Fry's Funny Farm

Last misc pictures

2015-05-18T12:32:00.000-07:00

For too many Ghanaians, there just isn't enough business to keep busy, so instead of figuring out economics, they just subsist and that means frequent naps and just plain hanging around (reminds me of American youth who don't know the value of work). I don't believe Ghanaians are a lazy people, but they refuse to change their economics so that's what it looks like -- a perpetual siesta, or just chit chatting waiting for customers.

Then there are those roadside attractions/vendors that just make Ghana, Ghana.

Cell phone credit vendor is given away by the umbrella

Clothing

Multiple vendors

Empty vendor booths near the toll booth

Lower class vendor booths

One of the water factories -- While there is bottled water in the country (there is no water distribution system for potable water), most use little plastic bags of drinkable water that holds half a liter. This is one of the drinking water factories near Ayikuma.

And finally a couple of shots of transporting people.

First the full!! trotro (private bus that's cheaper than a taxi, but you pay in smells and being squished). They'll load these Asian mini-vans that normally hold 8 with 12 people by installing folding chairs and the like. It doesn't look fun, though Mariah got around on them a couple of times.

Here's the trotro's "hustler" -- the guy who drums up business by calling out his destination, takes the peoples fare and tells the driver when to stop to offload someone.

And the friendly school bus that got us to/from work nearly everyday -- what fun!! It held up to 35 people!

Roads or the lack thereof

2015-05-18T12:20:00.002-07:00

Very little of the country is paved (at least outside the city center), and that is pretty flimsy (potholes everywhere, and they don't have to worry about freezing conditions deteriorating the roads), so most of the roads are dirt, and many of them remind me of a stream bed that's being used as a road.

Standard crooked dirt road, but not bad.

Dirt road ending as a field or may the other way around

Long and narrow dirt road

Long and wide dirt road.

Ruts!!

End of pavement and start of dirt (not much of a transition)

good paved road with the standard gutter system (if they would only cover it so the smell of the sewer didn't reach your nose).

Main road to Accra from the country getting crowded

Wide dirt road.

Is it a parking lot or a road or both?

Close up of the gutter system.

Paved without gutter system

Road?

Police at the toll booth

The most hated sign in Ghana -- the speed bump which serves as the police system for slowing everyone down.

A stream that is used as a road.

Approaching the toll booth.

The traffic problem -- everyone wants to use the same road -- trucks, cars, pedestrians, bicycles, etc.

Another example of traffic of all kinds.

Road or path?

Gutter system and a dirt road.

Various Housing pictures

2015-05-18T12:10:00.001-07:00

Cement, not wood, and poly tanks as cisterns, not running water since the water isn't drinkable, and plenty of barbed wire for protection.

Laundry is always hung outside to dry.

It may be apartment living, but by golly, we'll have sattelite TV!

Typical squalor.

The ubiquitous poly tanks (cisterns) holding water

Again, it may not be much, but heck if anyone is going to break into my home!! I was shocked to see all the barbed wire and other defensive measures to defend a home, but Emmanuel explained that the police don't do much when it comes to protecting against burglary.

Construction, car repair, and furniture

2015-05-18T12:00:00.002-07:00

All construction in Ghana is with cement since the ants and termites will destroy nearly any wood structure (they do use wood for roof rafters to hold up the metal roofing).

Bamboo poles used to support concrete forms

Hey, if you can't hold your roof down with regular construction, use whatever you can.

Car repair is also closely aligned to getting rid of undrivable cars awaiting some unknown future. Here is a good use for all those old tires.

Ghanaian furniture is good quality, but I chuckled at the method of selling it alongside the road as a vendro

Various businesses

2015-05-18T11:50:00.004-07:00

Ghana is primarily a retail industry -- very little is produced, everyone just sets up a kiosk and sells just about the same thing as the guy/gal just down the road (I once recorded 18 businesses in a couple mile stretch of road each with nearly identical goods to sell -- building materials), and since Ghanaians don't understand/accept the laws of supply and demand, and how price effects supply/demand, but instead, are very much a socialistic people (we're all equal together), price doesn't change from vendor to vendor. What's a customer to do? It's a system that doesn't help the customer nor the business, but that's what Ghana does.

Too many gas stations, and not enough customers leads to empty gas stations -- everywhere. The state sets the price of gas no matter where in the country the gas is sold. Three more gas stations were under construction along the main road between Ayikuma and Adenta where there's already a plethora of gas stations. Why? I can only think that Ghanaians think pumping gas would be an easy job, so not understanding supply and demand, more gas stations are erected for the same number of customers. Oh well.

But on the bright side is the beautiful gardens and fruit trees and vendors. There is no better pineapple, coconut, mango, banana, avocados, and citrus in Ghana!

Mango trees!!

Vendors alongside the road on the drive in.

Church and business advertisements

2015-05-18T11:27:00.002-07:00

For those who don't believe me when I say that the most highly advertised business in Ghana is the church, maybe these pictures will provide sufficient evidence. The signs are everywhere. I suspect American atheists would be outside of their comfort zone in Ghana. I found it so refreshing to be able to talk about religion with anyone I desired, but I also became frustrated with Ghanaians' reliance on God to do everything for them rather than working in partnership with Him -- the Arabic/Muslim form of this dependence which leads to an excuse for not getting things done that an individual had been promised to do is "Imshala" (sp?) which translates "God willing." In Ghana (only ~10% Muslim), the culture says "By the Grace of God." I may agree with the overall philosophy, but in those parts of the world where the environment reigns over man (death, disease, struggles just to live, etc.), the common interpretation by man for all of the woes of life is to ascribe (blame) everything on God's will, absent anything that could have been altered by their own works. In the west we have largely conquered our environment (despite the hue and cry of my eco freako friends), but have lost our faith in doing so -- we have become as Korihor in the Book of Mormon where man fares by "the management of the creature," in other words, it's all up to us (God doesn't exist or at least intervene). Is it possible to have the balance in life of faith (dependence on God) and works (get off your sweet ..... and make a difference in your life and those around you)? That I believe is the challenge of this life.

Enough preaching. Here are the pictures.

Oops, I forgot all these too!!

This phrase "Allahu Akbar" was not my favorite since it is used in the Muslim culture whenever throats are slit as seen in various terrorist videos. This stand doesn't bother me as it is a meat slaughter facility, but when the phrase is posted on the read end of a trotro (private "bus"), with drops of blood pictured with the saying, I'm not really thrilled.

The following are all businesses that have some religious slogan in their name -- Have I convinced you that religion is part of this culture yet??

Beauty Shops

2015-05-18T11:15:00.002-07:00

Life is difficult in Ghana for most people with much of life seemingly outside their control. But one thing that they can control is their outward appearance. They love to dress nicely and appear will groomed. Consequently, the only sight more commonly seen than religious advertisements is that of the beauty shop -- they are everywhere. I guess the thinking is that it's an easy job -- everyone has beauty skills, there's little capital required, and everyone is constantly getting a new do, so business should be brisk. But Ghanaians either refuse to learn or accept the laws of supply and demand, or they choose to ignore them with the result that there are more beauty shops than customers, or so it seems.

As you can see, the beauty shops are just for females either with plenty of male barber shops.

What's always amazing is the beauty shop amid the squalor.

The Ayikuma school campus

2015-05-18T11:07:00.002-07:00

While we worked in the Adenta school, we lived about 18 miles away in Ayikuma where the future university campus is located. Here are images from that school.

The administration building

Front of the admin building

One of the boarding buildings -- in this one, Emmanuel & family lived in the left most bottom apartment. We lived in a similar apartment in the other boarding building.

We frequently ate outside under the "summer cottage" or pavilion. As we were leaving, this building was undergoing significant changes to enclose it and make a cooking attachment to the building in anticipation of the university students' needs.

Sam is modeling his school uniform in front of one of the classroom buildings.

And finally, this is the hostel where we stayed, and in the background you can see the house that's under construction for Emmanuel, Natasha, and family (some day!!).

2015-05-18T10:59:00.001-07:00

It's been far too long since I last posted, and since we are now back in the US, these last few posts will be the last posts, but I do want to post many of the photos we took while in Ghana. Due to the size of the photo files, these last posts will be broken into smaller segments rather than attempting to upload all photos at once.

First topic is animals -- Ghana is loaded with them in a fairly free range mentality. You will find the ubiquitous chicken everywhere including in the city streets, the small herd of goats (usually the pygmy version), sheep, dogs, and various bugs, but they don't photograph well. Oddly, there are very few cats; I don't know why, but cats are not part of Ghanaian culture. As for all the other animals, they wander everywhere!! For those who adore free range chickens, you need to move to Ghana where the chickens freely range the entire country. I don't know how, but they somehow know where their owner lives!

Just so you wouldn't think that we were fooling about the size of the termites mounds over there, the above photo gives you a size comparison to Samuel who usually stands around 4 feet something. BIG mounds.

The Mysterious Visitor

2015-04-07T02:37:00.000-07:00

It started in December; I would awaken in the night and hear a rhythmic breathy sound very near. When I first heard it, I though Michael was breathing rather loudly. Then, abruptly, it would stop--and restart a few minutes later. No, it wasn't Michael. Nor was it Sam, sleeping on the edge of our bed after a bad dream. No one stopped and started breathing like that. Snakes maybe? Fighting a courtship or territorial dance right outside our window? Maybe--but they wouldn't do it every night, all through the night. No, not snakes. Michael noticed bird activity in our roof, but I couldn't imagine birds making that almost human, breathing sound.

