Wednesday July 11, 2012 Africa:  Day 31

            It wasn’t until morning that the animal sounds I heard last night were (hopefully) just coming from creatures of some sort running around on the corrugated aluminum roof outside. 

            I had a very disturbing dream last night, as well. I’ve actually had a few recently which is really nothing new for me.  Last night I dreamt that the ghost of K.’s brother came into our bedroom (everything seemed so realistic-I could see the mosquito nets, the mattresses, the green wall, and Kelsey sleeping next to me).  The ghost started attacking me and was about to bite my neck when I was finally able to scream loud enough for Kelsey to wake up.  I pried off one of the arms the ghost had around my neck and told her to hold it. Finally I got the other one free and had Kelsey hold that one, as well.  I then proceeded to choke the ghost until it died.  (I didn’t know you could kills ghosts).  I then  drug the body into the living room and threw it out the window.  Other weird supernatural beings kept trying to come in the window, and I had to fight them back, too.  I really wish I didn’t have to have these types of dreams as relatively often as I do.

            We enjoyed the morning at  K.’s house.  It started with a morning devotional where K. led us and his family in a couple of gospel songs and a prayer.  We ate a breakfast of hot chocolate and some sweet cornbread, then the kids took us on a walk around the camp.  It was fascinating to watch the morning routines- moms outside bathing their kids in large buckets, kids walking to the market stalls for various household items, and countless chickens and goats running around adding their own energy to the busy atmosphere.

            We spent some time watching K.’s kids and some neighbor kids dance and play.  They had a great time taking hundreds of pictures with our cameras.  S.’s friend came over to braid Kelsey’s hair.  It wasn’t quite done when the van showed up with D. and F., so she stayed behind while the rest of us went over to the school across the road.

            We split ourselves up between three different classrooms to teach the oldest elementary grades and the junior high and high school grades about teen pregnancy.  Liz and I went to the class of 10-, 11-, and 12-year-olds.  I managed to avoid having to teach sex education lessons during my five years as a teacher, but I guess I couldn’t escape it forever.  The principal told us to only teach abstinence, and I tried to focus on the importance of sticking to long-term goals.  I had the kids talk about what they wanted to be when they grew up, and tried to explain the added difficulty of becoming doctors, lawyers, and pilots if they were also mothers and fathers before they finished high school.  The teacher then took over the lesson and gave a 15-minute sermon on how the kids should stay out of trouble and ask more questions because we had come all the way from America to teach them about this important topic.  It was definitely an awkward ending to an already awkward lesson.

            After the camp we dropped our things off at the hostel then headed to Osu to meet up with a couple of our friends for dinner. We enjoyed a great Italian dinner at Mama Mia (the first time I have had corn on pizza), and went to bed exhausted after a very busy, but very fun couple of days.

Tuesday July 10, 2012 Africa:  Day 30

            We got on the bus this morning with our backpacks full of clothes, sleep sacks, and treats to give to the people tonight at the camp.  We had no idea what to expect as we set off on this new adventure. 

            We gave another presentation on domestic abuse, stress, and coping to the women's vocational school. The presentation was fine.  My own lack of concentration was also due to the fact that we were all slowly baking in the oven.  They cooking school was making meat pies (this time with just a half of a hotdog inside) in the corner of the cement building.  The coal-burning oven was not only cooking the pies, but also providing plenty of heat to cook the crowded room. After I gave my part on the physical and psychological effects of abuse, I was happy to volunteer to stand outside to hold one of the women’s babies so she could listen to the rest of the presentation.

            Following the presentation and are little lunch of hot dog pies, we had the van drop us off at K.'s house before it took our counterparts back to Accra.  It was then we realized that we were going to be staying in K.’s house.  I think we were all feeling a little uncomfortable that we were taking up one of the two bedrooms in his house, which meant that his family of seven would all be sharing the other room.  K. and his wife S. were so excited to have us that they insisted that it was no problem at all. 

            K. then took us around to meet some of his friends.  We talked for a while with a pastor who was sitting outside a bar at the front of the camp.  This man immediately launched into his tragic story of how he ended up a refugee widower in Ghana.  Then we went to the mortician's house.  We sat around in his little “bachelor pad” waiting for him to get dressed or something while random guys came in and out.  There was something about the scene that reminded me so much of many times visiting families by the school in Vegas. 

            The two guys borrowed a friend’s station wagon and took us down the road to an outdoor restaurant called XXX.  I laughed when I saw signs for ice cream and hamburgers being displayed instead of other kinds of images I would have expected for a place with such a name.  A couple other friends of K. and his friend came and joined us and we sat around talking, drinking, and playing pool.

            One of K.s friends seemed to take a quick liking to me.  He insisted on sitting next to me.  Every time this man in his late forties  talked to me, he would put his hand on my thigh.  As I was sipping my soda, he looked at me at said, “pour me my beer”.  I managed to control my first reaction with my feminist/Vegas hood side wanting to tell him, “boy, don’t talk to me like that.  Do it yourself!”  However, I quickly found a slightly nicer approach and made him at least say “please”.  I then still tried to get out of it by telling him that I don’t drink and I’ve never poured beer before.  He still insisted (this time by adding a mocking “please” at the end of the demand), and I managed to fill his glass with more foam than liquid.  Everyone thought that was hilarious and he muttered something about how he didn’t blame me because it was my first time.  Sometimes the African male chauvinism makes it very difficult for me to maintain an appropriate level of cultural sensitivity.

            We all got in a heated debate when K.'s friend tried to say that child soldiers were less of a social problem than the school shootings that happen in the Western part of the world.  He argued that it was because kids in America are allowed to talk back to their parents, their parents don’t discipline them correctly because they are not allowed to hit their kids, and gun control is completely ineffective because kids are taught they can do whatever they want.  It was clear that the men at the table that also agreed with Patrick were getting most of their information from television shows and sensational news reports.  I don’t think we ever successfully convinced them that most parents in America expect their kids to use manners and respect adults and that school shooting don’t happen every other day.

            At one point my beer friend  somehow turned the conversation to eating hearts.  I was aware of the cultural significance in Ghana of eating human heart after you kill an enemy, but I could tell K. was kind of uncomfortable with this, and made some comment about how this friend was a rebel fighter in Liberia.  

            This guy later started telling me some of his story, too.  He mentioned that one time he was sitting down having a drink when a guy he knew came up and said, “hey, sorry I beheaded your dad”.  He told me he had no idea that this was the man that had killed his father, and also explained that since there wasn’t anything he could do about it now, he just told they guy, “it’s fine”, and then they finished their drinks together.  It was another reminder of how blessed I am and how strong and resilient so many people are in this world who have to experience unimaginable atrocities and then carry on with their lives.

            All eight of us piled into the station wagon for the short ride back to the camp.  I again was asking myself “what are the chances that you would be smashed in the back of a station wagon with three other Americans, a pastor’s arm around your shoulder, a mortician, and a Liberian rebel fighter?”.  We managed to get back to K.’s house with only scraping the undercarriage of the car a few times from all the weight going over the rutted “roads” through the camp.  K. then took us girls to “the gap”.  This is the ‘hood of the camp that is known for the drugs, violence, and crime that is rampant in the area.  While walking to K.'s friend’s house earlier today, we passed a crowd of young men pulling a bloodied guy along with them.  They all started yelling that this was a Ghanaian thief.  K. explained that they were probably coming from the gap, and that’s the typical justice system. You beat the guy up first to teach him a lesson, and then you take him to the police, which is apparently where the group was headed.  . really wanted us to go, though, because he feels so strongly in the work that he does.  He feels that other people ignore this population because it’s too dangerous, but they are still just people that have also experienced trauma and need just as much (if not more) help as anyone else.  It sounded a bit like my rationale of why I worked in the Vegas ‘hood for as long as I did when everyone else would tell me I should leave.

