The PC West Africa Cashew Conference

Everyone has their “baby” project. The one thing they hold onto dearly. The one project that sits on their VRF mantle as a gold star of accomplishment. Something you can truly write home about. Last week, I found my gold star.

Peace Corps Ghana hosted our very own West Africa Cashew Conference, with participants from Benin, Burkina Faso, Gambia, Guinea, Mali, and Senegal. The Conference was sponsored by the West Africa Food Security Partnership, SAP, Red River Foods, African Cashew Initiative, and of course Peace Corps. Ever since I arrived in country, there had been talk of hosting a regional conference. We first attempted to host the conference in June, but it didn’t even get past the thinking about it stage. Finally, after some wonderful pushes from SAP and Red River, the conference was put on the calendar.

We started planning the general outline of the conference in August or September of last year. I remember because we held a meeting to determine the In Service Training, SAP training, and conference dates before I left for my fabulous vacation in South Africa. The same day we sent the outline of our proposed program to the Director of Programming and Training (DPT) here in Ghana. In early November, I created an invitation for distribution throughout Africa (although we later found out only West Africa could financially swing coming). For all my advertising friends back in the States, I know, I know. I don’t have inDesign, so I had to make due with what I had. Remember, this is Peace Corps!

While down for my Mid-Service Medical appointment, we had a conference call with SAP and Peace Corps to discuss the conference. So, immediately after that meeting we drafted the program. SAP requested a field trip so that we could see the technology being actively used, so I thought it would be great to combine that with a visit to the Monastery – basically a really cool giant cashew farm with these amazing rocks for climbing. We hashed out the rest of the schedule and distributed tasks according to our action plan.

I worked on the budget, materials list, welcome to Ghana info packet, the first draft of a logistics letter, and a whole slew of behind the scenes logistics. I was also the main contact person for our partners (Red River, SAP, etc.). Which meant a lot of phone calls that started like “no I swear this is still happening!”

There were times when the work was incredibly overwhelming and staff thought about scrapping the entire conference, but thank god we soldiered on. Some days I would have 30 new emails about the conference. It reminded me of client emails. Or emails from my good friend Mr. Nedry: “no, change the binder to say this…Oh wait, CEO doesn’t want that. Hold on. No, go back to the original. Did you order the brown or black again?” Something like that.

Even my fellow cashew PCVs had doubts that the program would still go on. I had faith in our ability to make this happen. What’s Peace Corps without a few really ridiculous hurdles? Finally, the days ticked closer and closer to the start of the conference. Participants had booked their flights, in country flights were secured, the hotel was confirmed, and all of our partners were still on board. All that was left was for me to pick out my clothes.

 

And trust me, that was difficult.

I arrived at the hotel two days early, to double/triple check everything and hash out any last minute details. I arranged the type of meals we would eat every day and for the hotel bus. I also spoke with the chef about getting boxed lunches one day. The hotel kept telling me, “no, we already have that covered.” or “everything is already arranged.” I wouldn’t have believed them if I was in America, but this is Ghana. I’m taught not to trust those words. They were so confident in their preparation though, I had to trust them.

The next day, the DPT calls me and tells me Ghana ran out of jet fuel and instead of flying up to Sunyani, the whole crew would need to drive up. We regrouped and came up with an altered schedule for the next day. The next morning, I get another early morning call from the DPT – they found jet fuel! They were on their way to the airport. Everyone was still there, all countries had arrived, and everyone had their bags. Flabbergasted.

I rush over to the hotel to get settled in (read take a shower, put on my fancy clothes, and do my makeup) and double check that everything was ready to go for the afternoon, including lunch. The porter showed me to my room and I was shocked to find a Ghanaian celebrity standing right outside my door. It had to be an omen. I was just about to hop in the shower, when my fellow cashew PCVs called me over to divvy up our revised slides. I run over there, get my new slides, run back to the other part of the hotel, and dress. I get a call from the DPT – they arrived! I head over with the hotel bus to pick everyone up. I’m so excited. I have my Woodin outfit on, so I’m looking sharp. I get off the bus and everything turns into slow motion. It felt like one of those movies when the football team pulls into the parking lot after a big win and is greeted by cheering fans. Except this was just a bunch of Africans and PCVs who looked tired and eager to change. But to me, this was everything. Everyone was there. They were there on time. Once we were on the bus, I felt the energy change. You could feel it in the air. This was the first time I had met PCVs from another country.

