Ever since I came here I have been discovering new things that I never thought I would miss. There are the obvious ones like hot showers and washing machines. Things like the creature comforts of American food in general, and cheese specifically. Then there is the great comfort that I've grudgingly admitted to missing. With a mix of resignation and a little shame, I'll admit I miss my t.v. Yes that giant box of wasteful electricity that contributes nothing but the oh so welcome opportunity to shut off my brain for a while. My inner environmentalist hates me, but he'll get over it. This whole adjustment has made me re-examine the guilty pleasures. Things like driving and watching television may be wasteful, but they are so darn nice it's really hard not to miss them.
When I first came here I was really excited to declutter my life and live on a more environmentally sustainable level. It still brings me pride when I look around my room and realize that I was able to reduce all my stuff into two checked bags and a carry on. However, it has also shown me that I like my stuff. There are a few items that I brought with me that make me smile simply because I own them and they are nice. Living out here has shown me the true value things. Not just the important immaterial ones, but the less important material comforts too. The weird thing that comes with the realization of missing my stuff or the ability to get more stuff, is the acceptance of this. Maybe I'm a little more desirous of the consumer culture than I thought. I really miss amazon. Everything I could possibly want was a click away. Now, well, the market is nothing if not more interactive. Basically, I've learned that I do miss the things that made my life easier on a substantial level. Once I get back to civilization I will appreciate those things more and I think that's a good.
All my romantic notions of living a simple life have come face to face with the reality of living in a small undeveloped farming community. Life out here is rough. What makes it harder sometimes is that they know it. Ghanians know that there is a better (or easier) way to do things and they want a piece of the pie. Who are we to say that they shouldn't have it? It would be entirely hypocritical of me to say to a Ghanian, Well you can't have a t.v. because it's bad for the environment, but I'm too used it by now so I need one". Growing up in the rich suburbs of Boston makes it easy to see the wasteful side of development. However, as a Peace Corps Volunteer I've lost the luxury of being jaded. Here, they need development and it would be a good thing. We have the opportunity to start at the ground level and do it right. We need to develop a mentality of conservation before habits of excess consumption start taking hold. Furthermore, it could be argued that it is up to the developed countries to find a better way to have all our conveniences. You can't tell an American to throw out their washing machine and wash their clothes by hand, anymore than you can tell a Ghanian to stop dreaming about one. Conveniences are not necessarily bad in and of themselves, but we need to smart about them. Americans always find a way to have their cake and eat it too, so this shouldn't be any different.
While Ghana's technology may be behind, the modern culture of consumerism is in full force. Every purchase whether at a roadside veggie stand or in a store, comes with a black plastic bag. The majority of these end up tossed on the ground. The only means of disposal is sweeping up the trash and burning it. While this certainly hurts the atmosphere, I can't say for certain whether filling up landfills is a better option in the long run. Burn it now, or let it sit in a hole for eternity. There has to be a better way out there.
A lot of Ghanains looks to America as a country that has it all. When I talk to some of them, it's like I'm on Ellis Island talking to immigrants who came to America to find a better life. To them, America is still the land of opportunity. While we may scoff at the reality, it's still a testament to the image that the United States has in the rest of the world. The spirit that brought our ancestors to settle America is still alive. While the phrase "Living the dream" is often accompanied with a sardonic grin among my friends, the fact is that, in America, we are living the dream. It might be a Ghanian's dream, but it's a dream nonetheless. It really makes me appreciate the fact that when I go back, I'm going to have it made. That's a powerful realization. In a way, Ghanains have taught me to dream again. They are still dreaming despite the harsh realities they face everyday. It keeps them going. That's what dreams are supposed to do, and I'm incredibly lucky that I get to live them out.
Friday, February 15, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
The Tallest of the Small Boys
First and foremost, a belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I had the odd pleasure of spending Christmas time in the 80 degree savanna where it was completely devoid of snow, cold, shopping malls, commercials, Santa and all other things a New Englander relates to Christmas. However, I was not pining too much as mother was kind enough to send me a miniature Christmas tree and an elf nutcracker. The Ghanians found this a source of great amusement and dubbed the elf "my baby". Best of all the decorations came with an entire box shipped from home full of Christmas presents. Not to mention home made brownies (baked with love) which were a delight to me and my compatriots. It took all the self control I have but I managed to hold off opening the presents until the 25th, and it was well worth the wait.
