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.