Day 11: Accra Artist Market

Yet another early morning. Breakfast was at 8AM and we left for the Artist Market at 9AM. I’m tired, but I don’t want to miss a thing! The Artist Market, I’ve heard, can be very overwhelming. It is similar to a flea market with several stands in a small space. The difference being the selling technique. These sellers are quite aggressive. They will grab your hand and try to pull you into their shop, they will follow you through the market and try to sell to you and if you so much as look at an item or touch something they will basically put it on you saying “it’s yours.” (But, it really isn’t because when I walked away with it and said “thanks!” they weren’t too happy. Who knew?!) Also, as in many developing nations, the norm is to haggle for prices. Being an obroni (white, tourist) I will always get quoted a higher price – sometimes a ridiculously higher price. You have to barter and haggle to get to the price at which you’re comfortable buying. I’m not much of a fan of this process. At any rate, I ended up with some wood carvings, a drum, a dress, 2 bags, a shirt, and loads of jewelry. I keep telling myself some of it is gifts…I just don’t know which items because I want it all for me!

When I came out of the market, I was looking for my bus and realized I had been left! Luckily, another bus from our program had just rolled up so I caught a ride back with them. We drove the Accra Main Square to purchase some other items and it was a crazy madhouse. Tons of people everywhere – on the street, on the sidewalk, in the street. People selling everything from Raid roach killer to tennis shoes to kebabs. There wasn’t anything I have ever needed in my life that wasn’t for sale on that street. After an hour there we headed back to the hostel.

I went for a walk with a friend here and decided to get my hair braided. We walked past a woman in a field who was doing hair and asked her if she could do my hair and how much. Yes, and 7 cedis. I choose a brownish-red weave and sat down. Three hours later I now have me some fancy braids. I like to fit into the culture I’m in. Plus I am going to a wedding tomorrow and I wanted to have something ‘fancy’-ish for it. Woo!

I enjoyed a later dinner and made plans to go out dancing. Plans were foiled and I ended up hanging out in my room again chatting it up – which is OK because tomorrow I have to be up early, again. The wedding is during church service so we must leave by 9AM. Wish I could have one day to sleep… I guess I can do that back in Austin. For now there is fun to be had and experiences to experience.

Day 10: Cape Coast

I had ambitious plans to wake up at 5AM today and watch the sunrise over the ocean. When my alarm went off, I laughed, snoozed, and returned to sleep. Around 7:30 I awoke and did yoga on my porch looking into the ocean. The life. After breakfast we loaded our buses to head to Kakum National Park. No sooner had we parked and paid when a torrential downpour began. Kakum is a rainforest, so some rain is to be expected, but this was crazy style rain. We decided to eat lunch on site and hope the rain ended. Shortly afterwards a bamboo band rolled up in the rain and began setting up for a performance. Our Program Director is pretty amazing and just pulled this out for us. It was a full ensemble, dancing and drumming troupe who performed for an hour. It was amazing! All of the instruments they were playing were made of solid bamboo – the only additions being metal pieces for connection. In perfect timing, our food was ready as they finished and the rain slowed down to a light drizzle. After some kebobs, I ventured into the rainforest. A short uphill hike led us to the canopy tour. We walked 7 canopy bridges and it was breathtakingly beautiful. I remember from Costa Rica just how beautiful the rainforest is from that high…Kakum did not disappoint. Wet and tired, I completed all 7 and headed back to load up the bus and head home. It was a long drive home with 35 wet people crammed closely together. I put on my headphones and zoned out. Back at the hostel I took a lukewarm shower, had a light snack and just hung out with my roomie and some friends. It is nice to be back with the group.

Day 9: Cape Coast

After 3 ½ hours crammed tight in the backseat of a Mercedes (you know how I roll), I thankfully made it to Cape Coast and was able to catch up with the group. We began our day with a tour of the Slave River – the final bathing place for the slaves after they walked for weeks or months from the Northern Region of Ghana and neighboring countries, such as Burkina Faso to Cape Coast to be traded or sold. On site they have built a memorial wall for those who have returned to Ghana after the Diaspora and/or other supporters. The site was touching in a way, trying to imagine the walk folks took and the conditions in which they endured. But, this was clearly a tourist centre. I do not believe there is historical evidence of this being “The” Slave River or bathing site; rather it is a lake with a story. At any rate, the guide gave a good speech which personalized the experience and helped drive home the reality of the history of slavery.

Next stop was the long awaited Cape Coast slave castle. This fortress, castle, dungeon is a true historical building over 200 years old. From the outside it is a beautiful white structure. It looks like a traditional castle. Inside, however, there are dungeons, a holding cell, and cannons. We began with an entrance into the male dungeon. This was a three room concrete cellar with one small window in each room. Guards stood by with rifles in the windows to keep order. Over 1000 men were held at a time and were held for up to 6 weeks. Men were fed twice daily. They ate, slept, and defecated in this same space. A small gutter existed, but archeologists have found evidence that fecal matter and waste reached up to 4 feet tall. Appalling. Despicable.

