Count these numbered days.

Jubilant greetings one and all!

I'm done with my ISP. I have handed it in for binding. Life is exciting, because I'm not rushing at the last minute to finish up my work. My weaving is done (and awesome), my presentation has at least a vague outline, and life is good.
Aaaaand now I have to somehow fill eight days with activity before I fly home. Granted, three of these days are for presentations, but that only fills the morning and part of the afternoon. My wonderful roommates and I are going to go to the pool for two of them, and pool days are the best days on earth, but... I'm a bit at a loss for what to do with the rest of my time.
Because I stayed in Accra for the bulk of my ISP period, I have already seen the sights, both major and obscure. I've visited libraries around the city, seen the graveyards and mausoleums, the historical and cultural landmarks. And (though it may be a little mean to say this), there aren't that many.
Ghana, despite its prominence (at least on this continent) as a stable and developing, working, democracy, is still that. Developing. And as a result, I have already completed the complete "What to see in Ghana" checklist. So I'm sitting in Accra, counting down the hours until my presentation.
On another note, although I'm quite happy with my roommates, our room has deteriorated into something only we can ever appreciate. Our shower, once a soft spray of water, has devolved into a drip we catch with a bucket in order to bucket shower. Our floor is caked in a layer of dust, our bathroom an inch of mud. The balcony, once boasting a view of the courtyard, is now a wasteland from drying laundry and collecting a slow and grotesque collection of stray hairs from the four female occupants. The kitchen area, once so exciting and novel, is now a wet mess of squishy things we try to ignore as we prepare food and try to touch the counter as little as possible.
Oh, life, you are so glamorous.
My wardrobe and physical appearance have also taken a turn for the worse. I wear the same thing every day, not only because I only brought two pairs of pants (and one had to be thrown out after Mole) and I have to wear pants to weave, but also because I am so close to the end of the program I just can't bring myself to do laundry again. I suck at laundry, done by hand here. I put the clothes in the water, and no matter how hard I scrub they always come out dirtier. Or smelling of mildew.
I bet you can't wait to give me a big hug when I get home now, can you family?
I would feel guilty about being such a slob (my damaged hair is an abandoned project completely, I just secure it back as much as I can every day and remember it is all getting chopped off when I go home) except for the fact that everyone on the program is going through the same process. We can easily spot the new international students on campus now, their faces full of hope, their eyes shining bright, their clothes white and not some off-brown color. Oh, what I could tell them if we stopped to chat. But some things you can only discover for yourself.
Melodramatics aside, I am very excited to go home. I miss you all and I can't wait to be asked five billion times about Ghana! No, really, you can ask, it's okay. But keep in mind I'll want to hear about everything I've missed in your lives too.
I'll try to update once more before I head back. Until then, my friends, I bid you adieu.
Love,
Lo

December the first

Happy December, one and all!
It's kind of crazy, actually, to think that it's already the final month of the year. But so it is and so it goes, and so shall we move on in this blog post.
My life in Accra has been pretty busy but not all that terribly exciting since I last posted. I'm weaving almost every day while trying to get my paper typed. Fortunately I'm almost done with my paper (yay!), and as soon as that is completed I will be able to devote the majority of my time to finishing up my weaving projects and preparing my oral presentation. I still haven't decided if I'll actually prepare a speech or a "game plan" for my oral presentation or if I'll just wing it. Being a procrastinator, I'll more than likely make up my presentation on the spot, but who knows. Maybe I'll jot down some guiding notes or something.
My paper is going well. I'm actually finding it quite easy to write. Maybe because I'm so interested in the subject matter and I've spent so much time researching it, I really want my paper to be exciting and easy to read (but a legitimate research paper nonetheless). My advisor for this project, Professor Amagetcher, a textiles professor at KNUST (Kwame Nkruma University of Science and Technology) based in Kumasi but whose family lives in Accra, has been a great help. He's directed me to many good articles and helped me determine what, exactly, I want my paper to focus on. And crazily enough, he went to IU (That's Indiana University, for those who aren't from my good old Hoosier state)! I'm glad we had that to bond over, although I think he's incorrectly assumed I attend IU as well... but that's something we'll sort out another time, I guess.
It's amazing how two-faced I've found Ghana this past month. In the same walk to go weaving, I have the non-stop heckling from people who want nothing more than money from a white person, as well as people who will drop whatever they're doing to walk you to where you need to go simply because you're looking a little lost. Taxi drivers pass by and honk nonstop because I'm white and they assume I want to pay the five cidi (or more) for a ride instead of the fifteen peshewas for a trotro, but if I need to be pointed in the right direction at a trotro station, there's no shortage of people willing to guide me.
Maybe it's just because I've been here so long and I'm eager to return home (although I've had a grand time, don't misunderstand) but my fuse grows shorter and shorter when dealing with those who make blatant assumptions just because I'm not Ghanian. Today, on my way to the internet cafe, I was hissed at and stopped so that someone could ask me where Katherine was. There is no Katherine on our program-- I haven't even met a Katherine in all my time in Ghana. When I tried to explain this to the man, he couldn't believe me. He insisted I had to know her and that I was lying to him. It's just so ridiculous sometimes. But I digress.
I can't quite remember if I've talked about this on the blog or only in emails to people, but I've shifted the topic of my research again. The focus is still on Kente, of course, but now about how Kente is a defined aspect of Ghanian identity. It's unique to Ghana, you see, unlike many of the other handmade products like Batik or Ebony Carvings. However, it's also fairly popular around the rest of Africa and even (in singular stoles) in the United States and parts of Europe. The focus I'm taking, though, is how on the continent of Africa Kente is seen as Ghanian, whereas as soon as you depart the continent you find Kente is defined as African. It's part of the western perception of Africa as a whole entity instead of being comprised of many unique and diverse countries.
When I first went to school (I've forgotten if this was my first visit to Colby or if it was a subsequent parent's weekend) I was sitting with my dad in Foss dining hall and we saw a student wearing a shirt proclaiming "AFRICA IS NOT A COUNTRY". We both looked at each other and said "duh." Looking back, I still don't think the shirt is any better, but I understand more of what the student was trying to say. Often times, especially from the American perspective, Africa is treated as a whole problem, a single mass that can be fixed with various strategies and plans. Before I applied to the Ghana program, in fact, I had little idea where Ghana even WAS, much less the history, geography, culture, and other facets I have come to know over the past semester.
Well, I've gotten a bit preachy. Sorry, sorry. I'll stop now. The point is that since traveling to Ghana and studying here for a semester, I've collected some new perspectives and opinions on issues I wasn't even aware of previously. But that's what study abroad is supposed to do, right? Provide you with a new perspective that otherwise wouldn't be available to you at your home institution.
I'm staying with Isabel, Claire, and Megan Goldsmith in a room in the hostel and we're having a very fun time. We take a daily trip to the gas station (one of the only places you can always buy food, and predictable food at that) and spend a lot of our time doing nothing. While ISP has been good and provided us a lot of time to do our research... it's been almost too much time. Isabel, Claire AND Megan are almost done with their ISPs as well, and since they aren't doing Kente and don't weave every day, they don't have much to fill their time until we go home. They're preparing for presentations, but you can only do that for so many hours. We've run completely out of books.
Well, sorry for this haphazard and unbalanced blog entry! I just wanted to update and let you know I'm still alive and having a good time.
Love,
Lo

Turkey Day

A happy Turkey Day to one and all. I have five minutes remaining on my time here, but I wanted to extend Thanksgiving Greetings to all those stopping by my blog.

And for my family,

I miss you too much right now, and I hope you're all having a wonderful time even without Allison or myself. May your mashed potatoes be perfect, may Tobey NOT get the Turkey this year, may the marshmallows on the sweet potatoes be abundant, and my Mom's stuffing recipe this year be the best ever. Cheers to family and friends, to hot water and electricity. Cheers to gathering and being away, cheers to adventures. I love you all.

