Nick in Ghana

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Years!

2010-01-05T09:28:00.001-08:00

To all of the followers and readers of my blog, I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I tahank you all for your continued interest in my life here in Ghana. And I give you my most sincere appreciation for your continuedf love, support, and prayers. They have helped me navigate and push through some of the challenges that I have faced here in Ghana, and they have helped make my first four months in Ghana some of the most rewarding months of my life. For all of my readers, I hope and pray that 2010 is as fruitful as you wish it to be and that God may bless each of you and be with you in all of your endeavors.

I apologize if these last four blog posts are replete with typos, word omissions, or awkward phrases. I have been very busy and was trying to get as many of my thoughts down as possible before I leave Accra for Kumasi, and unfortunately that may have caused me to compromise the neatness and sharpness of some of my writing. Nevertheless, that is no excuse. My inability to update my blog frequently and consistently is a travesty and embarrassing, and I am sorry. I am not promised much access to the internet for the next five months, and I can only realistically expect to have access to an internet cafe about once or twice a month over the next five months. Nevertheless, I promise to update my blog when it is possible, and I will try to continue to add pictures.

Thank you all - family, friends, and loyal supporters - again for your continued interest in my Ghanian adventures. I can never guaranttee eloquence or neatness with my writing. Nevertheless, I think everyone can appreciate my honesty in relaying the ins-and-outs of my time here. I hope this blog is as interesting to read as it is rewarding for me to type. Again, may God bless each one of you, and Happy New Year! Or as they say here in Ghana: "Afenhyia Pa ! ! !"

Golf, A Love Never Dies!

2010-01-05T07:52:00.000-08:00

My time in Accra is fast approaching its end. As I type this post, I have less than twenty-four hours left in this city I have grown to love. Before coming to Ghana I was sent a large packet by World Learning, Princeton's partner organization in Ghana for the Bridge Year, that was to aid in my preparation for my Bridge Year. Inside the packet was a packing list. The packing list included nearly everything you can imagine: mosquito nets, bug spray, all the necessary toiletries, suggestions of the most practical wardrobe, etc.. The list was several pages long. However, despite the breadth of this list, there was one item that was not on there that was an integral part of my life in America, my golf clubs. Me being the golf enthusiast that I am, I went on the internet to see if there were any golf courses in Ghana. Much to my chagrin the results were not very promising. However, there is one golf course in Accra, Achimota Golf Club! At orientation I joked with Yaw, my program director here in Ghana, about how it would be neat to golf in Ghana. However, I never really expected this wish to come to fruition. By signing up for the Bridge Year I had already come to terms with the fact that I would be giving up my sleek steel shafts and flawless titanium heads for a while. I accepted this because I knew that I was not coming to Ghana to play golf.

A few weeks ago I was talking to Cole, one of my cohorts and the only other male on the sojourn with me, and explaining to him how much I missed golf. I missed the freshly cut grass in the morning and the smell of the morning's fresh dew on the ground. I missed the simple things about the game: the sensation that you feel go up your arms when you hit a crisp wedge shot or a three-hundred yard drive; and the adrenaline rush after sinking a fifteen foot left-to-right putt on the eighteenth hole to beat your buddies. Cole sympathized with me, and although he is by no means in love with the game he saw that I am. He could see how much joy golf brings me by the way I was describing my nostalgia, and he wanted to be a part of this fun with me. Being the ingenious man that he is, Cole suggested that we orchestrate a way to play a round of golf one afternoon over the holiday break at the Achimota Golf Club. The prospect excited me; although, I did not get my hopes up because I understand that we are busy people and I did not even bring my golf clubs with me. Nevertheless, the stars aligned, and this past Sunday we were able to make it out to the golf course. Charles, Cole, and I took a tro-tro to Achimota and we alighted at the Golf Club for what would prove to be a most fulfilling and memorable afternoon.

We arrived at the golf club late, around 3:45 PM. We would have liked to arrive earlier; however the weekly five hour church service prevented this from happening. But that was no problem. I was simply happy to be at a golf course. So we paid our greens fees, retreived our set or rental clubs, and set off for the first tee around 4 PM. The sun sets around 6 PM so we were only allotted two hours of daylight to get our golf fixing. And what a fun two hours it was. The first hole is a 175 yard par 3. The teebox is directly below the veranda of the clubhouse, an area which men and ladies can sit and socialize over an ice cool beer following their round of golf. All the eyes on the veranda were on Cole and me. People expected us to be good because we are 'Oburoni.' However, despite the glares and anxious eyes, I did not feel the least but nervous. My excitement and eagerness left me immune to all other emotions for the time being. I asked my caddy for the 8-iron, so he grabbed the classic 'Ping Eye 2' steel beauty and handed it to me. Much to my own surprise, I managed to make contact with my first swing and ended up landing just off of the left fringe of the green. My touched proved to be just as poor and rusty as I expected it to be. So I three-putted, bent over, and picked the ball out of the cup for the first time in over four months, and I was off!

Everything about the afternoon was cathartic and brought back so many fond memories. I was walking the sweet fairways of God's green earth with my two best friends, Cole and Charles. We sweated under the hot African sun together, reminisced and exchanged stories about our time in Accra together, and laughed at ourselves when we bladed, hooked, and yes, even shanked the occasional 4-iron. The skill may be hard to find; my touch may be nearly all gone at this moment; but the love and bliss I experience on the golf course is still there. I still watch each of my drives with intent and curious eyes to see where they land. And felt just as sweet on Sunday when I sunk a twenty-foot anake of a putt to save par on the eighth hole to save par. Granted, on this afternoon, the putt was to keep me at five over par instead of even par - a score I can hope to challenge again next summer upon returning to the States! The passage of a few months has not caused my love for golf, nor for Arnold Palmers, to subside. Following our round of golf, I treated Cole and Charles to Arnold Palmers. For those of you who do not know. An 'Arnold Palmer' is an historic golfer's drink, and it is made by mixing lemonade and sweet tea - or at least it is sweet tea if you are from the South! This was the first time that Cole's and Charles' taste buds were privelaged enough to receive the deluctably refreshing sensation that an Arnold Palmer gives each man who drinks one. It is encouraging that while I am in a culture very different from my own I can still find joy and stasis playing the game I love. The fairways are just as pretty; the fellowship with my buds is just as rewarding; and the Arnold Palmers are just as sweet...

Giving Back to Maamobi Prisons No. 1 JHS

2010-01-05T07:42:00.000-08:00

My Bridge Year began in the last week of August 2009 in Princeton, New Jersey with a one week orientation that was designed to help prepare me for the physical, emotional, and mental challenges of my nine months ahead. During one of the orientation sessions, John Luria, Director of the Bridge Year Program, led a discussion on the psychology of the traveler. He told us what to expect upon arrival. He dubbed it “The Honeymoon Phase.” We would be away from home, free to explore our new surroundings, and free to make our own choices and do as we please with our free time. This newly found freedom and the novelty of a new country were things to welcome. However, following this “honeymoon period,” we could expect to experience what is often called “The Crash.” During this period of time we could our emotions to come back down to earth. We would realize that there are certain things about this new culture that we may come to find difficult to adjust to: the food, the language, the pace of life, etc.. We would realize that we are not on a vacation, and that we will not see our loved ones for a long time. And the thought that turns a fleeting thought of gloominess into a “Crash” is the realization that my discomfort, my uneasiness, and my nostalgia are not temporary. I am here to stay – for nine months at least – and I will not go home for a long while.

I experienced my “crash” a bit late in my stay in Ghana. It happened in early November. However, my crash was not brought about by illness, different foods, a trouble in grasping the local language, or even homesickness. I quickly realized that any illness was to be expected as my body was adapting to new air, new weather, new bacteria, and a new time zone. As far as food, I knew that would be different, and I quickly adapted to eating more yams and cassava. The language I knew would take time and so I did not put an enormous amount of pressure on myself in this area. And homesickness is simply natural, so I did not panic when I began to miss my family and friends. After all, I am Latino. And although I am not one to believe in stereotypes, this one holds true: All Latin boys are mama’s boys. So I was not alarmed when I began to crave sizzling chorizo sausage with homemade tortillas, or when I began to miss the refreshing smell of Clorox that permeates our home after my mom has cleaned the whole house. Rather what caused my “crash” was the self-realization that I was becoming complacent. I was going to work everyday, but I was not fully giving my whole self to the job. I found the apathy of some of the teachers discouraging. And instead of being the change I wished to see, I was quickly becoming a victim of my environment and becoming apathetic myself. Apathetic is a harsh word; I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I just became immune to the idleness around me. I was becoming more and more complacent and thus short-siding my teaching potential and cheating my students. I would grudgingly agree to cover a class for a teacher instead of simply doing the job I was asked to do to the best of my abilities. And I was discouraged because I had been teaching for two months, and had only a month and a half left, and I questioned whether I was making a meaningful contribution on the students and school. Would the students and teachers of Maamobi Prisons No. 1 JSS remember me after I left?
What was most disheartening, and what really brought about the “crash,” was the fact that all of my negative feelings, my complacency, and my begrudging feelings towards some of the teachers were brought about by myself. I had lost sight of who I was responsible for and who I was affecting; I was responsible for myself, my actions only, and my attitude – positive or negative – was affecting the students I was responsible for teaching. I was not responsible for other teachers, and if I was discouraged in the job I was doing I had only myself to blame. Regrets come about only when we do neither what we ought to do nor what we like. In all honesty, I suppose to call my emotional trough a “crash” would be a bit of a misnomer. Simply because I did not suffer a traumatic experience that spiraled me into a state of depression, and my emotional decline was not sudden. Rather, I had been sliding down a gentle slope of laziness and apathy for a while. My slide did not have any road signs; it was a gradual one. As I stated earlier: I had become the part of my environment that I criticized the most instead of being the change I wished to see. It did not take me long to snap myself out of my state of self-pity. I reflected on how blessed I was to be in Ghana, and how I was fortunate to be given this Bridge Year opportunity. I soon realized that I did not want to look back on my time in Accra and feel as though I could have done more if I had worked a little harder and cared a little more. It is in this spirit that I began to work to fulfill my real mission for being here: to leave Maamobi Prisons No. 1 JSS better than I found it.