            Within a minute of getting out of the car, people were streaming up to us.  Someone led us over to a little bench, and we spent about thirty minutes just meeting people.  I listened to young guy after young guy come up, introduce himself, and then launch into his story about how he doesn’t have the UN-issued refugee card so no one is helping him figure out where to go next.  Many of them have lost their families long ago, have had little to no schooling, and are obviously very afraid of what their prospects are now that they are illegally living in Ghana since the refugee status cessation.  It got exhausting having to tell each one that I am truly concerned about their circumstances and I sincerely wish there was something more I could do. I think in some small way the little help I did offer was listening to their stories and letting them know that there are people who do care about them and their situation.  One guy kept telling me how honored he was to meet me because I was the first American he had ever met.  What he didn’t realize is that I was the one feeling so honored that I got to be there meeting so many strong people like these young adults who have had to figure out life on their own.

            We got back from the gap and played with K.'s five kids .  Then we joined K., his wife, and , their 3-year-old daughter, and the guys we were hanging out with this afternoon to go find some dinner.  We walked through the camp and ended up at a small little shack that served delicious plates of chicken and fried rice.  The dining room had two small tables, so they took us around the back and set up some plastic chairs and a couple of little plastic tables right next to the outdoor kitchen.  It was fun to be able to watch them cook the food before they brought it out to us.

            His friend then insisted that he treat us to another round of drinks.  We were all so full, but he doesn’t take no for an answer.  I sipped away on my Malta (a Ghanaian soda that tastes a lot like molasses) to be polite, but I was so full from dinner and don’t even like carbonation that I was relieved when I finally got to the end of the bottle.  We started dancing on the patio and were soon joined by some other drunk guys.  One kept trying to talk to me, but the music was so loud and the alcohol was not helping his speech, that I kept finding reasons to need to talk to one of the girls.

            Finally  we went back to the house and we all got settled in the little bedroom just off the livingroom.  The four of shared the two mattresses that filled one half of the room and slept under two big mosquito nets.  The kitchen was just a small sink and a few cupboards at one end of the hallway, the two bedrooms in between, and a small bathroom with a toilet and shower on the other end. I kept hearing the sounds of little animals running around on the roof and woke up many times afraid that rats were going to start nibbling on my toes. 

Monday July 9, 2012 Africa:  Day 29

            This morning we sat through another class on financial empowerment at the Women of Destiny vocational school at the camp.  The other interns from the NGO did a much better job giving their presentation today, but we ran out of time to do our introduction into stress and coping.  Not the most productive morning, but I always love being at the camp just to observe and get to know the people better.

            After the camp we spent a few hours at Deli France, our favorite French bakery with free (and fast) internet, then headed home to pack and get ready for our overnight stay at the camp tomorrow.  I am so excited to get an even better picture of daily life in a refugee camp.

Sunday July 8, 2012 Africa:  Day 28

            I had planned last week with Arinze’s brother TG to meet him at his ward today.  I was excited that Kelsey was coming with me as we took a cab out the Adenta ward.  A little 9-year-old girl was walking into the church with her family the same time we were, and suddenly she took my hand and sat by me through sacrament meeting.  I love the friendliness of people here!  It was a great experience for me to try to listen to each church meeting from the perspective of an investigator.  Kelsey looked at me funny and asked why we were taking shots.  I had to explain that it was water for the sacrament.  J  

A young woman and a sister gave beautiful talks on the Book of Mormon, and then a brother came up and gave a long sermon on self-sufficiency.  I kind of felt it was more an opportunity for him to share some of his own opinions on how to become a successful businessman, and at one point suggested that people in the ward get together and start a co-op.  The talk in English was plenty long, and then he stopped and gave his entire talk again in Twi.  The bishop had to ask him to sit down as the minutes kept ticking by.  The bishop’s wife taught a great lesson in both Sunday School and Relief Society.  

During the Relief Society lesson the conversation moved to the importance of food storage and emergency preparedness.  Kelsey later commented that she loved hearing about this, especially because that’s such a focus of our school program, and again I was reminded of all the things that I take for granted. I forget that not everyone has been raised with bottles of water stored in their closets and buckets of wheat sitting in the basement.  I did love hearing the perspective from the sisters in Ghana, though.  Many gave personal examples of how they were so grateful to have food and water storage following some recent floods.  Many kept referencing the upcoming election as another reason to be up-to-date on their food storage because, as they kept saying, this is Africa and you never know what can happen. 

            After church we met up with TG and I tried to help him fix a problem with the kindle that Arinze sent with me to give to him.  He helped us get a cab back to Accra, and Kelsey and I went straight to the mall.  I didn’t love that this was how I was going to spend the rest of the Sabbath, but I think Heavenly Father will understand that I’m trying to do the best I can under the circumstances this summer.  We ate some pizza at the food court, then happened to run into Stephen and his cousin.  We all went and watched the Disney movie Brave, then went home.  The other girls eventually got back and we all headed to bed after a very busy and very fun weekend.

Saturday July 7, 2012 Africa:  Day 27

            Today was the first day in a very long time that I could enjoy a leisurely morning.  I still woke up early (people here in the hostel seem to always be up early talking in the hallways), so I just laid in bed reading for a couple of hours.  I took my time getting ready and even tried to do my hair (again, another thing that hasn’t happened all summer).  After a few attempts of trying to straighten it, I again ended up surrendering to the humidity-induced waves. 

            Kelsey and I then set out around 11 to try and buy the football tickets.  We went back to Koala, and they told us that they weren’t selling the tickets, but at least they confirmed that there was a game today. They sent us to Frankie’s, a restaurant down the road in Osu.  We went there and the people looked just as confused as the five other places we have been sent to for these elusive tickets.  One man told us that they sell them at the stadium. So, after two days and six attempts at four different locations, we were finally able to buy tickets for the game that started in a couple of hours.  Kelsey and I decided to just hang out and eat lunch at the stadium until the game started.  We also got tickets for some of our other friends who showed up at various points during the club match between the Ghana Chelsea team and a team from Egypt.

  Kelsey and I again started thinking that we were crashing a bro fest.  It took some work to find another female in the stands.   I was just as entertained by the crowd as the game.  I would love to see the reaction if I started to walk around a US stadium somewhere selling plain loaves of bread from a bowl on my head.  I also think that African drumming groups offer twice as much as marching bands.  They provided excellent music and brought more energy to the crowd than a cheerleading group ever could.   The game was tied during most of the second half, then the Ghana team made the winning goal in the last couple minutes of the game.  The stands went crazy!  People were screaming, cheering, and slapping hands with everyone around them.  I think because we were female Abrunis, Kelsey and I got a lot of the celebratory attention.  All these guys kept giving us high fives, shaking our hands, and cheering with us.

 After the game we decided to go to Labodi beach. The beach was nice and relaxing.  I think it was more relaxing this time because Kelsey and I were surrounded by five local guys and the vendors didn't seem to bother us much. We all walked along the beach just as the sun was setting.  There’s something extra amazing about watching an African sunset over the ocean. 