We puzzled over it for weeks, hearing it nightly. Uncannily, the sound seemed to be right in the room with us, sometimes haunting, always taunting: where did it come from? Finally someone sighted an owl. I didn't know owls lived here, but sure enough, Natasha's African bird book told about barn owls in West Africa that were known to hiss and snap. A week later Michael pointed out our specimen: a 15-inch light brown owl,white faced and fronted, with huge eyes, alight on the internet tower beside our bedroom window. Of course, it saw us, and began snapping and hissing territorially. The unmistakeable hiss. Creature confirmed.

An example of our nightly guest

The tower beside our bedroom window

Apparently our owl had been causing a commotion among the other birds in our developing under-roof aviary. Perhaps he was the cause for the mysterious lack of noisy toads around our place, even following a heavy rain. (At Natasha's place, the toads were loud enough to awaken the entire family!) Maybe he was feasting on the many and unwelcome mice and rats in the area--we had seen none recently. Soon the hissing became a rather friendly "just checking in" sound we heard nightly. And smiled.

But now he is gone. No more hissing, snapping or roofline rustle. Off he has moved to happier hunting grounds or quieter accommodations; who knows? As mysteriously as he came, he has departed. Bonjour, mon ami. We will miss you.

Africa devoured me

2015-04-07T00:19:00.000-07:00

I look back at my blog posts and I am horrified to see that I haven't posted anything since January--and now it's April, one week before our departure. Why didn't I post more? Did nothing happen? No, simply the reverse: Africa chewed us up and has swallowed and will spit us out.

Things started apace in January. School again, new interns, visitors, illness. And routine: we got up and went to bed early, I continued to pray mightily for my students (help me learn to manage the active, sometimes very rough, little ones) and practice piano and violin. We marched in place. One of the interns could play trombone, so she gave me some impromptu lessons, and some evenings were filled with unsettling honks and growls. I couldn't think of anything to write.

Emily, one of our sweet interns

Nichole--the goat queen and trombone teacher

Then Michael became ill and I didn't have time to write. One Sunday in February he noticed a knot of infection developing in his left calf, red and painful to the touch. By Thursday it was so painful he couldn't sleep. We feared a blood clot. Michael was concerned about the medical situation here, and had vowed that he would leave early if he had to have medical care. But he knew it would be dangerous to fly with a blood clot, and he was in too much pain to travel. So it would have to be solved here. Natasha recommended a well-respected hospital and off we went, taking the long drive into Accra. We felt good about the doctor there, and had a blood test and picked up meds, but couldn't get the recommended ultrasound scan that would tell us if it was a blood clot. After driving around for more than an hour trying to find places to do the scan we gave up and came back the next day. Redness went down, pain went away, scan showed no clot. But it never really healed. Ten days later we were back asking for more meds. Got compression socks. He started taking short walks. I wondered about Michael's blessing, given by Emmanuel, that told Michael that he would be healed, and he would see the hand of God in the healing.

Somewhere in all this, we got a chance to go to the temple, and we all put Michael's name on the prayer roll. It was at this point, his healing really began. When the second batch of meds ran out, with the leg still slightly warm and the lump still visible, the pain didn't come back. Michael felt good about walking regularly and conscientiously wore his compression stocking. Slowly the knot began to loosen. Each week it grew smaller and the warmth faded. by late March the knot had disappeared. We knew it was the temple that had made the difference.

Mariah, too, began to have problems with her legs. She didn't sleep under her net at night, and got bitten on her legs. Then she couldn't leave them alone and scratched and picked at them. The creams we gave her didn't seem to help, and people at school began to comment on how bitten she looked. Embarrasment--she is already very visible as the only obroni girl in school, now she was coddled and counciled. The principal scolded her for wearing leggings under her uniform--then bought her some special soap when she saw the legs herself. Mariah cried in private and tried the soap and more creams. Finally we gave up and took her to the doctor, to. The oral and topical fianlly started her healing. Today her legs are unblemished and unscarred.

Mariah's infected legs

side view

Through all this, Sam and I remained healthy and happy. No illness to speak of, success at school, routine at home. It has been a good second term. Until late March.

My turn. Monday was a regular day, but by midnight, I was heaving up everything and feverish. Tuesday found me confused, with a high temperature and an inability to eat or drink. Haven't been this sick in a long time. Natasha and Michael threatened the hospital if I continued to refuse food and water, but I couldn't do it. Malaria? The usually-correct home test showed negative, but Emmanuel recommended we start on the meds anyway. Slowly I started to feel better, eating more each day. But I am on my third week now, and am still weak: I must rest often. I can't eat much, and African food that I have enjoyed all this time is a struggle. I've lost a lot of weight and feel fragile. Of course, now I have a cold and have shared it with Sam and Mariah. I have been so protected, so blessed, but now I think it is time for us to go home. We are being spit out.

December Holidays

2015-01-16T23:43:00.001-08:00

12-30-2014

At the beginning of December, (and Hamatan), Natasha and Emmanuel hosted their transplanted American Thanksgiving feast with their extended family, who love it and ask about it. We celebrated on December 5^th with 40 guests. Natasha wisely made food assignments. We had ostrich and pork kebabs, pizza, pork and rice, salad, mashed potatoes, rolls, cream of mushroom soup, pie and ice cream. Michael, Sam, Mariah and I made five pies: banana cream, coconut cream, chocolate cream, pumpkin and lemon meringue.

In preparation, Natasha took me shopping at an “obroni” (Twi for “white-man”—as opposed to
“bebini”, which means black man) market—a beautiful, American-style, overpriced market that is so busy with expatriate business that we could hardly find a parking space. (Natasha commented that this is the store where we, in true Obroni style, see and ignore each other. If Africans meet each other in America, they visit and invite each other over to their homes. No so with the Obronis. I wonder why.) Cream was about twice the price as in Alaska; I just closed my eyes and paid. (We also found and bought mousetraps—a huge coup, as we have been searching for traps for months in vain. Here we also found Obroni hair conditioner and European cheeses. You pay, but at least you can find it.)

Family began arriving around 11:00 a.m. Several of the women began assembling and grilling the kebabs; first pork, then ostrich. Food was placed on long, vinyl covered tables in the school assembly hall. We started feasting at noon; everyone on staff was invited, too, from the Ghanain cook to the college registrar. As we ate. we asked everyone to share what they were thankful for. Health, family, friends, spouses, the gospel. Some English I could hardly understand. Others spoke in native tongues, and had to be translated. After the meal, while the adults digested and talked, the children, hosted by Mariah and another family teen corralled the 10 or so children and prepared a short Thanksgiving play. Joyfully the children played dying Pilgrims and feasting Indians in turn. We laughed as Grandpa protested, “Now you are alive again!” Then it was time for pie and a huge tub of ice cream. Everyone wanted a taste of every kind of pie—we got good at making very thin slices. We lingered over the dessert, then cleaned up, chatted more, and families began to go. A lovely holiday.

Making Ostrich kebabs for our Thanksgiving feast

On Christmas Eve, Natasha and I and Mariah and Sam spent much of the day at the chapel preparing for the evening Ward Christmas party. (I found it interesting that the ward leadership felt that this was the perfect time for a ward party—no one really objected that it intruded upon their family time.) The menu included Froggy Yam—originally a dish made with frogs--we substituted chicken, sobelo: a spicy drink made with boiled hibiscus leaves and lots of grated ginger, tiny hot peppers, sugar, cloves, and allspice, jalaf rice—very like (and probably the origin of) jambalaya and fried spicy pieces of plantain. We cooked the food under the spreading branches of mango trees in front of our tiny chapel in huge cauldrons over coal pots—charcoal cookers about 2 feet tall that put out enough heat—if constantly fanned—to boil vats of juice or cook a cauldron of chicken. It took us—about 10 RS sisters and several youth who helped with the many babies—almost the whole day to prepare the vegetables, fry up the yam, the plantain and the chicken, cook the rice and the sobelo. It was a pleasant time to get to know the sisters and to prepare different kinds of food. Light was off—no electrical power—but we managed to do everything without it. I wish I had brought my camera.

Our ward chapel, under the spreading mango trees. this is where we sat and cooked, and later, sat and ate.

In the evening was the ward party. The men had set up chairs under the same mango trees and put up a TV/ video setup and some lights (electricity was back on again). After a few brief words from our leaders (our high councilor taught the round “Make New Friends”, and we sang it in four groups beautifully—though he had to tell them exactly how to sing a round first) we watched the old “Johnny Lingo” movie from BYU. Meanwhile, sisters were busy inside, getting the food ready. Suddenly lights went out! Nearby, someone launched a few fireworks. We oohed and aahed (though one toddler screamed in sheer terror), fumbled for lights and got ready to attach the generator when—hooray—light back on! (Natasha told me later she suspected the fireworks shooters had put out the neighborhood lights so they could see their display better. Perhaps.) Then, very like the Tongan farewell party in the movie The Other Side of Heaven, we all sat together and watched another movie: Joseph Smith: The Prophet of the Restoration. Bottled sobolo was distributed, as was food, served in take-out style styrofoam clamshells. It wasn’t light enough to see what we were eating, so every forkful was an adventure. I was sleepy in the dim light and dozed. Sam stretched out on the chairs and slept with his head in my lap. Halfway through, at 8:30 p.m., the bishop paused the film, thanked us for coming, said we could stay and watch if we wanted, but it was late, and time to close. Suddenly, pitch blackness: light was off again. Perfect timing. Out came the big flashlights and we all cleaned up and stacked chairs, wished each other a Merry Christmas, and went home.