The female dungeon was even smaller, just two rooms, and held both women and children. The two rooms only had one small window which was also guarded. Women were kept nude and were used by traders and guards as desired. A woman’s “saving grace” was to become pregnant from one of the British men. She would then be freed. The risk was too great to try and sell or transfer a pregnant woman. In the Cape Coast area now there are many people who have last names such as “Stephenson” or “Robertson” – this, quite literally, means the child is the son of Stephan or Robert. (Why do I know no Stephendaughters?)

Near by was a holding cell. This cell was a small, narrow room where rebels were locked up. This room contained no windows and when the door was closed there was no oxygen coming in. They closed it for a minute while we were in there. It did take my breath away – not only the lack of oxygen, but the heat, the closeness to everyone, the lack of light. It was scary – and I knew what was happening and that it would end quickly. I cannot imagine what it was like to be taken from your country by force or manipulation, shackled and forced to walk for sometimes 3-4 months and then be kept in a dungeon for 6 weeks all for no apparent reason. Most of these people were just minding their own business before being taken away and enslaved. I just do not understand humans.

The final piece the enslaved people saw was a big black door labeled “The Door of No Return.” This is the final door where men, women, and children walked away from their homes. The door opens to the harbor where they were loaded on ships to sail to far away, never heard of places. It is such a beautiful sight to behold – the ocean, the rocks, the people. It is difficult to imagine such atrocities happening at this very spot, this very beautiful, breathtaking spot. I had such mixed emotions of everything. I just kept touching the walls in the dungeons and feeling connected to the thousands of hands who touched those same walls. To those who slept and wept on the cement floors I was walking on. To those who lost their lives there. To those who lost their souls there. I could feel that energy transferring through me and into me and it was overwhelming. At several points I cried, but mostly I ached deep inside my heart, in my soul. The fear and pain those people had to feel…

After this journey we visited the upstairs of the palace. This is where the governor resided, where church services were offered, and where slaves were sold. The upstairs of the castle had hard wood floors and many black shuttered windows. They had a beautiful view of the ocean. He sure had nice living arrangements up above people who were lying in their own feces, crying out for their mothers, their fathers, their Lord. The room where slaves were auctioned and sold was also beautiful – a large ballroom with wooden floors and multiple windows opening up to the ocean front.

It is an indescribable feeling to be in that space, to process how much went on there. How many lives were forever changed and how the world was forever changed. I just kept thinking of how many people passed throw there before. My brothers and sisters in humanity. That could have been me or my ancestors, but it wasn’t. Why not? What kept the Swedes or Germans from being enslaved? Why Africans? Why do we continue to abuse Africans and African Americans and other brown people? WHY?! If there is a Goddess, God, Higher Power, Universal Energy, something, anything – WHY does she/he/it allow things like that to happen? Why do we continue the genocide? Why aren’t we, as humans, learning from our mistakes? Why is Wal-Mart enslaving people and getting away with it? In fact, most big businesses are getting away with this, in one form or another. Why aren’t more people in an uproar?!?! We may not be as overt about our shackles these days, but they’re definitely still on. Look at our prisons and detention facilities – are we not still enslaving a particular population today? How did the US just sit and watch the Holocaust? Apartheid? Darfur? How am I involved? Am I a part of the solution? I have always felt that if you’re not part of the solution then you’re part of the problem. I’m realizing though, that I’m part of the problem no matter what, but how can I reduce my emissions? Am I doing enough? Should I, could I be doing more? What is that? Where is that?

After the castles we returned to our beachfront cottages for an afternoon of relaxation. How do I go from all of this intensity to ‘fun time’? It is difficult for me to switch like that. I found myself a nice quiet spot on the beach to journal and think and just watch and listen to the waves. I allowed myself to feel the waves of emotions and thoughts passing through me… I cried. I cried for the past, the present, the future. I cried over all of the ugliness and beauty surrounding me simultaneously.

After ample time of decompressing I joined some friends in the warm, warm ocean water and played in the sand and relaxed. Some beer or wine would’ve been nice, but I’m still taking it easy from my tummy. Instead I gave myself an all-natural, organic sand and sea salt full body scrub. :) I love silky smooth skin. I retired to my room to shower and get ready for our evening and very much enjoyed the hot shower. I had an amazing evening. Enjoyed some red red for dinner, an amazing drum show and performance, practiced my African dancing (my Beyonce is still pretty weak, but I’m working on it), and capped out with a bonfire on the beach. All in all, a great way to wind down after an intense day. It’s crazy that it is so beautiful here when its’ history is so ugly.