            Arelo suggested a place to eat in Osu, so we eventually ended up at our the Thai place again. Some of the other guys that we went to the game and beach with had left by this point, so  Kelsey, Stephen, his cousin, and I enjoyed a delicious dinner of pad thai.  Most of the dinner conversation was a heated debate about religion and politics.  It was great to have so many opportunities tonight to teach more about the Mormon faith, share some of my own testimony about different principles and practices,  and clear up some misperceptions that some of them had (like  reading that when you become a Mormon you are given a Mercedes- how come I haven’t ever received my car???)  I love all the missionary opportunities I have been able to have on this trip, but I will admit that sometimes it would be nice to be around another Mormon once in a while so I don’t have to be constantly be under a microscope and have to explain every action.  I am very excited, though, because Kelsey is going to come to church with me tomorrow and Stephen said that he would come another time.  

Friday July 6, 2012 Africa:  Day 26

            This morning started out with a little tender mercy.  Kelsey and I got up early because we were going to be helping in the ECT ward (electo-convulsive therapy) and they start treating patients at about 7:30.  We hoped that the traffic wouldn’t be as bad at that time, but I’m not sure there is ever a time when traffic is not crazy in Accra.  Every taxi driver we asked to take us to the hospital would just tell us no.  We walked for about forty minutes without any luck.  Finally I began to get worried that we would end up having to walk the entire way and miss work completely.  I said a quick little prayer as we walked down the sidewalk asking for help in getting us safely and quickly to the hospital.  Just a couple of minutes later we approached a bus stop.  We both commented that we wished we knew what tro tro stop was near the hospital so we could just take that.  All of a sudden Kelsey somehow spots Dixon (our colleague who we were going to meet at the hospital) among the crowds of people climbing onto the various tro tros.  We got his attention, and he helped make sure there were two more seats on the bus for us.  It was just a little bit too miraculous that right after the short prayer we all happened to be at exact place at that exact time to be a big coincidence.

            I was kind of nervous to as we walked into the ECT ward.   We tried to talk to a few of the patients laying on the hospital beds in the big open room before the nurses started pulling out the equipment.  After each patient was prepped with an IV for the nurse to put in a syringe of pain killers, we would go to each bed for the actual shock treatment.  They put up a screen around the bed so the other patients couldn’t watch, then we were asked to hold either the patient’s leg joints or arm joints so they wouldn’t hurt themselves during the convulsions.  Kelsey and I just observed the first couple of patients before we had acclimated enough to the treatment to be able to participate. I will admit that at first I was feeling a little sick watching the various muscles contract in very unnatural ways.  It was also hard to see one patient refuse the medication and then watch the tears roll down her face as the metal plates were put on her temples.  Again the nurses proved their sainthood.  They were all so compassionate and  are all doing the best they can with so little to work with.  They kept going on and on about the difference the therapy makes for most of the patients.  Some patients come in unable to speak, or so depressed that they barely function. After just a few treatments (they get treatments three times a week, for up to four weeks) these same patients are speaking again and more responsive to things going on around them.  That was reassuring to hear because it definitely was not easy to see.

            We spent the rest of the morning in the Children’s Ward.  We played with a few of the kids for a while, then walked some of them to the “Special School” building that is located not far from their ward.  This was almost harder to watch than the ECT.  I just ached for the teacher who just looked completely overwhelmed.  A couple of the kids were tied into their seats with a belt so they wouldn’t just get up and run off.  Another girl instantly fell asleep and they moved her to a dirty mattress behind the rows of little wooden desks.  A couple of the kids are verbal enough to try to sing the songs and interact, but the rest just sat in their desks or walked around the room.  The teacher came over obviously relieved that other people were there to recognize the challenge he has.  He just kept asking, “how am I supposed to teach anything when they don’t talk?”  I kept picturing other special needs classrooms I have worked in with closets and bookshelves overflowing with manipulatives geared to offer the needed visual, tactile, and auditory stimulation for kids with these same levels of severity.  In this room there was a small clock on the wall and a couple of alphabet posters.  I didn’t even know what to tell him.  We then talked to the principal for a while as he gave the same pleas for help.  He wants to be able to provide the kids with appropriate tools and specialists, but he is trying his best to manage the three different classrooms with next to nothing to work with.  It would really be nice if I had unlimited funds and resources so I could grant all the requests I now hear on a daily basis. 

            Liz and Liyam were not very excited about going to the football game tomorrow, so they left this evening to spend the weekend at a beach up the coast and Kelsey and I stayed here.  We ate goat kabobs at Tickles, then walked down the pool to check out the party with a live band they have every Friday night.  We felt like we were crashing some kind of man fest because all we saw were a bunch of drunk guys standing around or playing pool.  We sat out at a table for a few minutes listening to one of the songs, then left shortly after that.  We tried to watch a movie on my computer, but in my true fashion, I promptly fell sound asleep.  

Thursday July 5, 2012 Africa:  Day 25

            Kelsey and I spent the morning at Pantang going around with the morning cleaning inspection team, sitting in on another entertaining morning meeting.  This time they read every headline of every article in two different newspapers, and then read the entire horoscope section.  This current events section was also accompanied by musical numbers, trivia questions, and bible verses.  We then sat through a group meeting, and waited around another hour for lunch because the second group meeting had been cancelled.  Following lunch, Kelsey and I went on a tour of a couple of the other buildings here at the hospital.  This place was actually built for the purpose of being a mental health hospital and not an asylum like the Accra hospital, so the facilities are so much nicer.  Here everyone has beds and there are significantly less people in each room (oh, and the patients actually get rooms).  It was also interesting to learn that there are a bunch of buildings that sit on the property that have never been used for anything because the hospital ran out of funding before it get could everything up and running.  Apparently squatters have taken up residency here for years.  The hospital doesn’t really want to do anything about it at this point because after six months the land owner has to go through a legal process to kick a squatter off the property. 

            We just enjoyed a quiet evening back at the hostel after we all got back from our respective psych hospitals.  I think we were all ready to take a break after a very busy past few days.

Wednesday July 4, 2012  Africa:  Day 24

            It was little hard to get up this morning and head off to work knowing that if I were in the U.S. I would be getting up to go sit in the gutter on Center Street to watch Provo’s Freedom Festival Parade.  I’ve only missed this parade two other times in my life, so it was kind of sad to think that I wouldn’t be there with my family watching the parade, barbecuing, and watching fireworks. 

            Despite my initial feelings of disappointment that I couldn’t celebrate Independence Day the way I usually do, today turned out to be the most memorable 4^th of July I think I have ever had.  Nothing has made me appreciate the significance of this day more than standing in the middle of a refugee camp feeling the anxiety, seeing the poverty, and listening to the stories of desperation and confusion of people who don’t have a country to call their own. 

