(Oh hey, it's Rivky- what up, guys.)
I have a paper due on Thursday, but because it's chag, and I'm planning on leaving tomorrow as soon as I'm done with my classes, I want to finish it before I go to sleep tonight. Hence, I'm procrastinating, so I figured I'd write that Ghana Conclusion piece people. Yes, I know I've been back for four months (1), but here's to hoping it'll still be relevant!
Everyone's been asking me I feel being back, a fair question, and hopefully I can articulate some of what I've been thinking since being home.
I've had a pretty tough time communicating to friends and family about my experiences. Describing tro-tros, classes, water and electricity, cultural differences...it's overwhelming, and I usually don't know where to start. People also don't know how to relate, what to ask; it just feels like such an un-relatable experience, like something completely different than my life here, barely any overlap.
One thing I've been thinking about is how people keep marveling about being frum (2) in Ghana. People ask how we ate, how we kept shabbos, how we did everything, really. And in truth, it just wasn't that hard. We ate a lot of the same food - tuna, eggs, rice, salad - over and over, but we never lacked for food. And shabbos wasn't especially difficult either, because we made it easy - we cooked all day on Friday and spent all shabbos playing cards, reading and napping. Both of them weren't difficult, but they are difficult to imagine because of what we normally think of as standard ways we relate to food - with restaurants, an endless amount of options, and fresh food being constantly available to us. And the way we think of shabbos - with shul (3), big meals with family and friends, and maybe some learning. Learning we could do, to a very limited extent, but other than that, the ways we experienced shabbos was just so different than at home. We kept the halachot (4) of shabbos exactly the same in America and Ghana, but the experience was completely different. I'm not sure what that means. But something to think about, I guess.
I should really get back to my paper, but before I do, one think that really struck me; it seems obvious that I would feel this was, but it wasn't to me: I miss Ghana. I miss my friends, I miss our living situation, I miss being with Zahava and Yamit every day, I miss the stupid church in back of my dorm, and buying fresh, huge mangoes for an afternoon snack, and dancing, and drumming class with Francis (oh, Francis), and walking through the market, and meeting random Israelis, and riding disgusting tro tros, and discussing issues with Ghanaians, and being asked for a visa (5), and dance parties, and tovelling in the ocean, and just, everything.
It was so amazing, and I think about it every day, every hour, and I think that's part of why I can't describe it, beyond anecdotes. Ghana didn't ~change my life~ (6) in the same way Israel did, but there was an impact that I don't have a handle on yet, and I love it and miss it.
Anyway, enough of that. I don't think I've said much, but that's okay. Back to the paper!
Oh, by the way, got my grades for the semester. Hysterical- got an A in Islam, Africa and the Global System, and Social Welfare and Social Policy, and a B+ in Dance and in Drumming. Seriously? First of all, definitely shouldn't have passed Africa and the Global System, and come on, I rocked the drumming final. Francissssss.
(1) I think I've been back in America for as long as Ghana. Wow, insane.
(2) Observant of the commandments.
(3) synagogue
(4) laws
(5) or a laptop? Fleisch?
(6) Ugh, Adi, your bizarre writing style had infected ALL OF US. SEE THE CAPS??
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Oboruni
(A warning: this post is a bit melodramatic, but it really does bug me.)
It's hard to define exactly what Ghanaians mean by 'oboruni,' but the word follows us everywhere. I think a strict definition is a foreigner of any kind, from England, America, or any other country outside of Africa. Practically speaking, oboruni ends up being the word that Ghanaians speak to refer to anyone who isn't West African. Black Americans routinely get called oboruni, once it's understood that they are not from Africa. (It's often clear anyway because most of them are lighter than most Africans, and dress slightly more American, even though so many Ghanaians dress so American...I digreee.) Even light-skinned Ghanaians have said that they are often mistaken for oborunis.
There are an endless number of blogs written by international visitors to Ghana who discuss their personal reactions to being called an oboruni. Ghanaians uniformly deny that there is any racism in the word, and that they don't mean it in any derogatory way. It's just a word used to refer to white people, a description, a tag.
Yeah, whatever, Ghana. I've said it before, and I will keep saying it. You're wrong. It's offensive- I'm offended. I don't call you 'black person.' I call you by your name, and if I don't know it, I say 'Excuse me,' or I tap you.
Obibini is the Ghanaian word for black people, but I only know that from Twi class, not because anyone would ever call someone else an obibini in public. I guess you could argue that one wouldn't call out "Obibini!" to get someone's attention because everyone is black. But it doesn't matter- if there are one white student and one black student are trying together to get a cab, they will call "Oboruni." Because they want the white person to answer; because they want to mock ("Good-heartedly!") the white kids. Just because. People walking by just scream out "oboruni!" for absolutely no reason.
And it's one thing when it's the women in the markets, or the taxi drivers, or people who are either uneducated, or in a different generation, or just have literally never met a white person before. I don't like it, but I can try to understand.
Before our dance final, four of us were sitting on a bench outside the studio and one student wanted to shift over the bench. Everyone stood up, but I didn't notice what he was doing, so to get my attention, the girl tapped me and said, "Oboruni, stand up, please." This girl was not a stranger, we had been in class together all semester. Even if she didn't know my name, she could have tapped me and said the exact same sentence without saying oboruni.
The word 'oboruni' has a function to separate, to make people different, to say 'you are not like me.' And that's offensive in and of itself. To constantly remind someone who is not of your culture just how different they are is insulting and unnecessary, and as is pretty clear, it bothers me. A lot.
It's hard to define exactly what Ghanaians mean by 'oboruni,' but the word follows us everywhere. I think a strict definition is a foreigner of any kind, from England, America, or any other country outside of Africa. Practically speaking, oboruni ends up being the word that Ghanaians speak to refer to anyone who isn't West African. Black Americans routinely get called oboruni, once it's understood that they are not from Africa. (It's often clear anyway because most of them are lighter than most Africans, and dress slightly more American, even though so many Ghanaians dress so American...I digreee.) Even light-skinned Ghanaians have said that they are often mistaken for oborunis.
There are an endless number of blogs written by international visitors to Ghana who discuss their personal reactions to being called an oboruni. Ghanaians uniformly deny that there is any racism in the word, and that they don't mean it in any derogatory way. It's just a word used to refer to white people, a description, a tag.
Yeah, whatever, Ghana. I've said it before, and I will keep saying it. You're wrong. It's offensive- I'm offended. I don't call you 'black person.' I call you by your name, and if I don't know it, I say 'Excuse me,' or I tap you.
Obibini is the Ghanaian word for black people, but I only know that from Twi class, not because anyone would ever call someone else an obibini in public. I guess you could argue that one wouldn't call out "Obibini!" to get someone's attention because everyone is black. But it doesn't matter- if there are one white student and one black student are trying together to get a cab, they will call "Oboruni." Because they want the white person to answer; because they want to mock ("Good-heartedly!") the white kids. Just because. People walking by just scream out "oboruni!" for absolutely no reason.
And it's one thing when it's the women in the markets, or the taxi drivers, or people who are either uneducated, or in a different generation, or just have literally never met a white person before. I don't like it, but I can try to understand.
Before our dance final, four of us were sitting on a bench outside the studio and one student wanted to shift over the bench. Everyone stood up, but I didn't notice what he was doing, so to get my attention, the girl tapped me and said, "Oboruni, stand up, please." This girl was not a stranger, we had been in class together all semester. Even if she didn't know my name, she could have tapped me and said the exact same sentence without saying oboruni.
The word 'oboruni' has a function to separate, to make people different, to say 'you are not like me.' And that's offensive in and of itself. To constantly remind someone who is not of your culture just how different they are is insulting and unnecessary, and as is pretty clear, it bothers me. A lot.
Monday, May 10, 2010
accountability, Denise
Conversation with the lady who works at the gas station store.
Me: Is there any more milk?
Her, looking over to where I’m pointing: No, we’re out.
Me: Is there going to be more?
Her: Maybe.
Me: Um. When?
Her: Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.
Me: Okay. Great. Thanks.
Conversation with the tro-tro mate on my way back from Shoprite.
The ride costs 20 pesewas. I had given him 50, and he gave me 20 change.
Me: You owe me 10 pesewas.
Him: I don’t have a 10 pesewas coin.
Me: So give me 20 pesewas.
*Laugh track of people on the bus*
2 minutes later, a woman gets on and pays in small coins.
I stick out my hand.
Me: You owe me money.
Him: I said I’m sorry.
Me: Oh, I forgive you, but you still owe me money.
*Laugh track*
He looks through his bag of coins and hands me 10 pesewas.
Me: Is there any more milk?
Her, looking over to where I’m pointing: No, we’re out.
Me: Is there going to be more?
Her: Maybe.
Me: Um. When?
Her: Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.
Me: Okay. Great. Thanks.
Conversation with the tro-tro mate on my way back from Shoprite.
The ride costs 20 pesewas. I had given him 50, and he gave me 20 change.
Me: You owe me 10 pesewas.
Him: I don’t have a 10 pesewas coin.
Me: So give me 20 pesewas.
*Laugh track of people on the bus*
2 minutes later, a woman gets on and pays in small coins.
I stick out my hand.
Me: You owe me money.
Him: I said I’m sorry.
Me: Oh, I forgive you, but you still owe me money.
*Laugh track*
He looks through his bag of coins and hands me 10 pesewas.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Three Days in Togo
Sorry for the delay, but the following is a quick account of our trip to Togo, Ghana's eastern neighbor. (Semi-written by Zahava, semi by Rivky. This is Rivky. Hi.) It was a completely crazy experience. It was all the ridiculousness of Ghana but in FRENCH! Surprisingly enough, our French skills (1) from Frisch did not come much in handy.
A couple of weeks ago, CIEE sent out an email to all of the students with a travel advisory not to go to Togo because they were holding elections. Because there was no major coup after the election, we figured our trip would be fine, but then two days before we left, we heard that the new president was being sworn in on Wednesday (our trip was Sunday to Tuesday) and that the opposition party had been rioting in Lome, the capitol city. We were told not to sleep in Lome until after Wednesday. On Sunday, when we got to the border, we were told that they actually pushed up the date, and the inauguration was going to be on Monday. Apparently, the government is trying to keep the rioters on their toes so they can't try anything. Fun how a country can just decide that.
When we got to the border of Ghana and Togo, it started raining. First we had to go to Ghana’s building to get checked out. We filled out a card (and will continue to fill out every time we enter or exit, about 4 times over this trip) called “Embarkation/Disembarkation Form” (as if that’s a word).
Crossing the border is so annoying and completely inefficient. Ridiculously enough, the Ghana side was actually more organized and more logical than the Togo side, and what's more is that in Togo, everything is in French. I know like it seems as if I'm harping on this, but we didn't realize how bad the language barrier would be until we actually got there. Most people didn't speak a word of English. The Togo side refused to help us for the first ten minutes we were standing there because it was raining. Eventually we got out and took “moto,” which was somewhere between a motorcycle and a motorbike, to the city center. They were awesome! I'm convinced that there is no better way to travel. We got dropped off around the market area and saw the capital monument. It was raining and Sunday so a lot of things were closed. We still got a feel for the city, but it would have been cooler if we had actually seen things. We had brought cookies and peanut butter, and in the market bought bananas. To take a break for a little bit, we sat under a building and had lunch. As we did, every single person there stared at us as if we came from Mars. From the way they were staring, it seemed as if they had never seen or never even heard of white people before.
We slept in Aflao, the border town, on Sunday night. It was beautiful; after a lovely dinner of tuna and crackers, we took a walk to the beach, where the waves were much stronger than in Accra. In Ghana, people always come up to white people to initiate conversation, just because they love the idea of speaking to such foreign people. In Togo, it's similar, but the language barrier quickly takes over and they walk away, which was pretty much a relief, actually.
We realized on Sunday night that we were going to run out of CFAs soon, but we decided against wasting time on Monday morning, and instead taking money out of an ATM once we got to Kpalime, where we would sleep, on Monday night. Readers, bad idea. I'll explain when we get to that part. So anyway, on Monday morning, we went back to Lome and took a tro-tro two hours north to the foot of Mt. Agou, the highest mountain in Togo. The drive was gorgeous, we were surrounded by beautiful scenery. Green everywhere! It seemed strange that so close to Ghana, a place so nature-y existed. Accra is dusty and dirty, and Togo was generally more similar to the Volta Region in the east of Ghana, lush and green.
At the bottom of the mountain, we tried to explain to the men working (2) there that we wanted to hike up the mountain and then take motorcycle cabs back down afterwards. Again, it obviously took 20 minutes to communicate that in French. We were dying of laughter the whole time, but luckily, the French-English dictionary we borrowed from our friend Dela came in handy. We looked up the word for “walk” (marcher). We pointed up and said “marcher.” Then we pointed down and said “moto.” Eventually they got it but were still advising against it, for unknown reasons. (3) The road up the mountain is 12 kilometers, but there is a more vertical hike through the bush, instead of on the road, which is both faster and prettier. Along the hike, there are small villages and lots of fruit trees. We were able to pick cocoa (4), mango, and guava. Fresh guava is awful, FYI. There were also hundreds of cocoa beans drying on the side of the road. We made it up halfway, and then we called some motorcycle cabs to take us the rest of the way up. When we got to the top, right before the peak, there was a man standing there in an Addis jersey saying that he was a soldier, and we need authorization to pass and it costs 2000 CFAs ($4). Clearly it was a bribe for no reason, but after yelling about bribery and the inappropriateness of the entire system, we paid our $4 and sat at the top for a little while. Almost ten guys followed us the whole way: our three drivers and a bunch of other guys who worked (5) there. They were being loud and rowdy and ruining our peaceful scene.
At the top of the mountain, we had lunch (cookies and peanut butter again). Then we left the mountain, and these three motorcyclists drove us to Kpalime, the town we were staying in. We wanted to stay there to visit the Cascades, which are a collection of waterfalls that are supposed to be beautiful. We had them drive us first to an ATM, but all three of the ATMs that they tried driving us to were broken. Eventually, we just had them drop us off at the hotel, assuming that the hotel would either take credit card or know where the nearest ATM is. Bad call on our part, because the hotel only took cash and the receptionist doesn’t know where an ATM is. Don’t forget that no one speaks English! (I know, I'm sorry I keep mentioning it, but it’s just important to keep in the back of your mind because that makes every situation so much funnier.) He told us not to worry about the ATM now; we’ll go to a bank in the morning and pay then. So we didn’t worry about it; we settled in a little. Then we went out at night to walk around the town, buying bananas and avocado. While trying to communicate with the avocado boy, a Nigerian guy came up to us and began to translate. (Nigeria is an English-speaking country, but he's lived in Togo in a while, so he was fluent in both languages. Sweet.) He ended up walking with us all over town. We explained that we needed an ATM, and he walked us to the one the motorcyclist had brought us to. It was still broken. We said that we were planning on going to the Cascades in the area tomorrow, and he said he would come with us because we need a guide. However, I was getting more and more anxious, working backwards in time. I had a final on Wednesday (went really well, thanks!) and didn't want to get back really late on Tuesday night, because obviously I had no clue when the exam was. We knew we also had to figure out how to get money in the morning, so we didn't want to risk taking the time to go to the Cascades. It was slightly disappointing, because the Cascades were a big reason why we came to Kpalime, but Mt. Agou was awesome, so it definitely wasn't a waste. He walked us back to the hotel, and we can had excellent dinner of, you guessed it, more tuna and crackers, took showers, played squinch for a little and watched CNN (the only channel in English) and fell asleep.
On Tuesday morning, Yamit and I woke up bright at early, telling a groggy Zahava at 8:45 that we were leaving and we would be back in about half an hour. We spent the next two hours wandering around Kpalime, and I don't think I exaggerate when I say that most people in the center of town were familiar with us and knew that we were broke Ghanaian exchange students. The ATMs weren't working, fine, but the language barrier was the worst part. We managed to find a sketchy money changer in the middle of the market, and we exchanged some cedis for CFAs, but we still didn't have enough to pay the hotel. When we got back, Yamit told the receptionist plainly that we couldn't pay the hotel, but obviously she had no clue what we were saying, so we just shrugged and went back to the room, where we woke Zahava up and the three of us sat to ponder our situation.
We pulled out all the CFAs (19,500) and cedis (25) that we had. The hotel cost 16,000, and we needed 6,000 for the motos to get to the border. We decided to go down to the receptionist, put 13,500 CFAs on the table and say, sorry that’s all we have and there is no working ATM in this entire freaking city. So that’s what we did. We promised to send her the money, and that this whole situation was completely unintentional, and we felt horrible, etc. Obviously, she didn't understand what we were even talking about, but then when she finally got it (probably around the time that Yamit opened her empty wallet), she sort of shrugged and took the 13,500 CFAs. What else could she do?She wrote down the phone number of the hotel on a piece of paper (unclear why she didn't write the address, so we could send her money, but I wasn't going to press), and we left. We got motos to the border. On the way, there were three checkpoint type things, even though we hadn’t yet left Togo. At one of the checkpoints, they made us go into this room and this guy wrote down our passport information, unclear why. Eventually we crossed the border and walked to the tro-tro station. And by tro-tro station, I mean a dirt paved parking lot with a tree in the corner that two tro-tros were parked under. We waited for the one going to Ho to fill up, which took about 30 minutes, but while waiting, we entertained ourselves by making friends with some guys who were trying on Yamit’s pink sunglasses and dancing to the music on my iPod. I think they were impressed by my West African hip hop collection, what can I say? I'm a music connoisseur. At Ho, we finally found an ATM, but obviously, it was the only ATM working in the whole city, so the line was about 15 people deep. Eventually we got on a tro-tro to Madina. Once we were on it, we decided we were gonna try for lunch, and as I opened my baf to take out the peanut butter, I realized that both the peanut butter and my deodorant had opened and were all over each other and everything else. It's actually kind of great, because we're always so gross here, with our disgusting clothing and hair flying everywhere, and, you know, deodorant in the peanut butter, and Ghanaian women are so much more classy than we are. They probably think Americans are pigs. So we spent a significant amount of time on the tro-tro and energy on the tro-tro trying to clean that up. (While the Ghanaians looked at us like we were insane.) When that was over, we had a lovely lunch of cookies (sans peanut butter).
And that's basically the full story! I left out a bunch of things that are too complicated for a written account, but this is the gist of the tale. If the internet were fast(er), I'd upload some great pictures, but for now, we must be content with words. Sorry, guys.
Oh, and 7 days until our flight home! If you're lucky, maybe Zahava or myself will write a post about feelings leaving Ghana. We'll see.
(1) Oh, internet sarcasm.
(2) More sarcasm!
(3) It's sad that this lack of communication cannot be blamed entirely on the French. There is a genuinely different way Americans and West Africans speak; their logic is different. It's hard to explain.
(4) Cocoa plant is delicious! We had it for the first time in the first week of Ghana, on a tiyul with our program, and it's amazing.
(5) Are you picking up on these yet?
A couple of weeks ago, CIEE sent out an email to all of the students with a travel advisory not to go to Togo because they were holding elections. Because there was no major coup after the election, we figured our trip would be fine, but then two days before we left, we heard that the new president was being sworn in on Wednesday (our trip was Sunday to Tuesday) and that the opposition party had been rioting in Lome, the capitol city. We were told not to sleep in Lome until after Wednesday. On Sunday, when we got to the border, we were told that they actually pushed up the date, and the inauguration was going to be on Monday. Apparently, the government is trying to keep the rioters on their toes so they can't try anything. Fun how a country can just decide that.