Days 7 & 8: Nyaho Medical Centre, Accra

I woke up Tuesday morning writhing in pain. I had THE. WORST. abdominal pains I have ever, ever had in all of my life. I began vomiting around 7:45AM. I made my best feeble attempt to get down to breakfast to grab a piece of toast to try to choke down my malaria medication. Thinking this was just the malaria kicking in full force, I tried to self soothe and remind myself that it’s just running its course. The Asst. PD caught wind of my vomiting and came to my room to check on me where I was strewn across the bathroom floor crying. She told me we were going back to the hospital immediately. I resisted, again, (I hate medics and I am just so stubborn) and she pretty much was like “tough luck.” About 2 minutes later the diarrhea began back up and then the sweats kicked in and I was ready to go. I continued to lie on the floor alternating ends on the toilet. They called for a car to take me to the Centre which took about an hour because traffic is horrendous (similar to Chicago rush hour, no joke, for those familiar). By that time, I felt disoriented and semi-conscious. I thought I was going to die. Obviously I live since I am writing this, but really, I was begging for the Universe to take me away. I felt miserable.

We got to the hospital where they wheeled me into a room (I could not walk by this point, I could hardly stand) and, again, took my blood pressure and temperature. Then I had to wait to see the doctor. I was in a waiting room with about five other people. I am crying, throwing up in a bag, pouring sweat – a real sight to behold. Finally I got in to see the doctor and he asked what was wrong. “ummm, well Dr. it appears I’m THROWING UP MY BRAINS!” I tried to communicate, but the Asst. PD had to help me. He had me lie down on the table and pressed on my stomach to which I yelled out in pain. He said, “ohh yes, you have a stomach infection.” I asked if I had malaria and he said “ohhh, no!” I told him the Dr. from last night said I had malaria and he looked at me like I was crazy – “It is too early for you to have malaria, plus you are taking your [malaria medication].” Awesome, so no malaria. At this point I didn’t care wtf I had…I just wanted to die and be done with it. They got me into a room hooked up to an IV. I was still throwing up and crying. Not soon enough they came to give me a shots in the butt – one for pain, one as an antibiotic – with an old school needle that was as big as my head. MISERABLE, I was. Luckily I fell asleep for a short time.

This continued for the next 10 hours or so. I would wake up every hour or so and start vomiting again (or have diarrhea) and crying out in pain. They’d make me tough it out for awhile and finally would do the shot thing again. It sucked. I was in a room with three other patients, the TVs were blaring, the lights were all on, and people were walking all around. Not much privacy and not much discern for the pain I was in. IT was very frustrating. The last things you want when you’re that sick are people around, noise, and light.

I finally stopped throwing up after about 13 hours. I had a couple bites of mashed potatoes for dinner and finished a bottle of water. I asked for another bottle of water to which they kindly informed me they only provide the first one for free – you have to get your own water after that. Luckily, I had Gifti, one of our amazing program staff, with me so she got me some water and apple juice. Seriously – you only get one water?!?

Our Head PD came to check on me and when she learned of the conditions she was pissed. I had not actually been tested for anything (no blood, urine, or fecal tests) and they had already misdiagnosed me once. She was not happy. She was on the phone with our international health insurance trying to figure out what to do. She wanted to transfer me to a different hospital in town and there was talk, for a brief time, of getting me air evacuated out of the country to France. I have not yet been to France, but am planning on going in a few weeks – I’d rather go on different terms. Mostly she was concerned and upset and trying to get stuff done. Not having many advocate for me as a child, I really appreciated it.  Everything was slowing down by this point so we decided to let me sleep it off.

I slept off and on overnight getting up every few hours for a bathroom visit. It’s a process when you’re carting around that damn IV carrier with you everywhere you go. The power went off and some point so we had to sleep without the air conditioning and it was not the most comfortable of situations. By 9AM I finally stopped with the diarrhea. They kept pumping me with saline and antibiotics. The Asst. PD came to visit around noon and started to push for me to get discharged. They were hesitant, but I wanted to go. Plus, I missed the slave castles this morning in Cape Coast and really want to go for tomorrow’s excursions. I was awake more today and caught an episode of Friends on the TV (they have TV, but you only get one water) and watched a lot of the local version of MTV (when MTV was actually the music television channel). I even heard some Enya on a commercial and caught part of Beauty and the Beast (it looked like a holiday version?). The doctors, nurses, and my roommates (and all of their visitors) were all so very nice and sweet and concerned and loving. Nurse Elizabeth was my favorite – she was so maternal and sweet and just when she would look into my eyes I felt better. No matter where you are, humans can be truly wonderful people who care about you just because you are a living, breathing human. I love that genuine, real connection with people.

