sync in progress

Okay, well I'm back home and life is back to relative normality. This once travel blog is now to become my own little emotional rant space. So probably time for a lot of people to tune out. I wasn't going to continue writing a blog but sometimes it feels like life is slapping you in the face and there is nobody you can tell but a blank page.

Today, I'm just going to say a brief word about the irrationality of some people, accompanied with inflexibility, ignorance and intolerance it really is a startling combination. I'm just finding that being home I'm beginning to feel more and more alone. Some people can't seem to understand the experiences that I had overseas and their judgement and disgust is overwhelming and enveloping. Sometimes, I have to stop and tell myself to breathe. I'm going through the motions to get through the day.

One last note to old people. Just because you're old it doesn't mean that you know everything. Advice is great but no matter what little gems you come up with, no matter how logical or well thought out in your mind, the honest truth is your experiences will never be the same as mine. Your mistakes will never be mine, your choices, and opinions are not mine. I will live for myself, forge my own path, make my own mistakes and find the right way back myself. So, the next time you turn to a younger person with some misplaced notion of superiority due to experience or age save your breath because the youth can smell condescention from a mile away and its damn right frustrating, exasperating and infuriating.

okay. rant. over. sorry.

Home... or something like it

Wednesday I left Ghana. After a great week, with great friends and a sad farewell I returned to the land of oz. For weeks and weeks i was waiting eagerly to return home. People always say home is where your heart is, but I realise now that your heart can be in more than one place. I know that because when I arrived in Adelaide despite my joy at seeing the pople i loved and the familiarity of the place I've always known, I felt a peculiar sense of detachment and displacement. I feel strange and out of place in this place i call home. I'll go to speak twi or make a ghanaian reference and realise that the inside joke is only with myself. The people i've lived with for months aren't here to laugh with anymore.

I can't seem to reconcile the two disparate worlds I lived in. I felt at home in Ghana and now I'm here i feel alien. I hope it passes because I also feel guilty for not seeming as happy or exuberant as everybody expects me to be on my return. I want to be happier but the crap thing about feelings is i seem to have no control over. Its not that I don't want to be here its just that i cant seem to find my feet. It isnt jetlag its just culture shock. Craziness. I never thought it would hit me like this.

work, work, work

My journalism placement ended a couple of weeks ago because my paper was suffering financial difficulties and hadn't managed to publish in the entire time I had been there. I finally decided that I had to leave in order to get the most out of my experience in Africa. Instead, I moved to teaching and medical outreach. Initially I was placed in a private school, where my role was to sharpen pencils and keep the children quiet. But i despised it because I was completely unnecessary: i got blisters from sharpening pencils, and I'm completely ill equipped to keep the children quiet because the little shits knew that I wasn't going to use the cane. My first day a five-year-old little girl nodded at me with a huge cheesy grin and prompted, "beat them". In that moment my heart broke just a little bit. I feel like the purpose of volunteering is being somewhere that needs you rather than simply going somewhere that will accept your presence. So Projects Abroad, let me chnage my placement once again. I only have two more weeks but I still want to make the most of them.

So, I am now at a school that is about two hours away from where i live, I have to leave at 6.30am to get there by 9am. I've only had one day there but I find it infinitely more rewarding than my prior placement. Today, i did one on one tutoring with children who are struggling. The girl I worked with is fourteen-years-old and has great difficulty with the alphabet. If by the time I leave i can help her recite it, and recognise the letters when she sees them, then I'll feel successful.

I also do medical outreach two days a week which has been one of the best working experiences i've had in ghana. We travel to different schools and orphanages and go through the children and treat their cuts, infections, funguses and ringworms. I would make the bold statement to say that ringworm is Ghana's head lice. There is head lice here too, but the children have shaved heads so its not as common as ringworms. But because ringworms is infectious it is a big problem to treat, because its perpetually transmitted between the children even on the odd occasions when it is treated.

Crazy nights and tired days

I have strayed into wanton territory of going out and partying. A reality so far removed from what I would enjoy doing at home is what I've immersed myself within over the past couple of days. I wasn't initaially going to post my drunken escapades over a blog but I really cannot be bothered writing them out several times. So mum, block your eyes. Actually there is nothig that bad in this.

It all began on Wednesday night. I'm living with five volunteers and we all decided it would be a fantastic idea to predrink at home before going out to a reggae party. So, another house of volunteers who live by us and our house started the partying far too early at our house. We have a spot bar down the road which was our constant alcohol supply. Gin sachets are 30 pesowas which is actually like 20cents, so you can imagine it got quite messy quite quickly. It got really fun when our host family joined in. So our host mother, her son and security joined in drinking with us. It was a pretty surreal experience but funny. By 11.30 when we decided it was time to head to the party none of us were walking entirely well. And we swayed our way down to junction, by the time we got into the taxi the cloud of drunkeness became too much for me and i could already forsee the violent illness that i was bringing upon myself. The night degenerated from there and we left pretty early because we got prematurely drunk which ruined it.

Friday night, we didnt drink but i did see one of the most awesome things i've seen during my trip in Ghana. We went to a street dance competition between nigeria, cameroon, kenya, tanzania, and ghana. It was epic. You can't imagine the dancing, mainly because i can't describe it properly through words. Just accept my word that it was pretty effing great.

Ok, and last night. That was always going to be a crazy one. We went to a bar where you pay twenty cedi to get in and then you can drink as much as you want the entire night. Obviously, people got drunk. After we were don drinking, the next step was dancing so we moved to another palce. Its called Vienna City and the guidebook describes it as being teeming with hookers- it might be the one point in the book that the guidebook gets 100% accurate. So, that was fun for the guys and there was a lot of body grinding. For us obroni ladies, there were ample men willing to dance- and more. I had love declared upon me three times, a marriage proposal, an offer 'to take me for the night' and one guy was so audacious as to boldly state he wanted to 'fuck me'. Ghana really is a whole new world but as i've said, it might be flattering if it wasnt so blatantly creepy. The night ended at 5am because one of our lads was keen to leave to avoid an angry hooker. oh and i got free amazing pizza which was great because i was effing hungry by then.

Forgive my writing skills- its the bare minimum because im slightly hungover- no mad illness so i must be acclimatising. don't worry mum i didn't drink too much, or get up to any crazy shenanigans ;)

Some thoughts

So, last week i was rather morbid, its funny what sickness does to your moods. But now I've had some antibiotics and I'm peachy yet again. So here is the positive perspective of travelling and experiencing a new culture- even if it is the not so good things. Being in Ghana and away from home I feel a kind of independence and freedom that i've never found at home. At home i was constrained by familiarity, by the dictates of a social setting I had always known and was disinclined to stray from, because it seems unnecessary when there is such comfort within it. In a sense, it is like being limited in knowledge and experience because you are trapped by routine and expectation. For example, I moved on to university from higheschool because I assumed it was the next logical step, yet I had no preference or idea as to what I wanted to study. I merely had a mixed cradle of study options that fell into at random, and happened to stumble into studying journalism based on my TER. I could have done so many things but I did the most common, most expected step and It hasn't fulfilled me or provided me with direction. Over here, my eyes have opened from that slumber and the allure of trying new things has drawn me in.

