Journal Entry 50: A Moment to Reminisce...

I've created this video in an attempt to recapture my experience in Ghana for the past seventeen weeks. Unfortunately, I didn't have all of the pictures and videos I wanted to include in time to post this, but I think it is nice as it is. While I realize that no video could ever suffice or compare to all I have seen and learned, through it I seek to hold onto a mixture of memories, emotions, and experiences that would rightfully never be forgotten, but would otherwise remain mental. Enjoy…

Journal Entry 49: Until Next Time

I didn’t realize how hard it would be for me to leave Ghana until I actually arrived in the U.S. The entire semester I craved for soul food, hot showers and good customer service but when I actually arrived, everything suddenly felt so foreign, so unreal. My life of walking amongst stray dogs and goats on dirt roads, buying items off of the street within the comfort of my car, and taking cold showers had become so normal for me. It wasn’t until I stepped foot on American soil that I realized I had changed, and that I might run into people who don’t quite understand me. It’s as if I was a lot happier in Ghana, even though the U.S. provided me with so many luxuries. I already realize that this will not be my last visit to Ghana. I think I left a piece of myself in Ghana, a piece that I may have to find every now and then when I’m lost. Until next time Ghana, I'll keep you in my heart, with hopes that you will do the same.

Journal Entry 48: Beauty is Skin Deep

I can’t believe I neglected to bring notice to something I found to be very disturbing while in Ghana (although it’s better late than never). Every now and then I’ll catch a billboard ad or a commercial that advertises some product that helps to lighten the skin. I recall sitting in a hair shop and hearing a commercial for Carotone. “For younger, brighter” skin the commercial advertised, flaunting its happier, brighter women. Although it saddens me to see that these products are being encouraged and are easily accessible in shops, I can’t say that the black community in the U.S. is doing much better. Instead of creating a more European look for our naturally darker skin, we’ve directed more of our focus on changing our natural African hair. Every time I see an ad for a product like this, I think of all the times in Ghana when I was told that I had a pretty skin color, or was asked to switch my color with someone of a darker complexion.

One time I ordered food and sat down at a table to wait for it. The other seats were taken so I chose to sit down in the only chair I saw available. It just so happens that the chair I sat on was directly under the hot sun. The woman who was about to prepare my food said to me, “Why are you sitting under the hot sun?”. “Because I want to be as dark as you” I responded. She laughed hysterically. “Oh but I like your skin color”. “But your skin is so beautiful” I said. She insisted that I switch my complexion with hers, then laughed and walked away, wearing a confused expression on her face. It scared me that she didn’t trust my admiration, but it scares me even more that there are products that can turn these forms of mental self-destruction into a permanent reality.

Journal Entry 47: A Happy Thanksgiving

This was the first Thanksgiving I had away from home, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. My exchange program invited us to celebrate Thanksgiving together at a home that belonged to one of the host parents. It was a beautiful house, and I couldn’t believe that two of my fellow exchange students were actually living there (or actually living on their own in the guest house next door).

As I anticipated, many of the exchange students (myself included) wore their Ghanaian attire to celebrate the American holiday. Because we would be leaving Ghana shortly, people had already begun to reminisce over their experiences in Ghana, which caused us to be even more patriotic as our favorite Ghanaian songs floated from the DJ’s speakers. I was very pleased to eat turkey for the first time in a long time, and appreciated the huge effort made to make us feel at home. As usual, we ended up dancing—dancing harder than we ever have before (as we have experienced so much and realized that it could be our last time dancing together).

This is the Thanksgiving that truly made me realize that I have so much to be thankful for.

Journal Entry 46: A Beautiful Reservoir and Greedy Baboons

I went with my exchange program on a trip to see the largest man-made reservoir in the world, Lake Volta. The guide explained to us that it is used to generate about 65% of Ghana's electricity (if I remember correctly) and also used for export to Togo and Benin. It's formed by the Akosombo Dam and was constructed from 1961-1965 by geologist Albert Ernest Kitson. But aside from all of the boring facts--it's just a gorgeous place to see! The tour guide teased us by saying we couldn't take any pictures, but gave us a few minutes at the end of the tour to do so. Above are a couple I was fortunate enough to capture.