By 4PM (Wednesday) I was finally discharged. I came back to the hostel tonight to find we had no electricity or water. I have officially sat in my own filth for 3 days – I am so sexy. I had a few bites of rice for dinner (still no appetite) and am about to shower and get to bed so I can awake for our 5AM departure (Thursday) to Cape Coast to catch up with the group. I will have missed the tour of the Elmina Slave Fortress World Heritage Monument under UNESCO, but will see the Slave River and the Cape Coast Slave Fortress. There will also be a nice dinner with "cultural entertainment" tomorrow night. Friday morning we travel to Kakum National Park for the ethnobotantical trail and eco-tourism lecture. I am glad I get to go. What a journey.

Traveling sure is fun, but it definitely isn’t all rainbows and puppies, that’s for darn sure.

Day 6: Ashaiman Secondary High School

“Ashaiman Secondary High School: Modernization calls for change”

After months of imagining what Ashaiman Secondary High School (ASHS) might look like and developing a program in my mind of ways to work with the student population, it all finally came to fruition today when we met with the Headmaster of ASHS, Emmanuel Fiemawhle and Assistant Headmaster III (of Social Welfare), Michael K. Gbologah. ASHS is a 3-year private school (the Government currently requires 3 years of secondary education). Students apply for admission to ASHS in their final year of primary school and are accepted into one of four subject specific programmes: Agricultural Sciences (Horticulture, Fisheries), Visual Arts (Graphic design), Home Economics (Clothing & Textiles, Food & Nutrition, Management & Living), and General Arts (choose 3 from: History, Geography, Economics, Government, Literature, Christian Religious Studies, Music, or Language: French, Twi, Ga/Dengme, Ewe). All students complete core coursework all three years in English, Mathematics, Integrated Sciences, Social Sciences, and Physical Education. Of the programmes offered, General Arts accepts the largest class of 155 students; followed by Agriculture of 90 students; Visual Arts and Home Economics both accept 45 students each year. Because space is limited, programmes can be competitive.

The school was formed in 1991 with two teachers, thirty students and offered two programmes: Agricultural Science and Vocational Studies (which consisted of Home Economics and Visual Arts). Land was obtained from the Ghana Water and Sewerage Corporation. I am not sure if it was government mandated, donated, or purchased, but I believe it may have been government related. Because the land was then full of motor mechanics, the first set of students spent much of their time removing abandoned scraps and generally cleaning up the space. Obviously, students did not complete normal academic work during this time. Also, classrooms did not have yet have furniture. The only complete structure on the building at that time is the current Science classroom. The current main classroom block of four rooms was then being constructed.

The two teachers, anxious to get started with academic work, went to the local community seeking furniture for the classrooms. Various tribal unions donated benches and planks which were then places on piles of cement blocks to serve as classroom tables and chairs. This worked, temporarily, though students were getting hurt when the benches or planks would drop. Ouch!

The school has grown rapidly over the past 15+ years and now consists of four main classroom blocks. Classrooms are open aired, but covered with a tin roof. Classrooms do not have overhead light and rely on the sunlight. Most rooms have desks and a chalkboard, however some rooms are overcrowded. As many as 70 students may be in one class at a time. The school has over 1000 students, 48 teaching staff, and 21 non-teaching staff (administrative, cleaning, security). There is a canteen on site where students may purchase food for breakfast and/or lunch.

A typical day for an ASHS student is as follows:

7AM: Arrive to compound. Tidy up classrooms, stair cases and immediate surroundings of school.
7:25 – 7:40AM: Morning Assembly on Mondays and Fridays
7:35 – 8:15AM: Worship on Wednesdays
8:25 – 9:45AM: Class Session I
9:45 – 10:15AM: Morning Break. Canteen open and some students eat a snack or breakfast
10:15 – 11:35AM: Class Session II
11:35 – 12:55PM: Class Session III
12:55 – 1:15PM: Afternoon Break. Canteen open.
1:15 – 2:35PM: Class Session IV
2:35PM: Day ends and students may leave for the day.
2:45 – 4:05PM: OPTIONAL Class Session V which most students stay at school for the extra learning. (It is not tutoring for remedial students; it is an extra class option in which most students willingly participate)

There are several rules that students must follow that were surprising to me. Girls, for example are not allowed to perm, press, blow, or have her hair chemically treated. No hair accessories such as ribbons, combs or clips are allowed. No make up, including nail polish, is permitted nor is jewelry, such as bangles, chains, rings, or beads allowed. Boys cannot blow or wear their hair bushy and a beard or moustaches is ‘strictly forbidden.’ Boys are also not allowed to wear chains, rings, or caps. Neither boys nor girls are allowed to wear “dark goggles,” which I assume are sunglasses. Severe consequences are in place for various offenses. In most cases, the first offense results in a warning or suspension and second offense is dismissal. Exceptions include sexual misconduct, assault of staff, pregnancy or abortion which results in immediate withdrawal or dismissal. I wonder how rules around sexuality are administered. Are boys dismissed if they impregnate a girl (which should fall under sexual misconduct)?