Our Christmas tree that Mariah painted--beautiful--with Dante and Iris and Sam

Once home, the children were jazzed—it was Christmas Eve, after all—so we gathered in our little family room around the Christmas tree mural that Mariah had painted, and pulled out the towels and robes and belts and sheets for a Christmas Story play. Everyone had a part, with Iris trying on all the other costumes when it was over, just for fun. Bedtime.

Iris and Dante in our Christmas Eve play

Sam begged to get up early: “3:30, Mom, please?” I wasn’t interested, but he persisted, and we agreed on 3:45. However, in the morning, the power had gone out again, so both kids slept in a little. They came in after 5 to waken us with a silly Geico commercial, and we came out to—snow! During the night, Sam and Mariah had hung paper snowflakes from the family room ceiling. It was beautiful. Our lovely Christmas present from Sam. So sweet.

We hustled together the gifts we had made for Natasha’s family and quietly put the box of them on their porch in the early dawn—but they were still there when we went over and hour later to start breakfast. The children were still sleeping—busy late night the night before, so N set up her gifts with ours, and we got to see the children get up and see the little pile. They were so excited! They opened their gifts, then we waited for Opa to dress so we could watch them open the things from us. So fun to see their happy smiles—I loved seeing Iris’ face when she saw the colorful scarves we had for her. Dante spent the rest of the day kicking his soccer ball to Sam, and Raina enjoyed chasing her smaller ball. At dinner, we cooked with Natasha’s new pan. (Emmanuel’s gift will come with the interns this coming weekend—some lectures on tape.)

Sam played Santa. Though he had no money and little more than paper and tape, he prepared nice gifts for everyone—an essay for Emmanuel, a Styrofoam bat for Dante, a special Styrofoam box for me, writing tips for Mariah, an origami jumping frog for Natasha and science quotes for Dad. For Iris, he rescued, cleaned, and returned her lost doll from the roof. For our little rooms, he created a magnificent “periodic chart” of family quotes (“whobody ate my cookie?” “Eggs, milk, wheat, Nutrition!” etc.) So fun, so creative, so amazing. I felt humbled by his persistence and desire to make Christmas wonderful for all of us.

We cooked up poloo for breakfast (a local delicacy—a kind of deep fried biscuit dough with lots of shredded coconut in it. Mmmmm.) and had a lovely day eating treats (banana cake, roasted peanuts and leftover poloo) and playing Frisbee, Quirkle, and bananagrams. Power was out most of the day, so when it came on in the evening, we cheered and enjoyed the light during the evening by watching a rare movie with popcorn. Even went to bed early! Really a delightful day.

Sam after too much holiday cheer

Powerless

2015-01-16T23:30:00.000-08:00

Jan 3, 2015

Caught with my pants down. Again. And I knew it would happen.

ECG—Electric Company of Ghana—the company everyone in Ghana loves to hate. So capricious that you must always remember that, though you have electricity now, you may not have it tomorrow—or in an hour. The power goddess may be your friend or your enemy today. Who knows?

And I got too comfy. Since Christmas night we have had power all day and night, every day, for more than a week (only a few odd minutes of light off for eight days)! Wow—I don’t think we have experienced such a run the whole time we have been here. So I let my guard down. I left my laundry unfinished overnight in the washer—I finally had to rinse it by hand this afternoon. The refrigerator doesn’t have enough water chilling in it. Luckily we ran the pump last night so we could have water in our apartment, otherwise, we would be hauling buckets to flush, shower and wash.

We knew it would happen. A run like we have had would never last. Sam has been commenting on that for a few days now. I knew it was true, but I didn’t act. Oh well.

The week before Christmas was more true to form for ECG. Power was off and on sporadically, sometimes for days at a time. No power on Christmas Eve in Dodowa, the nearby town. No power for us until 3:00 p.m. on Christmas Day. Thankfully, we have a generator, but the generator is very expensive to run, and some tasks, such as making soy milk, require full electricity. And, of course, we need power to run the pumps that get water to the farm. Finally, Emmanuel called the power company office. “Hey, we have been without power for more than a day!” he complained. “What is going on?” The bureaucrat checked. “Oh,” he replied, “we turned power back on to your area some time ago, but it looks like we didn’t get it all the way to you. We’ll get it back on for you soon.” Sure enough, power came back on in a few minutes. A few days later, Emmanuel had to call again. “Why is the power off again?” he queried, “our area needs very little, yet you keep turning us off.” Again, the electricity came on a few minutes later.

Today, however, we have been in blackout for more than 15 hours, Emmanuel has called twice. Still no light. Somehow, it makes you listless. You cannot think of a task you can do without power. Often, when it comes on, I realize that I could have hand watered our small garden plot, or done some simple cleanup or food prep. But without electricity, everyone—farm workers, kiosk owners, and I feel—excuse the pun—powerless.

Ghana is powered by one source: a hydroelectric dam on the Volta River—a huge river/lake that runs the length of about half the country. There are discussions about how ineffective the current setup is, or how other power production companies have been put off, but over the years, nothing has changed. Michael has decided that the inconsistency of electricity is a major reason why Ghana doesn’t progress. You cannot plan, you cannot predict. You can only prepare against the time that you will go light out at the least opportune time.

We read in the paper that the Ghanaian government wants to sell ECG. On principle, I think having a corporation running it would make it much more efficient. However, if I had the money and the skills to acquire such a company, I wouldn’t be interested in buying. The government here is so unpredictable and corrupt that the purchase would be fraught with dishonesty. And owning such a hated company is a death wish—recently we heard that when the current political leaders had a convention, ECG turned off their power because the leaders hadn’t paid their power bill for last year’s convention. Everyone laughed about it, but I wonder if someone was threatened or hurt because they chose to challenge, albeit electrically, the leaders. The censored press wouldn’t report any backlash. If a corporation had been in charge, certainly heads would have rolled. There is so much animosity toward ECG, that despite the peaceful nature of Ghanaians, I could imagine the CEO’s life being in constant danger.

Perhaps there is a more sinister reason for wanting to sell. We spoke to a local pilot recently who noted that the dam is currently lower than he has ever seen it in the 20 years he has been flying over it. As we are in the dry season, with no rain until summer, he predicts many power outages through November, when the dam is typically refilled. I hope he is wrong.

Meantime, we must make sure our bathroom water buckets are filled, the laundry isn’t left overnight, electronics are charged, flashlights all have batteries, internet tasks are completed, food is prepared or refrigerated early, and little ones dressed for bed before sundown, because light off may strike at any mome

The Ostrich

2015-01-09T14:17:00.000-08:00

Natasha and Emmanuel told us an incredible story about an ostrich that they raised in the spring and summer of 2014. Apparently, Emmanuel's mother likes to try new projects, and decided ostriches would be an interesting new kind of cattle. Ostriches eat only grass like geese, yet grow to produce massive amounts of red meat. They are raised in male-female pairs as the females have a calming effect on the males.

So a pair of young ostriches was purchased and brought out to the Aiyukama farm.The ostrich corral was in the cattle and aquaponics enclosure with brick walls on three sides and a strong wooden fence for the fourth. Though the pair of ostriches survived the trip, the female didn't live into adulthood--she was kicked by a cow and lamed, causing an early death. The male grew full size-seven feet tall with a huge body and strong legs with clawed feet. He was very gentle when young and was given liberty to wander the cattle enclosure with the cows and geese. But as he grew, he was occasionally more aggressive.

Ostriches are said to need regular human contact and kind attention to keep them friendly, but the farm workers were intimidated by the growing animal, and took to throwing stones or sticks to scare it away if they needed to work in that area. However his behavior was not often aggressive, and most of the time it just grazed with the geese.

Apparently, ostriches have a five-day memory—you mistreat one, it will be five days before he lets you approach him again. So relations, as they say, began to break down. A security man was knocked to the ground and kicked by the bird so hard that a doctor checked him to see if he had broken ribs. Worse, a young farm worker, cleaning up the cow manure, was attacked more viciously—she was knocked down and kicked multiple times. Four men, bearing sticks, came to her rescue, driving away the bird and possibly saving her life. When she was taken to hospital, she told nurses that she was attacked by a large bird (she didn't know the word for ostrich in the local language). Nurses frankly didn't believe her, telling her that she needed to report to the police that her husband had beaten her badly. Needless to say, after these incidents the ostrich was kept in his own corral behind the strong wooden fence.

The wooden fence surrounding the ostrich's corral

Then the ostrich "went into heat," his beak and neck reddening , his temper flaring, his strength increasing. One day during a school vacation, Natasha, Emmanuel and the three children came out to the farm and went through the chain link gate into the cattle compound to check on the aquaponics plant. After looking around a bit, the children became restless and asked to walk somewhere else, so Natasha led them out of the enclosure while Emmanuel continued to work with two farm workers on the aquaponics system.

