Little Moments

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted; I’ve had a hard time thinking of things I want to write about. Today, however, I remembered something that they told us in our training in Toronto: There will be a point in your placement when things stop being crazy and totally new and start to become normal. Share these things! To someone who is not there, they are interesting. I guess this is true, only I will replace the common definition of the word ‘normal’ with ‘an acceptance that abnormal and totally strange when measured by Canadian standards’ is now the norm in your life.

And so, here is a collection of small anecdotes, of which the common theme is laughter. It seems that I bring a lot of laughter to Lawra. When I try to do things the Ghanaian way, they laugh. When I do things my way, they laugh. When I am just plain shocked about things, they laugh. When I get incredibly confused about things, they laugh.

Polys

There are many things in my mind that are being inseparably linked to the memories I’m forming of Ghana: the beep-beep of motos, the bleeting of goats, red dust, smell of charcoal fires and the omnipresence of the poly, a thin black plastic bag that more often than not, is near breaking point by the time you get home.

Last week I was out with several agric officers. It was a great day. Our district received funding to drill five automatic/pumped bore holes for irrigation/livestock purposes. The government funding covers 90% of the cost, while the beneficiary farmers are expected to cover the remaining 10%. I went around with the district officers as they delivered the good news to the farming communities that were selected (based on their current dedication to successful farming). After our first three communities, we stopped briefly in town briefly so they could pray at 1pm (a large portion of my office is Muslim), and to grab some lunch. Each lunch was packaged in a poly.

I watched as the first officer threw his bag out the truck window. Then then next officer. Then a few pure water sachets went out the window too. I wanted to say something, but I wanted to wait and see if the last one would do it. Out the bag went. I then commented that I was very disappointed in all of them for littering. Here we were driving down a beautiful rural road, and they all just threw garbage on the road. They explained to me how it was ok, that in a few months all this brush would burn and the garbage would go with it. They asked if there was not garbage on the ground in Canada. Ignoring what Toronto looked like during the garbage strike, I said not very often. In some of the bigger cities you will find garbage, but in many places in Canada, especially in rural areas you would be hard pressed to find any. And in our provincial and national parks, I think it it is even illegal to litter. They smiled at me politely. About twenty minutes later, one officer turned to me holding up his empty water sachet: “I’m going to throw this out the window, but remember, it’s ok, it will burn later.” Sigh …

A week later I was was being escorted home by two young boys. Ghanaians don’t like to see a white lady walking alone after dark, so a few always insist on walking me home. With some I insist I’ll be ok (it’s really not that far, and before 10pm my road is super busy, and I really don’t want you knowing where I live …), but I’ll usually cave if it’s children and let them walk me home. I was eating FanIce (an edible oil product/ice cream substitute) and when I finished I placed it back in its poly and rolled it up.  After walking for about 30 seconds one of them asked me if I was not going to throw it away, meaning, onto the ground. I responded that no, I couldn’t. I’m from Canada, and that means I can’t throw my garbage on the ground. They asked if I was going to carry it all the way home and put it in a bin. I said yes. And then I started thinking about what happens to the garbage I put into the bin outside my house. Children go through it looking for food or treasures, the wind might blow the lid off. Most of the time the garbage ends up strewn all over the ground anyway. Maybe I am fighting a battle I will never win, but at least I’m not actively throwing the garbage onto the ground.

Yes, I am Afraid of Fowl

This story takes place on the same agric bore-hole visit as the previous story. As we visit farmers, it is common to be given gifts of appreciation or tokens of commitment. The first community we visited, as a symbol of their commitment to paying the 10% of the cost, presented the director with a chicken. So, we tie up its feet, and one of the officers holds it while we travel on to the next community. We conducted our official visit, and this time were given a large bag of ground nuts. As I was stepping back into the truck, one officer was stepping into the truck on the other side, the side where the chicken was sitting. This scares the chicken who starts squawking and flapping towards me. Being the un-animal lover I am, I gave a small squeal and jumped backwards. Unfortunately, everyone saw and I was subsequently asked “are you afraid of fowl?” There was no point in denying it, my actions clearly showed it, so I stated, “Yes, I am afraid of fowl. I prefer them dead and on my plate.” After we were all settled in and on our journey, the teasing began.

One of the officers was kind enough to point out that I am also afraid of fish. “Remember when you almost wouldn’t get on my moto because we had a load of fish?”. Well, it’s not that I’m afraid of fish, it’s just that I can’t stomach the smell of them, and I don’t enjoy sharing my moto seat with them.

Later that week, we were visiting another area in preparation for Farmer’s Day and we were given two guinea fowl. In this instance, we were 6 passengers + driver in the cab of the truck, so I was precariously perched in the middle of the front. Behind me, two guinea fowl. At one point they flapped, despite being held upside down. Knowing that all eyes would be on me, I only jumped slightly when I felt the wing against my backside, and I continued to make a conscious effort to ignore the fowl for the remainder of the journey. (Although I was continually thinking ‘What if he wakes up and bites my butt?)

