Journal Entry 28: Don't Try this at Home

The excitement never ended this weekend! After the canopy walk, we headed over to have lunch at another nice hotel. The hotel also has a crocodile lodge where you can feed and pet crocodiles—yes crocodiles. This wasn’t something I was too thrilled about. We walked over to an area where there were two crocodiles that seemed to be sedated for the most part. People began to take pictures with them, placing their hands on the rough pointy reptile skin. I touched the crocodile for about two seconds, for the simple fact that so many people had been messing with the crocodile that I was scared that I might be the last straw. (Of course, the fact that it started waking up, opening its eyes and stretching its arm had something to do with it too). Nonetheless, it got my adrenaline going. I felt like one of the crazy people on "The Crocodile Hunter". Now when I see them on television, I can say “Yea—been there, done that!”. 

Journal Entry 27: Walking the Plank

This trip to Ghana means more to me than simply a study abroad experience. It's also an opportunity for personal growth. One part of personal growth is overcoming your fears, which I chose to do on this day.  I dreaded this day before I even arrived in Ghana.  I’m afraid of heights. No—I’m terrified of heights. In the brochure, I had seen pictures of people walking along this long bridge made of rope, amongst high trees, and created my own terrifying mental picture. I imagined just how it would be. I would hold someone’s hand as they tried to calm me down and stop my crying, and then when it was all done I would cry even harder and recover from my anxiety attack.

Ghana taught me a lot about myself on this day. The time had come--we headed to Kakum National Park. We were hiking in the rainforest, climbing up, and up, and up. We finally reached the little enclosure where we waited to face our fate, as only seven people are allowed on the canopy at once. I realized that based on how the canopy was built you can’t have two people standing side by side. The only one that could hold my hands was the rope.  The director of my program went close behind me, sending me words of encouragement. Midway, he asked me to turn around to take a picture. I slowly turned around and gave an “I’m scared but I’m doing this!” expression. At first, all I could see was trees under me, so it wasn’t that bad. However, as I started getting further onto the bridge, I could see more open space beneath me, and I began to feel my legs and arms quivering, nearly about to give in. I shouted back to my director. “Kwasi—I’m getting scared now. I’m getting REALLY scared”. “You can do it--keep going!” he shouted from behind me. I was so panicked that I could barely hear all of the shouts from the other members of my exchange program saying “Yea, Zakiyyah! You can do it! Come on girl!” I tried to drown out the loud noise of fear and tune into their voices. After a while, their voices were not enough, so I used my own. I kept singing, and singing, and singing, and singing, “Lalala—ooohh” “Lalalala--ooh”. Considering my voice was shaking like crazy, it wasn’t the prettiest sound I’ve ever made, but it was certainly the most soothing for me at the time. Before I knew it, I was done, and my peers were clapping! Another lesson learned in Ghana: Courage isn’t the absence of fear, but the presence of fear with the will to go on.  After everything was finished, people went to collect their pictures, and make t-shirts that said “I survived the canopy walkway”. Unfortunately, they didn’t have enough material to make me a t-shirt, but you can bet I’ll be getting one in the U.S. It isn’t everyday you have an experience like this. I did it, and boy am I glad that I did!

Journal Entry 26: Honeymoon Spot

Our  Suite (Not the best picture, but it was too big to fit everything in!)

As the group checked in at the Coconut Grove Hotel in Cape Coast, we marveled over its resort feel and beautiful suites. This was the first time I had a warm shower in Ghana. The suites were spacious, and I felt rich for a day. The bathroom was separated into two rooms, one for a shower and the other for a toilet. A sink and mirror in the middle separated the two rooms. The pool was beautiful (and I’m not even a swimmer) and the beach next to it was plenty of fun. I participated in volleyball (even though I suck), dug my friend in the sand and made him into a mermaid, and took lots of great pictures that will forever hold good memories. In the evening, as my friend and I walked down the path towards the dining area, we joked about how this would be our honeymoon spot. “You can’t even bring your boyfriend here” she said, “it has to be my husband. This is exclusive”. There was no way I could disagree. Coconut Grove Hotel in Cape Coast, I hope to see you again with “him” sometime soon! 