I worked so hard on making this conference a reality, when everyone was in the hotel lobby getting checked in and settled – I realized something. This was no longer a dream. This was it. Now I’m in my element.

I shared a room with a PCV, Stephanie, from Guinea. I was incredibly interested in learning more about other PC countries. What was it like during Pre Service Training? How is the PCMO? What languages do you learn? What’s the money like? I felt like a kid asking all sorts of questions. Then we talked fashion and fabric. Enough said.

We went downstairs for lunch and they served my favorite – banku and tilapia with peppe. I ate that fish with my hands and I let everyone know – I am GHANA! Alright more like, look at how integrated I am! I wear cool fabrics and eat giant plates of fish and fermented corn dough! Finally, we enter the conference room and the conference officially starts. I must have been grinning from ear to ear, because I couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

The first day we heard from SAP about their technology, so we could be prepared for the field trip the following day. We cut the day short, so everyone would have adequate nap/socializing time. Which meant we all rushed for the pool. As we floated around the pool with life preservers, we discussed music, food, sites, and general Peace Corps curiosity stuff. After dinner, I was hounded with questions about fabric. Which I was more than happy to answer. I called it a night early, to rest up for tomorrow’s field trip.

Tuesday, we left almost on time – just 10 minutes later – for Tanoboase. We met up with another PCV there and we saw his buying station facilitators use the SAP phone and application protoype to purchase cashew. The guys had the application down pat. They also showed us their records, the bags they already tagged, and took us through each step of the application. I think I almost cried. My two babies merging together at the same time – the conference and the SAP pilot. I even overheard one of the facilitators telling the staff member from Benin – “I don’t want my kids to be cashew farmers. I want to be a great farmer, make a good income, and provide for my kids school fees. I want them to do better than me. I want them to do something great.” I could have hugged these guys.

They also spoke briefly about how the PCV helped them create their association, their plans for the future, and how they see themselves growing.

We moved to the shade for our snack and we discussed the SAP pilot, association building, and constraints farmers have with forming associations. As a Cashew Initiative, we discuss these things off the cuff. It is just a general conversation we have with each other, but here at this shady tree, we were discussing why. We were trying to dig down to the root of the problem, to truly discover how Peace Corps Volunteers could uncover these issues, handle them, and work with their communities to create something sustainable. We boarded the bus and the conversation continued, and it didn’t stop for the remainder of the field trip. We didn’t just talk about the issues, we had lively discussions on how individual people and Peace Corps programs can inspire change. It gave me goosebumps. We also discussed how government plays a role in promoting industries, but how individuals can inspire the government to focus their efforts. At one point, we were getting very intensely into a discussion about sustainable development. But instead of it being heated, it was lively and inspiring. People weren’t downtrodden, they were excited. It was refreshing.

After we toured a bit of the Monastery’s facilities, we took our lunches to a rock archway overlooking a good chunk of the Brong-Ahafo. We all sat together on the ground facing towards the grasses, cashew trees, coconut trees, and transitional savannah that stretched out before us. There was a nice breeze under the rocks and everyone was astounded at our hidden lunch alcove.

We returned to the hotel and had a break before we continued into the night talking about SAP. We got into another discussion about Peace Corps politics. One discussion I’ve had many times before. I let the staff handle that one.

The next day was the Cashew Initiative day. We had all been looking forward to this day for a long time. The presentation we gave was first drafted up by me back in July of last year. I just checked and I spent a total of 13 hours and 55 minutes editing the presentation. Four of the five of us met a few weeks before the conference to work out additional details and slides for the presentation. A couple days before the conference, our last member took a last swing at the presentation and made it look pretty. She had a lot more cashew photos then I did, so it helped to make the presentation literally look pretty.