When we got to the border of Ghana and Togo, it started raining. First we had to go to Ghana’s building to get checked out. We filled out a card (and will continue to fill out every time we enter or exit, about 4 times over this trip) called “Embarkation/Disembarkation Form” (as if that’s a word).
Crossing the border is so annoying and completely inefficient. Ridiculously enough, the Ghana side was actually more organized and more logical than the Togo side, and what's more is that in Togo, everything is in French. I know like it seems as if I'm harping on this, but we didn't realize how bad the language barrier would be until we actually got there. Most people didn't speak a word of English. The Togo side refused to help us for the first ten minutes we were standing there because it was raining. Eventually we got out and took “moto,” which was somewhere between a motorcycle and a motorbike, to the city center. They were awesome! I'm convinced that there is no better way to travel. We got dropped off around the market area and saw the capital monument. It was raining and Sunday so a lot of things were closed. We still got a feel for the city, but it would have been cooler if we had actually seen things. We had brought cookies and peanut butter, and in the market bought bananas. To take a break for a little bit, we sat under a building and had lunch. As we did, every single person there stared at us as if we came from Mars. From the way they were staring, it seemed as if they had never seen or never even heard of white people before.
We slept in Aflao, the border town, on Sunday night. It was beautiful; after a lovely dinner of tuna and crackers, we took a walk to the beach, where the waves were much stronger than in Accra. In Ghana, people always come up to white people to initiate conversation, just because they love the idea of speaking to such foreign people. In Togo, it's similar, but the language barrier quickly takes over and they walk away, which was pretty much a relief, actually.
We realized on Sunday night that we were going to run out of CFAs soon, but we decided against wasting time on Monday morning, and instead taking money out of an ATM once we got to Kpalime, where we would sleep, on Monday night. Readers, bad idea. I'll explain when we get to that part. So anyway, on Monday morning, we went back to Lome and took a tro-tro two hours north to the foot of Mt. Agou, the highest mountain in Togo. The drive was gorgeous, we were surrounded by beautiful scenery. Green everywhere! It seemed strange that so close to Ghana, a place so nature-y existed. Accra is dusty and dirty, and Togo was generally more similar to the Volta Region in the east of Ghana, lush and green.
At the bottom of the mountain, we tried to explain to the men working (2) there that we wanted to hike up the mountain and then take motorcycle cabs back down afterwards. Again, it obviously took 20 minutes to communicate that in French. We were dying of laughter the whole time, but luckily, the French-English dictionary we borrowed from our friend Dela came in handy. We looked up the word for “walk” (marcher). We pointed up and said “marcher.” Then we pointed down and said “moto.” Eventually they got it but were still advising against it, for unknown reasons. (3) The road up the mountain is 12 kilometers, but there is a more vertical hike through the bush, instead of on the road, which is both faster and prettier. Along the hike, there are small villages and lots of fruit trees. We were able to pick cocoa (4), mango, and guava. Fresh guava is awful, FYI. There were also hundreds of cocoa beans drying on the side of the road. We made it up halfway, and then we called some motorcycle cabs to take us the rest of the way up. When we got to the top, right before the peak, there was a man standing there in an Addis jersey saying that he was a soldier, and we need authorization to pass and it costs 2000 CFAs ($4). Clearly it was a bribe for no reason, but after yelling about bribery and the inappropriateness of the entire system, we paid our $4 and sat at the top for a little while. Almost ten guys followed us the whole way: our three drivers and a bunch of other guys who worked (5) there. They were being loud and rowdy and ruining our peaceful scene.
At the top of the mountain, we had lunch (cookies and peanut butter again). Then we left the mountain, and these three motorcyclists drove us to Kpalime, the town we were staying in. We wanted to stay there to visit the Cascades, which are a collection of waterfalls that are supposed to be beautiful. We had them drive us first to an ATM, but all three of the ATMs that they tried driving us to were broken. Eventually, we just had them drop us off at the hotel, assuming that the hotel would either take credit card or know where the nearest ATM is. Bad call on our part, because the hotel only took cash and the receptionist doesn’t know where an ATM is. Don’t forget that no one speaks English! (I know, I'm sorry I keep mentioning it, but it’s just important to keep in the back of your mind because that makes every situation so much funnier.) He told us not to worry about the ATM now; we’ll go to a bank in the morning and pay then. So we didn’t worry about it; we settled in a little. Then we went out at night to walk around the town, buying bananas and avocado. While trying to communicate with the avocado boy, a Nigerian guy came up to us and began to translate. (Nigeria is an English-speaking country, but he's lived in Togo in a while, so he was fluent in both languages. Sweet.) He ended up walking with us all over town. We explained that we needed an ATM, and he walked us to the one the motorcyclist had brought us to. It was still broken. We said that we were planning on going to the Cascades in the area tomorrow, and he said he would come with us because we need a guide. However, I was getting more and more anxious, working backwards in time. I had a final on Wednesday (went really well, thanks!) and didn't want to get back really late on Tuesday night, because obviously I had no clue when the exam was. We knew we also had to figure out how to get money in the morning, so we didn't want to risk taking the time to go to the Cascades. It was slightly disappointing, because the Cascades were a big reason why we came to Kpalime, but Mt. Agou was awesome, so it definitely wasn't a waste. He walked us back to the hotel, and we can had excellent dinner of, you guessed it, more tuna and crackers, took showers, played squinch for a little and watched CNN (the only channel in English) and fell asleep.
On Tuesday morning, Yamit and I woke up bright at early, telling a groggy Zahava at 8:45 that we were leaving and we would be back in about half an hour. We spent the next two hours wandering around Kpalime, and I don't think I exaggerate when I say that most people in the center of town were familiar with us and knew that we were broke Ghanaian exchange students. The ATMs weren't working, fine, but the language barrier was the worst part. We managed to find a sketchy money changer in the middle of the market, and we exchanged some cedis for CFAs, but we still didn't have enough to pay the hotel. When we got back, Yamit told the receptionist plainly that we couldn't pay the hotel, but obviously she had no clue what we were saying, so we just shrugged and went back to the room, where we woke Zahava up and the three of us sat to ponder our situation.
We pulled out all the CFAs (19,500) and cedis (25) that we had. The hotel cost 16,000, and we needed 6,000 for the motos to get to the border. We decided to go down to the receptionist, put 13,500 CFAs on the table and say, sorry that’s all we have and there is no working ATM in this entire freaking city. So that’s what we did. We promised to send her the money, and that this whole situation was completely unintentional, and we felt horrible, etc. Obviously, she didn't understand what we were even talking about, but then when she finally got it (probably around the time that Yamit opened her empty wallet), she sort of shrugged and took the 13,500 CFAs. What else could she do?She wrote down the phone number of the hotel on a piece of paper (unclear why she didn't write the address, so we could send her money, but I wasn't going to press), and we left. We got motos to the border. On the way, there were three checkpoint type things, even though we hadn’t yet left Togo. At one of the checkpoints, they made us go into this room and this guy wrote down our passport information, unclear why. Eventually we crossed the border and walked to the tro-tro station. And by tro-tro station, I mean a dirt paved parking lot with a tree in the corner that two tro-tros were parked under. We waited for the one going to Ho to fill up, which took about 30 minutes, but while waiting, we entertained ourselves by making friends with some guys who were trying on Yamit’s pink sunglasses and dancing to the music on my iPod. I think they were impressed by my West African hip hop collection, what can I say? I'm a music connoisseur. At Ho, we finally found an ATM, but obviously, it was the only ATM working in the whole city, so the line was about 15 people deep. Eventually we got on a tro-tro to Madina. Once we were on it, we decided we were gonna try for lunch, and as I opened my baf to take out the peanut butter, I realized that both the peanut butter and my deodorant had opened and were all over each other and everything else. It's actually kind of great, because we're always so gross here, with our disgusting clothing and hair flying everywhere, and, you know, deodorant in the peanut butter, and Ghanaian women are so much more classy than we are. They probably think Americans are pigs. So we spent a significant amount of time on the tro-tro and energy on the tro-tro trying to clean that up. (While the Ghanaians looked at us like we were insane.) When that was over, we had a lovely lunch of cookies (sans peanut butter).
And that's basically the full story! I left out a bunch of things that are too complicated for a written account, but this is the gist of the tale. If the internet were fast(er), I'd upload some great pictures, but for now, we must be content with words. Sorry, guys.
Oh, and 7 days until our flight home! If you're lucky, maybe Zahava or myself will write a post about feelings leaving Ghana. We'll see.
(1) Oh, internet sarcasm.
(2) More sarcasm!
(3) It's sad that this lack of communication cannot be blamed entirely on the French. There is a genuinely different way Americans and West Africans speak; their logic is different. It's hard to explain.
(4) Cocoa plant is delicious! We had it for the first time in the first week of Ghana, on a tiyul with our program, and it's amazing.
(5) Are you picking up on these yet?
Our morning in the post office!
Because I have the most amazing friends in the world (1), Zahava and I set out on Thursday morning to pick up a package sent to me from New York. (2) I don't think I detailed our last visit to the post office, but to be concise, it took around three hours, my wallet was stolen, and I almost cried numerous time. By some miracle, on Thursday, we got to the post office at around 11:45, and less than 15 minutes later, the package was sitting in front of us!
Unlike in America, when you pick up a package, you can't just sign for it and walk out; you have to open the package in front of them and they charge you different amounts based on what is contained in the package. So Zahava and I opened it, revealing loads of candy, Purell, letters, disposable cameras (awesome!), a dance mix CD (guess if that was from Rachel or Peter?) and season 3 of The Office. (3) The woman looked inside and declared that I owed 10 cedis for this package.
I would have shrugged and paid the 10 cedis, but Zahava immediately started arguing that it was too much, so the woman offered to make us a chart explaining the cost. She had all these additional costs- VAT, health insurance (yes, for a package. Zahava and I were cracking up in front of her), etc. That added up to 6 cedis, and then she said that there was a blanket 3 cedi expense on all packages for transportation from the airport. Zahava started freaking out, "If I went to the airport, picked up a single package, and then took a cab straight here, it would be 3 cedis! Is that how the post office works? Do you guys not have a truck? How inefficient!" Obviously the post office workers were confused, and Zahava and I were cracking up. She asked how much we think transportation should cost, and I said that it shouldn't be more than 30 pesewas per package. She was loving us and our chutzpah; both women working with us were laughing and repeating what was going on (in Twi) to the other post office workers in a clear tone of 'sheesh, get a load of these white girls.' (4)
Bottom line, they agreed, and we ended up paying 6 cedis and 30 pesewas for the package. A satisfying morning, especially when we got to spend the tro tro back eating Mentos and taking pictures of ourselves with a disposable camera.
It just baffles the mind that we were able to convince the postal workers to lower the price of receiving a package by arguing with them. (Of course, it also baffles the mind that we have to pay to receive a package in any case, but that's neither here nor there.) In retrospect, the bureaucracy, like the experiences with the post office and the university, made our experience in the Ghanaian embassy before we came here make so much more sense.
(1) Hey Peter and Rachel!
(2) The package had gotten in a week earlier, but because of finals and Togo, my first free day was yesterday.
(3) Again, how much do my friends rock??
(4) I hear that tone a lot, especially when I'm with Zahava.
Unlike in America, when you pick up a package, you can't just sign for it and walk out; you have to open the package in front of them and they charge you different amounts based on what is contained in the package. So Zahava and I opened it, revealing loads of candy, Purell, letters, disposable cameras (awesome!), a dance mix CD (guess if that was from Rachel or Peter?) and season 3 of The Office. (3) The woman looked inside and declared that I owed 10 cedis for this package.
I would have shrugged and paid the 10 cedis, but Zahava immediately started arguing that it was too much, so the woman offered to make us a chart explaining the cost. She had all these additional costs- VAT, health insurance (yes, for a package. Zahava and I were cracking up in front of her), etc. That added up to 6 cedis, and then she said that there was a blanket 3 cedi expense on all packages for transportation from the airport. Zahava started freaking out, "If I went to the airport, picked up a single package, and then took a cab straight here, it would be 3 cedis! Is that how the post office works? Do you guys not have a truck? How inefficient!" Obviously the post office workers were confused, and Zahava and I were cracking up. She asked how much we think transportation should cost, and I said that it shouldn't be more than 30 pesewas per package. She was loving us and our chutzpah; both women working with us were laughing and repeating what was going on (in Twi) to the other post office workers in a clear tone of 'sheesh, get a load of these white girls.' (4)
Bottom line, they agreed, and we ended up paying 6 cedis and 30 pesewas for the package. A satisfying morning, especially when we got to spend the tro tro back eating Mentos and taking pictures of ourselves with a disposable camera.
It just baffles the mind that we were able to convince the postal workers to lower the price of receiving a package by arguing with them. (Of course, it also baffles the mind that we have to pay to receive a package in any case, but that's neither here nor there.) In retrospect, the bureaucracy, like the experiences with the post office and the university, made our experience in the Ghanaian embassy before we came here make so much more sense.
(1) Hey Peter and Rachel!
(2) The package had gotten in a week earlier, but because of finals and Togo, my first free day was yesterday.
(3) Again, how much do my friends rock??
(4) I hear that tone a lot, especially when I'm with Zahava.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Last Thursday's Tiyul to Shai Hills
Hey everyone, Rivky here. Wanted to tell everyone about our cool day on Thursday, visiting Shai Hills Forest Reserve.
Yamit really wanted to do something, so even though Zahava and I are lazy shlubs who didn't mind staying in Accra, we agreed to do a one-day trip, and it actually ended up being awesome. We decided to go to Shai Hills Forest Reserve, which is this huge park about 50 km from Accra. As expected by the name, Shai Hills is a reserve for wildlife and animals. The guidebook and one of the blogs we read beforehand said that we should wear sneakers, but I figured, it's a walk around a preserve, why can't I wear flip flops? Bad call on my part, but I'll get to that later.
We left Legon at 7:15 AM, and 3 tro-tros later (to 37 bus station, to Ashaiman bus station, and then to Doryumu), we were left off at the side of the road right in front of the entrance to the reserve. (1) We paid 11 cedi each (2) for a two hour hike and then set off with our guard, Timothy.
About 10 minutes into our walk, Timothy spotted our first baboons. We walked towards the baboons and they walked towards us, and Timothy encouraged us to attempt to feed them, though he warned us they might reject our food. We gave them crackers straight out of our hands- it was awesome. They literally walked over, reached into my hand, took out the cracker, and ate it. So amazing. We fed monkeys a couple of weeks ago, which was also a cool experience (we held bananas out to them and they peeled and ate them), but baboons are considerably more humanlike- for example, they walk instead of swinging on branches. I wish I could have taken pictures, but a stolen camera make that more difficult.
After we left the baboons, we kept walking around the reserve. We walked up to a watering hole, at which antelope and other animals drink, but none were there at the time. As we walked, Timothy gave us a little history of the cave we were going to be visiting, which was where a tribe had lived in the late 1800s, when they were hiding out. (From the Ashanti? From the British? Both? It was slightly hard to community with Timothy, though he was a really sweet guy. We gave him a Cliff Bar, that's how much we liked him.)
Eventually, we started climbing. We figured it would just be a short climb and then we'd enter the cave on ground level, like caves in Israel or America I've been to. Instead, it was an entire ordeal to get there; it's not that the hike was the toughest thing in the world, but it was definitely more challenging than anything I've done in a while. We got to the cave after about an hour, and it was rocky and dark, and smelled slightly like bats. It seemed like a tough place to live for years, but Zahava was pretty sure she would have loved it. Most of the hike was climbing through dirt and rocks and branches, but then the last 10 minutes was basically climbing up rocks. By this point, my flip flops were useless; they had zero traction as it is, and my feet were so sweaty that I slipped out of one trying to get from one rock to another. Timothy advised me to take them off and do it barefoot, which was a scary but weirdly cool experience. (4)
When we got to the top, we sat on the peak for a while and looked around. Accra, the capitol city, is not beautiful; it's a loud, crowded city, with a lot of garbage and pollution. One would never call it scenic. And though I haven't traveled too extensively, it seems pretty clear that Ghana is not known for being a gorgeous country. That doesn't mean I don't like living here- Teaneck isn't the most gorgeous place either, but I like it a lot for other things. I like Accra a lot. But from the top of this peak in the forest reserve, it really was nice. Relatively dry, with random spurts of trees. There was one long chain of trees, with Timothy attributed to water running in that direction.
The climb down was slightly difficult, and then the walk back was nice. We saw baboons again, and watched them for a while when we got back to the entrance. (5) We took two tro-tros to get back to Legon, and even though I was nervous about time and getting back after dark, we were back before 4, and because the water has been running much more regularly (6), we were all able to shower. No joke, that might have been the best part of the day.
(1) We were there by 10:30, which is actually a surprisingly short commute, considering how bad traffic is here.
(2) About $7ish.
(3) In my defense, keep in mind that I live in Teaneck, NJ, and now spend my college years in Baltimore. Neither are exactly the most intense hiking areas in the world.
(4) If I ever do the rock-climbing wall in the Hopkins gym, I want to do it barefoot!
(5) We sat and relaxed for a while. We also washed our feet in a spigot. Luxurious, no joke!
(6) A whole saga in and of itself.
Yamit really wanted to do something, so even though Zahava and I are lazy shlubs who didn't mind staying in Accra, we agreed to do a one-day trip, and it actually ended up being awesome. We decided to go to Shai Hills Forest Reserve, which is this huge park about 50 km from Accra. As expected by the name, Shai Hills is a reserve for wildlife and animals. The guidebook and one of the blogs we read beforehand said that we should wear sneakers, but I figured, it's a walk around a preserve, why can't I wear flip flops? Bad call on my part, but I'll get to that later.
We left Legon at 7:15 AM, and 3 tro-tros later (to 37 bus station, to Ashaiman bus station, and then to Doryumu), we were left off at the side of the road right in front of the entrance to the reserve. (1) We paid 11 cedi each (2) for a two hour hike and then set off with our guard, Timothy.
About 10 minutes into our walk, Timothy spotted our first baboons. We walked towards the baboons and they walked towards us, and Timothy encouraged us to attempt to feed them, though he warned us they might reject our food. We gave them crackers straight out of our hands- it was awesome. They literally walked over, reached into my hand, took out the cracker, and ate it. So amazing. We fed monkeys a couple of weeks ago, which was also a cool experience (we held bananas out to them and they peeled and ate them), but baboons are considerably more humanlike- for example, they walk instead of swinging on branches. I wish I could have taken pictures, but a stolen camera make that more difficult.
After we left the baboons, we kept walking around the reserve. We walked up to a watering hole, at which antelope and other animals drink, but none were there at the time. As we walked, Timothy gave us a little history of the cave we were going to be visiting, which was where a tribe had lived in the late 1800s, when they were hiding out. (From the Ashanti? From the British? Both? It was slightly hard to community with Timothy, though he was a really sweet guy. We gave him a Cliff Bar, that's how much we liked him.)