I have little more direction than I did before I left Adelaide, but I don't feel as confined as I once did. The culture over here, which is so disparate from my own, and even meeting diverse people from all around the globe who have come here with different motivations and different goals is an amazing experience. Some things i find unpalatable and can't reconcile but at the same time if i had never come here I would probably have never comprehended anything outside my own little box. The world is a much bigger place that academia and google can't do justice. Ghana, which supposes itself to be a democracy, is riddled with corruption and underdevelopment. The police take bribes, rich officials live luxury lifestyles while the a lot of people live in squallid and terrible conditions. Seeing village life in contrast to city life in Ghana is a stark and disturbing reality. I could never live permanently the way I did in the village without running water or an actual toilet but to some extent I preferred it to living in Accra. For one, the pollution was less, there were less people, less invasion into your personal space and it felt calm. In Accra, I constantly feel dirty and I'm confronted by Ghanaians who want to tug me this way and that. Friendliness is great, but when you're exhausted or busy it can be tiresome. I like talking to people but there is a point where you don't want to talk or be friends with random strangers.

Freedom. To act without inhibitions and fear of judgement was an elusive desire in my days of Oz. Because no matter how freely I thought I was acting or no matter how much I thought I was doing what I wanted there was always a part of me that was considering what people around me were thinking. I regret throughout primary school and highschool participating indirectly in the isolation of those who were considered different because I didn't have the strength of character to shrug off and defy the majority who essentially bullied people. I can't remember precisely if I was ever directly involved in tormenting or teasing these different individuals who dared to be themselves, but I feel somehow I would have been because its a big part of my nature to follow. Even if I abstained from being involved in the cruelty personally, i know with certainty that I was there and witnessed it with little protest. But now more than ever I appreciate the people who are different, and who have that courage and comfort in themselves to say fuck you to the people who don't accept who they are. They are the people to be friends with because they move in their own way, and have their own appreciation for life and living that is refreshing because it isn't a mere synchronisation with those around them. My mother is one of these people. I, and many people, jokingly call her eccentric and crazy. But she is free in who she is. She has an immovable faith, an unabashed love for gossip, an inflexibility in her opinions and values and a mouth that could talk for days if you let it. If she listened to me and others around her she might be compelled to change who she is and that would be a shame. I think one of her strangest eccentricities, that I can always remember her having, is a strange habit she has when smoking. she claims not to like the smell of smoke in her hair and when she goes outside for a cigarette, she wraps a 'smoke towel' around her head to cover her hair. Its a difficult thing to explain to strangers why your mother goes outside at varying times looking like Mary. But its funny, and its her. Sometimes, she emabarasses the hell out of me, other times she frustrates me beyond the point of reason but she simultaneously guides and challenges me to become stronger and better. Partially, my strong opinions i have inheritted from her. Not her crazy notions which I am usually opposed to, but her stubborness and inability to be worng are definitely reflected in my personality.

Well, I'm about to head off to a reggae party at the beach, to do some crazy dancing. The 'toilets' at Labadi are reminiscent of the hills- i have to squat behind a canoe on the beach meters from dancers and only partially hidden by people wandering down the beach. Definitely going to have to wear a dress to preserve some of my dignity. So I'll leave my blog here.

Waterfalls

So one of the last big places that I had yet to visit in Ghana was Wly Waterfalls and so last weekend with eight other volunteers i finally got around to travelling there. It was quite the experience and for someone as resoundigly unfit as me, quite the challenge. Like many places in Ghana the journey there and back was as amusing and troublesome as the actual place. After a six hour tro-tro ride, a punctured tire, a brief road stop where we witnessed a baby goats death by speeding vehicle we arrived in Ho Hoi in the dark (if thats the correct spelling it'll be amazing). From there we had an hour long journey in a taxi. One of the most excruciating processes in Ghana is arguing the price down with a taxi driver and as there were seven of us we needed two taxis, or so we thought. The first few taxis claimed no less than 20 cedi for a ride there, a ludicrous price in Ghana. We wandered around for a while in search of the tro tro station, unwilling to pay that much for a taxi, when a particulalry persistent taxi driver approached us with the offer of 2 cedi per person. Although, this was a much better price we were confronted with the predicament of seven people one taxi. The taxi driver was keen for us and determined that we would all fit, which we did but not comfortably. Two guys were smooshed in the front with five of us in the back, crammed in tightly and semi hanging out the windows. The road was potholed and barely driveable and as the driver overcame each pothole their were woops from us passengers and relief. At some points it was questionable as to whether we would make it but finally we got there.

The rooms were perfect. The best I've had in Ghana so far. We had to wait for a few more people to arrive so we sat down to have dinner and drinks. Drinks turned into drinking games which were fun but by no means a good idea the night before climbing a steep, rocky mountain. One guy, got very ill that night- not from the drinks, and was exploding from both ends and was in such a miserable state he missed the adventure of climbing the mountain. The walk uphill was physically taxing and my lungs were heaving with the effort to draw in oxygen. I was so far behind everybody else but eventually I made it. At the top it was beautiful but the water was everywhere and the pressure was intense in your face. Going back down the mountain was dangerous and daunting as it was slippery, rocky and the path was only semi-definable as a path. I fell several times, luckily and much to my relief not off of the mountain. I emerged after the trip with a great many cuts but in one piece and was quite proud that I had made it, with my complete and utter lack of fitness.

Self Insight... I think

Preface: I started writing this blog after a week of being sick and not working. With time on my hands and nothing on my mind my thoughts have freely flit throughout my mind without distraction. I considered not posting it and keeping it for myself, but, ultimately decided to swallow my dignity and release it into the public domain. It isn't so much about Africa, as about myself, so now is the point to stop reading if you're here for updates on the African adventure.

Once when I was little, I sat alone on the floor of my room staring at the ceiling and the enormity of the world overwhelmed me. I had lost my mum for moments at my older brother’s primary school that day and panic crushed my lungs as the world closed in around me. For the tiniest moment, in the tiniest place I was alone. It was not a feeling I enjoyed and ever since I’ve never felt entirely comfortable being alone. Which is ridiculous really, because I’ve begun to realize that no matter how many people are around me, I’ve very much always felt alone. Nobody can understand the insane nonsense of my mind, when I myself cannot begin to fathom who I am.

Here in Africa, I have found that I quite enjoy being alone, and even though the other doubts remain I’m no longer completely dependent on the presence of others in order to feel safe and comfortable. Yet still, I’m bizarrely uncomfortable in my own skin. I have pervasive doubts and distaste for almost every aspect of my being. Emotionally, physically, and characteristically stunted is the best way I can describe it. Self-deprecation is, I find, one of the most unattractive traits a person can have, ironically and hypocritically it’s one of my greatest flaws. I’m not openly self-critical but it’s deep below the surface festering in the corners of my mind.

I have an erratic pendulum of emotions that I can barely control and that I rarely understand. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m feeling until it physically manifests itself in my demeanour or behavior, which gives me and everybody around me a glimpse of my true mind. It’s awful to be so disconnected from your own emotions and I’m not even sure that words can adequately describe the nature of the separation that I have between my emotions and my mind. I think, but cannot be sure that it’s a legacy from my childhood. Blocking out emotions was a survival mechanism, because I learnt very young that the boundaries of physical pain are surpassed easily by emotional pain. I learnt very well that it was necessary to avoid emotional pain in any way possible. Most of you will know about my father’s death, but there will be a few people who don’t. When I was six-years-old my father killed himself. I have few, if any, memories of my childhood but I can remember with amazing clarity the events that unfolded that year. My parents had fought a couple of days before his death, and my mum had taken us with her to stay at my nanna’s for a couple of nights. The day that we were supposed to return home, was one of the last times I ever saw my childhood home. At school that day I was restless to get home because I was returning to my own pink bedroom and my dad had promised me the night before over the telephone that he was going to pull out my first tooth. As a little girl I had the blind faith and certainty in my father’s word, and the innocence to be captivated by the simplest notions. I was sitting on tire swings when the principal of the school approached me. Foreboding ran through me, because any student knows that being called to the principal’s office is never a good occasion. I entered the room to find my family crammed into this office. My mum looked empty and had a sadness about her that I had never before witnessed in anyone. From the moment I was told about my father’s death everything changed for me. I remember seeing his body at the viewing, yet I could never rationalsie that the pasty lifeless form in the coffin as a once living breathing being. I think seeing him like that was worse for me than if i had never had an opportunity to see him for a last time. Dead people are cold and empty and now I can smell the embalming fluid and I can recall what he looked like lying there and it's one of the few mental images that I have of the man. My mum used to ask us whether, on the night that we had spoken to him on the phone, he had said see you or goodbye. I guess she wanted to know if he had planned it all beforehand and if in his phonecall he ahd given us any last words to hint at what was to happen. I hated myself for not being able to recall what he had parted with; for not knowing for her and not knowing for us. Rationally I know that it was impossible for a six-year-old to have any inkling of her fathers pending suicide from a fleeting phone conversation but there is a part of me that continues to wonder if he had spoken to his wife and children normally, while contemplating killing himself the next day. I no longer hate or resent him for his actions. I have no sadness or regret in losing him when or how I did. That in itself, i suppose, is a little bit sad.