We were joined that day by some veterans, which was really wonderful. Sam, Chad, and Wayne – some of our founding fathers were there to speak about the history of the Initiative, how it started, and why they wanted to create a Peace Corps Ghana Cashew Initiative. Then the members of the Executive Committee all contributed their input for their slides and we yammered on about our mission, vision, goals, objectives, projects, challenges, and future for 2 hours. I was given the difficult task of speaking about our challenges, there was a lot of staff from other countries, but also Ghana staff. I wanted to make sure everyone knew that this hasn’t all been easy, it has been an up-hill battle, but as sensitively and politically correctly as possible. PCVs often think they know what is best, Staff does too. You have to find a way to marry staff and PCV vision, so everyone is on the same page. This isn’t unique to Ghana. You could say the same for any organization – the CEO may have an idea for where the company is going, but low level managers disagree. And that’s where teamwork, compromise, and cohesion come in. Anyway, our presentation went amazingly well and we moved over to our booths.

We set up “booths,” tables where staff and PCVs could learn more about our specific activities and ask in depth questions about more technical things. The idea for the booths came from David, the Chairman at the time. The booths also went swimmingly. Everyone got an opportunity to really dig deeper into cashew related projects. Plus, they got to try jam, juice, and preserves. We started attracting attention from the guests of the hotel as well and we even had a cashew buyer come up to us and want to learn more. I had a great time talking to staff about my business literacy program. It was so comforting for me to be able to speak with business-minded people for a while about accounting and record-keeping. I’m in a super minority here, so it is great to be able to throw out the words balance sheet and not have confused faces. (Mom – why didn’t I become an accountant? Oh yeah that’s right, I hate double entry accounting.)

We had lunch afterwards and it started to rain. In America, that could be seen as a bad omen – but here in Ghana we love the rain. Nothing like a light shower to cool down the day. Following lunch, we had presentations from other countries about what cashew stuff is going on there. I learned that Benin has more cashews than you could imagine for that small of a country, but almost all of their processing plants are defunct. Everything gets shipped to India or Vietnam for processing. Ghana is slowly processing more and more of the kernels grown here at home, so income is being passed onto Ghanaians. I also learned that Gambia has a lot of small scale processors. Something interesting for me as well, in Gambia and Senegal they actually eat cashews. Cashews are not as expensive to buy regularly. Here, you can’t get a small bag of cashews without spending half your daily allowance.

It was truly fascinating to learn more from the other countries. We briefly talked about how the Ghana Cashew Initiative could be replicated in other PC countries. Something we always reiterate – why reinvent the wheel?

Thursday, the last day of the conference we heard from ACi, Red River, and ACA about their involvement throughout West Africa. And like that the conference was closed.

I had the privilege of being MC for the majority of the conference, which heaven knows I loved. I got to meet other PCVs and talk about the work I love to do. I got to spend a week at a nice hotel, eating good food, and enjoying A/C. We had the opportunity to share our experiences, successes, failures, and ideas for how grassroots development can impact cashew farmers. We had riveting discussions that almost brought me to tears, I was so happy and excited. I loved it. I loved (almost) every minute of planning this conference. I loved every minute of the actual conference. If the other countries left inspired, they have no idea how inspired they made me.

After a while, you see your fellow PCVs get jaded and unenthused. Day in and day out, we do the same thing. But this conference brought a new energy to our program. It was that spark that brings a smile back to your face, washes away the jaded attitude. This conference was everything I ever dreamed of. It inspired me with new ideas, gave me hope, gave me even more enthusiasm, and reminded me of why I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.

We may just be Peace Corps Volunteers, but we can make a difference.

February Showers Bring March Unbearable Heat

We are entering the hottest part of the year. The next few months will be filled with endless strings of cursing, sweat dripping down every available surface, chugging liters of water and still only peeing once a day, and of course counting down the days until the rains come again. Even while sitting directly in the line of sight of a humming fan, you can still feel your body aching to sweat. Like the beads of sweat are just under the surface ready to pop up the second you move an inch away from the fan.

