Controlled Chaos

I know I’ve talked about traveling here in Ghana before, but please bear with me as I revisit the conversation. The reason why I bring it up is because it so utterly different than how we travel (or how I traveled) in the US. Traveling here is kind of like having 500 people on the dance floor at once. Some are doing the waltz, some are disco, some are line dancing and others are break dancing. It’s magic, somehow it flows altogether. I have not been here long enough (I don’t know if there is enough time) to figure it out, but somehow it works. Most of the time. To give you a better understanding of how this dance works, want to introduce you to the dancers. We have tango tro’s, boogie buses, trippin’ taxi’s mamba motos, and thrown into the mix are poor pedestrians.
Tros
Tros are a large passenger vans. There are usually 5 rows of seats, and comfortably you have 3 per seat. Unfortunately, comfortable is not a word in the Ghana dictionary. Ghanians don’t like to waste space, so they will put four in a row. My personal goal was 22 passengers in a van. Up close and personal. Actually, having all those people around you kind of softens the blow of all the pot holes. Nine times out of ten the doors don’t shut correctly, you usually can see the road underneath your feet, the dash board indicators don’t work. And, let’s not forget the luggage. Big stuff goes in the back. I’ve seen refrigerators, 100 pound burlap bags of stuff, chickens (of course they are alive!! silly) and who know what else. All the “normal” luggage is expected to be on your lap; i.e., back packs, small boxes, groceries. The real big stuff goes on top of the van. 100 pound bags of produce, live goats... There was one time I saw 8 goats tied to the top of the van. Yup.
There is the driver, and he has a mate. The mate is in charge of collecting the money, and communicating with the driver. If the van is not quite full (God forbid), the mate is yelling, as he is hanging half outside the window, the destination of the tro. Of course you can’t understand what it is he is screaming as he goes, for example there is a city called Kofferidguha, but he is yelling “Rodua”. The tro will barely come to a stop, load passengers and make it’s way to the station. As he is pulling out, there are 5 tro’s wanting to take his place, and, of course while he is pulling out, no one is letting him in. Horns blaring, tires screeching, and mates yelling, somehow you make it back on to the road. Don’t ask me why there are not tons of accidents.
The good thing about tros is that they are cheap. And, you don’t usually have to wait too long for one to drive by, the mate shouting the your destination. But, 99% of them would be illegal to be on a road in the US. Most windshields are cracked, transmission works sometimes, and the mechanical parts are somehow working but I am not sure how. One trip I was on was supposed to take 6 hours. Half way towards our destination, something in the gears or clutch stops working. So, we get out, push the tro up the hill, and coast down into a small village. Our vehicle stops next to what looks like a graveyard for tros; heaps and piles of parts and bodies. The driver gets out, talks to the mechanic, who proceeds to crawl under the tro. After much banging and clanging, he comes out with what looks like the drive shaft (I am no mechanic by any means, it could have been the gas tank!), goes to another broken down tro, takes that one off and puts it on ours. In three hours we are up and running again. The sun has gone to bed, and we are almost at our destination,(key word almost). We are heading up a hill on a tiny dirt road when, the transmission decides it is done for the day. We can not move forward or back up; we are stuck like Winnie the Pooh in the Hunney Tree. After 10 hours of being on the road, and not yet at our destination, we are at our wits end. We call the place where we are spending the night and they offer to come and get us. Luckily we are only about 20 minutes away. I feel bad for the poor driver though; he has to stay behind with his vehicle and hope to have it fixed the next day. When we pass through 3 days later, the tro is still sitting there. The driver lost money on that trip!
Taxis
There are two types of taxis; line taxis and drop taxis. Drop taxis are one of the most expensive ways to travel. They will only take you to whatever destination you want. They will always try to gouge you; and you have to fight with them to get the price down. A line taxi will wait until it is full before it will go to your destination. It’s cheaper than a drop taxi, but sometimes you might have to sit in the taxi up to an hour before the taxi fills. The normal capacity is 5 people in the car, plus baggage in the back. Most of the cars are about the size of a Scion, tiny little cars. Now, I said that the normal capacity is 5, two in the front and three in the back. Well, during our training we would have to travel from our home stay to our training site every Friday. Our allowance for training was $2 per day.... beer costs $1.50..... you do the math, we didn’t have a lot of money. So we would try to make a deal with taxi driver, we would pay the fare of 4 people but try to fit more people in the car than that. We got to know each other quite well on those trips. One night after having a few beers at the spot, we fit 12 people in the car. Remember, the car is the size of a Scion. We had three in the front, 6 in the back seat and 3 of us in the very back. I am quite proud of that record!!

Buses
There are three types of buses; Metro, STC, and Scary as Hell Buses. Metro are similar to those similar to those in the states, sort of.... They are cheap, and are usually packed. Again personal space is not a concept the folks here understand. There is a mob to get on the bus first, so you can get a seat. Once the seats are full, you pile in amongst the bags, bowls, kids, and produce. You have to hang on for dear life as you get bounced and thrown around. There are no real bus stops that the driver will stop at. If you want to get off, you yell “Bus Stop” and hopes that the driver will hear you and hope that he feels like stopping. You usually will get dropped within a 1/2 mile of where you wanted to get off.
STC is similar to Grey Hound... sort of. It is a lot more expensive than taking a tro, and is supposed to leave at a designated time. Unfortunately, they never do. Either there is a mechanical problem (the bus is “spoiled’) or they wait for the bus to fill.
One day I had to go down to Accra. Because it is a long drive, and the tro’s are very uncomfortable, I decided to take a bus. I wanted to see which one would fill faster and when I checked, they looked about the same; both were 30% full. I got on the bus and thought, well, I can be patient, it might take little longer to fill but it would be worth it. The seat was actually comfortable though the AC was spoiled. A trip to Accra from Kumasi is about 4-5 hours. I sat down at 9 am. I closed my eyes and took a little nap. When I woke up at 10 we were still sitting there and maybe 50% full. I was surprised that it wasn’t fuller, but when I looked out the window I realized why. There was a battle going on outside. Whenever someone new came through wanting to go to Accra, the person was accosted by each of the drivers. With much pushing, shoving and yelling the drivers would argue which vehicle the poor passenger would take. I thought a fist fight would break out, it was close. It seemed that our bus was on the loosing side. Other vehicles were loaded up and on their way while we just sat there. Elven came and went, so did noon... By one, we were all pissed and yelling at the driver for us to get on our way. Finally by 2:00 we were finally full. I sat there for 5 hours waiting to leave!!! I should have been down in Accra by then! With a sore ass and a pissy attitude, we pulled out of the station hoping that we would be in Accra by 7:00 at the latest. Peace Corps has a rule that we should not travel after dark, because it can be dangerous. The sunsets at 5:30, and Accra is definitely NOT a place I wanted to be wandering around at night. After this ride, I still had to take 2 other taxis to get to my final destination. Well we finally arrived to the city limits around 6:30, but still a way from our destination. The traffic this time of night puts NYC to shame. Cars, tros, buses as well as motorbikes, ladies selling wares on the top of their heads, and of course, goats, sheep and cattle filled the streets. I am not taking about side streets, I am talking about 4 lane “highway” (I hate to use that word because the image that comes to your mind is NOT how it is here. They are doing a massive upgrade to the roads, so the roads are all torn up, not yet paved, and difficult to navigate with no traffic). Our driver gets creative and knows a short cut to avoid the tangled mass of metal. We reach the short cut, which is a one lane road, and find a big truck broken down in the middle of the road making impossible for us to pass. Par for the course. To make a long, long, long story shorter, I finally get to my destination around 10:00; only a 13 hour trip!
Amid the chaotic dance, the drivers have a good grasp on driving. Maybe they are listening to music only they can hear. Whatever the case, when you get on the road here, you learn how to pray fast and hard!

Of Mice and Me....