His death was the catclysmic moment where everything started slipping away, and I realised i had no control. We left our home, my room, the outside swing, the apricot tree and went to live with my grandma. Not long later, our two dogs had to be put down and I progressively degenerated at schoolwork. At such a young age I remember wanting to die; to escape from emotion. When my father died I felt an unabashed sorrow and tears flowed easily. But eventually I had nothing left to cry and sorrow turned to hurt, hurt to anger, anger to resentment, resentment to detachment. I’m not sure after this point at exactly when or how it happened but I stopped caring, I stopped naively allowing myself to become attached to any person, object or place. And it worked. I’ve never felt the kind of pain that could rival those years, but now it’s a different kind of ache. I wish I had learnt a better, healthier way to cope with the way I feel rather than cognitively shutting down my emotion. Because over time I’ve learnt that no matter how well you lock something away, it will eventually come out- usually in an uncontrollable erratic eruption of emotion. Sometimes, when my feelings become too much I'll feel an overwhelming and sudden burst of emotion- usually anger or depression- and I physically can't shut it down. It can last anywhere from minutes to days but I have to wait out the riptide of emotion because attemping to quell it simply makes it stronger and worse.

I find myself to be such a paradox of conflicting identities. I can't seem to find a foothold on who exactly I am. Sometimes I'll be strong, spirited and blunt, other times I'll be quiet and withdrawn and unable to speak my mind. I've always had a romantic side that likes to hope or believe that the world can be better, that I can be better yet its often in direct opposition to my realistic and cynical nature. I've found that I don't particularly hate anything that I do, but at the same time I've neevr loved anything I've done. I have no idea if I'll continue with journalism or wander aimlessly down a path of varied studies and occupations looking for something more than merely the tolerance for a job. I should know enough by now to know that passion is something I'm unlikely to find in any career path, but still for now, I'm looking for it.

I haven’t written this blog for pity; for I despise the idea of anyone pitying me. I have a great life, filled with family and friends, and opportunities to be whoever I want, and do whatever I choose. But for catharsis, I need to release the crazy in me. I used to care so much about what people think, in some ways I still do, but I’m no longer controlled by the way I think people will react to things. I suppose a small comfort to me is that a stranger’s judgment couldn’t possibly be more critical than my own. This is probably not a blog I’ll ever post because it is too honest and just a little bit humiliating.

its all about me

Part of the reason i decided to travel was i was hoping that distance might provide me some perspectve on my own life. I hoped that distance would provide me with some direction on what I want to do, who I am and where I'm going in life. Unfortunately, I'm not sure that this trip has done that or merely driven me into a further state of confuson. Practising journalism hasn't really solidified any particular feelings of passon or hate. So I'm still not sure if that's the right path for me. I love travellng but if i had some dorothy heels 'd be clicking like crazy sometimes, because there really is no place like home. I love the experience of a different culture, especially one so far removed from my own but feel my western ideals creeping up and I want these countries to foster them even though I know that, that kind of thinking is superior and wrong. But my whole life i've grown up with these solid, idealistc values on what is right and what is wrong and almost everyday they are challenged over here. i like to think I'm open minded but being here really makes me think that my tolerance is not as high as i once thought.

A shopoholics nightmare

Today, lets introduce you to the wild ways of 'shopping' in Ghana. There are a lot of shops around, but not shops that match up with the western conception of a shop. There are shanty stalls, markets, sellers carrying arm loads of merchandise and women carrying wares atop of their heads littered around the streets of Ghana. In the cities like Accra there are a handful of westernised malls or supermarkets that are ridiculously overpriced, but they are aimed primarily at rich ghanaians and foreigners.

The markets are crazy. The sellers are zealous, determined and to be honest desperate for sales. They all sell the same products- carvings, paintngs, beads, jewellry, drums and african style clothing and bags. and when I say they all sell the same thing, it's no exagerration. Perhaps there are slight variations in the design but even then it's such a slight its hardly distinguishable. at first these markets fascinated me but now they are just exhausting. As i am white, I am a walking attractionand target. You get called, pulled, grabbed, complimented and even laughed at. Tis all just a bit exasperating now. There are the mandatory questions that they ask to build up a repport: what's your name, where are you from, how long have you been in Ghana, how do you like it? If the seller is male: Do you have boyfrend, are you married, do you want a black man? Then they launch into the requisite spiel about their high quality products that you can't find anywhere else and how because you're a friend they'll give you a good price. It's laughable because you walk next door and they have the exact same products and depending how good you are at bargaining for cheaper. The trick with bargaining is stcking to the price you want, and walking away when they refuse to gve it to you and always let them tell you what prce you want they want. Never tell them first how much you're willing to pay because when they state their price it's usually the hghest they'll go and you can bring them down from there. Sometimes the to-and-fro can be entertaining but sometimes its just exhausting and once you've done t once or twce you get sick of having to continually fight a price down. When you reply in their language to them, they are not only surprised but amused and it's a good way to get a good price.

People selling things in the street are equally amusing. They'll hiss or dog kiss to get you're attention, follow you, stare at you or pester you. Overall, the shopping expereience isn't one to be savoured because you can't browse leisurely without being harassed by the sellers. It can be amusing and tiring but rarely fun.

One people- many prejudices

Hiya folks,
I've spoken about the irony of Ghanaian values already but it's a topic that seems to pop up all the time for me. I'm so sick of the obvious prejudice of the culture against white people and homosexuals. I've never been so angry than in a conversation I was having at the beach with a rasta who was making the most ludicrous claims and telling me the most appaling stories about homosexuality. What I find so infuriating about it, is that rastas make the bold claim 'different colours, one people'. They 'know' about colonialism to the extent that white people dominated and oppressed black people. Yet, they don't actually understand the history and I understand and agree that the actions of our forefathers and the legacy of colonialism was abhorrent but at the same time i realise that it is history. It has passed and if they continue to blame it and live in it then they will fester in underdevelopment. Because we can't change what happened and it is up to the country and the people to change the way they are living rather than wallowing in past hardship. Anywho, I did have a point in mentioning the 'one people thing' and it was that although thy suffered persecution and discrimination for who they were, They don't seem to understand that they are doing the same thing now to homosexuals. They actually believe that to be gay or lesbian is a choice, an evil choice. I was at the beach speaking to a rasta about it and he told me that the onl reason I was ok with it is because the Western world encouages homosexuality, especially the catholic church. He also claimed that there were more homosexuals in our country than heterosexuals. He then continued to tell me that his sister had attended a catholic school and thought she was a lesbian but he flogged her with his belt when he found out in front of his family and now she is 'happily' married with two children. At this point I walked away. I was flabberghasted and appalled that it is more socially acceptable to meet your sister than love someone of the same gender. The thing is though, they have no reasons, no cognitive ability to explain or justofy their archaic notions. It's like fighting with a brick wall, no matter how hard you explain or argue they remain immovable. It is because it is, and that is that. And even though I know this, I persist. Its something about the stubborness in me. But we are not one people, this I know. I used to believe we were. But if we were one people then we would be able tolerate everybodies differences rather than giving them scorn and disdainoda. I cannot believe that I one had such naive and idealistic notions about the world but not anymore. I see it for what it is. Human nature will always find a group to persecute, because peace and equality are alien to our nature. I don't want to sound too jaded but it really is what I'm beginning to think. Individually, I think people can be good but in groups humanity is blatantly intolerant, ignorant and harsh. It is the experience I have found and continue to find. I hope, one day, to find a people somewhere in the world to prove me wrong.