The Harmattan has broken and with it the sweltering heat has returned. Yesterday, I decided to walk to my new favorite chop bar. Modern Way just so happens to be on the opposite side of the town. Unfortunately for me, my supreme love of banku has rendered me hopelessly devoted to the sweetly sour taste that is Modern Way’s banku and groundnut soup. Their soup is thick, rich in flavor, and not watered down. The chicken is tender, meaty, and very dry. The fish is good and consumable. I’ve become something of a banku connoisseur. I can taste the subtle variations from day to day and from chop bar to chop bar. So yesterday, I decided to walk there. Lights were out and I figured I was going to start sweating in a matter of seconds anyway. So I dressed and headed towards the chop bar with the red painted fence. I knew Modern Way was far, but I really didn’t know how far away it was. Miles, kilometers, feet, everything is relative here. Does the route have shade? Is the route hilly or sandy? How many people do I have to stop and greet along the way?

I finally made it to Modern Way and I ordered my typical two balls of banku, two pieces of chicken, and some boiled okra. I then set off in my quest for home. I looked at my cell phone to register the time and I headed home. Techiman is fairly flat, so I didn’t have a problem there. By the time I left Modern Way it was about 10:30, not even the hottest part of the day. I slowly advanced towards home and with every landmark I thought to myself “almost there.” The heat was starting to ramp up and the sun was pounding on my shoulders. I was thirsty, but I didn’t want to stop and buy water. That would require taking my sunglasses off, fishing around for change, greeting people, speaking in Twi, and all manner of things that didn’t involve walking home. So I trudged on, past the intersections and little shops. Finally I made my turn onto my road and I felt so relieved. As I walked into my house, I checked the time. It took me almost 30 minutes to walk home. I was covered in sweat, my entire arms were shiny with wetness. I sat down my food and reached for the fridge door. I ripped it open and quickly grabbed a slushy bottle of water. It reminded me of Sonic ice. It was so refreshing. I refilled the bottle and made some Raspberry Lemonade with the slushy water. Now it really tasted like Sonic. I ate my banku about 15 minutes later after waiting for the African heat to subside from the bowl. There is nothing quite like sweating from the heat, sweating from the hot touch of soup on your hands, and sweating from the spiciness of your food.

That night I woke up around 3:00 am from the sound of the wind beating the curtains against my burglar bars. Even over the white noise of my fan, I could tell the wind outside was howling. I walked outside and was engulfed in a gust of wind, bringing humid and cool air to my face. It had to have been in the high 70s or low 80s that night. The clouds were low and puffy, but they weren’t black. They were a light gray, probably reflecting some of the moon’s rays. It smelled like rain.

I laid in bed and watched the shadow of the curtains dancing across my wall. I inhaled the refreshing scent of coming rain. I listened to the wind rattle the curtains and blow dust around. The temperature, the color, the wind, it all reminded me of those stormy days in May in Oklahoma. Those nights when you watch the thunderstorm roll in and open your windows for the smell of Oklahoma spring to invade your house. I could almost hear the tornado sirens blaring in the background. It felt like I was home again. It felt like I was sitting in my room in Oklahoma. And that’s when I felt it, the longing for Oklahoma. I wanted to feel like a kid again, running outside when the sirens went off to look for the tornado. To open the windows, the doors and listen for the rain to start pouring. I wanted to smell the cottonwood trees as the wind blew the blossoms all around during a storm. I wanted to wake up the next morning and look for downed tree limbs and scattered leaves. I wanted the Oklahoma I remember. I wanted the Oklahoma I love.

It is funny how certain things trigger memories. The balmy night winds brought back so many memories of growing up in Oklahoma. Suddenly, I could recall roller skating in my tiny backyard; picking strawberries from our garden; endless days of swimming in the backyard pool with the neighbors; barbeques with marinated steak and corn on the cob; playing house with Lauren in her garage or the treehouse; driving home from school down the back roads; listening to the Backstreet Boys nonstop with Martha; taking cover from tornados; and standing on the back porch watching sheets of rain come tumbling down. There is truly nothing like an Oklahoma storm, the smell, the intensity, the beautiful sunshine after the fact. Oklahoma was a fantastic place to grow up, a great place to be a kid.