The fun in dying?

Good afternoon / evening / morning / whatever!
I'm back in Accra. This weekend I ventured out to Kumasi in order to visit Bonwire (bon-wir-AY), a town some forty minutes drive from Kumasi where Kente was born. Seeing as I am studying Kente as my research topic, a visit to Bonwire seemed to make sense. I headed out on Friday evening with Trina, who was bound for Nama (the village she stayed in while I was in Benim) to spend a week with the villagers while doing more research for her ISP.
Now, I've made the trip to Kumasi before. And, all things considered, it was one of the easier trips I've had along the dusty unpaved roads of Ghana. However, for all of my previous excursions I have been with the full SIT Ghana Arts and Culture group, meeting at an assigned time to take a chartered death-roach-bus... I mean trotro... to our next destination. So you can understand when I say I was a little apprehensive about our trip.
It was very easy though, getting to Kumasi, so I needn't have worried. I met Trina at Circle, one of the largest stops in Accra for trotros, and after some confused calling around and vague descriptions of landmarks we found one another. After we met up we headed to the VIP bus depot, a popular chain of buses that always have trips to and from Kumasi going, and waited to buy a ticket. Granted, we walked into a den of shouting and yelling and ticket grabbing at first, but once we figured out the system and waited in line and avoided the angrier of the waiting passengers, we made our way to a bus and began our journey.
Unfortunately due to some setbacks (see: vague landmark descriptions, waiting times, etc) we set out very late in the evening. Despite the relatively short distance between Accra and Kumasi, the drive takes anywhere from four to six hours, depending on the number of stops your bus makes, the amount of traffic you encounter, and how fast / crazy your driver is. Our ride wasn't bad at all (I slept through most of it, thankfully), just a little peppered with a horrible film* on the bus' television. We were going to be met at the station by Kwame, one of the SIT leaders who had helped us out and around when we spent our two weeks in Kumasi so long ago.
Due to setbacks on the road and other obstacles, we didn't get into Kumasi until around midnight. Considering most Ghanians go to bed around seven in the evening, Kwame was understandably fatigued. He had promised to meet us at the station with a chartered cab to take us to his house. After getting off our bus and the standard Ghanian greetings, we looked around for our ride. Seeing nothing but an empty parking lot with some trotros waiting in the corner, we turned in slight confusion to our host.
"I couldn't find a cab, so I got us a trotro." He said.
Well, that was fine enough. Maybe a little awkward, considering the lateness of the hour and the fact a normal trotro holds 17 - 20 people and we were three. We greeted the driver, and in an attempt to be funny / amusing / endearing / adorable / all of the above, I made a really lame joke about being the mate of a trotro.
The mate, you see, is the person on the trotro who accepts the change from the passengers, keeps track of who gets on where and who gets off where, and interacts with the passengers so that the driver can, well, drive. Our driver was mate-less. Presumably, we were soon to learn, because he had left him at the bar.
Well, the driver screamed in laughter (literally) at my really lame joke or because I was so funny / amusing / endearing / adorable / all of the above. Although slightly unsettled, we clambered in (each taking up a bench) and began our descent into hell.
Ok, it wasn't THAT bad. But he did proceed to put petal to metal and shoot out of the abandoned station, over unpaved roads, bumping us so high in our seats my head hit the ceiling. We then rocketed along the abandoned streets of Kumasi while our driver turned around and kept speaking with us, eyes abandoning the road. After Kwame's instances, he DID turn the little attention he possessed to the complicated process of not killing us, but all the while talking to the absent mate. Each time we barreled past a stop, he'd call it out, asking "Yen se wo he?" (Where is your [collective] stop?). We were too busy holding on to answer.
But somewhere in between the buildings flying by, the violent shaking of the car, and the realization that he wasn't driving with both headlights on I began to have fun. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation or just the fact that if I were to die in Ghana, to killed by a crazed trotro driver would be quite an acceptable way to go. Trina and Kwame seemed to come to a similar realization, because when I looked around our small, shaking cabin, I saw them smiling. Or maybe crying. I can't really remember.
After fifteen minutes of said ridiculousness, we reached our destination, where our driver immediately shot out of the trotro as if it were on fire, sat down on the ground some feet away, and started yammering on his cell phone.
We looked at one another and started laughing.
Also, did I mention we ran over a chicken? Yeah. Chickens are like pigeons here (and lizards are like squirrels, just FYI) and we definitely flattened one during our wild and crazed ride.
Regardless, after surviving the trip to our accommodations, I slept quite soundly and got to go to Bonwire the next day, where I interviewed some master weavers, impressed the locals with my tricks (Look! I'm an Obruni! And I can WEAVE!), purchased some kente I couldn't live without, and had a merry time. Because Trina and Kwame were so entertaining, I decided to stay on another day and hang out / run errands with them rather than head back on another late-night bus.
So on Sunday, after said hanging out / errands, I went to the station and boarded another bus. Unfortunately, due to my timing and the fact it was rush hour, there was only one seat left on the bus: the jump seat. So I sat in the jump seat, sandwiched against the Bus' mate (who asked me to marry him every five minutes... funny for the first hour? Not so much after five) trying to ignore the pungent B.O. wafting from his unwashed body and attempting to finish my book. Oh what a fun fun time.
So I'm back now in Accra. I finished another Kente today! I'm quite proud of it, not only because it has some of the most complicated patterns I've learned yet, but also because I managed to turn one really, really big mistake into something that kind of looks like the Chrysler Building in New York. And I love that building, so therefore my mistake is awesome. For my next cloth I'm going to break slightly from the ones I've done in the past and work with a different back pattern. It's hard to describe, but it's keeping me from getting too repetitive in my creations.

I'm out of time (again), I'm growing to really dislike Internet Cafes, but I urge everyone to drive with both headlights on, strapped in a seat belt, paying attention to the road, and (if possible) avoiding as many chickens as possible.

Love to you (yes, YOU!),
Lo

* I don't know why, but Ghanian films or their imported Nigerian films are some of the worst I have ever had the misfortune of viewing.

Accra and Week One

Well hello, little neglected blog.

First off, kafra (sorry) for the lack of updates recently. Life in this Ghana has been pretty busy to say the least. But, as I have been learning from my Kente Master, "even the most complicated and beautiful Kentes can be unwoven if you take enough time and care," meaning it is always possible to undo your mistakes. Thanks, oh wizened master.

We're well into our ISP time, and everyone has dispersed around the country. Some are in Kumasi, some in villages scattered here and there, and I remain in Accra. Although I think I'll be taking a weekend trip or two to the Kente capitals of Ghana, I'm going to be in Accra until we leave. A couple of my fellow students (Isabel, Claire, and Megan Goldsmith) are in Accra for the majority of ISP as well, so we have rented a room in a hostel together. It's actually pretty nice. Although it's stuffy and lacks any kind of fan, there are two bunk beds, a bathroom with running(!) water, a counter we have furnished with a hot plate, and a small balcony on which to dry your laundry. My only complaint is that the ladder to get to my top bunk is quite slippery, making for some perilous mornings. I've quite gotten used to the occasional power outage and water stoppage. It's pretty interesting to think about how quickly you can adapt to new standards in living.