In many ways, walking on this compound today reminded me of stories from my grandmother of her experiences in school – single classrooms, corporal punishment, gendered practices. It feels like I am in a movie in the 1940s sometimes.

The school is still in need of basic infrastructure for their students. The science lab needs tables, chairs, and basic teaching/learning materials (for example, there are no beakers, no periodical table of elements, etc.). The visual arts department needs a working space (with overhead light), drafting tables (or other appropriate spaces for creating arts), and a darkroom where screens could be developed and reproduced. The math department needs teaching/learning materials (workbooks, multiplication tables, etc.), calculators, and graphing sheets. The social science department needs classrooms, geography materials (maps, globes), and teaching/learning materials (updated textbooks). The agriculture department needs fencing for land, teaching/learning materials, and reference books.

Despite the challenges and needs of the school, several students go on to pass final examinations and gain admission to the Universities, Nursing Training Colleges, Teacher Training Colleges, and Polytechnics. Despite not having a field for training, ASHS male and female students and teams have won local sports competitions in cross country running and volleyball.

For our programme, the Headmaster would like for us to work with both boys and girls focusing on goal setting and reaching your goals. He said many of the students struggle with determination and motivation. My group (3-5 of us) will be going into every classroom for a little over an hour to lead these workshops. I will also provide training for the Peer Consulate group who can carry on these workshops. I will develop a curriculum and training manual they can use in the future. I am also going to work on setting up a pen-pal program for students. My colleagues will work more directly with staff to provide training and consultation. In addition, he requested our assistance with website development and gathering needed supplies and materials. We have a lot on our plate!

We had a late lunch at Agbamami Restaurant in Tema where I tried to have some soup and salad. I had not been feeling very well most of the day. I still was pretty achy and tired and had another sweating spell. Over the past couple of days I have been having sweating spells where I just start pouring sweat, even if I am in air conditioning. Strange. I thought some soup or a light lunch might help. It really didn’t.

Later in the evening, we went to a fancy dinner at The African Regent which dubs its’ self as the “Afropolitan.” We had a full buffet with options ranging from Mediterranean to local cuisine. Tonight was supposed to be our working dinner planning time for our projects. Unfortunately our Headmaster could not make it. I was so hungry but did not have an appetite. I tried to get down a piece of bread before having my first round of diarrhea. Shortly after I had another sweating spell. I had talked with one of my colleagues about how I was feeling – she became concerned and told our PD who then informed me I needed to go to the hospital because I may have malaria. Awesome.

Reluctantly I went to the local hospital, Nyaho Medical Centre. The hospital reminds me of a military type facility. All white, older looking buildings. The lobby is outdoors (covered, but hot and sticky). I filled out a one-page intake form and was ushered to another waiting room where a nurse took my blood pressure and temperature (with an old school thermometer that she dried off with a napkin before sticking under my armpit). After that I was called into the Doctor’s office. The Dr. asked what my symptoms were; I told him. His diagnosis: beginning signs of malaria. I didn’t think malaria could show up so soon, but he said it could show up as early as 3 days to 1 week. I have been here 6 days today…so, I, of all people, apparently managed to get myself bitten by THE malaria mosquito basically upon arrival. Awesome. I was given a prescription of Artrin and sent on my way. All in all, the cost of the visit with prescription was 39 cedis (about $28). Good deal. I’m going to rest tonight and hope I am better tomorrow. They want me to stay home and rest, but I really do not want to miss tomorrow’s lectures: Indigenous Religions, Spirit World, and Ancestors; and Ancient & Contemporary Art. I am so stubborn sometimes.

Day 5: Aburi Gardens

Today’s journey took us through the rolling hills outside of Accra up the mountain to the Aburi Gardens. Along the way were some of the most beautiful, I mean Bea-U-Ti-Ful views of Accra. It reminded me in many ways of the sights of the Hill Country or the beauty of over-looking the water at the Oasis. Along the way we stopped in a quaint little town known for its wood working magic. I picked up a few pieces that may serve as gifts for friends or may go on my bookshelf. We shall see. I did my first bit of haggling, too. I hate haggling, but you have to do it here. I have a friend who told me he witnessed a piece of art start at 140 cedis be negotiated down to 7 cedis (equivalent of going from $100 to $5!). I struggle with that feeling of “well, I have more” or “I can afford” (even if I am a ‘poor student’ poverty is relative). I do know, though, I have a certain price I am comfortable paying for pieces. I can walk away getting a wee bit ripped off and be OK with it because I know I am directly supporting the manufacturer - unlike buying items in the States when The Man is just taking my money. I digress…

On the way to Aburi we also passed the home and recording studio of Rita Marley – Bob’s widow. A dreaded man was hand painting a mural outside of her home. Sweet.
In Aburi we visited the gardens. I learned a bit about local vegetation, but mostly I sweated. It was hot, very very hot.