When I think back on my time in Oklahoma (all 17 years of it), I remember the good and the bad. As an adult, I hated the politics and the backward views constantly surrounding me. As a teenager, I hated the drive – 30 minutes to get anywhere. As a kid, I hated the hot summers. But politics, the heat, and long commutes seem so unimportant now. I know what hot is – I’m sitting in it. I know what a long commute is – it takes me 8-12 hours to get to the capital. I know what politics are – I survived the politics of my last town. Peace Corps gives you perspective. It allows you to reflect on the things that once bothered you and realize how trivial they seem now. I’ve gotten to the point in my service, when 8 hours on a tro is just another day in Ghana. When the power goes out, you find something else to do, and some other way of staying cool. Peace Corps has taught me to deal with it. Ain’t no use pouting, when you can’t do anything about it.

It won’t be long before I smell those Oklahoma thunderstorms again. I’m sure I’ll sit there thinking – I remember the rains in Ghana. I would love to stand outside in the rain again, throwing buckets outside collecting the water. I’ll remember the smell of Ghanaian rain and the sound the rain makes on the hot, tin roof.

Have I Ever Told You the Story of My Fortune?

A long time ago in a faraway land, there lived a fair maiden applying for the Peace Corps. While waiting patiently for an invitation to the grand ball that is Peace Corps, the fair maiden got a distressing note. Sadly, because the big bad wolves in Washington, DC couldn’t decide how to divvy up dinner, everyone had to get smaller portions. That meant our fair maiden’s chances of getting an invitation to the ball in the summer were shattered. Saddened, but not disheartened, the maiden kept hoping and dreaming that one day her invitation would come.

One day in late August, when the summer heat was finally starting to fade, our maiden made a strange decision. See, our poor maiden was doomed. Born with a rare sensitivity to Chinese food, the maiden could not stop craving sweet and sour chicken. Finally one day, she gave in. She knew that she would become very ill, but her desire to eat Chinese food was overwhelming. It had been over two years since she had caved.

She consumed the food with zeal, forgetting about her fate. After all the food was heartily enjoyed, the maiden reached for her fortune cookie. She cracked it open and pulled a tiny slip of paper out. She read the fortune and smiled. “Soon you will be sitting on top of the world.” What a fantastic fortune to find, exclaimed the maiden. She kept the paper and set it beside her.

The maiden returned to work. Two hours later, the maiden received a note very unexpectedly. The note said “Congratulations, you have been invited to serve as a Small Enterprise Development Volunteer in Sub-Saharan Africa.” Finally, an invitation to the ball! The maiden had given up hope that she would receive an invitation that year. The maiden was overcome with joy. And then she remembered her fortune. She was now sitting on top of the world. Upon further investigation, the lucky numbers on the fortune also contained her mother’s lucky number. Did fate tell the maiden to forgo her health for a few days so she could have happiness for many years to come?

The maiden accepted her invitation and left for the Ghana Ball a couple months later. Ever since that fateful day, the maiden has carried this tiny slip of paper with her everywhere. It serves as a constant reminder of the beauty of fate. 

South Africa Trip–Durban

My notes from my trip to South Africa were left in one of my boxes during my move. I finally found my tiny little notebook chronically my South Africa extravaganza, so let’s finish this trip shall we?

After Port Elizabeth, I travelled to Durban. It was an extremely long bus ride, made longer by roadwork. 17 hours in a bus. Early on in the trip everyone was chatty. Since I was a single woman travelling alone, I was a point of interest for conversation. Once I told them I was a Volunteer living in the village in Ghana, I won points with the entire bus. It was pretty great. Everyone listened while I told stories from Ghana. I imagined setting up a campfire in the middle of the aisle. I finally made it to Durban and settled into my hostel. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel like partying, otherwise that hostel would have been ideal.