A couple of young ones finally got food

The baboon jumps on our van to say hello

We also took a trip to a game reserve where we got close and personal with greedy baboons. It was interesting to watch them interact, but even more interesting that they were bold enough to approach us. As soon as we stepped foot out of our vehicles, they came swarming towards us. One older baboon kept stealing a baby baboon's food and a couple of baboons even snatched food out of a few of my friend's hands! When I started walking with my plantain chips I knew I was the next target, so I just threw the bag and watched a bunch of them run off to fight for it. Aside from the greedy food, some of my peers also caught two baboons mating, which you have to admit would be quite entertaining to see. If we hadn't seen enough, another (fortunately smaller) baboon jumped on our van as we were leaving, I guess in search of more food. I enjoyed having fun with them, but when it comes to food they are a little too aggressive for my taste!

Journal Entry 45: Tyranny of the Majority

I am no longer surprised by anything that happens at the university. The lecturer for one of my classes has missed many lectures and told us to come early one day to make up for one that we lost. She said we would meet at 9:30 am at a lecture hall that is pretty far from our dorms, and then we would meet again at our regular time at 11:30 am in the other lecture hall the same day. When I walked in the room, one of my international friends said to me, “She’s at the bank” with a “you-already-know” face.  We sat there waiting for her for over an hour and just as we were about to leave, the teacher’s assistant informs us that she’s coming. She arrived at about 10:40 and told us we would do some quick dictation and move to the next location. Students from the next class were in the back of the lecture hall waiting, and she made sure to take the time out to address them and tell them to please wait outside until we’re done.  Midway through the notes, she informs us that we will be having another double-class time next week to make up for the time we lost (because she couldn’t make it—for whatever reason).  A few international students raised their hands, “but that is our revision week. We are supposed to study for exams” a girl said. (Because of the strike, the international students have their exams separately so they can leave on schedule). The lecturer responded, “Oh, well you can come or not come. If all your other classes are canceled, it should be okay for you to come. I was not informed of this. Your exams start the 4^th. Talk to me after class“. 

She continued to do dictation when more and more students from the next 11:30 class started to pour in. “Please, you are disturbing our lecture, please come later” she said. By 11:15, a huge swarm of students flooded through the lecture hall and decided to kick us out. “Tyranny of the majority!”, the lecturer said. The 300 of them came in and started taking seats asking people, “are you leaving now?”. The lecturer continued to yell to them through the mic, but she was barely heard.

We made our way to the other hall and waited for her for the next class period. When she finally arrived (later than all of us even though she has a car), she spent a few minutes lecturing us about what just happened, and then went on to do a little dictation, describing reading we should have already done. “The table in the reading is set up like this”, “Dahlerup says this”.

After class, I along with a small group of international students went up to her to ask her about exams, but she claimed it wasn’t the appropriate time and that she had to run to the department. She said she couldn't really tell us anything but that she would meet with us during the week, if we called to remind her. As I headed downstairs a few minutes later I saw her talking to another group of Ghanaian students, laughing and smiling. I looked at my international friend and said, “Wow—she must really be in a rush”.

Journal Entry 44: Who are you anyway?

A short time ago I overheard a group of my friends having a conversation about race and couldn’t help but catch a few ideas that stood out to me. When I entered the conversation (out of my nosy habits), a white American girl was directing her argument to comments made by a black American girl earlier. “You say you’ve been through all of this stuff and you’ve seen so much and then you turn around and say you’re privileged. Who are you?” she said, in a tone that obviously offended the black American girl.