Eventually, we started climbing. We figured it would just be a short climb and then we'd enter the cave on ground level, like caves in Israel or America I've been to. Instead, it was an entire ordeal to get there; it's not that the hike was the toughest thing in the world, but it was definitely more challenging than anything I've done in a while. We got to the cave after about an hour, and it was rocky and dark, and smelled slightly like bats. It seemed like a tough place to live for years, but Zahava was pretty sure she would have loved it. Most of the hike was climbing through dirt and rocks and branches, but then the last 10 minutes was basically climbing up rocks. By this point, my flip flops were useless; they had zero traction as it is, and my feet were so sweaty that I slipped out of one trying to get from one rock to another. Timothy advised me to take them off and do it barefoot, which was a scary but weirdly cool experience. (4)
When we got to the top, we sat on the peak for a while and looked around. Accra, the capitol city, is not beautiful; it's a loud, crowded city, with a lot of garbage and pollution. One would never call it scenic. And though I haven't traveled too extensively, it seems pretty clear that Ghana is not known for being a gorgeous country. That doesn't mean I don't like living here- Teaneck isn't the most gorgeous place either, but I like it a lot for other things. I like Accra a lot. But from the top of this peak in the forest reserve, it really was nice. Relatively dry, with random spurts of trees. There was one long chain of trees, with Timothy attributed to water running in that direction.
The climb down was slightly difficult, and then the walk back was nice. We saw baboons again, and watched them for a while when we got back to the entrance. (5) We took two tro-tros to get back to Legon, and even though I was nervous about time and getting back after dark, we were back before 4, and because the water has been running much more regularly (6), we were all able to shower. No joke, that might have been the best part of the day.
(1) We were there by 10:30, which is actually a surprisingly short commute, considering how bad traffic is here.
(2) About $7ish.
(3) In my defense, keep in mind that I live in Teaneck, NJ, and now spend my college years in Baltimore. Neither are exactly the most intense hiking areas in the world.
(4) If I ever do the rock-climbing wall in the Hopkins gym, I want to do it barefoot!
(5) We sat and relaxed for a while. We also washed our feet in a spigot. Luxurious, no joke!
(6) A whole saga in and of itself.
Monday, April 26, 2010
obruni = money
Ghana works in extremes. If I could think better on my feet, I could give you a million examples of this, but this is the only story I can think of now.
Last Tuesday, Yamit, Rivky, and I were on our way back from Shoprite. We were waiting for a tro-tro for about 20 minutes, and we were getting antsy. A cab that already had three people was waiting for one more person. We decided to split up because it would probably be easier and quicker for us all to get back that way. Rivky had no money, so I pulled out my wallet, handed her 50 peswas (about 75 cents), and put my wallet back in my bag. As Rivky was getting into the cab, a random guy near us started yelling at Yamit, saying that Rivky shouldn’t get in. Then the cab driver started yelling at us not to trust this guy because he was a criminal. A second later, a nearly empty tro-tro pulls up. Rivky jumps out of the cab and says to us, “Let’s go. I’m not getting in the middle of this.” As the three of us try to squish onto the tro-tro, I look back at Rivky and say, “Keep an eye on my bag.” She kept her hand on it until we got inside. But it was too late. Before I said anything, the “criminal” had already taken my wallet. He had seen exactly where I put it back after I gave Rivky the 50 peswas, and he squished into the crowd as if he were trying to get onto the tro-tro. I noticed the second I got in, but there was nothing I could do. He was already gone. There was 20 cedis (about $30), my UGhana ID, my expired drivers license, my debit card, my credit card, pictures, a mincha/maariv booklet, and a few other insignificant things. I immediately called my mom, who immediately cancelled the cards.
I was really really upset. It wasn’t about the cash or the wallet or its contents. It was about being stolen from, specifically in Ghana. Almost all of the Americans on our program have already been stolen from, a blackberry, a laptop, a wallet, etc. It just leaves a sour taste towards Ghana. It associates Ghana with stealing. It just makes me feel more like it’s Ghana vs. the obrunis. No one is on our side. They don’t want us here. They’re all racist. They look at me, and they see money. I’m not a person; I’m a checkbook. I hate it. I can’t stand being referred to by my skin color, and I can’t stand being labeled.
(Side note: Rivky’s wallet was stolen out of her bag in the post office a few weeks before we went to Israel. She also called my mom right away, and the cards were cancelled. Luckily enough, my mom was able to send a new debit card with Rivky’s friend to Israel. For the few weeks in between, I would just take out money for the two of us and keep track of who was spending what. Now we’re going to do the same thing, but now with her money. When Rivky’s wallet was stolen, she also lost her UGhana ID, which we need for finals, which started today. We went last Monday to the registry, and they told us to come back Wednesday at 9am. That’s the only time they do IDs. It was the following day, Tuesday, that my wallet was stolen. Wednesday we both got new IDs, 10 cedis each.)
THEN! Just now, a girl on our program was sitting with us in our common room and was like, “Oh, Zahava, this is yours. A guy at the airport gave it to Bri,” (another girl on our program). She pulled out all the contents of my wallet, sans the wallet itself or the cash, and put it on the table. The truth is that nothing in the wallet is of any worth. I already got a new ID, the license is expired, and the rest is limitedly important.
This is the other extreme of Ghana. Yes, I am “Obruni” (“white person”). I am a walking checkbook to many. But to many it doesn’t matter. There is a genuine kindness to this culture. People walk us half an hour out of their way to make sure that we get somewhere safely. I am not surprised that somebody was walking around with the contents of my wallet, waiting to meet an obruni who knew a Zahava. It restores my faith in Ghana. It reminds me that for all the bad, there is so much good. There is so much sincerity.
Last Tuesday, Yamit, Rivky, and I were on our way back from Shoprite. We were waiting for a tro-tro for about 20 minutes, and we were getting antsy. A cab that already had three people was waiting for one more person. We decided to split up because it would probably be easier and quicker for us all to get back that way. Rivky had no money, so I pulled out my wallet, handed her 50 peswas (about 75 cents), and put my wallet back in my bag. As Rivky was getting into the cab, a random guy near us started yelling at Yamit, saying that Rivky shouldn’t get in. Then the cab driver started yelling at us not to trust this guy because he was a criminal. A second later, a nearly empty tro-tro pulls up. Rivky jumps out of the cab and says to us, “Let’s go. I’m not getting in the middle of this.” As the three of us try to squish onto the tro-tro, I look back at Rivky and say, “Keep an eye on my bag.” She kept her hand on it until we got inside. But it was too late. Before I said anything, the “criminal” had already taken my wallet. He had seen exactly where I put it back after I gave Rivky the 50 peswas, and he squished into the crowd as if he were trying to get onto the tro-tro. I noticed the second I got in, but there was nothing I could do. He was already gone. There was 20 cedis (about $30), my UGhana ID, my expired drivers license, my debit card, my credit card, pictures, a mincha/maariv booklet, and a few other insignificant things. I immediately called my mom, who immediately cancelled the cards.
I was really really upset. It wasn’t about the cash or the wallet or its contents. It was about being stolen from, specifically in Ghana. Almost all of the Americans on our program have already been stolen from, a blackberry, a laptop, a wallet, etc. It just leaves a sour taste towards Ghana. It associates Ghana with stealing. It just makes me feel more like it’s Ghana vs. the obrunis. No one is on our side. They don’t want us here. They’re all racist. They look at me, and they see money. I’m not a person; I’m a checkbook. I hate it. I can’t stand being referred to by my skin color, and I can’t stand being labeled.
(Side note: Rivky’s wallet was stolen out of her bag in the post office a few weeks before we went to Israel. She also called my mom right away, and the cards were cancelled. Luckily enough, my mom was able to send a new debit card with Rivky’s friend to Israel. For the few weeks in between, I would just take out money for the two of us and keep track of who was spending what. Now we’re going to do the same thing, but now with her money. When Rivky’s wallet was stolen, she also lost her UGhana ID, which we need for finals, which started today. We went last Monday to the registry, and they told us to come back Wednesday at 9am. That’s the only time they do IDs. It was the following day, Tuesday, that my wallet was stolen. Wednesday we both got new IDs, 10 cedis each.)
THEN! Just now, a girl on our program was sitting with us in our common room and was like, “Oh, Zahava, this is yours. A guy at the airport gave it to Bri,” (another girl on our program). She pulled out all the contents of my wallet, sans the wallet itself or the cash, and put it on the table. The truth is that nothing in the wallet is of any worth. I already got a new ID, the license is expired, and the rest is limitedly important.
This is the other extreme of Ghana. Yes, I am “Obruni” (“white person”). I am a walking checkbook to many. But to many it doesn’t matter. There is a genuine kindness to this culture. People walk us half an hour out of their way to make sure that we get somewhere safely. I am not surprised that somebody was walking around with the contents of my wallet, waiting to meet an obruni who knew a Zahava. It restores my faith in Ghana. It reminds me that for all the bad, there is so much good. There is so much sincerity.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
us vs. the hotel staff
** Sorry that I haven’t written in a while. I wrote I think three posts in a row and then got tired for a month. Story of my life. If you love me, you love every part of me.**
** I’ve discovered that I’m not really as interested in development and helping as Rivky is, apparently. Really, I just like to explore the world for my own amusement. I like to go to a culture that doesn’t make any sense to me, immerse myself in it for a while, wait until the things that seemed backwards now make sense, and then abruptly leave. I like to live on a cultural norms rollercoaster. (Does that sentence make any sense even after I’ve explained it?) Unlike Rivky, I am not going to discuss theories that I have for improving Ghana. I’m just gonna tell funny stories.**
**I’m not sure if I’m able to see the humor all of the sudden because I just got back from Israel (with all its glorious running water) or because this past weekend was just particularly bizarre.**
CIEE (the exchange program we’re on) took us on a group trip to the Volta Region last weekend. When CIEE takes us on weekend trips that start on Saturday, they have been sending Rivky, Yamit, and me a day early with one of the Ghanaian UPals. This particular trip, they sent Gabriel with us. He was not particularly friendly, and eventually when we got to the hotel, he just dropped us off and left. No goodbye, no waiting to make sure we got inside, no nothing. It was the three of us alone (literally not a single other guest) in this random hotel in the Volta Region. This is the story of the hotel.
When CIEE takes a day early, they pay for the transportation and send us with a UPal, but we have to pay for food and the cost of the extra night in the hotel. Fair. When we first got there, we asked the receptionist if we could stay three in a room to save money. She said no. We asked why. She said it was the policy. Fine. Whatever. Thus starts the battle of us versus the Volta Region hotel receptionist.
We checked in around 4pm, and shabbos was around 5:45pm. We got two rooms. Yamit and I were going to stay in the big room and Rivky in the small room. The first thing we notice is that the light in Rivky’s room is out. She tells the receptionist right away. The receptionist says she’ll fix it soon. The next thing we notice is that there is only one towel in each room. We asked for another towel, considering that we’re two in a room, as per their policy. They said no. We asked why. They said one towel per room; it’s the policy. Keep in mind this wasn’t a normal size shower or beach towel. It was about half that size, not enough to cover your thighs if wrapped around your body. No worries. We had a plan. Yamit would take a shower and limitedly use the towel to dry herself off. Then, I would take a shower and use the same towel. Brilliant. The truth is we’re never clean in Ghana anyway. The second you get out of the shower, you’re already sweaty from the heat and humidity. So the plan was set in motion; Yamit was on her way to the shower. A minute later, I heard, “Zahava. I need help!” I went into the bathroom to notice that the water is no more than dripping out of the faucet. Of course. Why would there be water? Where do we think we are? Israel? I went to the receptionist, and she turned on the pump. Yamit showered, baruch Hashem. In the mean time, Rivky got out of her shower and went to the receptionist to remind them to fix the light in her room. Also, while Yamit’s in the shower, it started to pour outside, lightening, thunder, the works. After Yamit got out, I went in. My shower was quite an ordeal. First, the side of the tub was about two feet thick. To get into the tub, you either have to sit on it and swivel around or basically do a split while holding the wall because there is no traction on the shower floor. I finally got in, and the storm cut the power. Rivky went to the receptionist, asked them about the electricity, and reminded them about her light. They said they would turn on the generator in 10 minutes, and they would fix the light after the storm stopped. I struggled to get out of the shower and asked one of them to hand me my phone, which has a flashlight on it. Although the water in the shower head was supposedly flowing, the lack of pressure was stressing me out, so I wanted to a bucket shower. But they didn’t give us a bucket! What? Now they think this is Israel? So I used a Tupperware container that we had brought to hold salad. Nice shower: splashing water on myself with a Tupperware container, using cell phone flashlight balancing on a toilet tank as a source of light. Shabbos came. We still didn’t have power, and we still didn’t have a working bulb in the other room. We lit shabbos candles in the big room, hoping they would light up the room somewhat. Nope. We sat around talking for a little because we couldn’t see enough to daven (pray). Then the power came back. In the room we were in, the lights came on but not the air conditioner. We freaked out for a little until I remembered that I had kept in mind not to accept shabbos until I said mincha, and it was not yet shkia, and I hadn’t said mincha. I turned on the air and said mincha. Then we remembered that the receptionist was going to come by to get the key to the other room to fix the light (that’s right, they only have one key for each room). Technically, one is not supposed to have a non-Jew do work for him/her on shabbos, so we got a little nervous. While Yamit and I were saying Kabbalat Shabbat, the phone in our room rang. We looked over at it and shrugged. A minute later there was a knock on our door. The receptionist was like, “I just called.” We got a little flustered. She was like, “I need the key to fix the light.” Rivky tried to convince her that never mind, we don’t need the light anymore, we never needed the light, we like the dark, we’re gonna go to sleep right now, um, we’re blind. It didn’t work. She insisted on fixing the light, and she insisted that Rivky go with her to the other room. Turns out, she brought the wrong light bulb. As she left to get the correct one, Rivky was able to convince her not to bother because she really didn’t need it.
On shabbos day they called again. Rivky walked over to the reception. Remember when we asked if we could stay three in a room, and they said no? When she got to the reception, the woman asked Rivky to move into our room because they needed to squish to make room when the rest of CIEE comes. She awkwardly tried to explain that we couldn’t because of shabbos. When she got back and told us, we decided that we’re not paying for the extra room if their “policy” is a load of hoo-hah. In the end, I assume CIEE paid for us.
An excerpt from the rules listed on our door. “8. Guests are to note that eating in the hotel room is not allowed. Room service are available at a fee.”
** I’ve discovered that I’m not really as interested in development and helping as Rivky is, apparently. Really, I just like to explore the world for my own amusement. I like to go to a culture that doesn’t make any sense to me, immerse myself in it for a while, wait until the things that seemed backwards now make sense, and then abruptly leave. I like to live on a cultural norms rollercoaster. (Does that sentence make any sense even after I’ve explained it?) Unlike Rivky, I am not going to discuss theories that I have for improving Ghana. I’m just gonna tell funny stories.**
**I’m not sure if I’m able to see the humor all of the sudden because I just got back from Israel (with all its glorious running water) or because this past weekend was just particularly bizarre.**
CIEE (the exchange program we’re on) took us on a group trip to the Volta Region last weekend. When CIEE takes us on weekend trips that start on Saturday, they have been sending Rivky, Yamit, and me a day early with one of the Ghanaian UPals. This particular trip, they sent Gabriel with us. He was not particularly friendly, and eventually when we got to the hotel, he just dropped us off and left. No goodbye, no waiting to make sure we got inside, no nothing. It was the three of us alone (literally not a single other guest) in this random hotel in the Volta Region. This is the story of the hotel.
When CIEE takes a day early, they pay for the transportation and send us with a UPal, but we have to pay for food and the cost of the extra night in the hotel. Fair. When we first got there, we asked the receptionist if we could stay three in a room to save money. She said no. We asked why. She said it was the policy. Fine. Whatever. Thus starts the battle of us versus the Volta Region hotel receptionist.
We checked in around 4pm, and shabbos was around 5:45pm. We got two rooms. Yamit and I were going to stay in the big room and Rivky in the small room. The first thing we notice is that the light in Rivky’s room is out. She tells the receptionist right away. The receptionist says she’ll fix it soon. The next thing we notice is that there is only one towel in each room. We asked for another towel, considering that we’re two in a room, as per their policy. They said no. We asked why. They said one towel per room; it’s the policy. Keep in mind this wasn’t a normal size shower or beach towel. It was about half that size, not enough to cover your thighs if wrapped around your body. No worries. We had a plan. Yamit would take a shower and limitedly use the towel to dry herself off. Then, I would take a shower and use the same towel. Brilliant. The truth is we’re never clean in Ghana anyway. The second you get out of the shower, you’re already sweaty from the heat and humidity. So the plan was set in motion; Yamit was on her way to the shower. A minute later, I heard, “Zahava. I need help!” I went into the bathroom to notice that the water is no more than dripping out of the faucet. Of course. Why would there be water? Where do we think we are? Israel? I went to the receptionist, and she turned on the pump. Yamit showered, baruch Hashem. In the mean time, Rivky got out of her shower and went to the receptionist to remind them to fix the light in her room. Also, while Yamit’s in the shower, it started to pour outside, lightening, thunder, the works. After Yamit got out, I went in. My shower was quite an ordeal. First, the side of the tub was about two feet thick. To get into the tub, you either have to sit on it and swivel around or basically do a split while holding the wall because there is no traction on the shower floor. I finally got in, and the storm cut the power. Rivky went to the receptionist, asked them about the electricity, and reminded them about her light. They said they would turn on the generator in 10 minutes, and they would fix the light after the storm stopped. I struggled to get out of the shower and asked one of them to hand me my phone, which has a flashlight on it. Although the water in the shower head was supposedly flowing, the lack of pressure was stressing me out, so I wanted to a bucket shower. But they didn’t give us a bucket! What? Now they think this is Israel? So I used a Tupperware container that we had brought to hold salad. Nice shower: splashing water on myself with a Tupperware container, using cell phone flashlight balancing on a toilet tank as a source of light. Shabbos came. We still didn’t have power, and we still didn’t have a working bulb in the other room. We lit shabbos candles in the big room, hoping they would light up the room somewhat. Nope. We sat around talking for a little because we couldn’t see enough to daven (pray). Then the power came back. In the room we were in, the lights came on but not the air conditioner. We freaked out for a little until I remembered that I had kept in mind not to accept shabbos until I said mincha, and it was not yet shkia, and I hadn’t said mincha. I turned on the air and said mincha. Then we remembered that the receptionist was going to come by to get the key to the other room to fix the light (that’s right, they only have one key for each room). Technically, one is not supposed to have a non-Jew do work for him/her on shabbos, so we got a little nervous. While Yamit and I were saying Kabbalat Shabbat, the phone in our room rang. We looked over at it and shrugged. A minute later there was a knock on our door. The receptionist was like, “I just called.” We got a little flustered. She was like, “I need the key to fix the light.” Rivky tried to convince her that never mind, we don’t need the light anymore, we never needed the light, we like the dark, we’re gonna go to sleep right now, um, we’re blind. It didn’t work. She insisted on fixing the light, and she insisted that Rivky go with her to the other room. Turns out, she brought the wrong light bulb. As she left to get the correct one, Rivky was able to convince her not to bother because she really didn’t need it.
On shabbos day they called again. Rivky walked over to the reception. Remember when we asked if we could stay three in a room, and they said no? When she got to the reception, the woman asked Rivky to move into our room because they needed to squish to make room when the rest of CIEE comes. She awkwardly tried to explain that we couldn’t because of shabbos. When she got back and told us, we decided that we’re not paying for the extra room if their “policy” is a load of hoo-hah. In the end, I assume CIEE paid for us.
An excerpt from the rules listed on our door. “8. Guests are to note that eating in the hotel room is not allowed. Room service are available at a fee.”
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Education Reform in Ghana?