My plan, or goal if you wish to call it that, to accomplish my aforementioned mission was twofold. It was not uncommon for me to have a bit of free time at the end of certain school days if I had finished marking all of my assignments and if I was not scheduled to teach an afternoon class. On such days I could often be found reading at my desk, and I would never read without my pocket-size Oxford Mini Dictionary & Thesaurus by my side. On more than a few occasions, various students came up to me and asked me what purpose the small book I periodically looked through served. I would tell them that I prefer reading with a dictionary close by whenever possible so that if I come across a word I do not know I can look it up. I encouraged the students to take a look through the dictionary, and each time one looked through it he or she would then ask me if I could give mine to him or her. My first initiative would be to try to raise enough money to buy each of my students his or her very own Oxford Mini Dictionary & Thesaurus. This way each student could have a dictionary that he could call his own, and he could then use the invaluable and necessary tool anytime he pleased in order to improve his English. My second initiative was more geared to aiding the teachers and to creating a more efficient and clean environment conducive to effective teaching and sound learning. To do this I wanted to remove the old, crusty (please excuse the informal language, but this is a fairly accurate description of the boards) chalkboards and install brand-new, dry-erase whiteboards. All of the chalkboards had cracks in them. One – the chalkboard in the form 2 classroom – even had a gaping hole in the middle of it. The teacher would begin writing a sentence on the left-hand side of the board and midway through the sentence would have to jump three feet to the right-hand side of the board and continue writing the same sentence on a different section of the board. Also, teachers and students alike complain each time the board has to be erased as chalk dust fills the air and causes a lot of people to cough. Additionally, the chalk dirties the clothes of the teachers who are using it. I figured whiteboards would be easier to clean, easier to manage, and the writing would appear clearer on them than on the chalkboards.

In order to support my efforts, in late November I sent out letters soliciting the help of my family, friends, and the Charlotte Princeton Alumni network. I did not want to burden anyone, so I only sought out people who had made it known to me that they wanted to contribute to aiding the teachers and students I am serving and working alongside with here in Ghana. Each group of people showed incredible generosity, selflessness, and benevolence by making significant contributions to my efforts. The donations were enough to pay for ninety Oxford Mini Dictionaries & Thesauruses – enough to give to each of my students and to each teacher – and to cover the cost for acquiring the materials to build and install one ‘4 x 12’ whiteboard in each classroom (three whiteboards total). To build the whiteboards we bought three ‘4 x 12’ pieces of ¾ inch thick plywood, Formica (the glossy, white surface that you actually write one), lots of carpenters glue (a few liters), blocks and nails to mount the boards into the wall permanently, and plastic border to make the boards aesthetically appealing. Contributions also went towards buying the teachers a bountiful amount of dry-erase markers and erasers so they do not have to worry about buying those on their own. My host father, a professional carpenter, and I all worked together to build and install the whiteboards into each of the classrooms. I hope to upload some pictures of the construction and installation process; they would include pictures of the old chalkboards, the bare classroom walls (after we tore down the chalkboards), and the newly installed whiteboards.

It is not good that I came to a point where I was embarrassed of the effort, or lack there of, that I was putting into my work here in Ghana. I acknowledge that any feelings or questions I may have regarding the “difference or impact” I am making on the people I am serving are unfounded. And they are in large part rooted in an ego-oriented, misguided perception of my work, which is wrong. My work is meaningful, and I am only to be ashamed if I do not give each job my best effort. And I now recognize, and in the blog post below will talk about, that when I become complacent and give less than my best I am not only shortchanging myself. I am cheating more people. My time is not simply my own, and I cannot simply do with it as I please. And that is what I want to devote the next post to: Let’s talk about “Time”…

My Time Is Not My Own

2010-01-05T07:34:00.000-08:00

Upon committing to deferring matriculation for a year and opting to take a Bridge Year, many people asked me why I made the decision I made. They did not ask me because they necessarily agreed or disagreed with my decision. They simply asked, and I am still asked, because they wanted to know what motivated my decision. The truth is it was a whole host of reasons, and it would be unnecessary and irrelevant to this blog to go into all of them. However, there is one reason that I chose to take a Bridge Year abroad that I want to elaborate on because I feel like it is worth explaining.

I am a notorious procrastinator. If you talk to anyone who knows me well they will attest to this. My parents and brother can attest to it because they have been kept awake by my bedroom light deep into the night because I was up late studying for a test that I had known about for weeks. My high school classmates can attest to it because many of them received phone calls in the middle of the night from me asking for help. And if they ever needed help they never failed to call me. Not because they were confident that I would be able to help them, but because they knew that I would most certainly be up cramming to finish my assignment the night before it was due. Though I have never set foot on a college campus as an enrolled freshman, something I know about entering college is that one enters a drastically different environment (most of the time, unless one went to a boarding school) from the one he was accustomed to in high school. An individual no longer lives at home; he takes less classes; he has more free time and new freedoms. One of the things I feared about going straight into college was that in a new environment I would try to maintain the behaviors I was accustomed to and comfortable with in high school, behaviors and habits that I felt had worked fine for me the previous eighteen years of my existence. This would only be natural: to simply behave the way I have always behaved. However, this Bridge Year has allowed me the time and practice ground to examine my habits and behaviors and refine them to better suit a free, independent lifestyle. And the behavior that I have come to deplore, and must work on the most, is my shameful propensity to procrastinate. More broadly, my whole perception of time and my time-management has changed, and that is the topic of this blog: How Ghana has changed my perception of my time.

A part of Ghanaian culture that I have come to love and appreciate is the laid-back nature of people. People, for the most part, are very relaxed. There are not too many high-strung individuals, and it is not often that you will find someone growing overly worked up over an inconvenience or quagmire. In an earlier blog post I talked a bit about the collective, brotherly nature of Ghanaian society, and this holds true in leisure. People enjoy relaxing and having a good time with the people they love the most. For example, I can step out my front door in East Legon, Accra and will never have any trouble finding a game or Rummy to join. There are always men sitting in front of their houses either playing cards, chatting, or listening to the radio, and they welcome a companion to join them in their leisure. This is to be admired. However, too much of most things are usually not good, and the laid-back attitude and indulgence in leisure is no different. People are sometime easygoing to a fault. The free-spirit lifestyle that most people choose to live by can often lead to over-indulgence in leisure. Sometimes people are even idle and seemingly basic, menial tasks may take hours or days to get done depending on the job. Many people joke about “African Time.” “African Time” is the name people, locals included, use refer to Africans’ propensity to always be running late. I have found it nearly impossible to schedule meetings in Ghana. Most Ghanaians cannot give you a set time of their arrival, much less suggest a time when a meeting should commence.

For example, last week I wanted to meet a Ghanaian friend of mine, George, for dinner. I suggested 7:00 PM on Tuesday. He said, “Of course Nick. That’s fine. 7:00, 7:30 sounds good to me.” I knew that when he said that he was hinting to me that there was a slim chance he would meet me at 7:00 PM, and there was a good chance that he would arrive after 7:30 PM – likely closer to 8:00 PM. Here is another example…In America, when one receives a wedding invitation that says, “The wedding ceremony will commence at 6:30 PM on Saturday evening” he can be sure that if he shows up at 7:00 PM the Church doors will most likely be closed, he will have to embarrassingly walk into the chapel and sit down (likely a conspicuous spectacle), and he will have missed the start of the wedding. However, in Ghana it is different. My host auntie and host sister attended a wedding three Sundays ago. The wedding was scheduled to begin at 10:00 AM. The bride did not show up until 12:30 PM! And the guests and attendees had to wait and sing hymnals to pass the time as they waited two and a half hours for the bride to show up to her own wedding.

Here is one last example. In the previous blog (above) I talked about the donation, building, and installation of the whiteboards in the school I teach at. However, I did not mention the debacle that nearly thwarted all of our efforts. I bought the three ‘4 x 12’ pieces of ¾ inch thick plywood a week and a half before we actually installed the boards. We kept the three pieces of plywood just outside the side door of our house. We figured this would be fine because we live in a compound. The area is gated and an eight and a half foot cement wall encompasses the whole compound. This is a fairly common setup in Ghana, and such compounds are rarely robbed. However, the night before we were set to install the whiteboards was different. I woke up to check and make sure that we had all of the necessary tools and supplies to build the whiteboards before we loaded the truck to meet the headmaster at the school at 8:30 AM on the morning of December 21, 2009. However, the boards were gone and were nowhere to be found. Mr. Kodji, the headmaster, was scheduled to meet us at the school because he had keys to each of the classrooms so that we could enter each classroom and install the whiteboards. We had to call him and ask him if we could meet later because Charles (my host father) and I had to go to town to buy three new ‘4 x 12’ pieces of ¾ inch thick plywood before we could meet the Mr. Kodji at the school. I asked Charles what time he thought we would be finished making our necessary rounds so that I could give the headmaster a new time to meet us at the school. Charles told me to not give him a time and to tell him that we would call him when we were ready. I could not believe this. It was the holidays and I wanted to be considerate of Mr. Kodji’s time and not leave him waiting around for us to call him when he could be taking care of other responsibilities of his. Charles did not seem to mind, and interestingly enough neither did Mr. Kodji when I called to tell him to wait for us to call him before he went to the school. That is just the way things run in Ghana. To me it is at times frustrating, but I have learned to become more patient, understanding, and respectful of other people’s time. Just to finish the anecdote, we did end up calling Mr. Kodji eventually that day. However, by the time we went to town and returned, it was too late to meet him so we ended up meeti8ng the next day. Nevertheless, setbacks aside, we installed the boards the next day.

These are three classic examples of time trials (no hyphen) in Africa. So what has this taught me? It has taught me to be selfless, practical, wise, and understanding with my time. I have been a procrastinator all of my life, but I am determined to change this cancerous habit. I used to justify my procrastination by saying that, “My time is my own.” My mom would always implore me to use my time wisely. I would always tell her to not worry and that I would get my work done before the deadline so she should not worry. This was always true, but as I reflect I realize that it was a poor way of justifying my behavior. I would tell her that I wanted to enjoy my free time, so instead of taking advantage of my free time to get my work done ahead to time so I would not have to procrastinate I would relax and be idle. This would leave me cramming at the last minute to get my work done, and I often lost hours of sleep because of it. However, I was okay with this. Because I viewed my time as just that, MINE. So I could do with it as I pleased so long as I did get my responsibilities done in the end, and on time. After seeing how time is valued here in Ghana, and after genuine reflection and critique of my own time management, I now realize how selfish this perception is.

The fact is: My time is not my own. Or at least, it does not solely belong to me. In fact, no man can, in the most literal sense of the word, ‘own’ time. As C.S. Lewis so eloquently put it in his novel The Screwtape Letters: “The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and moon as his chattels.” This convicted me when I read it. No man tells the sun when to rise, or when to set. No man can give another man more time on this earth than he is already destined to have. And no man can manipulate time to suit his own schedule. The clock will always move at a rate of sixty seconds per minute. And the future is a place reached by everyone at the rate of twenty-four hours in a day, seven days a week, and three hundred and sixty-five days a year, no matter who you are. And because we are only given a finite number of time on this earth as a ‘pure gift,’ we should cherish it and make the most of each second. This sense of entitlement that my time is MINE is selfish and is rooted in unfounded pride. Because if I am honest, if we are all honest with ourselves, my time is not my own, and neither is my body, or my soul. It is a gift that is to be used prudently to carry out the work it was sent to carry out, and to glorify the One who gave me them as ‘pure gifts.’