Suddenly the ostrich kicked down the wooden fence and ran at Emmanuel, holding his wings out beside his massive feathered chest. Thankfully, the moats and gates of the aquaponics area deterred the creature, who then ran to the fastened chain link gate, kicked it down and ran out onto the school campus. Emmanuel was terrified-where was his family? Playing by the fountain or the basketball courts? Were they in his office or out by the kitchens? Would the bird attack them or run away? Emmanuel watched the bird run out into an open field behind the classrooms, then out an opening in the walled compound. His family was nowhere in sight. Later, to his great joy and relief, he found them happily reading in his office library.

The chain link fence he kicked down


Once through the fence, he ran along this parking area to the fields beyond. Emmanuel's office is in the building to the left.

But there was work to be done—immediately Emmanuel and his staff called the police, the nearby school, animal control, and all the neighbors. A dangerous ostrich was loose. People needed to protect themselves.

Animal control wanted to capture the creature with sleeping darts, but where to find him? They searched unsuccessfully for three nerve-wracking days during which time the bird terrorized the local school and some neighbors. The family knew only too well the damage it could inflict, and feared the worst. Finally a local hunter asked for permission to kill the menace. "Yes, please!" replied the Opare family, and he began tracking.

Eventually he came upon the exhausted beast, resting in the grass. He shot it in the chest-unfortunately the least effective place to shoot an ostrich. The bullet bounced off the bony, leathery chest area, and the enraged ostrich charged. Incredibly, the hunter kept his cool, and fired twice more before it lay dead. Thankfully, no one had been hurt.

The hunter was rewarded with a generous share of the good, red meat. The remaining meat filled two empty grain sacks and was happily stashed in the Opare freezer to be savored at family dinners.

Now months have passed, the excitement has died down and the question arises: Shall we try ostriches again? However, Natasha and Emmanuel, with memories longer than five days are adamant: NO!

Hamatan

2015-01-04T21:06:00.000-08:00

December 10, 2014

It is the Hamatan—the Ghanaian winter when hot, dry winds from the Sahara blow south, bringing flies, haze and disease. Temperatures get hotter during the day, rain is rarer, and the earth is parched and cracked. However, because it is winter, mornings are cooler; this time of year people actually don jackets or sweaters in the early hours.

The skies are hazy from red dust and smoke— breathtaking red sunrises and sunsets everyday keep me running for my camera. On the other hand, this same sun causes naturally occurring fires in the dried vegetation everywhere. The nearby hills, once sparkling in their nearness, are cloaked in dust.

Apparently, the 1969 Hamatan brought particularly bad pinkeye—the locals call it “Apollo” even yet, because this condition was blamed on the moon landing of the same name. My grandchildren stayed home from school for several days in an effort to avoid contracting it from multiple infected classmates. Even though parents were instructed to keep children home if they had it, most with Apollo simply donned sunglasses (to hide their infection?) and came to school anyway.

Snakes, who love the heat, are said to be more active at this time—better to wear shoes, and not the ubiquitous flip-flops or “slippers.” Watch where you walk, avoid long grass, and certainly don’t put your hand into a hole!

Skin is dry, lips chapped, dust is on my floor, piano keys, face. Asthmatics struggle to breathe in air heavy with sediment and smoke. Sunrises glow second-coming scarlet. Rare rain. Hamatan.

Do they really carry stuff on their heads? Michael

2014-12-01T11:41:00.002-08:00

The simple answer is yes.

Sorry for the long delay, but I think I've got this picture stuff down, and you'll be getting regular installments of pictures taken in Ghana. I've tried to make annotations in the pictures so that you can see more easily the point I'm trying to make. Any feedback on how to improve (without causing me a coronary in extra work) would be appreciated.

To start off -- that head carrying thing. Yes, that's how the majority of people carry things, especially the street vendors which allows them use of their arms for exchanging money, etc. Not everyone does the balance the water bucket on the head thing though.

Yes men do it too

Their secret revealed. I'm sure even with the mini-turban on the tops of their heads to spread out the load onto more than just a point, it must be very difficult for someone as clumsy as I to do what they do. They do have excellent posture and body control.

Knock on wood

2014-11-17T11:27:00.002-08:00

November 16, 2014

Natasha has a miracle: a washing machine that washes a full basket of dirty laundry in less than 2 hours. They bought it two-plus years ago when they first moved here and it faithfully churns through laundry from our two households almost daily. True, it needs four buckets of water, drawn and hauled from the large plastic tank behind the house, two to begin the load, two just before the final rinse. Accordingly, four buckets of water drain away from our hard-working friend as well. These buckets we collect and throw onto the grassy areas around the house. The drainwater often overflows, however, and some part of the water inevitably floods the tile porch floor or the ground beside the house—these places tend to be perpetually wet. (My suspicion is that if we continue to run the washer and spill over as we do, in time the whole area will become marshy and the building will list into the bog….)

The magical machine--note the blue bucket Raina has thrown off the porch

Once the laundry is done, we hang it out in the African sun to dry. This may take only a couple of hours in the hot sunlight or a couple of days if we have rain. If you get a load up just before nightfall (when all hanging out laundry must cease due to the lack of light and the abundance of nighttime creatures that might find the laundress tasty—or at least a threat), it may dry overnight. But you must wait a couple of hours after daylight before bringing it in to ensure that any creature who has decided to lay eggs on your clothing has been baked away. (Natasha tells the rather gruesome story of the little worm that lived just under her skin, presumably because she brought the laundry in too early and wore it.)

The tank of water and the laundry lines--empty today--behind them

We laundresses have a mortal enemy: light off (the local euphemism for a power outage). Once the power is off, wherever you are in the process must stop—sometimes for hours. A common situation is a load done in the evening, but stopped at the rinsing stage because it is too dark for the lazy (or nervous, or busy or forgetful) laundress to fetch the water for the final rinse. “I’ll do it tomorrow morning, before we go to school” she tells herself. But then, the day dawns without power. The batch cannot be finished and must sit in the hot washer until power is restored and someone can rescue it.

Morning on campus--my favorite time of day

Because I work four days a week from 6:30 a.m. until 5:00 p.m., keeping up with the wash requires an evening load almost every night, and a quick hanging-out episode before we drive away the following morning. On the weekend I catch up any leftovers and do the sheets. (An intern complained about itchiness and skin irritation on his upper body. We realized that he hadn’t been washing his sheets regularly, and his bed was probably inhabited by insects attacking him through the night. His mattress was baked in the hot sun and the sheets summarily laundered. Consequences of unwashed bedding can be unpleasant….)

A few weeks ago a glorious thing happened. I was all caught up with the laundry by Saturday morning. “What can go wrong?” I jauntily boasted. As a quick afterthought, I laughed, “Knock on wood.”

That Sunday night I found out I had head lice. Everything in the house that my head had touched now needed to be washed: my clothes, all my bedding and pillows. The mattress should be sprayed with salt water, the couch too. All my hairpins, combs and clips needed to be abandoned or treated to salt water (which promptly rusted them.) Luckily we had a lice comb and shampoo. Not so luckily, the lice didn’t succumb easily. Two weeks later I was still doing treatments every few days and hanging out my all my bedding to bake away the vermin.

Then it happened: the washer broke. A few days of wet beds and dealing with lice found us baskets deep in laundry from each house. What to do? Repairmen, if you even find one, are unlikely—willing to take your money and leave the job undone. So we started washing by hand: soak clothing for an hour in soapy wash water, scrub with the heels of your hands, rinse, wring, hang. A couple of loads into the process made us wonder if we should follow Ghanaian practice and hire a laundress. I hadn’t knocked on wood fast enough.

Then Prince Charming came to our rescue—my good husband decided to explore the situation. After a half hour of delving he mended the electrical cord, found a blockage, removed it, and started a successful test run. We were back in business! Hours of faithful churning later (incredibly, no light off!!) found our laundry on the line and our baskets empty.

Today my lice is gone, nearly all have recovered from their illnesses (except Emmanuel who is battling Malaria today), and I have only one small partially-filled basket of laundry in the house. I’m in good washerwoman shape. But I’m not boasting. I know too well how things can change.

Knock on wood.

Snakes

2014-11-11T05:41:00.000-08:00

Friday, Nov. 7^th 2014

Apparently this area is rich with snakes. We have been told that many venomous snakes of all kinds live around us, hiding in holes and tall grass. As the weather heats up, we hear, we will see more of them. We can protect ourselves by staying within the walled compound in which we live, and avoid tall grass, depressions, or holes in the ground. Groundspeople keep the grass cut short most of the time, and the geese, we are told, eat many rouge intruders.

Evidence of the truth of these warnings is common. Our first week here we were told that a green mamba—a highly poisonous tree snake—had been captured and skinned just outside the wall. Last Sunday one of the farm workers heard hissing and snuck up on a pair of battling short, thick, venomous snakes (we decided later that they were puff adders) which he promptly beheaded, proudly displayed and prepared to eat.

Apparently, snake meat is tasty enough to encourage hunting. When toads are grabbed by a back leg by a hungry snake, the toads give off a distinctive scream. Our intrepid hunter above grabs his machete and follows the sound—if he is fast and lucky, he may find another free dinner.

Not all snakes are “good to chop” (a local term meaning good to eat). Some are killed and abandoned, as was the 6-foot python killed in the farm fields a few weeks ago. The green mamba is not a good food either; our snake man noted that poison ran throughout its body, making it inedible.

But the rules for

the lesser skilled at hunting or gastronomy: stay on the flagstone paths, stay within the compound, and, if you see a big bright green snake, RUN!