Journal Entry 25: Ghana Gone Gangsta

You’d be surprised how quickly my mood changed after leaving Cape Coast Castle. When I originally went in, a young Ghanaian man took notice of my bracelet (with my name on it) and started asking me how to spell my name. He then started talking about some soccer team, which I wasn’t paying much attention to because I was trying to get mentally prepared for what I was about to see. I ignored him and walked into the castle. I thought this would be my last encounter with this young man; unfortunately, it wasn’t.

After I came out from the castle, he came up to me with a shell in his hand. “Ayy, Zakiyyah! Look what I made for you!” He handed me a shell that said “Zakiyyah, hope you have a great time in Cape Coast”. I smiled and said thank you. “All you have to do” he continued as me and my friend looked at each other, “is donate 20 cedis to our soccer team”. “Twenty Cedis?” I replied in a “you must be high” tone. “Sorry—I don’t have any money.” He wasn't giving up. “Or whatever you have is fine, whatever you can give”. My friend that was with me started saying “they tried to do that to me the last time—don’t give them any money. Let’s go”. The man got upset with her because he saw her trying to talk me out of giving him money (that he wasn’t going to get in the first place). As we were trying to walk away, he yelled behind us “Fine! FUCK YOU—and your little bitch ass friend! Take that little bitch with you”. He followed behind my friend and said, “Next time you do that, I’m going to take my fingers and poke your eyes out and put the devil in you!”. One of the other members of the soccer team grabbed my friend’s hand as we were walking away and she jerked it off. Apparently they got even angrier when they saw us laughing, unable to take their threats seriously, so they can continued to cuss at us as we walked away and onto our van. “What an experience to have--a nice welcome home” we reflected, laughing at our first hood experience in Ghana. 

Journal Entry 24: Reliving History

I finally got to see the Cape Coast Slave Castle this weekend. The group from my exchange program was split into two groups, one went to see Cape Coast Slave castle, and the other went to see Elmina Slave Castle. I had heard that Elmina was the more emotional one that had more to see, so I decided I would wait and see that with my mom when she visits me in November, and see Cape Coast now.

Dungeon for Female Slaves that were Disobedient

During the tour, the part that hit me most was the female slave dungeon; the part that represented where I would be if times hadn’t changed. We entered the small dark room and a strong stench filled the air, so unique I can’t even describe it.  The tour guide continued to inform us, “This is the dungeon the female slaves were brought to if they refused rape and needed to be punished” he said. The room was extremely small, but as he explained before, all of the dungeons held way more people than they were made to fit. He continued “the only time they were allowed to bathe was when the slave catchers 'needed' them”. I could hear grunts from the other people on the tour. “This is where they stayed, even while menstruating” he continued. “If a woman became pregnant by one of the slave catchers, she was thrown ashore because this could provide trouble back at home for the ones who were married. If a female slave had a mulatto child, the slave catcher’s wife might figure things out so they didn’t want to take the risk”.  His words painted pictures of images so horrid they can’t even be fully comprehended. I had trouble fully engaging myself into what he was saying, because a part of me didn't want to believe it.

Another touching moment of the tour was the “Door of No Return”, where the slaves were to leave their home, never to return again. Fortunately they made a plaque for the descendants of those slaves, welcoming them back. They called the outside of this door, “The Door of Return”. But I did return, and I walked through it--except  it wasn’t home anymore.

Journal Entry 23: Sing a Song

I decided that I wanted to participate in one of the musical groups on campus so I joined my friend at choir rehearsal one evening. When I first entered the room, it felt very chaotic because there were so many voices singing at once. A man handed me the sheet music to an aria and told me to join in with the sopranos. They weren’t really on key, but I assumed it was because they were just learning the song and were trying to get the hang of the different changes in pitch.