I'm keeping up with weaving kente. I weave every day from 8 in the morning until 3 or 4 in the afternoon. I'm weaving in a small town outside of Accra called Ashiaman. There's nothing remarkable to visit there, and since most Obrunis in Ghana are tourists or don't leave Accra, my daily walk to the kente workshop draws quite a bit of attention. And due to the high concentration of Ewe-speaking people from the Volta region (Ghana has many, many native languages. We learned Twi because it is the most commonly spoken), I have collected a couple more names: Obruni Kokoo and Yevu. Obruni Kokoo (pronounced kohkoh, not cucoo) means "red obruni". In Ghana, they have different color connotations based off of how pale or dark you are. Red, for example, is considered to be a very "light" color. Therefore you can be called "red" and it is akin to calling you "pale". So, for those of you playing along at home, I am being called "really, really pale white person". As for Yevu, it's the Ewe equivalent of Obruni, kind of. I prefer Obruni because the connotations are less negative. According to one of our professors of Twi, the term Obruni comes from the word for "horizon" and "visitor", referring to the colonizers who came from the horizon on their ships. Today it means a white person or any foreigner, or even Ghanians who have gone and received a "western education". Yevu, on the other hand, directly translates to "tricky dog" (Ye is dog and Vu is tricky in a negative context). Because the Ewe people encountered the colonizers only AFTER they had gotten around to taking advantage of everyone on the Gold Coast, their term for white man is much more negative. Although it isn't seen as a negative label any more, the history still remains in the meaning of the term.

The more you know.

Moving along, I am weaving every day in Ashiaman with Kwakutche, my kente master. I'm working on a full cloth as opposed to smaller individual pieces, and it's taking me forever. While I enjoy being creative and have tried my hand at many crafts before, timely tasks involving a lot of repetitive motions are the kind of thing I often abandon. Arts and Crafts are hardly my strong point. I like instant gratification, so having to weave at one thing for two weeks? Well, it's a lesson in patience for one thing. But I'm keeping with it, and minus one catastrophic disaster (goat, loom, lunch) things have been going very well. Today was my first day off, and I slept in for the first time since my arrival in Ghana. It was wonderful. I haven't had much time to just sit back and breathe here as I'm running from one place to the next or trying to coordinate something for my ISP or going back to pick up something I've forgotten at the hostel and so forth. Add to the fact that I don't get much sleep due to the stuffiness of the room and the stagnant air smelling slightly and inexplicably of asparagus, and you'll understand why one of the first things on my "to do when I get home list" is "sleep for a really, really long time".

On a completely different note, some of the stores around Accra have started to decorate for Christmas. After sending me into a slight rage at the first sight of tinsel and "HAPPY HOLIDAYS" signs, I had to take a step back and remember Ghana doesn't celebrate any large holidays in November. So it's actually quite remarkable that the holiday paraphernalia was held back until the second week of November. That's one of the things I'm know I'll miss the most about not being home for so long- Thanksgiving. It's a huge family affair for us, and somewhat of a cherished tradition, you could say. I'll miss the cooking and my cousins and my family (I guess). Alas, so it goes. Some of my fellow students are going to gather in Cape Coast for Thanksgiving to celebrate on the beach with a gumbo cooked by Megan Goldsmith. Although at first my intentions were to go along and join (as well as celebrate both Paco and Ismatu's birthdays), I might be headed to the Volta region to look up a Kente village instead with my Kente master. Regardless, this paragraph has depressed me and now I am moving on.

There's a mall here in Accra (I can't remember if I've mentioned it or not), and it's quite unsettling at times. I have to get out and walk by it every day on my way to Ashiaman. It boasts a Shoprite (grocery), Mr. Price (clothing store akin to a Forever 21), GAME (Wal-mart), Puma store (Puma store), and an Apple store (Apple store). You can go inside and completely forget where you are-- consumerism is universal. However, one of the most exciting aspects of the mall is the movie theater. It's really surprising how much I miss movies. I haven't seen one since I left, and so when those of us in Accra discovered the presence of the Silverbird Cinemas, we decided to make a day of it. Although exceptionally overpriced for anything in Ghana, converted to dollars it's about the same as going to a movie back home. I got a small popcorn(!), a coke(!), and went into the air conditioned(!!!) theater to see "Inglorious Basterds". Gory, inaccurate, and splendid, I don't know if I enjoyed it so much because I actually liked the movie or if it was because I was watching a movie for the first time in months. Regardless, due to the significant dent in my wallet I have to say I'll be waiting until Christmas break to see another film.

That's all for now! I'm headed out to do some research on Kente and start writing my ridiculously long paper.
Be safe, shower warmly!
Love always,
Lo

Leaving the nest

Today was the last day of class. If you could call it "class". Really it was the last time we will officially meet as a group until we reconvene for our final presentations the week before we head home.
Which, by the way, is in 35 days. Holy crap.
Since I'm staying in Accra for the entire research period, most of my work was done. I know where I'm staying, I didn't have to coordinate any travel plans or try and figure out where I'm staying next, and I already have my weaving contact and recently secured an advisor. So the past few organizational days have been pretty low-key for me. But that was fine.
Now, however, I'm beginning to feel the pressure of freedom all around me. I form my own days. Soon I will be moving out of my homestay and into a hostel with other students, so I won't even have to keep the usual hours... I could (gasp) sleep in!
Oh man I have to take a second and breathe. Let's not get too crazy here.
I'm really looking forward to the next month(ish). I think I'm going to learn a lot more than I already have, and the opportunity to weave kente in Ghana isn't something I pass by every day. So I'm pretty freaking lucky to be here. It will be nice to cook my own food, control what I eat (yay! No more fufu!), and set my own schedule. I just have to keep reminding myself that I have to write a 30 page paper at the same time, so procrastination is not recommended.
So when I publish the inevitable post in, say... 34 days freaking out about the ridiculousness of the paper, I'll have no one to blame but myself.
In other news, I got to poke around downtown Accra today, something I'd failed to do previously. I got to explore a whole new district, meet some new people, get heckled by new people, and visit a couple of shops. There's one store called Global Mamma's that's a free-trade store that has a base somewhere in the United States as well. They focus on Women's empowerment and helping them support themselves in Ghana. While their prices are much heftier than I've found anywhere else in Ghana (a dress, for example, sells for 27 cidi. I got my dress sewn (fabric included) for 10 cidi), they truly have things completely unique to their store. We visited one of their outlets in Cape Coast, but there was another in Accra that I got to pop into today. I also bought some Black Stars team jerseys, which are very popular due to their winning the U-20 World Cup! I never wrote about that here, but if I get around to it I'll share the story. Maybe one day when I have nothing else to write about.
One thing I DID miss in all our travels though... Trotros. I never really appreciated how easy they make my life and getting around this Ghana. Or how cheap, either. Even when they're more expensive, charging 45 peshewas (Ghana's equivalent to the cent), converting that back... it's less than loose change. I'm really enjoying how easy it is for me to explore all around Accra. I never got to do the "tourist" bits, and I'm planning to knock most of them off my list within the next month.
That's all for now {folks}! Just a quick update to prove I'm still alive, still studying, and still enjoying this Ghana.