**Please, before reading, keep in mind that I am a 22-year old student who knows absolutely nothing about anything! Please take everything I say with a grain of salt- I've never studied education theory; I have never taught classes. All I can share are my own experiences as a student.**
**Also, it's Rivky. What up, guys? We're back from Israel. It was great. More on that later. Maybe.**
I think most people who know me know that I'm not the most academically inclined person. By that I mean that I really don't excel at school in the classic way. I hate studying, and generally only do it when pushed. I didn't do so well in high school. (People never believe me, but I graduated about 105th in my class of 160, so ha!) The truth is probably that I was just lazy- I didn't feel like studying, so I didn't. And it never felt so important- my parents never stressed grades as much as other parents (for good and for bad), so I never really cared or worried about it. But another reason I didn't study, besides for my laziness, is because I hashkafically have issues with most exams, especially the ones that involve rote memorization and regurgitating information that the teacher has fed the students. I always felt like I was wasting my time, especially because of my horrible memory. Even when I did memorize the information, I forgot it within a day or two. (When I thought the memorization was useful, like when I learned what happened in each perek (1) of Torah in Harova, I memorized it and kept refreshing myself, which helped with retention. But generally, the information felt useless, and I never did the work.) When I was given a vocabulary list for Talmud tests in high school, I barely actually did it, because I honestly thought it was dumb, because I would just forget it the next day when I had to learn it like this.
Of course, in retrospect, having memorized the words would have been great for my later Talmud study. But if I were the educator, I think I would have had my students know the vocabulary by the context. I often think about my 8th grade Talmud class, taught by Rabbi E. (what was his full name??). Once or twice, instead of written exams, we had to learn a couple of dafim (3) of Talmud, and then we were asked to teach the class an amud (2) of the Talmud- I don't understand why that isn't the way students are always taught Talmud, learning by teaching.
Basically, I think memorization as an education tool is dumb. I don't think it's particularly effective in giving students the basics of learning, especially if their memory retention is horrible (exhibit A: me), and the students don't exhibit any creativity and understanding of the coursework. Of course, exams can sometimes be good- I remember an interesting essay question on an exam given by Rabbi Blau in 12th grade Ketuvim, where we had to compare the themes and specific examples from Kohelet to the song "Richard Corey" from Simon and Garfunkel. Now that's a question! Encouraging creative thing, shows the student's mastery of the material, and keeps the student's mind engaged. Chinuch (4) at its best, Rabbi Blau!
I think I've learned best when I've written papers. Critical thinking and analysis is, in my humble opinion.
Okay, now to the point. We've established that I dislike memorization and spitback exams. The Ghana education system, from elementary school to university, focuses on these tools! I haven't been in a lower school here, but Yamit teaches middle school children, and she says that the teacher writes on the board, the students scribble furiously, copying down every word, and then for the exams, the students are expected to remember every bit of information. From what I've seen, it doesn't get better. In Hopkins, I barely take exams; most of my coursework is writing papers. (And the exams I take are often in-class essays.) But when I'm in class, students are copying down every word the professor says. There are no intermittent exams throughout the semester, there one only one final exam, upon which the entire grade is based. To prepare for the final exams, student memorize their notes from class and their readings. A friend of mine who was in Ghana last semester told me that there are always exam questions that are basically, "According to author x, what is the definition of term y?" As if that sort of question helps the student in any way!! I'm taking a political science class right now. We have readings, and the class sessions are usually students just asking the professor questions about the readings. The final exam will be spitback, testing students' knowledge of the readings. There is no critical thinking involved whatsoever! If I were writing the exam, I would only do essay questions! For example, in the readings, the professor could provide the students with different theories about the political and economic interactions between west Africa and China, and about the IMF, World Bank, etc., both in the readings and in class, and then ask the students to talk about that, and which is more effective, and why, etc. The students aren't being asked to think! We are taught to read, memorize, regurgitate, and then start again next semester.
I also think that these types of education changes to encourage creativity and critical thinking in students in even more crucial in developing countries. They are trying to mold the leaders of tomorrow's generation. In America, even if education isn't ideal, we will have leaders, we will have politicians, economists, educators, etc. But if Ghana's education system doesn't focus on students expanding their minds and thinking critically, the system is too precarious to take care of itself the way the American system can.
Okay, I have to run now, but these are some thoughts I've been having about education reform in Ghana. (I'm not even going to get started on caning, which is standard practice here.)
Again, keep in mind that I really don't know what I'm saying. If I've said something factually incorrect/ offensive/ stupid, please let me know. All thoughts would be appreciated!
(1) Chapters
(2) One side of the page
(3) Both sides of the page
(4) Education
**Also, it's Rivky. What up, guys? We're back from Israel. It was great. More on that later. Maybe.**
I think most people who know me know that I'm not the most academically inclined person. By that I mean that I really don't excel at school in the classic way. I hate studying, and generally only do it when pushed. I didn't do so well in high school. (People never believe me, but I graduated about 105th in my class of 160, so ha!) The truth is probably that I was just lazy- I didn't feel like studying, so I didn't. And it never felt so important- my parents never stressed grades as much as other parents (for good and for bad), so I never really cared or worried about it. But another reason I didn't study, besides for my laziness, is because I hashkafically have issues with most exams, especially the ones that involve rote memorization and regurgitating information that the teacher has fed the students. I always felt like I was wasting my time, especially because of my horrible memory. Even when I did memorize the information, I forgot it within a day or two. (When I thought the memorization was useful, like when I learned what happened in each perek (1) of Torah in Harova, I memorized it and kept refreshing myself, which helped with retention. But generally, the information felt useless, and I never did the work.) When I was given a vocabulary list for Talmud tests in high school, I barely actually did it, because I honestly thought it was dumb, because I would just forget it the next day when I had to learn it like this.
Of course, in retrospect, having memorized the words would have been great for my later Talmud study. But if I were the educator, I think I would have had my students know the vocabulary by the context. I often think about my 8th grade Talmud class, taught by Rabbi E. (what was his full name??). Once or twice, instead of written exams, we had to learn a couple of dafim (3) of Talmud, and then we were asked to teach the class an amud (2) of the Talmud- I don't understand why that isn't the way students are always taught Talmud, learning by teaching.
Basically, I think memorization as an education tool is dumb. I don't think it's particularly effective in giving students the basics of learning, especially if their memory retention is horrible (exhibit A: me), and the students don't exhibit any creativity and understanding of the coursework. Of course, exams can sometimes be good- I remember an interesting essay question on an exam given by Rabbi Blau in 12th grade Ketuvim, where we had to compare the themes and specific examples from Kohelet to the song "Richard Corey" from Simon and Garfunkel. Now that's a question! Encouraging creative thing, shows the student's mastery of the material, and keeps the student's mind engaged. Chinuch (4) at its best, Rabbi Blau!
I think I've learned best when I've written papers. Critical thinking and analysis is, in my humble opinion.
Okay, now to the point. We've established that I dislike memorization and spitback exams. The Ghana education system, from elementary school to university, focuses on these tools! I haven't been in a lower school here, but Yamit teaches middle school children, and she says that the teacher writes on the board, the students scribble furiously, copying down every word, and then for the exams, the students are expected to remember every bit of information. From what I've seen, it doesn't get better. In Hopkins, I barely take exams; most of my coursework is writing papers. (And the exams I take are often in-class essays.) But when I'm in class, students are copying down every word the professor says. There are no intermittent exams throughout the semester, there one only one final exam, upon which the entire grade is based. To prepare for the final exams, student memorize their notes from class and their readings. A friend of mine who was in Ghana last semester told me that there are always exam questions that are basically, "According to author x, what is the definition of term y?" As if that sort of question helps the student in any way!! I'm taking a political science class right now. We have readings, and the class sessions are usually students just asking the professor questions about the readings. The final exam will be spitback, testing students' knowledge of the readings. There is no critical thinking involved whatsoever! If I were writing the exam, I would only do essay questions! For example, in the readings, the professor could provide the students with different theories about the political and economic interactions between west Africa and China, and about the IMF, World Bank, etc., both in the readings and in class, and then ask the students to talk about that, and which is more effective, and why, etc. The students aren't being asked to think! We are taught to read, memorize, regurgitate, and then start again next semester.
I also think that these types of education changes to encourage creativity and critical thinking in students in even more crucial in developing countries. They are trying to mold the leaders of tomorrow's generation. In America, even if education isn't ideal, we will have leaders, we will have politicians, economists, educators, etc. But if Ghana's education system doesn't focus on students expanding their minds and thinking critically, the system is too precarious to take care of itself the way the American system can.
Okay, I have to run now, but these are some thoughts I've been having about education reform in Ghana. (I'm not even going to get started on caning, which is standard practice here.)
Again, keep in mind that I really don't know what I'm saying. If I've said something factually incorrect/ offensive/ stupid, please let me know. All thoughts would be appreciated!
(1) Chapters
(2) One side of the page
(3) Both sides of the page
(4) Education
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Bye, Ghana!
Well, Zahava and I are off to Israel for two weeks for Pesach. We're leaving tomorrow night. And right in the nick of time- we were informed today that they are going to start staggering our electricity. So instead of losing electricity periodically, we'll be losing it regularly! They're starting tomorrow; we'll have no electricity from 6 AM to 6 PM. (They don't want take away our electricity at night, because people need their fans to sleep.) Which means that while we're packing all day, schvitzing, there will be no electricity. Duh. Also, there's currently no water. Another duh. Who would expect it?
Anyway, bye Ghana! We'll miss you!
Anyway, bye Ghana! We'll miss you!
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Because People Keep Asking Me and Zahava Isn't Posting...
Zahava isn't sick anymore! (It's Rivky. Duh.) The heartburn is 100% gone, baruch Hashem.
Oh, and last week my wallet was stolen, and my camera was stolen. Two separate occasions. I discovered my camera missing early in the week, and then on Thursday, when I went to take my wallet out of my bag, I noticed that the pocket was open and wallet was gone. Well, stinks to be you, Ghanaian Thief, because you left my iPod, which would have sold for much more than my wallet. My wallet had no cash, only my license, American Express card (doesn't work in Ghana), MasterCard (doesn't work in Ghana), and...nothing else of value, really. My camera, however, it much more frustrating. I left it in America, my mom sent it to me, I had it for a couple of weeks, and then it was stolen. I'm pretty bummed about that.
Oh, and last week my wallet was stolen, and my camera was stolen. Two separate occasions. I discovered my camera missing early in the week, and then on Thursday, when I went to take my wallet out of my bag, I noticed that the pocket was open and wallet was gone. Well, stinks to be you, Ghanaian Thief, because you left my iPod, which would have sold for much more than my wallet. My wallet had no cash, only my license, American Express card (doesn't work in Ghana), MasterCard (doesn't work in Ghana), and...nothing else of value, really. My camera, however, it much more frustrating. I left it in America, my mom sent it to me, I had it for a couple of weeks, and then it was stolen. I'm pretty bummed about that.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Our first shabbos guests!
[Note: Okay, I know we still haven't posted about last shabbos, when we visited the Jewish community of Ghana in Sefwi Wiawso. But it's incredibly long- both the transportation and the actual shabbos experience, so I haven't gotten around to it yet. So I know it's out of order, but first, this shabbos:]
[Oh and it's Rivky!]
We went to the Jewish community in Sefwi Wiawso last shabbos, and we stayed with a really big family who had two extra bedrooms for us. They were so sweet and good to us, and we invited them to come to us for shabbos, not actually expecting it to happen. They took us up on it, which was awesome, and three of the children- Anthony (22 years old), Patrick (20 years old) and Sarah (17 years old) came for the weekend. This was HUGE for them. I think Patrick had been to Accra once before, but Anthony and Sarah had never been. Sarah had never even been to Kumasi, the closest "big" city to their village- three hours away. She had never spent a night away from her house before! Though she didn't say it, it was clear that being in Accra was a huge step for her, and for the rest of them.
For shabbos, we made a lot of food- on Friday night, we had stew, boiled plantains and salad and 3 challot, on Shabbos day, we had fish, yam balls and sauce, salad and 3 more challot, and then we also had a sizable seudat shlishit, including two sweet challahs, one with chocolate chips (fancy, I know).
It was just so interesting having them for shabbos. When we went to Sefwi Wiawso last weekend, sitting in shul and talking to them in the house, we were visitors in their world, and having them in our dorm with us, they got to experience a taste of what Orthodox American Jewry is like. We sang kabbalat shabbat and zmirot on shabbos. Patrick and Anthony sang along, and Sarah read along in the Artscroll English. During seudat shlishit, we all sang some of the songs they've been taught by American visitors through the years.
One thing that was really interesting- on Friday night, during dinner, a girl on our program came in and talked to us for a couple of minutes. She told Anthony, Patrick and Sarah that she was Jewish also. When she left, they asked us about her, and we explained that even though she identified as Jewish, she didn't feel compelled to have Shabbos dinner. They didn't understand how someone could be Jewish and not do shabbos. We tried to explain that in America, plenty of people identify as culturally religious, but not observant, but it was pretty alien to them.
On motzei shabbos, Cornelius and Richard (and Richard's cousin) picked us up and we all went to the beach. The beach is always cooler at night, but it was especially awesome because Anthony, Patrick and Sarah had never been to the beach before. They had never seen the ocean! At first, they were slightly nervous, but one by one, they all came with me and we put our feet in the water. I felt privileged to be there with them for something that I don't think any of them will ever forget. Sarah is really shy, and she has such a sweet smile. At one point, the wave came in a little high and our skirts got wet- she grinned and squealed, and it was really awesome.
Today was a chilled out day. Pretty much our entire dorm went out, but I spent the day at the apartment- took a long shower (we had running water, while Teaneck was out; a fitting way to end Adar, no?), read a lot. Hadn't been by myself in a while, it was nice.
Patrick definitely had the best English, and last night, he wrote us a really sweet note- for posterity, I want to write it over. He drew a picture of himself, Anthony and Sarah, and then he wrote:
"We really do not know how much to thank you all for hosting us all among you, and taking us, as your brothers and sister, that is really mice you have show to us that we are all one as a whole to be Jewish.
We are going back home to tell our community and parent about what you have done. May the Lord Almighty bless you all and grant you peace.
Ladies, do you know what we like most about your hostel? All your friends are friendly and share everything with us all. May God bless them too.
We are very sorry we have to leave on Sunday but we hope everything is well with you all.
We also thank Yamit mother for paying for our transportation. May God grant her long life and prosperity we are hoping to see her sometime.
We say that you all: meda wo fe; Todarabah.
May God send you back home safely and best in your exams when you come back to Ghana!!
We also enjoyed your food! You are all best in cooking and making sauce. We tell you all the food we eat is among the best food we have ever had. Bye to you all!"
HOW FREAKING CUTE IS HE???
It was just great because we were able to give back to them a little bit of what they gave to us. They told us that every couple of weeks, they host American Jews who are visiting for shabbos. But that means they are always hosting; they've never before been the guests, they've never seen how other people make shabbos. I think they had a good time. Hopefully they'll come again before we leave, but who knows. We'll definitely be in touch with them, though.
[Oh and it's Rivky!]
We went to the Jewish community in Sefwi Wiawso last shabbos, and we stayed with a really big family who had two extra bedrooms for us. They were so sweet and good to us, and we invited them to come to us for shabbos, not actually expecting it to happen. They took us up on it, which was awesome, and three of the children- Anthony (22 years old), Patrick (20 years old) and Sarah (17 years old) came for the weekend. This was HUGE for them. I think Patrick had been to Accra once before, but Anthony and Sarah had never been. Sarah had never even been to Kumasi, the closest "big" city to their village- three hours away. She had never spent a night away from her house before! Though she didn't say it, it was clear that being in Accra was a huge step for her, and for the rest of them.
For shabbos, we made a lot of food- on Friday night, we had stew, boiled plantains and salad and 3 challot, on Shabbos day, we had fish, yam balls and sauce, salad and 3 more challot, and then we also had a sizable seudat shlishit, including two sweet challahs, one with chocolate chips (fancy, I know).
It was just so interesting having them for shabbos. When we went to Sefwi Wiawso last weekend, sitting in shul and talking to them in the house, we were visitors in their world, and having them in our dorm with us, they got to experience a taste of what Orthodox American Jewry is like. We sang kabbalat shabbat and zmirot on shabbos. Patrick and Anthony sang along, and Sarah read along in the Artscroll English. During seudat shlishit, we all sang some of the songs they've been taught by American visitors through the years.
One thing that was really interesting- on Friday night, during dinner, a girl on our program came in and talked to us for a couple of minutes. She told Anthony, Patrick and Sarah that she was Jewish also. When she left, they asked us about her, and we explained that even though she identified as Jewish, she didn't feel compelled to have Shabbos dinner. They didn't understand how someone could be Jewish and not do shabbos. We tried to explain that in America, plenty of people identify as culturally religious, but not observant, but it was pretty alien to them.
On motzei shabbos, Cornelius and Richard (and Richard's cousin) picked us up and we all went to the beach. The beach is always cooler at night, but it was especially awesome because Anthony, Patrick and Sarah had never been to the beach before. They had never seen the ocean! At first, they were slightly nervous, but one by one, they all came with me and we put our feet in the water. I felt privileged to be there with them for something that I don't think any of them will ever forget. Sarah is really shy, and she has such a sweet smile. At one point, the wave came in a little high and our skirts got wet- she grinned and squealed, and it was really awesome.
Today was a chilled out day. Pretty much our entire dorm went out, but I spent the day at the apartment- took a long shower (we had running water, while Teaneck was out; a fitting way to end Adar, no?), read a lot. Hadn't been by myself in a while, it was nice.
Patrick definitely had the best English, and last night, he wrote us a really sweet note- for posterity, I want to write it over. He drew a picture of himself, Anthony and Sarah, and then he wrote:
"We really do not know how much to thank you all for hosting us all among you, and taking us, as your brothers and sister, that is really mice you have show to us that we are all one as a whole to be Jewish.
We are going back home to tell our community and parent about what you have done. May the Lord Almighty bless you all and grant you peace.
Ladies, do you know what we like most about your hostel? All your friends are friendly and share everything with us all. May God bless them too.
We are very sorry we have to leave on Sunday but we hope everything is well with you all.
We also thank Yamit mother for paying for our transportation. May God grant her long life and prosperity we are hoping to see her sometime.
We say that you all: meda wo fe; Todarabah.
May God send you back home safely and best in your exams when you come back to Ghana!!
We also enjoyed your food! You are all best in cooking and making sauce. We tell you all the food we eat is among the best food we have ever had. Bye to you all!"
HOW FREAKING CUTE IS HE???
It was just great because we were able to give back to them a little bit of what they gave to us. They told us that every couple of weeks, they host American Jews who are visiting for shabbos. But that means they are always hosting; they've never before been the guests, they've never seen how other people make shabbos. I think they had a good time. Hopefully they'll come again before we leave, but who knows. We'll definitely be in touch with them, though.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Water's Back!
Another quick note-
I still can't get over how quickly I've changed my perception of water. About 10 minutes ago, Courtney knocked on my door and screamed that we got water. I jumped up in quick succession: filled a bucket with water and soap and dumped in some dirty clothing, filled another bucket with clean water in case we run out again soon, finished doing the dishes, and purified some water for dinner tonight. Now I'm running into the shower. When I get out, I'll clean the clothes that are now soaking.
