round bends, past villages and finally, on the home straight, came to a rather large puddle, with marshy bits on either side and no clear way through. As ever in Ghana, there was a friendly and willing passer-by to give advice on the best course of action. He recommended going round another route, which I think would’ve added several miles to our journey. So Omar decided to wait until some local men on bikes appeared, hoping they’d show us the best route through. They went across a less marshy grassy bit then back onto the road. After a brief conversation in Frafra, Omar decided he would ride my bike over a clearer patch and I would meet him on the other side. He attempted to do this, but got stuck in the mud just before reaching dry land. The two bicycle men quickly jumped off their bikes, into the mud and pushed him out effortlessly. I was looking for a suitable path to take, across some stepping stones perhaps, when one bicycle man came along, grabbed my arms, threw them round his neck and piggy-backed me right the way across to the other side. Very soon after, with me back in the driving seat, Omar pointed to a building up a small but very steep hill and across the grass – so somehow I managed to ride up the verge, across the grass and to the centre.

After seeing the project and speaking to some local people helping with some tree planting, we heard thunder rumbling in the distance and we set off back to Bolga, this time trying to miss the huge puddle by going a better route. Of course Omar had to “greet” and chat to all manner of people enroute as the thunder got louder and more threatening. At the moment in Ghana it is farming season, so there are huge tall fields full of corn, with only small dirt tracks running through them – I felt like a character in “Honey I Shrunk the Kid”! We managed to make it back to a road, very narrowly missing 3 stray chickens (the most stupid creature in Bolga), a small herd of sheep and one small child. All of a sudden, we seem to be in a village but are actually back in Bolga, Omar jumps off the bike and tells me to “follow that man” to take me back to the main road.

A slightly more successful day’s riding than Monday’s, where I got stage fright going through our local puddle, slowed down way too much and ended up IN the puddle, covered in mud, with the bike on top of my leg, and three ladies up to their ankles helping me out of the situation. It was a laugh or cry situation and thankfully laughing was the far better option!

Ghana musings, one year on

As I entered my late twenties yesterday (eek!!), I was reflecting on the last year, my trials, tribulations, mistakes, successes, and, of course, funniest moments.

Fourteen months ago, I never would have thought I’d hear myself say this, but my biggest and most surprising success to date has been the motorbike (Jack Yoko Biko MacBike.) Without my trusty wheels, I would have never have been able to do my job, see vast parts of the countryside and experience much of the Ghanaian way of life. I’ve also had a fair few passengers – thanks to all willing guinea pigs!

Emma asked me what my favourite thing about Ghana was and after quite a lot of humming and hawing, I finally replied “Ghanaians”. I’ve been so lucky in my work – virtually all colleagues have been friendly, welcoming and pleasant, and the director has always given the nod to anything I’ve wanted to do, which greatly helps in my placement. Sometimes, I wish they’d ask a bit more about what I’m doing as I’m often left to my own devices – but I’d certainly rather it this way round than the other way round.

Not only have colleagues been friendly and welcoming, but strangers too. Although Ghanaian customer service sometimes has a LOT to answer for, people on the whole are nice (nice not being a word I particularly like, but it’s true.) People passing on the street, particularly in our local neighbourhood, will greet you, ask you how your day is, your family, your husband (did I tell you I have a part time Ghanaian “husband”?) and children often run after you shouting “sulemia”, not normally expecting anything more than a wave.

I was torn between Ghanaians and my job in Ghana being my favourite thing here. Leaving class teaching behind has made me realise that I actually really enjoy… class teaching! The few chances I have had to be in front of a class have been great fun though challenging – the major challenge changing from behaviour management to what to do with a huge class and few resources.

The teachers I have worked with have been great too, taking many suggestions on board, making teaching materials and using them and helping to make my job easier. I have particularly enjoyed watching almost 60 teachers in the last 4 weeks of term and giving them feedback.