I talked about my “Crash” that was precipitated by a sense of complacency. I became complacent because I grew very comfortable with the Ghanaian lifestyle and my life here. I persuaded myself that the future – or at least my time here – was going to be agreeable so I did not need to worry about the future or what to do with my time. I later realized how self-absorbed this is. And this is one of the thoughts that motivated me in putting together the initiatives to help Maamobi Prisons No. 1 JSS. As I have said before, I do feel morally obligated to give back because I am so blessed. I have a responsibility to make the most of the finite amount of time I have been given. I should spend my life giving myself patiently and generously to each moment for the good of posterity. There is something to be admired in the easygoing spirit of Ghanaians. And leisure and relaxation are healthy, even necessary, in leading a sane and fulfilling existence – but only to a point. I am starting to find out what works best for me, and everyone is different. We all manage our time differently, and different people do marvelously for themselves by managing their time in the way that works best for them. I have learned that the key is to find what works best for me and to stay true to that. I am not perfect, and I will continue to struggle with time management. My time is not my own. And I can rest my head in peace at night if I can look back on the prior day and say that I pulled all I could out of each second – each ‘pure gift’ – I was given.

"Mepaakyew, Eye sen?"

2009-11-13T08:21:00.000-08:00

Something that is standard in Ghanaian culture, and something that I will miss greatly, is the practice and art of bargaining. With the exception of foreign, manufactured goods nearly everything is open to bargaining. One must bargain for a taxi, clothes, fruits, vegetables, jewelry, food at a chop bar, and if you feel you are being cheated by the mate, you can even bargain for your tro-tro fare. I am a young man of modest travel experience. But in my short time in Ghana I have already come to realize that you will only get out of the culture as much as you want. And no matter how much you want, you will only be able to get as much as you can understand. If you do not know the language, no matter how much studying you do, you will be limited. You will be limited in the depth of your conversations and interactions with locals. You will be limited as to what you can read on the signs and billboards. You will be helpless when you know that people are talking about you, sometimes in a slanderous manner, but you have no idea what they are saying, nor can you do anything about it. And quite frankly, if you do not know the language, you will be limited in your bargaining potential. Whether I like it or not, Ghanaian’s, and most people in developing countries for that matter, view white people as rich. Whether I am trying to catch a taxi, or inquiring about the price of six yards of fabric in the market, I can expect to be overcharged. So it is imperative, and the culture demands, that I be able to bargain. I believe that the best way to illustrate the bargaining experience is through a personal anecdote. The anecdote takes place at Makola, Accra’s largest market located in the central of the city. Traders there sell everything and anything. It is quieter than it used to be as stall holders are no longer allowed to set up in the streets around the market. Nevertheless, the rabbit warren of aisles inside the market still holds plenty to see…

The markets are split into sections. There are no signs that say, “This is the fabric section,” or “This is the produce section.” However, with a few trips to the market and some time an patience, one will gain a grasp of where everything is located. Two Saturdays ago I went to Makola Market with my host father, Charles. Charles and I have quickly become best of friends so I was happy that he could join me on my trip to the market. But more than that, I was extremely fortunate. It is always wise for a foreigner to go to the market with a local. Locals have a sound grasp of the language, the prices, the lay of the land, and appropriate bargaining techniques, so I was thankful that Charles came along. As I made clear in my first blog post in Ghana, I am a man after my mom’s own heart. As is the case, I become insatiably excited by the prospect of shopping. The swarms of people crowding the walkways, the diversity of goods, and the personalities one meets at the market all energize me. On this particular Saturday Charles and I went both “pleasure shopping” and “necessity shopping.” We finished our pleasure shopping first, and then had to go buy oranges and pineapple so that my auntie and I could make our own juice at home. We needed enough oranges and pineapple for two batches of juice, and we wanted to have enough so that there would be leftovers to eat should we please. We found a lady who was selling both oranges and pineapple, and we approached her stand.

“Mepaakyew, Ankaa wura ete sen?" (Excuse me, orange seller how are you?) I said. As has become the standard reaction whenever I open my mouth and speak Twi, the woman looked at me with an illuminated face of surprise and yelled, “Oburoni ote Twi” (White man understands Twi). We continued conversing. She asked me what my name was, both my real name and my Ghanaian name. She asked me where I was from, about my family, and what had brought me to Ghana. In order to effectively bargain, especially as a foreigner, it is important that one first establishes a relationship with the seller. This makes for a comfortable, easy-flowing exchange, and it insures that you don’t come across as a flippant and ignorant tourist. People are much more open to negotiating with customers if they feel like they are gaining a friend and loyal customer in the process. After introductions and some small talk, I explained to Ese (I came to know her name) that I wanted to buy some oranges and pineapple. “Mapaakyew, meto ankaa ne aborobe” (Please, I will buy some oranges and pineapple). “Wope ahe?” (How much do you want?) she said. I told her that I wanted forty oranges and six pineapples. Ese told me that forty oranges would cost four Ghana Cedi (roughly $2.74) – ten Pesawas per orange. Pineapple varies in cost depending on the size. Ese told me that the ones I wanted would cost one Ghana Cedi each. Six would be six Ghana cedi. Ese was a nice vendor; she was not trying to rip me off. We agreed on the price. Usually when buying food, it is customary for the buyer to ask for what is referred to as a “dash,” or a little extra. I was about to ask Ese for a dash since I had was buying so much fruit. “Mepaakyew, to so kakra,” (Please add a bit) I was going to say. However, before I could ask, benevolent Ese beat me to it. She told me that because I spoke Twi with her she would give me ten extra oranges and an extra pineapple free of charge. This was very generous of her, and I thanked her for her generosity. She told me that I should come by her stand whenever I return to the market. I happily agreed. “Yebehyia bio,” (We will meet again) I said. “Yoo, mate,” (All right, I hear you) she said.

My story recounts an experience I had in bargaining for fruit. That was not the only bargaining I did that day. Prior to that, I bought two football jerseys. Nicer clothing items such as this require more shrewd, patient, and skilled bargaining. Charles spoke significantly more in this encounter as my Twi skills are too novice at this point to be able to engage in a fifteen minute bargaining battle. He did marvelously and showed me how to operate with patience, kindness, and sternness. The seller initially wanted thirty-five Ghana Cedi for one jersey, but we ended up getting two for twenty Ghana Cedi. I could never have gotten this good of a price on my own. To be honest, I probably would have given in too soon. But I am learning by experience. After all, as goes the Akan maxim: “Culture is caught, not taught.” You must be nice so that the seller finds favor with you; however, you must also have the willpower to commit to a price and not allow any efforts of man to change your mind. It is understood that when buying luxury items (such as football jerseys) the seller will mention a really high price. If you pay it, then it is his lucky day and you are a softy. It is expected that the buyer then returns with a very low offer and through patience, time, and some witty banter a “fair deal” is met. Goods sold in the markets and along the sides of the street do not usually have fixed prices. One is therefore expected to bargain with the seller. However, the prices of goods in shops are fixed, so one does not normally bargain in shops. Occasionally, especially if it is a small shop, a customer may ask for a discount or a reduction of the price. Fruit and vegetable sellers usually add a few of the items they are selling as a gift, especially if the customer buys a sizable quantity. Ese was kind enough to do this for Charles and me. We walked away content with our jerseys, fifty oranges, and seven pineapples. I plan on returning to Makola and bargaining with Ese and vendors like her some day soon.

A Little Nugget of Ghanaian Cultural Values

2009-11-13T07:44:00.000-08:00

Over the past three weeks my comrades and I have attended a few introductory lectures at the University of Ghana. These lectures have been surveys of Ghanaian culture in the areas of Ghana’s economy, cultural values, and classes and tribalism in Ghana. This blog post is devoted to the blending of the latter two. There are many cultural values within a society. In addition to humanity and brotherhood, there are religious values, communal and individualistic values, moral values, family values, economic values, political (and in some cases chiefship) values, and aesthetic values such as art and artistic symbolism to name a few. However, for the sake of brevity and practicality, I will devote this blog entry to only two: humanity and brotherhood. This blog entry is a more educational piece. I feel that it is both an appropriate and necessary time to try to relay some of the observations I have made on Ghanaian culture through two months of living in the country. My blog posts up to this point have in large part been self-focused. I have told about my experiences, my challenges, and the lessons that I am beginning to learn. This makes sense because I was a newcomer to Ghana – ignorant to the language, religious practices, social norms, and standard living conditions. I was hardly ready or capable of drawing any accurate conclusions from the things I saw. And even now I still find myself in this weird transitory state. I have been in Ghana for two months. I am no longer a tourist, but I am by no means a local. I learn something new about Ghanaian life everyday, and this post, instead of being about me, is about my surroundings – surroundings that have proven to be both intricate and complex. Specifically, I will try to explain how the “cultural values” of humanity and brotherhood are able to be ever present in a society with such great ethnic diversity. I will draw on both my notes from the lectures I attended, and from my own impressions from the two months that have come to pas since I have been in Ghana.

Ghana gained its independence from British rule in 1957. Though Ghana is now an independent nation with definitive political boundaries, its people have retained allegiance and pride in their tribal roots that date back to pre-colonial days. There are about forty-one ethnic groups (i.e. nationalities) in Ghana. The major ones are the Akan, the Ewe, the Dagomba, Ga-Adangbe, the Mamprusi, Gonja and Kokomba. Most of the nationalities have sub-units. For instance, Asante, Fante, Akwapim, Ahafo, Brong, Kwahu etc, are sub-units of the Akan while Anlo, Some, Tonu, Avenor, Ewedome are sub-divisions of the Ewe. Each ethnic group thinks that it is the best in Ghana. It is not uncommon for certain ethnic groups to attribute a certain set of negative qualities to every other group and to each sub-unit of the latter. Even within one and the same ethnic group, each sub-division has a set of fixed prejudices and stereotypes about every other sub-unit. Thus, it is common to hear platitudes like: Members of nationality A are lazy, corrupt, pretentious, money-minded, trabalistic, flamboyant, boastful; those of nationality B are nepotic, tribalistic, wicked, blood-thirsty, inward looking; while those of C are unreliable, opportunistic, cowardly, vicious, impulsive; and those of D are lazy, primitive, backward, sensitive, hot-tempered etc.

In fact, each ethnic group thinks it is the best in Ghana. In many ways this has become a “Catch 22.” It is always good for one to have great pride associated with his roots. However, in some sever cases, such as in areas in the north of Ghana, the few virtues that each ethnic group reluctantly sees in the other nationalities are heavily outweighed by the negative traits it attributes to them. This and other dimensions of tribal ill-feeling frustrate nation-building and national development in Ghana today. Individuals or groups of people are discriminated against by people in authority on the basis of their ethnic origins as regards employment, promotion, retrenchment of workers, selection for football and other sports teams, allocation of contracts, credit facilities, etc. Thus, often times, many a square peg is found in many a round hole, misfits in jobs or playing roles for which they are unskilled.