I still can't get over how quickly I've changed my perception of water. About 10 minutes ago, Courtney knocked on my door and screamed that we got water. I jumped up in quick succession: filled a bucket with water and soap and dumped in some dirty clothing, filled another bucket with clean water in case we run out again soon, finished doing the dishes, and purified some water for dinner tonight. Now I'm running into the shower. When I get out, I'll clean the clothes that are now soaking.
Purim in Ghana
Sorry I (Rivky) haven't been posting lately. The truth is that not much is going on recently, but Purim was this weekend, so I want to describe that a little bit. Because it was absolutely ridiculous. Nothing like any Purim I've ever experienced.
Ta'anit Esther was on Thursday, baruch Hashem I didn't have any classes. I spent the fast baking hamantaschen (1) with Rachel (2) and Brittany (3), two girls from my dorm (4). We had awesome fillings- fresh pineapple, fresh mango, chocolate and peanut butter mixture, stam peanut butter, and apricot jam. The hamantaschen looked and smelled amazing, and we made about 75. This was all in preparation for our Purim party Saturday night, because we knew we would have to spend Friday cooking for shabbos.
On Friday morning, Sarah, the religious girl from ISH (5) called, and she told me that a guy she knew had just gotten into Ghana from England, and he had an actual megillah with him for Saturday night! Amazing. He was planning on reading at 7:30, and our party was called for 9:30-10, so we figured we'd be fine. So right after shabbos, we grabbed a cab. I can't even describe where this place was. Apparently, it was an ex-KGB building turned into some sort of guest house? There were random Jewish things everywhere, like this big menorah and cut-outs on the wall of Chasidic men dancing. We had to get let in this gate with barbed wire on top by an intense, scary guard. Obviously, we were cracking up the whole time. Because come on! There were two cabs of students from the university and a bunch of secular Israeli men, and then this British guy who gave a short d'var Torah and explained the story of Purim, and then he read the megillah. (6)
Anyway, we ran back to campus after the megillah (7) and set up for our party. We got into costume- Zahava was a fairy, I was Harry Potter, and Yamit was...something. A jester? She wore a lot of pink and purple. The party was just ridiculous. A bunch of our Ghanaian friends came (8), Dela DJ'ed, and people had awesome costumes. At like 1 AM, when Yamit and I walked Daniel and his friend Maxwell downstairs to say bye, a guard came over to us yelling about parties and rules and whatnot. We didn't really know what he was talking about, but it was already 1 and we had to wake up early on Sunday morning for the seudah anyway, so I agreed to close the party. The guard followed us back to the room anyway, glaring, but whatevs, we shut down the party.
On Sunday morning, we woke up early to have our seudah. Zahava made pancakes and Yamit and I made matzah brie. Yes, weird seudah food, but whatevs. Jenny brought us mishloach manot, which was reallllly cute. We couldn't do a megillah reading with the British guy on Sunday, because Purim was also the day of the CIEE Olympics at Bojo Beach. So instead of doing it in person, I arranged with Rabbi Marwick that I would call him and we could put the Hopkins megillah reading on speaker. Zahava, Yamit and I found this bizarre ex-bar thing where we huddled underneath, so you couldn't hear the waves and the wind, and we waited two minutes to call Rabbi Marwick, but obviously, before we got to call, the fishermen came in pulling in their nets. We were dying of laughter- it was the most Ghana moment. We found a different spot, but Hopkins was running late, and before they read the megillah, the fishermen were done with their fishermen stuff and we went back to our awesome hut. Listening to the megillah there was an amazing experience. We were sitting under fifty feet from the Atlantic Ocean, in flipping West Africa, listening to a crystal-clear megillah reading in Baltimore. (9) So surreal, but so incredible.
Anyway, that was Purim. Nothing big has happened since then- we haven't had water since Thursday night. (Yes, it's Tuesday afternoon. Whatevs, Ghana. Whatevs.) Last night, Yamit and I showered in this guy Sidney's apartment. It was the best water pressure I've felt since being in Ghana. I'm attempting to make french toast for dinner soon, I'll let you know how it goes. (10)
(1) Wiki it. It's a traditional Purim dessert- a triangular cookie with a sweet filling.
(2) Rachel Sternberg. Jewishest name ever. Besides for Rivky Stern.
(3) Close enough. She has black curly hair and she's like, majoring in the Holocaust in college. Seriously.
(4) Did I mention that basically all my friends live in my building? It's really easier that way.
(5) International Students Hostel, the other dorm building for international students. It's a half hour walk, aka I've never been there. It's just so far!
(6) My favorite part was that he was reading it sfard, probably because the Israelis asked him to, but kept accidentally slipping back to the "suf."
(7) Figuratively.
(8) Even Daniel, from our political science class! Hi, Daniel!
(9) Shoutout to Ezra, Josh, Ben, and Rabbi Marwick for doing a great job with the megillah.
(10) I'll probably forget, how sad for you.
Ta'anit Esther was on Thursday, baruch Hashem I didn't have any classes. I spent the fast baking hamantaschen (1) with Rachel (2) and Brittany (3), two girls from my dorm (4). We had awesome fillings- fresh pineapple, fresh mango, chocolate and peanut butter mixture, stam peanut butter, and apricot jam. The hamantaschen looked and smelled amazing, and we made about 75. This was all in preparation for our Purim party Saturday night, because we knew we would have to spend Friday cooking for shabbos.
On Friday morning, Sarah, the religious girl from ISH (5) called, and she told me that a guy she knew had just gotten into Ghana from England, and he had an actual megillah with him for Saturday night! Amazing. He was planning on reading at 7:30, and our party was called for 9:30-10, so we figured we'd be fine. So right after shabbos, we grabbed a cab. I can't even describe where this place was. Apparently, it was an ex-KGB building turned into some sort of guest house? There were random Jewish things everywhere, like this big menorah and cut-outs on the wall of Chasidic men dancing. We had to get let in this gate with barbed wire on top by an intense, scary guard. Obviously, we were cracking up the whole time. Because come on! There were two cabs of students from the university and a bunch of secular Israeli men, and then this British guy who gave a short d'var Torah and explained the story of Purim, and then he read the megillah. (6)
Anyway, we ran back to campus after the megillah (7) and set up for our party. We got into costume- Zahava was a fairy, I was Harry Potter, and Yamit was...something. A jester? She wore a lot of pink and purple. The party was just ridiculous. A bunch of our Ghanaian friends came (8), Dela DJ'ed, and people had awesome costumes. At like 1 AM, when Yamit and I walked Daniel and his friend Maxwell downstairs to say bye, a guard came over to us yelling about parties and rules and whatnot. We didn't really know what he was talking about, but it was already 1 and we had to wake up early on Sunday morning for the seudah anyway, so I agreed to close the party. The guard followed us back to the room anyway, glaring, but whatevs, we shut down the party.
On Sunday morning, we woke up early to have our seudah. Zahava made pancakes and Yamit and I made matzah brie. Yes, weird seudah food, but whatevs. Jenny brought us mishloach manot, which was reallllly cute. We couldn't do a megillah reading with the British guy on Sunday, because Purim was also the day of the CIEE Olympics at Bojo Beach. So instead of doing it in person, I arranged with Rabbi Marwick that I would call him and we could put the Hopkins megillah reading on speaker. Zahava, Yamit and I found this bizarre ex-bar thing where we huddled underneath, so you couldn't hear the waves and the wind, and we waited two minutes to call Rabbi Marwick, but obviously, before we got to call, the fishermen came in pulling in their nets. We were dying of laughter- it was the most Ghana moment. We found a different spot, but Hopkins was running late, and before they read the megillah, the fishermen were done with their fishermen stuff and we went back to our awesome hut. Listening to the megillah there was an amazing experience. We were sitting under fifty feet from the Atlantic Ocean, in flipping West Africa, listening to a crystal-clear megillah reading in Baltimore. (9) So surreal, but so incredible.
Anyway, that was Purim. Nothing big has happened since then- we haven't had water since Thursday night. (Yes, it's Tuesday afternoon. Whatevs, Ghana. Whatevs.) Last night, Yamit and I showered in this guy Sidney's apartment. It was the best water pressure I've felt since being in Ghana. I'm attempting to make french toast for dinner soon, I'll let you know how it goes. (10)
(1) Wiki it. It's a traditional Purim dessert- a triangular cookie with a sweet filling.
(2) Rachel Sternberg. Jewishest name ever. Besides for Rivky Stern.
(3) Close enough. She has black curly hair and she's like, majoring in the Holocaust in college. Seriously.
(4) Did I mention that basically all my friends live in my building? It's really easier that way.
(5) International Students Hostel, the other dorm building for international students. It's a half hour walk, aka I've never been there. It's just so far!
(6) My favorite part was that he was reading it sfard, probably because the Israelis asked him to, but kept accidentally slipping back to the "suf."
(7) Figuratively.
(8) Even Daniel, from our political science class! Hi, Daniel!
(9) Shoutout to Ezra, Josh, Ben, and Rabbi Marwick for doing a great job with the megillah.
(10) I'll probably forget, how sad for you.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
update on my non-Malaria sickness
I haven’t posted about how my heartburn is doing because it’s hard to tell. It’s been getting much much better, then the next day it will feel almost as bad as it did in the beginning. Usually, it’s there, but I can get along not thinking about it. I’m still on a restricted diet. A “salad” has turned into a peeled cucumber, “fruit” is now bananas, things like that. The doctor said it was going to take 2-4 weeks for the heartburn to completely go away, so I’m not so nervous yet. David, my stepdad, sent me more medication two weeks ago. A week and a half ago, the online confirmation said it was in customs. Every other day since then, I asked the CIEE office if it arrived. Eventually, on Thursday, the woman who works in the CIEE office called the post office. It took 20 minutes to communicate to them what I wanted, but in the end they said that the package was there. So there are two ways to get a package. The first one is if it’s small. It comes straight to campus, and a CIEE person picks it up and brings it to the CIEE office. We’ve gotten two packages so far, and they’ve both come directly to campus. However, if the package is a little bigger, it stays in the post office, and you have to pick it up yourself. They will only give it to the person who it’s addressed to. You need to bring ID. Going to the post office is supposedly a painful experience. You need to bring a ton of cash because they will charge you to pick it up. The officer brings you into a room in the back and makes you open it in front of him. He then tells you the price. If you’re white, he sometimes starts with a crazy amount like 400 cedis (about $300). It seems relatively easy to bring the price down, but you can’t lose your cool. You need to be really respectful or he will take the package back. I’ve heard real horror stories about people going to pick up packages from the post office in Accra. I need to go tomorrow because I’m on my last Malaria pill. Rivky can’t come with me because she has a class that she’s already missed too many times. I feel bad asking anyone else to come with me, but I am so scared.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Bear in mind- I wrote this on Saturday night. We haven't had internet since Friday.
There are plenty of other things I (Rivky) keep meaning to write about- the amazing banana bread we made for shabbos this week, my final class schedule, the awesome Ghanaian friends we made who live down the hall- but on my post-it (1), I have only two topics listed, so I'll write about them both in this post, even though they're totally unrelated.
This week, we lost water from Tuesday morning until Thursday night. Usually, when we're out of water, there's still water running in the spigot across the road, so we can fill up buckets and lug them back to the dorm to shower, do dishes, flush the toilet, etc. (2) However, sometimes there is no water at any of the spigots on our road, either, so we have actually no water except bottled and sachet water. (3) This week, when we lost water, most of the time, there was no spigot water, so we had to be very sparing with the water we already had in our buckets (4), which is especially annoying and difficult when doing dishes.
Thursday evening, when we got water back, was so incredibly exciting and obviously, I ran into the shower. I was literally grinning as I got into the shower and I literally squealed as I turned the knob and the water went on, I was so happy. The shower was so incredible and I was content and relieved, and I just thought to myself, how often do I appreciate this sweet simplicity of simple running water?
When it rains during the winter months in Israel, we are so happy because of the perpetual drought that we are always told about. I pray for rain in Israel because the agricultural economy depends on rain, obviously. But I've never felt a lack of water. I've never actually been physically unable to shower because there was a water shortage.
Appreciating a simple shower...there's something incredible about that. In America, people often asked, "Why Ghana? Why Africa, of all places?" And there are a billion answers, and they're all partial truths, but the emes of it all is that I don't really know. I wanted something, and I thought maybe I would find it in Ghana. And standing in that shower and feeling like I could not appreciate something more than running water, I think I grinned because I found it.
Okay, sorry for the melodrama about my shower. Sheesh. I'd smack myself if I were you.
Next topic! Last weekend, we went to Cape Coast. I wrote about it last week, I think, before we went. On Friday, we visited Elmina Castle (5), and then we spent shabbos in the hotel. Saturday night, the entire group had a 'conversation' about our collective experiences at the castle and our reflections upon it, and then went swimming, and on Sunday, we visited some sort of canopy walk. All of this was fun and interesting, but I just wanted to reflect a little bit about the 'conversation' our group had after the castles (6).
I guess if one had to, he could relate to the castle by calling it the African Auschwitz. Instead of being a concentration camp or death camp, it was sort of a stopping point for African captives- after having been taken captive, they were kept at Elmina and other castles like it before being brought to the Americas. Our tour guide estimated that about 15 million African captives had been kept in Elmina before being enslaved in the Americas, a figure that doesn't account for the millions who were killed during the middle passage and thrown into the Atlantic. There are tons of things within Elmina that deserve posts unto themselves- like the Christian passages written over door frames, or the strong smell of defecation in the dungeons, hundreds of years after the last prisoners, or the governor's quarters sitting right above the dungeons, where he could easily hear prisoners screaming.
Obviously, during our visit to Elmina, I kept thinking about the comparisons to the camps in Poland. And truthfully, they felt very different. While most camps in Poland were huge, miles, the castle was about the size of a large house, and it was all one building, with a courtyard in the middle. And 15+ million slaves went through this one castle over the course of hundreds of years, as opposed to smaller number of 6 million Jews who were killed in various camps and in towns, forests, and elsewhere. Europeans in the 1500s-1700s also kept horrible records, so it's almost impossible to trace one's family to the castle to which one's ancestor was taken, let alone from which town he came before that (7), as opposed to the Nazis' notorious diligence in record-keeping. And the most important distinction, of course, is that while many Africans died and were killed both by neglect and intention, they were not collected for the purpose of being killed, were never gassed or lined up and shot, as opposed to the Jews in death camps. I did feel, even through these differences, a strong kinship with Africans and African Americans, for having gone through, though vastly different, tortures of victimhood.
On Saturday night, fresh from the castles (8), our group sat and discussed a lot of issues that stemmed from the castle visit- racism, the role of religion in the slave trade, African Americans and their relationship to Africa, etc. I don't usually talk during these things, and I obviously didn't talk here either. But I felt that while I was unable to speak, I also felt really uncomfortable with the white Americans in our group talking about their feelings, about how they related to the camps. CIEE is a mixed group, obviously, and there are plenty of black Americans in our group. Not only was I much more interested in what they had to say, I felt so uncomfortable hearing the white people speaking- like, in my head, this wasn't about them. I imagined being in Poland with a mixed group of Jews and non-Jews, and imagined listening to the non-Jews speaking about their feelings, and I just felt like I would have been so uncomfortable and annoyed. How dare they try and speak as if they are our equals- when it was my people, my family and virtual family that were thrown into the ovens (9)? I imagined that, and then I heard white Americans speaking to black Americans as if they were equal and had equally valid 'responses' after visiting the castles, as if they were the same. Black Americans in our group, as some of them spoke about, came to this castle wondering if their ancestors had been here, if their roots led here (10). These castles ended life as they knew it for dozens and dozens of millions of Africans, and these kids', our peers' ancestors- how dare others speak as if they were affected in even close to the same way? Both in the castle, and sitting in this conversation, I felt an incredibly strong sense of humility, that I should shut up and listen, because this wasn't about me, this was much bigger than me and my 'impressions' and 'emotions.'
I'm probably too sensitive about this, as I am about many things. Even so, this is something I was thinking about. And that's my post. To sum up, I love water and I...feel for black Americans, both for having been victimized and for that victimization to then be trivialized? I know, I know- I'll take a number.
(1) Virtual, of course. I love macs.
(2) Obviously, because the filled bucket is the heaviest thing ever, I barely do it. And the times (time?) I have done it, I had to take breaks every five steps. It's so flipping heavy.
(3) Sachet water is water in plastic bags- mayim b'sakit, if you will.
(4) We keep our buckets full at all times, in case the water goes out.
(5) http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elmina_Castle
(6) Some of our group went to Elmina, and some went to Cape Coast, which I linked to in our last post. If I were super fancy, I could link to that post. However, links are beyond me. Sad times.
(7) Roots lied to me. I feel betrayed.
(8) While we went on Friday, the rest of the group went on Saturday- haven't you been reading past posts? Sheesh.
(9) I feel no qualms about sephardim and other Jewish groups speaking about the Holocaust because even though their families weren't personally affected, their larger community was, and their lives were forever touched because of how it's changed their larger community.
(10) When the Obamas came to Ghana last semester, the family visited Cape Coast Castle; scholars are relatively certain that Michelle Obama's great-ancestors had been through Cape Coast. There was an article about Michelle Obama's ancestry in the New York Times a couple of months ago, I think around October- I'll try to find it and update this blog when I do.
This week, we lost water from Tuesday morning until Thursday night. Usually, when we're out of water, there's still water running in the spigot across the road, so we can fill up buckets and lug them back to the dorm to shower, do dishes, flush the toilet, etc. (2) However, sometimes there is no water at any of the spigots on our road, either, so we have actually no water except bottled and sachet water. (3) This week, when we lost water, most of the time, there was no spigot water, so we had to be very sparing with the water we already had in our buckets (4), which is especially annoying and difficult when doing dishes.
Thursday evening, when we got water back, was so incredibly exciting and obviously, I ran into the shower. I was literally grinning as I got into the shower and I literally squealed as I turned the knob and the water went on, I was so happy. The shower was so incredible and I was content and relieved, and I just thought to myself, how often do I appreciate this sweet simplicity of simple running water?
When it rains during the winter months in Israel, we are so happy because of the perpetual drought that we are always told about. I pray for rain in Israel because the agricultural economy depends on rain, obviously. But I've never felt a lack of water. I've never actually been physically unable to shower because there was a water shortage.
Appreciating a simple shower...there's something incredible about that. In America, people often asked, "Why Ghana? Why Africa, of all places?" And there are a billion answers, and they're all partial truths, but the emes of it all is that I don't really know. I wanted something, and I thought maybe I would find it in Ghana. And standing in that shower and feeling like I could not appreciate something more than running water, I think I grinned because I found it.
Okay, sorry for the melodrama about my shower. Sheesh. I'd smack myself if I were you.
Next topic! Last weekend, we went to Cape Coast. I wrote about it last week, I think, before we went. On Friday, we visited Elmina Castle (5), and then we spent shabbos in the hotel. Saturday night, the entire group had a 'conversation' about our collective experiences at the castle and our reflections upon it, and then went swimming, and on Sunday, we visited some sort of canopy walk. All of this was fun and interesting, but I just wanted to reflect a little bit about the 'conversation' our group had after the castles (6).
I guess if one had to, he could relate to the castle by calling it the African Auschwitz. Instead of being a concentration camp or death camp, it was sort of a stopping point for African captives- after having been taken captive, they were kept at Elmina and other castles like it before being brought to the Americas. Our tour guide estimated that about 15 million African captives had been kept in Elmina before being enslaved in the Americas, a figure that doesn't account for the millions who were killed during the middle passage and thrown into the Atlantic. There are tons of things within Elmina that deserve posts unto themselves- like the Christian passages written over door frames, or the strong smell of defecation in the dungeons, hundreds of years after the last prisoners, or the governor's quarters sitting right above the dungeons, where he could easily hear prisoners screaming.