Damn mice! I feel like I mix of two characters; Bill Murray in Caddy Shack, and Elmer Fudd. Yes, go ahead and have your laughs. But I am PISSED!!! The mice are eating my food!!! The damn thing probably weighs more than I do (though right now that wouldn’t take much). Let me start from the beginning...
Shortly after I moved here, I saw a cute little mouse scurry across the floor, and upon seeing me, ran back for safety behind my refrigerator. Aw, I thought, how nice! He’s coming in to say hello to me. At the time, I didn’t have any problems with him eating any of my stuff,but, come to think of it, I didn’t have any food in the room. To be on the safe side, I asked Chris to send me some mouse traps and cedar chips. Later, I had a counter built with cupboards and slowly started to fill it with food. Well of course you know what happened. But what I can’t figure out is how that little bugger got into this cabinet. It’s not attached to the wall, there are no holes in it, there is only a little crack less than 1/2 inch at the very bottom. Amazingly, that is what it takes for these little guys to get in. And once they’re in, there is nothing they don’t want to taste. They chew through zip lock bags, aluminum foil, heavy plastic and wood. Most times they don’t want to eat the thing inside, they just want to taste it. The problem with that is that once the hole is there, that is a gateway for the gazbillions of ants I have. (Look for upcoming blog on ants. Wahoo bet you can’t wait!!!)
I would buy some crackers or noodles and the next day there would be a corner of the package chewed open and just a small bite taken out of the food. I opened up one closet where I keep all my books and paperwork and paper was shredded all around. I opened up another closet where I keep my bags and utensils, and they have eaten through my roll of plastic wrap. Plastic wrap!!! The whole role shredded into tiny pieces. What the heck? I was getting worried because I was expecting some packages from home and I definitely did NOT want them getting into my US food!!! I needed to take some action. I need to put on my Elmer Fudd hunting cap, and think like the mighty hunter himself! The heck with wabbits, I want to find me some mice.
Plan A: I thought I remembered hearing that mice don’t like the smell of cedar; like moths, and if you spread around cedar chips, it will keep the mice away. So I spread the chips through out my closets and cupboards. A couple of days later I noticed that there where now piles of cedar in the corners. Then I remember when my kids had hamsters they used cedar chips as a covering for the bottom cage. Great! I just gave my little mice a nice comfy home in my cupboard!!! Ugh, they are probably scurrying off to tell their buddies what a cool landlord I am!
Plan B: Mouse traps. In the states the bait I used was peanut butter. It always worked. You spread a little on the trap and it would do wonders. I took 3 traps, lathered them up with ground nut paste (Ghanian peanut butter), set them under my table, counter and in my closet shut out the lights and went to bed. I knew in a matter of minutes my mighty traps would do their magic...Nothing...As I drifted off to sleep I thought for sure I would be awakened in the middle of the night to the sound of the trap going off. I woke in the morning having slept with no interruptions. Bewildered, I got up and checked the traps. They were all there with no mice! Apparently Ghanian mice don’t like ground nut paste. But, ants LOVE ground nut paste!!! I just increased my ant population by 50 times! Great!!
Pan C: Bread. What mouse can refuse tasty bread? See, being the Mighty Mouser that I am, I know all the secrets. That is what puts me in the same league as Fudd and Murray. The next evening, I break off pieces of bread and get ready to make my death trap. However, using bread is much different than peanut butter. With peanut butter you just spread it on and it sticks. How do you put bread on? It just falls off the trap. But, no worries us hunters are verwy twicky. I found a rubber band and, after several attempts, managed to attach the bread to the trap. Now, mice, it’s time to say goodbye!! The Great Hunter has you in his sights!!! Watch out you Wascals!!!
Do you know that time of night where you are just drifting off; the conscious world is fuzzy, as the floaty dream world takes over? Well, that is when the mice come. I hear this scratching/chewing sound that pulls me from my slumber and forces me back to reality. I lie awake, trying to figure out where the invader is- my cupboard, table or closet? Groggy, I try to sneak out of my bed and get tangled up in my bug net that I have around my bed. Yes, a bug net. I am sure you’ve seen them in the movies. They work quite well actually. It’s a net you drape around the bed to protect you from all the creepy crawly things that want to suck your blood; and trust me there are a lot of those creepy crawly things here. At least the mice are just trying to eat my food and not me!
I finally get untangled and sneak to the cupboard and open the door. There is the trap not sprung, but, the bread is gone! I check all the others and find all the bread is gone in them as well. Hmmmm..... these are very smart mice. Not only smart, but well rested in their cedar beds and sleeping soundly with a full stomach; probably dreaming of what nice food they will be treated to next.
Well, one thing you don’t want to do is piss off a mighty hunter. Bill Murray never gave up hunting that groundhog, nor Elmer in his efforts to get Bugs Bunny. I am not easily discouraged! Unfortunately, what I shouldn’t have done is try to rebait the traps in the middle of the night when I am half asleep and pissed. But, I did. And yes, the traps work. Quite well actually. I have bruises on my fingers to prove it. Man that smarts!
Plan D: Crackers. Crackers are bound to work. Right??? After all, I know they like them, cuz the ate most of them already!! So last night, I set them. In the dark of dawn I awakened to a CRACK!!! Ha, I say to myself! Who is the Master now??? Teaches them for messing with somebody with mighty hunter instincts like myself. I force myself back to sleep, not bothering to check the trap; I’ll wait for the morning to see my bounty.
I bounce out of bed in the morning with a spring in my step. I think to myself, this is what Elmer must of felt when finally got Bugs Bunny. I pause, wondering DID E.F. ever get B.B.??? Of course he does.... I just missed that show. I shrug it off, and think about breakfast. I am famished! This hunting is hard work!! After I clean up the breakfast dishes, I decide it’s time to claim my bounty. I open my closet and the trap has been moved. It is under some dirty clothes. No cracker... No mouse. WHAT’S HAPPENING????? Maybe these mice are smarter than me? No...A hunter like me can’t loose to a stupid varmint! After all, Bill Murray won his battle against that evil groundhog, didn’t he?? Gulp. Well, if this is the last blog you get from me, you will know who won.