I was put in a room with a group of German girls studying at the University in Port Elizabeth. There was one girl who was beautiful, she was German but black. Her father was Namibian and her mother German. We all chatted for a while and I found out that her friends were going to the beach for the day, but she wanted to go shopping. I was planning on shopping the next day, so we decided to go together. The next morning we headed into Durban proper to find this big Indian market. Durban has the biggest population of Indians outside of India. Gandhi got his start here in Durban. We walked around the market for a few hours taking in the mix of Indian curry spices, South African crafts, and perfumes. The area around Durban is Zulu land. The Zulu are known for their beautiful hand carved wooden spoons and bead work.

After the market, we walked around the area for a short bit. Diminga (the German girl) needed to get her hair braided, but only smallsmall. So we went to this crazy back alley creepy hair salon. Here in Ghana everything is open, wide, and in a shack. This salon was tiny and in a back alley. So naturally I was suspicious, but it turns out it was normal. It reminded me of Ghana, the women chatting while doing their hair. Afterwards, we found a shop selling saris. It was so incredibly beautiful. If I had been alone, I would have totally asked to try on a couple. The fabrics were breathtaking. It made me want to book a ticket to India.

We got a little lost but luckily a friendly Indian woman stopped us and told us exactly how to get where we needed to go. We headed to the beach area to shop along the stalls. I bought three beaded bracelets for less than 10 bucks. They are stunning. They are one of my favorite purchases from my trip. I love wearing them.

After a walk along the shops, we headed over to the beach for some ice cream. Honestly, this would have been a great date, ha! It was a school holiday that day so the beach was filled with people from every background you could imagine.

We then headed over to the World Cup Soccer Stadium to meet up with her friends. We took this mini elevator up to the top of the stadium (which is shaped like a basket). You could see all of Durban up there on that platform. It was beautiful. I wish I could have seen a soccer game there. When we came down we ate at Subway, which was fantastic and so American.

I went to dinner by myself afterwards, I wasn’t going to leave Durban without stuffing my face full of Indian food. I had mutton, chicken, this amazing curry rice, a delicious yoghurt sauce, and lots of spice! It was delicious, but the best part was realizing the Indian restaurant in Accra is just as good.

The next day I left for Johannesburg with the bus again. Only I forgot to tell the bus that I changed hostels, so I almost missed the bus which would have been AWFUL. But I didn’t and that’s the great part. It was the first time I actually stressed out during my entire trip.

The trip between Durban and Johannesburg was stunning. We drove by the Drakensberg Mountains. There were gorges, canyons, mountains, lakes, and stretches of nothing. It was like a different planet.

I finally got to Johannesburg in the evening and settled in to my ex-Mafia house hostel. It was a beautiful mansion on a hill overlooking a large section of Johannesburg. I shared my room with a group of South African girls on school holiday. I’m pretty sure they were all Zulu princesses, only problem was they kept running around naked. I see lots of boobs in Ghana, but not in South Africa. The boys on the trip kept coming into the room too. I felt like a chaperone, but it was entertaining. The staff at the hostel was incredibly nice to me and I enjoyed staying there. But I couldn’t wait for the next day – the day I left for my safari.

Grabbling with Integration

You’d think by now I would know better. I should have known better. But I was dealing with women and honestly I don’t interact with women near as often as I do with men.

I walked to my tailor this morning, extremely excited to pick up my very first traditional Ghanaian outfit. Yes, everything I’ve gotten made up to this point has been a western style. I got to the shop and greeted everyone. I set my bag down and started to open it. Two of the girls quickly told me to stop and that I should follow them. My dress was at the house. As soon as we rounded the corner they gave me the scoop. The last time I was there the small boy at the shop apparently blabbed something to his mom, the Madam, about me working with the apprentices and not her. I was confused though, because I thought the Madam was the lead tailor sitting in the back? The tailors at the shop have decent English, but the one I thought was the Madam doesn’t have the best language skills. The Ghanaian who took me to the shop wasn’t clear when he introduced me if the lady he pointed to was his friend or the Madam. He told me beforehand though that the Madam is always more expensive and because I’m white she will try to charge me more. He suggested that I give my stuff to the apprentices first, then the Madam.