Sunday-Kristin

2014-10-26T21:31:00.002-07:00

Sunday, Oct 25^th,2014

We need to leave by 8:00 a.m., so M and I shower and dress quickly after sleeping in until 6:30. Sam and Mariah will be staying home from church again this week to get over their upper-respiratory illnesses. I roll my hair up—just too hot to wear down. Breakfast is eggs, rolls and Milo—hot chocolate. Delicious, filling and probably fattening.

We drive 20 minutes to the small converted home that is our branch. I practice the songs that will be in the service at the small keyboard; many people hum along. As is tradition, the congregation sings the prelude together about 15 minutes before the meeting begins.

The congregation is small today. Of late we have been overflowing. Today many seats are empty. We have an important visitor, though—an Area Authority Seventy, Elder Vincent. We sing, and the congregation sings with great emotion; my little keyboard is clearly underpowered. “How great thou art, how great thou art…” I tear up during the final verse.

We hear three speakers: the Relief Society President telling about yesterday’s stake RS “Exhibition,” and a beautiful talk about marriage, and Brother Vincent. He shares with us that we need to talk more about, and focus more on the atonement. Also emphasizes the importance of self-reliance. I lean back in my seat by the window and can faintly hear other congregations singing in the distance and baby chicks peeping in the yard next door. The power stays on and the fans are appreciated. I scratch my head: clearly the home lice-killing remedy is missing some targets.

In Primary the nursery children play on mats in the center of the room. Other young children get up and down to join them. I invite my grandchildren to sit with me by the piano. This keeps them seated, at least, and I love being with them. We have a beautiful lesson on Christ being our Savior. It is given by a young man (father?) with a face full of testimony. The children play, but the Spirit is there. We sing some songs, then have Sharing Time. While the children color, I play songs. Some they hum, many they don’t know. Interesting. When some children finish early, inevitably they want to play the keyboard. I turn it off, allowing them to finger silently, then, at the end, turn it on and give them a chance. As a special treat, the Primary president passes out small chocolate bars to a waiting audience. I devour mine—a tiny Milky Way and a local bar wrapped in cellophane with a gold paper stripe. Mmmm.

I give a short piano lesson to a beginner and a more advanced learner—he practices hymns slowly as we leave. At home, lunch is ready: thick slices of steamed yam (very like yellow potatoes, only slightly sweeter and drier) with fish stew and a boiled egg for each of us. The stew is spicy, with flaked white fish, and the yams are especially good with a little margarine.

I nap until dinner—I’m fighting my own cold—and we are treated with spaghetti and sauce with hot sausage meatballs. Everything is delicious and very spicy. I help Mariah and Sam take the dishes to the outside sinks to be washed.

Something is different tonight, though. The heavy rains last night have brought what Emmanuel tells us is a Nigerian delicacy—a thick swarm of flying insects like large ants that are attracted to light. Our well-lit sink area, with its close walls is apparently attractive, and insects are in all the sinks and all over the walls. I wash a sink clean and begin rinsing dishes. But the bugs are continuing to fly around, hitting and landing on me and the dishes often. I persist, but the children are completely unnerved, standing outside the light, ready to flee. I hang onto my composure enough to rinse everything, but my hair becomes damp as I brush off the unwelcome insects again and again. Finally we all flee; we’ll have to wash dishes in the morning light. I wonder how long this will be a problem.

After Family Night I treat for lice yet again, and comb out a spectacular living specimen. It is huge (1/8 inch, maybe) and picture-perfect: light brown and almost transparent. I am horrified and try to kill it under the tissue with my fingernail. It remains unscathed. I flush it down the toilet and know I’ll probably spend much of the night imagining every itch to be from more of these loathsome creatures. Online I find a new treatment. I’ll try it tomorrow.

The bedroom fan is working and the night is humming with insect music. Goodnight, Africa.

Added Feature to the Blog

2014-10-23T07:52:00.001-07:00

Thanks to Michael and Tim, there is a new feature to the blog!! Check it out on the right==>

Now if you wish, you can receive an e-mail whenever the blog changing thus no longer checking the blog every 5 minutes to see if we've updated it (okay, nobody would check this blog that frequently, but I was concerned about causing some mental frustration to those checking frequently). So, if you're interested, sign up (you'll only get the e-mail when the blog changes, not everyday just for giggles and grins, so you don't have to worry about a bombardment of worthless e-mails).

So for those who've already signed up for the new service, did you get an e-mail??

Photos will be coming soon (no really, we bought a new camera, and we've been going crazy snapping photos from the moving bus/car).

Michael

Bugs and Critters Michael

2014-10-21T05:11:00.007-07:00

The most pesky bug in Ghana (as far as I’m concerned) is the fly. They aren’t dangerous as in the Tsetse fly which brings deadly diseases, but they’re just a pain in the rear. They are nearly everywhere (at least wherever humans have ever eaten at one time), and they just pester you with flying close to you, especially around your head. I’ve never seen a fly swatter in the country, so I’m reduced to clapping just above them once they’ve landed in an attempt to kill them. It’s not that there’s a huge number of them, but they seem to have a territorial sense – as soon as a walk near their “territory,” I get buzzed repeatedly until I leave their area.

However, the most prevalent bug in Ghana is the ant – they are everywhere in the soil, and beyond. Again, these are small ants, almost so small you can barely see them. They don’t bite (at least not the ones I’ve encountered), but they will find any piece of food you’ve left behind. You’ll see these trails of ants from the soil to the source of the food along the sides of building walls and elsewhere. And yes, they grow ant hills. You’ll see some soil pushed up out from the rest of the soil, and it’ll looked “disturbed” or loose. Sometime later, there’ll be a small mound beginning that just gets larger and larger. As it grows in size, it becomes hardened, such that it’s hard to push it over – a very hard kick with the foot will do it only a piece at a time. Of course, when you do this, the ants are uncovered with some anger, so you need to get out of there.

Besides the ants in the ground are the termites. These and the ants are the reason no one builds with wood in Ghana. By that I mean all building is with concrete, concrete block, masonry, etc., and that includes floors, walls, ceilings, etc. This makes plumbing and electrical wiring difficult work. Only the roof rafters are made from wood and then the favorite roof covering is some kind of sheet metal. These termites make mounds taller than myself and they are extremely hard to knock over. They’ll start out as a little mud pie (1/2 inch in diameter) on the ground, and then they’ll just get larger and larger. Unlike ants they can’t tolerate the sunlight at all.

One of the most feared bugs is the dreaded mosquito since it probably brings Malaria with it. So far we’ve encountered just a handful of mosquitos (only one ever in our bedroom). They are not the large mosquitos of Alaska’s first of the season variety, but the small, very clever in avoiding being killed variety. In fact, I haven’t heard them yet. So far, the anti-malaria drugs along with almost no encounter with them has resulted in no sickness amongst us, but the fear is always out there, especially near dawn and dusk when mosquitos are most prevalent.

After mosquitos are the little bugs that just happen to bug you (okay, pun intended). I don’t know if you call them gnats or no-see-ems, but either way, they’re not deadly, just a touch pesky.

Our next encounter with animals is the mouse; again, if you leave food out, they will find it. There are no door thresholds in Ghana, so they can get in and out without your permission. Your only remedy is cleanliness. I’m not so worried about being bitten by them (although any animal bite is potential deadly because of possible rabies), but they are a vector for many diseases, mostly through their droppings (or in the case of plague, fleas feeding on them).

Then there’s the little lizards that we like; they get in just like the mice, only now, they eat bugs. YES! They really are fun to watch as they run away from you as you’re walking down the way. I’ve kept my distance from them, and only hope they’re eating bugs. It is a bit unnerving for them to be found unexpectedly in the house though.

Of course there’s the ever-present (that would be ubiquitous) chicken and goats/sheep. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many chickens in so many different places. I can understand some chickens alongside the road out here in the country, but chickens in the city?? And yes, they are crossing the road for all kinds of reason that you can put forward. Goats are nearly as numerous, and then sheep less so, but still, the road is constantly lined with various of these animals (I probably wouldn’t make it as a chicken farmer here since there is a large supply of brown eggs – I don’t think it’s a racial thing, but I’ve seen very few white eggs, which in this climate I would think would do great since the Leghorn is a smaller chicken that does better in hotter climates like here).

Yes, there are the cows every once in a while, especially when the Mali people drive them from one area to another. They consider all of the earth as theirs, so they feed anywhere along the way which has presented its problems to our outer fields of vegetables.

While I haven’t seen a snake here, the BYU I interns told of the remains (head, guts and skin) of a green mamba killed out in the vegetable field by one of the farm hands. Emmanuel also tells that if we didn’t have the concrete fence enclosing the property, cobra and other snakes would be frequent visitors – I have a new love for the fence. This past evening at dinner, the BYU I interns showed a picture of snake killed just that day about 20 yards from one of our buildings. The farmers had stabbed the snake, and felt a large object in its stomach; upon closer inspection, found the large object was a frog (digestions had only just begun). When asked what kind of a snake it was, the reply was “Good, to chop.” Snakes come in two varieties to the farmers – good to chop, and not good to chop. I’m not sure what puts a snake on which list. Then there was the ~7 foot python killed just the other day (It’s a good to chop snake that the farmers ate).