It's Spoiled

Well, I just completed a whirlwind trip of the Wenchi Cashew Farmers Association zones. The Assoc. is made up of 7 Zones; farmers that live in villages around Wenchi. The zones have anywhere from 100-1,000 farmers. Though as a crow flies, the zones are not too far away, it can take up to 2 hours to get to these places. “Wayne”, you say, “what is the big deal? Two hours is nothing, heck we travel two hours to the Fryeburg Fair! Don’t be such a wimp.” True, two hours is not that big of deal if you are driving on paved roads, in a comfy car drinking your damn Starbucks and listening to Take it Easy on your Ipod while the cool breeze from your #@%* air conditioner gently caresses your body. Well, my friends, Ghana travel is NOT like that, “Attall”. (Attall, pronounced at all, but said together with a really long L at the end; it’s a Ghanian phrase.)
The “roads” to get to some of these villages are more like one lane bike paths. Most are washed out with deep channels in the middle. They are very windy (not windy as in blowing, but windy as in curvy. Not curvy like Marilyn Monroe, but curvy like the Kancumangus Highway) and the vegetation on each side is higher than the top of the truck, so you never know if there is anyone coming from the other direction. As a safety precaution, the driver will honk his horn, hoping that if there is any oncoming traffic, they will hear the horn and pull over. Of course we would never pull over, we just keep barreling through the jungle, so I don’t know why they would think the other vehicle would yield. You learn how to pray in earnest, as you are being tossed to and fro, like a carnival ride at the Fryeburg Fair, hoping that the Lord will hear and keep you safe. The other reason they blow their horn is to alert the pedestrians that are walking home. Most people don’t own vehicles, so they walk to the market, or to fetch water or to gather fire wood. So, as we round the corner, we see people scattering in all directions trying to get out of the path of this metal bucking, broncing bull heading towards them. I feel bad for these folks, most of the time they are carrying a heavy load on their heads. They have gigantic metal mixing bowls, that can easily hold 5 gallons of water, on their heads, walking back from the stream, or, if they are under 10 years old, they might only have a 3 gallon bucket on their head. Or, they might have a bundle of fire wood on their heads. I used to think it was quite impressive of me to carry a big arm load of cut and split wood, but I am put to shame with what they can carry. Some of the branches are a foot in diameter, and over 10 feet long. They could have up to 10 branches in a bundle strapped together with vines. Of course there is no breakdown lane or anything for them to escape to. They huddle against the vegetation as we speed by. Unfortunately there are times where there is a big puddle of water next to them, and as we splash through they shriek in anger and frustration at us; the driver yells out his window “Sorry-O!!” and waves as we roll on.
So late on Sunday night I get a call from the chairman of the assoc. saying that the folks from Fair Trade are in town and are planning to do some training on farming issues and want me to come along. Sure, I say, I can introduce myself to all the zones and talk about the importance of being a unified group. Plus it was a free ride in a Land Rover, rather than taking tro’s like I was originally planning on doing. We planned to meet at the office at 8:30 and would organize the trip. I admit, I was late when I arrived at the office on Monday, I got there at 8:33. At 9:15, they pulled in. We got the week planned, called all the leaders of the zones to let them know when we where coming, and to make sure the farmers would be there. Our schedule for Monday was to meet with some farmers in Wenchi at 11:00, then have lunch at 1:00 with another meeting in Wenchi at 3:00. I was excited for this was my first busy week, meetings everyday, and actually having a schedule of sorts.
We needed to stop by an office supply store to print off some documents for the farmers. So, we headed out to to store at 11:10 ( yes, our first meeting was at 11:00; get used to it). We walked into the store and asked if we could get a document from our flash drive so that we could make a bunch of copies. “No,” they say, “the computer is spoiled.” Spoiled in Ghana means that it no longer works, and sometimes they don’t know how to fix it so it can remain spoiled for some time. Cars can be spoiled, a camera, and the internet is almost always spoiled. They say the nearest place to get access to the documents on the flash drive is in Techiman. So, instead of thinking of another place in town, we hop in the Land Rover and make the 45 minute trek to Techiman. We walked into the store to find, yes, you guessed it, that their machine is spoiled as well. By now, I am not surprised at this... ATTALLL!!! I suggest that we go to the internet cafe that I use to see if we can use one of their machines. To my amazement, they are in fact open and, the machines are not spoiled! The catch, (there is always a catch) is that there is a line of 10 people in front of us. We leave one person behind to wait in line, while we go sit in the vehicle. It’s high noon, the 90 plus heat of the day bakes us into sweaty hot lumps. Two hours later, he comes out with the copy of the document needed to be copied. We go back to to Wenchi, eat lunch and arrive to the 3:00 meeting on time. Well, we are on time, but the farmers start strolling in around 4:00 and we finally get the meeting started by 4:30. It’s Ghana time, I sloooowly getting used to it.
During the meeting there is a fierce rain shower that brings in cool clean air. I love the rainy season. What I don’t like about the rainy season is the walking conditions afterwards. In town, the ground is a very hard packed red almost clay like dirt. On the top of that is a fine layer of powdery dirt. When it rains, ground is like walking in a frying pan full of bacon grease. Slippery does not even describe it. On top of it being slick, you have to navigate up and down uneven terrain, trying not to step in the newly created puddles of greenish yellow slime. Well I am sure you can guess what happens next. I almost made it. Yes, I was sliding, but I could see the Land Rover, and I was so focused at reaching my goal. But, before I knew it, I was looking at my feet above me. I put my hands down to break my fall, and they sink into the wet red muck. Quickly I get up, wipe myself off, and take a look around to see if anyone has noticed me. But I have the same amount of luck with that as a giraffe would have trying to hide in a heard of buffalos. It starts with the kids, a high pitched shrill of a laugh, and spreads to the adults until everyone is pointing and laughing. It’s like they’ve never seen a white person fall in mud before; come to think of it they probably haven’t! I really can’t gather any sense of pride or dignity at point. I start to try to brush the mud off my clothes, only to succeed in just smearing it all over. I give up, smile and wave to my audience and humbly walk off. So ends day one of my week long trip.
We plan on picking me up at 5:30 on Tuesday morning and head to Nchiraa and Wurumpo. The morning comes early, and I greet the dark dawn bleary eyed as I drink some coffee trying to clear the cobwebs from my head. I go outside to wait for my traveling buddies and the cool morning air is very refreshing. I say cool; it’s in the 70’s, but in Ghana that is freezing! People walk by bundled up in down vests, heavy winter jackets. Honest. Sweaters, hats, and fleece socks have been pulled out and put on. When the temperature reaches in the 80’s they start to put their clothes away.
I am picked up at 6:10 and we head to Nchiraa. It’s a small village with less than a thousand people in it. The dirt road that serves as main street is crowded with people going to farm, and women are busy making cocoa porridge that they sell by the side of the road. The older kids play soccer with an old coconut shell, while the younger kids pull an old tin can tied to a rope behind them. (It’s their idea of a car. Some of them will even put wooden dowels on the bottom for wheels. I will have to get a picture of this, it is precious). No video games, no TV. Sounds peaceful doesn’t it? Well it would be except for the loudspeaker attached to a telephone pole, BLASTING out the local radio station. It’s talk radio, in Twi, and even at times when they might play an occasional song, the DJ talks over the music. I was trying to have a conversation with someone standing next to me, but I gave up; I got tired of yelling. Luckily, the place we are meeting is down the street, away from the loud speaker; it right next to a spot (bar) named “The Nowhere Place”. Is that a cool name or what?? I think the owner might have an inferiority complex or something, but it is a great name for a spot. I can see it now; a guy walks out of the house and his wife asks, “Where are you going honey?” “Oh, Nowhere, I’ll be back soon.” Oh, I am killing myself here!!!! You can’t make this stuff up!!! Anyways, the meeting is supposed to start at 6:00, I think it got going around 8:30 or so.
In the afternoon, we go visit some farms. Fair Trade is wanting to have an organic market for cashews, and needs to check out some farms to see if it is possible. The soil and the climate here is great for agriculture. Because of the climate, they can get 3 harvests a year. Wenchi produces maze, cassava, yams, pineapple, coconut, palm nut, cola nuts, cashews, beans, tomatoes and cocoa all in tremendous quantities. Every market day trucks from Accra come in and load up the goods to supply the city.
All they need to do is plant the seeds and it grows. Even I could grow something, it is that simple. Simple, not necessary easy. There is a tremendous weeding to do, but they really don’t need any fertilizers. There are few diseases or insects that effect the trees so it won’t take much for them to go organic. One of the issues is weeding. Cashew farmers need to weed the area under the trees three times a year. The reason for this is because how the nut is harvested. The tree produces a flower, then a fruit. Attached to the fruit on the outside is the nut. Sounds backwards I know, but that is the way it is. They want to make sure that the nut is completely ripe before harvest, so they wait until the fruit with the nut attached, falls to the ground. Then they go around and pick up the fruit, cut off the nut and discard the fruit. It seems like a waste to throw the fruit away, but that is what they do. I am working with a gentleman that uses the fruit to make an energy drink and jams with the fruit, but he is just starting up and it will take time before that business is ready. Anyways, they need to keep the ground under the trees free of weeds so they can gather the nut. Most farmers have anywhere from 2-18 acres of land which they farm cashew trees. Until the trees become adult trees, there is a tremendous amount of weeding to do. So, this is where they use chemicals; to keep down the weeds. And, here is where Fair Trade has it’s problem. There can be no use of chemicals on an organic farm.
Educating farmers is a huge undertaking. You have to keep in mind that most of these farmers are illiterate and have very little education. I was amazed at their lack of understanding and critical thinking. Here are some examples of what I mean. They might need some chemicals for killing weeds, so they go to the agro chemical store and get chemicals. Because they can’t read, they just spray it all on, not really knowing the proper procedure for application. Then, and this is the horrible part, they will take the empty container of weed killer and use it as a container for drinking water! Ugh!!! Here is another example. In each region there is an office for the Department of Agriculture. You can bring a soil sample in and they will tell you what produce is best for your soil. And, they will tell you the best farming practices. For example, to get the most yield for cashews, you should have no more than 50 trees per acre. This will produce about 25 bags of nuts on average. This allows the trees to have ample room to grow without competing against each other. Unfortunately most farmers can’t understand this concept. Instead of planting 50 trees, they will plant 100 trees, thinking this will give the more yield. But instead of 25 bags, they only get 7 bags of nuts. When this is pointed out to them, and you suggest that they cut down some trees, they look at you like you have two heads. I could go on, but I think you have the basic idea.
So, the week is basically the same each day. My day started at 5:30 and I got home around 7:00. Lots of delays, late meetings, we even get lost once. It was a long week but gave me a good understanding of what I am up against here, and what I need to be working on. Step by step, day by day, hopefully in some small way I can help make a difference.

Twilight

Twilight
So what is you favorite time of day? Early morning before the sun rise? Midday with with the bright sun shining down? How about the dead of night? Mine has always been twilight. The time about an hour before the sunsets and an hour after. Ever since I can remember, twilight to me is almost magical. It’s a time of day where your senses are heightened; the smells, sound and feel of the day seem to have a new dimension.
As a kid, I can remember the cold December days, playing hockey on the small cow pond behind our house in Alna. Inhaling the crisp cool air as we slid back and forth, trying to catch the small black puck. It’s the time of night where you have a hard time seeing; I remember watching my brother’s ghost like figures on the other side of the pond. Then hearing Mom’s voice calling us in for supper.
Or, as an adult, going for a walk with the kids around Fryeburg in the winter. Hearing the crunch of the snow under my feet; looking up and seeing the large, fluffy snowflakes gently cascade down in the light of the street light.
In Costa Rica at sunset, the village where we where staying closed down and everyone went to the beach to watch the sunset. Watching the waves carry the surfers in, trying to catch the last perfect wave before dark.
Here in Ghana, it has the same effect on me. Tonight I walked back from eating fufu in town. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The sun was slowly making its way down the sky, playing hide and seek in the clouds. It’s hard not to watch as the colors change from a golden bronze to a dark orange. The colors of the clouds above go from white, to a crimson red and orange, then as the sun is tucked away for the night, the clouds become a deep purple. The lighting in the air, is so cool. It’s almost like there is a battle with the light wanting to linger just a little longer before it is defeated by the darkness. The air itself changes; as I walk into a small depression, I can feel the coolness of the hillside spring against my skin. Sound travels more that time of day. I can hear the Muslim prayers being offered up in town, the musical chants carrying on the wind. It’s the time of day when the birds sing their farewell to the day and the crickets and peepers awake to bring in the night.
Tonight, take some time from your busy schedule, and walk outside at twilight. Focus on the natural beauty around you. Breathe... Tell me it is not magical...
Cheers.