Here we go....

I know it's been an incredibly long time since my last post and I can only semi blame it upon being busy. Mostly it can be credited to my laziness. But I suppose it is time to check in with my writing just so you know that I'm all good. I've recently moved to the city, Accra- Dzwoulu (perhaps that is the wrong spelling-I'm not entirely sure). I've lived my first couple of weeks there relatively easily. The transfer was so smooth because it's almost western living. There is running water, constant electricity and get this- a flushing toilet. After living in Ghana two months living in my new host family is almost like not living in Ghana. There are, however, some bizarre rules to live by which kind of make me feel like a child. We, the other volunteers and I, have a curfew of 12 which we rarely make, and we have a housemaid who cooks and cleans for us. It's so disparate from the way we were living before. Another difference is that we go out to do something every night whether it be drinking, dancing or even going to see a ridiculously overpriced movie. I think I've been perpetually tired the whole time I've been here because my body got so accustomed to going to bed at 9pm when I was living in the village. That's right ladies and gentlemen, me the homebody has actually gone out drinking and dancing. Salsa dancing no less! But I'm really quite awful at it. It must be the white and Asian in me that is inhibiting my sense of rhythm. I'm slowly getting used to the constant barrage of hip hop, reggae and rhythm and blues. I'm sooo missing my music though because I lost my ipod a month ago and have since been left to listen to the Ghanaian music. It kind of sucks. But I'm finally at the newspaper. It isn't quite as expected because it is an independent and its really relaxed. I barely write that much at all, and I always expected the practise of journalism to be faster paced. Hopefully it picks up. But I'm currently working on a story about Ghana's national amputee football team the Black Challenge and I'm really loving it. It's funny because I'm the last person anybody would expect to enjoy writing about sports. But the team is really inspiring and the coaches are really friendly and open. Sometime next week my editor is attempting to arrange a meeting with the ministry so that we can put forth a proposal to start a special fund for disability and sports that will support the Black Challenge. I miss home though. The people, the comfort, the ease. I was a bit sick yesterday and felt fairly awful and there is nothing like your own bed when you don't feel well. I'm even missing my older irritating brothers, especially the one that I find the most annoying :) And everyone except Jon in my family has been sick while i've been away and i've hated not beinng there for them. Mum and nanna you had twenty effing years to get sick while I was there but you both get hospitalised in the only four months i've ever been away from home, rude!
Now that I'm away from all of my old volunteer friends I feel like I'm in that trasitional phase again after finding my feet in the village. I'm so grateful for my first couple of months in akropong because of the people i met. I like the people I'm with now but it really isn't the same. It's a bit shit really. And i'm a bit over the beach now, i think I need a few quiet weekends of sleep because the travelling and going out is so exhausting. I might even be missing uni, not just the people who I of course miss, but the work. I never thought I'd say that. I also miss coles. Of course the people but I miss doing proper work for a proper period of time. Ghana is a nation of lethargy and laziness. The concept of work really isnt understood- on the upside i'm certain there is less stress, heart attacks and burnouts but on the downside they'll always be stuck in the momentum of underdevelopment until they get their act together and start working for it. The sad thing is that they think they are working when they sit in shops, eat or sleeping in these same shops that have no customers and they make 1 cedi a day. Its ridiculous. Yet, they seem ok with it which again forces me to uestion whether they are underdeveloped or whether they are just leading a different lifestyle that we cant understand. I think the world might be a better place if we could just find a balance between the accelerated western life and the monotonous less devloped lifestyle.
I guess that's all I have to say for now.
I hope you enjoyed the pictures too. I didn't post them all because i have about 800 and I didn't want to bore you.

updates

Well i wrote a blog and it won't let me post it. check out my fb page if you want to read it :)

It's Biblical

Ok, so it is about time you learned a little bit more about Ghanaian culture and one of the biggest influences on the culture over here, is religion. Religion is one of those topics that is just riddled with tensions and drama. Everybody has their own opinions and its one of those subjective notions that seems to render people inflexible. I have no problem with religious fanatics or stringent atheists as long as neither group tries to convert me. I'm one of those ambiguous religious people, I definitely believe in god and in the basic metaphor and message that the bible implies but on the actual bible and religious passages I remain undecided and rather dubious.

Religion over here has a different meaning, instead of complementing education and guiding values it is more of an excuse. An easy justification for bad behaviour, laziness and apathy. Christianity is the foremost religion and its sentiment can be felt absolutely everywhere. Catholic epithets are titled on shop doors, car windows and eateries. Children in classes sing if you love jesus and you know it clap your hands and other worshiping songs. I wouldn't really have a problem with this religious overload, except that I really believe that they forget the actual values associated with the faith, and simply regurgitate the same religious drivel that they've been taught to unquestioningly believe. Things like: its ok to hit women, and children because the bible says so. Gays are wrong because the bible says so. And it really makes me angry when people use God to condone the behaviour that, the very principles of Christianity deplore. And I've legitimately spoken to people who believe these things. If you ask them them, their response is a resolute 'because the bible says so'- yet I'm positive that hardly any of these people have actually bothered to read even one proverb from the bible and so merely fall back on what others preach. Yet, they seem oblivious to the truth that the Bible was written and interpreted by man and has inevitably been distorted to fit whichever truth their agenda requires. I think that is the crux of the problem over here- religion is coupled with ignorance which perpetuates the cycle of inequality and poverty because people are unwilling to change things for themselves because they believe god will do it for them, and they continue to harbour backward values and ideology because they don't question they just embrace man's words (*not god's). Because I don't believe in any god who discriminates, or condones violence. Those sentiments are a human creation, figments of human nature, and unfortunately God usually takes the blame.

I was going to write more on the subject but I find that this topic makes me restless and frustrated so I've given up. Maybe i'll delve into it again some other time.

Crazy, Crazy Travel Times

Ah so I apologise for my recent radio silence but it's because I've had no access to computers. The past week I have been traveling, and traveling is a very apt description of my time and also one that can be, in Ghana, considered synonymous with waiting.

On Monday, we left our cozy little village of Akropong to discover the wider world of Ghana. I thought, when we left, that it would be exciting and fun. I was wrong. So far out of seven days of being away I have spent three at actual places and the others on a boat, a canoe, a tro, a bus or simply waiting for one of these forms of transportation to grace us with it's presence. It has been exhausting and boring and it's perplexing to realise just how much nothingness can make you tired. So, the journey began with this ambiguous boat trip. To get to the boat we had to catch tro's and on the way there I was pretty sick and was dreading the idea of getting on this potentially seventy hour boat trip. When we got to the docks for the boat we had to wait five hours until we could but tickets and actually get on the boat, it was another hour before we left the dock. Luckily, we took mats with us because we had a choice between sleeping upstairs in the night or downstairs in a crammed space filled with too many people and too many smells. Obviously we chose upstairs. The views might have been nice but in utter blackness its hard to tell. The boat had a very titanic feel with rich Ghanaians and white tourists on the top deck- having paid for expensive air-conditioned rooms- and the lower level being packed full with the poorer people. One and a half nights later we reached Yeji at midnight. It was raining and we had gotten pretty soaked which is not the most pleasant feeling.