On Saturday the UN declared the official cessation of the refugee status for all the Liberians in the camp.   Today when we pulled in to the camp, we noticed that even  more of the shops were shut down and things seemed pretty somber.  We parked the van in front of the main bulletin board and were curious why so many people were crowded around the camp’s main form of communication.  We walked over to see what it was about, and we saw every board covered with list after list of names.  The only explanation posted was a note that said “Interview Date”, and the names were grouped according to an assigned date.  People slowly figured out that the people on the list were those that had not ever told the UN their decision to either be flown back to Liberia or to be integrated into Ghana.  One woman pulled me aside and obviously just needed someone to listen to her story.  She pointed to her son and daughter, about 12 and 10 years old, respectively, and expressed how all she wanted was to find them a place to go to school.  Another couple of men pulled me aside with tragic stories of their own filled with pleas for help.  Oh, I wish there was a way I could help every parent find enough money to send their kids to school (which is only about 30 cents a day).  I wish there was a way we could get everyone settled in a country with a promise of housing and employment.  I just kept looking around and appreciating more and more the things that I have been privileged enough to take for granted, especially on Independence Day, like life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

We gave a presentation on domestic violence and abuse, stress and coping to a women’s vocational skills school, then went to the school just outside the camp to do a presentation on “The Rights of the Child” (a Ghanaian statute) and hygiene.  How do you teach the refugee students that they have the right to education, food, shelter, entertainment, and healthcare when in reality they may have the right, but no accessibility to such things?  How do you teach a child living in the camp to bathe and brush their teeth regularly when they may or may not have consistent access to soap or even water?  I guess the education has to begin with the young generation so that they hopefully improve things one day.

We spent some time again playing with the kids after we taught our respective classes.  The kids remembered the songs that I had taught them last week, and they would shyly walk up to me and start singing “Rig-a-bamboo” or “Tooty-Tat” so that I would start the whole courtyard  participating in the songs.  We also learned from their teachers that they had been asking about our return throughout the entire week.  I felt like a celebrity as I had to push myself through the crowd shaking a hundred little hands until I could get back on the bus.

We had the driver drop us off at the WISE office and caught a cab to Accra’s football (aka soccer) stadium.  We think there is a game this Saturday, but no one seems to know much information about it.  We had Dixon talk to the cab driver to get us a better deal.  The driver at first dropped us off at Koala, a nice grocery store in Osu.  We were really confused why Dixon had given the cab driver instructions to go there when we had told Dixon that we wanted to go the stadium.  So, we had the driver keep going until we found the stadium nearby.  Someone at the stadium sent us across the street to a gas station for tickets, but the workers there seemed very confused.  They told us that they sell the tickets at Koala.  Now it made more sense why Dixon had told the bus driver to take us there. 

The stadium is very close to Independence Square, a landmark in Accra.  We were all a little sad to be missing 4^th of July activities in the States, so we thought that Independence Square would be the best place to celebrate in Ghana.  We walked around the parade grounds and then out to the edge of the beach across the street while singing various patriotic songs.  The guards gave us funny looks while we walked right by almost reverently singing “The Star Spangled Banner”, “My Country Tis of Thee”, and “America the Beautiful”.  I think we all were just trying to process the privilege we have to be able to sincerely sing strains of “the land of the free and the home of the brave” and “sweet land of liberty” where an hour ago we had been walking in a land where many of the people have never experienced any of these blessings. Many still ache over the land where their fathers’ died, where bombs burst in the air, and after 22 years are still waiting for the time when there will be brotherhood in Liberia from sea to shining sea.

After we spent some time at Independence Square, we took a taxi back to Koala to try and buy their tickets.  The cab driver happened to have a pine tree air freshener that was decorated like the American flag.  We asked if we could buy it from him for 10 pesua (about 5 cents), and he happily agreed when we explained that it was our independence day and we really wanted a way to celebrate.  We took it with us everywhere we went for the rest of the evening proudly showing our little symbol of patriotism. 

The ticket people at Koala didn’t know anything about the game, but said to come back at noon on Saturday because that’s when they might start selling the football tickets.  African efficiency at its finest.  

We met up with Stephen and Ne at Zion Thai Restaurant in Osu, then went with them to +233, a great little jazz club.  Most of the tables are outside facing a glass-front building where the jazz bands perform inside.  Tonight we listened to West Africa’s only female jazz band.  I thought that this was the perfect way to celebrate the 4^th of July-listening to music that is a cultural bridge between Africa and the United States.  At one point Kelsey went in and told someone that it was America’s Independence Day.  A few minutes later the lead singer announces this and invites “Kelsey and friends” to come up and sing an amazing version “Happy Birthday America”.  It was ridiculously embarrassing, but Kelsey, Liz, Liyam, and I just went with it and danced and sang and had a great time. We even tried out our “Azonto” (traditional Ghanaian dance) moves.  The band thought it was hilarious, but I am pretty sure that most of the laughter was “at” and not necessarily “with” us.

Today I really missed sitting in the gutter on Center Street watching the parade.  I could almost smell the hamburgers on the grill in my backyard.  More than once the jingle “Stadium of Fire!” popped into my head and I wished I could be lighting sparklers with my nieces and nephews.  However, I know that next time I get to celebrate this holiday, each of these activities will be coupled with the faces and stories of the people I met today.  It just makes the time celebrating with family, barbecues, water fights, and fireworks even more meaningful because it means that I have a family.  I have food.  I have the blessing to not only belong to a country, but a country that represents freedom, hope, happiness, and opportunity to so many people around the world.

Tuesday July 3, 2012  Africa:  Day 23

            We had planned to run a workshop with  one of the women’s vocational schools at Buduburam, but it got cancelled that morning.  Instead we sat in the school’s kitchen for a while watching the women bake, then we walked over to meet the person in charge of the medical clinic and then the man the nutrition center and visited again with the man that helps run the place.  As we were getting ready to go home, a friend of Keith’s came over to the van to introduce himself to all the abruneis (the Twi word for white person).  This man named Patrick is a Liberian refugee and also the most popular mortician in the area.  He is apparently the most wealthy person on the camp because his business is so sought after.  He proceeded to go on and on telling us that Liberians are much better at taking care of bodies than Ghanaians.  He said that Ghanaians still use formaldehyde as the primary embalming technique, and they don’t always pay attention to diseases that can spread even after the person is dead.  He didn’t have a lot of positive things to say about Ghanaians in general, which was a little awkward because the driver, Dixon (another intern that comes with us), and Francisca (a WISE employee that comes with us to the camp, as well) are all Ghanaian.  Patrick then offered to show us what he was talking about.  He explained that he had a body in the back of his hearse that had been initially preserved by the Ghanaians.  He is known in the community for his ability to make the body look good (Keith kept going on about how he can make scars, lacerations, etc. disappear on the person’s face), so this body had been given to him to fix.  We turned around and saw a hearse parked just behind us in with a bunch of guys out working on the engine.  If that scene wasn’t odd enough, it just added to the “is this really happening?” moment when we realized that the body was just sitting in the back while the car was getting repaired.  He walked us over, opened the side door, and let us look at the bloated formaldehyde-filled body of a woman.  All of us stood there for a minute, then we quietly walked back to the bus.  We didn’t say much to each other, but I could tell we were all just trying to process what just happened. 

            That afternoon we had the driver drop us off at the WISE office to meet with our supervisor Odwuwa to talk about our work and answer some questions that we needed for a school assignment.  After that we walked to a little French bakery run by a Lebanese family.  They have delicious food and free internet so we spent a few hours checking email and eating pastries.  We stopped at the Accra Mall on our way home to go grocery shopping and to get ready for another day that’s guaranteed to be filled with the unexpected, just like today.