I have been one of the luckiest volunteers, visitor wise, and enjoyed two visits from both Rachael and Sonia, a visit from Mum and Dad and Emma and Hayley joining Sonia on her second trip here. I love being able to show people round – my house, my office, my schools… and it will make it easier for me when I come home that I can natter on to people and know that they have at least some idea of what Bolga and the Upper East is like. Anyone else is “invited” – get your diaries out…

The volunteer community throughout Ghana is an incredible network, and I think we’re lucky in Ghana to have such a strong and varied group of people, willing to help each other in many ways. In Bolga in particular, (just because I live here and so know about it J), I would not hesitate to ask anyone to help me if I was in need, whether it be getting shopping when I’m sick, helping me to move my moto when it falls over and gets stuck on the step going into the house or suggesting how on earth to cook the unknown vegetable I’ve bought in the market! Volunteers are also such a useful and important sounding board for work problems and cultural differences and how to deal with them. It’s sometimes just important to have someone you can moan to about how long it took for the meeting to start at the office, how hot you are… or to lament on matters of cheese.

I’ve already talked about people who look out for you, and that also goes for the people who work for us – Godwin, our faithful and reliable, if slightly drunk, nightwatchman; Janet our washing lady, and Rita my seamstress J.

No writing on Ghana would be complete without mentioning….Food!!! I think Sonia and Emma were shocked and amused at how much I was able to talk about cheese and bread whilst in Burkina. Being in Ghana makes you… experimental… when it comes to food, and I for one really enjoy the nightly challenge of what to make from eggs, tomatoes, garden eggs, alifi and cabbage… Sonia, Emma and Hayley – I think I exhausted ALL my recipes on you, had you stayed any longer, we would’ve been back to Ghanaian risotto again!

So after my Pollyanna enthusing, here’s what makes me not so chirpy in Ghana…

Customer service – and lack thereof – I’ll have to write further about this as have an array of funny stories in this vein….

The weather – sometimes. I like the heat and am so glad I’m not stuck in Nepal in the winter or even in southern Ghana, which is significantly cooler at certain times of year but always humid. However, sometimes, when you are sitting completely still under a fan going at full blast, drinking ice cold water and wearing very little, yet there is STILL sweat dripping down your face, you do wonder what on earth you’re doing here. Ah, and when, in mid-March, they decide to cut the power for a few hours around midday… you miss Scottish summers!

As someone who had never had a day off sick from work, I’ve certainly made up for lost time recently – around 2 weeks worth minor illness here – I won’t miss that!

I think most volunteers go to Ghana thinking that they know a bit about development, and by the end of their first few months, realise that actually its nothing like you thought it was.

Big NGOs have poured billions of pounds into Africa over the last 5 or 6 decades, and some days, you wonder where that money is now as you walk into a school with no tables, no seats, no lights, no doors and 100 children squashed into a room, being taught by a keen but untrained teacher who is being paid about £25 a month. Other days, you look at projects like Afrikids – Mama Laadi’s Foster Home, their Medical Centre – and see what a difference someone’s vision can make. Progress can sometimes be painfully slow, but it’s encouraging that many NGOs, VSO included, are now taking a much more bottom up approach to development, asking people what they need and want rather than giving them money and telling them how to spend it. The vast majority of the time, the people who know their needs best are they themselves – not someone sitting in an office in London.

Anyway, here’s to another year in Ghana! J

Rose’s new bike (a true story, written in the style of a children’s story... just because!)

Rose had just learned to ride a motorbike. She had now taken the bike home, and is ready to take it out for the first time alone.

Rose’s bike is new to her, but it is not a new bike. It has been at the garage having repairs done before she sets off by herself.

Rachel has had a bike for a few months. She helps Rose manoeuvre it out of the house, bump down the step and slide down the ramp! It’s almost ready to go.

Rachel (still dressed in her indecent zebra pyjamas and flip flops) goes out to watch Rose go off on her bike. Rose tries to kick start it a few times, but after she’s started it, it shudders to a stop. Rachel thinks that having an audience is not helping Rose, so she goes back into the house to finish her tea.

A few seconds later, Rachel hears Rose at the door. “I can’t get the bike started,” Rose says. Rachel (still in pyjamas) goes back out to see what she can do to help.