Obviously, during our visit to Elmina, I kept thinking about the comparisons to the camps in Poland. And truthfully, they felt very different. While most camps in Poland were huge, miles, the castle was about the size of a large house, and it was all one building, with a courtyard in the middle. And 15+ million slaves went through this one castle over the course of hundreds of years, as opposed to smaller number of 6 million Jews who were killed in various camps and in towns, forests, and elsewhere. Europeans in the 1500s-1700s also kept horrible records, so it's almost impossible to trace one's family to the castle to which one's ancestor was taken, let alone from which town he came before that (7), as opposed to the Nazis' notorious diligence in record-keeping. And the most important distinction, of course, is that while many Africans died and were killed both by neglect and intention, they were not collected for the purpose of being killed, were never gassed or lined up and shot, as opposed to the Jews in death camps. I did feel, even through these differences, a strong kinship with Africans and African Americans, for having gone through, though vastly different, tortures of victimhood.
On Saturday night, fresh from the castles (8), our group sat and discussed a lot of issues that stemmed from the castle visit- racism, the role of religion in the slave trade, African Americans and their relationship to Africa, etc. I don't usually talk during these things, and I obviously didn't talk here either. But I felt that while I was unable to speak, I also felt really uncomfortable with the white Americans in our group talking about their feelings, about how they related to the camps. CIEE is a mixed group, obviously, and there are plenty of black Americans in our group. Not only was I much more interested in what they had to say, I felt so uncomfortable hearing the white people speaking- like, in my head, this wasn't about them. I imagined being in Poland with a mixed group of Jews and non-Jews, and imagined listening to the non-Jews speaking about their feelings, and I just felt like I would have been so uncomfortable and annoyed. How dare they try and speak as if they are our equals- when it was my people, my family and virtual family that were thrown into the ovens (9)? I imagined that, and then I heard white Americans speaking to black Americans as if they were equal and had equally valid 'responses' after visiting the castles, as if they were the same. Black Americans in our group, as some of them spoke about, came to this castle wondering if their ancestors had been here, if their roots led here (10). These castles ended life as they knew it for dozens and dozens of millions of Africans, and these kids', our peers' ancestors- how dare others speak as if they were affected in even close to the same way? Both in the castle, and sitting in this conversation, I felt an incredibly strong sense of humility, that I should shut up and listen, because this wasn't about me, this was much bigger than me and my 'impressions' and 'emotions.'
I'm probably too sensitive about this, as I am about many things. Even so, this is something I was thinking about. And that's my post. To sum up, I love water and I...feel for black Americans, both for having been victimized and for that victimization to then be trivialized? I know, I know- I'll take a number.
(1) Virtual, of course. I love macs.
(2) Obviously, because the filled bucket is the heaviest thing ever, I barely do it. And the times (time?) I have done it, I had to take breaks every five steps. It's so flipping heavy.
(3) Sachet water is water in plastic bags- mayim b'sakit, if you will.
(4) We keep our buckets full at all times, in case the water goes out.
(5) http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elmina_Castle
(6) Some of our group went to Elmina, and some went to Cape Coast, which I linked to in our last post. If I were super fancy, I could link to that post. However, links are beyond me. Sad times.
(7) Roots lied to me. I feel betrayed.
(8) While we went on Friday, the rest of the group went on Saturday- haven't you been reading past posts? Sheesh.
(9) I feel no qualms about sephardim and other Jewish groups speaking about the Holocaust because even though their families weren't personally affected, their larger community was, and their lives were forever touched because of how it's changed their larger community.
(10) When the Obamas came to Ghana last semester, the family visited Cape Coast Castle; scholars are relatively certain that Michelle Obama's great-ancestors had been through Cape Coast. There was an article about Michelle Obama's ancestry in the New York Times a couple of months ago, I think around October- I'll try to find it and update this blog when I do.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Happy four weeks in Ghana
It rained today. It was heavenly. Rivky and I were walking back from Twi (thank God it’s almost over, only one more week!), and all of the sudden we were in a thunderstorm. We had about half a mile back to our dorm, so I made a run for it. Rivky was wearing flip-flops, and she was nervous about slipping, so I left her. Bad call on my part in retrospect because someone stopped for her and offered her a ride. By the time I got back to the dorm, I was drenched head to toe, dripping all over the place. In fact, I was uncomfortably cold. I hung up all my clothes and put on a SWEATSHIRT, SWEATPANTS, AND SOCKS! I haven’t worn any of these articles of clothing in a month. It was great.
We haven’t had water since Monday morning. But it rained. I’m getting sick of this.
We’re making real Ghanaian friends. They’re hysterical. They don’t get our humor, but they think we’re funny nonetheless. They’re really too much. One of them was runner-up to Miss Ghana last year. One of them was hit on by a girl at a party once and is still scarred. One of them is half Ghanaian, one quarter Lebanese, and one quarter Syrian. One of them is named Giselle. Everything in their suite is pink (down to the fuzzy toilet seat cover) and smells like a Victoria Secret store.
By the way, I’m doing much better. I switched malaria medicine and started taking acid reflux medicine. I’m on a relatively strict diet of no tomatoes or coffee. It’s a hard life. But I am feeling much much better. Still, not 100%, but I feel better each day. I’d even say I’m almost all better.
We haven’t had water since Monday morning. But it rained. I’m getting sick of this.
We’re making real Ghanaian friends. They’re hysterical. They don’t get our humor, but they think we’re funny nonetheless. They’re really too much. One of them was runner-up to Miss Ghana last year. One of them was hit on by a girl at a party once and is still scarred. One of them is half Ghanaian, one quarter Lebanese, and one quarter Syrian. One of them is named Giselle. Everything in their suite is pink (down to the fuzzy toilet seat cover) and smells like a Victoria Secret store.
By the way, I’m doing much better. I switched malaria medicine and started taking acid reflux medicine. I’m on a relatively strict diet of no tomatoes or coffee. It’s a hard life. But I am feeling much much better. Still, not 100%, but I feel better each day. I’d even say I’m almost all better.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Flat Stanley
Atara, our cousin in first grade, sent us a Flat Stanley. We brought him on our field trip. We got a lot of good pictures. This is just one of them.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
i'm sick though not with malaria.
It's Zahava. I'm not doing too good.
Finally, we learn to make actual good food, and I can’t eat any of it. I’m having incredibly intense heartburn, apparently. I called my doctor last night in tears. I told her that since Friday night I have been having really intense pain in my chest every time I swallow. I feel like I swallowed a pill wrong. It kind of feels like when you swallow a fish bone and for the next few hours you can feel it every time you swallow because it scratched you on the way down. Well, it feels like that plus really bad heartburn. She asked me to remind her which malaria medicine I’m on. Doxycycline. She said, “Oh no. Okay. You’re having heartburn. A side effect of Doxycycline is really bad heartburn. You need get off it now, and we’ll switch your medication. You also need Prilosec, an acid reflux medicine.” I said, “Okay. I can do that. Should I stop my current malaria medicine before I can get the new one, or should I wait?” She asked, “How long will it take you to get a prescription?” I said, “It doesn’t work like that. There’s a pharmacy down the street. You just walk in, say what you want, and they give it to you. I could get it tomorrow.” She said, “Okay. Good. So, yeah, don’t take the medicine tonight, and start again tomorrow with the new one.” (I was expecting more of a “What kind of crazy system is that that you don’t need a prescription?!” response, but oh well.) She said I should only get a week or two worth of each and have someone in America send the rest because she doesn’t trust Ghanaian medicine. (Email from my mom after she spoke to the doctor.) “If you were in a developed country, she'd want you to see a doctor, but since you're not, she doesn't think you should.” She also said somewhere in the conversation that I need to get off the medicine because “you will not last a semester on Doxycycline.” Thanks, way to freak me out.
Today Rivky and I went to the pharmacy. We got a week’s worth of each medicine. The acid reflux one they had was a generic brand made in Ghana. A little sketch, but I decided I’d buy it and call my doctor. An hour later, I was really in pain from the half liter of water I had been drinking, so I took the medicine. Then Rivky and I spent the next two hours walking all around campus adding and dropping classes. (Don’t even start with me about the stupid system they have in place with registration.) By the time we got back to the room, I was ready to faint. Because of the pain, I haven’t been able to eat much since shabbos. I barely ate anything yesterday. This morning, I had one slice of bread with a tiny bit of cream cheese and a liter of water. I tried to have potato chips, but it just wasn’t going to happen. I had absolutely no energy. Rivky went to drumming (which I couldn’t go to because it’s outside, and I would have fainted), and I collapsed into bed and called my doctor. I was going to ask her if the generic brand is okay, how many times a day do I take it, and what kinds of food does she suggest I eat in the meantime? The receptionist said she doesn’t work on Wednesdays, and no one else is available. I should find a doctor where I am. I hung up the phone and started bawling. I was so hungry and in so much pain. After about ten minutes, I had controlled myself enough to get up and eat something. I made a packet of instant oatmeal and cut a slice of bread. I forced myself to eat them because it hurt so much but I knew I needed calories. It’s now a few hours later. I’m feeling a little more energized, but my chest still hurts. The website of the acid reflux medicine says 1-4 days to see effects and 2-4 weeks for full recovery.
Finally, we learn to make actual good food, and I can’t eat any of it. I’m having incredibly intense heartburn, apparently. I called my doctor last night in tears. I told her that since Friday night I have been having really intense pain in my chest every time I swallow. I feel like I swallowed a pill wrong. It kind of feels like when you swallow a fish bone and for the next few hours you can feel it every time you swallow because it scratched you on the way down. Well, it feels like that plus really bad heartburn. She asked me to remind her which malaria medicine I’m on. Doxycycline. She said, “Oh no. Okay. You’re having heartburn. A side effect of Doxycycline is really bad heartburn. You need get off it now, and we’ll switch your medication. You also need Prilosec, an acid reflux medicine.” I said, “Okay. I can do that. Should I stop my current malaria medicine before I can get the new one, or should I wait?” She asked, “How long will it take you to get a prescription?” I said, “It doesn’t work like that. There’s a pharmacy down the street. You just walk in, say what you want, and they give it to you. I could get it tomorrow.” She said, “Okay. Good. So, yeah, don’t take the medicine tonight, and start again tomorrow with the new one.” (I was expecting more of a “What kind of crazy system is that that you don’t need a prescription?!” response, but oh well.) She said I should only get a week or two worth of each and have someone in America send the rest because she doesn’t trust Ghanaian medicine. (Email from my mom after she spoke to the doctor.) “If you were in a developed country, she'd want you to see a doctor, but since you're not, she doesn't think you should.” She also said somewhere in the conversation that I need to get off the medicine because “you will not last a semester on Doxycycline.” Thanks, way to freak me out.
Today Rivky and I went to the pharmacy. We got a week’s worth of each medicine. The acid reflux one they had was a generic brand made in Ghana. A little sketch, but I decided I’d buy it and call my doctor. An hour later, I was really in pain from the half liter of water I had been drinking, so I took the medicine. Then Rivky and I spent the next two hours walking all around campus adding and dropping classes. (Don’t even start with me about the stupid system they have in place with registration.) By the time we got back to the room, I was ready to faint. Because of the pain, I haven’t been able to eat much since shabbos. I barely ate anything yesterday. This morning, I had one slice of bread with a tiny bit of cream cheese and a liter of water. I tried to have potato chips, but it just wasn’t going to happen. I had absolutely no energy. Rivky went to drumming (which I couldn’t go to because it’s outside, and I would have fainted), and I collapsed into bed and called my doctor. I was going to ask her if the generic brand is okay, how many times a day do I take it, and what kinds of food does she suggest I eat in the meantime? The receptionist said she doesn’t work on Wednesdays, and no one else is available. I should find a doctor where I am. I hung up the phone and started bawling. I was so hungry and in so much pain. After about ten minutes, I had controlled myself enough to get up and eat something. I made a packet of instant oatmeal and cut a slice of bread. I forced myself to eat them because it hurt so much but I knew I needed calories. It’s now a few hours later. I’m feeling a little more energized, but my chest still hurts. The website of the acid reflux medicine says 1-4 days to see effects and 2-4 weeks for full recovery.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Faith and Practice of Islam
Rivky again- just wanted to add one thing about one of my classes here. I'm taking a class called Faith and Practice of Islam. It's a really interesting class, and I do learn a lot about Islam- specifically Sunni Islam, we barely speak about Shiah because my professor is Sunni.(1) But what bothers me/ cracks me up about the class is that it often ends up being an argument between the Christians and Muslims in the class, while I just sit there. Ghana is an incredibly religious country, and no one is afraid to argue and push their beliefs onto others.(2) As much as I have been learning, the shock of watching students arguing amongst themselves and with the professor about Jesus seems so unacademic to me- sometimes I wonder if I'm sitting in on a Sunday school class or if I'm actually in a university.
(1) Boy, is he Sunni.
(2) I don't remember if we wrote about this yet, but people walk into our dorm all the time giving us flyers and inviting us to come to church with them. We always say, "We're Jewish," and they respond, "That's okay, we don't mind." How thoughtful.
(1) Boy, is he Sunni.
(2) I don't remember if we wrote about this yet, but people walk into our dorm all the time giving us flyers and inviting us to come to church with them. We always say, "We're Jewish," and they respond, "That's okay, we don't mind." How thoughtful.
I can't believe I put off showering for 10 minutes to update this thing. Gross.
Okay, haven't updated in a while, so even though this is a light post, I thought I'd give it a go. (It's Rivky, by the way.) The truth is, not much is going on. Classes are good, my dorm situation is good. I went out for the first time this Saturday night- to a friend's friend's friend's birthday party. (Yes, that would be party-crashing squared.) It was a very interesting night. I can't really describe it here, because it's entirely too complicated and sort of bizarre, the more I think about it, but maybe we can talk about it in person if anyone reading this chooses to come visit!
I have three hours of dance a week, even though it's only two credits, so it's the class I spent most of my energy on. In the beginning, I was horrible, and two weeks in...I'm still pretty bad. But better! I know most of the moves, and I don't think I embarrass myself as much I did in the beginning.
This weekend, we have a tiyul to Cape Coast(1) and the central region of Ghana. We'll be touring the castle(2), etc. The rest of the group is doing a Saturday and Sunday trip, but because they love us(3), the director is taking me, Yamit and Zahava early- we're doing the entire Saturday tiyul on Friday before shabbos- while the group is doing the tiyul on Saturday, we are spending shabbos in the hotel, and then we rejoin everyone else on motzei shabbos.
Oh and last thing before I go shower(4)- I don't think Zahava or I wrote about food this past shabbos, but it was our most successful yet, by far. Zahava made two gorgeous challot- they were delicious and fresh and amazing. We had TILAPIA (cleaned/ cooked by yours truly)- broiled with onions. Yamit made yam balls and sweet potato balls both(5), we all made salad, and I made chocolate chip cookies. I can't even describe what a success this shabbos was. It was so much delicious food, and so satisfying- it was difficult but we really pulled it off.
Okay, now really the last thing- I'm so excited for the Super Bowl next week! We're not sure where we're going to watch it, but at least ten of us in the dorm are going to find a place- maybe Champs, this American-ish place everyone goes to(6)- to watch the game. It starts at 11:30 PM on Sunday night, but it's worth it. I'm rooting for the Saints, just because New Orleans hasn't been able to catch a break in, say, 8 years. But I'm really just hoping for a good game.
(1) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Coast
(2) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Coast_Castle
(3) i.e. they are the nicest, most accommodating people of life, they're really going above and beyond what we expected.
(4) for a recap of my daily activities- all I do here is nap and shower. You forgot?
(5) Turns out yam balls, which- don't forget!- are really potato balls, are better. Who saw that coming?
(6) shockingly, never been there.
I have three hours of dance a week, even though it's only two credits, so it's the class I spent most of my energy on. In the beginning, I was horrible, and two weeks in...I'm still pretty bad. But better! I know most of the moves, and I don't think I embarrass myself as much I did in the beginning.
This weekend, we have a tiyul to Cape Coast(1) and the central region of Ghana. We'll be touring the castle(2), etc. The rest of the group is doing a Saturday and Sunday trip, but because they love us(3), the director is taking me, Yamit and Zahava early- we're doing the entire Saturday tiyul on Friday before shabbos- while the group is doing the tiyul on Saturday, we are spending shabbos in the hotel, and then we rejoin everyone else on motzei shabbos.
Oh and last thing before I go shower(4)- I don't think Zahava or I wrote about food this past shabbos, but it was our most successful yet, by far. Zahava made two gorgeous challot- they were delicious and fresh and amazing. We had TILAPIA (cleaned/ cooked by yours truly)- broiled with onions. Yamit made yam balls and sweet potato balls both(5), we all made salad, and I made chocolate chip cookies. I can't even describe what a success this shabbos was. It was so much delicious food, and so satisfying- it was difficult but we really pulled it off.
Okay, now really the last thing- I'm so excited for the Super Bowl next week! We're not sure where we're going to watch it, but at least ten of us in the dorm are going to find a place- maybe Champs, this American-ish place everyone goes to(6)- to watch the game. It starts at 11:30 PM on Sunday night, but it's worth it. I'm rooting for the Saints, just because New Orleans hasn't been able to catch a break in, say, 8 years. But I'm really just hoping for a good game.
(1) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Coast
(2) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Coast_Castle
(3) i.e. they are the nicest, most accommodating people of life, they're really going above and beyond what we expected.
(4) for a recap of my daily activities- all I do here is nap and shower. You forgot?
(5) Turns out yam balls, which- don't forget!- are really potato balls, are better. Who saw that coming?
(6) shockingly, never been there.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
i swear (B"N) it was all the americans, not just me!
[EDIT: I realized I forgot to write the author of this post. If you can't tell, then you don't us very well.]
I have had a bunch of classes, each with their own interesting stories. Here is a taste of one class I had today.
Gender studies is just so different in Ghana. Gender in Archaeology, a 400 level Archaeology elective, is apparently more of a gender studies course than an archaeology one. I was taking it, hoping that it would fulfill an Art History requirement, but now I’m thinking not.
Firstly, the lecturer spent the entire class today defining the difference between gender and sex. Anybody who has taken a women studies or gender studies course in the States can answer that question in one sentence. Sex is biological, and gender is a social construct based off of sex. But it took her all class to explain it. She wanted the class to come up with their own opinions first. Weird teaching method, I think. Who cares what the students think? It’s not an opinion. (Side note: quote from Twi last week in a fit of desperation, “Grammar is not a democracy!”)
The amount of time it took to define gender/sex is ridiculous enough. But then after it was already defined, there was plenty of more ridiculousness. Just to get a picture of what the class looks like, it was 50% Ghanaian guys (being as the university is probably 80% male), 25% Ghanaian girls, and 25% American girls. For the most part, the guys dominate every conversation because they are so loud and disrespectful. They call out and interrupt. Now here are my stories.