It snowed at Colby yesterday. I writhe in envy. Enjoy it, kids.
Love,
Lo

ACTUAL post

Ok ok ok.
Let's actually read about the travels now, shall we?
We've now been all over Ghana. We've gone up to Tamale in the north, seen the boarder, gone all the way down to Cape Coast, back up and east to the Volta region, back down, and looped into Accra. Yemi told us today that we "know Ghana as much as I do", and he's been living here for some ten years.
Our most recent excursions, to the Volta region, were very beautiful. They seemed to pass by much more quickly because we only stayed in one location for two nights, but it was fun nonetheless. Instead of a focus on academic lectures, the majority of our days was spent either watching a dancing / drumming demonstration or participating in a pottery workshop.
The pottery workshop, located right on the lake Volta, one of Ghana's most predominant natural features, was quite relaxing. We got to knead the natural clay collected from local farmers with a special kind of dirt, and then shape it on the floor into pots and blenders.
The oddest thing about this is that when they build the pot, they build from the top to the bottom. You create a doughnut of clay on the floor, and then wetting your hands you work the clay upwards. First you create the top, rimmed, layer and let it dry. The next day you come back with new clay and complete the pot, closing the top up and leaving the opening on the floor. I'd only ever thrown a pot on a wheel before, so watching one being made in this way and seeing the degree of perfection they were still able to achieve was ridiculous.
We all started out with our own pots, but after several attempts the two women who were instructing us would walk around the floor (we all sat on a concrete floor in a scattered, unorganized clump) and reclaim our pots. Then they'd make the pots we'd just tried to make, creating in one minute what we'd just plodded for half an hour on.
We also got to create "blenders". These are a fixture in every Ghanian kitchen. It's a low, shallowish bowl with ruts carved out of the bottom. Using a wooden hand piece shaped like an hourglass, you use the blender to mush and crush spices before adding them to the food. They're also good for mashing tomatoes for sauces and avocados for guacamole. They were made it the same fashion as the pots, from the top down, but instead of building up as we did for the deeper pots, we built supportive bases onto the bottoms. I tried to etch a narwhal into the side of my bowl, but the clay was too leathery by the time I was struck with my inspiration. Alas, I am left only with the tiny narwhal of a signature on the bottom of my creations.
In addition to creating (or watching them create) the pots, we also got to see how they naturally fired them. In the bush where we were learning they don't have kilns, so everything is fired in an open-air fire. They also use this process to blacken some of the pots, turning the natural terracotta color of the clay into a sooty black. First they laid out corn husks into the base of the fire. On top of those they stacked the dried out pots. It apparently didn't matter if they were touching one another, because they stacked them all together into a large pile. Around the pot-pile was thrown more corn husks along with dead palm branches. They used the branches to enclose the pots entirely into a small heap of dead leaves. Finally a layer of straw was thrown on top and lit. Because the middle and bottom layers burnt more quickly than the upper and final layers (aside from the straw used to kindle the fire into existence) the smoke got trapped within the layers of dead foliage and created a super-hot fire. And a lot of smoke. It didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would to fully fire the pots. Once they were fired, some were taken away to be spray painted while others were just set out to sell.
They don't have any glazes here, so everything is either blackened, left the natural color, or spray painted. I don't know if glazes have been introduced but haven't taken, if they're to expensive, if they're unpopular, or if they simply haven't made their way to Ghana yet. Regardless, the whole process was fascinating to watch and learn about.
Another thing we got to do was create glass beads. They were completely recycled from glass bottles, and used to create many different styles, shapes, and sizes of beads.
You started with a bottle whose color you like, and then you smashed the crap out of it. After taking the small splinters of glass and putting them into a mold (made by hand from the same natural clay of the pots-- but the molds are made by the beadmakers themselves. They vary as per shape and size, but usually they are round holes in a clay disk. There are usually 4 to 10 holes in a disk, depending on the beadmaker's skill), you put the mold into a burning hot fire and let it melt. The fire is constructed in a clay oven that allows it to reach ridiculous temperatures (note my colorful use of adjectives to cover up my lack of note taking) to melt the glass together. After they have melted enough, you take them out and use a small straw to round them out within their holes in the mold and poke a hole through the bead.
We worked with a blue rum bottle, a brown Guiness bottle, and a green gin bottle, in addition to the standard clear window glass. You could make a pure-color bead, but some of the most beautiful beads were made by mixing the different glasses together in a combination. Due to the process, instead of the colors flowing together into a mix (like yellow + blue = green), a marble process took place making a multi-colored bead. Everyone got to play around with the types and colors of beads to make, and we all came up with some pretty amazing results.
After the art days, we also got to sit down and see two new styles of dance. We've already been to quite a few dancing demonstrations, so it's amazing to me that there are still dances we haven't seen yet, costumes we haven't imagined yet, and drum beats we haven't heard yet. Ghana is such a diverse place, and that's a fact I sometimes forget. One of the dances involved a mock-fistfight where men in colorful tu-tus pranced and jumped in the sand in front of us. Another one involved women with mirrors dancing around and dragging some of the Obruni bystanders into the fray. One of my favorite dances, though, showed a man getting shot by a gun and how, back in the day, the traditional healers dealt with such a serious wound.
In dance form.
It was so cool.
But we've completed that chapter in our travels, and now we are about to set off on our ISP time. This unstructured month is where we complete our research topics (mine is Kente cloth) and tie off any loose ends we might have left around the country. It's a little daunting, facing the infinite possibilities of the future month, but I'm very excited to learn weaving and start to seriously research into this topic that has fascinated me since I first landed in Ghana.
I'm going to be in Accra for the bulk of my ISP, but I'll keep you posted of any sudden changes. I hope everyone at home is enjoying the colder weather and early snows!
Love,
Lo
PS: I'd like to include a shout-out to my cousin Allison who is studying abroad in Italy. I have Google Analytics going for this blog to record page-counts and the like, and one of the features included is a map showing where in the world I get the most traffic. The country that visits the blog most is, understandably, the US, but holding on for a strong second is Allison in Italy. I say Allison in Italy because she's the only person I know of in Italy, and therefore the coveted second position belongs to no one but her. So a hearty congrats, Al. Many thanks for staying with me this long.

The Return

A howdy hello from... Accra?

That's right! We've come full circle, returning once more to the capital of Ghana, Accra. We're back with our homestays (this is the Pimpongs for me, with Auntie Emma and Uncle Samuel and the crazy hectic bathroom o' doom) . I'll blog more about this later, but I have to keep things short right now because there's someone reading over my shoulder.

Until later!
Lo

Photos

A howdy hello from Cape Coast! I have photos for your viewing pleasure. They are of a rather small, low quality in order to help facilitate the uploading process, but HEY some images are better than none at all, so let's run with what we've got!
Pictured to the left is the view from Cape Coast Castle. It was never a castle historically, only serving as a garrison, but due to its picturesque view and plaster-white walls, the label "castle" has stuck with it. The British imposed colonial rule from this garrison (although it was a Dutch construction, purchased/stolen/smarmily yoinked by the British) as well as used it as the central hub for trading goods. Most notable among these goods were slaves. The majority of the slaves traded through the TransAtlantic system passed through one of the many garrisons on Ghana's coast. Today Cape Coast Castle and Elmina (another "castle", some thirty minutes' drive from Cape Coast) have been preserved to serve as reminders of the slave trade. They were renovated (not restored-- but that's another issue entirely) fairly recently, thanks to some 11 million dollars provided by the United States to aid the process. We toured both Cape Coast Castle and Elmina Castle as a group on a guided tour.

Here's a picture of me in Mole National Park! The views were pretty darn spectacular. And very, very green. You can't see it in the photo, but I wore my special "roll-up-into-shorts" pants that day, but because I can be a dim child sometimes I failed to roll them down into pants to properly protect my legs from the bush that we were tromping through. My poor, slightly mangled shins are none too happy with my oversight. Regardless, we saw many a pretty plant, many more pretty plants, and occasionally even some animals! Hey, speaking of animals... whoops the photo I had prepared of the elephant isn't working. SO HERE'S ONE FROM GOOGLE:

I mean, my picture was pretty much going to be the same thing. We were totally that close and my picture is totally that clear and he was totally facing us. Yeeeeah.
I have to fill this space so I can include the next photo. So some facts about me: My favorite color is red. My favorite color COMBO is light blue and earthy brown. My favorite animal is the majestic Narwhal, although my favorite animal changes often. The majestic narwhal is seconded by the octopus, followed closely by the squid. Oh look I've filled enough space! Let's go to the next slide:

This was taken on the TroTro ride frome Mole back to Tamale. The pained expression on my face is reflective of the comfort level of my seat. Also, this image is pretty misleading: due to the wide-angle lense on my camera, things look spacous and life looks breezy. Do not be fooled. We were cajoled and squished. That's Lydia and Megan Goldsmith in the background, looking terribly entertained (Lydia's blog is linked to on the sidebar). The drives were mostly bad, in my opinion, because of the length and shakiness of the car. Also the fact that there are NO rode rules in Ghana and therefore you are hurtling at death every second of every drive, ever. But other than that things are pretty darn sweet.