We returned to the hostel for the evening to enjoy some down time. A seamstress came to our site and I got measured for a dress and a shirt. I chose my own fabric and designs. Now, *that’s* the way it’s supposed to be. I wonder if I can find a local seamstress in the states and have all of my clothing hand-made. I would love to a) buy local and b) have clothing in my style and my size. My dress should be ready by Friday so I can wear it to the wedding on Saturday, whoo!

I am super tired from this trip and am taking the opportunity of free time tonight to just rest and relax. I’m feeling a bit run-down, sort of achy and tired in general. Hopefully I’ll be rested for tomorrow’s big day at the school! I am so excited to finally see our project site and talk with the Headmaster about our program! I hope it all comes together as we imagined :)

Day 4: Accra & Tema, Ghana

What a day! Visited the National Museum, Kwame Nkrumah monument and the local town of Tema. I am exhausted – physically, mentally, and emotionally drained.


The National Museum is chocked full of various artifacts and recreations of Ghanaian, West African, and African history. It seemed to me to be quite large, by Ghanaian standards (two stories, 5 large rooms). Downstairs was information pertaining to Ghana: puberty and mating rituals (mostly tribal traditions of the indigenous peoples); musical and dancing traditions, including sample instruments (drums, xylophone, horns); the role of children in the family; woodwork and textiles (including descriptions of meetings of differing carvings, symbols, designs, and patterns and sample loom). The upstairs had more original artifacts from other West African countries including skulls, art, jewelry and traditional tribal adornments.

The most impactful piece of the museum for me pertained to the slave trade. Tucked away towards the back of the museum is a dark hallway with glass cases of information about slave trade. Many original artifacts have been preserved, including accounting records for the buying and selling of people. These ledgers did not list slaves by name, of course, rather they listed as items purchased: 1m, 3w, 3b, 2g, 1c (m=man, w=woman, b=boy, g=girl, c=child, non gender specific). It was sickening to see people reduced to items like this. AND, it was sickening imagining what tasks people were assigned …especially when only 1c (b/g) was purchased. What was this child forced to do? How often were these children (and adults, but especially children) purchased for sexual satisfaction? Reading these slips made my stomach turned. It is a very chilling feeling. A piece of wood from one of the ships read three words only: “Peace and love.” Original shackles and chains used on the boats as well as branding sticks were also on display. There are not words to describe how it felt for me to see these items – I cannot even begin to imagine what it might be like to see these items for those who are direct descendants of Africa. Chilling is the best word. Nauseating works too. Intense. The final piece was a door labeled “The Door of No Return.” This dark tunnel led out of the museum to daylight for me, but I know where it led for so many other people in history…
Next week we are visiting two slave ‘castles’ in Elmina/Cape Coast. I am nervous about those experiences… it is all so in your face. I am privileged to never have had to feel sooo deeply and intensely about this topic before. I am both anxious and terrified of that experience. I am so angry that slavery happened – angry that humans are capable of such atrocities. Angry that similar atrocities are still happening today and so many stand by, ignorant, and do nothing. What should I be doing? What can I do (physically and emotionally)? What is the best approach, for me, in addressing global social injustice, war, and strife??? Am I doing enough? Is there such a thing as “enough”? If so, what is it?

The Kwame Nkrumah monument and museum was less emotionally charged, yet equally informative and engaging. This man is the shit. He is everywhere in Accra and people, for the most part, loved him. As the first President of course he will forever remain a famous political figure in Ghanaian history and on top of it he did so much good for the country. I have to learn more about how and why he was overthrown or lost power. This monument stands at the exact location where President Nkrumah declared Ghana’s independence in 1957, directly across the street from the old Parliament. In front of his monument are statues of men drumming and blowing horns as a reincarnation of those who were playing music for the festive welcoming ceremony. His body rests in a tower behind the statue that represents a tree and a sword down so he is forever resting under the tree. Behind the monumental statue and tower is another statue – an older statue of Nkrumah that had been vandalized by rebels. It has no head, one arm, and a gash in the back of one knee. The statue stands today as a political statement of “you can’t take me down.” There was a one room museum in back with some photos of President Nkrumah (taken with various political world leaders) as well as copies of the several books he has written. At the gift shop I made my first Ghanaian non-food/drink purchase: a beautiful set of hand glazed bowls (3 for 9 cedis, or about $6.50 total) and a wallet (2 cedis, or about $1.50).