The choir director then told us to break up into sections so that each voice part could have a chance to practice, so I went with the sopranos to his office. I noticed that he didn’t really count off the rhythm for us. Most choir directors would count off “1, 2, 3”, but he would just say “Readyyy, go!”. I also noticed he could barely play the piano, which wouldn’t be a big deal if he could demonstrate our part better.

One of the girls raised her hand to ask a question. I couldn’t remember the exact phrase she used, but she described the shape of the notes, asking if the “blank circle with the stem” was two beats and “the colored in circle with the stem” was one. This is when I realized that many of them don’t read music, which means it takes even longer to learn music. Afterword, we joined the other voice parts and practiced all together, sounding a little better than when we originally started. I picked up the song pretty quickly, because the melody was simple. Towards the end of rehearsal, the director stood in front of the room as the choir members talked amongst themselves. He put his hand on his chin and remained silent, waiting for everyone to settle down. I was immediately brought back to high school at that moment. Noticing that no one was quieting down, he began talking over everyone and giving announcements. Just before we left, the choir director asked us to join hands so we could bow our heads and pray. This was new for me because it was almost assuming that everyone in the choir was Christian (but I later on realized that it does have a religious background). I appreciated having this experience and seeing how the rehearsal functions, but I decided that it probably wasn’t for me.

Journal Entry 22: Building Water Purifiers

Last weekend, my exchange program went to do some community service at a village a couple hours outside of Accra (Dogobom in Ada). Our mission was to build water purifiers, which I knew nothing about. When we got there and they showed us the lake they use for water, I was shocked. The water was yellow. I couldn’t believe it when the woman said “We use this water for everything—cleaning, cooking, bathing, drinking”. I didn't even want to touch the water, never mind bathe in it or drink it. 

We set up three purifiers in the village.  Two of the purifiers were located in different parts of the village’s school, and one was located in the general village. In order to build the purifiers, we had to clean sand with the water. I must admit that I was very skeptical of the process, considering we were cleaning it with the same dirty water. Surprisingly, after everything was finished, there were three water purifiers set up, with clear water coming out of them!

After taking a break to eat lunch, we (the volunteers) could hear a traditional African rhythm being played somewhere in the village and we followed the sound. Before you knew it, we were dancing with members of the village, learning their dances and sharing our own. I love how dancing is such an integral part of Ghanaian culture, and how it’s used to communicate. The kids running around seemed to be so fascinated by us, smiling and giggling, and waving big “Hellos”. 

 I  felt good about being there because it was a big wake up call. Even being poor in the U.S, water wouldn't be a huge concern, at least not to the same extent.  I can’t say I’m sure how it worked exactly, but I’m certainly glad it did, because no one deserves to live in those conditions.

My fellow exchange student and I take a picture with some of the sweet kids in the village

Journal Entry 21: Globalization at Its Best

A few days ago, my Ghanaian friend was nice enough to let me watch one of her Ghanaian movies with her. I had heard many things about how crazy they are, but I was still in for a treat. I had spoken to many Ghanaian’s about the Western influence that has been placed on Ghanaian movies and entertainment in general, and after watching one myself; I saw globalization at its best.

There was non-stop drama: cheating, killing, pregnancy, and a bunch of porn. This definitely conflicts with the general values Ghana seems to promote as a whole. If you were to look around at most of the ads concerning sex, they don’t promote safe sex, they promote abstinence. A lot of the music used in the movies is American music, and after watching a few more, I learned that they use a lot of the same actors. The acting is very exaggerated, but to me that makes it even more entertaining. Often times, I noticed what I would identify as stereotypical American attitudes (of course some might beg to differ and say that they're Ghanaian as well). The black girls would do the stereotypical ghetto head roll when they were supposed to be upset, and the men would act like the gangstas you would see in a rap video. This led me to realize that this was more than purely an entertainment industry. It was obvious who they were trying to impress.  I couldn’t help but watch it in its entirety. There were twists and turns everywhere: this woman killed her husband, and this husband had been cheating with this woman (or more recently, another man). "Ghana is trying to be more international now" my Ghanaian friend said to me. "The movies are different now" another Ghanaian said. "Now it's all about sex--sex sells. They are trying to copy the Western movies". This is apparent even in contemporary Ghanaian music (which they call High Life) and its heavy hip hop influence, but watching a movie here takes it to another level. Who knew a movie about sex and murder could teach me so much about the transformation of Ghanaian culture?