Further into the conversation, a Nigerian girl, who claims to be a global citizen (as she has lived in many places and doesn’t have a Nigerian accent) made claims about distinctions between African-Americans and Africans, and why Africans do better when settling in the U.S (or other Western countries). Her argument was that African-Americans are constantly trying to find out who they are which is why they come to places like Ghana. They are constantly in search of themselves and struggle with their identity, which causes them more racial issues (unlike Africans). When I addressed her, I immediately noticed her referral of “you people”. She looked at me and said “You people struggle with your identity but I’m already in Africa so I don’t have to search for my culture—it is already here”. I had a hard time fully taking in what she was saying, considering the identity issues I've noticed while in Ghana. “I agree that there are issues of identity in the African-American community, but I don’t think it’s fair to say that Africans don’t struggle with their identity as well”. When I brought up how so many Ghanaians seem to be influenced by African-American culture (as their own culture is gradually dismissed), she claimed that it was just “adapting” and made references to the “African mentality”. It’s still a little difficult for to me to absorb the idea that a country where people openly express internalized racism doesn’t struggle with its identity. Of course, it’s ten times worse when everyone thinks everything is okay. Nonetheless, I’m always happy to have these discussions, even when a little tension is involved.

Journal Entry 43: Reliving History--Again

The extremely small "Door of No Return"

Me, my mom and cousin took a long three hour drive to see the Elmina Slave Castle the day before they left. As I expected, people started hounding us as soon we got out the car trying to sell us their goods. We were fortunate enough to receive our own private tour of the castle, allowing us to take as much time as we needed to internalize what we were seeing.

The balcony used to gather the female slaves...

The Portuguese Church (now a shop)

The story that was told was similar to what I learned at the other slave castle. The thing that got to me the most was the stench that filled the air when you entered the cell, as if you could still smell the injustice that occurred. The stench seemed much stronger at this slave castle. Another difference I immediately noticed with this slave castle is how extremely small the "Door of No Return" is. In fact, I didn't even recognize it as a door. The tour guide then pointed to a balcony, with me doubting its significance. He said, “This is the balcony the governor would use when he wanted to have one of the female slaves. He would order them to come outside and line up, and then he would choose which one he wanted to sleep with”. The guide then spoke about how some Ghanaians wound up with European last names because they were the offspring of this painful experience (as some of the children were left in Ghana). He also explained that many of those offspring began to believe that they were superior to their counterparts because of their European heritage, a concept that hasn't yet died. He continued, “and here” he pointed to a small white building, “here is the Portuguese church that was right between the slave cells". I could never seem to wrap my head around the fact that there were actually people conducting church services and using their religion to justify what they were doing. 

Visiting the slave castles is always a great reminder of how far we've come, but an even better reminder of how far we have to go.

Journal Entry 42: Some People Never Change, Even in Ghana!

I’ve learned that some people, including my mother, will be the same regardless of what continent they happen to be in. One night as my mother and I were trying to get back to the hotel, a cab driver offered us a price of 5 cedis, which we accepted. Halfway to our destination, the cab driver starts mumbling to me in the front seat, “Oh, I can’t go straight to the hotel, I have to go around so I can’t take just five cedis. I have to charge you an extra two. We make it seven”, he said in a hesitant tone, stuttering when I asked him to repeat himself. “But you said five cedis” I said. “I know but I thought you wanted to go to the mall” “No I said the hotel by the mall. That’s your fault that you misunderstood”. He continued to try to reason with me. “But I didn’t realize that I’d have to drive all the way around to get to the hotel” he said, referring to the fact that there are roundabouts in the road that prohibit you from making certain turns, forcing you to drive around. I began to get frustrated with the taxi driver and raised my voice “No—don’t you play with me. You said five cedis. If you can't take five you need to pull over and let us get another cab”. My mom, who didn’t  understand the cab driver, heard the tone of my voice and asked me what he was saying. Mistake number one: I shouldn’t have told her.

The cab driver pulled over and pointed to the hotel, gesturing for us to walk. My mother wasn’t having it. She began screaming at the cab driver at the top of her lungs. “LOOK! You better drive this damn cab, now! DRIVE!”. Of course she said a lot more, but due to the intensity of the situation, I could only pick up on so much. I suddenly felt bad for the poor cab driver who then raised both of his hands in a surrendering gesture saying “Please, mum, I don’t want to fight, please”. After my mother’s screaming scared him enough, he drove us to the hotel and continued to try to explain to us the change in price as we got out the car. I gave him five cedis and he looked at the money in his hand, nervously laughed and pulled away. “Woo—Zakiyyah! I was about to punch him in the back of his head!” my mother said. Yes mother, I know you would, even in Ghana.