Here's Big Daddy, lur Crocodile (for more on him, see my previous entry). Isn't he adorable? Don't you just want to hug him?!
The guides at the lake, who were basically bored 15-year-old boys, reported to us that he's a very old and big crocodile. They said that he's been swimming his waters for around 80 years. I'm not sure if I believe them (I also have no idea what's an average lifespan for a crocodile), but it's an interesting tidbit to share in my photo dump to fill up space until the next gap nonetheless. He sat like that the entire time, when he wasn't walking about looking for a Mushy or Fufu (see last entry) to snack on. I think it has something to do with him breathing when out of the water, or maybe it was his version of smiling for the camera after so many years of practice. Regardless, it made for a rather awesome photo. Yes, this isn't yoinked from google. It's my own. YAY.

Here is me RIDING THE CROCODILE. Writhe in envy of my little blog... write in envyyyy. Or, you know, do the "sane" thing of questioning my actions and thanking whatever power you believe in that none of the students who chose to ride one of the most dangerous creatures on this planet got a finger or something worse bitten off.
In an attempt to take up space to get the layout and these photos looking nice and pleasing, I'd like to ask for a moment of silence to remember the poor, sacrificed, souls of Mushy and Fufu. Pause your iTunes, tell your sibling in the background to can it, throw a rock at the chattering bird outside, and appreciate the silence. Due to the noble sacrifice of Mushy and Fufu (we knew you so briefly, sniff sniff) we were able to get campy pictures of us riding dangerous creatures. May their actions never be forgotten.

I know Megan's parents have paid a visit to my blog in the past, and reportedly appreciated a photo I posted from the village. So here's a photo of Megan riding Big Daddy. I hope you enjoy it! This also slightly proves that my fellow students are brave / foolish enough to climb atop a crocodile and pose with it as well. See, people who actually know me? I'm not the ONLY person who would do it. Bwa ha ha ha ha.
When we were waiting / cheesing hardcore for the camera with Big Daddy, a couple of other small fries circled around trying to get in on the chicken dinner. Several times our group was dispersed due to an unanticipated crocodile guest, and we had to wait until said guest was scared back into the water before resuming our tourist activities.

Here's one of the traditional houses from the "traditional village" in Paga. The village was actually only five or six houses that I'm more than sure were built explicitly to get money from the tourists there, but it's really okay. We got to see the constructions and the drawings on them. And because these types of buildings aren't typical to the region we spend most of our time in (the middle and south of Ghana), I'm glad that there were some examples for us to appreciate, however briefly. That y-shaped log to the left of the doorway is a ladder, by the by. Just in case you were curious. It's actually not a really, really big slingshot like I had hoped when I first saw it. Still though... pretty cool.

Here's a (bad) photo from the dance preformance we got to go to here in Cape Coast. This is from the final dance, which was more of a show of acrobatics than a dance. But the actual dances previous to this one were quite impressive. The company, Nyame te ase (I think?), boasts the talents of many wonderful dancers and most notably the ONLY female drum master in all of Ghana. That's her in the background, wearing the red dress with the hat. We got to visit her store today, and she gave us a very brief but very fun drum lesson right in the shop! It's amazing how nice and willing people are to help you out, or just have a conversation with you. Even if you're the only female drum master in the whole of Ghana. She's done a lot of work with SIT students in the past, too. One of her former students is actually in Cape Coast now, working on a film project. We've gotten to have some meals and spend some afternoons with her as well. It's so cool to hear about life after Ghana and her experiences in the program almost a decade ago.

Ok, this photo is just to make me feel better about my skills as a photographer after the last crap-tastic photo. This was taken during the first dance, which I called "really cool one where people wear red". I wasn't quite able to catch the ACTUAL name, but Natalie has been writing them down and I'll ask her at dinner tonight.
Some of my favorite parts of the dances we've seen here have been the footwork. While not the focus of the dance, the ability of the dancers to move their feet at a different pace than their hips, shoulders, or other body parts. It's the whole polybeat aspect to African music that after all this time I'm still unable to wrap my head around completely.

Here's a picture of me on the canopy walk at one of the national parks here. I'm blanking on the name and I'm late to dinner so I can't take the time to look it up! Apologies!
Regardless, the walk was ridiculously awesome. Like all canopy walks, the walkways were suspended in the canopy layer of the forest, so we got amazing views of the whole park as well as the thrill of walking on a swinging, semi-stable walkway built many, many years ago without the same safety guidelines as, say, the United States.
It was a boatload of fun. I walked with some of the more adventerous students, and we lagged behind so we could swing the walkway and run back and forth and be stupid. Megan Goldsmith actually did some tumbling down the path. You can't tell from the picture, but they were REALLY shaky and the wood planks that served as the bottom of the bridge were pretty loose in their own right. It was lots of fun, and certainly worth the shaky busride over.


Ok ok ok, I've got to go to dinner now. I hope you have enjoyed this picture post of our "lives in this Ghana", as our directors like to call them. We leave Cape Coast tomorrow morning for the Vota region, which is famous for beadwork and many other things. We got a free day today, so unlike our previous busrides of eternal length, I'll be very well rested for this one! I'm out of books, and have read through most of my fellow students' books, so it will be a great ride for day dreaming and brainstorming (be prepared, Annie).

For those of you who have come for pictures of the program, and not to read my second-rate blog, I reward your patience with a group photo from the waterfall! Really got to go now!

Love always,
Lo

Tamale take TWO!

Now with 70% more internet!

NOTE: Two chickens were maimed, broken, and bloodily devoured by crocodiles in today's entry. If such a thing offends you, or my humorous re-telling of such a thing offends you, please skip over today's entry.

Whoops!
Sorry about that, friends. Ghana has been having power issues as of late-- something to do with the main dam that powers the country being problematic. In order to fix it, the technicians had to turn off entire grids, which in this case meant entire areas of the country, in order to do the repairs. As such, our entire stay in Tamale was wonderfully peppered with blackouts and days of no power. It really wasn't that bad except for the excruciating heat, the inability to shower or draw water, and the dining in the dark.

But now we are in Cape Coast! But I will get to that later. I still have to tell you all about Tamale.

We arrived after a dirty, gross, dusty, sweaty busride sprinkled with roach sightings (INSIDE the bus... it was terrifying). The roads in Ghana are not great. Since they do not have the budget to employ a police force to monitor the speeds on the roads, they put in speed bumps along all major highways. In addition to the potholes and other gaps in the road, coupled with the lack of suspension on our vehicle, it was a jarring ride. But, with only a couple of "bush stops" (when we pulled the bus to the side of the road to allow members of our party to properly relieve themselves), we made it. We were then split into two groups-- those staying at the Catholic Guest House, and those staying at the other hotel whose name I have forgotten. If you can't tell, I was put into the Catholic Guest House.

The facilities were excellent, we had a shady bar/hangout area that served as the main center of activity, and the mess hall was wonderfully close to our rooms. Although by Western Hotel standards it wasn't anything to write home about, after life in the compound and life in the village, it was as good as any 5-star hotel to me. They had RUNNING WATER!

Tamale was extremely different. It was a cultural change from the southern Ghana we had gotten to know and love (well, some of us anyway). Twi was no longer the predominant language, so we were unable to communicate as readily as before. Also, due to the heavily Islamic presence in Tamale, we were required to alter our already more conservative dress. Head coverings were recommended by our staff, and we were obliged to comply. I actually bought some very beautiful veils there-- despite many women being covered from head to toe, it's a beautiful style.

Another major change, for me at least, was the tourist population. Due to Tamale's proximity to Mole, the major national park and main tourist draw, the city is host to many more obrunis. As such, the sight of an Obruni is much more common and I did not encounter the same amount of hassling from street vendors, or the same number of inquiries from curious Ghanians. It was startling, really, how differently we were treated. I walked down a street and no one noticed. It was crazy. I think it will be the same kind of change at home-- I'll walk down the block, turn around at the end and yell out "DIDN'T ANYONE SEE ME WALK BY?" Watch out, citizens of Columbus.