Despite the decorations, it still didn't feel like Christmas. The fact that on Christmas Eve Day I was able to take a hike and climb a tree was enjoyable, yet very, very odd. Worst of all was the lack of family and pangs of homesickness really hit me. More than ever I felt lost in a culture and place that was absolutely foreign. However, I soon realized that I did have a family in Ghana. There was a whole group of people willing to accept me simply because I was one of them. Thus, Christmas day found me traveling to the Peace Corps sub-office in Tamale. The journey there provided a wonderful opportunity to replace my homesickness with an entirely new set of troubles.
One of the main forms of transportation in Ghana is through the use of tro-tros. Vans in various states of disrepair are crammed full of passengers and cargo and briskly transported to their desired location. Thus, what would be a 12 passenger van in the U.S. becomes a 21 passenger van (with the tro-tro collection agent hanging out the sliding door) plus a handful of small children. Needless to say, they're cheap.
The tro I picked up to Tamale was loaded with 50 kilo bags of maize (corn) and a few people strategically crushed in amongst them. I was given the seat of honor up front next to the driver. The tro took off and much to my unsurprised the right rear wheel was having some issues. It might have been the shocks too, since upon swerving around every pot hole (trust me, there are a few) I could hear the comforting sound of metal grinding against metal. Just like sleigh bells. The whole tro rocked back and forth causing a surge of . . . excitement to course through me. Eventually the tire blew (surprise, surprise) after a particularly rough stretch or road. So out hopped the driver with a jack and he threw on the spare. As we were clamoring aboard, I heard a gentleman behind me exclaim, "White Man, Merry X-Mas!" Upon turning to discover the user of such a contextually peculiar phrase, I was faced with a smile and a bottle of black anise schnapps. "Drink" extolled the friendly Ghanian. Upon briefly considering the ride the ride I had just experienced, I gladly took a swig. Hopping back into the front seat I felt slightly more fortified for what was to come. Blowing the tire ended up being a good thing, as the ride markedly improved. However, upon stopping to let a passenger out, the tro proceeded to roll backwards once the driver left the van. This issue was solved by the passenger sitting next to me as he reached his foot over onto the brake. How the driver actually parks his tro, I haven't the foggiest. Eventually we all made it one piece to Tamale. It was truly a Christmas miracle. Here would be a good place to apologize to my mother for the next two years of even more anxiety, but that story is way to good to keep hidden for that long.
Anyways, I found my way to the sub-office, donned my home-made reindeer costume and had a lovely time. We swapped two yards (colorfully printed fabric popular across Ghana) ate lots of food, sang Christmas carols at the neighboring houses and had a general good time. It was nice to have that mutual, unspoken understanding between the volunteers who understand what it's like to be so far away from the familiar.
I spent New Year back in Toronyilli. My counterpart (the Ghanian who acts as a local guide and close advisor) provided me with a bottle of pito (a beverage made out of fermented millet). After weighing out bags of maize (never done that on New Year) Yusif (my cp) and I sat down to enjoy our beverage and I thought we were going to have a nice night counting down the New Year together. However, he left me at 10:30.
I sat in my room in near darkness, finding the mood rather depressing. Soon, I heard the voice of Yusif talking to the other men outside. I realized that I could either sulk in my room, or make the most of it. Since I didn't want to celebrate alone, and I certainly didn't want to drink alone, I brought the rest of my libation out to the group who were much amused and thankful. Even so, they all retired before midnight leaving me to count down the last seconds of 2012 with a chicken as my closest companion. The comfortably cool night air was filled with the sounds of goats, ducks, chickens, insects and people settling down to sleep. I could almost see the spirits of my ancestors standing in the clumps of tall, pale grass in the fields. As much as I was alone, I was surrounded by life. This energy filled me with an undeniable sense of how fitting this moment was. I will be isolated during my time out here, but that will chisel out a more independent nature. My perceptions and results of my experience here depend entirely on me. All the tools I need are around me and inside of me. When I am stuck, I can always reach out to the villagers and the PC support network
My rumination upon the present surroundings eventually turned towards anticipation of the future; what the village needs and how I will help them. I thought about the fields I had worked in the past week and how, come sunset, Yusif would send me home with the "small boys", the group of elementary school aged children that went out with us to the farm. Those twilight walks came back to me as I watched the moon and stars rotate their way towards a new year. I realized that I am in a lot of ways a child in this new country. I have much to learn about its people and land. Like an infant, I am learning the language through listening. My tongue fumbles and stutters over unfamiliar letters as I parrot what enters my ears. Like a child, the best is yet to come, and the answers that I seek will be revealed in good time. The wonder and excitement of exploring a new environment and diverse culture renews sophomoric curiosity. I count down the last seconds to midnight and rise to face the new year; the tallest of the small boys.