After lunch at Ange Hill Restaurant a group of us headed to Tema (which I previously learned was “the only well planned city in Ghana”) with K, our Assistant Program Director. K. was born and raised in Tema as a little boy and is now finishing his Ph.D. at UT-Austin. He was kind enough to take us to his hometown, introduce us to his family and an important mentor of his, share his homes with us (mom and dad are divorced), show us his schools, and take us to a funeral of a community member.

Our first stop was at K.’s childhood home where his mother still lives to pick up his 2 ½ y.o. daughter The houses are all very small and close together with goats, chickens, and dogs roaming freely in the neighborhood. A heap of trash was piled outside. K. made a point of informing us of the changes to Tema since he was growing up. He said there is now much more trash and disrespect in the community. When he was a child, he recalled, the city was cleaner and people had more commitment to maintaining the community. His mother’s home was quite small and extremely warm as they do not have air conditioning. I believe they spend much of their time outdoors. His cousin was there cooking something delicious smelling in the kitchen. Mom came out to greet us; she was obviously shy and sweet. Acesi was quite shy, and probably overwhelmed by 25 new faces, as well.

Next stop was to one of K.’s key mentors growing up, Mr. Ofori-Nyako and his wife. Now a retired architect, Mr. Ofori-Nyako was the first City Planner for Tema. Essentially, he was *the One* who made Tema “the only well planned city.” He briefly shared his experiences working for the city as well as his views of how the city has changed. Having heard his wife is a teacher in the Ashaiman community where I will be completing my project, I snuck into the living room to strike up a conversation with her about her thoughts on the girls’ empowerment program and the key needs of the girls. She said the largest concern for girls is staying school and one of the largest preventable barriers to girls completing their studies is teen pregnancy. As such, she talks a lot with the girls about sexuality, menses, and the importance of waiting to have sexual relations with boys because “the boys leave you and it is hard to provide for your child.” (Sound familiar?) Many of the street children, she said, have no fathers or no one to provide for them. She doesn’t believe that talking about sex is bad. “The parents are too busy at home to talk about it with them, so someone at school has to.” Maybe she can run the world??  They invited the group back next Saturday for a community wedding! I hope (and believe, who am I? Obama?) that we will be able to attend. It should work out…

Following the visit with Mr. and Mrs. Ofori-Nyako, we walked a few blocks to K.’s father’s home. I was carrying Acesi, so I lagged back a bit and her and I pointed at dogs and trees and chit-chatted in 2 ½ y.o. English/Twi/Ga. We both knew about the same amount of Twi/Ga so it worked out well. Acesi really took well to me and several others were jealous that she let me hold her first. It’s just a magical touch I have…  I love kids!

Afterwards we headed over to the funeral. I felt a little uncomfortable crashing a funeral, but K. assured me it was OK. Since he grew up in this community, I trust knows better than do I. We walked through a long alley (which was lined on both sides with trash, and we passed a man who was peeing on the wall as we all walked by. I am not sure if this is common behavior?) and arrived at K.’s secondary school where the funeral was being held in the back area. We walked in to about 200 people sitting in chairs under four ‘gazebo’ type tents (making a square) dressed in dark colors (reds, greens, and black are worn if the deceased was under 80. White is worn for someone who passes after age 80 as a sign of respect for the long, full life they lead.). The tent nearest to our left when we walked in consisted of the family of the deceased. After K. went and greeted the family they welcomed us to participate. As the family members sat, we walked through in a greeting line and shook the hands of each person. We did not say anything (such as “I’m sorry for your lost”), but shook hands and smiled. The feeling was not somber, but was celebratory. A large, framed picture of the deceased man sat in front of the family. We were then invited to take a seat. K. did not want to do this as his plan was originally to just stop by, observe, and leave. I was not comfortable with that voyeuristic approach (even though he swore it would be fine!). I am glad we sat and participated until the made a formal greeting to us on the loud speaker (they had an emcee and a sound system). Ugh!! Hello, Americans! K. said this was an honor to be greeted and this is how the family shows thanks. It felt odd, like we were stealing the attention away from their ceremony. Maybe that’s self-centered? I try to just trust in K. and remain open to all of the experiences. The family then got up and came over to us and shook our hands in a receiving line sort of way. Again, no exchanges of words other than Akwaaba, or welcome, were shared. To then show our thanks, we collected cedis to make a donation to the family which is customary. The funeral is a very costly endeavor and the community makes donations to help off-set costs. We sat for about 20 minutes as a band of drummers and trombonists performed music (interesting note, people did not clap at the end of a song. Also different for me.). K. wanted to get moving but was having trouble getting away from all of the obligatory greetings and people to talk to (you know how homecomings can be!) so he asked us to get up in small groups and start heading towards our van. But, we were all distracted. As we left the tents we walked across a field where about 50-100 kids were playing. And, they wanted to play with the obronis, or foreigners. They were certainly not shy about coming up to us to play. I was immediately mauled by a group of about 10. They were very intrigued by the digital cameras and wanted to take pictures. First I took pictures of them, and then they wanted to take pictures. I shared the camera and let them take pictures and they were having a blast making funny faces and being silly. Again, I found myself carrying around two little kids as they were tugging on my legs. I am such a softie sometimes 