We had several days of classes and getting to know Tamale days. My favorite part of town was the Cultural Center. They had little booths set up there with various "Authentic Ghanian" crafts and wears. Although it was clearly a tourist stop and therefore catered to westerners, I was able to make friends with a woman who owned a Batik store there. I purchased several of her designs as well as some other things, but if I told you about them I'd be ruining many a Christmas present so you'll just have to writhe in anticipation. Bwa ha.

The main market was also fascinating. As in the other markets I have found here, they sold anything from live Chickens to car parts. Organized in sections by goods (fish over here, car parts over there, snack vendors peppered throughout), the smells and sights are overpowering. I got to hold a Guinea Fowl, a specialty of the North, and try the Cola nut. The nut is used in creating Coca-Cola, but it also has a lot of cultural significance.

The highlight of Tamale was, by far, the excursions to Mole National Park and Togo. We were able to reach Mole only after a bumpy, hellish ride of non-roads in our suspension-challenged Trotro, but once we reached our accommodations it was if we had died and reached some kind of Students-Abroad-in-Africa-Nirvana. The rooms were cool and clean (with pillows! And sheets!), there were pre-drawn buckets of water AND tap water, and... wait for it... there was a SWIMMING POOL.

Hot damn it was worth the ridiculous prices.

We spent the night by the pool and eating a pretty good dinner. The views were incredible. The hotel itself was built on top of a cliff that oversees the majority of the park. Right below our vista was one of the main watering holes, where elephants reportedly gathered to wallow in the mud and do other elephant-ish things. Although we didn't see any from the terrace, the tales of sightings in the past were enough to excite us for our hike the following morning. We did, however, get to come quite close to warthogs and baboons, as well as a white-fur-thing monkey and some really ugly birds.

And yes, these are technical names. There will be a quiz next week, so take notes.

We woke up the next morning to depart at 6, in order to catch the early-rising animals in their morning routines. We split into two groups again, and after some confusion on proper footwear (Mole rules require you to wear close-toed shoes. If you don't have proper footwear you are forced into renting some rather clunky Wellies. The ironic bit is that the wellies they rent out are so worn in that they have gaping holes in the foot. Oh Ghana.), my group took off. We started out by encountering a few warthogs wallowing in mud by the side of the road, and hiked through the bush to find a family of baboons and some more monkeys (what type? I don't know. They were brown. I think) in a tree. Of course what we were really after was an elephant.

Our guide was quite nice. He shifted the gun he was required to carry at all times from shoulder to shoulder, texting on his cellphone while leading us through the bush. I actually liked him quite a bit (seriously, I did). He answered all my questions, and when I kept pestering him good-naturedly to procure an elephant for us, he tossed me his cellphone with a picture of an elephant as the background.

He really knew his way around the park. He led us through elephant grass taller than myself, across eroded gorges and through a dried up watering hole. Eventually we circled back around to the main wallowing watering hole (Hehehe, wallowing watering hole. I like that) and across the field, we saw....

A white-tailed deer thing! WOOO!

Well, we saw that first. And after we had successfully scared THAT animal away, we looked across the field to see the elephant.

It was awesome. He was pretty tiny and we couldn't get much closer due to the muddy watery wasteland between us, but he had tusks and was doing that adorable flappy thing with his ears that elephants do.

My older sister, Katherine, really likes elephants. She does this excited-gasp noise whenever we see an especially adorable one in print or in film or wherever. I made that gaspy noise in her honor.

The hike back was filled with more blurry bird sightings, an angry warthog, and many startled antelope. We ended up climbing up the cliff directly to the terrace of our hotel, where several members of both groups fell directly into the pool and did not come out until we had to leave.

The drive back was hot and dusty. So dusty, in fact, that we were able to scrape layers of accumulated road-dirt off of our faces and exposed skin. Yaaaaay!

The next day we woke up early (5:30 a.) in order to catch a bus leaving for Paga, the boarder town that is famous for its crocodile ponds. Originally created as sacred pools to pay proper tribute to the clan's ancestors and the crocodile gods, today they are bribed out of the ponds with live chickens so fat white people can sit on them.

The times, they are a-changin'.

Most of our group went, although a few stayed behind due to the long bus ride. It took us 6 hours to make it to the boarder town. More bumpy roads, but on this ride we didn't charter the entire bus (due to it being an optional trip, not scheduled by SIT), so I spent the ride with my knees touching my chin while being sweat upon by my snoozing neighbor. I think the fondest memories I shall carry back home with me will be of my time in transit. Le sigh.

The ponds were beautiful. We only really saw one, the King's Pond (with the most crocodiles in it), but the marshy landscape popping out of the dry surroundings was quite a sight to behold. After paying the proper fees (one to behold the ponds, one to buy the chickens, one to ride the crocks), we walked over to get close to the pond. We had purchased two small chickens-- named "Mushy" and "Fufu" by yours truly-- that two small boys carried with them. A small crocodile was first called in one of the tinier runoff ponds, and we all took pictures of his grimacing smile. But then we were called to the main pond where Big Daddy had decided to grace us with his presence.

And what a presence it was. The crocodile wasn't HUGE, but he was pretty darn big. His eyes were smoky and glazed over, and his mouth was constantly open during the entire photo-session. He only closed the layers of sharp, pointy teeth to snap the neck of Mushy when we were done. The guides showed us how to properly walk around Big Daddy (also a name provided by myself), how to sit on his back and how to hold his tail. We were skittish at first, scattering like a cockroaches in sudden light whenever he moved his head, but as more and more students approached him to take increasingly ridiculous photos, we became pretty comfortable.
I got to ride him, and it was awesome. I held his tail and patted his back and snapped my pictures. Totally worth it. I then turned to our guide and asked him if I could feed him the chicken. And he said yes.
Best. Day. EVER.
In order to properly prepare Mushy, the small boys tied its wings together so he couldn't get away. They then handed him to me and told me to aim at Big Daddy's mouth-- not to throw it to close to me, because he was most likely going to lunge forward to capture Mushy in his menacing jaws. So I looked Big Daddy in the eyes, swung Mushy back, and lobbed him into the air.
As Mushy flew through the air, the crowd made small noises of terror as they snapped their photos. We waited for Big Daddy to lunge... and...
Well, I missed. So sue me. You try throwing a chicken and see how accurate you are.
So they poked Big Daddy with a stick and kind of... guided him over to the twitching ball that was Mushy, and THEN his big jaws snapped and cracked and Mushy was no more. I was watching when I felt the guide shove me forward.
"Go! Now go ride him again!"
"...excuse me? WHILE he's devouring that helpless animal that I tossed him?"
"Go go go!"
And so I went.
Not only did I get to ride a crocodile and feed him a chicken, but I got to ride him as he ate the chicken.
Awesome day.

There was also a "historic village" (read: place built to siphon off tourists' money) to visit in Togo, and we briefly got to see it. But we were rushed through the rest of our time there due to miscommunication and our impatient SIT staff member (who accompanied us on our journey). But the buildings were very beautiful. They have a different style of decoration in the far north-- painting directly on to the mud exteriors. The black patterns, painted only by women, are reflective of the village and the values. Diamonds, symbols of strength and endurance, are the most common, but due to the unusual presence of the crocodile pond, the crocodile was also a popular motif. I wish we could have gotten a bit more time there, but alas! What can you do? You can't feed a crocodile a chicken and see the village too.

We drove past the boarder on the way back. That was very cool to see as well.

After both of these excursions, we woke up early yet again to get on the sans-suspension bus to drive to Cape Coast. The drive is exceptionally long, so they smartly decided to stay the night in Kumasi. We saw a waterfall on the way down, and got some very amusing group photos. I'll see if I can get one of those posted-- it's about time for another picture post, if I can manage it. After the waterfall we drove without major incident to Kumasi where we stayed the night. Some students went back to visit their homestay families, but I did not. Surprise surprise.

