Among Friends

Yesterday I realized how true is the quote on the back of my high school sophomore class t-shirt:

“Turns out not where you are but who you’re with that really matters”

Christina, the Ghanaian girl in the room adjacent to our common bathroom visited Lesego and me yesterday morning to ask us if we wanted to go to church.  I had been meaning to see what churches here were like for the past couple of weeks- there are several on campus.  We went to the Legon Interdenominational Church, which was an interesting experience (I will elaborate in a later post).  It also took up all of the morning.

The rainy day led us to read in our room during the afternoon and eventually brought us to the decision that we needed to leave campus and go somewhere fun for dinner.  The problem is neither of us knows anywhere to go or how to get there.  Then I remembered Christina did her undergrad at the University of Ghana and is a perfect person to ask.  She was finishing a bowl of fufu when I called her, but she said she would come back to the room and talk with us.  

Christina has a big personality.  And I mean HUGE.

She and Harrison, her friend from Cameroon, decided to come out with Lesego, Sharon, and me to a place in East Legon.  She took shotgun in the taxi and proceeded to talk with the driver as if she had known him her whole life.  When he said he wanted 7 cedis, she turns to him, eyes bulged and goofily says “7 cediiis?” and shakes his shoulders.  Then she tells the radio to shut up as she turns it down, looks at him and goes, “6” then keeps dancing to the radio, which she had turned back up.  The four of us were dying in the back seat.

The chop and grill place had live entertainment all night long! It was exactly what we were looking for.  First, there were acrobats who ate fire and glass and frolicked around. Then there was the “cowboy” who sang a series of country songs.  Eventually a band came out and we danced for a good 2 hours by our table.  

                                  A little glass-eating at dinner

Really danced.  I hadn’t sweat so much since I got here.  Lesego and I got to practice some of the salsa moves we learned from a class we’re taking. 

                             Sharing a dance with Harrison, Christina, and Sharon

As Christina said in the taxi on the way back, “I have not laughed so genuinely for so long!”  Her voice is a bit hoarse today.  Apparently my dance moves really surprised her.  Lesego said, “Don’t hate me, but we tend to think white people can’t dance.” I guess that’s a pretty reasonable stereotype. Whatever.

It was such a light-hearted Sunday evening. I feel like I belong here because I am with good people. That is all you can ask for.

Learning From my Host Family: Language in Ghana

Rotarian Fredi and Rotarian Emma have proven to be wonderful host parents.  They could not being doing a better job of taking care of me and providing a home away from home.  Living in West Legon, Fredi and Emma's house is only a 10-minute drive from campus so they pick me up a few times a week for dinner.  Emma has even said I can just go to the house any time I want.  If only addresses were used here because I still could not explain their location to a taxi driver.

It’s nice having a reliable reference for my questions regarding Ghanaian culture and traditions.  For instance, I could not tell if the family only spoke English when I was around in order to be polite.  Sometimes their accents make it sound like they are talking in Twi.  I asked Emma about it.  She said they only speak English at home, which I was not expecting at all.  In fact, the children are not fluent in Twi; she and Fredi used to speak it when they did not want the children to know what they were saying.  Now however, the kids have picked up too much Twi for that. 

I am still curious how English is viewed in Ghana.  I can’t help but wonder if it is pretentious, for business people, for foreigners, for the educated-or maybe it’s just for anyone- if it is only taught in school or can be picked up from daily life, and if there are hybrids of English and Twi.  Sometime I will ask Emma and Fredi. 

There are certainly different “degrees” of Ghanaian accents.  It’s always a debate whether you should ask a person to repeat himself three times and risk looking foolish or answer the question you think was asked… and risk looking foolish.  Of course, sometimes it is like that back home as well (I’m looking at you, mumblers :P ). My lectures are for the most part understandable, though a few professors have their moments.

The two words I hear the most: “Akwaaba!” (welcome) and “Obruni!” (white girl).

Dealing With Money

 The main unit of currency in Ghana is the cedi (pronounced “seedy”).  One US dollar is equivalent to about 1.5 cedis, and while I’m a math nerd and like to convert down to the cent, it’s also very tempting to think everything is a good deal because the price in dollars is always less than the listed amount in cedis.  Likewise, it’s tempting to think that because this is a developing country everything is cheap.  Lately however, I have begun to realize that is just not the case.  I’m shocked that shampoo costs about $7 or a frozen popcicle is $2.  

The trick is to go to markets to get materials, but then again it is a very difficult endeavor to bargain when you are white.  Yesterday, I went with a classmate, Hannah, to Central Accra market; several times she would talk to the vendor to get the price of something she needed then turn around and walk away.  Apparently they “see me with a white lady and raise the price.”  Whoops, sorry about that. I wasn’t even the one asking or buying. I have no problem bargaining, but you need a general idea of how much something should cost before you can do that.  