Besides the chickens and roosters, there are a ton of wild birds, all of the small variety, and every once in a while, you’ll see a couple of vultures hanging out. It makes for quite a symphony in the morning. However, their early morning chorus is usually outdone by the crickets’ songs (which goes from sundown to sunup) and the occasional frog croaking that can reach deep into your eardrums, especially when it’s in stereo. Fortunately, the frogs croak only after copious rain, and in the last week or so, we’ve left the rainy season (good for sleeping at night, not so good for watering the plants). One of the other creatures you no longer see much off is the snail – the French would be in heaven here (snails and frogs legs).

One of the more odd creatures is the glow-in-the-dark snails/bugs. As you’re walking along the path between buildings, if you glance in the grass, you’ll see little spots of light that will illuminate for a second and then go dark; it’s really a cool sight. It makes you realize how many different creatures there are in the grass that you otherwise would have no idea they were there (thus the reason for always wearing shoes).

Sam is our source for finding interesting creatures. One of the more charming ones is the Praying Mantis; while I’ve seen them in the states, these things here are BIG, and my friend as they eat other bugs. Another interesting one is the millipede. Yes, they’re in the states, but these things here grow to about 6 inches in length and about a half an inch in diameter – huge. When they are that size, they move much slower and are normally only found in the soil. Not to be outdone by Sam is Mariah who tells quite a story of finding a scorpion in our shower stall; her story goes like this: tried to crush the scorpion with a bucket (buckets were used to flush the toilet until the plumber fixed it), then picked up the scorpion with loads of tissue paper, and threw it into the toilet, only to find it not dead and struggling to get out of the toilet, when all of a sudden, Sam inadvertently turns off the bathroom light for a few seconds. The story ends with plenty of water being poured into the toilet flushing the critter away.

Ghanaian Culture -- MIchael

2014-10-13T03:20:00.002-07:00

Here are some initial impressions on my limited exposure to Ghanaians and their way of life. Ghanaian culture is loud and open – little privacy. I hear music from some vendor some hundreds of yards away in Ayikuma that plays generally all night on the weekends. When we go down the street, usually every time, there is some vehicle blaring some kind of broadcast that I can’t understand. The school where I work has constant noise from the younger children while I’m attempting to teach. Ghanaians are not afraid of speaking their minds with some volume and force (though I’ve never encountered a rude or belligerent person – though I have seen them interacting on the road one with another), and frequently there are more chiefs than braves (sometimes it’s very difficult getting anything done because everyone has their own idea of how to do something, and rather than persuading you toward their ideas, they just restate them over and over again (usually with more force each time) – it’s very common for a Ghanaian to repeat a sentence or phrase to you, and it has nothing to do with me being a foreigner). It’s not uncommon to drive down the road and see a 10 year old taking a “shower” alongside the road (they stand in a metal bowl, pour water over themselves, lather up with soap, and wash off). Breast feeding in public is a normal occurrence, and women tend to appear rather exposed, though I’ve never detected any attempt to be provocative with their dress (unlike entertainers such as J Lo – if I’ve spelled that correctly), it’s something more of a garden of Eden innocence, though I would prefer more modesty.

Having said that Ghanaian culture is loud and public, I’ve found Ghanaians quiet when conversing with me as an individual. I don’t know if that comes from me being a foreigner and father-in-law to the school CEO, and the difficulty in communicating in our different forms of English, but I suspect it’s some kind of combination of those factors. But then the same thing happens in Sunday School – I can’t the individual comments nearly at all, and even some of the Ghanaians ask others to speak up.

I find Ghanaian’s somewhat frustrated with life, but willing to go along with things rather than revolt. That’s a positive (no overturning of the government in decades), but a negative also, no rising from poverty unlike what has happened to S. Korea (they and Ghana were very similar at the end of the 50s when Ghana became independent from UK and S. Korea came into existence from the Korean war). It seems hard to light a fire under a Ghanaian to get things to happen. Whenever I go to a shop to buy something, there is a palatable lack of enthusiasm by the employee. Natasha says that’s because the person is generally not the shop owner, but if you meet the shop owner that capitalist enthusiasm comes forward very readily, unlike the beaten-down socialist go-along-to-get-along behavior that I have seen so far. That’s not to say that Ghanaians are lazy; I’ve seen them work hard, but have a propensity to not work smarter – there is so much of manual labor here (what I wouldn’t do with my tiller on the Ayikuma farm land, nearly all carpentry is hand saws, etc.). I find that there’s a plethora (okay, that means a lot) of vendors all selling the same thing with the same lackluster response to a customer, and all selling at the same prices (The one exception are the road vendors who walk between cars when they are stopped for traffic or those waiting at the toll booth – they have energy). No one is interested in “getting ahead.” In fact, the economy is comprised mostly of retail with little actually being produced. Where is the value added to simply selling something, rather than producing something of value? So with so many vendors all selling the same thing in such close proximity, lots of sellers simply sit during the day waiting for a few customers. And yet, if you want to buy a few things of similar nature, you, the customer have to go to multiple vendors since each vendor just sells one thing (not very customer friendly – what I wouldn’t do if a Lowe’s were here). Some of this might come from the political turmoil that occurred in the 60s and 70s (one leader was assassinated, and a coup took place during another time period). I would say that the rule of law hasn’t really taken hold here (the police act very arbitrary here rather than following law – “tips” to the police are common to avoid further hassle from them, land has been arbitrarily taken from law abiding, private property-holding citizens only because the government wanted the land for some purpose – eminent domain run wild). So most people just keep quiet and stay under the radar – just survive.

However, there is quite a tendency to use dictatorial communications (public humiliation, yelling, talking down to others, rather than less emotional corrections) among superior/subordinate relationships, in particular between teacher and student. In other words, section 121 isn’t used much (persuasion, long-suffering, patience, etc.). I suspect it comes from the heavy-handed government/military past and a frustration from a lack of rule of law. It’s a reliance on authority rather than reason. It reminds me of passive/aggressive behavior between parent and child (there’s some personal experiences!!).

I’ve also picked up on a trend regarding space and community. If you leave something out, it can often grow legs. This isn’t the usual petty thievery that is common in most societies (America in particular), but a kind of squatter mentality. You see it with partially completed homes (quite common place here – reminds me of Italy); if you don’t steadily work on your home or have it completed and secured (barbed wire, etc.), squatters will come in and live in the home. If you have some land with trees on it and you don’t fence or otherwise show that you own it, others will come in, and harvest the trees for charcoal. Now in the school setting, I don’t have any real place to put my materials, so I viewed some other teachers taking a portion of a classroom (the science lab), and I did the same, only to find things disappearing from my area or being broken which is something of a tragedy, these were items I brought over to help instruct the students (little physics demos). How sad. I don’t know if this is all similar to the “common” holding that many indigenous cultures adhere to – we all just “borrow” from each other, or more of a survival thing, but it’s definitely different from back home.

Having said all that, I’m under the impression that Ghanaians are a happy people though they may not show it directly in public interactions (you do see it in their music and dance). As I meet Ghanaians along the way, they appear non-engaged (probably something like people passing on the streets of New York City), but if I say “good morning,” they brighten up and reply with a smile and a greeting. In fact, many of their daily greetings (in particular the first greeting in the morning) carry with it the outline of a hand salute accompanying the “good morning.” The hand salute harks back to the British military salute (palm forward or up instead of the American military salute with the palm facing rearward or down).

Ghanaians wear their religion on their sleeves. The majority of the country is Christian, but there is a significant minority of Muslims. From what I can see, everyone gets along without problems (We just had a national holiday – Muslim prayer day; I asked one of my Muslim students what was done on that day to celebrate and he said prayer and eating – fine by me). Religion is part of the public square as opposed to the current American culture of flocking toward a lack of religious liberty. It’s amazing to see the number of roadside advertisements for churches and even better yet, the religious names of the businesses (photos to follow soon). There are many Jehovah’s Witnesses and Seventh Day Adventists so many go to church on Saturday, and since they are nicely dressed up (although Ghanaians enjoy dressing nicely in public most any time), there are many on Saturday and Sunday who are dressed up in public.

Ghanaians are very much a family oriented society – children are still appreciated as a society, and the goal for a young person is to get married, raise a family, and leave a legacy rather than the gay lifestyle of selfish pursuits. As a developing country, Ghana bucks the tide of smoking; I think I‘ve seen one person smoking since I’ve been here, what a nice change. Anytime I’ve gone to other developing countries around the world, smoking was the norm (while it’s been vilified in America, the tobacco companies do extremely well in the developing world), so somehow, Ghana has avoided that trend. I’ve been told that alcohol abuse is a problem in Ghana, but I haven’t seen its use or effects, but then I’m not exactly a party animal.

In summary, I find Ghana a culture of extremes or opposites – the person sweeping the dirt area around their kiosk, and yet garbage piles up a few feet away in the public arena; the taxi drivers who will nearly beg you to get a ride from them, and the employee of a kiosk who shows no enterprise at all. Maybe that’s the transition that a developing country goes through as it changes. For me the question is will Ghanaians see themselves strongly enough as Ghanaians first, a nation, to work together or will old tribal ties keep them as separate but peaceful groups. Will the rule of law become the dominate culture or the current survivalist?