Monday July 2, 2012  Africa:  Day 22

            This may have been one of the most amazing days I have ever had.  I lost track of how many times I stopped myself to ask, “how did this become my life!?!”.  We all got up early and took a tro tro to the bus stop in the little town near the monkey sanctuary that we went to on Saturday night.  As we got off the bus, there were not taxis waiting for us to take us down the three mile dirt road to the sanctuary.  Instead there was a group of motorbike drivers that offered this service.  We all hopped on the back of their bikes and drove to see the monkeys.  We took a little tour through the absolutely beautiful jungle. I just can’t get over how many different colors of green can exist on so many different types of trees, vines, and plants.  At one point we all stopped so we could feed the little Mona monkeys bananas.  I stood at the base of the tree with an unpeeled banana for a couple of minutes while the guide made a loud kissing sound. Soon a little monkey climbed down a limb in front of me, peeled the top of the banana while I held the rest in my hand, and proceeded to enjoy the fruit while I stood there waiting for him to finish.

            We walked around the shops in the village just outside the sanctuary and I bought some beautiful purple batik fabric that hopefully will be made into a skirt soon by a local tailor.  Our next destination were a couple of hikes at the top of a mountain relatively near the monkey sanctuary.  We were originally planning to take a taxi or a tro tro to the village near the trail heads, but we found out that this would be hard to do.  Instead, the motorcycle drivers offered to drive us up the mountain.  It was incredible!  We sped along a road that wound its way to the highest village in Ghana.  The views were beyond description.  The whole way we were treated with views of the lush green mountains and overlooks of the beautiful valleys below. 

            Our first hike was to the Mt. Gemi. This town was started by German missionaries, and they erected a large cross at the top of a hill just outside the village.  We all commented that the scenery looked like Scotland because the hill was completely covered in tall green grass.  The view from the top looked out over the entire valley.  You could see small villages tucked away in various parts of the valley.  It reminded me so much of standing on top of various peaks in Utah, but then the palm trees poking out among the other growth quickly reminded me that I was standing in Africa. On our walk back we could hear people sitting in a little grove of trees singing some kind of African worship song.  It just added that much more to the whole experience.

            I fell in love with the village.  The pace was slow.  I wasn’t constantly being accosted by people trying to sell me things or ask for money.  The little houses were tucked away in the middle of this cloud forest.  People were walking back and forth from their farms carrying loads of corn, baskets of firewood, and some people (even women and children) were seen walking with giant logs balanced perfectly on their heads.

            We ate a delicious meal of a bean dish that we sucked out of the little plastic bags they serve street food in.  Then we started our next hike to a waterfall.  This turned out to be more of an adventure than we had anticipated, and definitely one of the most amazing hikes I have ever done.  We decided to take a guide at the last minute, but we weren’t sure that it would be necessary because the first hike we went on was pretty simple and the directions to find the trail were easy to follow.  I don’t think we could have done this second hike without our local friend showing us the way. 

            We started the hike by walking through the town, past a giant calabash tree, and through some corn fields.  Soon the vegetation got thicker and we began to walk along a picturesque river that was often hard to see because of the giant trees and vines that lined the banks.  Just as we started walking into the jungle, it started to rain making the dirt become a muddy slippery slide.  At one point we had to walk some rocks in order to cross over the small river.  I think I was feeling a little too confident at this point, and misjudged my footing on one of the stepstones.  The next thing I knew half of my body was immersed in the river.  In my true germophobic fashion, I immediately jumped up in fear of getting some freshwater jungle disease and was kind of confused why everyone seemed more worried about the possibility that I had been injured.  Fortunately the only thing that got injured was my pride (and I haven’t seen any signs of snail disease…yet).   It was also convenient that it began raining even harder right after that moment so that all of me looked wet and not just the side that fell in the river.

            As we walked further into the jungle, we soon saw ropes being held up by metal poles stuck into the ground.  I quickly realized that the ropes were there because the trail got really steep and rocky.  It would be a difficult trail to traverse normally, but the mud added a whole new dimension of adventure.  I was literally using the ropes at certain points as my life line, and I tried not to wonder about the stability of the ropes or how well the poles were put in the ground. 

           I felt like Tarzan using the ropes to get me down the trail to the waterfall.  It was quite intense, but the reward at the end was more than I had imagined.  We all stood at the base of this waterfall that came running down a high jungle cliff.  The water continued down a little canyon in the midst of all the thick jungle growth.  I just kept looking around in every direction wondering if this all could be real, and wasn’t just some elaborate movie set.  The rain had finally stopped just as we reached the waterfall, so we didn’t have the sheets of rain obstructing our view anymore. I definitely need to go back to this place again someday.  I fell in love with the trees, flowers, and the sounds of the birds singing over the roar of the waterfall.

            The hike back up was much easier because we weren’t fighting gravity as much as we used the ropes to help us up the muddy rock path.  We were drenched to the skin by the time we got back to the village, even though the sun had come out for most of the return hike.  The guy that runs the visitor’s center (which was a small little building with a desk on one side and a bookshelf of jewelry and other random souveniers on the other) let us change our clothes in this room.  He just shut all the shutters and the front door and joined all the other village men that seem to spend their day just hanging out on the patio in front of this building.  We girls put on dry clothes first, and then Stephen got to change before we began our long journey back to Accra.  

                 We took a taxi back down the mountain to Ho.  We stood in the busy bus station  (which, again, is just a big parking lot with vans and vendors) waiting to find the next tro tro that was going back to Accra.  After more than an hour we learned that no one was sure if there was going to be another bus going that direction tonight.  We weighed our options of spending another night in this town or taking up the bus station manager’s offer of hiring us a private car to take us back.  Once we realized that the price would be about the same, we piled in a little car (all four of us girls had to share the back seat) for the three hour ride back to Accra.  This incredible day of monkeys, motorcycle rides, and hikes to mountaintops and through jungles makes it really hard to want to return to real life tomorrow.  I think I may just move to the village in the cloud forest one day.    

Sunday July 1, 2012  Africa:  Day 21

            I got up this morning at 6:30 to say goodbye to the girls before they left for a day of hiking.  I decided to stay at the hotel and enjoy a relaxing fast Sunday.  We share two cell phones between the four of us.  I thought that the phone that Liz and I usually use had died the day before, so I was feeling a little uncomfortable not having a line of communication between the two.  I also didn’t feel comfortable trekking out to find a church building without a phone in case something happened.  So, I spent the morning reading my scriptures and catching up on my journal.  There was a slight possibility that Stephen was going to join us here this morning, but I really didn’t think he would show up.  At about 11:00 I had the thought to try and turn the phone on.  Amazingly it worked.  I probably should have tried that easy solution a lot earlier.  I could have even made it to church at 9:00.  I sheepishly called the girls to let them know that the phone had been working all along, and they informed me that Stephen was on his way to the hotel.  I gave him a call and in less than an hour from the phone working, he was here.  Stephen and I hung out at the hotel until the girls got back.  It was a much needed afternoon of rest after a very busy week.

            The girls got back around six, and Kelsey, Stephen, and I went to the same hotel we had dinner at the night before to have dinner and watch the Euro Cup soccer finals between Spain and Italy.  Liyam and Liz joined us a little bit later.  We sat on a covered patio watching the game on a little fuzzy television while a tropical storm poured down around us.  The scene was quite dramatic with constant flashes of lightening, huge claps of thunder, and palm trees being whipped around by the strong winds and rain.  By the time we left, the storm had passed and Spain had won the game.  I was actually cold sitting up there, but I couldn’t admit this because of a warning the cab driver randomly gave me as I got out of the car for dinner.  He told me “Have fun while you chill.  Go chill, but don’t go freeze.  Because if you freeze in Ghana, you will freeze forever”.  I didn’t like the sound of that, so I went pretended that I was completely comfortable.  :)

Saturday June 30, 2012  Africa:  Day 20

            It wasn’t exactly the most peaceful sleep the night before.  I woke up a lot during the night imagining that things were crawling on me. Kelsey and I also fell asleep with the TV on (I think both of us were happy to have the black and white Nigerian movie adding a little night light in the creepy room), and all of a sudden at about 4:30 we both woke up to the TV suddenly turning off.  Slightly unsettling.