Instead I went with Megan Gurrentz and Lydia to visit Mame B, one of the teachers we had in Kumasi as well as Megan's homestay mom. She was wonderfully welcoming, and asked us many questions about our travels and gave us Fantas. It was really nice to see her again. We also got to see her husband, who is also a Chief of a village (but lives in Kumasi). I'd only met him once before, where when he asked me (in Twi) where I lived, I responded "Aduwe Encuanta", the stop on the Tro-tro I got off at. Aduwe Encuanta, in English, means Monkey Junction. Due to the difficulty I had saying Aduwe correctly, I would often have to resort to English, saying "Monkey Junction! Monkey Junction!" in order to get directions or to stop the Tro-tro at the right time. I had told this story to Mame B's husband, so when he saw me and after we had done the Ghanian greetings, he pointed at me with a large smile on his face and bellowed, "Monkey Junction!".

Megan and Lydia found that pretty funny. It's a nickname now. Le sigh. (A note to Lyndsey, who I know is reading this: NO, you may not call me Monkey Junction.)

The Chief also said that, "You have only been gone a few days and you are looking beautiful! You have grown so fat!" It's a nice compliment to a Ghanian... but we mostly just laughed. The constant starchy diet is getting the better of us, it seems. Hahahaha!

We left Kumasi the next morning (early, again) to drive the remainder of the journey to Cape Coast. More suspension-less potholes, more roaches, more dust. But we're here, we've made it, and it's beautiful. Cape Coast, the old capital of Ghana, is on the Ocean. It boasts many beaches and rocky things to take pictures of, in addition to two historic castles built by the Dutch and the Portugese (later to be taken over by the Swedish, and eventually British). Both fortifications of claimed territory and slave gateways, we are going to tour both during our visit here.

I think that's enough for one post. I'll work on more photos! Sorry for the delay in posting, in Tamale telling, et cetera.
Be safe!
Love,
Freckles O'Bruni, Monkey Junction, Auntie Lala
... or just Lo!

Tamale, in one post

Greetings.

We've just returned from the famed Crocodile Pond where I not only got to SIT upon a Crocodile, oh no... but FEED one a live Chicken. Sweet revenge for so many 4am wake-ups, you are sweet.

I think the power's going out now. Crap.
More later

Love,
Lo

I live! With Photographic Proof!

Whooo! Hello again from Kumasi, friends.
WITH PHOTOS! OH SNAP!

After two weeks in the village, we have returned. While I enjoyed Benim, I am glad to be back in civilization. Or, more accurately, what I have adjusted my standards to deem "civilization" once again.
We're staying in Lizzie's Hotel (where I had a horrible experience before-- no light in the bathroom or bedroom, no lock, no anything... bad night.) but I remain hopeful this time will be better. We take of tomorrow morning at 7(ish) so we can drive the 7 estimated hours to Tamale, where we will spend another week. Tamale, they tell us, is hella hot. Literally every time the name Tamale is mentioned, the staff goes "Oooooh! There it is very hot", before recounting some horror story from a previous year where all the students on the busride up got heatsickness and vomited all over everything, ever.
I've found the staff is full of a lot of stories of that calibur.

My freckles have decided to multiply in numbers I have never seen before. The consistant sunlight around the Equator can do that, I guess. Regardless, at one point in the village I was identified simply for my freckles. Jokingly, for a day I became "Freckles O'Bruni, whitest kid in the village". It was a pretty awesome day.

But yes! About that village!
It's name is Benim, called for a palm frond discovered by the founder that had many nuts but no wicks(?). The actual name for the non-wick many nutted palm frond is actually, as you might imagine, quite longer. But it starts with Be Nima... something something, and has become Benim. It was the largest of the villages SIT students stayed at, numbering between 500 and 1000 people. There were also three schools (two public, one private) so there was never a shortage of children. When we first got there, after unloading our luggage from the trotro on stroids that took us to Benim, a gaggle of children came running across the school lawn screaming, "OBRUNI!" They followed us to the SIT headquarters in Benim, a house belonging to an older woman we came to know as Nana, and really never left. If there was a single consistancy throughout my stay in Benim, it was the presence of children.
We would be sitting on sofas, reading, and they would slowly leak into the room. Every time I looked up, they had doubled in size. And not for the entertainment the Obruni was providing, because I assure you reading "Things Fall Apart" was to myself, not some kind of organized reading. I would sit on the sofa, regard the chilren, keep reading, look up again at their doubled size, shudder slightly, keep reading, and so on. Some were consistantly there, like Pricilla and Nana Yaw (called Nana, a title of respect, at a young age because he was named for The Honorable Nana Yaw, and it seems disrespectful to refer to the child, named for the great man, without the title of greatness), while others such as Soloman and Mabina were guest stars in the odd little melodrama of "follow the Obruni and get in her way whenever possible".
It actually took a couple of days before my village-mates (Isabel, Mara, Natalie, and Amanda) and I wondered why the kids weren't in school. And that's when we were informed that in Ghana, although public schools are free for everyone, the children aren't really forced to stay in school. Because the teachers are payed for their work, regardless of graduation rates, test scores, or what-have-you, the children can just leave class at any time if they so wish. The teachers aren't reviewed, aren't fired, and are given free reign to do whatever they want. Amanda worked in a school for her mini ISP, and one time the teacher left in the middle of the day to take a nap, while Amanda did what she could. So if you want your child to get an education where they LEARN, you have to send them to a private school. Private schools cost from one to two cidis a day (one cidi is about .60 or .70 cents), which many families just can't afford. Still, all that being said, the children genuinely enjoy school and try to keep with it as long as they can. So that, at least, is good.

Benim had the same red-earth color that was so prevalant in Accra. While it felt drier, there were more plants than I had seen before, and at times the dirt roads erupted into violent patches of green grass(!). It was almost comical, really, the way the grass grew among the dirt and sand of the roads. The buildings were concrete, mostly, with open air courtyards and tin roofs. The courtyards (almost the entire population of Benim lives in compound-style living) each held large oil barrles, cleaned out and used to collect rain for clean water. The first eight days we had consistant rain at night, but for the remaining six days we had water shortages due to the dry spell. Clean water was hard to come by, so everyone had to do without bucket showers and use as little water as possible. That's one thing I've really come to appreciate-- clean and safe water. It's so readily available (faucets! Taps! Bottles!) back at home, but here it's a legitimate concern. You plan how you use each bucket of water, because it's not always certain when the next one will be available.
I stayed in the SIT headquarters, with Nana and her grandson Nana Yaw. Nana Yaw, having hosted Obrunis in the past, was more than willing to spend time with us, posing for the camera and asking for gifts and being a bit of a spoiled brat. His mother, Cicily, is twenty years old. She had Nana Yaw when she was sixteen. She farms, but lives in the house as well. For the most part I didn't interact with the family in the house (we all had meals together in the house, cooked by Auntie Grace, and I was mostly with my village-mates) as much as I could have, but they had a busy schedule. The times I DID help around the house (sweeping was mostly my job), they laughed good-naturedly at me for doing such a horrible job. Nana, however unintentionally, was hilarious. She spoke no English, but didn't allow that to stop her from chatting at us most of the time. She also enjoyed walking around topless. She's maybe 70? One time I came around the corner to find Nana, naked as the day she was born. I made a loud noise in suprise, and she kept asking me why I was startled (in Twi). Stammering for a response while trying to hide my burning eyes, I told her I'd seen a large bug and got the hell outta dodge.
Food was made for us by Auntie Grace, but one night we got to cook for her. Deemed "American Night" on our schedule, we had to work together to brainstorm a meal, cook it, and serve it to our Ghanian hosts. We decided on Veggie Burgers with Yam Chips and Guacamole. Basically the most American you can get when working with Ghanian ingredients. We made veggie burgers out of beans, curry, and assorted veggies. We pounded them into patties. After that we cut Yam (or Cassava, or Coco Yam, the only difference being where the Yam is grown) into thinish slices and fried them in oil. The Guac was made without tomatoes or onions (as Amanda dislikes both of those), but still good nonetheless. I was in charge of frying up the yam chips, which took about 12 minutes per batch. Fun times. In the end, though, we produced a pretty tasty meal and all went to bed having eaten far too much.