These are a few facts regarding the ethnic diversity in Ghana and some of the symptoms of tribalism. I mentioned these symptoms in an effort to be fair and objective in my analysis of Ghanaian culture. It would be unfair to say that the ethnic diversity of Ghana has only resulted in feelings of dissonance, contempt, and racialism. Just as it would be inaccurate to say that despite the ethnic diversity, each nationality is able to live in complete harmony with the other. However, through my brief stay in Ghana, I have come to believe that the latter assertion is a more accurate representation on the whole of Ghanaians. I suppose this is true for a variety of reasons, one of the chief ones being the pervasive role of religion in Ghanaian society – the centrality of God and other supernatural beings. Religion is a large topic, and so I will devote a separate blog post to that. However, in order to be able to effectively understand the concept of brotherhood in Ghanaian society, one must first acknowledge and have a brief understanding of the role that religion plays in the equation.

Ghanaians recognize the dignity of the human being and, in consequence, hold a deep and unrelenting concern for human welfare and happiness. This can be seen in many traditional Ghanaian maxims (proverbs) and prayers that pay particular attention to life, fertility, and the birth of many children. The thoughts, actions, art, and institutions of the Ghanaian people are replete with expressions of concern for human welfare and the importance of the human being. Recognition of the value of humanity is intrinsically linked with recognition of the unity of all people, whether or not they are biologically related. This deep appreciation for humanity is reflected in such communal social structures as the clan, the extended family, and complex networks of social relationships and the Ghanaian (and African for that matter) custom of opening’s one door to strangers and showing them acts of generosity and hospitality. The Ghanaian view of humanity and the value that is attached to it probably derives from the belief that humanity is a creation of God. As an Akan maxim expresses it:

"All human beings are children of God; no one is a child of the earth."

The insistent claim made in this maxim is based on the belief that there must be something intrinsically valuable in God: the human being, considered a child of God, presumably by reason of having been created by God and having in his or her nature some aspect of God, ought also to be held as of intrinsic value, worthy of dignity and respect. Indeed, because the average Ghanaian believes that we are all children of God, we are all inherently brothers, related by virtue of having the same Lord and Creator. A new friend of mine called me his brother the first time we met. He then proceeded to ask me if I understood why he called me his brother just after meeting him for the first time. He told me, “Nick, we are all brothers, no matter what your skin color or tribe. If you cut me you, I bleed red blood. If you cut yourself, you will also bleed red blood. We may be different in appearance, but that is superficial. When you get down to our cores, we are all human beings worshiping one awesome God and bleeding the same blood.”
I believe that one personal anecdote of a seemingly insignificant gesture best illustrates the Ghanaian’s devotion to humanity. In Ghanaian society, human relationships are highly valued. Greeting people one meets is an important element in enhancing human relations and in making people feels good about themselves. The greeting is considered a way of acknowledging the other person as a fellow human being. And a person may feel deeply hurt if you pass him by without greeting him. The failure to greet him would be regarded as a failure on your part to recognize that he shares your humanity. The recognition of individuals by the social act of greeting is therefore a social as well as a moral obligation.

I buy water from the same woman everyday at work. Her name is Abenaa, and she sells cooled 500 mL sachets of water in her home across from my school. I greet her everyday on my way to school, about three times during school when I walk over at various times to buy a sachet of water, and I again bid her farewell when I am leaving work at the end of each day. However, last Monday on my way to work I failed to greet Abenaa. She looked to be reprimanding her young son for something that he had done wrong, and I did not want to interfere or bother her, so I walked by without greeting her. When I came back to her home about an hour later to buy my first sachet of water she had a hurt look on her face. She asked me why I had failed to greet her in the morning. She told me that she was hurt, and that I walking by her without acknowledging her presence made her feel like I did not take our friendship seriously. Initially I felt that she was overreacting, but I apologized nonetheless. “Mepa wo kyew, fa kye me” (“Please, forgive me”), I said. “Yoo, me fa kye wo,” (“Yes, I forgive you”) she responded.
The great value placed on human beings is also demonstrated by the response to the death of a member of the community. The death affects not just the specific group or clan to which the deceased belonged but the entire village or community. All normal economic and other activities are stopped, usually at great cost; but the values of the Ghanaian people are not in terms of economic production and the maximum use of one’s time. For them, as an Akan maxim says, “it is the human being that counts.”

Another, but certainly not the last, way in which the Ghanaian concept of brotherhood is illustrated is in the various languages. In almost all Ghanaian languages there is really no word for “race.” There are instead, the words “person,” “human being,” and “people.” So that, where others would say, “the black race” or “the white race,” Ghanaians would say, “black people,” “white people,” and so on. And instead of “people with mixed race,” they would say, “people of mixed blood.” This expression is vague, however, since “people of mixed blood” also describes people of dual ethnic parentage in Ghanaian/African societies. But, for the Ghanaian, the important point is that the offspring of any “blood mixing” is a human being – a child of God – and therefore belongs to the one human race of which we are all a part. That is all. European colonialism – the venture for economic exploitation of other peoples that started in the eighteenth century – introduced racial categories or distinctions and racialism into Africa.
Whether it is in the celebration of life through funerals, the opening up of one’s home to a guest, or the simple greeting of friends, the value that Ghanaian’s place in humanity and brotherhood is evident in their hospitable, generous, and communal nature. Earlier I alluded to an anecdote of when I passed by my friend, Abenaa, and failed to greet her. She was deeply hurt. I mentioned how I initially felt that her reaction was melodramatic. We all make mistakes. Sometimes people are in a hurry and they simply do not see you. However, after further examination of cultural values, I have come to appreciate the fact that Abenaa took issue with my failure to acknowledge her. Whether it was intentional or inadvertent, it matters not. Abenaa was not even really condemning me. More, her dissatisfaction with my action shows me that she truly values our relationship, no matter how new it may be. She considers me her friend, her brother. She strives to make me feel at ease by making a concerted effort to speak to me in my language – English – even though I am in her country. She makes mistakes, and I correct her. I in turn speak to her in Twi – and make infinitely more mistakes – and she corrects me. She is a Ghanaian; I am an American. She is black, an “Obibini.” I am “Oburoni kokoo” (literally: “red colored white man,” what I am identified as because of my slightly darker complexion and tanned skin). I am a southern poindexter. She is an Akan; her husband is an Ewe. However, it does not matter what tribe she or her husband are from because their children will be a mixture of both, learning to speak both languages. Ghanaians are highly religious people. Seventy percent are Christian; twenty percent are Muslim; five percent practice some non-affiliated traditional religion; and the other five percent do not align themselves with a specific creed. In Ghana, it is better to at least believe something than to not believe in any God at all, and one is met with puzzled eyes if he says he is atheist. I do not believe that an individual must be religious in order to value humanity and take interest in the well-fair of his brother. However, I do suspect that in the case of the average Ghanaian, one’s religious beliefs heavily influence his treatment towards his fellow man, friend or stranger alike. The average Ghanaian believes in a supreme Being, that there is one giver of life, and we are all apart of His family. Despite our differing nationalities, skin colors, and languages, we are, above all else, human beings belonging to one race: humanity. Therefore, we are all brothers and sisters. The day I walked by Abenaa and failed to greet her, I failed to acknowledge this brotherhood. It is as the Akan maxim says:

“Man’s brother is man.”

Abenaa got married this past weekend. As such, she was not home selling water all last week because she was busy preparing for the wedding. Below is a condensed and fragmented recount (for spatial and practicality purposes) of my conversation with her this past Monday upon seeing her as I was walking home from school. We met less than two months ago. Nevertheless, by the playfulness in our speech and the kindness of her words, you can tell that that does not matter. She still refers to me as her friend.

Twi
Nick: Mepaakyew, merehwehwe Abenaa. Abenaa: “M’damfo! Mehuu wo akyi.” Nick: “Mewo ho. Ete sen?” Abenaa: “Onyame adom me ho ye. Na wo nse e?” Nick: “Me nso me ho ye” Abenaa: “Yeda Onyame ase. Woreko he?” Nick: “Mapon adwuma nti meko fie seesei. Nanso yebehyia okyena” Abenaa: “Yoo, mehwe w’anim. Nante yie”

English
Nick: Excuse me, I am looking for Abenaa (Playfully looking around as if I can’t see Abenaa).
Abenaa: My friend! It’s been a long time since I last saw you. Nick: I’ve been around. How are you? Abenaa: By God’s grace I am fine, and you? Nick: I also am well Abenaa: We give thanks to God. Where are you going?
Nick: I have finished work, and so I’m going home now. But we will meet tomorrow.
Abenaa: All right, I’ll expect you. Safe journey

Reflections from Maamobi Prisons JHS No. 1

2009-10-09T08:25:00.000-07:00

I have been teaching at Maamobi Prisons Junior High School No. 1 for three weeks now. At the beginning it was difficult. I did not know the neighborhood, the students, the teachers, or the school’s standard operating procedure. The slip-ups and growing pains were many, and I relished the small successes so as to keep my morale up. However, as each day passes and I continue to settle into my routine, I grow more comfortable. This confidence has come from experience and the awareness that sometimes you must just expect – or at least accept – the unexpected. I have shown up to work an hour late because my tro-tro got in an accident along the way. I have been forced to review the periodic table and ready myself to teach a lesson on the structure of an atom – with only thirty minutes notice – to thirty-two eighth graders because the science teacher called in sick and no other teacher was able or willing to cover for him. I have had to spend seventy minutes on a grammar lesson that was only designed to take thirty because the students did not grasp the new concept with ease and expedience. Each of these experiences has taught me to embrace the spontaneity, uncertainty, and forced learning that is inherent in the nature of a new job and in working in a culture different than my own. Although, it would be inaccurate of me to think that every challenge that comes my way will have a lily-white life-lesson on the other side of it. It would be haughty, naïve, and even foolish of me to approach my teaching in Ghana with an overly ambitious hope. To think that simply because I am an American I know it all and am an authority on how things should be done. And to think that because I am sent by Princeton, that I am automatically destined to succeed and be a force of long-term influence in Maamobi and in the lives of my pupils. An episode that I witnessed last week challenged my beliefs and, for the first time, really forced me to examine my core – to question myself on why I had come to Ghana, and what I hope to accomplish while I am here. I will explain the uneasiness that I felt last Friday; how I was forced to reorient my hopes and expectations of myself as a teacher; and the impressions from the situation that have shaped my thinking moving forward. Last Friday I arrived to school at 8 AM – as I do every morning. Only this morning, I was not greeted with a playful welcome: “Obroni, ete sen?” (“White man, how are you?”). As I rounded the street corner and looked at Maamobi Prisons JHS No. 1, I heard the shouts of my headmaster; I saw the hopelessness of an apathetic father; and I was filled with compassion as I watched Kwame Adu cry out in pain.