Central Accra Market was a world of its own.  This huge outdoor market has everything you would ever need (or not need).  Even though it was a Monday, the place was packed.  Think of driving in Dehli or the traffic jam around l’Arc de Triumph.  It was like that… but with people.  Hannah was walking very fast in front of me, and I was struggling to follow.  Not only do you need to look down because the ground is made of stochastically-placed stone in concrete and there are deep cement gutters lining all the roadsides; you also need to watch your head for the platters full of fruit or soap or fabrics that women carry on their heads.  Not to mention I also needed to keep an eye on Hannah so I wouldn’t lose her.  It is necessary to thrust your body in front of people or basically cut them off to get anywhere. And you learn not to feel bad about it. 

When leaving the market, we thought it would be easiest to get a taxi. I stood a bit distant so as not to be seen. Hannah finally found one that would take 6 cedis, for two people she specified.  Once we got in, they started talking in Twi and after a few minutes she turned to me and said, “Get out. This man wants to cheat us.”  Apparently he raised the price to 8 cedis, (which was only a little over a dollar more) but the fact that he changed the price after it was negotiated solely on the basis that I was white was unacceptable. 

My roommate Lesego and I were discussing the observation that things here all seem so expensive.  We agreed that public transportation was the one relatively cheap commodity.  There are loads of “tro-tro’s” that travel back and forth along the roads of Accra.  These are small bus/large van type vehicles manned by the driver and the “mate.”  They pull over to the side of the road wherever there is a crowd of people waiting, the mate shouts out the direction or destination, and then people hop in or out of the vehicle. Trust me, these hot crowded vans are not the most comfortable mode of transportation, but they only cost about 40 pesewas (cents).

Lesego and I took a tro-tro to Madina Market today so we could get cooking materials.  Though our hostel has a kitchen, it provides nothing beyond a sink.  For 20 cedis we got a rice cooker; for 35 cedis we got a hot-plate; and for 21 cedis we got a pot and a frying pan.  I sort of feel that we got ripped off, but we did have a Ghanain with us.  Lesego is from Botswana, so once she talks, she gives herself away. When we were walking to the tro-tro, I told her to put on her mean face so that she could be in charge of bargaining.  She turned to me and said, “That is not a good price!” then starts dying of laughter.  At 5’5” and maybe 115 lbs, her stature does not provide the most intimidating confrontation.

             The picture above is the outside of Madina Market.  It gets much more packed inside.

On the way back from the market, we bought a grilled plantain for 40 pesewas. Usually everything is fried here, so we jumped on the opportunity.  We got this one from a market on campus where apparently they use old test papers to distribute their plantain. It gave us a laugh.  Hopefully now we can start cooking for ourselves because we have been buying almost all of our meals at cafeterias around campus.  Though meals are only a few dollars each, that will start to add up.

It’s nice that Lesego and I are able to share a lot of things.  We are comfortable enough that sometimes she will buy a meal and share it or vice versa, and sometimes we’ll pay for the other’s transportation.  It’s great because neither one of us ever “keeps score.”

true initiation: a trip to the hospital

Last Friday was the first day that I actually missed home.  And know what did me in?

Strep throat.

While I was sitting in the hospital waiting for the registrar from the University’s International Programs Office to figure everything out, I realized that down the road I would probably appreciate this ordeal for the cultural experience it provided, but at the moment, I was in no state to be thinking about anything other than pain.  I was pulled from room to room only to wait outside a closed door while administrative processes were taken care of… at least I assume that’s what was going on.  Alone, I honestly would have had no idea where to go or how to see any sort of doctor.  The hospital was slightly reminiscent of a motel.  All the unlabeled rooms were connected to an outdoor waiting area, which was full of people.

I did feel a bit silly there- the only white girl- needing drugs for a silly throat ache.   Other women sat calmly, crying baby in their arms, wrapped in beautiful African print.  There were probably worse cases sitting on those waiting benches (malaria here is as common as our flu back home), and I couldn’t help but feel like I was taking time from them.  Then again, that also seems presumptuous of me.  Do I actually feel like everyone in the “third world” is worse off than me or was I merely trained to think like that?  Nevertheless, the hospital indeed felt different than anything I’ve known: the smell of antiseptic, the wood benches perched outside a room of three nurses checking patients’ temperatures right next to each other.  I couldn’t help but think of my car taking me to a nice air-conditioned building where I would merely confirm my insurance, sit in a comfy chair in a carpeted room full of the latest magazines, and wait for a smiling nurse to promptly call my name. 