Wish List

Many of you have expressed an interest in sending me a package, your kindness is overwhelming. However, it is expensive to mail things here; for example a large padded envelope costs $25 and there is a flat rate box which you can stuff with no weight limit for $53. This is very expensive, and this blog is not intended to guilt anyone into mailing me something. But, on the other hand, if you are looking to mail me something, I don’t want you to mail me things I don’t need or stuff I can get here. The other problem is that when I write a list like this, there is a danger of getting 25 bags of Totsie Pops, which I will eat, but then my teeth will fall out. (Actually the story goes that the lady the created fufu had no teeth. So I suppose I could eat most Ghanian food if I lost all my teeth). So, I will write things here that have a good shelf life, and things that I will use on a regular basis.
UGH!! I had to stop writing for a bit. I heard this plop and this large toad just appeared on my floor! I have no idea how he got in, my windows have bug screen all around them. Anyways, he is back outside, hopefully eating all sorts of tasty bugs.
As I have described in earlier blogs, there is a serious lack of dairy products. I can get powered milk and eggs. So I would love to have packs of dry/powdered sauces that I could add to pasta, rice, beans or potatoes. The sauce packs are lightweight and have a good shelf life. Plus there is a good variety of them from asian, gravy mixes, cheese sauces, etc.
Canned goods: Maybe things like tuna fish, canned chicken, shrimp stuff like that. I never thought I would say this but cheese in a can, OMG!!! Send it baby!!!
Another thing is drink mixes. The only thing I can get here is Fanta Orange Soda and Coke, and I am not a big fan of sodas. I like most flavors, and I know there are available drink mixes that are healthy for you. There is not many green dark vegetables around here, so if you can find some that are fortified with greens and vitamins that would be nice. I also like lemonade mixes and things. There is a mix called Emergen-C, but I am NOT a big fan of that. Hmmm, do they have powdered beer or wine???
Granola Bars are good. But I am snob when it comes to them. Kashi makes ones I like, Cliff Bars and again there are some in the health food section of the stores that have healthy things in them. Chocolate coated ones will probably melt, but ones with chocolate chips have shipped well.
Speaking of chocolate. Milk chocolate does not ship well. By the time I get it, it is usually melted. Dark chocolate does much better, and, it so happens I prefer that. My favorite is Green and Black, found in the health food section of Hannaford, but they are quite expensive.
Prepackage cookies are good as long as they are sealed and wrapped pretty good. Same with wheat thins and crackers. If you could, when you send things like this, please send along a large zip lock bag so once it is opened it won’t go stale.
Dried Fruit- Yummy. Just not raisins.
OOooh!!!! Gummy Bears!!! Black Forest are the best!!!
Jerky is also good. I like all kinds; just not Slim Jims. I know, I know, I am picky.
I remember when I used to go backpacking, we would buy freeze dried meals. I don’t know what the technology is these days and what kind of meals they have, but heck, it can’t be worse than the okra stew with grass cutter (US groundhog), or dried rotten fish I am eating now!
If there is any new cool movies that have come out on DVD or and cool new music you are listening to, I am always up for that.

Things not to ship:
Peanuts- I have ground nuts here, and once I roast them, add salt and either garlic or sugar, they are pretty tasty.
Peanut Butter- I can get groundnut paste, which once I doctor up tastes pretty yummy.
Jam- I have found a Monastery here that makes jam and it is wonderful.
Homemade Food- Unfortunately, because it will take at least a month for me to get the package, most homemade food will spoil.
Books- They would be great but too heavy and I have a good selection here. Unless someone wants to send me a Kindle..LOL
Well, that is all for now. Again this message is because many of you have asked what I would like, and this is the easiest way for me to communicate to all of you. Don’t feel like you have to send anything, though a letter now and then would be nice!
Here is the shipping address:
Wayne Tilton PCV
c/o Peace Corps
PO Box 5796
Accra-North
Ghana, West Africa

My love to you all.
Cheers,
Wayne
PS Seriously, some one work on powdered wine or beer, PLEASE!!!!

Dinner with Wayne. Akwabaa!!

So, I start with garlic. I think that God, when He spoke “Let there be Light”, was probably sauteing garlic... The whole process of mincing garlic is almost a religion in itself. The crushing of the skin, the chopping, the pungent smell... It brings me back to the days of when my brother, (Scott, I love you man!!!!), use to make his mussels; starting with garlic. I take some coarse salt and oil, to help break the oils and the meat of the garlic. The skillet is hot, and the oil is sizzling. As I add the garlic the familiar noise of popping and spattering resound as the pieces dance in the hot oil. I add green pepper, and Ginny (Twi word for onion). As that cooks, I peel the tomatoes, garden eggs and hot peppers. Once I am through I toss everything together, add some water, salt and a little sugar and let it simmer for a couple of hours.
I have my Ipod (Tom that is an electrical thingy that plays music, kinda like magic!!) on shuffle. I go from listening to Spyro Gyra (Chris I love you man!!) to Nick Drake ( HB, I love you!!!!) to Max McLean reading Psalms (Todd, I love you man!!!). My cold gin and raspberry lemonade are calling to me, the crickets are deafening outside my window. My neighbor comes over and we start talking about the States as the sauce simmers. It’s funny the perception people have here of the US. They think that we are all rich, and we all drive sports cars going around shooting people (they watch way too many movies). They also are devastated as I tell them that WWW.RAW Wrestling (CJ I love you man!!!) is NOT real. Seriously. The sauce continues to simmer. Now, Billy Idol is on my Ipod (Noli- don’t know exactly why this reminds me of you but I love you man!!! Let me know if you are out there.)
Sounds good so far right? Well, NOW what do I do??? I look around and try to figure out what I am gonna put this yummy sauce on. My cupboards are kind of bare, and the only thing I see (heavy sigh) is a yam- or in the US, it’s called a potato. Except this potato is on steroids, about 5 times the size of a US potato. Before I prepare this BOS (beast of starch), I decide I need another gin and raspberry lemonade ( I love you Gin!!!!).
Well, the meal is done; tomato sauce with yam. The Bee Gees are playing ”How Deep Is Your Love?” I love you Alna Youth Group!!!)I think about cheese. Parmesan, or mozzarella.. I think I remember what those tasted like. The dry powdery texture of parm, or the stringy, hot texture of motz, that always ends up on you chin. Well, instead, I have this kind of boring meal, but all the time thinking of my friends and loved ones back in the states. Hey, the next time you bite into that crispy garlic bread or taste that dryness of red wine...please remember me. Cheers!

Don’t carry your eggs all in one bag!

So, do you ever think how expensive it is to live here in Ghana? Well, I have (no big surprise to those of you who think I’m um er well frugal). This is what they call the rainy season here in Ghana. Although it does not rain most days, it is cloudy and, what the locals call cool; 85-90. It’s funny to see them in a vest or long sleeve shirt at this temperature, but in the dry season it is about 120. Can’t wait.
Anyways, today it did rain. I was in town doing some shopping when the rain came. I was eating lunch/supper (these days I combine them; it’s cheaper that way). When it stopped, I continued on my shopping expedition. I bought a loaf of bread from the top of a girl’s head, then a half of dozen eggs from the egg lady. Hopefully from my previous blogs you can start to picture the scene. As I start to make my way home, holding the eggs in my hand, I am careful not to step in the puddles that cover my muddy path. This is a tricky thing given that the path is very slippery, slimy and steep. You guessed it, I didn’t make it without falling. Not too bad, I thought I recovered rather quickly, but, when you are the only white person in town, all eyes are upon you. Amidst all the laughing and pointing ( I should sell tickets... call it the Wayne show), one man was nice enough to offer me some water to wash my hands. After thanking him and carefully watching my step, I continued on but thought to check my eggs to see how they fared during the fall. Four out of the six were broken. The eggs cost .20 pesawa each, so I lost .80 pesawa or close to .60 cents. No big deal right? Well, I “make” $6 a day. 80 pesawa is about 8% of my pay. So... let’s say you make $200 a day in the States; 8% of $200 is $16. On four eggs. Hmmm, so you tell me, is it expensive to live here?

Wayne Goes to Wenchi

Well, stage one is complete! Sorry I have not been able to communicate in a while, it’s been a very busy and hectic time. The last few weeks of training were review and getting ready for the tests. Yes, in order to swear in and become a PCV, you need to be tested and get at least and 80% in each segment of training; health, safety and security, small enterprise development (SED) and language. The health, safety and security were pretty easy to pass. SED and Twi were a little tougher. For SED, we learned everything from understanding how businesses are structured here, how to write a business plan, learn about NGO’s (non government organizations), banking practices and much more. I would have gotten a 96% on the course, but I left my workbook at site and they deducted 5 points for that. Still, not too bad. Twi was not easy either. I had to have a 20 minute conversation in Twi, where they asked me all sorts of things like where I live, where my site was, how to buy things at market.....I passed with an intermediate medium. I am just lucky to have passed. Phew!
Swearing in was quite a hoopla of an event. There was a band playing as we marched to our seats. Our host families were there supporting us for the last time. The Country Director was there, all the Chiefs from the villages where we were staying, the head political man for the region; equivalent to a governor, and the US Ambassador to Ghana. There were speeches, dancing, skits, and a bunch of applauding. It was a great day and we all felt honored and relieved that this part of the journey was completed. It was a weekend of mixed emotions. We were all excited to go to our sites and start our various jobs, but it was also the last time we would see each other for some time. Having spent 3 months in intense training with a group of people, you develop a certain bond and I think there will be some friendships that will last a lifetime.
I arrived in Wenchi knowing I had a lot of support from the people who have asked me to come here and help. I spent a week in Wenchi while in training and met a lot of the folks I will be working with. My counterpart, Baro is the main person who will help me get around, help me communicate with the towns folk, and help understand the cashew business. His father is one of the sub chiefs in the city. My supervisor Ben, is the head of a government organization that supports small businesses. Both have been very helpful and accommodating to my needs.
Wenchi is about the size of Westbrook, maybe a little bigger. Most everyone here are farmers. So even during mid day, the town is pretty quiet, because most people are at farm. My house is located outside of town, about 4 1/2 miles from the office where I will be working. So far I’ve been walking back and forth to work, and I have enjoyed the workout. However, I do plan on getting a bicycle and be riding there and back. The walk is a beautiful one, I walk beside the farms on a rolling hillside overlooking the town. I am thankful that I live in such a beautiful area.
I have had a couple of meetings since I’ve been here, and I do have my work cut out for me! The Wenchi Cashew Farmers Coop is made up of 7 area zones and each zone operates as a small business. My job will be helping them learn proper business skills, as well as marketing, and management skills.
I am hoping to get internet access soon. If all goes well, I will be able to get it on my own computer, and will be able to access Skype and be able to communicate with you all. In the meantime, please continue to write, I love getting emails from you all. Please know that you are in my thoughts, and prayers.
Cheers,
Wayne