            We all met up to have some breakfast that the hotel manager promised us.  However, the girls working here this morning told us that they would make us breakfast, but we would have to wait for them to go to the market to buy the various ingredients.  We decided to walk to a different hotel a little bit up the road where we thought we had a better chance of getting food.

            We stopped to stand on a beautiful 850-foot suspension bridge that extends over the Volta River on our way to the hotel for breakfast.  We sat in a little gazebo right on the edge of the river and feasted on a full English breakfast of toast, jam, beans, sausage, omelets, and watermelon. 

            S. woke up this morning with his foot hurting from an injury a couple of weeks ago.  It kept getting worse as the morning went on, so one of the workers at the hotel offered to use some traditional healing practices to help. He sat S. down and rubbed the milky sap from what he called a dwarf plant on the injured foot.  This man then told us stories of the dwarf people that live in the jungle, and how no one can see the dwarf people unless you are chosen.   The dwarf people will take the chosen person into the jungle and teach  him about all the medicinal uses of the various plants.  This man explained that while most people can’t see the dwarf people, you can often sense them when you are in the jungle or on the water.  They do leave footprints, but their feet are backwards.  If you see small footprints walking away from you, it is most likely a dwarf walking toward you.  He warned us that the dwarves can be dangerous if you are in the mountains and they sense that you don’t respect nature.  Again, I had another moment of “what are the chances that my life would take me to the edge of  the Volta River watching and learning about the traditions of the African jungle?”

            We learned that the hotel offers a boat tour of the river taking us up to a large dam that separates the river from Lake Volta.  We had wanted to take a boat, but it definitely wasn’t a hard decision to take a small private motor boat instead of a large tourist boat.  It was so peaceful as we floated along the smooth water watching beautiful birds fly in and out of the large palms and thick dense growth of the woods that lined both sides of the river.  We would occasionally pass a fisherman in a canoe setting tilapia traps.  Whenever we passed some huts on the side of the river, all the kids would come running out to wave and cheer for us and the women would look up from their work washing clothes or bathing children in the river.  The warm sun,  the sparkling water, the sound of the birds, and a different shade of green everywhere you looked made me feel that I could be very happy spending the rest of my life on that little boat.

            We eventually came back and watched  more of the hotel workers try again to fix S.’s foot. This time they put him in a lounge chair on the small dock and proceeded to twist and pull on his foot in order to relieve the pain and swelling.  I think they mostly succeeded in making Stephen twist and pull the rest of his body into contortions because of the pain.  They all kept telling him that he just has to clear his mind and believe that it will work.  S. ended up choosing to stay in the town at least just for tonight because he didn’t want to continue on our journey getting further and further from Accra.  He will decide tomorrow if he is going to take a bus and join us in Ho, or if he will go back.

            The girls and I took another bus further into the Volta Region to the town of Ho.  I wish I had a camera to document all of our reactions when we pulled  into the alley where the hotel was supposed to be. All we saw was a half-built building  with pigeons and debris flying in and out of the rafters.  We were relieved to see that the first couple of floors have actually been finished very nicely.  I think the owners are building the hotel one floor at a time.

            

We unpacked our things, grabbed some lunch/dinner at a larger hotel down the road a little bit, then took an hour-long taxi ride to a monkey sanctuary between the towns of Ho and Hohoi.  Unfortunately, we got there just as it was getting dark and the guides told us that it was too late to go into the jungle to see the monkeys.  We walked around the main building  for a little while and spotted the sillhoutes  and listened to the chatter of the monkeys in the giant trees around us.  Even though we didn’t really get to see what we came for, we did get to watch a beautiful sunset while we drove through the beautiful green mountains. 

Friday June 29, 2012  Africa:  Day 19

            Kelsey and I spent the morning at Pantang Psychiatric Hospital.  We are going to be working in the drug rehab unit, but it’s still unclear what our responsibilities are going to be.  So far it has been a lot of observing.  That could be the extent of it, but there is so much to learn from these observations that I think it will be very interesting work. 

            We accompanied a few of the staff on their cleaning check rounds.  Every bed, closet, living space, and bathroom is inspected and checked off.  If there is some kind of infraction like having too many articles of clothing on one hanger, an empty water bottle next to a bed, or a cuff of a shirt rolled up and hung that way in the closet, then the person is called out during the “Morning Meeting” and has to stand to accept the responsibility of the mistake.  I couldn’t get over how serious they take things here.  It’s a good thing they don’t inspect my room!

            The Morning Meeting is also quite an experience.  The twenty rehab patients meet in a circle and started the meeting with a prayer, scripture, singing of the Ghanaian National Anthem, and a recitation of the rehab motto.  Then the group listens to general announcements, the results of the cleaning inspections, any other “bookings” or infractions that were recorded the previous day.  Someone had left a little sachet of water in the common room the night before.  The group leader asked for the who did this to stand in order to accept responsibility for this action. No one stood, so the group leader then had every person in the circle stand and they all had to take the blame because one person’s actions becomes the family’s responsibility if the individual is not courageous enough to step forward.

            The group leader announced that it was now time to begin the second half of the meeting.  All of a sudden the entire group chants back in a monotone, emotionless tone “second half; we love second half”.  The leader was not satisfied with the quiet response so he made them do it again, this time with more enthusiasm.  I was biting my tongue so hard trying to keep from laughing at this point.

            The second half of the meeting was filled with a person coming up and discussing a words of the day and how it relates to their experience in rehab, some other people came up and gave trivia questions (mostly about various facts of Ghanaian government procedures) for the audience to answer, and a couple of people shared more scriptures.  My favorite part, though, were the singers.  One man came up and led the group in a gospel song.  The other singer got up and sang “You Feel Up My Senses” with more emotion than I have ever heard this song performed.  I’m pretty sure I almost bit my tongue off at this point.  I just kept thinking, “How did this become my life?  How did I end up sitting in a drug rehab unit in a small town in Africa listening to a man sing John Denver!?!”  I love all of the unexpected experiences my life’s path seems to take me to.  Especially this one.

            Kelsey sat through a couple of groups following the morning meeting.  The first was the weekly “Sharing Meeting” where they all go around and share their answers to different journal prompts they answer during the week.  They answered questions about how they spent their weekend, how they slept one night, the hardest part of another day, and how they are coping with the program. 

Then the patients that have been in the program for less than two months met for a self-esteem group. They all stay for a minimum of six months, but could end up staying for much longer (one guy had been there for more than two years) depending on if their counselors think they are making adequate progress).  It seemed to me that a lot of the concerns and feelings that were brought up in these meetings were based on the fact that they have no idea when they will be able to leave to see their families again.  I couldn’t imagine being there day after day and without an end in sight.  At least prisoners get the courtesy of having a sentence time.

Kelsey and I joined the patients for a delicious lunch of banku and fish.  I think the men were happy to have some distractions from their routine.  As we were finishing, one man came up and told me how sad he was that I didn’t sit at his table.  Another man jumped up to clear my plate for me, and while one guy helped me wash my hands by pouring the warm water on my hands while I stood over a bucket, another old man told me that he was going to come visit me in the United States.  My tongue was seriously hurting by this time as I tried not to laugh at them fighting for our attention.