I have moved into a graduate hostel and am rooming with a wonderful person from Botswana.  Lesego (luh-say-ho) is doing a two-year master’s in food science.  I could tell we would get along when she asked the woman at the bank for an extra Werther’s Original for me because I was patiently waiting for her.  I could tell we would be friends when she called me at the hospital and asked if she could come wait with me.  We laugh a lot so I know it will be a good friendship. People at the International Programs Office are nice, but it’s even more comforting to know that a peer has your back.  

Today was the first day of classes.  Even though all the students know the professors don’t view the real first day to be until next week, we still had to show up and wait a good 30-45 minutes just to make sure.  I’m so used to Lawrence where professors scrounge for every minute.  It just seems a little funny.  In all honesty, I would love nothing more than to start classes and feel like my life is getting going.  Right now it seems like I’m on some weird non-traveling, non-sight-seeing vacation. Finally unpacked my suitcase today even though they are going to move us to the building next door sometime in the “near future.” I’m aware that Ghanaian time is different, but I’m still trying to get a feel for exactly how much.

Getting Settled

Wow, is it ever difficult to be culturally sensitive.   Sensitive is not really the right word, though… moreso aware.  For example, don’t raise your left hand, shake hands with the left, eat with the left, or give a thumbs up with the left.  Supposedly, it’s the hand that does dirty work, so you do not use it when dealing with people you respect. That’s going to be a tricky one to remember.

The first couple days here reminded me of what it feels like to be a middle schooler.  How are you supposed to force making friends?  It took a long time for me to leave my temporary single room in the International Students Hostel and go eat breakfast in a crowd of white kids.  It is interesting- I would feel more comfortable NOT sitting with a bunch of white kids because it is my duty to be an ambassador- not to mention I don’t like being just one of the “bunch”.  But the thing is, these international students are from Germany, Canada, Norway, and the Czech Republic.  Staying true to the theme of this blog, it is just as valuable to learn about the perspectives of these students – to hear of their expectations, their reasons for choosing Ghana, their thoughts so far- as it is to cultivate your own.  I know with time I will meet many Ghanaians and feel more immersed in the culture.

I have spent the past few evenings at my host family’s house for dinner.  They have a large, beautiful house that has seen 7 children throughout the years.  What I have enjoyed most so far is bonding with the women.  In Sierra Leone, I really missed learning about what it was like to be an African woman.  Only hearing stories from young men does not provide the best perspective.  The women seemed almost lost in that country, and it made me sad.  I am moving soon to the graduate hostel, so hopefully a Ghanaian roommate will only add to my experience.  I have already talked with my host family about music, books, and movies, and they are entirely familiar with almost everything I mention.  They like to watch movies just as much as I do and have way more than I own.  It’s funny how you can think cultures are so different, but somehow they share common themes. Then again, there are several ways of living within any country, be it Ghana or the US.  I’m sure there are Ghanaians who do not have over 100 movies on their computer…

You know how parents always tell kids to wear sunscreen even when it’s cloudy because the UV rays will still hit you?  Well that’s even more the case near the equator.

I keep telling myself the words that the Dean of International Programmes stated at an orientation for international students:  “You knew coming here that this is Ghana.  This is a developing country.  It is your responsibility to represent this University well.  Do not focus your conversations with your friends and family on the fact that there is no warm water, that the electricity goes out from time to time, that there is unreliable internet.  You knew that coming here.”

While I have no problems with cold water and minimal working technology, I do find it stressful when there is a lack of information on how to register for classes, on how to bank, or on whom to talk with in order to get anything accomplished. 

I knew all this ahead of time as well, but it doesn’t make the process any easier.

It is almost vital to have a Ghanaian help you out with logistics.  Thankfully, the assistant Registrar at the International Programmes office has been taking good care of me, since “Ghanaians take care of friends,” as he says.  He has helped me get help at the accountant’s office, dorms, banks, and the graduate school.  Trust me, it is not easy to find out who you need to talk to or what form you need or where you can get that form... especially when almost every building is packed with people and it is always far from obvious who is the one in charge.  Today alone, I walked about 4 miles back and forth all over campus to sort out registration.  Everything always tends to work out though, so it should be fine.

I had my first “embarrassed to be an American” moment last weekend.  At a dinner with the Dean of International Programmes, a representative from each country was given a minute to tell the rest of the students some background on his or her respective country.  Three New Jersey girls (of mixed ethnicities mind you) stood up and stated that the US had none of the strict traditions or rules that the Norwegians just mentioned.  In the US, you can pretty much do what you want. When asked why they chose to study abroad in Ghana, they explained: “Our school offered only a few different exchange programs, so there was either South Africa, which really isn’t Africa, or Ghana.  So we’re here.”  Then they proceeded to finish with “Basically, the US is the bomb!!”

 I don’t counter them by telling people how nice and wonderful the US actually is; I contradict them by just being myself.