Life Half In The Bag

As I noted before, things are a little different here in Ghana...For example, most or all of the shopping is done at small booths... kinda like the size of a small self storage unit. From these “shops” you can get all the important things you need to run a house. Laundry soap (keep in mind that laundry is done by hand, and you buy a bar of soap to wash your clothes), rice, cans of tomatoes, eggs and bread. Yeah, that’s about it... except for the cheap candy from China. Everything else you get is from market. That is where you get your fresh produce, chairs, house hold times and kitchen supplies. I am starting to get acquainted with my market but there are still days I am surprised at what I find. Yesterday I went to market to buy things for my first dinner I was making in Ghana (Jollaf Rice with Chicken). Come with me, in your mind’s eye, as I take you to the market. We get off the main street and walk through an alley way to get to the shops. Keep in mind, when I say alley way or market, throw away all you might be thinking of what this might look like, for I guarantee that it is nothing like what this is. To cross from the main road to the alley, we pass over a plank that spans the width of a cement ditch. Everything runs into this ditch, yes everything. I thank God that it is now the rainy season, which helps to keep these gutters, well I’d like to say clean, but let’s just say clearer of debris and things. I am not looking forward to the dry season, from December to March when it does not rain. The things that will be in the gutters at that time, could be used for chemical warfare. So, now we are in the alley. There are no lawns here in town, and no real yards. Outside the houses (which in most cases are a mud hut or concrete building) are a small area where they cook, do laundry and pound fufu. Outside of this area is where we walk. We have to watch our steps as we go, for there are large rocks that can trip us up and we have to be careful not to step in the waste water (and worse) that is coming out of the houses as it makes it way down to the ditch. When we get to the market area it’s a bunch of stalls that have wooden planks that serve as shelving, scattered in some type of pattern. I have yet to figure out this pattern but there has to be some type of pattern to the way they set this up right?!? Mostly children and women are running their businesses. It seems that whatever is not grown or made here locally, comes from China. We pass one stall that has large metal bowls full of several varieties of dried beans, different kinds of rice and ground nut paste. Ground nut paste is sort of like peanut butter... once you’ve been here for a few months, it tastes just like peanut butter. The next lady is selling onions, peppers and mmmmm garlic. The next stall is a person selling yards of fabric, next to them is a guy wearing a Rafa Ghana hat, making sandals out old tires, while Bob Marley is blaring from a set of old but surprising loud speakers. (No offense Tom, there is nothing wrong with old speakers!) Beside Bob is a line of tailors, all working with sewing machines that are probably older than me, making pants, shirts and dresses. As we get closer to the end of the row, we hear all this banging and pounding. Turning the corner we see something that puts all our senses on overload. The pounding is coming from butchers that line the next passage on both sides. With large butcher knives in their hand, they are cutting up a recently slaughtered cow, goat and lamb. Now, our senses that are on overload; Visual- This is not Hannaford. On the same kind of boards and stalls as previously mentioned are all parts of the cow; from head to hoof. All laying right there as we walk by. audio- aside from hearing them chopping through bones (Ghanians don’t like much in the way of choice cuts, the more bone, fat and gristle in their meat the better), you also hear the buzzing of flies having a feast on this yummy smoargageboard. Touch- as we pass by dodging and swatting at the flies, we must take care that we don’t get hit by a flying piece of bone that comes off the chopping block. Smell- well, I will just have to let your imagination run away with you on that one.... Needless to say, I have not gotten my nerve up to buy anything from the “butcher shop” yet. I have been told by other PC Volunteers, that you can get a very good piece of meat if you are willing to show them what you want. They will look at you like you have four heads, because you aren’t wanting the fat or bones, but you can get a pretty good price on tenderloin and the like. All this time, people are staring at us, kids calling out to us, because we are the only white folks in the market. And if we respond to them in Twi, they will laugh hysterically and repeat what we just said to everyone next to them, which in turn starts them laughing. It’s a crazy maze we have entered, random chicken, goat and sheep walking past as we go. It’s very easy to get turned around and not know how to get out! Ahhh, Shaw’s and Hannaford, eat your heart out! Now, the bags. Remember the bags? (It’s the title of this blog silly). Everything that you could possibly want to buy comes in a bag. Here are some examples: Shopping: Because of the poverty level, a lot of people can not afford to buy a box of rice, or a container of salt. So instead, the vendors will put things in bags. You can buy little bags, .05 peswa’s ( about .03 cents), of spices. Ground nut paste comes in a bag, all produce will be bagged. Dessert: Yes there is dessert in Ghana. Ice Cream!!! See previous blog. This is sold in a small plastic bag about the size of a sandwich bag; just bite the corner off and suck away! Booze: Yes, this would be a great idea in the US, except I am sure the authorities would not think so. Shots are sold in a bag. Rum, Gin and other alcohol is packaged into small plastic bags. Hic!! Water: Pure water sachets are everywhere. If you ever want a cold refreshing drink of water, you will find hawkers selling a large container of pure water sachets on their head, .05 peswa for one, and you will see people walking down the street with a sachet hanging from their mouth. Meals: Who needs forks, knives or even plates??? Just get your dinner in a bag! One of my favorites is a chicken dish. It contains rice, spaghetti, fish sauce, hard boiled egg and chicken. You first start by mushing it all up, tearing open a corner and enjoy! So what if you eat some of the bag, I am sure I’ve eaten much worse things here in Ghana, plus I need to get my roughage in my diet! How ‘bout breakfast? Porridge, night time meal egg sandwich in a bag. Once, no lie, I even saw someone carrying a live rooster with it’s head sticking out of a bag! Hopefully I have given you a glimpse into a small part of my life. Welcome to my world! Now I've let the cat out of the bag. Get it??? Oh, I do crack myself up!

Auntie Rose's Ice Cream

My home stay Mom owns a “store” of sorts. It is about the size of Red’s Eats (for those of you in the know), or about 12x8. She sells a variety of items including sandals (otherwise known as Charlie’s), women shoes, candy, water, food items, laundry soap and ice cream. Her original goal when she started her business was to make $1 Ghana Cedi per day. (This would be equivalent to about .70 cents US). She has met her goal and has asked me to help her with a new vision for the store. 

There are a couple of different brands of ice cream she sells.  I use the word “ice cream” very loosely. It is more like frozen ice. Since I’ve been in Ghana, I have not seen milk, let alone cream. Plus, most places do not have freezers, or, for that matter, electricity. My Mom has no power at the store, but has a freezer at the house and brings  the goods to her shop frozen. The ice cream is in bags, (stay tuned for a blog on “Life in a bag”), similar to popsicles. There is a generic brand, that basically tastes like flavored sugar water. The flavors include cola, pineapple and cocoa and this sells for .10 pesawa (cents). The top of the line is called Fan Ice and that has three flavors; strawberry yogurt- it actually tastes like that, vanilla- tastes like frozen frosting and chocolate, which I think is pretty tasty. Fan Ice sells for .40 pesawa. 

My Mom also makes her own ice cream. She makes it with powdered milk, flour, nutmeg, sugar, vanilla and other things. I can’t tell you everything in it, otherwise I would have to kill you. Because she uses powdered milk, it is more creamy than the other brands. It is far better than the generic one and as good as the Fan Ice, tasting more like frozen pudding.  She only had one flavor, vanilla and was selling it for .05-10 pesawa. I asked her how she came up with the price and she told me that she thought is should be the same as the generic. When I asked her how much it cost her to make it, she had no idea. Welcome to Ghana....

I helped her with an inventory list, figured out the pricing and found that it cost her about .08 pesawa to make. She usually makes one batch a week, on Sundays, and sells out by Tuesday or Wednesday. I encouraged her to increase the price to .15 mainly due to the fact it is so much tastier than the generic, but we also knew that she could not sell it for much more than that. She decided that she would do 2 sizes, one for .10 and the other for .15 and she is still selling out. 

I asked her why she does not make more than one batch a week, and she said that she did not have time, it takes about 3 hours, and she is busy at her store during the week. So, I did the math with her; we figured out that doing one batch, she is making $12 Ghana Cedi, that is profit!!!!! I asked her how long would she have to work at the store to make that kind of profit. It was then we had a “Peace Corps Moment”. A light went on inside her head, she smiled and said that she will make another batch mid week, opening the store a little later one day. It was great! She figured it out by herself, I didn’t have to tell her, I just merely showed her the dots and she connected them. 

I also thought back to when I used to make vanilla pudding when I was a kid, and how my Mom would add some coffee to it to make coffee pudding. Since there is only instant coffee here available and, a bunch of white folks in the village for a few weeks, I suggested we make some coffee ice cream. It is a big hit, and we are selling it for .20 pesawa. She is now thinking about making her own pineapple flavor as well and, selling it to someone else in another town. 