The patients have siesta and recreation time after lunch, so Kelsey and I left to go back to Accra.  We met up with the other girls who spent the morning at the other psychriatic hospital and left to meet our friend S. at a bus station to go to the Volta Region for the weekend.  It took some time finding everyone in the same bus station (and by bus station, I mean crazy market area with people, vendors, taxis, vans, and coach buses all vying for the same limited space).  It was also really uncomfortable when one bus driver literally pushed us on to his bus in front of everyone else.  I felt like I had just walked back into 1963.  It’s kind of disgusting the power that white privilege has sometimes.

I spent the bus ride talking to S. about various Ghanaian traditional beliefs, the Church, and religions in general.  We got to our hotel, checked into our rooms (I ended up in what we decided must be the “dance room” because it was lit only by a dim blue light bulb that barely illuminated the blue walls), then found some dinner at a little shop near the hotel.  The hotel advertises that it also has a restaurant, but apparently they don’t actually have food to serve in their large dining area.  We all ended up talking more about religions and I had many opportunities to answer questions and share my own beliefs and testimony about our church.

I went to bed tired from a busy day, happy to have more great missionary experiences, and a little nervous about what creatures may have been sharing the bed with me.

Thursday June 28, 2012  Africa:  Day 18

            Kelsey and I set off this morning for our first official day of “work” at Accra Psychiatric Hospital while Liz and Liyam went to Pantang Psychiatric Hospital.  We met up with Dixon and received the welcome we were expecting as we checked in at the nurses station.  No one knew who we were, why we were there, or what we were supposed to do (even though we had talked to this same head nurse a couple of different times last week).  She just looked confused and we told her (again) that we were psychology students from the US and Ghana and were going to observe in some of the wards. 

            We first went to the children’s ward where we talked with one of the nurses who told us some of the individual stories of some of the kids.  It was hard not to want to just take them all home as she talked of kids being chained up in a room for most of their lives until they were finally brought them to the hospital, or parents who literally dropped their child off at the hospital door and ran.  One little girl was probably the most social, and all she wanted to do cuddle.  The staff don’t really know the ages of most of the kids because many were abandoned, but this little girl has spent almost her entire life in a ward that consists of little barracks for sleeping, and a small courtyard with windowless 2-story tall walls where she is fed, bathed, changed, and entertained (although the entertainment is limited to say the least).  Once again I was so impressed with the staff.  The nurse we were talking to kept telling us that she tries to treat the children as her own relatives because most of them don’t have any of their own. 

            After a few hours of chatting and observing, we walked to the female ward.  Our greeting there was definitely memorable.  We walked through the tall wooden doors and within seconds I was being mobbed by women pulling on my arms and shirt asking for money and food.  As Dixon was helping me get through the crowd, I looked over just in time to see a large woman wearing only a little pair of underwear coming running right up to Kelsey and giving her a huge hug.  It may have been one of the funniest images I have seen in a while with Kelsey just standing there like a deer in the headlights as she realizes what is about to happen. 

            The nurses had us sit on small patio in an outer courtyard and then brought a few women to come to talk to us.  Kelsey, Dixon, just got to listen to the women tell their stories of family, life in the hospital, their feelings of loneliness and fear.  One woman was obviously the comic relief of the ward.  She had all of us (including the nurses sitting near by) laughing as she sang, danced, and talked and joked with us.  She kept trying to teach me words in Twi.  I would give her one word to translate into this native language, and she would slowly teach me how to say it.  Once she thought my pronunciation was adequate, she would kiss my hand to show her approval, then break into an entire paragraph that may or may not contain the word like “please”, “thank you” or “love” that she had just taught me.  She would look at me like I should understand what she said, so I would turn to the nurses or Dixon for some help, but they just thought it was funny and were too busy laughing to help me out. 

            We eventually said good bye to the women (and the rats that we saw scurrying around the facilities today), and took the Tro Tro home.  The power went out shortly after we got back to the hostel.  We were warned that this happens often, and it may turn back on in two hours or two days.  Instead of sitting around waiting for it, we packed up our computers and found a little French bakery near the NGO's main office to eat and use the internet.  The café closed not long after we got there, so we walked to the same hotel we went to last night to use their internet.  I’m sitting here by the pool listening to a live calypso band.  Not a bad way to end a emotionally draining day

Wednesday June 27, 2012  Africa:  Day 17

            We went to a school just outside of the refugee camp to teach the students about domestic violence and child abuse.  The Canadian interns didn’t come with us again, which made it a lot easier to coordinate lesson plans, etc.  Liz and Kelsey worked with the equivalent of first and second graders, I taught the third and fourth graders, and Liyam and Dixon took the fifth and sixth graders.  The junior high kids were away at a funeral of one of their students who was recently electrocuted at the camp when she tried to plug in a hot water heater. 

            It was a strange feeling to be up teaching a class again and I still can’t decide which school would provide the greater challenge between Vegas and Ghana.  Here there are no books, supplies, or visuals on the wall. The kids solely rely on a giant board of slate and some chalk to learn all their lessons. Our school in Vegas was overflowing with school paraphanelia, yet I found that using government money to fill a school full of the latest technology and most colorful posters does not mean that the quality of education is going to magically improve.  The students here in Ghana were incredibly well behaved and respectful.  They never spoke out of turn, and only a couple spoke at all.  My experience in Vegas was extremely different than this, but again I don’t know if a room of silent children means that they are learning more. I started to miss the conversations and interactions between the students and I even missed the challenge of keeping everyone engaged in the lesson.  I went ahead and taught the kids according to the attention span of my former students, yet I’m pretty sure that the kids here have been trained to sit silently in their seats for hours on end.  I would give some direct instruction and have the kids turn and talk to their neighbor about what I had just taught (they looked very confused at the idea of talking during class, but by the end I think they liked the change). Before moving on to a new topic, I would give them a chance to stand up and stretch.  I didn’t really care if this is something they are not used to.  I wanted to let them have some fun.  I taught them my favorite camp songs like “The Princess Pat” and “A-tooty-tat”.  We even did “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes”.  The teacher sat in the back of the room the whole time with ear phones in his ears and staring at his laptop.  I did see him finally break a smile as all the kids were singing and dancing.

            After the class we went out and played with all the kids on the playground.  After a big game of Duck, Duck, Goose, some of the kids in my class started asking for the songs again.  Before I knew it, the entire school was crowded around me singing and doing the actions to “The Princess Pat” and “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes”.  I lost track at how many times we put our heads back and tongues out to sing “A-Tooty-Tat”. 

            Some of the older kids then taught me more hand slapping games and some traditional dance moves while surrounded by a chorus of kids singing a beautiful African melody.

            This evening we met up with a friend of Helel’s that we met a couple of weeks ago when Helel was still in town.  Steven and a friend of his met us at a very nice hotel to watch a discussion on the history and future of Ghanaian film.  The presentation started on Ghana Time (an hour late), but they were showing a 1960s version of Hamlet filmed in Northern Ghana. Try to imagine the “To be or not to be” soliloquy performed in an African accent with the actor dressed in traditional Ghanaian gown and headpiece, sitting in front of a village of adobe dwellings.  It was probably one of my favorite ways I have ever seen Shakespeare performed.