By this time we had stayed about an hour longer than intended and K. had to round us up for the van. As I was walking away one sweet girl, Julianna, 12 y.o., came up to me and asked for my phone number because she wanted to keep in contact. Instead I gave her my address and told her to write. I hope she does. (She didn’t know her address so I couldn’t get that to start the pen-pal friendship). I asked what she would write to me about – she said “school.” She wants to be a teacher when she grows up.

Sad to go we said goodbye to the kids (some of who started crying ) and headed off. A few of the group members were also crying I think because of the stark poverty the saw. While I noticed, of course, the conditions, I did not see it as “poor.” In the faces of the adults and children I saw love, happiness, and joy. Simple life does not equal bad. The simple joy of playing soccer in a field or jumping in a puddle does not mean someone is destitute. I acknowledge the poverty and challenges of the community just as I acknowledge that from this community comes great people, strong people, resilient people. While K. was able to ‘make it’ does not mean everyone else will, nor does it mean they should “pull themselves up by their bootstraps.” It does, however, speak volumes to me of the strength, determination, and abilities of humans – all across the globe.

We departed for a quick driving tour of the rest of Tema, particularly the industrial area. Tema is one of two main ports in Ghana (the other is Takoradi). The port employs over 50% of the town’s people. They export goods from all over the country, but especially fish, cement, and chocolate for the local community. After dropping off Acedi, we headed back to Accra for dinner at the mall. Apparently the mall is the place to be on Saturday nights. Women were dressed to the 9’s here. I had a light sandwich and did some reading in a café. It was nice to decompress and process the day.

Later… (duh, duh, duhmm)

The shit hath hit thy fan. Finally. After several days of feeling isolated, disconnected, and alone on the seriousness of our experience, we finally had a group discussion (four hours of sitting in a circle) of race, class, and ethnocentrism. Some people had strong reactions to the experience in Tema and the things they saw and felt. We finally had a space to process some of this – and it was ugly. It seems that many folks who are on this trip have not had a chance to educate themselves about the realities and effects of poverty, especially the racial implications. Having had years of training in this area, I had been feeling very irritated since arriving. I have overheard conversations and comments that just reek of ignorance and covert racism, classism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. Many of the white people in the group have not yet formed a racial identity of their own (and probably have not thought about their ‘race’ beyond ‘white’). Unacknowledged privilege galore.

I have been stewing for a few days over these issues and had a sufficient amount of anger in me already. So, when I heard complaints from white, upper-class women about feeling “segregated,” “attacked,” and “excluded,” I became outraged. I stood up and made a statement (that was, a few complained, apparently, “aggressive,”) about my frustrations, including a bold point of how this is quite possibly one of the first times they have ever felt some of those feelings of exclusion that people of color feel All.The.Time., especially in White America. The white privilege continued with ideas of “but, I didn’t do,” “it’s not my fault,” and “why am I being treated this way?” Hmmm, where have I heard comments like this before?! My patience for folks on this trip who have not explored their identities is low. I respect that we are all at different places on the spectrum, however, I inaccurately assumed that folks were more prepared for a trip of this nature. After 3.5 hours, I was running very low on patience. After one of the black women begged and pleaded with white students to “give her this opportunity” I about became ill. The parallels of a black person pleading with a white person in the heart of the origins of slavery … “Please, Master, let me…” rang so strong in my mind. I stood up after her speech and gave a white privilege and ally speech. I stood as a white person to say people of color do not need my, or ANY white person’s permission. I (again, “aggressively,” I guess) called people out and suggested that if they really want to connect that they do less talking and more listening. Don’t take it personal – it’s not about YOU (for once). Don’t expect people of color to be your tools for education – educate yourself. Seek out information on your own. LISTEN. Read. Ask questions, respectfully. Few people seemed to like what I had to say…but I had to say it.
I refuse to stand by and do nothing and let others to fight alone.
I refuse to leave it be and pretend it’s not my issue as well.

As long as one is oppressed, we are all oppressed.