Journal Entry 41: Visiting the Kids

I was pleased to have my mom and cousin come to see the kids a couple of days after they arrived. After the long walk in the heat, we finally reached our destination and the teacher showed us around to the different classrooms. We finally got to the room that I teach in, and the learning began. My mom was particularly enthusiastic, singing the songs in a cheesy manner and smiling at the kids. During their break, she started teaching them a song. “Shake it up, baby. Twist and Shout!” she said twisting her body, with a couple of the girls eager to copy the moves. My cousin then began to lead everyone in the “Hokie Pokie” which they took a liking to. To make things even better, they asked the teacher and director for an address where they could send stuff for the kids. I was glad to see that they enjoyed the kids as much as I do.

Journal Entry 40: Happy Birthday Mommy!!

Not long after my mom’s arrival she had a birthday, so I decided to throw her a dinner party at a restaurant I know called “Chez Afrique”. She gave me permission to invite a few friends so I decided to invite a mixture of Ghanaian and International students. The dinner was a great success. My mom and cousin got to have a little taste of my social life in Ghana, and an even better taste of Ghanaian food. As taboo as it might be, I then had everyone at the table play the guessing game where they tried to guess my mother’s age. To her delight, not one answer was right. After we sung happy birthday including the “How old are you now” verse, she revealed the answer by singing, “I’m twenty-five years old”. It was a night worthwhile, and I’m glad my mother was there to celebrate her 25^th birthday with me and my friends  here  in Ghana. I look forward to celebrating her 26^th birthday here again in another twenty years.

Journal Entry 39: Nana Comes Home

I am one of the foreign exchange students that was fortunate enough to receive a visit from one of my parents. Early this month, my mom and cousin came to visit me and experience Ghanaian life first-hand. Coincidentally, my mother was planning on taking me and my grandmother on a trip to Ghana so we could share the experience together. Unfortunately, my grandmother passed away in May, but my mother was clever enough to bring some of her ashes along, making her visit even more special.
We went to church Sunday morning, and the pastor called us up to the front of the church. He caught us all by surprise and we soon realized that the woman who invited us to church set it up. He asked my mother why she was here, and she explained the story about my grandmother, and how she had come to Ghana to spread her ashes. The pastor did a lovely prayer for our family and my grandmother, and as always my mother pestered me to sing. (Thanks to her, the pastor would never let me leave the church without singing a song). I sung one of nana's favorite's, "His Eye is On the Sparrow".  I could tell when I opened my mouth that people were surprised by what came out. I tried to let the church know how we were feeling with my voice (not sad, but grateful). Tears filled all of our eyes throughout the entire tribute, and the people of the church sent us their blessing.

(I chose not to post the pictures filled with tears!)

My mother decided to spread some of her mother's ashes at a Ghanaian beach, and the rest at the ocean at the Elmina Slave Castle, signifying my grandmother’s return to her roots. Nana spoke to her family about making Ghana her home, and now thanks to her daughter, she will remain there forever.

Journal Entry 38: Hidden Talent in the Ghetto

When I got my hair done for the third time, it was an even more interesting experience. Instead of getting it done on campus, my Ghanaian friend offered to take me into town to see the woman that does her hair.

After sitting through a somewhat long ride on the tro-tro and passing through many crowds, we started to walk through a poor neighborhood. “This is our ghetto” she laughed, making references to a conversation we had earlier about the ghettos in the U.S. “This is the ghetto for real—a Muslim neighborhood, you see. You can tell”. We walked over to an open area and my friend suddenly stopped walking as if she had reached her destination. Then I saw a small narrow alley with a woman on a stool getting her hair braided. The alley was wide enough for me to stick both of my arms out, but not much wider. I was very surprised at the location, but I also knew that the ghetto also has some hidden treasures (talent). I looked around for somewhere to wash my hair, assuming that there would be a place, but there was nothing.

As she started doing my hair, my friend spoke to her in the local dialect in order to communicate how to do my hair (causing me to assume that she doesn’t speak English). While she was braiding, there was a man talking loudly through a speaker, calling the Muslims to prayer as I saw more and more pour into the street. 

A friend helps me pin up the middle of my hair...