After that, more travel. We got on this canoe that took an hour to load itself up with as many people as any nook and cranny could hold. There were about a hundred people in this canoe and I was later told by a guy that sometimes people drown because they overload the boat so much that it starts to sink and some luggage and passengers have to be cast overboard so that the whole boat doesn't sink. TIA (this is africa) Then came the awful, and i mean awful tro rides. I catch tro's all the time and they aren't the best things i've ever ridden in but they're bearable but on these ones were pure torture. The 'roads' dirt clearings are laden with holes that ordinary cars struggle with but that tro's are overcome by. Every 10 seconds bang bang bump and you're body is thrown this way and that with the motion of the car. We did this both ways- except on the way back the tro broke down and we yet again had to wait for another to amble along.

But throughout the journey I met some new, interesting people who made the trip enjoyable. I did a safari and saw elephants at a frighteningly close distance, watched families of baboons playing in trees and held a shotgun. It's been fun but the travel has been a lot and I'm going to enjoy sleeping more than two nights in one place. Yet, I have one more week to go- hopefully to be spent lazing and luxuriating at the beach.

Over and out :)

Hygiene, Sanitation, Health: a lack thereof

Again, I can't remember what I have or haven't written on the subject so bear with me. I've developed a great appreciation for all things clean, because over here I never feel clean, and nothing is ever clean. It is no surprise that people are always sick in these conditions.

Toilets: for those who have them there are mainly long-drops if you're lucky, some people have short drops which are beyond heinous. One weekend at Adafo Beach we had short drops and you could see everything that had happened in them prior to your visit. It was confronting, disturbing and foul, but i did it. For most people though, not having toilets isn't a problem because you can go anywhere outside to relieve yourself with either fluids or solids. They even use paper to wipe themselves which i can only imagine is an unpleasant sensation. Other times proper toilets are equally as gross because you can't put paper in them you have to place it in a bucket beside it and then you have to use water from another bucket to manually flush away your business. This isn't so bad except that people who have used it before you tend to be pretty gross and the notion of flushing really seems to evade them. I swear I have never seen so much poo, that isn't my own, in my life, as I have on this trip.

Sanitation: Along the streets are deep gutters that i suppose are intended to act as some form of drainage and sometimes they are filled with human waste and the smell is an assault on the senses. But there are no pipes, no place for wastes to go so the streets, gutters, rivers become the resting place of the most disgusting things.

Hygiene: Nobody washes their hands after the 'toilet', or coughing, sneezing, playing, working, petting animals or anything else that you would ordinarily wash your hands after. Then they eat with their hands. Culturally you're meant to wipe you're butt with the left and eat with the right, and I assume they believe this will be an adequate enough system of preventing the spread of germs. I sanitize my hands after the toilet and before eating and only have 2 of the five hand sanitizers left that I brought with me. Yet, still i feel dirty. People wash their clothes, and shower with buckets but there is still a sense of uncleanliness here. It might be credited to the fact that it is an ungodly temperature here and so sweat becomes a constant accompaniment during the day. Five minutes after a shower you can feel the touch of the sun melting through your skin and into your body and the sweat begin to trickle out of your pores and so an hour later there is little proof you have showered that day. The houses, shops, streets are all filthy and rundown because the concept of upkeep is obsolete. They sweep dirt from here to there, but nobody ever dusts or wipes walls and the result is layers of dust and grime that become one with the wall. When we painted the day care centre we obviously had to clean the walls before we began. It was a futile effort because the dust seemed to be impregnated within the walls and the dirt impossible to remove. In fact, after an hour of vigorous scrubbing the walls looked much the same as they had before we had started.

Health: malaria, coughs, colds, worms, stomach bugs are all rife. At the day care children are always coughing and snotting on me. Being sick is almost the norm. I have indeed, developed a cough myself, which is at least better than cholera or malaria I suppose. But the health or the people is a reflection of the lives they lead. Health only comes through cleanliness and so it is inevitable that people who live in their own excrement, would simultaneously live with disease.

A Brief Summary of Ghana Care

This is my last week in Akropong doing Care and to be honest it's a bit disappointing. Not because its over, but because in my last week I am forced to hop between two schools and an orphanage along with all the other care and teaching volunteers because the others have closed for a six week holiday. A fact that Projects Abroad kindly omitted telling us before we arrived. On Wednesday I embark upon some more traveling and its going to be quite the adventure. I'm going to Cape Coast until Saturday, and then I'll come home and leave on Monday for the other side of Ghana. On Monday we will, hopefully, get on a boat that will take us on a potentially seventy hour boat trip. I say potentially because all the guides say that there is no definitive answer and it depends on the day and the whims of the crew. I say hopefully, because the guide books have told us that we may go there and buy a ticket but that is not a guarantee that we'll get a spot on the boat. The one boat trip that i've had here which was really a canoe ride was only 40 minutes and the whole time i was grasping the sides of the boat and wrestling with the fear of falling into the Volta lake that I was told was filled with barracudas. Also, there was the very high chance of sinking with five of us girls perched precariously in in a canoe that was leaking water so rapidly that one guy instead of rowing devoted his time to bucketing the water out of the boat and back into the ocean. We also had to maneuver it so that us and our bags were in a balanced position so as to avoid the boat capsizing. I can only hope that this boat trip wont be quite so adventurous but with all the indefinite variables and the fact that the boat may very well not have toilets, or space for us I'm sure it will be infinitely more challenging.

Ok, back to the actual content of this blog. Sorry I can't help going off on tangents and I really cannot remember what i have and haven't written in past blogs so forgive me if I repeat myself too much. As I have mentioned in length volunteering over here in care hasn't been what I expected. It hasn't been a bad experience merely an enlightening and somewhat disheartening one. I've spoken about a lot of things to do with care- and the children have been a big focus. But, today as i think about the children that have made this experience worth it, my heart breaks a because i think of the lives that lay ahead of them and it is beyond bleak. These futures aren't dictated purely by the constraints of poverty or inequality but because of the appallingly substandard system of education over here. Many children are left behind because education is not compulsory and if you can't afford it then so be it. Even for those in school the hopes are not much better because they are forced to memorise things rather than learn. I never really thought about it before but one of the most valuable things i've been taught within my entire existence as a person is the ability to learn. The differentiation between having knowledge and using knowledge. These children are being forced to memorise the alphabet, numbers, colours. But if you give them a number out of sequence they seem perplexed. They learn to say yes to everything even if they have no idea what you are saying. They can't do simple things like colour, or put building blocks together because they've never been given that opportunity. They are missing out on so much development because the value of play and exploration is ignored. This is why I'm not so angry at the teachers when they insist upon colouring in, or joining the activities that I've arranged for the children. They too have suffered through the severely lacking education system of Ghana, and activities like colouring, beading, bubbles or balloons is as exciting for them as it is for the children. Which is really a morbid reality.