I am so proud of my Mom, she has a great business mind and open to learning. She is a far cry from her original goal of making $1 per day. I hope that my work in Wenchi will be as successful as “Auntie Rose’s Ice Cream”.

To Kill A Rooster

Move over, Harper Lee, Mocking Birds have nothing on Roosters. Instead of Mr. Lee, my book would be more like a Stephen King novel. “The cold sharp steel edge of an axe makes a dull thud as it separates  the head from the body of the accused rooster....” Yes,  I think that is how I would start it. After many nights awake, staring up my ceiling thinking of ways to kill my fowl feather fiend, I have decided to write a quick blog on the experience. 

I usually am in bed by 9:30 and wake up around 6:00 am. I have read other blogs that have talked about the noise in Ghana. It is not trains rattling on the tracks towards their destination, or the angry sounds of taxi horns, or the high shrill of sirens. No, it’s the sound of sheep and goats bleating all night keeping them awake until all hours of the night. I considered myself lucky that my room is on the second story in the front of the house, away from the four legged animals. I have instead a demented, possessed rooster, whose only goal in life that I can see is to keep me from sleeping. 

I can remember back in the States watching a commercial for a sleeping pill, where a rooster is perched on the  window sill, as the early morning sun makes its way up the sky, crowing and keeping the poor lady in bed awake. Well, the thought that the rooster only crows at the crack of dawn it a terrible myth, at least here in Ghana. This loud, obnoxious creature from Hell, crows whenever he damn well feels like it. 

He starts about 1:30  in the morning, just when I am getting into my deep REM sleep. He crows once, waits, and listens for a response. If there is no response,  he tries again 15 minutes later. Please allow me to describe the noise this wretched wraith makes. If he where a singer, he would be one of those singers that just screams the whole time. You can’t understand the words, you can only feel the pent up rage and anger the singer is conveying. Compared to him, a regular rooster would be Barry Manalow, or Mister Rogers. My rooster makes this unearthly scream for prolonged periods of time, and confirms to me that he is not from this world but from the deepest darkest pit of Hell. 

He will do this three times, and, when no other rooster responds, he will wait and hour and do the whole process all over again. Usually by 3:30, he strikes pay dirt, and some other rooster will respond. At that time in the morning, voices travel quite a distance, and from somewhere down the street, I hear a faint cock-a-doodle-doo. That is all he needs. It’s like a person drinking 20 large extra bold Dunkin’ Donuts Coffees. He explodes into a series of crowing, screaming and hacking that continues for the next 2 1/2 hours. 

Now, I consider myself a fairly easy going person, even keeled, and there is not much that gets under my skin. But, lying awake at 3:45, or 4:20, listening to this has tested my patience. Yes, I have my ear plugs in. Yes, the pillow is over my head. Yes and am drugged with Tylenol PM. All to no avail. I don’t think there is a way that I have not thought of on how this dreadful bird could die a long and painful death. I have developed an unhealthy taste for chicken. Every time I am served chicken at home I think, “Could this be Him??” I bite down hard, chew with extra vigor, shredding the flesh with my teeth. But, alas, the next morning the cycle starts all over again...

An Evening with The Big Man

We all knew that Obama was coming to Accra but, we did not think that it was going to be possible to see him. Then, the day we got home from our field trip, it was announced that we were invited to say farewell to Mr. and Mrs. President at the airport. All we were told was that he would be giving a half hour speech before he boarded Air Force One to head home. I was thinking that we might get a glimpse of him with several thousand people looking on. We planned to leave early in the morning, meet at the Embassy, and then get a ride to the airport. Obama was scheduled to speak at 5:45 and we were supposed to be at the airport at 2:30. It was a long trip to the Embassy  and I was surprized that we got there on time. There were road blocks but not anything too bad. Arriving at the Embassy, we boarded real buses; we were in the lap of luxury. Real seats, that reclined, AC and even a movie. Yes, a movie; on the Embassy Bus we watched Sheena the Jungle Woman. I am not sure when (or why for that matter) this movie came out, but  it had to be one of the worst movie ever produced. Sheena was a girl Tarzan, who could speak telepathy to animals, ride a zebra like no tomorrow and wear the tiniest outfits with out falling out; big talent!!!

We left the bus, and joined the mass of people walking towards the Airport. There were more white folks than I have seen since I’ve been here. The atmosphere was quite festive; there was a parade of Ghanians waving American and Ghanian flags, singing an Obama tune, dancing and playing bongos. There were hundreds of people in line all waiting for a chance to see Obama. We got through the gates, security and were directed by the Secret Service on where to go. We showed them our passes in, and at every check point the crowds got fewer and fewer. As we walked onto the tarmac, I was amazed that we, the Peace Corps Volunteers, had front row access. I was less then 50 feet from the podium. It was magical, the sun was setting, turning the clouds alive with color, and in the back ground was Air Force One. Obama came flying in on a helicopter landed and walked up to the podium with the President of Ghana. After thanking and and welcoming everyone, he looked at us, and welcomed the Peace Corps personally. In his speech he mentioned the Peace Corps three times. We were all pretty pumped. After it he was done, he and Michelle came down and shook hands with us. I got to shake Michelle’s hand. As they boarded the plane to leave, we were all flying high. I was honored to be there and am proud to be serving my country. 

Danger, No Danger!!!

This week we went on a field trip. The purpose was to visit some businesses similar to the ones we will be going to. We left on Saturday and came home on Wednesday. It was the 12 of us SED people, and 4 trainers. We were fortunate to use the large van that the PC owns, as well as our own driver. We took off early Saturday morning, while Ghanians were preparing for their funerals. Yes, funerals. Every first Saturday of the month is when they have funerals for the folks who died the past month. I will not go into  all the details here, trust me, that will be a blog all unto itself! But, suffice it to say that Ghanians take their funerals very seriously, and every village we went through was gearing up. 

Our first stop on the trip was a village known for their bead making. It is in the Volta region, and quite a beautiful area. The rolling hills and the lush green grass were a delight to my eyes. Some of the villages were quite small, with mud huts and thatched roofs, while others were small towns. When we arrived, we stopped at an NGO (Non Government Organization) called Global Mama’s. It was started by two former PCV who had a burden of helping women get better pay for their work. It is quite a successful organization selling their product in Ghana as well as in the States. 

We went to see how the beads were made. The women collected bottles from where ever they could get them, and then ground them down into powder. Then, they would put this powder into molds that they made, put a piece of stick in the middle to serve as the hole in the bead, and then melt the powder in an oven that looks like a homemade pizza oven. They would leave the mold in there until the glass melted and burned the stick away, and then they would let it cool. After popping the beads out of the mold, they would then smooth them, and paint them. There is a local market in town where they would sell these beads, and from there people would make jewelry from them. It is an amazing process and you could buy two bracelets of beads for $1 Ghana CD, which is about .80 cents. Ghanian folk do not factor in time as part of their labor, just materials. With the help of Global Mama’s, hopefully the women will get better prices for their efforts. 

We then drove to a Kente Village. Kente cloth is a hand woven cloth that is very colorful and very labor intensive. We arrived in the middle of an incredible thunderstorm.   Right before we got there I looked over in the woods and saw what looked like a bright light of a street light. But, considering that we were on a small dirt road heading into a village of 500 people, with no running water and intermittent electricity, I did a double take and realized that lighting had just hit a large tree and the tree was still glowing from the charge of the bolt. It was pretty awesome, to say the least. 

The villagers had all come out to meet us, but due to the rain, most of them had left. We had a short meeting with the chief and some important villagers, then took a quick tour of where they made this cloth. The looms are laid out where someone sits and uses their hands and feet to weave beautiful patterns into a fabric that is about 3 inches wide. From there, they attach the strips together to make one large piece of fabric. Again, like the beads, the amount of time and effort that goes into this art is incredible and they barley get paid for it. I hope to show some pictures of the fabric at some point if I can ever find an internet cafe that has a decent connection. 

It was getting late and we needed to get to the place where we were going to spend the night. We were told that the place we would be spending the next two nights was a place called Mountain Paradise. Having been in Ghana for a little over a month, I was a little concerned of what their definition of “paradise” is.  They told us that they would meet us at the bottom of this mountain because the road was too steep. Well, I guess our driver either didn’t get those instructions or thought he could make it ourselves. Now, I know that I have tried to describe “roads” to you before, but.... this one has raised the standard. A logging road would be a four lane highway compared to this one. It was more like a path, that had gotten washed away with all the rain we just got. I will never know how we did not tip over. As we were clutching onto our seats, getting thrown to and fro, we rounded a corner, and there in the middle of the road, was a bigger truck than us, stuck in a rut. We stopped and some of us got out to take a look at the situation. It looked like he was stuck on the passenger side of the vehicle both the front and the back. For some reason he kept trying to go forward instead of backwards. We suggested that he try backing out and then move forward. He agreed and started up the big engine. As he did so, I was standing right next to where a regular exhaust would be but, there is nothing regular about Ghana. As the engine fired, a huge thick black cloud of smoked enveloped me; I am sure I lost ten years of my life as I scrambled out of the way. He was finally able to get out of the rut, and was headed straight toward our bus. After from choice words from our bus driver, the truck managed to get in gear and slowly head up the mountain. 