I was right to say that the woman is skilled because she did a great job on my hair, but I admit that I didn’t keep the hairstyle very long because it was a little more unique than I’m used to (considering I’m “plain Jane”). I am so glad that I went with her to experience this because with more exposure you can always discover that there are two sides to every story. That day, I saw a different side of Ghana, a side that is no less important than the side I see at the University.

Journal Entry 37: Becoming Bitter

I recently had a conversation with a few of my European and white American friends about their experiences in Ghana. One said, "Being here has made me more of a racist. I'm getting a little defensive". They expressed that they are constantly being reminded that they are different and that it causes them to feel a little bitter. They're tired of people overpricing them because they are "obronis" and don't like being mistreated. This was absolutely fascinating to me, because it is almost as if they were having a little taste of the resentment many people of color feel in the Western world. "That is a similar feeling for African-Americans" I said. My white American friend said, "What do you mean?". I continued, "When you experience racism enough, it's so easy to feel resentment and anger towards an entire group of people, and it becomes more and more difficult to think of people as individuals instead of generalizing entire groups". They nodded their heads. "But there are still a lot of nice people here too--it isn't everyone" they started to say. No--it never is, but it only takes so much ripeness to make any type of fruit bitter. 

Journal Entry 36: Whoa

There is a rap song that I like entitled “Whoa” where the artist lists a bunch of things that makes him say “Whoa”—I figured I’d do the same for the things in Ghana that make me say “Whoa”.

Dogs fighting: Every night at the same time the dogs would start fighting with each other and barking loudly.  It is a horrifying sound. They will start screaming, howling as if they were in pain and dying. One night, all the dogs were howling at the same time, howling and howling. Very, very scary.

Accepted internalized racism: People openly express ideas they have about inferior skin colors. I have also been told once (from a Ghanaian) that colonization helped Ghanaians because they didn't know what to do with their resources.

Toilets as holes in the ground: There have been a few times (including at villages and restaurants) where I or my friends have gone to use the bathroom to find a small dark room with a little whole in the ground. One time when I went to Labadi Beach, I wanted to use the bathroom (and it was night time) and it was just a little wooden wall with a whole in the ground behind it, covered by grass (and because it’s dark, it’s very hard to see what you’re aiming for or stepping on). I decided to wait until I got home…

Drains in the ground: There are many random gutters in the ground that people can easily fall into/get stuck in. One of my friends almost fell in one…not fun!

Interesting Customer Service: In the U.S., the customer gets priority. Unfortunately, that hasn’t been my experience in Ghana. People could care less about whether or not you’re happy with the service and tend to be a little on the stingy side with their money. To make things even more difficult, it’s hard to demand better service because unlike the U.S where you can say “let me see your boss” and get a quick response, there doesn’t seem to be a way to hold people accountable here, providing them with no incentive to provide better customer service.

Peeing: Men openly peeing on the side of a main road as the cars just fly by.

Trash cans: Only available on the campus--hard to find elsewhere.

Crazy drivers: The cars here will hit you if you let them—they go so fast and get SO close to you that you constantly have to look behind if you’re walking beside the sidewalk for whatever reason.

Line cutting: People randomly cutting lines (and not caring if you notice)

Street Vendors: People shoving stuff they want to sell in your face

Teachers: Teachers that randomly don't show up/cancel class and wonder why their students don't take the class seriously

Interesting habits: People picking their noses in public and guys constantly grabbing their crotches

Tro-tros: Tro-tros that are overpacked

Child Labor: Small kids working with their families on school days

Child sickness: Kids with a hernia 

Overcharging: People overcharging obronis and thinking it's okay

Pushing: People bumping into you/stepping on your feet and not caring

Goats, chickens, and lizards: My wonderful animal friends just walking around and living freely.

Religion: People asking me if I'm Christian, and automatically assuming I'm Muslim if I say no. 

No refunds: There are no such things as refunds because many people own their own businesses and it's very difficult to hold people accountable.

Breastfeeding: This may not necessarily be a Ghanaian thing (because sometimes you just don’t notice things when you’re home), but I noticed women tend to breastfeed in public places often here.