As I walked through the gate of Maamobi Prisons JHS, I was struck by how silent the school was. Every Friday morning the school congregates behind the main building for an assembly of dance and worship (I will speak to religion in Ghanaian society in a later blog). The assembly usually lasts for one hour – from eight to nine – and the singing of the school children can be heard from a mile away. However, this morning was different. I heard nothing as I alighted from the tro-tro and walked to the school. Upon arrival, I noticed that all of the students were quietly sitting in their classrooms, not singing and dancing in assembly. The headmaster and four teachers were meeting with Kwame Adu and his father. Kwame is a seventeen year old Form 3 (eighth grade) student and is in his fifth year at Maamobi Prisons JHS. He passed Form 1 and Form 2; yet he has failed to pass his junior high school examinations the past two years and so remains in Form 3. Kwame’s inability to pass his exams is not due to a lack of intellectual spar or lack of ability. He is fluent in four languages: Twi (his dad is an Ashanti and speaks Twi), Ga (the local language of Accra), French (his mom is from the Ivory Coast), and English. Clearly Kwame has the intellectual spar to complete the middle school curriculum and pass the pre-secondary school exams. However, ever since entering Form 3, Kwame has chosen to spend his weekdays selling provisions on the streets, rather than coming to school. If you have taken a moment to view the pictures on my slide show, you should have noticed a picture of “Obama Biscuits”. I bought these from Kwame. Kwame comes from a broken home and humble means. Once he reached the eighth grade, he felt that he would do both himself and his family more good by earning some extra money by selling biscuits, crackers, and snacks as a street vendor than by attending class everyday. As such, Kwame has only been coming to school an average of two to three days a week for the past two years. And when he does come to school, he is so exhausted from the prior day’s work – and so far behind on his assignments – that he sees trying to pay attention as futile, and sleeps through nearly every class.

School started on September fifteenth, and Kwame came three times in the first two weeks of school – the first day, and Thursday and Friday of last week. Last Thursday the headmaster asked Kwame – as he does everyday that Kwame decides to come to school – to come to school the next day. However, this time, he asked Kwame to bring his father with him. The three were to have a conference in which they were to discuss the scary realities and arduous challenges that Kwame faces as he enters Form 3 for the third year in a row. Kwame did come to school the next day, and his father accompanied him. The conference, which was supposed to only concern Kwame, his father, the headmaster, and one other teacher, soon grew into more of a skirmish that drew the attention of the entire school. The first part of the meeting had been conducted in the headmaster’s office. However, by the time I showed up to school, four teachers, the headmaster, Kwame, and Kwame’s father were in a circle standing outside the headmaster’s office. The school is only one open building, which consists of five rooms – the headmaster’s office, a teacher workroom, and three classrooms. As such, once the meeting left the headmaster’s office, the gathering was visible to all – students and teachers alike. I do not know how long the meeting had lasted, or what was discussed in the headmaster’s office. I can only account for the sequence of events that unfolded before my eyes following my arrival to school.

Kwame was standing next to his father, who was not wearing a shirt and looked like he had just rolled out of bed. I did not hear his father speak one word the entire time he was there. He had an apathetic look on his face and slouched posture, making it apparent that he was only at the school out of sheer obligation. The headmaster was shouting. His shouts started out as justified contempt for Kwame’s truancy; however, they soon grew to borderline abusive. The school is right next to a prison (thus the name: Maamobi Prisons JHS No. 1). And the headmaster laced his verbal attacks on Kwame with condescending remarks of the neighboring prison. “Kwame, do you want to sell biscuits on the street for your whole life? Do you want to end up working in the fields like the prisoners over there?!” There were four teachers that had joined the circle of condemnation and were voicing their input. Their remarks were just as abrasive and heartless as those of the headmaster. “You are seventeen years old Kwame,” said the one teacher. “That’s what I was when I graduated high school, and here you still haven’t graduated middle school.” Such remarks were abusive and highly inappropriate for any teacher – the supposed shaper of a child’s mind – to be saying. Following a good five minutes of tumultuous shouting, the headmaster commanded attention. He asked Kwame’s father if he minded if he [the headmaster] spanked Kwame in order to teach him a lesson. This may be foreign in American schools today, but it is not abnormal in Ghana. Ghana is a very traditional, old-fashioned society, and caning is standard punishment for most offenses. Kwame’s father neglected to answer the headmaster’s question with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, and simply asked if he could leave the school. He then permitted the headmaster to do what he saw as best fit from there. As Kwame’s father was walking away, the headmaster began to yell at Kwame again. He told Kwame that he was going to cane him fifteen times. “Fifteen” because he said that that was the age Kwame should have been when he entered secondary school if he had stayed off the streets and not played truant. Kwame absorbed the first five spanks with visible discomfort, yet he was able to restrain himself from shouting in pain. However, by the eighth cane, Kwame could not hold in his pain anymore. He began to cry out in agony, and his shrieks grew louder with each subsequent whip. Kwame’s lesson was being made the spectacle of the entire school as teachers and students peered over one another’s shoulders and around doors to see the cause of all the raucous. After the fifteenth lash Kwame fell to his knees and, with a look of fear and embarrassment in his eyes, promised the headmaster that he would not skip school anymore.

I cannot believe – in fact I refused to believe – that this extreme, abusive action was necessary to teach Kwame the importance of coming to school and passing his classes. I am convinced that there is another way to get the message across. I was filled with compassion as I saw Kwame absorb the condemnation from his teachers and the lashes from the headmaster. I was also overcome with an equally strong sense of hopelessness as I watched Kwame’s father walk away and not even look back as his son shrieked as he was spanked by the headmaster. It has been a week, and I have yet to be able to completely wrap my mind around Kwame’s situation and the sequence of events that unfolded last Friday. I still find myself asking many questions, and in a state of uncertainty as to how I should approach answering them:

· Kwame seems to have genuinely learned his lesson. But he comes from a broken home and lives with his seemingly apathetic father. Who is to say that he will not again be tempted (which he most likely will be) to make the quick buck, and skip school again?
· How does an adolescent that is trying to do the right thing look past his father’s apathy and choose to walk a path that he has not been shown?
· What kind of measurable influence can I make when I only teach Kwame – and any given student – for an hour, three times a week?
· Each one of the students goes home everyday, leaves the protection of the school, and faces challenges and hardships that I have – not by my own right – been blessed enough to avoid. How could I even begin to relate to most of these kids?
· I am scheduled to live in Accra and teach at Maamobi Prisons JHS No. 1 for four months (one semester). Is that enough time to do enough in order to ensure that my efforts have a lasting impact after I leave?
· Is it even right to try to quantify or compare one’s impact/influence on a situation (especially when dealing with the lives of human beings)?
· Why did I choose to be a teacher? Was it simply so I could share my knowledge with my students? Or am I interested in forming personal, pupil-teacher relationships with them?
· Is it fair of me to even begin to think that I have the wisdom or answers to some of the life questions and trials that many of these kids face everyday?

These questions were evoked by what I witnessed a week ego. They require me to analyze my experiences and set new, more appropriate expectations for myself moving forward. They challenge my prior beliefs, even my belief in myself, and make me question how much of a difference I can truly expect to make. And perhaps most importantly, they cut to my core and force me to honestly reflect on why I chose to come to Ghana.

Many of these children live in situations at home that I cannot relate to and that do not even exist in America. Sights such as what I saw last Friday touch my empathetic spirit and fill my heart with compassion. As I search for answers to some of my questions, I realize that I must begin my search at a logical starting point – my upbringing. I have lived a very comfortable, privileged life. I have not had to endure the loss of an immediate family member. I have been blessed with good health. In every endeavor I have ever set out upon, I have always had the full, unwavering support of my parents. I grew up in a safe, family-oriented neighborhood in south Charlotte. I have been afforded the privilege and opportunity to live in Ghana for nine months, and I will attend the school of my dreams next year. I am indeed blessed; however, it is by no right of my own. And because I am so very blessed, I am also morally obligated to give back to those who – by no fault of their own – have not been afforded the same opportunities. I did not come to Ghana to “save the World.” One Man already did that. I have merely come to Ghana, West Africa to “change the World.” Or I suppose a more appropriate wording would be “serve the world.” I have come to Ghana to serve. Maybe I make a difference in the life of one student because I teach him how to correctly address and format a personal letter, or because I pay 20 cents for his tro-tro ride home. Maybe I ease the workload of a teacher one day by grading her papers for her. Maybe I help tutor my host sister in Algebra and because of me she can now correctly simplify her fractions and find the “y-intercept” of a function. Or maybe I give my Harvard t-shirt to my eighteen year old neighbor who told me that it is his dream to make it to America and attend Harvard. Whatever it is, it matters, and it makes my time here worthwhile. It does not matter how tedious or simple the work or gesture may seem. If I can leave Ghana and one person can say that his/her life is a little better or a little easier because Nick Ricci passed through, then I have made a difference, and I have done well. I am a teacher by profession here in Ghana. But I have come to realize that we are all teachers to one another. Some of us are friends, parents, grandparents, guardians, bosses, or coaches, but we all can give a little. So we are all teachers, and we can all learn. Henry Adams, acclaimed historian and grandson of U.S. President John Quincy Adams, said it best: “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” This is so true. I was initially discouraged by the episode last Friday, and overwhelmed by the amount of seemingly unanswerable questions it raised. However, I have realized that it is okay to move forward without having the answers to all my questions. I have even realized that some of the questions are dangerous. For example, I wondered if I could honestly expect to be a force of quantifiably positive influence while in Ghana. This question misses the mark. It is selfish, narcissistic, and unproductive to spend my time trying to measure my influence. Because, as I cited earlier, one’s influence cannot every truly be measured. It is as Martin Luther King so eloquently put it, “You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and your verb agree to serve. You don’t have to know about Plato and Aristotle to serve. You don’t have to know Einstein’s theory of relativity to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love. And you can be that servant.” This is what moves us to serve. The grace comes from God. He has shown each one of us His grace through the gift of his Son, and in each of our lives that are replete with blessings and good fortune that we did nothing to deserve. We all share a commonality, an inherent bond, as fellow human beings that says that “I am my brother’s keeper; I am my sister’s keeper.” And because we are all humans, we all have the ability to empathize and feel compassion when we see injustices or maltreatment to our fellow man. The “soul generated by love” is within each of us. This is why we serve, and it is this is what has brought me to Ghana, West Africa.