Journal Entry 20: Education Part II

The educational system here is getting to me a little more than I expected. We are now finishing the fifth week of classes, and readings still aren't ready and hard to access.  Everything is always “go to the department” to get something, sometimes even for a course outline. Then after walking a half an hour to get to that department, you’ll probably discover there are no more course outlines left or you'll have to wait another week to come back and get your course readings.

This has been my experience for the majority of my classes: The professor will go to the podium, look at a piece of paper, and talk sentence by sentence (usually repeating each sentence twice) so that you can write down what he/she says verbatim. To make things even better, a lot of the things you're writing down can probably be found on wikipedia (which I hear can be used here as a source).

There is one class that I have that is much better and it is taught by a Ghanaian woman. She had her whole reading packet ready to be bought on the first week, and she knows what she is talking about in class. Often times I didn’t feel confident that other professors knew what they were talking about which makes it much harder to focus and take class seriously. But this professor presented information on a theory and then gave her own specific examples to back it up—and off the top of her head. She didn’t read from a paper and she moved around the lecture hall and asked questions to consistently engage the class.

The one thing that upsets me almost more than the inefficiency I see is their view of the West. I have consistently heard people, (including professors) comparing Ghana to the Western countries so that they can figure out what they’re doing “wrong”. Even in classes where we learn about different theories, we always seem to reference Western philosophers and I was actually impressed by how much they know about many Western countries; particularly the U.S. It’s the same idea for anyone with privilege, because I come from a country of privilege, I’m not required to even know that Ghanaians exist, but they are required to learn about how to think like me, know my history, and in some cases, be a complete imitation of me.  I was beginning to wonder if there was such a thing as “Ghanaian” sociology, etcetera.  In class, as the teacher quotes the Western theorists, you can spend an entire two hours copying down “Marx says this, Stalin also says this, he also says this, he believes this because” but I don’t even know what Kwame Nkrumah says. I come to West Africa to learn about West Africa, and I’m still only taught about it from Western eyes. 

Journal Entry 19: Get Back In The Kitchen

Today in my "Gender and Politics" class, there was an interesting discussion on the role gender plays in society. I was quite surprised to hear some of the ideas that I heard, and actually felt like I had traveled back an entire century.

The majority of the class was male, which was a shock in itself to me. One Ghanaian man raised his hand and said that it should be "gender equity" and not necessarily "gender equality". He used an example of how everything gets thrown off when a man comes home and his dinner isn't ready. The professor asked, "Is there something wrong with men and women having equal roles?" "YES!" One man shouted. The professor then began talking about how in some countries (such as the U.S.), a woman may be bringing home the bacon, while the man stays home taking care of the house. The men were so loud and obnoxious, snickering when there was a comment they didn't like. "Those men are weak" one male Ghanaian student said, obviously implying that women must be weak too if their role is to take care of the house. Interestingly enough, the conversation then went on to comparing the West to Africa. "The West does it like this--", "In the U.S., it's done like this". 