Billboards: The most interesting ones say things like "Repent, Jesus is coming soon" and "Retards Development" (of course the Abstinence Ads are always interesting as well)

Surprising Questions: Ghanaian’s asking me what part of Africa I’m from, and looking at me like I'm crazy when I say “I don’t know”.

Instability: Things can always change last minute, and there’s nothing you can do about it--you just have to go with the flow

Giving Directions: People don't seem to be very good at giving directions, so they'll often times just tell you to follow them to your location, or will point in an unclear direction and walk away.

Journal Entry 35: Secrets of Financial Empowerment

Friday I attended a church service entitled the “Empowerment Summit” with a Ghanaian friend. I could tell by the name that it wasn't a regular church service, but I didn't realize it would be held in a large stadium. When we entered, people were chanting loudly and dancing with full on energy, a little shift from the last church I visited. I didn’t pick up on everything that was said because there was an issue with the speaker system where the voices echoed, but the little I did pick up on was very note-worthy. The Bishop said, "One day Africa will have a new identity" and went on to preach about how he was in America, but God told him to come back and teach his people in Ghana. He continued, "I'm going to teach you the secrets of financial empowerment." I picked up on a few of his latter statements. "Christ already paid for your enrichment, your financial and economic empowerment", "You can't have a voice without being economically empowered", "Financial empowerment is our dominion in Christ", "The point of slavery has been removed from your life", "If you understand what the Bible says, you wouldn't be a burden to everyone, you'd be a blessing to everyone". 

 My friend handed me a piece of paper and said, “Here, write down what you want God to do for you”.  The most interesting part of the service was when everyone started praying, and loudly. Although the majority of it was done in the local language, I recognized that it was pretty much just like a stereotypical Black Baptist church, only a little turned up. They were shouting loudly, dancing a little, and moving their bodies in a way they probably wouldn't in a non-religious setting. As we were leaving, my other Ghanaian friend said to me, "God is going to answer everything you put on your list". We'll see...

Journal Entry 34: Shopping in Chaos and Making Kente Cloth

One weekend my exchange program took a trip to Kumasi, a place well known for making Ghana’s popular kente cloth. We first stopped at the Central Market to shop and it was not the most fun experience for me. It’s the most chaotic market I’ve been to in Ghana thus far. People were pushing me left and right, people with shops were shouting at me “Ayy Americana!!” or “Hey! My sister!” and the strong stenches of pee and fish that filled the air didn’t make the experience any more pleasant. I had to be sure to look at the ground and my surroundings simultaneously as I was walking, because the ground was not clean at all and if I didn’t look around me, I could easily be knocked over (especially by someone carrying something very large on their head—as is often done in Ghana). I made sure to stay close to my friends, holding their hands tightly and stepping over little kids and dead chickens. It was definitely a once, and only once in a lifetime experience.

We also went to a kente weaving village where we were taught how to make kente cloth. I was fortunate enough to be one of the volunteers chosen to demonstrate how to break up the wood that would be used. After, we were able to choose fabric and stamp our own symbols on it. We were taught that all of the symbols have a meaning and I wanted to make sure I got something good. The two symbols I stamped on my cloth were “Going back to your roots” and “All-powerful”. A couple of guys in the village agreed to help me and give me a gift, and a couple of kids also said they had a gift for me as well. Based on my past experiences (from my "Ghana Gone Gangsta" blog entry), I knew that couldn't be a good thing, and of course I was right when I saw how they responded to my refusal to accept their "gifts". They surrounded me and my friends as we tried to pile onto the van, almost shoving their items in our faces screaming "My friend, my friend!", "I'll reduce the price!", and "Come, look!". 

Lastly, we went to a little shop that sells a lot of the traditional African print and learned about the different types of kente cloth. I paid a good piece of change on my three pieces, but it was well worth it! But I must admit, shopping isn't my favorite thing to do, especially not in Ghana!

Journal Entry 33: V.I.P.: "My Baby"

One of my friends from my exchange program knows someone who was involved in the production of a music video for one of Ghana's most famous music groups: V.I.P. She asked if I would like to join her in being a part of the video (with the promise that we wouldn't be doing anything that would harm our political careers of course). My first thought was, "Well, how many people can say they came to Ghana and did a music video?", so I told her that as long as I wasn't asked to do anything I was against, I'd join in.