Children miss their childhoods because they are are so afraid to make noise, play or have fun because of the threat of the cane. The issue of smacking or hitting children remains one of contention everywhere. Some people are for it and others are against it. I have always been adamantly against the use of it but coming over here has only exacerbated my original opinions on the matter. Seeing children, who are sitting rigid, quiet and blank in a classroom because they are paralysed by the idea of being hit makes me utterly infuriated. One little girl, Princessa, is possibly the most gorgeous little girl I've ever met. She is vivacious, and as most children are, a little bit naughty. But when she smiles, or plays there is a twinkle in her eyes that shows the immensity of her joy and the infinite innocence of childhood. A lot of the other children have already lost that twinkle, especially the eldest children in a family who bear the brunt of responsibility and sadly the beatings. Princessa, however, often greets me in the morning with eyes sparkling with happiness and mischievousness, and i enjoy that right up until he point that the teachers bellow her name and she shuts down. Her entire body changes, she sits blankly, her eyes go dull and her smile fades and seeing this is one of the hardest things i've had to struggle with. So, while beating might be a very successful means of discipline it steals a lot more than it could ever be worth. It steals the light and happiness from children and that is one of the saddest things that can happen to children.

One of things that makes me saddest about these schools and Ghana's education: is that in Africa Ghana is supposed to be one of the more developed and better educated countries. Think of the children in the world who suffer these indignities and worse. Think about what you can actually do about it. Diddly Squat! That's what. The government has an obligation to it's people to do better, but the people bear the most responsibility because it's up to them to demand more. Unfortunately though, over here parenthood isn't as much about love as an obligation to have chidlren. So some parents- not all- but some are more pathetic than the teachers. Nobody wants to change, they seem content to live like this and that is their decision. I came here thinking that people would want to live better but lacked the opportunities to have those better lifestyles. Yet, over here it is more a matter of apathy: people don't want to change.

A little bit more about the work

So you have heard the myriad of negatives about working in Ghana, I've decided its therefore necessary to add some positives. Ultimately, the only positive is the children. They make every exasperating and infuriating aspect of the teachers worth the effort.

Today, I went to the special school again and I want to somehow explain how much I enjoy it there. The children are older than those at the childcare centre and they have a variety of disabilities- both mental and physical. Yet, they are incredibly intelligent and attentive and they delight in such simple things. As we walk up to the classroom we are greeted with squeals of delight, and hugs from every direction. They remember who we are. As they do an activity you can see their simple enjoyment of it and although they have limited attention spans and the short time of the activities it is much more gratifying than four o five hours at the day care. I think when I post some pictures and videos you might understand it better. We played with bubbles, and balloons and the kids were absolutely ecstatic at simply chasing them and catching them. It was unbelievable and it makes me feel better about being here because in some of time here I have become disillusioned with the notion of volunteer work and with the work that I'm actually doing here because I have doubted the merit of it. But here you actually feel it in the smiles and the laughter of the children you feel as if the work you are doing matters.

Missing the basic luxuries of development

Time to come clean. As much as I'm loving it over here I have to admit that there are just some aspects of living in a developed country that I am too accustomed to. I could never survive the plight of living permanently in a place that doesn't have sanitation and air-conditioning. The showering with a bucket- easy, the walking to the internet- easy, but the toilet- failboat.

The smell. It's very much the stench of human waste and rubbish that tortures me. I never really appreciated the smell of nothing until I came here. Rubbish is a huge problem over here. There are signs all over the big cities urging the population to keep Ghana clean yet there are no rubbish bins. Rubbish peppers backyards, plagues streets and drowns in rivers and lakes. If it isn't dumped then it is worse yet. They burn it, and the pungent aroma of burnt rubbish is one that is difficult to overcome. It stays with you for the whole day after you have long since passed the site of burning.

I'm also beginning to miss simple things like food. Over here, although the food has varied somewhat, we have to fight to get fruit and vegetables to liven up our meals. To me this is perplexing because I'm living in a rural village where fruit and vegetables seem to be the predominant source of production and shops. Nevertheless, people never seem to actually eat any of it. Almost every Ghanaian I have met laments eating both fruit and vegetables and prefers meat, rice and other heavy foods. Fruit is really important over here because it really has become one of my only sources of sugar. And boy do I need sugar to survive. The overwhelming lack of chocolate may well be my biggest downfall while over here. There is, however, icecream. My new addiction its called fan-ice and it is my sugar heaven.

I'm totally craving my Iphone to send inane and trivial texts to people updating them on anything I feel like.

This is going to sound insulting but its the truth, I also miss civility. The attitudes over here are so abundantly different to at home. Yesterday, we were cleaing the walls of the daycare centre so that we can paint the creche for the children. This is on top of our other work and we're doing it in our own time. The teachers rather than be helpful or even absent which I would have preferrred ambled in and out of the classroom watching us, laughing at us, eating and talking to eachother in Twi. It was so frustrating. I'm getting sick of being called a white person and feigning a husband at home merely to avoid the affliction of male Ghanaians.

Alas, that's all for now.

Just a melting pot of thoughts

It's been a while since I've last written and I confess that my laziness has finally caught up with me. I have a lot more to say but no inclination to sit down and put it into words. Yet, I am home from work early- injured in the call of duty- so I have time to write. I'm kidding. My finger got slammed in a door today as I was leaving a teacher-less room filled with 26 toddlers. Now my index finger has swelled to a lovely size, is bleeding under the skin and is experiencing same sporadic throbbing pains. Today's post will be quite mixed pot of ramblings about anything that comes to my mind. So be prepared for a little bit of chaos.

To begin. Food. It is after all a necessity for life and to be honest it's the focus of most Ghanaians day. A lot of the local foods, really aren't appealing at all. Ghanaians eat to be full and clearly not for the satisfaction of it. Fufu is a dish that is widely popular amongst the locals. Its is a ball of uncooked doughy something with a soup poured over the top. This dough is repulsive both because of its lack of flavour and bizarre texture. I really can't stomach it. Kenkai is another dish that I have not been brave enough to try but that I hear is equally abhorrent. It is corn that is mashed to the point that it is a bitter mass of food that bears little resemblance to the vegetable that it is derived from. there is also an alcoholic drink that costs 20 pesos (20 cents) and is made from nails and is 90% alcoholic. I'm not masochistic enough to even be tempted to try it, the thought itself makes me feel sick. but if you wanna be an alcoholic then Ghana is an affordable place to do it.

I was going to write more, but once again I can't be bothered and typind with two fingers is beyond me.

Workplace Angst

This post, really is just a melting pot of the thoughts that have been sifting in and out of my mind over the past week or so.

I'll begin with my placement. At the Day Care Centre it is apt to say that I find it rather unappealing there. This morning I left an hour and a half early because I could no longer cope with the insufferable nature, and ineptitude of the teachers that had surrounded me. I got into class at 8am and all of the centre's teachers were congregated outside. They were chatting, dancing, eating, and most alarmingly ignoring the children. This occurs almost always so really it wasn't a shock but it was still rather frustrating. So when I stepped into the tiny classroom packed with over 20 one, two and three-year-olds I felt a little overwhelmed. The biggest problem that I face in these classrooms is that I can't understand the children because they speak Twi and not English so I am left with a class full of kids who I cant communicate with. This means when they're crying I can only offer a limited amount of comfort because I don't know what the issue is, when they're fighting they don't listen to me because they don't understand me and on another level they know that I'm not going to beat them if they disobey me.

Another issue that is beyond exasperating is the attitudes of the teachers. The women who I work with are untrained, unequipped and disinclined to working with children. They just don't care. They come in everyday to work because it is money, but they are preoccupied with themselves that they have little attention to spare on the children. If you organise an activity to play with the children, it is necessary to include a part for the teacher or else the teacher will take the activity away from a student to use for themselves. If its colouring, they take the pens, if its bubbles they blow the bubbles while the children watch enviously. Its deplorable and pathetic. Worse than all of these things is meal time. Not all the parent's pack food for their children, but those that do pack ample food to fulfill their child's hunger for the day. The teachers divide up the children's food from their lunchboxes- so the child will get half of their lunch and the other half would go into a bowl. More often than not the bowl gets more food than the child. The bowl is then taken and divided between the two teachers in a classroom, while three or four kids sit hopelessly and longingly at the teachers and students around them who are eating. IT made me so angry today. I made the teachers share out the extra food amongst the kids that didnt have any, and they reluctantly did so. They tried to argue that the food in the bowl was strictly for the teachers, and they had the audacity to invite me to join them in eating the food that belongs to the children. One even tried to tell me that the other children without food weren't hungry which was easily contradicted by the vigour with which the kids ate the food that they were eventually given by the teachers. It's outrageous. At snack-time the same thing occurs, the kids don't get their juice-boxes, they get a few sips and the teachers commandeer the rest of it.