Jump to Stop

The brakes on my bicycle squeak really loud if I apply them too quickly. I suppose I could probably get them fixed, but I seem to have adopted a “use it until it is dead” approach to life here in Africa. I think this is in part due the fact I just don’t know where to get some things fixed, and sometimes get tired of asking questions. Thus, instead of always announcing my arrival, I have adopted a new style of disembarking from my bicycle. If I am going slow enough, and if I am wearing pants, I have discovered that I can just slow down and then jump off to the side. When my feet hit the ground, the bike stops. One morning I was going to the provisions store to buy some more phone units, and since I was happily just wearing jeans and a t-shirt I chose to apply my “jump to stop” technique. What I didn’t realize was that I had an audience.  (Well, when don’t I have an audience here?) Two girls who looked to be about my age were standing there, and broke into hysterics. The commented that the liked my style, and proceeded to re-enact it for me, laughing. I explained that hey, if I’m wearing pants, why not?!? I went into the store, made my purchase, and came out. As soon as they saw me emerge, the laughter started again. I shared this moment with them, and then proceeded onto work, laughing the whole way.

Two Legs

Agric Officer: “Good morning! How many lengths did you sleep last night?”

Elizabeth: (quickly rationalizing that lengths = hours) “Um … I’m not sure, 8 or 9 maybe.”

Agric Officer: “Are you sure?”

Elizabeth: “No, not really. I’m not really sure. I don’t usually keep track.”

Agric Officer: “I will ask again. How many lengths did you sleep?”

Elizabeth: “I honestly don’t know. What is the answer?”

Agric Officer: “It’s either two legs or four legs.”

Elizabeth: “Oh, legs, I heard lengths. But what does that mean?”

Agric Officer: “Four legs is when you have a boyfriend or a husband. Two legs is when you are alone. You said you didn’t know how many legs, what are you trying to tell me?”

Elizabeth: “Oh, two legs! Two legs! It is always two legs!”.

Agric Officer: Hysterical laughter.

He now asks me on a regular basis how many legs I slept. To which, I always reconfirm that it is just two.

1,000,000 Ghana Cedis

One Friday afternoon, not too long ago, I decided to help one of my friends harvest ground nuts. As we were chatting, I asked her where would she travel too if someone were to give her GHC 1,000,000. She responded that she wouldn’t travel anywhere, that she would stay right here in Lawra. The first thing she should do was to ensure that her four children had all their education paid for and had allowances set up so they would be taken care of. Once that was done, it was her responsibility to then make sure that the needs of her church we met. They need a building to meet in, and there are people in her congregation who could use some money.

We had spent some time talking about the differences between different countries and the areas of the world, so I really wanted to know where she would travel too. I changed the question a little: “Ok, the GHC1,000,000 took care of your children and church, and so they gave you another GHC200,000 to travel. Where would you go?”

She very emphatically stated to me again that she wouldn’t travel, asking me if there were so many people around her who’s life or salvation depended on just getting a little bit of money, or something that could be the result of her money, how could she be justified in spending money on the pleasure for only herself? I tried to press her a little bit more, but then gave up, realizing that perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here …

Greetings

A greeting is simply a short telephone conversations in which your Ghanaian friend will say hello and enquire how you are doing. When you start trying to engage them in a longer, deeper conversation, they will quickly cut you off, “I just wanted to greet you”.

They are showing they care about you by spending a few of their cell units to call you; in the beginning, I was thinking, why waste my time with a short, insignificant phone call.

After two months of still being somewhat baffled by this concept, this past weekend I decided to experiment. I went through my contact list and called several people, just to greet them. The end result? They were all very excited that I took the time to call them, and I actually ended up feeling pretty good about the evening too.

We live in a world where most communication occurs electronically: texts, email and Facebook. It somehow seems safer to not have to make that actual contact with the person, heaven forbid you might be required to have an actual conversation with them. I know that I am as guilty as any in this regards, especially if I have to ask for something.

Tonight, almost as if he knew I was going to be writing a short piece on greetings, John (not his real name) called to greet me and gave me one of the strangest greetings yet:

Me: Look at caller id. Read: John. Hmmm. Do i really want to answer this one? “Hello”

Caller: “Good evening”

Me: “How are you"?”

Caller: “Fine. It is fine. Are you sleeping?”

Me: Did I hear right? “Sorry?”

Caller: “Are you sleeping?”

Me: “No”

Caller: “Ok, fine. Tomorrow then?”

Me: “Are you …”

Caller: “Tomorrow.” Click.

I am left wonder what his “tomorrow” meant.

Possible Definition #1: “Later.“ As in “I’ll talk to you later”; tomorrow, being an ambiguous word describing any future time or date.

Possible Definition #2: I will call you tomorrow.

Possible Definition #3: I will see you tomorrow, potentially meaning he will stop by my house on his way to work to greet me (which is pretty much the same sort of conversation), which he sometimes does.