I was beginning to get aggravated by the entire dynamic. The fact that the men felt so entitled to speak and voice their opinions didn't bother me so much; it was the fact that the Ghanaian women didn't. The women from western countries had no problem voicing their opinions, but I only heard from ONE Ghanaian woman, and she just mentioned how culture changes over time (not necessarily addressing the sexist remarks she had been hearing). I could feel the Wellesley coming out of me as I began to feel so entitled to speak. I rose my hand, claiming that I wanted to hear more from the Ghanaian women, and that hearing from only Ghanaian men is just going to perpetuate the current power structure. All of the men started whispering loudly amongst themselves as I was talking, getting annoyed and wondering who this American girl thinks she is trying to make the women speak. The professor was annoying me. I had tried another gender studies class and I noticed the same thing; this female professor was trying to tone down all of that “female empowerment” talk so that she wouldn’t upset the men too much. “We’re not asking to be the same, we just want the same opportunities. We are not saying that men and women will be the same” she would say when the men would cause an uproar. 

The teacher was ready to adjourn the class. "The next time we will discuss how things such as religion play a role in gender inequality", she said. I started packing my bag as I heard a guy's voice behind me, "Yea--it even says in the book that that's the way things should be". 

I decided to keep the class; My Wellesley instincts were telling me to cause a little more havoc. 

Journal Entry 18: "Stand Up, Speak Up"

As I sat in on a class entitled “Black Diaspora”, the professor was very firm and presented his expectations upfront. He made his expectations clear, and I felt as if I was in high school for a while. “No talking, No cell phones, I demand respect”, etc. One young Ghanaian man sitting in the back raised his hand to ask a question, but apparently he wasn’t speaking loud enough. “I’m a 52 year old man, you have to speak up if you want me to know what you’re saying” the professor said with an attitude. He ordered the young man to stand up.  A couple of minutes later, a young white American girl sitting in front raised her hand to speak, and when she did she spoke very softly. “Say that again” he said in a nicer tone. He didn’t ask her to stand up. In fact, he even walked up to her to hear what she was saying. The back of the room (where many Ghanaians were seated) got loud. There was loud snickering and a little anger. I could hear someone in the back say, “Make her stand up too!”.  Of course, the professor was busy answering this girl’s question, so they would just have to wait until he’s done.

Journal Entry 17: Education: Passing Down an Unlit Torch

My school had already warned me that I may not find the classes in my study abroad program very challenging at first. I’m beginning to question the quality of education that the people here have been receiving. During the first week of classes, many professors did not even show up (and many Ghanaian students do not show up for this reason) which means you have even less time to narrow down your courses (considering most courses are just once a week). I just came from having my second lecture in a sociology course, and I don’t know what to expect. The class was much bigger this week than it was last week, because many of the students did not show up originally. I haven’t learned anything new yet, and the teacher seems to be giving us textbook information, or information that I could’ve looked up online myself.

The classes here so far seem to have a lot less structure than the ones in the States. For my classes, there isn’t necessarily consistent homework, and there is a longgggg list of reading materials, but no information regarding when to read each book and how much of each book to read. One of my professors just said “make sure you have read 70% of the books on this list by the end of the semester”.  In another class, another American student asked what reading we should have done by the next class, and the professor didn’t really answer her question. I’m beginning to suspect that the professors don’t necessarily expect the students to do most of the reading, and that causes me to question what anyone is learning here. If the teachers have low expectations for their students, how are they supposed to learn anything, and what does that say about them? My next question then would be, why do they have low expectations for their students?

This is only the beginning, and hopefully I’ll get a little more from the classes, but as of now I’m seeing a trend (as many of the professors have gone to this university): Teachers with little expectations, teaching future teachers to have little expectations.

Journal Entry 16: The Durbar

There was an event (called Durbar) welcoming all the international students to the University of Ghana. The day before the event, one of the women coordinating it asked me if I would sing, and of course I couldn’t turn down the offer. We came to the event straight from the Aburi Gardens so I had to sing right away. I had no idea what to sing so I figured why not do my famous rendition of “His Eye is On the Sparrow”.  After I sung, people started smiling at me and being extra nice. I went up to get my food and the woman who was serving food was smiling at me like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.  I figured that was a good sign. After eating, everyone got in the center of the floor to dance, people from all over the world who came to see and experience Ghana. We did African dances together, did a few hip-hop dances, and didn’t have a care in the world. I was in my own element, and it felt good.