My Volunteer Work in Ghana

2009-10-01T06:38:00.000-07:00

During our one week orientation in Ghana upon arrival, my four friends and I visited different NGOs (Non-Governmental Organizations) throughout Accra in order to determine where we would fit best. I chose the Bridge Foundation. The Bridge Foundation is an organization that seeks to build life skills in children through sports, specifically boxing and soccer (futbol). In conjunction with its dedication to the youth in Ghana, the Bridge Foundation has formed relations with a select number of primary and junior high schools in Accra, and that is where I sought to volunteer. The Bridge Foundation placed me in Maamobi Prisons No. 1 Junior Secondary School. Since settling in, I have been designated the school’s official English teacher for Form 1 and Form 2 students (6^th and 7^th graders). As the English teacher, I am in charge of teaching grammar, pronunciation, writing, and reading comprehension. The students do not have English everyday, and I attend Twi language classes at the University of Ghana on Monday and Thursday mornings. I teach my own lessons on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. On Mondays and Thursdays I come in for half days (after my language classes) and do anything from lending a helping hand and grading other teacher’s assignments, to tutoring students that need extra help in math.

Although English is the official language of Ghana, it is not the first language of native Ghanaians. Ghana claims host to over twelve different languages with over two hundred different dialects. Ghanaians will speak their native tongue at home (the language that their tribe or region identifies with) and then learn English in school. I teach in Accra, Ghana’s capital, so it would only make sense that English is spoken – at least a little – by most of the people that live in this metropolis. However, many people emigrate from rural areas to the city in hopes of a better life. The students that come from such families often have little to no previous exposure to English because it is not commonly spoken in the rural areas. As such, there are a handful of students that have a problem understanding me, and I – with my novice Twi abilities so far – often have a problem understanding them. This is probably the toughest part of my work. I have often times found myself questioning: How much of an influence can I really expect make on these students if some of them can’t even understand me? This is the question to which I am devoting my next blog post. I quickly figured out that it would do no use becoming frustrated by the language barrier. Instead it is a nuance to be embraced. When one student does not understand a concept I am teaching, I can usually find a group of two to four students jumping at the opportunity to help their struggling peer understand. I have even made worked out a deal with my students. The classes are one hour long. So I always introduce myself in Twi, and ask everyone how their day is going. Then I teach for fifty minutes in English. The last ten minutes is a time of reciprocated education. Students ask me to define a word that they have recently heard, but did not recognize, in English, and I ask them questions about vocabulary and grammar in Twi. Although, I often end up learning more in this part of the lesson than I end up teaching simply because the students usually ask me to define a couple of words for them, while I ask them for whole phrases or sentences in Twi. This is another rewarding and humbling part of my work. I am theoretically supposed to be the teacher; yet I too am always learning. I suppose this is part of the reciprocity of and glamour of teaching. There is a mutual exchange of knowledge. The kids are great. Their spry personalities and zest for learning has made the difficulties and work of being a teacher worthwhile and fresh. Every Friday after school the kids play futbol. Initially I was the official referee. But last week I played for the first time, and I have already been designated the standing number one draft pick every week because of my sheer size relative to the sixth and seventh graders.

This is just a brief survey and overview of my work at Maamobi Prisons Junior High School. I felt it would be useful to provide some background information as to what exactly it is I am doing here in Ghana. I have already made, and continue to make, several observations during my work at the school based on different things I have seen, experienced, or overheard while at the school. As mentioned before, I will continue to update and provide such anecdotes and observations as I make them. I have taught three lessons to each class for a total of six lessons so far. I am scheduled to be the English teacher for Maamobi Prisons No. 1 JSS through January, at which point I will move to Kumasi. The learning has just begun…

My Home Away from Home

2009-10-01T06:32:00.000-07:00

I am officially one month into my Ghanaian journey! As I reflect over the past month, I realize how much I have to be thankful for. I am thankful for the small things: figuring out my daily tro-tro route to and from work; finding which foods I enjoy and which foods my stomach admonishes me to avoid; gaining enough practice of hand-washing my laundry so that I can now do it in forty-five minutes as opposed to in an hour and a half. All of these things that I did not plan to combat before arriving, but which I am glad to have grasped in a month’s time. And then there are the larger, more obvious things that I am thankful for: “clicking” and continuing to bond with my new five best friends; settling into my volunteer work (which I will elaborate on in another blog post); and getting over the initial feeling absence from life at home and the sense of isolation – by way of separation – from the culture that I’ve grown comfortable in, America. As I stream through my consciousness and recognize that I have so much to be thankful for, I realize that I can point to two pivotal factors that have made the aforementioned thanksgivings possible: the prayers from my loved ones and friends, and my gracious host family. I have yet to elaborate on my “life at home” in Ghana, which little logical sense because I spend more time there than I do anywhere else. I will do that in this post. However, before doing so, I feel it is both appropriate and necessary to simply say “Thank You.”

Before departing for Ghana I talked with people – many close friends and family members – who told me that they would be praying for me and thinking about me as I enter this next chapter of my life. Since being away, I have come to appreciate what a special gift it is to have people who care for me in such a way. I am young and, for the first time, leaving the comfort and familiarity of my mom’s cozy casa. The same is true for thousands – even millions – of kids my age across the globe. However, as I set off, I am humbled by how I am different from many of those millions. Not because I am any better; I am not. Simply because – as I leave – I leave with a confidence and peace of mind that I am not alone. No matter what I may encounter abroad – however new, awkward, or unsettling it may be – I have the support and armor of the thoughts and prayers of some special friends and family members at home. I know most of these people, and so to you I say thank you. But I also want to especially thank those of you that I may not have formally met yet, but you still keep me in your thoughts. You may bump into my parents at the grocery store, decide to glance at my blog, and then feel compelled and generous enough to pray for me. Thank you. Being away has strengthened the trust and contentment I have in my community at home. I feel the thoughts and prayers. I feel them when I am scrambling to catch a tro-tro but can’t understand what the tro-tro mate is saying. I feel them as I teach my English classes and one of the students can’t understand me, and I can’t understand him. Yet we keep trying and – with the joint help of the class – that one student has the ever elusive “Aha moment”! I understand and recognize that it is not me, but the prayers that make my best days here possible, and in help me struggle well through the tough ones. And I selfishly ask for you to continue praying for me and thinking about me because I know that my experience would not – and could not – be the same without you. Thank you.

One area of my life in Ghana – and perhaps the most important – that has benefited from the thoughts and prayers is my placement with my host family. It is not hyperbole, and I have no reservations in saying: I could not have asked for a better host family. I live in a neighborhood called “Mempaseam,” which means “I don’t want trouble” in Twi. Just as an aside: The name alone should bring you comfort mama that your boy is keeping his nose clean and shall “not forsake his mother’s teaching.” I live with the Sai family. There are eight and then me. There is a grandma and grandpa. They have five children, three of which are between the ages of nineteen and thirty-one and live with me. Of the three that I live with, the two youngest are women (Hannah is 19 and Pearl is 23 yrs. old), and the oldest, Charles, is a male (34). Charles has a wife and two kids – one seven year old boy and one fourteen year old daughter – and they all live in the house. And then there is me, the obroni. At home I am referred to as “Kobi,” with an accent on the “i”. Kobi is short for Kwabena, which is the name given to a male born on Tuesday. Ghanaians place great importance on the day a child is born. They expect each child to live up to his namesake. They recognize all of the great people that preceded the newly borne child with that birth-day and groom him/her to follow in their footsteps. To some, a family of eight may seem like too many, but I love it. There is always someone at home, and there is always something to do – or to share in doing – around the house. The Sai family truly is a “Renaissance family.” I have only stayed with them for three weeks, but I have already experienced several “firsts” and completed tasks I had never before attempted. Just two days ago, I cut open my first coconut with a machete and drank the coconut milk out of the hollow center. Charles cuts his own hair, and – following a bad haircut that I received from a local barber – he showed me how I too could cut mine. This past Monday, I cut my hair for the first time! I have learned how to make groundnut soup and squeeze my own pineapple-orange juice. Two weekends ago, by the sweat of our brows, Charles and I spent all day Saturday and all of Sunday morning doing stonework on the façade of the house.

The family does everything together. Every Saturday morning, the family and neighbors wake up at 4:00 AM to jog an eight-mile loop through all of East Legon. First, we jog six miles to the church that our family attends, Trinity Presbyterian Church. Then we play futbol or volleyball for about an hour in the Church courtyard, and then jog two more miles home. I have come to love the Sai family’s sense of unity, and come to appreciate their inclusive spirit as they have welcomed me as one of their own. They treat me like I am their son. Charles calls me his brother, and when the grandmother calls for me she says “Kobi, my son.” She prays with me every night and counsels me on how to lead a courageous, self-aware, and responsible life while in Ghana and beyond. The unity within the family is not limited to humans though. The family owns ten rabbits and seven goats. Every night before sunset, Charles and I walk about a mile to a meadow called “The Bush” and pick foliage for the rabbits to eat. On these walks we talk about everything: the importance of one’s faith and his family, politics, gender roles in our respective societies, the correct and erroneous perceptions of our respective cultures, and World Cup 2010 predictions. I practice my Twi with my family. They laugh at me, clap for me, and encourage me. I go to church with the family every Sunday morning. Charles and Hannah teach Sunday school to fourth and fifth graders, and I began helping them last week. Church, and religion alike, is serious in Ghana. I will devote a future blog to the role religion plays in Ghanaian society. But that’s neither here nor there. Last Sunday I spent seven hours at Church! Sunday school was two hours long. The service then lasted from 9:30 to 2:30 and unfolded as follows: one hour of singing and worship, a one hour briefing on the current status/activities of the church, a two hour sermon, and one follow-up hour of song and dance. After church, Charles and I were invited by Charles’ brother-in-law to go see an Accra “Hearts of Oak” futbol game. The “Hearts of Oak” are the premier futbol club in Accra.

As I strive and continue my constant assimilation into Ghanaian culture, I remain both grateful and exhilarated by my placement into the Sai family. I do not think it is possible that, nor do I foresee, I will ever become assimilated enough to call myself a “Native Ghanaian.” Simply because Twi can never be my first language; I will never look like the average Ghanaian; and I have been calibrated to live the American way for all of my nineteen years of existence. However, with each day with my host family, I grow more and more comfortable, and fall more and more in love with Ghana. As I am included in my family’s daily activities; as I fetch my own water to take cold bucket baths and use the bathroom; as I cut my own coconuts, juice my own juice, and hand wash my own laundry; as I go on the Saturday neighborhood runs and attend the five hour church services; and as I sweat with Charles – my brother – as we install limestone to the façade of the house, I am constantly learning and filled with a heart overflowing with gratitude. I am supremely grateful because I have found “My Home Away from Home” in Ghana, West Africa. My home is in Mempaseam, Accra with the Sai family.

A Brief Update

2009-09-17T12:32:00.000-07:00

Hello to All!