We all got back into the bus and continued our way up the steep incline to the top of the mountain. The view was incredible, the place was by itself on a ridge overlooking a beautiful valley of lush tropical forests. I was amazed at not only the location, but also the place itself. There was a large lodge, and a beautiful tiki bar that was perched right on the edge of the mountain, with a 360 degree view of the landscape. We were welcomed by Tony, the owner, who was very friendly and gracious. That night we had a bon fire and learned to play bongos under the stars.

The next morning we decided we would go for a hike to see a local waterfall. A man named Believer was our guide and though he was a very good guide, he did not speak English other than a few words. The waterfall was down this steep ravine and at one point we had to repel with ropes down a rocky section. Whenever we came to a tricky part in the trail, Believer would say “Danger”, then “No Danger” when we were back to safety. After a nice refreshing swim we headed back up the trail. The sun was hot and the trail was pretty steep; when, all of a sudden Believer, came running back from the front shouting “Danger!!! Run, Danger!!” I was in the back of the pack and as the group ahead started running, I heard shouts of pain and cursing coming from the group. In the trail. and for about 30 feet or more on the trail was a swarm of army ants. As we ran through them, several of us got bit by these nasty creatures, sending an electric shock up our legs. By the time we all made it through, we had welts and one ant even drew blood on my ankle. Awhile later we saw the welcoming porch of the lodge and had a nice rest, nursing our bites and enjoying some cold water. 

The day was a great day; we were all relaxed not having anything on the agenda for the day. As we were sitting there on the porch listening to the birds in the valley below, I realized  that I could in a small way relate to the life of a big celebrity. For the first time since we have been in Ghana, we were alone with no one but us “Ebronies” (white folk). This was the first time that we were not gawked at, pointed at, yelled at, laughed at. It was a chance to relax, let our guard down and just be ourselves.  It was a time that we all needed; a chance to recharge our batteries. 

The next day we hit the trail again, visiting some more businesses and farms. We got home in the afternoon, back to our village with our families happy to have us back home. It was a fantastic field trip! 

A Day In the Life of Kwambi

Now that I am settled for 8 weeks, I thought I would share with you what my day looks like. First, let me start with our group that came over from the US. We started with 67 volunteers, and now we are down to 63. Not too bad of drop out rate considering the vast variety of ages. Three of the folks that ET’d (Early Terminate) where in their 20’s and one in her late 50’s, I think. We are divided into two basic groups; education and omnibus. Education includes Math, Science, Visual Arts and Tech. Omnibus includes WATSAN (water and sanitation), SED (Small Enterprise Development, and Environment and Health. Because we are such a large group, they have split us into different villages, where, for the next several weeks, we will be learning language, culture, and aspects concerning what we will be doing over the next two years. 

Imagine a circle.  There are four different villages around the perimeter of the circle and one in the center. It can take anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour to get to any of these villages. We live in the village by the sector we belong to; I live in Masse, with the other SED volunteers. However, we will go to many different area’s in Ghana when we graduate from training. There are about 70 different languages in the country and we have 6 or 7 different language classes collectively. I have been very fortunate- the area will I am going speaks Twi, which is what I’ve been learning before I even arrived in Ghana. Twi is the national language and spoken in much of southern Ghana. I am also fortunate that the language class for Twi just happens to be in Masse, so I do not need to travel to get to any of my class. Some of my friends however, have to drive an hour to language class, then more time to their other classes before returning home. Keep in mind the condition of the roads and taxis (see my earlier journal entry), they have a very long day. 

As I said, I live in Masse and Masse is in the center of that circle I talked about. It is a very nice village, probably with 2,000 residents. There is a downtown with small shops, and a market, 2 or 3 schools, and a gazillion churches. It’s a very close knit community, I feel very safe here. There is power, and water is readily available in bore holes and wells. I live on the outskirts of town on the main road. My family consists of my Mother; Auntie Rose, my Father; Adjei, and two of their grandchildren (my brother and sister) ages 16 and 15. My father is 73 and is semiretired. He works as an Managing Director in the electrical business in Accra for the last 50 years. When he worked full time there, he would travel to Accra and spend the week there, returning Friday night. He is very nice, speaks some English and although he is friendly, he tends to keep to himself. My Mother is a hot ticket. She is a strong, very hard working woman with a heart of gold. We laugh a lot together. No, let me rephrase that. She laughs at me, as do most Ghanians. Everything I do is funny to them. They way I talk, do laundry, the clothes I wear, it’s all new to them and they laugh a lot. It’s OK ‘cause I laugh at myself as well, I have to!

Before daylight, the roosters start crowing. Everything you’ve heard about the rooster starting to crow at dawn is hogwash. Around 3:30 or 4 am one will crow. And once one starts, they all start. I wear earplugs but it does not help much. by 4:30, my family starts to wake up. They start the day by sweeping.... the yard. Yes, the yard. They do not have grass, it is just dirt, and they want to make sure that their dirt is um, well tidy dirt. Then they start a fire, and do a whole bunch of other things that include banging, pounding and all around general noise making. So by 5:45 I lay in bed and plan my day. I usually get up, go pee in my INSIDE LATRINE (oh yeah baby!!! I have an inside latrine. Most people have an outside one, sometimes several yards away. I am living high on the hog.) I then take a nice refreshing bucket bath, sweep out the water out and get dressed. 

I come downstairs and greet my family. “Maache, Kwami!”, they say. My name here is Kwami, which means I was born on Saturday. Everyone here has a name signifying the day they were born; ie, Kaffi is Friday. Eating here is very different than the US. First of all, I am left handed, but here you can not eat with your left hand, it is considered unclean. You use you left hand to go to the bathroom. You don’t ever hand anyone something with your left hand, it is considered an insult. So, I am learning to eat with my right hand. Actually it isn’t too bad to learn, because most of the time I don’t use silverware. Most of the time you eat with your hands. Another cultural difference is that you don’t usually eat as a family. The man will eat at the table, the women will eat outside on a bench, and after they have finished the kids will eat the leftovers. So I usually eat alone, although sometimes my mother will sit with me a talk to me as I eat. 

I usually leave for my language classes around 7:30, class starts at 8:00. I try not to speak any English on my way to school, just Twi. Greetings are very important here, so just about everyone I meet. Here is a typical conversation:

Me: Maache

Them: Yaa,Agya. Wo ho te sen?

Me: Me ho ye, paa. Na wo nso e?

Them: Me so, me ho ye. Woto sen?
Me: Meeko school.

Them: Yoo, akyire yi yebehyia.

Me: Yoo!!

Which means, Good morning! Yes Sir. How are you? I am fine and you? I am fine as well. Where are you going? I go to school. Ahh, we shall meet again. Yes, we will.

Of course they are laughing at me the whole time. They think we all are very funny. And then they ask me more questions, to which I mumble something and just smile. 

There is only three of us in my language class and it usually lasts 2 hours. Then I have a culture course for a couple of hours. I walk back home for lunch, then we have classes from 1 to 5. By then my brain is fried. It is all very interesting and I am learning a lot. We are learning about business, how the government agencies work, and much, much more. 

I usually have dinner around 6. My Mother is a great cook and I have enjoyed all of the meals here. It is quite different foods, lots of starch, but all in all it is quite good. I don’t know when the last food was that had MSG, partially hydrogenated oil, artificial flavorings or anything like that. I can’t say I miss it, although a steak with mushrooms, mashed potatoes with butter, and broccoli would be really good right now. I do miss the fresh veggies, and I am pretty sure the strawberries are ripe back home....  And, I miss milk; we have powdered, real coffee; we have instant, no dairy products. Mmmmm chocolate, or snacks, there is no snacking here. Oh, and cheese....mmmmmm... Ugh, I have to stop. The good news is that there is one kind of beer that is acceptable. It’s called Castle Beer, it’s a dark beer, and pretty tasty. The only problem is that right now I am only getting $2 a day and the beer costs $1.50. Every once in while I will go out to “The Spot”, a small bar, with some other PCT’s and we will have a cold one. 

After dinner, I usually visit with my family for a bit, then go upstairs to read, do home work and I am usually in bed by 9. Pretty exciting, huh? Well, that is the day in the life of Kwami. This Saturday, we go on a field trip for 5 days. We will be visiting sites of other PCV’s and take a look at how businesses run here. I will let you know how that goes when I get back.

I think Chris posted on Face book, where my site is. I will be living in a town call Wenchi, which is a fairly large town, or medium size city. I will be working with cashew farmers. Over one third of the world’s cashews are produced by 14 African countries, one of which is Ghana. Over 90% of these cashews are produced on small farms. The majority of the cashews are shipped raw to India and Vietnam to be processed and then sold to the US and Europe. There is a push to process the nuts here.  I will be working with local cooperatives to market their products. I will also help them get more organized, set better pricing structure and train managers. Peace Corps is big on sustainability. What I mean by that is that we are not here to do projects for the people. We are here more as facilitators, training them to do the work themselves. I am looking forward to checking out my site and getting involved with my work here.