Daily Life/Schedule -- Michael

2014-10-07T06:44:00.004-07:00

Here is our typical day: get up at 0430 (that’s pretty dang early, but, it’s not bad since we go to bed so early – what else is there to do in the evenings once the sun has set?), of course that’s after the 0130-0230 wake-up call from one of the outside guard dogs’ barkings, and if the watch alarm doesn’t get me, then the roosters will, or the Muslim call to get up and go to prayer. It’s still dark outside, so if it’s a lights out condition (no electricity) and the diesel generator isn’t running, then it’s a flashlight kind of morning (showering with a flashlight to illuminate the room is a special treat!). The shower sprays gently, smells of sulphur, and is a touch cold (you never get used to the cool water (probably about 70 degrees) when it first hits the arms, back, chest, and head, but after a few moments, you relish the cooling off it provides); we now have a mirror on the wall, so shaving is no longer by feel only, but brushing teeth using bottled water is a bit cumbersome (the tap water is assumed to be safe for showering, but not teeth brushing). The towel to dry you is never really dry (too humid), but it works, especially after a partial drip dry while shaving and teeth brushing. Your clothes kind of stick to you as you put them on since you’re not really dry either, but they eventually loosen up. By 0500 is time to get the kids up (various stages of denial), then it’s time for personal and family scripture study, and by 0600 everyone is in some stage of being prepared for the day. Breakfast is delivered sometime after 0600, and can either be devoured, or pushed away depending on what it is (our favorite is a rice porridge with eggs and rolls, and the least favorite is what I call “hot, brown yoghurt” – it has a distinct sour dough flavor that only large amounts of sugar, cream, and bread can neutralize). By now it’s quite light (sun comes up around 0615), and we get our things ready to school/work (two lab tops, maybe a violin, backpacks, etc).

Emmanuel either takes us in to the school (1 hour drive) or drops us off at the bus transfer point (Oyibi) which then means an hour and a half ride. By now, it’s warmed up and sweating is a normal event (upper 70s Fahrenheit). School occurs from 0800 to 1500 when we board the bus or go home with Emmanuel a little later in the day. Besides teaching classes (or for Mariah and Sam, attending classes), there’s time to check e-mail and the web for what’s going on in the world, update EMlearner (the software the school uses for homework communication), etc., have time for a lunch provided by the school, and prep for classes. The ride home with Emmanuel is about 45 minutes, but the bus ride is about 2 hours and something to behold (I end up with near fatal cheek burn out). When we get home, we unload our bags, greet Natasha and the grandchildren (Dante, Iris, and Raine), and plop down on the couch – it’s now been a number of hours of sweating. Dinner is served at Emmanuel and Natasha’s apartment where we eat with them and the BYU I interns (Jake and Trevor). Dinner nearly always consists of some kind of rice with some kind of tomato-based stew that includes onions, carrots, and fish or chicken (small amounts). By now the sun has set, and lately we’ve been attempting to see Mercury shortly after sunset, as well as Mars and Saturn (Jupiter is in the morning, and Venus is too close to the sun in the morning with the ever-present clouds close to the horizon); dinner dishes are washed primarily by Mariah and Sam, and we head back to our apartment. I had been engaged in a particular book, but I’ve finished it now, so I’ll need to find another one to read (what else is there to do?). There’s usually some kind of homework questions answered, story read, and conversation had, but by 2000, we’re all pretty beat, and are ready for bed. I usually attempt to cool off underneath a ceiling fan prior to sleep, but that process also includes swatting at the little bugs that find me (so far no mosquitos and malaria).

Fortunately, we’ve had no mosquitos get us, and we’ve kept the flies and ants to a minimum with good clean up after every breakfast; parents, if you ever wanted to teach your children to clean up after themselves, this is the place – there is an immediate (2 hour) lesson from the ants on what you didn’t clean up. Of course, sleep comes with the chorus of crickets, and when the rains had been frequent some unbelievable frog croaking. The only change to the routine is Thursdays for me, and Fridays for Kristin when we don’t go in to Adenta (I have classes at Ayikuma on Thursdays (labs), and Kristin has no classes on Friday). We haven’t had enough Saturdays to come up with much of a routine, but they usually include doing extra laundry (you must dry your clothes in the sun or you’ll end up with maggots in the clothes), and filling up the cistern tanks with water so that we have shower and toilet water. Sunday’s are a “late” rise in the morning (0600 is late compared to 0430), breakfast, go to church with Emmanuel’s family and the interns (the three hour block starts at 0900), and then home for lunch, lots of visiting, dinner, and then a church movie in the evening. We also get a movie on Friday or Saturday night for entertainment.

Some upcoming changes will include possible internet available in Ayikuma which will make e-mail, skyping, and EMlearner updating much more convenient. And then there’s the hope that Emmanuel and Ta’s house will be completed before we leave – wow, that would be the heat (okay, the cool, but that’s not correct vernacular).

Michael

Work and School -- Michael

2014-10-03T02:18:00.000-07:00

So how about a discussion of what Kristin and Michael, Mariah and Sam are doing here? First some background.

The Golden Sunbeam school is a private school in a country that has a free public school system (yes, public really means government just as in America). The school was established in 1989 intending to be a full K-8 school in Adenta, a suburb of Accra, Ghana to fight the ignorance among the villagers around Accra. The school began under the leadership of Emmanuel’s (our son-in-law) mother and father. Since 1989, the school has broadened to include a high school that was intended to be taught at a new location – Ayikuma, a town further out of Accra (I liken Palmer to Ayikuma, Eagle River to Adenta, and Anchorage to Accra for distances and size although Accra’s population is many times more than Anchorage -- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Accra ). The Ayikuma high school campus was finished about 4 years ago, but recently, the high school students have been moved back to the Adenta campus for two reasons:1) the Ayikuma campus has expanded into a vocational school centering on Nursing and Agribusiness (in cooperation with BYU Idaho) – the Ghanaian ministry of education didn’t want to mix high school students with post-high school students, so in order to become accredited as a nursing school, the high school students had to be removed, and 2) in the past year, Ghana has experienced some moderately steep inflation and a devaluation of the Ghanaian currency (known as CDs) relative to the US dollar (the exchange rate is now around 3+ CDs for 1 US dollar); with those economic factors, enrollment in the school is down, so the decision was made to consolidate the high school students to the Adenta campus and expand the Vo-Tec offerings in Ayikuma – there are plenty of high school opportunities in Ghana, but a shortage of nursing and other Vo-Tec schools. The school has its own busses for transporting students, its own hostels for boarding students and its own kitchen facilities for feeding them as well. The Ayikuma campus sits on about 5 acres in a very rural setting and the Adenta campus is on about 1 acre in a very urban setting (http://www.goldensunbeam.com/ ). A predominant cost to the school is the feeding of the students, so the Ayikuma campus has greatly expanded its farming facilities (fish (aquaponics), chickens (yes, roosters awaken us every morning before the sunrises), geese, and cows for protein, vegetable gardens, and recently, soybean production for soy milk). The following was not a paid advertisement of the school, but merely some background.

Mariah and Sam are enrolled in their respective grades (8^th and 5^th), and so far are enjoying their time here after some initial adjustments (“the teacher doesn’t understand me,” “ the schedule is confusing,” “I don’t know how much the snack food costs,” etc. – please note that the English spoken here, is not American (or even British) English, but an African/Caribbean version that I have a hard time understanding myself (never mind the various local languages used)). Both took entrance exams to determine what their classes should be and while each excelled in some areas, they were deficient in others; Ghanaian education is larger a matter of memorizing facts and figures, not critical thinking and problem solving (one of the reason’s Emmanuel wants our educational background here to help change teaching to move toward critical thinking and problem solving rather than just memorizing lecture notes), so Mariah excelled at English and needs greater exposure to science and math, while Sam excelled at Math and needs science and English. Of course Mariah has the delightful experience of having her dad as her math and science (physics) instructor (I’ve enjoyed having her in class – it’s been insightful (and pleasing) to see her in action).

Kristin teaches music to the elementary through junior high school grades with her usual infectious enthusiasm. She’s also started her violin class in the 5^th grade, and hopes to start her 7-12 year classes once the busing schedule gets ironed out. I’ll let Kristin tell more of her experiences herself.

Two days after we arrived (Thursday, 18 Sep), Emmanuel reported that two teachers didn’t show up for work (math and agriculture) – they went hunting instead, so Michael was plugged into teach 8^th and 10^th grade math under the Cambridge syllabus (more on that syllabus later), and the two BYU Idaho interns who were going to assist in teaching agribusiness, were asked to take it over with the help of the farm manager in Ayikuma (BYU I is affiliated with the Ayikuma school and its agribusiness – they donated the soy milk production equipment and have sent two interns each term to assist and for the interns to gain real world experience). Additionally, the physics teacher was a recent hire with no experience, so Emmanuel wanted Michael to teach 8^th and 10 grade physics. One of observations of Ghanaian culture is that planning is somewhat lacking – it’s more survival of the moment.