For my mini ISP, I wove Kente Cloth. A traditional Ashante cloth, it was originally made in only Black and White because they lacked the dyes to color anything brightly. After imported dyes came, however, yellow and red became the staple colors of Kente. Hand woven in long and thin strips, many Kente Cloths are sewed together to make a large Kente Blanket, worn by chiefs and for formal Ghanian events as a sign of wealth and prominance. The patterns are colorful and varied, but always have the gold base. The man I learned from has been weaving for twenty years and was an apprentice for three. He built the loom he weaves on himself, and does so to suppliment his income. He is a farmer by trade.

I wove with him for a week, but I was only working the loom for three days. It is a hard process, Kente. You have to weave the bobbin in every other row in addition to the smaller, more fragile, strings that make the pattern on the red-and-green base. I also had the problem of tension, as when I drew the slam shield (my name for it, not the actual term, have no fear) back to tighten the new row, I couldn't keep it even. So as my patterns progressed everything started leaning slightly to the left. And then more to the left. And then my Master had to take over the loom to fix it. Whoops!
I had a great time weaving. I made two cloths, which is pretty impressive for three days of work. For an Obruni. When Nana Ogau (Kente Master) weaves, it takes him three days to complete an entire cloth (much longer than the one I was weaving) of the hardest and most difficult pattern. It takes an entire day to string the loom properly. So my weaving, with all its intricacy (compare: Kindergardner's Crayon drawing to a Klimt painting) he could do in an afternoon. Regardless, I was lerning and I am damn proud of my little scraps. Hell to the yes.

We've done drumming here a couple of times (once was in Accra, pictured, as formal lessons, once was in Kumasi as a part of our Drumming/Dancing class, but more of the focus was on Dancing), but it was really fun to be in the village and actually be able to make out the beats they used, and then follow them. The music here is polyrythem, so unlike our straightforward European music, many things go on at once, and to the untrained ear (like my own), it sounds like nothing matches up. It actually all fits together, but more on a circular method than an exactly determined one. It's very hard to explain. Regardless, I got to do a bit of drumming in the village (I don't completely suck! Win!) and everyone at least appreciates it when I try to participate, instead of sitting it out or just watching. Even if I butcher their music, at least I'm trying! Yay!

One of the most interesting parts was the expectancy of the villagers for us to give them gifts. Itw as only something that became readily apparant at the end, but it was worth noting nonetheless. We want to help the village out, and indeed when we get back we are going to raise money at our schools to help Benim build a library, but we weren't ready for the sheer bluntness of some of the villagers. Today, after coming back from giving Nana Ogau a gift for teaching me to weave, I met some people in the street for the first time. Because I (obviously) stick out in the village setting, it is not uncommon for people to yell at me and start a conversation. Usually they are short, thanks to my limited knowledge of Twi, but when walking through the paths of Benim I was consistantly hailed with calls of "Obruni! E te seyn?" {Obruni, how are you?}. In Ghana, when you are greeted, it is very rude not to respond at all. So at times, when I walked along the more popoulated paths, a trip of 5 minutes could take me 40 minutes, due to greetings alone. In any case, this morning before I left I was walking back and encountered a group of men for the first time. After the obligatory greeting, I informed them that it was my last morning in Benim. They responded with, "That's sad. So what are you giving me?". They have come to expect gifts and favors and, frankly, money from Obrunis simply because they are Obrunis. We were also given, durning our stay, a list of things that the elders of Benim requested for the school, from us. As a donation. That we didn't ask about. That they wanted by the time we left.
It just makes me sad that that's the most they expect from visitors-- money.
There's more to say about the village, but I'm afraid I'm running low on time.

I am especially excited to go to Tamale because of the day excursions we'll take. One is to go see the Sahara, and on the way stop at a Crocodile pond famous for the number of Crocodiles in it. You can pay to ride them and to feed a live(!!) chicken to them. I would feel bad about this except for the fact that on this trip I have consistantly been awakened by roosters crowing at 4 in the morning. Therefore, I think of it less as cruelty and more as Kharma.
The other trip is to an Elephant park, where we'll hike around the National Park and see Lions, Elephants, Giraffe, Hippos, and all those African Friends, as well as possibly ride an Elephant. Soooo excited.

I'll have internet in Tamale (so they say), so hopefully I'll keep up with the blog. I hope everyone at Colby had a nice Fall Break, and that everyone else had a nice Columbus Day! Keep making safe decisions!

Love,
Freckles O'Bruni
(Lo)

To the next adventure!

Hello dear readers. Both of you.

First off, apologies for the lack of updates, but internet is rather hard to come by in Kumasi. Even when I *do* get to it, cookies are an issue and often I can't write emails or update this blog or anything. But I'm here now, don't fret. And you're so excited (I can tell these things).

Kumasi has gone by so quickly! And as I have yet to experience a compacted bowel or exploded bladder (knock on wood?) I am going to declare my stay to be a success. We leave our homestays tomorrow to meet our group on school grounds by 8 am (meaning I'll only have to wake up at 6, instead of my usualy 5 am wakeup) in order to pack our things on a bus and head to... the village!

I'm super excited for this. Yemi, our program director (who tells us often to "go enjoy your life") has told us that in the village we will meet "authentic Ghanians". I'm not quite sure what that specifically means, but I'm sure it will be fun nonetheless. We're all spread across three villages in smaller groups, but everyone is within walking distance. So that's very nice. I'm with Natalie, Isabel, Amanda, and Mara. Our village isn't as close to the others, but it's no more than a 20 minute walk. So exciting.
In the village I'll also get to choose something to do for our mini-ISP. Rachel is thinking about doing dressmaking, Natalie wants to make drums, etc. It's a smaller exercize into what we'll be doing for the month of November. I'm not entirely sure what I want to do though. They don't have kente weaving, which is unfortunate, but it means thatI get to have some fun with a subject I wouldn't get to investigate otherwise. I'm thinking maybe basket weaving? Honestly, I think I'll have to wait to see what jumps at me when I get there.

I can't believe September is almost over. Happy Fall everyone back home! Enjoy my second-favorite season for me. I'm still a little upset I'm missing it completely, but I figure the fun I'm having here is making up for it.

On a completely unrelated note, I've taken to following the Black Stars (Ghana's football {soccer} team) and their progress to the World Cup, to be held in South Africa. The Black Stars were the first African team to qualify for the World Cup (ever), so everyone is really, really excited here. I think I'm gonig to try to go to the Ghana v. Mali game in November when we're on our ISP. It's been really amazing to be here and watch people talk about their team, everyone's incredibly proud. Whenever a game is on and a goal is scored, the entire city erupts. Almost everyone is watching them, and I wish them the best of luck.

Tonight we have a dance recital for our homestay families and Twi teachers. We're daning two traditional dances, and for the Kpatsia dance I get to stand right in front. I'll try to have someone take some photos, but just picture me flailing about madly while standing center stage and it will be like you witnessed it yourself.

Love,
Lo

PS: Hearing! I almost forgot! It turns out I did something to my eardrum, but I have some recovered hearing in my right ear. Thanks for the concern, everyone! I really appreciate it. But other than the slight hearing problem, I haven't had any other health issues (knock on wood), and everyone else on the program seems to be doing quite well. We've really been fortunate. So again, thanks for the concern. It was greatly appreciated.