Mary is a little girl in my class who has the most peculiar hair i have ever seen. She is black as night but she has red eyelashes and the roots of her hair are a flaming orange colour as if someone has dyed it. She was tired today, her yawns and inactivity obvious. She nodded her head drifting into sleep as she sat on the mat. The teacher not only smacked her but made her stand for five minutes while everybody else sat and played. I say the other children played but I use the term loosely - the teachers got out some blocks and divided amongst the children it meant that they got maybe one or two pieces each if they were lucky- (some just sit on the mat vacantly resigned to the fact that they won't get any blocks to play with, some throw tantrums to get more toys, others aggressively snatch them from other children resulting in yet more tears)
The poor girl was standing their her eyes drooping in exhaustion yet the teachers seemed determined that she should stand and not fall asleep. they have no reasoning. You can't very well expect a child who is tired and doing nothing to not fall asleep. I scooped her up and let her sleep in my arms because the teachers don't like to do anything that will upset the volunteers because they depend on us to do their jobs for them. Working here, in this area I have been given the impression that volunteers do more harm than good because we make teachers complacent and lazy.

On a happier note, I ventured to the orphanage and a special school this weekend. The Orphanage was definitely a challenge as the kids their have nobody. There are 2 volunteers who come at 8 and leave at 3 and after that the kids are left pretty much to themselves. They are unruly and ragged, and difficult to manage but when I'm there I at least feel like some of what I am doing is worthwhile. The special School i loved. It was my best experience so far. The children delight in our presence and there are only 12 in a classroom which means you can actually interact with each of the kids on a personal level. I'm definitely going back there because it was such a rewarding experience.

A family of -isms: sexism, chauvinism, racism and homophobia

The biggest culture shock for me here in Ghana has been the blindingly overt disparity between male and female and black and white. Racial discrimination is a trend that humanity has carried all throughout history, yet in Australia we are taught to strive for equality and to quell prejudice, even if it still exists in some form or another. In Africa blatant racism is a page that has not yet been overturned. People in the street, especially children call us Oboroni, street sellers give us higher prices, and the wrong change. Overall we are treated very differently. You have to watch where a taxi is taking you, and how much it will charge you simply for the fact that you're white, you have to sift through your chnage to ensure that you haven't been swindled simply because you are white. It is a disappointing tale because almost every non-black person in this area is volunteering. Offering up, at great monetary and personal costs their time, their effort, and their compassion and yet we are discriminated against so obviously. The worst part of it all though is that they don't understand that they are even being racist, it is just the way they have been broguht up and the way that they do things. Yet, if I was at work at Coles and decided to give a black person a higher price their would be outrage, if i called out to people in the street Black person I would be condemened by the public. Here it isn't just accepted, it's expected. (It's ironic in a way, because i'm almost finished reading To Kill a Mockingbird. It seems racism is an exponential story with no real end)

A woman's duty is the household- the cooking, the washing, the up keep- does not seem like such a funny joke anymore. At home it is merely a funny line that is not taken so seriously, but here it is a reality. I see it everyday as boys run about having fun, a girl of no older than 11 scurries about carrying the burdens of an adult. Men expect women to cook, to clean, to do dishes and raise the babies. Its such a surreal experience to witness firsthand the opression of women that I have never felt. Feminists in Australia who fight against female oppression really need to come stand in African shoes before they raise their voices about equal pay.

Homophobia is rife: it is illegal to be gay here and the persecution you suffer if you're suspected of homosexuality is brutal.

When I sit here thinking about the world, I see it differently. Because experiencing and feeling a culture so diverse from your own can really rock you identity. I have always held a cynical outlook on humanity, anybody who knows me knows that. Yet, I've always had a romanitc side that values the notion of equality, compassion, freedom and the ideal of change. Such ideals i have so readily taken for granted yet the fight for them may never actually be won. I don't expect to change the world, this country, this community or these people, but I hope one day they might look to change themselves. I've never believed that an external hand can orchestrate change, because that inevitably causes more problems than it can ever solve, but I still like to believe that people from within can change the way things are and the way things work.

First Weekend

Ahh so after a long, strenuous week of volunteering I ended my weekend with some interesting traveling. Kokrobite was the destination and it was quite an experience. On a tro-tro, which is a buslike contraption that crams 24-30 people depending on how daring the driver is into a regular sized van, it took about 3 and a half hours. But it was so worth it. We stayed in a quaint hotel that was run by a spanish couple and blessedly had running water and flushing toilets. It was a great spot, with amazing food and even better drinks. The only bad thing was the drone of mozzies that ravaged my legs of any blood they could. Yet, i'm still malaria free- for now.

The real highlight of this weekend was the people. The rastafarians are an intriguing lot and as fun as they are I think I can only really handle them in small doses. "Cool like coke, fly like fanta and chilling like chicken", along with, "i'm sweating like a pregnant fish" and strange inventions like the mosquito dance are just a few of the repeated lines that the rastas use. One thing to point out before i go any further is that Ghanian males love women. In fact, the only way to adequately describe males in Ghana (and this is 95% of the guys) is that they are as persistent and irksome as that smarmy guy in a club that you just can't seem to avoid. The rastas are exactly the same. There were maybe 2 rastas on the whole trip who didn't hit on me, consequently thwey ended up being my favourite ones. The rastas use lines like, "you have a beautiful spirit," "our spirits are linked," and "black and white go well together- like a piano". These lines I heard all weekend. "Are you shy, don't be shy," Kofi asked me several times because he clearly mistook my disinterest and disdain for meekness. Martin, another rasta spent all of sunday calling me his emporess which was sad because before that I quite like talking to him. Now, you might be curious as to why I would have enjoyed a weekend with rasta's when they are equally creepy as the usual guys, and the answer is because they're rastas! When you smoke as much weed as they do (their eyes are like saucers), dance as crazily as they do, have dreds and play drums you can be forgiven for being sleazy.

The beach was also amazing. The water was refreshing from the heat and the riptides were so strong. Two of the girls I went with got caught in one and had to be rescued by rastas. There are urchin children that litter the beaches and just come and plop down next to you waiting for you to take their picture or even just smile at them. Big canoe, boat type things line up across the sand. All in all its an amazing view. (i hope to get pics up in the next week or so)

We were late coming home though on Sunday evening and were running from station to station tryin g to find a tro home. After eventually finding one we collapsed at home, resigned to another week of working. To be honest, I really wasn't looking forward to going to the daycare centre because I was a bit despondent that our work wasn't really helping anybody. As much as I enjoy the children, playing and cuddling them, its not really constructive and they would manage easily enough without my presence. But today I went to the creche room at the daycare (which is babies-11month-olds) and really enjoyed myself. It was much more looking after the kids than it was in the other class. I have the food all over my pants to prove it too! It took me an hour and a half to get one boy to sleep because every time he drifted off and I went to put him down his eyes woul pop open and his grip would tighten and I would have to do it all over again. Tomorrow, we are going to do a teeth brushing workshop and on wednesday I'll be going to the orphanage to help out which should be a more rewarding experience.