A boy, aged about 11, comes along and tries to help. He is wearing big green wellies, with big cuts down the sides of them. His wellies are too big for him, so he takes them off, goes on the bike and tries to start the bike. Vroom, vroom, vroom... but the bike does not start.

Rachel decides to have a go (despite the fact that she has only once successfully kick started a bike, under careful direction and supervision from an expert). She goes back into the house, puts her socks and walking boots on, and comes back out to help start the bike. One attempt... no good. Two attempts... no good. Third attempt... the bike starts! She keeps the revs high while Rose climbs on. Rose gets into gear... then the bike stops! Oh no!

Rachel suggests that they move the bike around to better angle, so that Rose can take off in a straight line. They move the bike round. Rachel gets back on the bike again but it doesn’t start. The boy gets back on the bike again but it doesn’t start. Rose gets back on the bike again but it doesn’t start. Oh no!

A gate creaks open, and out comes Damien, another volunteer. “Hello,” says Damien. “Are you having trouble starting the bike?” Rachel and Rose explain the problems they’ve been having, and Damien suggests that they have flooded the engine (whatever on earth that means!) and should put the throttle back in.

A neighbour appears on his bike, and Rose calls him over. “Can you help us fix the bike?” she asks. He comes over to look at the bike.

Rose, Rachel, the boy, Damien and the neighbour all look at the bike.

By this point, Rachel is very late. It is 8.45 and she needs to be at a school at 9am. The school is 25mins ride away, and Rachel is still wearing her indecent zebra pyjamas.

“I’m going in to have a shower,” Rachel says. “Thank you for all your help,” says Rose.

Rachel goes in, has a super quick ice cold shower, and wanders into the living room, wearing a couple of towels and brushing her teeth. The door opens.

“We need to borrow your spark-plug-fixer (of course this is not quite what she said, but I’ve not got a clue what she was actually after!), my toolkit’s missing from my bike,” say Rose. She and Damien come into the house. Rachel, still clad in towels, and with toothpaste all over her mouth, gets her moto key and shows Damien where to get the tools from in the side of the bike. Rose takes the tools from Rachel and goes to fix her bike.

Damien and Rachel then try to get the side of the bike back on. They clip the first bit in, but then the second bit won’t fit. They put the second bit in, but then the first bit won’t clip on. They turn the key, but still the side won’t go back in the moto. (Rachel’s towel very nearly falls right off.) Damien says, “I’ve got to go to work now, sorry!” Damien leaves and Rose returns with the tools. “They don’t work,” says Rose. Rose and Rachel finally manage to get the side back on the side of the bike (who needs men?!) and Rachel is finally able to get dressed.

She gets ready really quickly while Rose phones the mechanic and asks him to come to the house. The neighbour, Jacob, helps Rose take the bike back into the house.

Rachel is finally ready to leave. She fixes everything onto the back of her bike, collects her helmet, jacket, gloves and key, and goes to set off. She puts the key into the ignition, tries to turn it... and it won’t turn. (By this stage it must be 9.15 and Rachel is really late!) This happened to her friend before. Sometimes when you take the side off the bike, the key gets bent in the lock and won’t fit into the ignition properly.

Rachel goes back into the house, finds the hammer and hammers the key so that it is totally straight again. Finally she is ready to go!

Rose waits in the house, and the mechanic comes and collects her bike. It gets fixed.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Hello

Just some more photos as the internet connection seems to be good today!

These are from the OD meeting I went to in Tamale a few weeks ago, with Sister Katherine Therese, a Sister I know from when I was in Swaziland, Jillian's birthday party a few weeks ago and of Madam Assibi who runs the shop beside our house. Enjoy!

Wee update...

Due to popular demand (i.e. Coral wants more info about what I've been up to!) I’m going to recap on my last few weeks.

Ruby, a volunteer from Essex working with me on Let’s Read stuff, has been here for well over a month now. She is staying at Mama Laadi’s Foster Home (see previous entries!) and is here to work with the kids at ML, and also help me with workshops etc.