So apparently the last time I went to the shop, I handed over my cloth to one of the apprentices. I mean physically handed it. I thought I was giving it to the shop as a whole, but apparently I wasn’t. I also handed over 5cd because they asked me for money to buy the lining for the dress. Reasonable request, right? Apparently because I handed the money to an apprentice not the Madam, I committed some sort of mortal offense. After I left, the Madam yelled at the all the apprentices and scared them senseless. But why?! The apprentices told me never to come back to the shop, from now on I need to go to a different place to pick up clothes if I want to work with them. Wait what?

The whole time I’m thinking: “how on Earth did I get so good at unknowingly pissing people off?” I had never dealt with a group of tailors before, only one lady in a shop. How was I supposed to know the politics of tailor dynamics? How was I supposed to know that I couldn’t physically give my fabric to a lackey, I had to give it to the head honcho? I’m still not even sure who the Madam really is. Is she the lady in the corner or is she someone else who doesn’t sit in the shop? One of the biggest things Americans grabble with here in Ghana is the concept that authority is top down. Well I mean it is everywhere, but hear me out. If you want to host a program in town, you first talk to the District Chief Executive and the District Assembly. That’s like going to the mayor and city council in America to ask permission to have a basketball game in your neighborhood. We have gatekeepers for a reason in America, because time is important. Authority is assumed with a position. We accept someone’s authority because of their job title. In Ghana, authority is something that is more important than time. Throwing your weight around because you can is extremely important in this country, especially for men. Giving the appearance of even more authority is natural. For example, today I was watching Ghanaian news for the first time. They were showing the confirmation hearings for ministers at the top level of government. The man being questionned was up for regional minister of the Ashanti Region. He was wearing cloth, like the chiefs do here. One man asked him if he was a chief and he said no. So the man asked, then why are wearing a chief’s cloth?

Big man syndrome is something I’ve struggled with here. The idea that men here have to assert their authority as often as possible and most of the time randomly is just mind boggling. I grew up assuming that authority was earned. Police in America go through training and have authority because that’s how our system works. Bosses have authority because they have more experience, have worked at the company longer, and because they are more qualified than you. Here you can have authority simply because you have enough money to pay someone off or because you are in at least some position to scare the people below you. I didn’t think that would be the case with women though. I honestly thought it was primarily a male phenomenon here. Maybe that’s why it caught me so off guard. I didn’t mean to piss off the Madam, but I should have known better.

I asked if I could apologize, but they told me that wouldn’t help, the damage was done. I think that’s what stings the most. I simply thought I was handing my cloth over to the store as a whole, I didn’t know better because I was alone and had never dealt with a situation like this before. My American self wants to apologize and make everything better, but my Ghanaian self knows that an insult simply can’t be “sorry”ied away. I sit and think “why did it have to be the tailor, for gods sake, anyone but the tailor!” It hurts because I want to fix it, but I can’t.

And then that just brings up bad memories from my old site. And then my deep internal dread of failing comes bubbling back to the surface. Ghanaians are always complementing me on how integrated I am, but how is it that I still manage to piss off the people I want to work with the most? There is one simple answer. I’m American. I always have been and always will be. I wear batik, I speak the language, I heartily consume the food, I deal with tros, I do the hiss, I do the hand motions, I wear the clothes, I know the meanings of adinkra, and I know Ghana time. I know the nuances and I understand how a lot of Ghanaians think. I feel integrated, but I can never fully be 100% integrated into Ghanaian culture. Because I’m not Ghanaian. I was raised to have certain convictions, morals, and attitudes. I’ve adapted here in Ghana to fit in with the culture, I’ve learned to accept things simply because that’s how it works here. But there are still a few things that I cannot accept; things my mind won’t let me brush off. Big man syndrome is one of those things. I know it, I deal with it, but I still can’t accept it. It is hard to explain, but here’s an example:

It is like in college, you take a class and you are really good at it. It is one of your favorite classes and you enjoy learning. Your professor is very particular though, no matter how hard you work, or how well you do, you still end up with a B at the end of the semester. You want to dispute the grade, but you know that it is futile, there is no changing the professor. You learned what you learned, you got something out of the class, but you didn’t make the grade you wanted. Fighting for a better grade will only bring you more stress and a sour relationship with the professor. But deep down inside, you are bitter and resentful, those feelings simply won’t go away by accepting your fate. Those feelings are there for a reason.