This is Africa

I tried to upload some pictures but my computer didn't like it. I suppose you will have to wait until I am back in Adelaide to see the photos. Today though I'm going to talk a little bit about my placement in Care at Ghana.

My experience at the child care centre has been both enlightening and disheartening. The children are definitely the upside of the work, while the attitudes, teachers, methods and routines have been the downside. Each day we change the children's clothes once in the morning and again in the afternoon, they are told to sit down and they are kept quiet. Then for about a half an hour to an hour the teachers say the same rhymes to the children, and the children repeat them. At snack time the teachers take half of the students snacks and eat it while the child only gets a small portion of the food their parent has packed for them. They also promise the children if they behave that they will give them lollies or chocolate which they never do. The cane and smacking is used to discipline the kids. Some are treated favourably while others are constantly told off. All of the children and everybody on the street refers to us white volunteers as 'Obroni'- which I've been told means foreign or white. So the kids all call me auntie Obroni. The children are taught from a very young age the difference between white and black. For example, if I go to the markets I have to get Emmanuel to buy things for me because he would get it cheaper, and I would be given the Obroni price. But back to the kids. When they go to the toilet its deplorable. The boys stand in the shower and all pee, basically on their feet. The girls squat out back but when they pull down their pants they pee on their skirts and they don't wipe themselves. They NEVER wash their hands either. And nappy changing is similarly done- the babies nappies are taken off and replaced with no wiping or cleaning of the bottom. This means that all day I'm playing, holding and looking after children who are covering in their own excrement. But they dont know any better, it is the teachers who should be showing them some level of hygiene. If i could get them to not pee on themselves that would be a giant step forward. It is much the same for all the other volunteers too.

A lot of the teachers are also very childlike themselves. They don't help the children learn or play, but do their own thing and hang around with each other while the kids are left to their own devices. They eat in front of the children throughout the day, and make false promises of givng the kids toys or lollies if they behave- which is clearly wrong.

While, it's demoralising to come here and know that while I'm helping, anything I can do for the children is very limited by the ingrained behaviour that has been a legacy of this community long before I came. Other volunteers doing care are facing the same kinds of issues that I am, and are unhappy because rather than care we are ending up doing teaching. Yet, I am enjoying it. I'm slowly learning the names of the 26 children in my class and hopefully the kids are getting something from me being there. Even if it is just learning how to play and have fun becasue they dont seem to do that at the moment.

that is NOT a toilet

I'm up to my third day in Ghana and already i have learned a lot. One of my first and hardest lessons was that of the 'toilet'. In Akuapem Hills a toilet is merely a longdrop encased in a brick conclave with an old toilet seat placed on the top. By the toilet is a box to place the used toilet paper. It smells horrendous and the only way i can cope with going to the toilet is breathing through my mouth and holding my breath. I now try desperately to withhold any expulsions as long as i possibly can to avoid the bathroom.

A second tribulation over here is the driving. My first car ride i was so so sick and i thought surely it was the poor combination of weather, crowds and fumes. But I was wrong. On a drive today in a van with 12 people squeezed side by side, i felt desperately sick again. By the time we reached our destination I was choking back my nausea and quite literally struggling not to gag. The driving is erratic, the cars are cramped, seat belts are redundant and the roads are turbulent because of the uneven surface. My sickness wasn't helped by our destination. This place, I forget the name but it started with K, was the epitome of my imaginings of Africa. The throngs of people were easy to endure in comparison to the open sewerage along the roads that permeated the streets with an ungodly stench.

Another bad thing, to get them out of the way now, is the invasion of personal space by the locals. A lot of the males come up and give you adoring epitaphs which might be flattering if they weren't so damn creepy.

However, these are the most confronting of my experiences. Ultimately these first few days have been really easygoing. I have five other volunteers at my house (one other aussie), along with my five person host family and a smattering of other relatives in the house. The kids: Emmanuel, Hannah and Samuel, are a lot of fun. Emmanuel was heartily disappointed by my lack of rap, hip hop and RnB but found that he enjoyed La Roux which could be heard being hummed for a good three hours last night. Tomorrow, I start my first day at the daycare centre which will be daunting and exciting.

The food is a lot less challenging than I had anticipated. Chicken and rice, bread and eggs is the very crux of the food situation. It is what we are always given, I am told by everyone. I imagine the monotony of repition will become tedious after a while but for now I am relived to be eating food that won't turn my stomach. In the place I went today I tried a rice bean dish with fish on the side. It was ok, but I'd definitely prefer some KFC. There is a fruit that is a cross between a lemon and an orange which is pretty good and I'm loving the pineapple when we have it. Showering with a bucket was simple and because it's so hot i don't mind that water is cold. Although, at night time its not fun to do. Sleeping inside a mosquito net isn't as confining as i thought it would be either. In fact, i barely notice it.

My body clock over here is diametrically opposed to the one I had back in Adelaide. I wake up super early because of the roosters and chickens that are crowing and making noise at 5.30am. But work starts early anyway and I can go to bed early because there isn't much to do at home at night.

Well, until next time.

and here I am...

It is my first day in Africa and the second of my travels. I have trekked quite a while to reach a small pod of computers with internet access, just to ensure that my mum doesn't worry too much about me.

The flight was really, really long. Especially when you're left to dwell on your own thoughts. I was smooshed between strangers from Adelaide to Melbourne, from Melbourne to Dubai and from Dubai to Accra. While I did manage to sleep it was broken and uncomfortable as both of my armrests were commandeered by the people confining me. I didn't get ill on the plane and as of yet I have no DVTs, which is I am told a very good thing. The car ride from the airport to my host family, however, made my head spin and my tummy tumble and I feared my food might make a reappearance. There are so many people in the capital city and its quite hot. The heady mixture of sweltering temperatures, exhaust fumes and crowds of beggars and sellers crowding the car was just a bit overwhelming. Yet after two hours of driving and a gallant effort on my part all remained well and I arrived to meet my host family.

I'm staying in a room with 2 other volunteers. Thankfully, the place is much less rudimentary than I'd imagined. Of course there is no running water or electricity but there is an actual semi-toilet and an enclosed space for me and my bucket to have some privacy.

On the walk up here I did observe the glaring contrasts between home and here. I'm not used to stray animal- chickens, goats, cows to household pets- littering the streets. I'm even less used to the piles upon piles of people that swelled along the roads. There are stalls everywhere, with people trying to see you everything from super glue to sugary drinks. As we left the airport a woman in a wheelchair begged persistently and creepily into my side window, and it took all my effort to say no and look ahead. An experience that I must get used to as it will be very common.

Not much else has happened so until next time, adios.

The Beginning

I'm iniating this blog for the sole purpose of recording my ramblings and wonderings for my friends and family when I travel to the faraway land of Africa.

The trip is fast approaching now. Only three weeks away. If you were hoping for some insightful, or witty commentary on life then this probably isn't the blog for you. Instead, I'll update you on my experiences of no running water, electricity and most importantly you guys.

So, I thought I may as well begin the ramblings now.

The lead up to this journey has been extensive, exhilerating and exhausting. (Nothing like a little bit of alliteration to brighten up a sentence) It has taken hours upon hours of organisation, time and money. At this very moment when I think about going away I am both terrified and excited. I've never been overseas before, so being the smart chickadee that I am, I decided to start of nice and simply with a devloping country on the other side of the world. Why Africa and why now you ask? I can't really explain it, but there is something within me that has always wanted to make a difference. A cliche, I know. The realist in me knows that grand sweeping gestures to save the world will inevitably fail. But the romantic in me believes that if I can help, or improve at least one person's life then that will be enough of a difference for me.

And now, I wait a couple of more weeks and that's when this shit gets real.