Poor Ruby has been sick, so we’ve been to and from the hospital several times. Malaria is sometimes over diagnosed in Bolga, so what’s made her sick isn’t entirely clear, but she does seem to be on the mend this time, fingers crossed! The hospital we go to is nice enough. There are always HUGE queues of people, but we tend to get seen quickly (as in less than 3 hours) due to the work we’re doing. After rather public weighing and blood pressure measurements, you are then seen by a doctor, who normally sends you for blood tests (so long as the sink isn’t blocked – the most recent reason for not being tested) and then after waiting an hour or so, you are seen by the doctor again to tell you the prognosis. It’s not the most efficient of systems, but much better than a lot of hospitals. Ghanaians are meant to have health insurance, and if they do, they do not need to pay to see the doctor but have to pay for all drugs, no matter what’s wrong with you. (insurance costs about 10 cedi a year, which is about gfice pounds – and is a lot of money for the poorest people who might not earn 1 cedi a day.) In the case of cancer or other such serious conditions, that can mean forking out hundreds or thousands of cedi for treatment, or going without.

Other than that, we’ve been busy setting into place all the arrangements for 10 days of intensive head teacher and teacher training. My Let’s Read ladies from the UK arrive on Wednesday to work with me in Bolga for a week and a half. We are splitting into two teams of two and carrying out various workshops training head teachers in leadership management issues and training P3-6 teachers on the use of phonics resources and effective teaching methods. So I’ve been a travel agent/secretary/accountant and all round general dogs body getting things ready for their arrival. We are arranging some of the workshops with Link Community Development and some with Afrikids (a charity based in Bolga) so I’ve been racing around laminating, shopping, enquiring and delivering!

We were meant to do the last in a series of 5 workshops at one of my schools last week. The workshop was helping the teachers – all 30 of them – to make teaching and learning materials from card and other simple materials. After confirming with the head last Monday that everything was ready to go for Tuesday afternoon, we arrived in my office 30 mins before the start of the workshop to discover that all the teachers were at a different workshop elsewhere and so would not be present for ours! This was after spending most of last Saturday afternoon making things and spending much of last Monday preparing. However, now rescheduled for tomorrow so hopefully it will go ahead.

I rode my bike all the way to Paga and back on Wednesday. Paga is about 40km from Bolga, but with all the stops and starts and detours (intentional – I DID NOT GET LOST!!) it was more like a 110km round trip! I was very pleased with myself and was able to deliver invitations to my 5 Kassena Nankana schools. (KN is a district just north of Bolga).

Other than that this weekend has been unusually busy. On Friday night, Sam, a friend from Navrongo, came to our house and cooked us dinner which was AMAZING! We had sausage casserole and mashed potatoes (mashed potatoes are such a treat here!) and ice cream with peanut brittle for dessert! Wonderful!

On Saturday we had the regional meeting, and I was elected as one of two new regional reps. That means that volunteers in the Upper East can come to me with any queries about problems with the programme office or things that they’d like help in sorting; that I am in charge of the distress fund for volunteers who have lost or had items stolen; and that I will go to Accra to meet new vols as and when they arrive. Stephen, my co-rep, is in Zebilla, so we will work together on all these things.

Last night, we had a night at the “cinema”! There is a compound in town where Nigerian films are shown on a tv, and for 30peswa (about 15pence!), you can watch. We watched two films, Left Alone and Left Alone 2, and they were up to the usual Nigerian standard – lots of screaming, shrieking, very loud sound effects, very bad special effects, and the usual mix of romance, juju, Christianity, gun fights, police bribery and confusion. We plan to make our very own for viewing at a cinema near you soon!

We then went to Celebrity, a local night club, and despite there being no music or other customers for the majority of the night, we had a fab time singing and dancing!

Other photos I hope to attach are of the Hairdressing and Seamstress graduations which we went to last weekend. Janet, one of our neighbours and a hairdresser, had one of her students, Teni, graduating, so we went along to watch. We turned up just 3 hours late, which was perfect timing to catch the start of the ceremony (a very long prayer) followed by a procession of all the graduants and their teachers, and then presentation of certificates. We were then given minerals (fizzy drinks) and snacks by our hosts.