I participated for two days of the filming. It was fun getting dressed up and putting on make up, but of course the long time that is involved just waiting isn't always fun. It was also very interesting to me that they wanted us to wear all white, even though they didn't tell us that ahead of time and therefore tried to get people to wear each other's clothing. Nonetheless I had a good time and didn't do anything I'd regret. The song is called "My Baby" and the video should be released soon, so look out for the light-skinned Ghanaian with the cheesy smile!

Journal Entry 32: The Seamstress of St. Francis Street

Earlier this month I was asked to sing in a theater production on campus entitled "The Seamstress of St. Francis Street" (based off of the film). It is an African-American production that takes place in Missouri in the 1950s, so I was very excited to see how it would be performed in Ghana. I had the opportunity to learn a little about how Ghanaians perceive African-Americans as they played some stereotypical roles and acted out a little finger-snapping and head shaking every now and then.

The production took place from Thursday to Sunday for two weeks and there were even two guest artists from the States who served as alternates. One was Andrea Purnell from Missouri who actually plays the main character in the film, and the other was Professor James Fay from New York who also played a big role for a few nights. I was actually quite impressed by how well the Ghanaian actors picked up on various cultural markers and societal challenges of that time. There are different scenes and attitudes in the play that would be difficult to translate to the audience without some general understanding of the experiences of the characters.

More importantly, I gained friends from this experience that I will stay connected to for a lifetime. For a while I forgot how good it feels to be surrounded by artistic people with outgoing personalities. I have met some of the most generous people in these few weeks alone, and I can't wait to come back to the States and show off their work. 

Journal Entry 31: STRIKE!!

I woke up one Monday to discover that there were no more University classes running because the teachers were on strike. Apparently, they haven’t been paid in months, regardless of the University’s promise to pay them by a certain deadline. This is pretty fascinating for me because I’ve never experienced a school strike. Some professors agreed to teach only international students so that we could still get credit. At first this kind of annoyed me because I saw it as the privileged kids always getting their way, until I found out that we (international students) actually pay a lot more in tuition than Ghanaian students because their tuition is covered by the government (and of course we have a contract that cannot be extended). The strike lasted for three weeks in total, but caused even more chaos. The international students for the most part will be learning the same material that they learned during the strike, and no one is really sure what to expect for the exams. The schedules are now all scrambled, and it turns out that the Ghanaian students will have to stay in school until January 6th, only getting Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off. To make things even worse, the teachers didn't even achieve their mission of getting paid. It's pretty fair to say that I've been on vacation thus far, but in some ways, a very hectic one!

Journal Entry 30: Daycare Center Day 2

My second day at the daycare center was just as interesting as the first. When I entered the room, the kids were practicing their shapes. The students came up one by one, grabbing the pointing stick to identify the shapes on the board. One boy came up and stood at the board with his head bowed down, fumbling with his pointing stick. “Hurry up, you’re taking too long” the teacher said as he remained still.

At some points the kids would talk amongst themselves, bored of having nothing to do. A couple of kids were speaking the local language and the teacher yelled at them, “Speak English, not vernacular. If you can’t speak English, just sit quietly.”

When it was time for them to go out and play, the teacher came up to me and handed me a book. “You will read this to them for storytelling time”, she said. She walked away as I glanced through “Lost in Piper’s Park”. I looked at the pictures and then analyzed the story, wondering how a bunch of Ghanaian kids are supposed to relate to it. I put the book down and caught one little girl staring at me so I gave a big grin and waved as she giggled. Another kid ran from one door to the other playing peek-a-boo with me and waving, and soon a couple of others caught on. Before I knew it, almost all of the kids were running back and forth from door to door, giggling and waving at me. They all crowded up to the window next to me and starting waving and chanting “Obroni! Obroni! Obroni!” (Obroni can mean foreigner, westerner or white person).  It’s amazing to me that they learned at such a young age to identify me as an “obroni”. They ran back in the classroom to learn and smiled at “obroni”, so happy that she waved at them.