The curriculum at the high school level is two-fold: 1) the Ghanaian system that prepares a student for the exam known as WASSCE (West African Secondary School Certificate of Education) – yes, Ghanaian schools have external final exams, but unlike patsy America, they mean something (think HSGQE) – the tests are given at the end of a person’s high school experience, and if you don’t pass, you don’t pass and move on; if a student does well enough on that exam, they are generally accepted into a Ghanaian university, and 2) the Cambridge system, developed in the UK that prepares students for the IGCSE exam (International GCSE – some kind of Brit acronym for their school system ) http://www.cie.org.uk/ (Again, not a paid advertisement, just background) – oh, by the way, IB isn’t IB, it’s a recloaking of the British school system. Go ahead and investigate the Cambridge curriculum and then compare it to the IB system and you’ll see Cambridgeisms all over the IB system. If a student does well enough on the exam (as well as their “A-levels” – another Brit invention), then they can gain entrance into most international universities. I’ve been asked to teach the 8^th and 10 grade Cambridge students (the curriculum is more rigorous than the Ghanaian system). For 7^th grade and onward, students have the option of choosing three specialties – science, art, and business. Each of those options has classes associated with them (science includes physics, chemistry, and biology, arts includes literature, geography, and something else (don’t ask me), and business includes accounting, economics, and business studies); the required classes for all 7+ students includes French, math, computers, and English. As currently scheduled, I have physics students for four hours a week, and math students three hours a week (the students have an additional math class – “Added Math” that meets 3 hours a week); consequently, it’s as if my science students are taking physics, chemistry, and biology every year in this school (finally I have some time to instruct a curriculum instead of racing through one poorly), and the math class is equivalent to one and a half math classes in the US (it’s an integrated math syllabus). Classes go for one hour and school starts at 8 a.m. and ends by 4 p.m. with some periods being “free time.” There is no Saturday school and school is year round with 6 week breaks every 4 months (three terms in a year).

So far my impression of the school, curriculum, and students is mixed. The students are good-natured, but I had some mystical ideal of young people starved for education craving for instruction (yeah right), and quite frankly, they are similar to young people around the world – teenagers. They have less to distract them here, true, but attention span, organizational skills, etc., are still being formed with varying degrees of success. The students appear to be more respectful of teachers and authority, but I wonder if it’s more a surface effect – I had my Hittite discussion and male “I dunno” response lecture the second day with the 10^th graders because of their poor attitudes, and since then, they’ve brightened up considerably. My 8^th graders are actually pretty fun to teach (they’re still eager to learn though they wear quickly during the class period), though they struggle with getting information to stick in their brains more than a day. The facilities are attempting to go virtual as much as possible – paper is at a premium, the copier machine is a dinosaur, text books expensive and rare, etc. I applaud the move, but we haven’t quite arrived yet. I’m currently attempting to learn the school’s e-learning system “EMLearner.” So I’ll have more to say about that in the future.

Upon arrival, I scrambled to find some math textbooks to help me as reference guides (boy am I glad I taught geometry last year at Palmer); I have plenty of physics books that I brought with me, but I hadn’t anticipated teaching this math curriculum (what I wouldn’t do for a good solid geometry and pre-calculus text from America – the textbooks that are here are substandard). I’ve been a little frustrated at the commotion within the school during the day (the schedule of classes just changed yesterday and school has been in session for over a week!), and the primary grade students make quite a bit of noise outside the classrooms (the classrooms themselves are adequate except for the whiteboards which no longer work well – can’t erase well) – it’s hot here, so the doors and windows stay open with ceiling fans running throughout the day (noisy and constant blowing air). The internet lacks stability – one day you can connect to the WIFI with excellent transmission speed, and the next, you can’t even log on, or you get logged off randomly throughout the day. Just like the electric power, things are unreliable (nearly each day there are “lights out” or rolling blackouts throughout Accra due to a lack of sufficient electrical generation). I guess the best attribute of Ghanaians is their ability to handle it all – they don’t get too shook up about most anything. Unfortunately, that’s also a downfall – they lack passion to get out of the squalor that abounds here. The students here are from around the world besides Ghana (Nigeria, Botswana, US, UK, Holland, etc.), and come predominantly from upper-middle class Ghanaian families. While their socioeconomic status may sound like a good thing, it can be a detriment since some of those wealthier families just kind of “dump” their student off here to be educated while they chase their financial dreams (I have one student whose parents are Ghanaian, but living in the US and brought him back to Ghana to “straighten him out.”). My class sizes are small (4 to 9 students) since I’m teaching the Cambridge system which is the harder of the two curriculums and somewhat feared by students or not desired by parents (fear of failure or lack of desire for a better future). I enjoy the size since the students are pretty much plugged in to me and want to learn (following the Hittite chat). I was taken aback by the lack of curriculum guides, pacing material, etc. at the school, so I’ve been very busy attempting to take the syllabus material from Cambridge and make pacing guides for physics and math instruction for me and my co-worker. I asked what other teachers do, and the answer was something like “whatever we’ve been doing.” And that’s one of the reasons for me coming – to break the teachers out of just doing what’s been done in the past. Most of these teachers simply teach what and how they were taught which consists of facts and figures by lecture. So I have my work cut out for me. We’ll see how it goes. I must say, I do like the dress code here – teachers in white shirts (I skimp with short sleeves), ties, slacks, and dress shoes, and students in uniforms. It makes a positive difference.

Well I think those are enough thoughts for now.

Michael

Transportation and Roads

2014-09-30T04:36:00.001-07:00

Transportation and Roads

The road system in Ghana is something to behold. When we left the airport, the roads were modern by any standard. I can’t recall seeing any stop lights, but they may have been there. I do remember round-abouts and lots of traffic (it was a Wednesday night around 9 p.m. so I can’t figure the reason for the traffic). There were multi-lane roads that were well paved, but the further that we got from the city, the less the traffic, and the greater the change in the roads. While there is a strong police presence alongside the roads in Ghana (our road to Accra has a permanent police check station), you don’t see many patrol cars travelling in the traffic (SUVs), and I’ve been told that there’s no formal ticket system (written ticket, court date, etc.). I’ve seen no method for the police to determine the speed of a another car, so in order to keep cars from going too fast in more residential areas, the Ghanaians rely on the use of SPEED BUMPS (there are couple of speed limit signs, but no one obeys them that I can tell). These things are just about everywhere; they range from three small strips of asphalt across the road separated by about 5 feet, to the raised bump that’s about 5 feet in width. The real problem with the speed bumps is that the asphalt after the bump deteriorates because of the added force of the tires on them, and potholes and ruts result. This results in cars weaving left and right at the speed bumps to avoid the potholes – what fun!

Beyond the speed bump method for making cars slowdown in built up areas, there’s the problem of the unpaved roads. When we first arrived, I could only see the one main road that took us to/from Accra. I began to wonder if there were any other paved roads. But as we went to the other school campus (Adenta) closer in Accra, and as we entered more densely populated areas, a few other paved roads showed up as lateral roads. So what about the unpaved roads? They are ubiquitous, and with rare exception, you wouldn’t call them a road, but more of a path. Not only are they narrow, but we’ve been in the wet season, so they are carved in various ways from the water that has flowed in them (It’s been a few days since we’ve had any rain, but there are still some nice sized mud holes along them). I never noticed these unpaved back roads, until we went to church (the church building is located along an offshoot “path” that connects to an unpaved road (to get to church you have to travel a short distance along this offshoot path which has a small rivulet running through it (it’s dry now) that makes for an SUV-only road)), and then went to the other campus.

We have two methods for getting to the Adenta campus – ride in with my son-in-law the whole way when he goes to the campus, or pick up the school bus part way there (Emmanuel drives us to the pick up point at Oyibie and then it’s on the bus for the rest of the way). The school bus however, is most likely not the image you’re considering. The bus can hold about 35 individuals (7 rows of 5 chairs), but only through the use of jump seats. Each row has two chairs on each side, and a jump seat in the middle aisle that gets put down once all the seats are filled up behind the jump seat. The bus ride wouldn’t be so bad if we stayed to the main paved roads, but………..when we’re going to the school in the morning, the traffic backs up, so the driver takes the back roads to get to the school (what fun – there are times when I wonder if the bus will tip over due to the ruts), and in the afternoon upon returning to Oyibie, we drop off a number of students along the way which requires going along the back roads to get to their houses. The ride into the school is about 20 minutes to Oyibie with Emmanuel, and then about 40 minutes from there to the school in the bus. But the ride home is about 1 hour, 40 minutes from the school to Oyibie in the bus, and then 20 minutes home. Of course, in the afternoon, it’s much warmer (okay, hot), with lots of bodies in the bus, and we don’t go very fast along the back roads (no, there’s no air conditioning). Ah, the joys of riding a bus again (it’s been a few years).

So far I’ve seen no accidents, and only one wrecked car beside the road, though not for any amount of safe driving – passing with oncoming traffic is quite common since the roads contain large trucks, cars, tro-tros (private “buses” – some type of Nissan mini-van that crams in 10-15 people in a space for about 8 people), taxis (small Toyota type vehicles that only hold 3-4 people), all going at varying speeds – the taxis “patrol” the highway for customers so they go slowly unless they’re transporting people, the tro-tros are constantly pulling over picking people up or dropping them off, and the trucks go a wide range of speeds. It’s a fluid situation! And then to add to all this mix, the pedestrians walk alongside the road, and don’t forget the street vendors that line the road (fortunately there are no vendors that hawk IN the road – that’s only in the busy city intersections). Very few roads have any sidewalk system, so the pedestrians just do their best, and we all get along!

Oh, and don’t forget the ubiquitous horn – it reminds me of Italy. Horns are used constantly, but usually to warn some car/truck pulling out that you are there. At least it’s not as bad as in Italy where the shortest time interval ever measured occurred at a stoplight that turned from red to green – the time from the light turning and the driver behind you honking their horn (okay, it’s a joke).

Michael