The purpose of this post is twofold: to offer a concise update on my status in Ghana (more explanation/detail will follow in a post to come) and to preface THE"OBRUNI'S LESSON post below this one.

So I shall start with the update. First, I apologize for the long gap in communication. The internet at the cafe that I frequent has been down since Saturday, and so I haven't been able to even think about blogging. But alas, here I am. Tying, typing, typing. I officially started the volunteer work that I will be doing for the duration of my time in Africa this week. I am a teacher at Mabooni Prison No. 1 Junior High School. I am teaching both English (language and composition) and Mathematics (Geometry). I expected to be a student teacher - help teachers grade work, help tutor students that need extra help, and maybe teach the occasional lesson when the teacher is tired or if I'm feeling really courageous one day! However, the school lost its English teacher the week before school started, and the math teacher has a history of not showing up for random lessons. So my I am essentially a full-time teacher. Initially - and a little still to be honest - I was overwhelmed. I am confident in my abilities; however, I have no professional teaching training, nor am I certified in anyway, nor do I speak the native tongue fluently. However, this is the situation I have been placed in, so I will do my best. The kids are great. The call me "Obama's child", "Mr. Kobi" (the name given to a Tuesday born male - as I am), and want to hear all about American culture, sports, and life. I realize that with hard work, patience, and a spirit of inclusion (vs. isolation) that I have much to be excited about.

The post below is a stream of consciousness of a lesson I have learned since being in Ghana regarding "Friendship." I acknowledge and concede that I am very young and not an authority on life lessons. However, I feel it will be a nice break - from the monotony of my daily happenings - to tell you about something dear to me: my new friends. The post is a recording of the stirrings of my heart. I am not under the impression that I have infinite wisdom, and I do not intend to barrage anyone with aphorisms. This post is just a window into my mind and heart, and unveils what I think of five very new and important people in my life, my new friends. I hope you enjoy the account...

THE OBRONI'S LESSON

2009-09-17T11:47:00.001-07:00

THE OBRONI’S LESSON

Three nights ago my young adventure in Ghana took down an unexpected, yet eye-opening course. We – Cole, Aria, Jessica, Kathleen, and I – had just finished another scrumptious, spice-filled Ghanaian dinner and were debating over what we should do next. It was still fairly early – about 6:50 PM on the calm evening of Friday September 4, 2009 – so we all decided to come to Cole and my room to hang out for a bit. When we got to the room we all dispersed to our own space. I went to my territory – the bed against the windows. Cole went to his bed. Aria sat in the chair closest to the windows. And Kathleen and Jessica were content with sitting on the floor. However, that is all really neither here nor there. What is really important – and is, in my mind, the most life-changing event so far during our time in Ghana – is the unplanned, genuine conversation that was to play out over the next four hours. The conversation began in a very innocuous, normal manner. However, it soon took a turn to a very thought-provoking exchange of knowledge, belief, faith, and convictions.

As I remember it, it all started when we were talking about our time (9 months to be) in Ghana, the people we hoped to serve, and the lives we hoped to impact. Cole came to the self-realization that in the grand scheme of the universe and over the long history of time, nothing we really do here (in Africa) matters. We will all do a great deal of good, and we all hope to be a force of positive influence. But who’s to say that these things will matter or maintain any lasting, measurable influence when we pass away? The majority, if not all, of us did not share nearly as cynical a view as Cole did. Although, it should be noted that to him that view is probably not cynical at all. He just accepts that that is the way life is and always will be, and we must deal with it – and make the best of it.

Our conversation soon expanded. What began as a fairly simple discourse over differing philosophical views soon grew to a raw, honest, and intellectual exchange of each of our religious, life, and world views. I found out that Jessica is a fervent believer in Christ. So much so that she has dedicated her life to living in a way that is in complete submission and unison with the will of her Heavenly Father. I admire this belief. I have no doubt that God will continue to reveal himself to her as she lives for Him in a radical way. Aria left the conversation early because she was exhausted. She is also, unequivocally, the most dedicated journaler (not a word but I am making it one for the sake of convenience because this blog gives me creative liberty) in our group, and I trust that she was returning to her room for a sound period of personal reflection time. Despite her relative silence, I could tell that Aria was pensive. She has some definite, strong convictions but just needs to feel that the timing is right, and then she will let them be known. She made it clear that she too is a Christian. Kathleen said she is a Christian. Although she conceded that she is definitely searching and always open, tolerant, and eager to hear different schools of belief. Kathleen is a vivacious girl, and she really kept the conversation in a state of constant motion with her inquisitive spirit and willingness to share. Cole is my boy for life (I just had to put that down in writing; now it’s documented and official). Cole admitted that he does not align himself with any single line of faith. However, he too seems to be a person who is constantly searching and always yearning to understand and know more. He is an extremely talented individual, and the Lord has blessed him with brightness of intellect. As we talked I noticed that the five of us were all at different stages in our lives. And that our beliefs and who we are as individuals is a result of the sum of all of our experiences. These differing experiences have led us all down different paths and caused us to believe different things. However, despite many routes, we have all arrived at the same transitory destination: Here, together in Ghana, West Africa.

As we all talked together, I realized that the lesson within our conversation was not to be found in who was right or wrong. Or in who could put together the most intellectual case for his/her argument. Or in whether or not we could even come to a consensus. The lesson was in the fact that we are five unique people with a common strip of time together – a time to be shared as Friends. I remember hitting an emotional and mental low-point on Thursday August 27 during Bridge Year Orientation at Princeton. I must be honest. I did not feel as though I initially “clicked” with the four other people that were to accompany me to Ghana. I felt like we were just five dissimilar freshmen who were forced to be together for no other reason than we were the five chosen by the Princeton Bridge Year board to go to Ghana. I didn’t feel a common bond, shared interests, or a sense of compatibility. I remember thinking to myself: “I would never become friends with these people on my own. We are only dealing with each other out of obligation and convenience, and that is not true friendship. However, following two full days of travel, shared sickness, collective embarrassment brought about by an innumerable amount of Twi faux pas, and one captivating and eye-opening conversation, I realized how dismally erroneous I was! The problem was not in the four new people I had just met. I was my own problem. I had left my mind back in Charlotte, North Carolina while my body was preparing to go to Ghana, West Africa. And this had caused me to isolate myself, leaving me unapproachable and closed off to new friendships. I realized that my best friends at home will always be there because those friendships are real, passionate, and built on the immovable foundation of fun, laughter, trust, and forgiveness. This is what gave me confidence to move forward. I needed to be open to meeting new people, new friends. I needed to prepare myself for instantaneous friendships. Relationships based on possibilities rather than probabilities. We (the five of us) know our time together will be brief, even momentary. We value the time we do spend together. We spill our guts. We listen attentively. We’re acutely aware of the fleeting but intense nature of our comradeship. By virtue of being five volunteers temporarily on the same route, in the same space, we share a commonality that rises above our country of origin, above the medley of language and cultural barriers. I think of how I was right: These are friends I never would have met if we had not traveled. And that is precisely why I am so proud, thankful, and blessed to be where I am – with these people. We are five “Obronis” struggling well with life together. I recall when the five of us first met. Did we know immediately that we would be friends? Could we have formed a friendship if we had met at home? I realized that this was all inconsequential. That lesson does not lie within the answers to these questions. The lesson lies in the fact that we are all “Obronis” – grateful four our traveling friendship. It is a shame that it took me this long, and I had to come to Ghana, West Africa to figure this out. But perhaps that is what makes my new friends so special. I guess you could call it: THE OBRONIS LESSON…

Twi 101, Drum Lessons, and TRO-TROs!

2009-09-05T14:01:00.000-07:00

Maa ha o!
Hello my friends! "Maa ha o" means "good evening" in Twi (it is evening in Ghana as I type this blog post). I have been taking Twi classes for four days now. Before leaving for Ghana I made it my ambitious goal to become fluent in Twi. However, the more I come to know about the language and its intricacies, the more I come to accept that it's okay to be young and dream, but the odds of me becoming fluent are slim-to-none. Twi is a tonal language. This is very different from English and is not in any way proximal to any of the romance languages. I have never encountered a language like this before. By simply changing the pitch of your voice, you can completely change the meaning and/or tense of the word. Sometimes one word can mean up to five different things depending on the tone one uses when speaking. Since language instruction, I have modified my once lofty goal of becoming fluent in Twi. Each day I become a little less ambitious, but more realistic. After day-1 my goal was no longer to become fluent, but proficient. Now, after day-4, my goal is to become competent. I continue to learn more and more each day and am met with nothing but patient and helpful ears by the locals when I speak with them. My first true test of my Twi "competency" came on only my second day in Ghana. Yao, our program director, borrowed the script from the "Amazing Race." He split the five of us into two grous: one group of two and one group of three. I was in the group of three with Aria and Jessica. Yao took us in a taxi to the Accra Arts Center. The Arts Center is about a thirty minute drive from the hostel with which we're staying. Once we got to the Center Yao gave us some instructions. We were to tour the Arts Center - which is essentially an open street market full of dancing, music, and selling of various cultural goods. We were to spend two hours there; observe the activities; talk to the locals; and buy ourselves a memento. Then we were to find our way back to the hostel - by OURSELVES. I am a man of very modest travel experience, so I say with complete sincerity that I was very nervous as to how we would fair. Accra is the largest city in Ghana. It has a population of roughly 3 million people. There are no street names. And although English is the nation's official language, the locals only speak it when they have to (i.e. in school or when a foreigner has only been in Ghana for one day and needs directions on how to get around). Despite these apparent challenges, I found comfort in a few things. Ghanaians, by-and-large, are a gracious, kind people. They are willing to help and love it when foreigners take the time to ask them about their culture. Also, I was with two very smart girls. We had each other, and that in itself was comforting. We were three young Americans ready to explore; ready to fail; ready to learn; and ready to struggle well with life together...

As we started walking through the market we were approached by a flock of solicitors. Some were salesman, craftsmen, musicians, athletes. But they all had a product, a story, and were curious about what it was like in America. I personally took to a group of three men: Ishmael, David, and Ebenezer. They were all drummers from Tamali (a city in Northern Ghana). They offered to give the three of us drum lessons. We figured this would be the perfect way to not only learn about the culture, but to also "experience" the culture. So we went to their tent, and for over an hour we learned about the songs, beats, and rhythms of the Tamali people. At first I was frustrated because I did not grasp the drumming immediately. However, I remained patient. Ebenezer told me to sing the song with him and to focus on the tempo of the song, not on the science or pattern of my drumming motions. I sang and observed as he showed me what he wanted me to do. Within ten minutes I had it down.

