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.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, July 26, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, July 19, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, July 12, 2010
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, July 5, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
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 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.
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