1) The lecturer asked, “How many sexes are there?” So a Ghanaian girl said three: male, female, and both. I was actually surprised and impressed that she would even think that far. The lecturer said no. She said, “There are two.” Then she wrote TWO on the board. “There is male and female. That is it! No more. Two. Male and female. I’m sorry to those who are sensitive to religion, but in the bible, it says, ‘Male and Female, He created them.’” I was really going to stay quiet at first when she just said two because the Ghanaian girl had already brought it up, and I didn’t want to step on anyone’s feet. (I know, me? Not wanting to step on feet?) But playing the religion card is dangerous. Firstly, this is a secular institution! It is totally inappropriate to use religion as your basis for argument! Secondly, biblical texts are ambiguous enough that if you don’t know your facts cold, you are going to lose. So this was my first outburst in this class. “First of all, the creation story is told twice. In the first telling of it, they are created TOGETHER, as one person, one sex, an ambiguous sex. Therefore, saying that there are only two sexes because the creation story says that there are only two sexes is incorrect! There was a sexually ambiguous Human that woman was created out of, and man was left. Second of all, the Talmud itself describes I think seven different sexes with different laws pertaining to each of them. To say that religion does not recognize more than two sexes is completely wrong!”
2) At that point I was not the only American yelling at her. The rest of them were chiming in. She took a step back and got off the religion issue. She tried the next argument. “Sex is biological. According to biology, there are only two sexes.” “That’s totally incorrect!” the Americans screamed. “How are you determining sex?” “Genitalia,” was her first try. “People are born with both! People are born with neither! What if a woman has a hysterectomy! What if a man is castrated!” She tried again, “It’s biological. It’s about the chromosomes. Everyone has two chromosomes, XX or XY.” I momentarily lost myself, “SOME PEOPLE HAVE THREE! XXY!” The girl next to me said, “Actually, people can live if they’re born with one.” The lecturer responded to me, “Well, what is the dominant chromosome?” I didn’t understand the question. Truth is, I still don’t, and I’ve been thinking about it all day.
3) Somehow, she was not convinced by our arguments. Either that or she was just getting a headache and wanted to continue. She moved on and asked us for examples of gender constructs at our school. People said behavior, education, parental responsibilities, etc. Then the girl next me (the same one that said the one chromosome thing) looked over at me and mouthed, “Sexual preference.” I mouthed back, “Do it!” and smiled. (Background info- there is a sign at the airport when you’re arriving in Ghana: “Welcome to Ghana! All who come in peace are accepted in peace. We have no tolerance for pedophiles or any other of sexual deviants.” If that was not clear enough, homosexuality is a crime in Ghana.) The lecturer was a little taken aback. She wrote it on the board anyway but didn’t repeat it out loud as she had for the rest of them. Then a Ghanaian girl raised her hand and asked what it meant.
4) As we were listing off gender constructs, there was this guy sitting behind me that kept shaking his head and mumbling that it wasn’t true, that we were making it up. “There is no social difference between girls and boys. Anything that is acceptable for one is acceptable for both.” Someone gave the example of language/speech, that in some societies, men can curse whenever, it might even make them look cool, but it is completely frowned upon for a woman to curse. The guy behind me shook his head again and mumbled, “There is no difference between what a man can say and what a woman can say. It not acceptable for anyone to curse.” The first example that I could think of to disprove him was ghetto New York, but I didn’t think it would work well enough. I raised my hand. When the lecturer called on me, I faced the guy and waited until I had his attention. “You have doubt whether there is social inequality in language. Do you remember in the beginning of the class, when the lecturer asked everyone why they chose this course? A guy called out, ‘Because the lecturer is pretty.’ Do you think for one second that a girl could say the same thing to a male lecturer? No way! She’d be kicked out of the freaking country! It’s completely disrespectful!” The whole class got really loud right then. I’m not sure if they were agreeing with me or laughing at me or just saying pshaw. I like to think that they were saying, “Good point.”
I have had a bunch of classes, each with their own interesting stories. Here is a taste of one class I had today.
Gender studies is just so different in Ghana. Gender in Archaeology, a 400 level Archaeology elective, is apparently more of a gender studies course than an archaeology one. I was taking it, hoping that it would fulfill an Art History requirement, but now I’m thinking not.
Firstly, the lecturer spent the entire class today defining the difference between gender and sex. Anybody who has taken a women studies or gender studies course in the States can answer that question in one sentence. Sex is biological, and gender is a social construct based off of sex. But it took her all class to explain it. She wanted the class to come up with their own opinions first. Weird teaching method, I think. Who cares what the students think? It’s not an opinion. (Side note: quote from Twi last week in a fit of desperation, “Grammar is not a democracy!”)
The amount of time it took to define gender/sex is ridiculous enough. But then after it was already defined, there was plenty of more ridiculousness. Just to get a picture of what the class looks like, it was 50% Ghanaian guys (being as the university is probably 80% male), 25% Ghanaian girls, and 25% American girls. For the most part, the guys dominate every conversation because they are so loud and disrespectful. They call out and interrupt. Now here are my stories.
1) The lecturer asked, “How many sexes are there?” So a Ghanaian girl said three: male, female, and both. I was actually surprised and impressed that she would even think that far. The lecturer said no. She said, “There are two.” Then she wrote TWO on the board. “There is male and female. That is it! No more. Two. Male and female. I’m sorry to those who are sensitive to religion, but in the bible, it says, ‘Male and Female, He created them.’” I was really going to stay quiet at first when she just said two because the Ghanaian girl had already brought it up, and I didn’t want to step on anyone’s feet. (I know, me? Not wanting to step on feet?) But playing the religion card is dangerous. Firstly, this is a secular institution! It is totally inappropriate to use religion as your basis for argument! Secondly, biblical texts are ambiguous enough that if you don’t know your facts cold, you are going to lose. So this was my first outburst in this class. “First of all, the creation story is told twice. In the first telling of it, they are created TOGETHER, as one person, one sex, an ambiguous sex. Therefore, saying that there are only two sexes because the creation story says that there are only two sexes is incorrect! There was a sexually ambiguous Human that woman was created out of, and man was left. Second of all, the Talmud itself describes I think seven different sexes with different laws pertaining to each of them. To say that religion does not recognize more than two sexes is completely wrong!”
2) At that point I was not the only American yelling at her. The rest of them were chiming in. She took a step back and got off the religion issue. She tried the next argument. “Sex is biological. According to biology, there are only two sexes.” “That’s totally incorrect!” the Americans screamed. “How are you determining sex?” “Genitalia,” was her first try. “People are born with both! People are born with neither! What if a woman has a hysterectomy! What if a man is castrated!” She tried again, “It’s biological. It’s about the chromosomes. Everyone has two chromosomes, XX or XY.” I momentarily lost myself, “SOME PEOPLE HAVE THREE! XXY!” The girl next to me said, “Actually, people can live if they’re born with one.” The lecturer responded to me, “Well, what is the dominant chromosome?” I didn’t understand the question. Truth is, I still don’t, and I’ve been thinking about it all day.
3) Somehow, she was not convinced by our arguments. Either that or she was just getting a headache and wanted to continue. She moved on and asked us for examples of gender constructs at our school. People said behavior, education, parental responsibilities, etc. Then the girl next me (the same one that said the one chromosome thing) looked over at me and mouthed, “Sexual preference.” I mouthed back, “Do it!” and smiled. (Background info- there is a sign at the airport when you’re arriving in Ghana: “Welcome to Ghana! All who come in peace are accepted in peace. We have no tolerance for pedophiles or any other of sexual deviants.” If that was not clear enough, homosexuality is a crime in Ghana.) The lecturer was a little taken aback. She wrote it on the board anyway but didn’t repeat it out loud as she had for the rest of them. Then a Ghanaian girl raised her hand and asked what it meant.
4) As we were listing off gender constructs, there was this guy sitting behind me that kept shaking his head and mumbling that it wasn’t true, that we were making it up. “There is no social difference between girls and boys. Anything that is acceptable for one is acceptable for both.” Someone gave the example of language/speech, that in some societies, men can curse whenever, it might even make them look cool, but it is completely frowned upon for a woman to curse. The guy behind me shook his head again and mumbled, “There is no difference between what a man can say and what a woman can say. It not acceptable for anyone to curse.” The first example that I could think of to disprove him was ghetto New York, but I didn’t think it would work well enough. I raised my hand. When the lecturer called on me, I faced the guy and waited until I had his attention. “You have doubt whether there is social inequality in language. Do you remember in the beginning of the class, when the lecturer asked everyone why they chose this course? A guy called out, ‘Because the lecturer is pretty.’ Do you think for one second that a girl could say the same thing to a male lecturer? No way! She’d be kicked out of the freaking country! It’s completely disrespectful!” The whole class got really loud right then. I’m not sure if they were agreeing with me or laughing at me or just saying pshaw. I like to think that they were saying, “Good point.”
Monday, January 25, 2010
Quick Unrelated Thoughts
What up, everyone- it's Rivky!
This is just a quick thought about living in a developing country- I'll hopefully be able to post more about it in the near future- but I think one of my favorite things about the country, which also make it so frustratingly difficult, is the overwhelming "developing"ness of everything. When people talk about a developing country, one assumes certain things- the electricity might not be amazing, maybe there isn't much internet, constant construction, etc. And all of that, plus much more, is so apparent here. I'll illustrate only about the construction- everywhere you are- on or off-campus, in the city or far out of the city, in poor or rich areas- there is constant construction going on. There are roads, but many, maybe even most, roads, are unpaved bumpy dirt paths. Walking to class is a constant tiyul(1), walking through shrubbery and taking shortcuts through dirt paths and sometimes even construction sites on campus.(2) My flip flops, which I bought the day before my flight, are so thin, I assume they'll break soon. There are also constant ditches and holes in the road and sidewalk and pathway- there is a huge ditch right outside the main campus, probably 30-40 feet down, 100 feet long, 20 feet wide. And it's not marked off- you're just supposed to know that it's there. Same with the gutters- they are entirely open, at the side of the road, and it's really easy to fall into them if you don't see where you're going.
But even though that's so frustrating, it's almost exciting to see the country being built around you. Even though I've been in Israel, where there is always constant construction, it's addition- they're adding a house, or a neighborhood in the Gush- they're not paving roads in the capital city. This is an entirely new experience, and it's pretty cool.
In terms of classes, I'm in a precarious situation. Besides for Twi(3), I've registered for five classes. I'm taking History of Western Medicine in Ghana, Faith and Practice of Islam, Africa and the Global System, and then African Traditional Dancing and African Drumming.(4) But because they won't switch the finals for us if they end up on shabbos, if the finals for any of these classes turn out to be on shabbos (we get a 'tentative' finals schedule next week), I have to drop the class and add another one.(5)
On Sunday, Zahava and I took a break and decided to be Western for a minute. We took a tro-tro to Shangri-La hotel, about a 10 minute ride, and paid 8 cedis to go swimming and lay by the pool and just relax, away from the people trying to sell you things, away from the heat and the noise- just relax. The best part- we hadn't had running water since Wednesday(6) and they had actual showers, so we got to shower after we swam.(7) After Shangri-La, we walked to the Accra Mall, where we watched Ghanaians watch the football(8) game on TV and drank South African yogurt, and then we went home. It was a very relaxing day- sometimes, you just need to get away from it.
(1) Very loosely translated as a hike.
(2) Near our dorm, called Pentagon, they're building the New Law Faculty. The building actually looks like a shul in the Gush, so we've been calling it the shul, as in, 'turn right after the shul.'
(3) Twi is the first language for most people in this region of Ghana, though they all learn English in school and speak it very well. We're all required to take a Twi ulpan-type thing, 8 hours a week for 6 weeks.
(4) All together, it's 16 credits, because drumming and dance are only two credits each.
(5) Obvious question- since this schedule is only tentative and the FINAL finals schedule comes out two weeks before finals, what do we do if something is changed and a class I am taking does end up with a final on shabbos? Answer: cry. Apparently, there is literally nothing they will do. But we're hoping that remains hypothetical.
(6) We got it back this morning, though! Baruch Hashem.
(7) I say swam, but I really only swam for 5 minutes. I was wearing an orange shirt to my elbows and they said I was only allowed to wear a white shirt when I swam. Go figure. Whatevs, 5 minutes was still nice, and I got to lay by the pool and shower and all that nice stuff.
(8) Soccer.
This is just a quick thought about living in a developing country- I'll hopefully be able to post more about it in the near future- but I think one of my favorite things about the country, which also make it so frustratingly difficult, is the overwhelming "developing"ness of everything. When people talk about a developing country, one assumes certain things- the electricity might not be amazing, maybe there isn't much internet, constant construction, etc. And all of that, plus much more, is so apparent here. I'll illustrate only about the construction- everywhere you are- on or off-campus, in the city or far out of the city, in poor or rich areas- there is constant construction going on. There are roads, but many, maybe even most, roads, are unpaved bumpy dirt paths. Walking to class is a constant tiyul(1), walking through shrubbery and taking shortcuts through dirt paths and sometimes even construction sites on campus.(2) My flip flops, which I bought the day before my flight, are so thin, I assume they'll break soon. There are also constant ditches and holes in the road and sidewalk and pathway- there is a huge ditch right outside the main campus, probably 30-40 feet down, 100 feet long, 20 feet wide. And it's not marked off- you're just supposed to know that it's there. Same with the gutters- they are entirely open, at the side of the road, and it's really easy to fall into them if you don't see where you're going.
But even though that's so frustrating, it's almost exciting to see the country being built around you. Even though I've been in Israel, where there is always constant construction, it's addition- they're adding a house, or a neighborhood in the Gush- they're not paving roads in the capital city. This is an entirely new experience, and it's pretty cool.
In terms of classes, I'm in a precarious situation. Besides for Twi(3), I've registered for five classes. I'm taking History of Western Medicine in Ghana, Faith and Practice of Islam, Africa and the Global System, and then African Traditional Dancing and African Drumming.(4) But because they won't switch the finals for us if they end up on shabbos, if the finals for any of these classes turn out to be on shabbos (we get a 'tentative' finals schedule next week), I have to drop the class and add another one.(5)
On Sunday, Zahava and I took a break and decided to be Western for a minute. We took a tro-tro to Shangri-La hotel, about a 10 minute ride, and paid 8 cedis to go swimming and lay by the pool and just relax, away from the people trying to sell you things, away from the heat and the noise- just relax. The best part- we hadn't had running water since Wednesday(6) and they had actual showers, so we got to shower after we swam.(7) After Shangri-La, we walked to the Accra Mall, where we watched Ghanaians watch the football(8) game on TV and drank South African yogurt, and then we went home. It was a very relaxing day- sometimes, you just need to get away from it.
(1) Very loosely translated as a hike.
(2) Near our dorm, called Pentagon, they're building the New Law Faculty. The building actually looks like a shul in the Gush, so we've been calling it the shul, as in, 'turn right after the shul.'
(3) Twi is the first language for most people in this region of Ghana, though they all learn English in school and speak it very well. We're all required to take a Twi ulpan-type thing, 8 hours a week for 6 weeks.
(4) All together, it's 16 credits, because drumming and dance are only two credits each.
(5) Obvious question- since this schedule is only tentative and the FINAL finals schedule comes out two weeks before finals, what do we do if something is changed and a class I am taking does end up with a final on shabbos? Answer: cry. Apparently, there is literally nothing they will do. But we're hoping that remains hypothetical.
(6) We got it back this morning, though! Baruch Hashem.
(7) I say swam, but I really only swam for 5 minutes. I was wearing an orange shirt to my elbows and they said I was only allowed to wear a white shirt when I swam. Go figure. Whatevs, 5 minutes was still nice, and I got to lay by the pool and shower and all that nice stuff.
(8) Soccer.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
not completely about food, but mostly.
It’s Zahava. We’re a week into the semester and slowly but shortly learning [from our mistakes]. An annoying proportion of things we try to do end up being complete disasters.
1) Food the first shabbos. We made boiled plantains and Israeli salad. Then we bought canned curried vegetables and canned spaghetti in tomato sauce. We wanted to make bread before shabbos, but we settled with matza. We didn’t have a fridge, so the plantains went bad by lunch. The dressing we bought for the Israeli salad was disgusting. The canned vegetables were decent, but the spaghetti was horrid. We had wanted to make bread on Thursday, but the only kosher yeast in the store was for making beer. We brought 6 boxes of matza: three egg matza and three flavored non-egg matza. Fun fun- all the egg matza boxes broke in transport. So we are running lower on matza than we thought.
2) The “yamballs.” In Rivky’s last post, she mentions that we made yamballs for this shabbos. I would just like to finish the story. First, we thought we were buying a yam (synonymous with sweet potato). Then, when making the batter, we realized we had bought a potato. We kept saying things like, “Oh. This is really good, but it would be even better with yams.” We thought we were such idiots and had bought the wrong vegetable. Then, turns out that in Ghana potatoes are called yams! So we did everything right the whole time! Footnote: we decided that they would actually better with sweet potatoes, so next time we make yamballs, we’re going to use sweet potato.
3) The fridge situation. I hesitate a little before posting this story because I fear that it is not finished yet. Here is the situation as of now. The day after we arrived in the country, we told a guy that we needed a fridge. Yeah, yeah, you’ll get one. We said we needed one before shabbos. He said we could get one by Friday. Great. Friday comes, and he tells us we will get one on Saturday. Saturday comes, and he tells us between 9 and 10am on Monday. That time didn’t work for any of us, so we asked if later in the day was okay. He doesn’t speak English so he reassured us that he will come at 9am. All four of us (Rivky, Yamit, Yamit’s roommate, and I) were planning on going to a class at 9:30am on Monday, so that was a little annoying. Odds are I wouldn’t be staying in the class, so I volunteered to wait here for the fridge. We called him at 9am on Monday to double check that he was actually coming, and he said he was coming at 3pm. I missed the class anyway. 3pm called him, and he said he was picking it up right then. 7pm he showed up in our suite with a “fridge” and charged us C5 more than the price we agreed on. Tuesday afternoon we notice it is freezing our all our food. There is no dial to turn down the temperature; it is simply a freezer. We told him on Wednesday. He brought us a new fridge today. It smelled horrible, so after shabbos, the first thing we did was clean the whole thing out. It took about an hour, but it looks and smells much better. It’s been on for about four hours. The freezer is working fine, but the fridge part seems to be broken. To be continued.
4) Classes. Classes started last week, and I have no idea what I’m taking yet. Besides Twi, I’m currently signed up for 11 classes. I already decided I’m dropping 3 of them. I went to the other 8. Out of those 8, only 2 of the professors even showed up to the first class. The final exam schedule doesn’t come out until later this week, so I won’t know about shabbos finals until then, so I can’t even know of the 8 classes which I have to drop. Ahh! How is it possible to really not know what classes you’re taking over a week into the semester?!
5) Showering. We’re getting used to bucket-showers. Once this week I wasn’t able to take a shower in over 24 hours. I have never felt more disgusting in my life.
6) Electricity. Last night, around 10pm, we’re sitting in our common room, and all of the sudden the light and the ceiling fan go out. The fans in the bedrooms are still working, and the electricity in every other suite in every other room in the building is still working. Mickey (our madrich/counselor/21-tear-old Ghanaian student) was sitting there with us. He said we might have gone over our monthly allowance. Ahhhh! No way!
Right now Yamit is taking a bucket shower in a dark bathroom. We had oatmeal for dinner.
1) Food the first shabbos. We made boiled plantains and Israeli salad. Then we bought canned curried vegetables and canned spaghetti in tomato sauce. We wanted to make bread before shabbos, but we settled with matza. We didn’t have a fridge, so the plantains went bad by lunch. The dressing we bought for the Israeli salad was disgusting. The canned vegetables were decent, but the spaghetti was horrid. We had wanted to make bread on Thursday, but the only kosher yeast in the store was for making beer. We brought 6 boxes of matza: three egg matza and three flavored non-egg matza. Fun fun- all the egg matza boxes broke in transport. So we are running lower on matza than we thought.