This is a description of the “house” I will be living for the next two years. “Your housing is a single room in a compound house. There is a water closet to share with one family (husband/wife and 2 children), electricity, bed, table and chair. There is pipe borne water available.” Hmmmm...... I wonder what that means. I will give you a better understanding of a typical “house” here in Ghana. Most houses are built in a compound style. So picture a strip hotel, that makes is shaped like a horseshoe. In the middle is a courtyard, usually just concrete. All the doors are facing the courtyard. Usually the doors opens to a square room, maybe 10‘X15’. There could be anywhere from 10 to 15 rooms. This is where the people live. Somewhere in the compound will be a room that t will serve as a kitchen. Another room is the bathing room; it will have a small hole in the wall at the bottom for the water to escape. Somewhere outside the compound will be a latrine. I will dedicate a whole new blog just on the latrine. But, for now just let your imagination take you....some of these latrines are a lot worse than you can imagine. 

It’s the rain season here. Since I’ve arrived, it has rain most every day. It’s been a nice rain though, refreshing and cool. The last two days however have poured. Today is has come down in buckets most of the day. In some areas, all the roads have washed out. My language teacher told me today that he heard on the news that due to the rain the snakes have come out seeking shelter. In one area 5 people have died from snake bites. Nice!

I’ve only been able to get to an internet cafe about three times since I’ve gotten here. It is an extremely frustrating experience. To load my yahoo mail page takes anywhere from 15 to 25 minutes. Most of the time I can not even get to my face book page. I usually write my blog ahead of time then just post it when I get there. It is because of this, I have not been writing to you all individually as much as I would like. I want to thank you all for the kind words of encouragement and support. It is very comforting to know that I have a loving family and friends back home. Once I get to Wenchi, I hope to have better internet service. In the meantime, if anyone would like to write me my temporary address is:

Wayne Tilton PCV

Peace Corps

PO Box 5796

Accra-North

Ghana, West Africa

Oh, I also have a cell phone. It doesn’t cost me anything for you to call, but you will want to check your rates. Chris told me that it is expensive. Someone here though told me that their parents got an African calling card and it’s like 17 cents a minute. I will try to get more information later. Here is my number: 054 237 0021. I think you need to dial 011 then 233, then the number but you want to double check that. Chris knows and she will let you know if you contact her.

On that note, I will leave you. I hope you all are doing well and you are in my thoughts and prayers. Cheers~ Wayne 

Culture

The culture in Ghana is quite different, of course, than the US. Greetings are very important. For example, when you are walking down the street, you not only say hello, but also ask how they are doing as well as their family. To walk past someone without saying hello is rude. Of course the awkward part of this whole thing is that being white and not knowing the language very well. Walking down the street for me can be exhausting. I live with my “parents” in a very nice house that is about a mile from where my classes are. I have to pass a school, the center of town and the market to get to my language class. Hardly anyone here has a vehicle which means everyone walks. So as I walk I bumble my way through the greetings with everyone I meet, and most of the time they ask me more questions and I have no idea what they are saying. Couple this with the fact that I am an “Obroni” (a white person) makes this an interesting walk to class to say the least. As I pass houses, the young children (under 5 years old) run up to me chanting “obroni, obroni” in their musical voices, waving constantly. If I happen to not acknowledge them, they just chant louder and louder. Then the older folks want to shake my hand, ask me where I am coming from, where I am going and if I am from the US. When I tell them I do live in the states, that ask if they know Ashante, their cousin that moved to the States 3 years ago....Needless to say, by the time I get to language class, I have already had a good lesson.

Another interesting and fascinating thing is how open and friendly the children are. In the States, we are taught never to talk with strangers. Here you will see 3 and 4 year old kids walking around by themselves. Older kids will come and walk with you for a bit, asking you how your day is. Even the older teenage boys act different. When I come upon a group of them, at the onset they look the same. Baggy pants, baseball caps, sitting on their bikes, trying to look cool. But, as soon as I say “Mahaa” (Good Afternoon), they break into beautiful smiles and their whole countenance changes. 

The day starts early here and ends late. The family gets up at 4:30 and they start working at 5. The first thing is sweeping the yard. It is all dirt around their yard and every morning they sweep away the debris. Then my Mother will make breakfast for everyone, cleans the house and, when the kids have left for school, she goes to market to sell flavored ice she made the night before. The man goes out to farm this time of year and does not return until dark. Meals take a looooong time to prepare, Even though they have propane stoves, most women choose to cook outside on a fire they make. There are no microwave or TV dinners here. Most meals include a dough like substance. It can be banko, fufu, kenche, ( I know I am not even close to spelling these right). Sometimes this dough is pounded from maize, other times it is nuts that they grind into a paste, or other starch items. All of these are ground, pounded and kneaded into these dough balls, that in themselves take a lot of work. Then they need to make the stew. This includes crushing tomatoes, onions, garlic and other things using a mortar and pedstal. Then they put the stew ingredients into a pot and add some type of meat. Of course there is no running water here so they have to fetch water from the bore hole, which can be quite a distance away. I have seen preteens carry over 10 gallons of water on top of their heads without spilling hardly a drop. Oh, of course they also do laundry by hand, sweep the whole house by hand and bathe using buckets. No luxury here; I am constantly amazed by their strength, stamina and willingness to help.  So the next time you want to complain because your french fries from McDonald’s are cold....think about these women. 

On Transportation

Transportation

I used to be intimidated when I traveled to New York City, mostly due to the traffic. Well, I can safely tell you that NYC has nothing on Accra. Come with me for a ride....

This one particular evening we went to see the US Ambassador of Ghana. He was very gracious to invite us PCT (Peace Corps Trainees) to a evening at his house. It was very nice, an open bar and finger food. He and his wife were very nice and his welcome speech was very heartfelt. He told us that the majority of the Ghana administration can remember the name of the PCV (Peace  Corps Volunteer) that went to their village when they were young. I thought that was pretty cool. 

Now, for the ride home. Picture a two lane highway; sometimes paved, sometimes not. Either way, on these “roads”, there are holes. I would say pot holes but that would be an understatement. These holes will swallow a small car. On the road are people, bikes, motorbikes, small cars, vans, and large buses and trucks. From what I can gather, there is a hierarchy. People yield to bikes, bikes yield to motorbikes, motorbikes yield to small cars, etc. Oh, and these roads do not have pull over lanes, and they get very, very congested. So, back to my story. We are on the way home from the Ambassador’s house. It’s after 8 (it gets dark around 7ish) and they tell us that we should not be out at night. Many vans get robbed at night, so they want to rush us home. As I look ahead of us there is a major traffic jam. We are going north, and it is completely stopped. The traffic headed south is stopped as well. There are vendors and people all in the road; it is completely impassable I think. Well I was wrong. Instead of stopping, our driver decides that we should drive in the opposite lane whenever there is a break, heading directly into traffic. As we were flying down the road I know a head on collision is imminent. At the last minute, our driver swerves onto the opposite sidewalk. Horn blasting, we continue on our way while people are scrambling out of our way. We go through yards, driveways and every other inch of space we can find to continue forward. I is unlike any other thing I  have ever done. I do not know how or why we made this hour long trek without getting killed or shot at. When we safely arrived back to our compound, I think we all kissed the ground. I found out later that because we are Peace Corps, we have special license plates and we can drive however we please.... go figure. 

Bus rides

I went up North to a small village to visit Larry, a PCV who is doing what I will be doing. I spent 3 days with him and I learned a lot about what I will be doing. Larry is a great guy and I was fortunate to have him as my mentor. Actually to get to his site, I spent over 15 hours on a bus, then ended the trip with a canoe ride to cross a river. The first leg of the journey home included a very interesting bus ride. There was a group of folks waiting to get on the bus when we arrived. Most of them were women with babies. To me there seemed like there was going to be plenty of room, there was probably 30 of us. But, the women did not think there would be enough room. When the bus arrived, complete chaos erupted. Instead of waiting for the people to get off the bus, they were bound and determined to get on the bus ( which was full). People were crawling over each other, yelling and screaming, pushing and pulling. I couldn’t believe it, because these were the nicest, sweetest people in the world.... until they want to get on the bus. When I finally got on the bus, there were no seats left, but plenty of standing room, so I thought I would make the best of it and just stand. I was wondering why we were not leaving then I noticed huge bags (like 100 lb. each) of grain, corn, charcoal, and God knows what else being loaded on. Any extra space got swallowed up and now everyone was cramped.  Of course there is nothing to hold on to, and as we took off it was hard to stay on my feet. After about twenty minutes we came to a station and I was thinking “cool people will start to get off and I will have room again.” How naive of me. At least 20 more people got on board, with all their boxes, bags and baskets. I now am sitting/squatting with my back against a very hard metal pan. At my feet, or more accurately on my feet are three Ghanian women, all with babies. You can not imagine how packed this  bus was. Oh, did I mention that the bus doors were broken? They were half closed, and to open them you had to kick/pull/push your way through them. I became very self conscious of myself as everyone was looking at me. Not only was I the only white person on the bus, but I was wearing shorts. Wearing shorts in public is very taboo. I don’t know what I was thinking. Feeling uncomfortable in many ways, I look around and find that most of the women are breast feeding their babies. So here I am feeling very embarrassed about my naked knees, when there are all these boobs bouncing around all over the place. Breasts and not considered sexual here while legs are... Oh well, more cultural things to learn for me... At the end, I made it safe and sound back to training village where I will spend the next 10 weeks, learning all sorts of fun stuff.

Cheers,

Wayne