Despite the decorations, it still didn't feel like Christmas. The fact that on Christmas Eve Day I was able to take a hike and climb a tree was enjoyable, yet very, very odd. Worst of all was the lack of family and pangs of homesickness really hit me. More than ever I felt lost in a culture and place that was absolutely foreign. However, I soon realized that I did have a family in Ghana. There was a whole group of people willing to accept me simply because I was one of them. Thus, Christmas day found me traveling to the Peace Corps sub-office in Tamale. The journey there provided a wonderful opportunity to replace my homesickness with an entirely new set of troubles.
One of the main forms of transportation in Ghana is through the use of tro-tros. Vans in various states of disrepair are crammed full of passengers and cargo and briskly transported to their desired location. Thus, what would be a 12 passenger van in the U.S. becomes a 21 passenger van (with the tro-tro collection agent hanging out the sliding door) plus a handful of small children. Needless to say, they're cheap.
The tro I picked up to Tamale was loaded with 50 kilo bags of maize (corn) and a few people strategically crushed in amongst them. I was given the seat of honor up front next to the driver. The tro took off and much to my unsurprised the right rear wheel was having some issues. It might have been the shocks too, since upon swerving around every pot hole (trust me, there are a few) I could hear the comforting sound of metal grinding against metal. Just like sleigh bells. The whole tro rocked back and forth causing a surge of . . . excitement to course through me. Eventually the tire blew (surprise, surprise) after a particularly rough stretch or road. So out hopped the driver with a jack and he threw on the spare. As we were clamoring aboard, I heard a gentleman behind me exclaim, "White Man, Merry X-Mas!" Upon turning to discover the user of such a contextually peculiar phrase, I was faced with a smile and a bottle of black anise schnapps. "Drink" extolled the friendly Ghanian. Upon briefly considering the ride the ride I had just experienced, I gladly took a swig. Hopping back into the front seat I felt slightly more fortified for what was to come. Blowing the tire ended up being a good thing, as the ride markedly improved. However, upon stopping to let a passenger out, the tro proceeded to roll backwards once the driver left the van. This issue was solved by the passenger sitting next to me as he reached his foot over onto the brake. How the driver actually parks his tro, I haven't the foggiest. Eventually we all made it one piece to Tamale. It was truly a Christmas miracle. Here would be a good place to apologize to my mother for the next two years of even more anxiety, but that story is way to good to keep hidden for that long.
Anyways, I found my way to the sub-office, donned my home-made reindeer costume and had a lovely time. We swapped two yards (colorfully printed fabric popular across Ghana) ate lots of food, sang Christmas carols at the neighboring houses and had a general good time. It was nice to have that mutual, unspoken understanding between the volunteers who understand what it's like to be so far away from the familiar.
I spent New Year back in Toronyilli. My counterpart (the Ghanian who acts as a local guide and close advisor) provided me with a bottle of pito (a beverage made out of fermented millet). After weighing out bags of maize (never done that on New Year) Yusif (my cp) and I sat down to enjoy our beverage and I thought we were going to have a nice night counting down the New Year together. However, he left me at 10:30.
I sat in my room in near darkness, finding the mood rather depressing. Soon, I heard the voice of Yusif talking to the other men outside. I realized that I could either sulk in my room, or make the most of it. Since I didn't want to celebrate alone, and I certainly didn't want to drink alone, I brought the rest of my libation out to the group who were much amused and thankful. Even so, they all retired before midnight leaving me to count down the last seconds of 2012 with a chicken as my closest companion. The comfortably cool night air was filled with the sounds of goats, ducks, chickens, insects and people settling down to sleep. I could almost see the spirits of my ancestors standing in the clumps of tall, pale grass in the fields. As much as I was alone, I was surrounded by life. This energy filled me with an undeniable sense of how fitting this moment was. I will be isolated during my time out here, but that will chisel out a more independent nature. My perceptions and results of my experience here depend entirely on me. All the tools I need are around me and inside of me. When I am stuck, I can always reach out to the villagers and the PC support network
My rumination upon the present surroundings eventually turned towards anticipation of the future; what the village needs and how I will help them. I thought about the fields I had worked in the past week and how, come sunset, Yusif would send me home with the "small boys", the group of elementary school aged children that went out with us to the farm. Those twilight walks came back to me as I watched the moon and stars rotate their way towards a new year. I realized that I am in a lot of ways a child in this new country. I have much to learn about its people and land. Like an infant, I am learning the language through listening. My tongue fumbles and stutters over unfamiliar letters as I parrot what enters my ears. Like a child, the best is yet to come, and the answers that I seek will be revealed in good time. The wonder and excitement of exploring a new environment and diverse culture renews sophomoric curiosity. I count down the last seconds to midnight and rise to face the new year; the tallest of the small boys.
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