2) The “yamballs.” In Rivky’s last post, she mentions that we made yamballs for this shabbos. I would just like to finish the story. First, we thought we were buying a yam (synonymous with sweet potato). Then, when making the batter, we realized we had bought a potato. We kept saying things like, “Oh. This is really good, but it would be even better with yams.” We thought we were such idiots and had bought the wrong vegetable. Then, turns out that in Ghana potatoes are called yams! So we did everything right the whole time! Footnote: we decided that they would actually better with sweet potatoes, so next time we make yamballs, we’re going to use sweet potato.
3) The fridge situation. I hesitate a little before posting this story because I fear that it is not finished yet. Here is the situation as of now. The day after we arrived in the country, we told a guy that we needed a fridge. Yeah, yeah, you’ll get one. We said we needed one before shabbos. He said we could get one by Friday. Great. Friday comes, and he tells us we will get one on Saturday. Saturday comes, and he tells us between 9 and 10am on Monday. That time didn’t work for any of us, so we asked if later in the day was okay. He doesn’t speak English so he reassured us that he will come at 9am. All four of us (Rivky, Yamit, Yamit’s roommate, and I) were planning on going to a class at 9:30am on Monday, so that was a little annoying. Odds are I wouldn’t be staying in the class, so I volunteered to wait here for the fridge. We called him at 9am on Monday to double check that he was actually coming, and he said he was coming at 3pm. I missed the class anyway. 3pm called him, and he said he was picking it up right then. 7pm he showed up in our suite with a “fridge” and charged us C5 more than the price we agreed on. Tuesday afternoon we notice it is freezing our all our food. There is no dial to turn down the temperature; it is simply a freezer. We told him on Wednesday. He brought us a new fridge today. It smelled horrible, so after shabbos, the first thing we did was clean the whole thing out. It took about an hour, but it looks and smells much better. It’s been on for about four hours. The freezer is working fine, but the fridge part seems to be broken. To be continued.
4) Classes. Classes started last week, and I have no idea what I’m taking yet. Besides Twi, I’m currently signed up for 11 classes. I already decided I’m dropping 3 of them. I went to the other 8. Out of those 8, only 2 of the professors even showed up to the first class. The final exam schedule doesn’t come out until later this week, so I won’t know about shabbos finals until then, so I can’t even know of the 8 classes which I have to drop. Ahh! How is it possible to really not know what classes you’re taking over a week into the semester?!
5) Showering. We’re getting used to bucket-showers. Once this week I wasn’t able to take a shower in over 24 hours. I have never felt more disgusting in my life.
6) Electricity. Last night, around 10pm, we’re sitting in our common room, and all of the sudden the light and the ceiling fan go out. The fans in the bedrooms are still working, and the electricity in every other suite in every other room in the building is still working. Mickey (our madrich/counselor/21-tear-old Ghanaian student) was sitting there with us. He said we might have gone over our monthly allowance. Ahhhh! No way!
Right now Yamit is taking a bucket shower in a dark bathroom. We had oatmeal for dinner.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
A Noticeably High Proportion of Our Posts Have Been About Food, Haven't They?
**I switched to numbers, as a way of footnoting. So everyone can stop yelling at me, kthanks.**
Hi, it's Rivky! I'm sitting in the common room at 1 in the morning, watching Zahava fry potato balls.(1) CIEE has a trip tomorrow, so we're not going to have time to cook for shabbos, so we made everything today. Yesterday, we made beer bread- yeah, I meant to say that. Since there's no kosher yeast and we haven't been able to make challah yet, we improvised. Yamit likes to share little tidbits of wisdom with us, and she's informed us that beer bread was very popular in the 70s (often eaten with Jello!). Today, while Yamit and I were at Shoprite (more on that later), Zahava made fried plantains, and now, we're finishing up the potato balls.(2)
To buy all these ingredients, we took our first trip to Medina Market today.(3) We went with Ann, our first Ghanaian friend! It was ridiculous- like the shuk in Yerushalayim, but on crack. It was packed, and we were the only oborunis (white people) in the entire place. We stood out like a sore thumb(4). We bought mangoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, plantains and a yam.(5) We also bought bananas, and ate them on the spot. They were delicious; the bananas here are amazing, plentiful and incredibly cheap. They're also about half the size of American bananas.
Anyway, back to the current activity, frying 'yam' balls. When we tried the batter, we realized that we had bought a potato, and not a yam. In this country, apparently, there is actually no way to tell them apart. Hehe. We panicked a little bit, but we figured we'd just make them anyway. Turns out they're delicous- Zahava and I keep snacking on them. The first couple are actually ball shaped, but then we got bored because WOW they were taking a long time to cook, so the rest of them look more like latkes.(6) They're amazing. Can't wait until shabbos- we have a feast! Bread, fried plantains, yam balls(7), and salad?
Okay, we're almost done. Normally, we would wash the dishes now, but the water is out. Duh. We had to do bucket showers tonight- we took the buckets to the spigot across the street, where we filled them up(8) and lugged them back to the building, up the two flights of stairs, and into the showers, trying not to spill too much along the way. It was a thrill.
Tomorrow, we're going to Abonsi, a village about 90 minutes away from Legon. Apparently, while at Abonsi, "we will get the opportunity to meet with some of the local leaders of the town and also and also a traditional ruler to see how local governance takes place in communities in Ghana." Should be interesting. Maybe I'll even get to be made queen of a village!(9)
Oh, almost forgot! At Shoprite, we ran into Moshe and Uri, two of the Israelis living in Accra! We talked to them for a while, then Uri drove us back to campus and we met Sarah, the frum girl living in ISH (International Students Hostel). It was great, and we're planning on doing a lot of shabbatot together, but the best part is that Moshe's apartment has a WASHING MACHINE and he is letting us use it!!! Our hand-washing was a miserable failure last week, so this is a big step for us. Very thrilling.(10) Okay, time for bed! We have to be on the bus tomorrow morning in under 6 hours. Fun.
(1) They were supposed to be yam balls, an authentic Ghanian food. But they're not. More on that later.
(2) A real team effort. Yamit made the mashed potatoes, I shaped the balls, and Zahava is doing the bulk of the frying.
(3) Presumably named after the city in Saudi Arabia, not the Hebrew word for country. But who knows?
(4) But how much do sore thumbs even stand out? I, for one, never even look at thumbs.
(5) Or not a yam. Whatever. Still more on that later, promise bli neder!!!
(6) And these are literally potato pancakes. For future reference, even though I don't usually like latkes, apparently, when the potatoes are mashed, I do!
(7) GO AWAY we're still calling them yam balls, even if they're not.
(8) Good question on Yamit's part- if there is water across the street, is there really no way to make it get up to our suite?
(9) Shout-out to Elana! Or really her friend, who was made queen of a Ghanaian village she visited last year. How awesome.
(10) Also, at Shoprite, we bought Magnum. Amazing. A shabbos treat!
Hi, it's Rivky! I'm sitting in the common room at 1 in the morning, watching Zahava fry potato balls.(1) CIEE has a trip tomorrow, so we're not going to have time to cook for shabbos, so we made everything today. Yesterday, we made beer bread- yeah, I meant to say that. Since there's no kosher yeast and we haven't been able to make challah yet, we improvised. Yamit likes to share little tidbits of wisdom with us, and she's informed us that beer bread was very popular in the 70s (often eaten with Jello!). Today, while Yamit and I were at Shoprite (more on that later), Zahava made fried plantains, and now, we're finishing up the potato balls.(2)
To buy all these ingredients, we took our first trip to Medina Market today.(3) We went with Ann, our first Ghanaian friend! It was ridiculous- like the shuk in Yerushalayim, but on crack. It was packed, and we were the only oborunis (white people) in the entire place. We stood out like a sore thumb(4). We bought mangoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, plantains and a yam.(5) We also bought bananas, and ate them on the spot. They were delicious; the bananas here are amazing, plentiful and incredibly cheap. They're also about half the size of American bananas.
Anyway, back to the current activity, frying 'yam' balls. When we tried the batter, we realized that we had bought a potato, and not a yam. In this country, apparently, there is actually no way to tell them apart. Hehe. We panicked a little bit, but we figured we'd just make them anyway. Turns out they're delicous- Zahava and I keep snacking on them. The first couple are actually ball shaped, but then we got bored because WOW they were taking a long time to cook, so the rest of them look more like latkes.(6) They're amazing. Can't wait until shabbos- we have a feast! Bread, fried plantains, yam balls(7), and salad?
Okay, we're almost done. Normally, we would wash the dishes now, but the water is out. Duh. We had to do bucket showers tonight- we took the buckets to the spigot across the street, where we filled them up(8) and lugged them back to the building, up the two flights of stairs, and into the showers, trying not to spill too much along the way. It was a thrill.
Tomorrow, we're going to Abonsi, a village about 90 minutes away from Legon. Apparently, while at Abonsi, "we will get the opportunity to meet with some of the local leaders of the town and also and also a traditional ruler to see how local governance takes place in communities in Ghana." Should be interesting. Maybe I'll even get to be made queen of a village!(9)
Oh, almost forgot! At Shoprite, we ran into Moshe and Uri, two of the Israelis living in Accra! We talked to them for a while, then Uri drove us back to campus and we met Sarah, the frum girl living in ISH (International Students Hostel). It was great, and we're planning on doing a lot of shabbatot together, but the best part is that Moshe's apartment has a WASHING MACHINE and he is letting us use it!!! Our hand-washing was a miserable failure last week, so this is a big step for us. Very thrilling.(10) Okay, time for bed! We have to be on the bus tomorrow morning in under 6 hours. Fun.
(1) They were supposed to be yam balls, an authentic Ghanian food. But they're not. More on that later.
(2) A real team effort. Yamit made the mashed potatoes, I shaped the balls, and Zahava is doing the bulk of the frying.
(3) Presumably named after the city in Saudi Arabia, not the Hebrew word for country. But who knows?
(4) But how much do sore thumbs even stand out? I, for one, never even look at thumbs.
(5) Or not a yam. Whatever. Still more on that later, promise bli neder!!!
(6) And these are literally potato pancakes. For future reference, even though I don't usually like latkes, apparently, when the potatoes are mashed, I do!
(7) GO AWAY we're still calling them yam balls, even if they're not.
(8) Good question on Yamit's part- if there is water across the street, is there really no way to make it get up to our suite?
(9) Shout-out to Elana! Or really her friend, who was made queen of a Ghanaian village she visited last year. How awesome.
(10) Also, at Shoprite, we bought Magnum. Amazing. A shabbos treat!
Monday, January 18, 2010
move over hokie-pokie, i've got food!
Zahava here. A little confused. A little stressed. A little frustrated. I’m trying to go with the flow.
By the way, I’m really glad they said it was REALLY IMPORTANT! to be here for orientation. Today is our one-week anniversary of being in Ghana, and we would not have missed a thing if we came today. Most of the Ghanaians aren’t even here yet. The third room in our suite is still empty. Yes, classes started today. No, neither of my professors showed up to class, nor did 90% of the students. Apparently, the first week of classes doesn’t really count. Classes are technically in session, but no one is expected to go. Except sometimes it’s important. But you can’t predict.
As classes have yet to start, yesterday we went to the beach. Fun fact: Before we left, I made sure to put on a lot of sun screen. To my demise, I did not do a very good job. I have burn patches on my collar, the back of my hands, and the back of my left arm. Okay, so here is a summary of the beach. A lot of impressive Ghanaians were playing Soccer. I wanted to join. So I went over to a guy standing on the side, and he said no. These guys are really intense. But he hurt his foot, so he can’t play, so I do want to toss the ball around a little on the side? Yes! We played for about an hour with a few different guys coming in and out. It was awesome and quite sweaty. When I couldn’t breathe anymore, I pulled Yamit into the water. We “swam” for also about an hour also. Men do not understand the concept of personal space to say the least. Guys will walk up to you, introduce themselves, shake your hand, and not let go for ten minutes while they try to have a whole conversation with you that ends in asking for your phone number. Literally, I have touched more guys in this past week that in my entire life before that.
Here are a few stories that sum up my beach experience.
1) Three guys proposed to me and Yamit at the same time. They all got down on one knee in the ocean.
2) When I asked one of them why he wanted to marry me, he said, “I want to marry a white girl so I can have white children.”
3) Yamit and I were holding hands for most of the time in the water because we were scared of being separated. They asked us why we were holding hands. “You know,” one of them said, “it’s illegal in this country for two girls to swim together in the sea.”
4) (And last but not least…) “Okay. Really, I have a serious question. I’ve had this question for a really long time. I’ve been waiting to meet a white person, so I can finally know the answer. Okay. So you know how our women are shaped like guitars? (He did a nice curved outline in the air with his hands.) You know how you girls are not? Is that because your mothers never caressed you when you were babies?” I died of laughter! I did not know what to do with myself. “You know,” he continued, “when you have a baby girl, you shape her a** (he made the air gesture again) and you shape her head. Don’t you guys do that?” Really?! My culture is the weird one here because we don’t shape our baby girls butts so they’re curvaceous?
Sunday night we also had this big dinner party thing with a live traditional African band and then performance. There was also this girl who is with us for three weeks who I met. She got this amazing scholarship from her school to do this on-site research project. She’s studying African dance in Africa versus in the Diaspora. She’s going to like 15 countries, each for three weeks. It’s all paid for with this scholarship! How amazing!
Now, on to today. I’m not going to write too much as to not bore you, but firstly, as I mentioned earlier, people have no respect for schedules. They make a schedule, tell people there is going to be class, and then the professor doesn’t show up. Not okay. This happened in both of my classes today. Secondly, Rivky and I were walking back from dance “class” today around noon, the hottest part of the day. I had been walking around all day, and I was dying of heat. We finally made it up to our rooms, collapsed on the chairs and each screamed, “I need to shower!” I go into the shower and THERE’S NO WATER ! Luckily, there was still a little in the faucet that comes out of the wall of the shower, despite there being none in the shower head. So I filled up a bucket and took a splash-shower. I have never felt more uncouth, but it felt so good.
After Twi (my only class today because it’s given by CIEE, not U of Ghana), I was seriously craving something sweet. I wanted a cookie or something. Oddly enough, we are fresh out of cookies. So baked some! Well, first I fried some. All we have is flour, sugar, eggs, and oil, but I decided that would be enough. I mixed them in a proportion that seemed appropriate and fried them. They were great! Then we went all out. Yamit sorted and cooked rice with onion soup mix. Yum! She also made scrambled eggs with garlic powder salt that we bought at Shoprite last week. After dinner I made another batch of cookies, but this time I baked them. Dee-Lih-shus! Basically, dinner was amazing. Tonight was the first time since I left America that I have been full, that there has been more left over that I was unwanting and unwilling to eat. It was a great feeling.
I do not yet have a schedule for the semester, but I have food. Life is good.
P.S. So far, there is really only one class that I am determined to take. Home Science 412 - Select Topics in Home Management. I am so excited!
By the way, I’m really glad they said it was REALLY IMPORTANT! to be here for orientation. Today is our one-week anniversary of being in Ghana, and we would not have missed a thing if we came today. Most of the Ghanaians aren’t even here yet. The third room in our suite is still empty. Yes, classes started today. No, neither of my professors showed up to class, nor did 90% of the students. Apparently, the first week of classes doesn’t really count. Classes are technically in session, but no one is expected to go. Except sometimes it’s important. But you can’t predict.
As classes have yet to start, yesterday we went to the beach. Fun fact: Before we left, I made sure to put on a lot of sun screen. To my demise, I did not do a very good job. I have burn patches on my collar, the back of my hands, and the back of my left arm. Okay, so here is a summary of the beach. A lot of impressive Ghanaians were playing Soccer. I wanted to join. So I went over to a guy standing on the side, and he said no. These guys are really intense. But he hurt his foot, so he can’t play, so I do want to toss the ball around a little on the side? Yes! We played for about an hour with a few different guys coming in and out. It was awesome and quite sweaty. When I couldn’t breathe anymore, I pulled Yamit into the water. We “swam” for also about an hour also. Men do not understand the concept of personal space to say the least. Guys will walk up to you, introduce themselves, shake your hand, and not let go for ten minutes while they try to have a whole conversation with you that ends in asking for your phone number. Literally, I have touched more guys in this past week that in my entire life before that.
Here are a few stories that sum up my beach experience.
1) Three guys proposed to me and Yamit at the same time. They all got down on one knee in the ocean.
2) When I asked one of them why he wanted to marry me, he said, “I want to marry a white girl so I can have white children.”
3) Yamit and I were holding hands for most of the time in the water because we were scared of being separated. They asked us why we were holding hands. “You know,” one of them said, “it’s illegal in this country for two girls to swim together in the sea.”
4) (And last but not least…) “Okay. Really, I have a serious question. I’ve had this question for a really long time. I’ve been waiting to meet a white person, so I can finally know the answer. Okay. So you know how our women are shaped like guitars? (He did a nice curved outline in the air with his hands.) You know how you girls are not? Is that because your mothers never caressed you when you were babies?” I died of laughter! I did not know what to do with myself. “You know,” he continued, “when you have a baby girl, you shape her a** (he made the air gesture again) and you shape her head. Don’t you guys do that?” Really?! My culture is the weird one here because we don’t shape our baby girls butts so they’re curvaceous?
Sunday night we also had this big dinner party thing with a live traditional African band and then performance. There was also this girl who is with us for three weeks who I met. She got this amazing scholarship from her school to do this on-site research project. She’s studying African dance in Africa versus in the Diaspora. She’s going to like 15 countries, each for three weeks. It’s all paid for with this scholarship! How amazing!
Now, on to today. I’m not going to write too much as to not bore you, but firstly, as I mentioned earlier, people have no respect for schedules. They make a schedule, tell people there is going to be class, and then the professor doesn’t show up. Not okay. This happened in both of my classes today. Secondly, Rivky and I were walking back from dance “class” today around noon, the hottest part of the day. I had been walking around all day, and I was dying of heat. We finally made it up to our rooms, collapsed on the chairs and each screamed, “I need to shower!” I go into the shower and THERE’S NO WATER ! Luckily, there was still a little in the faucet that comes out of the wall of the shower, despite there being none in the shower head. So I filled up a bucket and took a splash-shower. I have never felt more uncouth, but it felt so good.
After Twi (my only class today because it’s given by CIEE, not U of Ghana), I was seriously craving something sweet. I wanted a cookie or something. Oddly enough, we are fresh out of cookies. So baked some! Well, first I fried some. All we have is flour, sugar, eggs, and oil, but I decided that would be enough. I mixed them in a proportion that seemed appropriate and fried them. They were great! Then we went all out. Yamit sorted and cooked rice with onion soup mix. Yum! She also made scrambled eggs with garlic powder salt that we bought at Shoprite last week. After dinner I made another batch of cookies, but this time I baked them. Dee-Lih-shus! Basically, dinner was amazing. Tonight was the first time since I left America that I have been full, that there has been more left over that I was unwanting and unwilling to eat. It was a great feeling.
I do not yet have a schedule for the semester, but I have food. Life is good.
P.S. So far, there is really only one class that I am determined to take. Home Science 412 - Select Topics in Home Management. I am so excited!
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