School painting

We are now coming to the end of the rather lengthy school holidays – three weeks for Easter. Being a teacher working in schools but not with teacher holidays, this could mean a somewhat quiet time. However, I’ve managed to organise a couple of painting projects in schools.

The first was helping to touch up some painting done in Logre Primary 18 months ago. This was a bit of a baptism of fire! As you may know, art is not my strongest subject, so freehanding with drippy, sticky gloss and trying to draw complicated diagrams of flowers and fill in boundary lines in maps of Ghana proved to be fairly challenging. However, we managed in 2 days with a lot of help from the headteacher (Gana!) and 3 other teachers.

Our second project was painting 12 classrooms at one of my Let’s Read schools, Preparatory. We’ve been doing workshops here every week and so decided it was a good school to start painting at. There are 24 classes in the school, 4 at each stage, and 1200 children in the primary (and 400 in kindergarten!) (That averages 50 per class, though there are classes here with over 60.) We painted the alphabet in the infant (P1-3) classrooms. I had a super team of VSOs helping and also some children Ruby is working with at Mama Laadi’s, so we managed 10 classrooms in the first 2 days (and 2 days to do the last two, which were painting on wooden partitions so a bit trickier!)

Here are some of the results...

Timpsons of Ghana

I while back, I went to get some keys cut – not normally the most exciting of tasks, but quite a Ghanaian experience!

First of all, finding the place was not the easiest of tasks. I had been told that the place was about 2/3 of the way between the traffic lights and the junction, and that the shop was near a small walkway and had a Ghanaian style blind at the front – not the easiest of directions to follow!

I pulled up to approximately the correct place, neatly dodging a stray goat, and asked men fixing engines where I could get my keys copied. They pointed me to the place, and I went to shop and asked if I could get two keys cut. They gave me a price (always agree a price BEFORE you start, saves a lot of hassle!) and a boy of about 12 gave me a low foot stool to sit on. He then went back to playing with his young sister, around 18 months, who was totally naked but for some fluorescent green beads around her waist, and of course gold studs (which girls here are practically born wearing). My attention returned to my key cutter, the children’s father I assume, who was filing the keys himself using very basic tools – a measuring device of sorts, a clamp and a simple file. Although it was around 4pm, the temperature was still in the late 30s at least, and I was still wearing full biking gear, denimy jacket, walking boots, long trousers, holding my large helmet and fleecy gloves.

His outdoor workshop was very basic – a table, his tools and a small filing cabinet. Above and around the worktable were the family’s clothes hanging out to dry, big plastic containers, some filled with water and a bench.

The children were just behind him – hardly a sight you’d be likely see in “health and safety” Britain; the boy and small girl, two other boys, aged about six and four, eating food (with their hands, of course, the Ghanaian way!) and then later, their older sister, perhaps 16, who appeared wearing her “tea-and-bread” (yellow and brown) school uniform. The small girl grabbed hold of her big sister and clung to her legs, clearly happy to see her.

Helping the key-cutter were two or three other young men, aged between 16 and 19 – sons, possibly, or apprentices. Just as I was wondering where mother was, she appeared, large bowl of water balanced on her head, and shouted for the girl to help her down with it. She then collected some water in a small plastic teapot (clearly not used for tea, just about as useful as a chocolate teapot in that sense) and washed her arms and legs.

Mother and older daughter went inside the small house (behind the workshop) and baby was left alone, attempting to eat some fallen rice from the ground until her big sister appeared and emptied her mouth. The boys finished their food, and one washed his hands and returned the plastic bowl to the spot where the food had been bought, clearly used to the routine.

As I sat and waited, I was acutely aware of the smell – the shop being just off the main road was right beside a large open gutter, and after a very hot day, the smell was not pleasant – one of many strong smells I encounter daily.

I asked for a receipt and the older boy was given the receipt book which he went off with for several minutes. I don’t know why the keycutter didn’t write it himself – perhaps illiterate, perhaps he doesn’t have the stamp bearing the shop’s name in his workshop – no idea.

As I left, in true Timpson’s style, I am given a friendly send off – a compliment – “I like your helmet!”