Following the drum lesson, we bought three Ghanaian bracelets from the jewelry maker next to Ebenezer, David, and Ishmael's tent. Our time in the Arts Center was complete, and it was time to find a ride back to the hostel. Since I had only one day of Twi classes under my belt, I asked Ebenezer what the cheapest and surest way to get back to the hostel would be. He told me that I needed to take a Tro-Tro. "They're the cheapest and most widely used means of public transportation here in Ghana," he said. In Ghana, a Tro-Tro is a privately owned minibus. The owner of the tro-tro either employs a driver and an assistant (called a "mate") and gives them a share of the profits, or he rents the vehicle for a daily fee and allows the driver and the mate to keep all of the profits. Most Tro-Tro's are some variation of the old Volkswagen Transporter Buses. They usually have three or four rows of seats with three people in each row (about 9-12 people if you do the math). However, in Ghana, the Tro-Tro drivers manage to fit fifteen people in the bus. The Tro-Tro drivers yell out their end destination in Twi, and it is the rider's responsibility to catch the corresponding Tro-Tro that will take him to his destination. Naturally, being the only male in the group, I was given the responsibility of catching the correct Tro-Tro for the group. It took about twenty minutes before I finally caught the correct one. Not because Ghana has a shortage of Tro-Tro's. Or because there weren't any Tro-Tro's going to our intended destination. It was simply the fact that my novice Twi competency left it difficult for me to clearly hear and understand the destinations that the "mates" were yelling out. Nevertheless, we caught the Tro-Tro that was to take us back to our hostel. Upon boarding the Tro-Tro I asked the "mate" how much a ride to Bani Hostel was (in Twi of course). "Eye sen?" I said. "50 Pesewas sir," he told me. As we talked in Twi I noticed many of the other Tro-Tro riders do a double-take and look at me. I continued to negotiate and talk with the "mate" with the little Twi I knew. Before I knew it, the whole Tro-Tro was yelling: "Obroni! You speak Twi! Speak more to us!" Obroni means "white person" in Twi. It is not condescending in any way. That is simply what they call white people when they see them. And this Obroni was ready to have some fun on the Tro-Tro. "Yedi Onyame ase," I said. Which when literally translated means: "We thank God for our time together." Everyone began laughing and clapping for me. The next fifteen minutes of my Tro-Tro ride consisted of Ghanaians helping me with my accent, teaching me new phrases, and laughing with me as I continually butchered the language with my virgin Twi tongue. As Aria, Jessica, and I got off the Tro-Tro, we were waved goodbye by each of the fifteen other Tro-Tro riders. They wished us well and said, "Yebeshia bio" (We shall meet again)...

As we walked to the hostel I felt both proud and humble. I was proud that three "Obronis" had successfully navigated there way through Ghana's largest city. I was also proud of the way in which we were all able to pick up the African drumming so quickly. And, I was relieved that my novice Twi abilities really weren't an issue once I got over my insecurities because Ghana is a society in which the people locals are nothing but welcoming and gracious to foreigners. Along with this pride came a deep sense of humility - a humility that gave me the realization that I do not know it all. And that no matter how much I read and research on Ghanaian culture, I will never know what it is truly like until I experience it for myself. There is a pervading theme throughout everything that happened during this excursion - whether it be in speaking Twi, learning how to play the Ghanaian drums, or in riding the Tro-Tro. As a foreigner I have been forced to be patient and observe much more than I am used to doing. In America, I have always been encouraged to read a book if I want to know more. Or ask a teacher for a demonstartion if I do not understand. Or ask for directions if I do not know where I am going. However, this is not the way one learns in Ghana. Our Twi instructor told us that Culture is "Caught", not "Taught." One has to "catch" his own lessons and knowledge by going out and experienceing new things for himself. During the drum lesons, Ebennzer did not scientificially instruct me on how to correctly beat the drum and which rhythm to follow. I had to watch, synthesize, and observe on my own. When searching for a Tro-Tro, I had to tough it out for twenty minutes of confusion and frustration before I found the correct one. And when I spoke Twi, I had to be willing to make mistakes and laugh at myself so that I could learn from the natives. I have a feeling that - in this culture - I will learn much more by observing and trying new things with a free-spirit, rather than being told the answers by a teacher or a tourist guidebook. I am only in the beginning of a long nine months. But I am confident. As I move forward I will continue to laugh at myself. Continue to ask questions. And never, never stop oberving...

Globetrotting

2009-09-05T13:32:00.000-07:00

Hello to All!

I am sorry for my dismal consistency of communication thus far. I am hoping it will get better, though I can't make any promises. I was not able to exchange my American dollars for Ghanaian Cedi (the local currency) until yesterday. As such, today is the first day that I have been able to buy internet time. But that's neither here nor there. I will now shift my attention from my financial situation to the focus of the message - Globetrotting!

I woke up at 6:00AM on Sunday August 30, 2009 primed for action. The Ghana group was to be that last group to leave campus. First was Peru, which set off at 10 AM. Next was India, which left at 12 PM. Serbia then left at 2. Upon saying the final goodbyes to the Serbian group, I was officially ready to finally catch the 5:15 PM shuttle from Princeton University to Newark Liberty Airport. 5:15 came around and we were off: Cole Freeman, Jessica Haley, Kathleen Ryan, Aria Miles, and myself. We arrived to the airport and proceeded to check our bags. We were to fly British Airways, and the itinerary that Princeton gave us had made it very clear that we were only allowed to check two bags and that each bag was to not exceed 23 Kg (51 pounds) in weight. I like to consider myself fairly self-aware, so as I walked to the stand to check in I knew without a shadow of a doubt - even before placing my bags on the airport scale - that both of my bags weighed more than 23 Kg. Sure enough, one weighed 25 Kg and the other weighed 26Kg. I was the last individual from our group of five to check my bags, and none of my comrades had exceeded the weight limit with either of their bags -- they all actually managed to stay comfortably below it. The British Airways attendant asked me, "Mr. Ricci, do you mind if I ask you something?" "Go ahead," I said. "Sir, you are traveling with three girls and none of them had any problem packing within the given constraints. How were they able to stay within the weight limit and you were not?" I thought for a second: "What would my mama Ricci say?" I went from there. "I'm so sorry; I packed a lot of shoes," I told her. She laughed and said, "With all due respect sir, what do you need five pairs of shoes for? You're going to Africa, not Milan." I was happy to see that she was willing to joke with me and thought that there might be a way I could avoid the $25/bag fee that I was supposed to pay. Being the perceptive boy I am, I noticed that her name tag said that she was from Green Bay, Wisconsin - a Packers fan! I explained to her: "A wise man once said, 'If you fail to prepare, you prepare to fail.'" "Vince Lombardi said that! Do you know who he is?" she said. I responded: "My dad is from Milwaukee and bleeds Green through and through, so yes I do know. And as for the shoes, my mom has always said, 'If the shoes fits, buy it in every color.' I guess you could say that I am a man after my parents' own hearts..." The attendant broke out in laughter and kindly told me to not worry about the fee. I had truly been blessed.

Our path to Ghana had two legs - one seven hour flight to London (Heathrow) and then another seven hour flight to Accra, Ghana. Between the two legs we had a six hour lay-over in London. The flight from New Jersey to London was peaceful and involved lots of talking, sharing, and speculating amongst our group as to what the next nine months of our lives were to entail. The second flight was essentially the same. Although, I struck up a conversation with a native Ghanaian who was sitting across the aisle from me. We talked about everything from American Universities, to Tar Heel basketball, to politics. At the end of the flight he informed me that he owned a hotel in Ghana and that I was welcome to stop by any time for a bite to eat at the hotel grill on him. I thanked him for his graciousness, and he wished me the best for my stay in Ghana.

After fourteen hours of flying; tactfully dodging a baggage fee in Newark; being forced to unpack, show, and repack my passport five different times in London; and making my first Ghanaian friend, I had landed. As I stepped off the plane I noticed a large, illuminated sign that said "Akwaaba" ("Welcome"). I had arrived. We had all arrived. The five "globetrotters" had arrived.

More Information on My Bridge Year

2009-08-24T18:48:00.000-07:00

Hello Confidantes,

Many of you have asked me what exactly I will be doing in Ghana over the next nine months. I realize that my responses have been more general and lacking clarity than informative and satisfying. I recently found this pdf document on the Princeton Admissions website. It does a much better job than I could of breaking down my experience to be in Ghana. It details my: arrival and orientation, homestay, language instruction, community service placements in Accra and Kumasi, cultural enrichment activities, excursions, the group service project, and the program wrap up. I got more excited once I read this description, and am confident that it will do a better job of answering questions than I could at this point. Plus, it saves me the time of writing a lengthy summary. Also, below I am including a link to the Princeton press release which offers brief detail on the Bridge Year students, the selection process, and logistics of the program. Take a gander if you wish.

http://www.princeton.edu/admission/whatsdistinctive/bridgeyear/bridge-year-experience/ghana/Ghana-Bridge-Year-Description.pdf

http://www.princeton.edu/main/news/archive/S24/60/49I38/index.xml?section=topstories

Communication

2009-08-24T14:57:00.000-07:00

Hola,

I am writing this note on the eve of my departure for Princeton. I am nothing but excited and primed to spend four fun-filled, informative days in Princeton. However, as I look forward to my imminent departure for Ghana on Sunday I am struck with a much broader mix of emotions: uncertainty, enthusiasm, eagerness, nervousness, a sense of purpose, and vim. I suppose there is one easy word to sum this all up: bittersweet. In many ways I am moving from the known to the unknown. However, as I set out to leave my own metaphorical cuckoo's nest, I depart with confidence and fearlessness because I know that I have the love and support of my family and friends at home. This is why I will write often, and have made it a chief goal of mine to stay close to you all - my best friends. Below I am including my two addresses that you can write to me at during my sojourn in Ghana:

For the first four and a half months I will be staying in Accra, the capital city. While there, I can receive letters at:

Nicholas Amedio Ricci

c/o SIT Study Abroad

Institute of African Studies (Affiliate)

University of Ghana

P.O. Box 73

Legon, Ghana

Around mid-January I will be located to a village near Kumasi (Ghana's 2nd largest city). During the second half of my stay I can be reached at:

Nicholas Amedio Ricci

c/o Yaw Gyamfi

P.O. Box OA 16

Aboabo-Kumasi

Ashanti Region

Ghana, West Africa

I checked USPS and sending postcards or letters in normally-sized envelopes to Ghana costs $0.98 while sending oddly-shaped (square, shorter, etc.) usually costs $1.18 as long as it is not a big packet and is still flat.

Please, write me! I WILL write back!

I will try to update this blog as much as possible. I am not bringing a laptop, so I hope to gain access to a public computer in an internet cafe as every few weeks or so. Since I will be using a public computer, I am not sure if I will be able or allowed to upload my personal photos to the digital processing device. However, I will try my best. I expect to undergo some pretty unique and interesting experiences and hope to capture some of them on photo. I am by no means a genius, but as a "young, southern poindexter budding with curiosity" I know this much to be true: Expect the Unexpected...