            The discussion was very interesting as two Ghanaian actresses, a local English professor, and the Minister of Information talked about how Ghana needs to move beyond the low quality movies they turn out by the dozens. They kept comparing their films to American movies, and talking about how they need to stop trying to make poor imitations of the American film quality and start focusing on using film as an artform and a venue for storytelling.    I kept thinking that the U.S. should probably follow this same advice.   

Tuesday June 26, 2012  Africa:  Day 16

            We got to the camp and headed over to the same vocational school we were at yesterday.  It is definitely rainy season, so we spent a lot of time in the kitchen area watching the rain come down in sheets and wondering if we would have anyone for the presentation.  Most people stay home when it rains in order to try their best to keep their belongings dry.  The aluminum sheeting used for roofing doesn’t exactly hold up to this kind of rain.

            It was amazing to watch the women busily making cinnamon rolls, meat pies, and shortbread cookies.  One kept saying how nice it would be to use electric mixers as she sat creaming the sugar and butter with a big wooden spoon.  All these delicious creations are cooked in a coal-heated oven.  It’s a big box with metal shelves.  At the bottom there is a metal plate on a platform that is filled with hot coals.  The women showed us how they can bake anything in that oven and everything comes out a perfect golden brown.  We each bought two cinnamon rolls and two meat pies for a total of 2 cedi (or 1 dollar).  Considering the average person in the camp lives off of 50 pesue (or about 25 cents) a day, the ladies made a pretty good income just off of us that morning.

            One woman yesterday suggested that we do a presentation on domestic violence, so for our presentation today we started with this and finished with more information on stress and coping.  We talked about different types of domestic abuse and the four of us did little role plays showing examples of the symptoms of physical, emotional, sexual, and financial abuse.  The women were very engaged and some even had tears in their eyes as we discussed the different signs and symptoms.  One of the workers from our NGO also talked about social and cultural abuse that are unique to this area of the world.  She mentioned how some husbands refuse to let their wives leave the house to join various social associations or go to church, but they are free to go out with their friends whenever they please.  She also talked about some of the abuse that happens in the name of cultural traditions.  There are some pretty traumatizing practices associated with widow’s rites, female genital mutilation, death and burial of children, and ceremonial markings.  We let her discuss these because we are just learning about these topics ourselves.

            At the end we each got to share our personal coping skills that work for us when we feel stressed.  I talked about how listening and playing music helps me calm down.  I also was nominated to talk about how religion is a coping skill since this is a huge part of the local culture and none of the other girls consider themselves very religious.  I essentially bore my testimony  about the power of prayer and the strength and peace that comes from knowing that God loves and knows each of us and our unique situations, and when everything else seems completely out of our control, we can always trust Him to help us through whatever situation we are in.  I  got a little chorus of some “amens” at the end.  

Monday June 25, 2012  Africa:  Day 15

            

            During the van ride to the camp we put together a brief outline of a presentation on stress and coping.  We weren’t sure if we would even be able to present anything because the Canadian interns were doing a session on financial empowerment  and it wasn’t clear if we were even going to be part of the agenda.  

            We all gathered in a school for women to learn beauty skills, fashion, interior design, and cooking.  The financial empowerment part went about as we expected.  The girls were speaking so fast and quiet that it would be hard for anyone to understand, let alone those in the audience who are trying to understand the American accent.  The vocabulary was too inflated for the purpose of the presentation, and the audience (including me) was quickly losing interest.  Liz and Liyam then did a very quick presentation on stress and coping which seemed to be very well received.  Our Liberian refugee counterpart kept commenting afterward how beneficial learning the relaxation exercises were for him.  I’m kind of worried about him.  Each day we see him he looks more and more haggard. 

            After the presentations we met with a man in the nutrition center and talked with him about various programs they have at the camp to help feed the orphaned children, and take care of the malnourished.  This is not an easy task considering they estimate that about 85-90% of the population are suffering from malnutrition. 

            The man also told us to go talk to the main office of the NGO that runs this center.  We met with a manager of an organization that was started by none other than the evening radio host Delilah.  Putting my personal opinions about her radio show aside, she is helping to do some incredible work here at the camp.

            On our way home we had the driver drop us off at the airport so we could buy tickets for our safari weekend trip in a few weeks.  Then we met with our supervisor here at the university, and spent the rest of the evening working on a lesson plan for tomorrow’s presentation on stress and coping.

Sunday June 24, 2012  Africa:  Day 14

            I really wanted to go to church today, but I didn’t have any way of finding out where the closest chapel was.  We didn’t have internet access all weekend and James, the waiter we befriended, didn’t know if there was one around.  Instead I spent a peaceful Sunday morning sitting on the beach reading and being entertained by the local kids.  My friends decided to swim to the island, so I sat under a coconut tree hoping that they would make it back alive. 

The kids here seem to find a million different ways to entertain themselves.  A bunch of them had found a boogie board, propped it up along a rock wall, and almost an hour using it as a slide.  Another kid would yell, “hello” at me until I looked at him.  He would then take a large tomato can, put it between his knees, and beat out an intricate rhythm was some sticks he found in the sand.  Other kids would yell “hello” (that and “my name is ___ seem to be the English words they know) until I acknowledged their one-handed cartwheels and other stunts they wanted to perform for me.  A little girl came and curled up beside me and spent a long time just creating different sand formations with leaves, sticks, and her shoes.  Another little boy came up and stole my water bottle.  A few minutes later I watched a different boy walk by with the bottle wrapper on his arm like a bracelet, and then a third kid ran by with the empty water bottle tied to some fishing string trailing behind him.  I’m glad those sneaky little kids got so much use out of my water.

That afternoon we began our long journey home.  We took a taxi to Takaradi, a larger town with a main bus station where we would find our next ride back to Accra.  Before I even got out of the taxi, one of the bus drivers had all of our backpacks loaded on his bus, then he handed us tickets, and pushed us toward his 15-passenger van.  As we were about to climb in he pushed me toward the front of the van and told me that I was to ride in the front seat in between the driver and his brother.  Everything was happening so fast that as I got sandwiched in between the two men, I began to worry that maybe the other girls didn’t end up on this bus after all.  I felt a huge relief when I was finally able to look back and see their heads in the very back of the bus.

The next feeling of relief came when we finally pulled into the Accra bus station. The drive can only be best described as a 3 ½ hour live version of a video game.  It took us four hours on Friday night to get to Cape Coast, and Takaradi is much further past that town, so I spent the whole time watching the world zoom by as we bumped along the rough roads.  Every time we passed a car I was amazed we came out alive.  The driver must play a game to see how close he can possibly get to the car in front before he finally swerves the large van to barely avoid the collision.  I was also amazed that he was able to avoid the head-on collisions that seemed inevitable as he would swerve back onto his side of highway, managing to not sideswipe the car he was passing, and just in time to avoid the car coming right at us.  The ride may have taken less time than a normal driver, but it still seemed like an eternity as I anticipated the next impact and also because I had to sit with my arms and legs tucked in as close as possible.  The man to my right made himself comfortable and took up all the room on that side, and if I tried to scoot to the left, I would hit the gear shifter.  At one point I tried to distract myself from what was going on by attempting to start a conversation with my bus neighbors.  It didn’t work very well because neither of them spoke very much English.  My favorite part of the drive was the ironic road safety sticker displayed on the dashboard.  Whenever I looked down bracing for the seemingly unavoidable collision, I would be staring at a phrase like “Be patient today so you are not a patient tomorrow”.  Maybe the advice got lost in translation.