That’s how I feel here. I know I can’t change certain behaviors, I just have to deal with them. That doesn’t mean I agree with them or like them though. We are raised to have certain convictions, they are there for a reason. They help guide us in our decision making and help us be fully integrated into our own culture. Culture isn’t just a group of people who look similar, wear the same style of clothes, and eat similar foods. Culture is about attitude and how we behave. How we are raised and what we believe are traits that we share within our own culture. We share a common bond that isn’t easily broken. I believe you can fit yourself into another culture, but you never lose the culture you grew up with. It stays with you forever, guiding you throughout your life.

I’ve adapted here and my personality has changed, but I don’t think my internal beliefs have changed. I don’t think they can. Can you even change your morals and convictions? Do you want to?

And that’s my internal struggle – grabbling with reconciling what I can’t change and what I think is wrong.

This is something I will continue to struggle with. Because if this were easy, then it wouldn’t be Peace Corps.

10 Months and 5 Days

Time is quickly slipping from under my fingers. The days are a blur and weeks slide into months. I can’t believe I’ve been here for over 16 months. I only have 10 months and 5 days left in my service.

Here’s a breakdown of my service so far:

495 days in country
51 days spent evacuated
71 days in training
21 days in South Africa on vacation
108 farmers trained on business literacy
870 farmers registered for SAP Pilot in 2012
14 buying station facilitators trained on the SAP system today
over 20 days spent sick in Accra
7 days spent recovering from Typhoid
1 month lost from memory from Typhoid
over 50 items received from the tailor
over 141 yards of fabric purchased
0 hours of TV watched on a TV
1 completely failed program
1 arch nemesis obtained
1 broken camera
72 shades of eyeshadow owned in Ghana
12 bottles of nailpolish
at least 200 balls of banku consumed
7 months until I finally tried fufu
over 2000 text messages sent to Richie
3 bottles of beer consumed that were smaller than 40oz
52 pairs of panties still with me and not shredded from washing
2 Ghanaian traditional dances mastered
2 instances of giardia
5 packages of oreos consumed in great haste
1 best friend obtained
1 tearful goodbye
495 days of love, joy, excitement, disappointment, sadness, longing, anger, and anxiousness.

I’ve done a lot so far, but I don’t feel successful. Starting over has been rough on my internal success measurements. I feel like I failed in my last site, but I know that’s not true. When I think about how little time I have left and what I want to accomplish in that time, I start to panic. There just isn’t enough time to do everything I want to do. Then again I think 10 months is an extremely long time, cashew season will be over before I know it. I want to feel accomplished and successful this year. I want to feel like I’ve made a difference. I want to get out there and do something that doesn’t involve my computer. I want to get my hands dirty and be a real Agriculture volunteer for once. I want to regret that decision.

I want more time. But then I get a message from a friend that brings me back to Earth. My friends and family in America are waiting patiently for me to return. They want to hug me and talk to me. They want to get a beer and catch-up. They want me to hold their babies. I want that. I want to feel cold again. I want to remember what it’s like to put on a scarf and bundle up. I’ve already started imaging where I want to go, what I want to eat, and what I want to do with my friends and family when I see them again for the first time. I imagine the initial hug. I imagine coming off the airplane in America. I’ve started planning my airplane outfit for gods sake. I saw a friend who just returned to Ghana after half a year being gone. I didn’t even know what to ask, where to start. How do you capture life in 6 months or even 2 years? How do you begin to summarize your life?

I don’t know and I’m not ready to even try yet. I still have 10 months and 5 days. That’s plenty of time to be the best damn Peace Corps Volunteer I can be.