Vignettes: From Texas to Africa & Back Again

The Teacher

2009-09-16T16:02:00.001-07:00

After almost four cramped hours in the tro-tro, I was grateful at the thought of the comfortable hotel waiting in Accra. Asking the driver the best way there from the terminus, he offered to take me for “more money.” I thought I’d get a better rate at the taxi stop and thanked him anyway.

Suddenly the young man behind me politely said “I will go with you to the taxi stop and get a better rate. Leave everything to me.”

Not quite sure how to handle this, I thanked him, buying time to consider a polite way out. I had been in country long enough to know that Ghanaians are typically gracious, hospitable people. My origins, however, taught me to be suspicious of eager offers from strangers. Cautiously, I decided to draw him out.

He was a teacher in an outlying Village on his way to Accra to complete advanced studies. He seemed as politely curious about me as I was of him. I told him what I’d been doing in the Volta Region, and we chatted about his work.

“I believe that teachers should show students that kindness is more than a concept," he said. "We have an obligation to practice it as well.”

A thinly veiled attempt to reassure me? I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, knowing that although I was alone in a developing country, throngs of law-abiding Ghanaians about would probably deter any but the most polite of behaviors.

Getting off the tro-tro, gathering my bags, he nodded toward the taxi stand not 20 yards away. Quickly negotiating a fare half what I’d have, then putting my bags in the trunk, he opened the passenger door, instructing the driver to “Be sure to deliver Madame directly and safely to her hotel.” Pressing the lock button down and looking directly in my eyes, he said: “Thank you for coming to help my country.”

As the driver sped off in the throng of beeping vehicles and artfully dodging Traders, I held The Teacher’s gaze as long as I could. I learned something that day, yet again, from the people I had come to teach.

Sometimes in this world, in the most remote of places and under conditions far from any I’d encounter in my own corner of it, genuine Humanity still exists, even among strangers.

I had spent 20 minutes worrying about whether or not I should trust this young man, gently prodding for reassurance that he was, indeed, not merely a charmingly manipulative thug planning to disappear into the crowd with my bags.

I pressed a hand-held battery-powered fan into his hand as he closed the door, all I had handy to repay his kindness. His hesitation overcome by the realization of my wish to reciprocate, his kind smile met mine as the taxi sped away. Strangers from different worlds passing like swiftly sailing vessels in the ocean of humanity around us, somehow, we understood each other.

All The Teacher wanted to do was help.

And I never even got his name.

II. Life in the Slow Lane

2009-09-10T08:32:00.000-07:00

We don’t have enough (of the right stuff) to do.
We work all day, into the night, put a tub of fast food on the table and call it dinner, rush out to the soccer game, scream at our children when they succeed. Or when they don’t. We fight with the neighbors over the color of their mailbox, complain about the economy, politics, religion, in-laws, and the fact that we have two trash pick-up days instead of one, because “it looks bad to have garbage sitting on the curb two days a week.”

We’re too busy. With all the wrong stuff.

I sat in a meeting the other day while people exchanged concerns over the color (or lack of it) of flowers in the median.

I overheard a conversation at dinner out one night between a couple fighting over the fact that she would rather have gone to the other restaurant instead.

I watched a screaming child in the grocery because Mom refused to buy him a toy.

I followed a car going 45 in a 50 mph zone, while others practically tore off her fenders in passing anger.

I sat next to two men having lunch while one so monopolized the conversation that even I got frustrated.

I asked for a small dessert and got a platter that put two pounds on me just looking at it.

I went to the paint store, looked at the displays for a minute and then left, not having the momentary tolerance for so much choice.
I came back to my lovely home and breathed a sigh of relief that all I had to listen to was my cat’s greeting and the hum of the refrigerator.

Having seen how people in a developing country deal with having nothing, I’m even more mindful of how ineffectively we deal with having everything. Living with one pair of shoes, a single towel, a bucket for a shower, simple food, and Village filled with gentle people causes withdrawal. (Or is it “detox?”)

I could become even more of a recluse if I’m not careful.

So what’s the answer?

In the village of Kloe, there were no squabbling children. At least, not until I gave two kids different writing pens and one decided he liked the other kid’s better.

That was my first clue.

Sometimes too much choice is as bad as not enough. Our plentiful lifestyle has led us to a lack of appreciation for what we do have and a craving for what we don’t. Having it all isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to give it all back! I worked hard for what I have. I’m just taking a whole ‘nother look and deciding that I don’t need nearly as much as I have and what I want is generally more than I need. I think I’m going to scale down even more.

If I can decide what to get rid of first. The choices are almost overwhelming.

I gotta’ get a grip.

I. Life in The Slow Lane

2009-09-10T08:29:00.000-07:00

WAITING IN THE TAXI AT THE CROWDED INTERSECTION IN ACCRA, GHANA, I HEARD A RASPY VOICE SAY “GIVE MONEY?” I TURNED TO LOOK DIRECTLY INTO THE FACE OF AN OLD WOMAN IN A BATTERED WHEELCHAIR SITTING IN THE MEDIAN, PUSHED BY A BOY OF ABOUT 13. OUR GAZES HELD ACROSS THE CHASM OF TWO DISPARATE WORLDS. I THINK MY SMILE SURPRISED
HER AS SHE SAT UP A LITTLE STRAIGHTER, GRINNING TOOTHLESSLY BACK. NOT A WORD WAS SPOKEN, JUST SILENT COMMUNION AND A BRIEF, YET PROFOUND CONNECTION BETWEEN TWO PEOPLE AS DIFFERENT AS DAY AND NIGHT.

OR WERE WE?

AGAINST PRIOR ADVICE, I GAVE HER THE FEW COINS I HAD, AS SHE BLESSED ME. EVEN IF SHE WERE THE MOST SUCCESSFUL PANHANDLER IN GHANA, SHE WOULDN’T MAKE AS MUCH MONEY IN SIX MONTHS AS I GIVE IN TIPS IN A WEEK. HER BENT LEGS AND TWISTED FEET TOLD ME ALL I
NEEDED TO KNOW, ADMONITIONS AGAINST “PANHANDLING” BE DAMNED. MY COINS MIGHT BE ALL SHE GOT THAT DAY. I DON’T EXPECT SHE SAW MANY SMILES IN HER LINE OF WORK EITHER.

I’VE BEEN BACK ALMOST FOUR WEEKS. IT’S HARD TO BELIEVE I’M STILL SO IMMERSED IN IMAGES AND EXPERIENCES I ENCOUNTERED IN GHANA IN MY FIVE WEEKS WITH THE EWE TRIBE. I EXPECTED TO LEARN, BUT I DIDN’T EXPECT THE SUBTLE DIFFERENCES IN MY THINKING TO REMAIN SO EMBEDDED. IT’S AS THOUGH THEY’VE BECOME PART OF MY INTERNAL WIRING,
IRREVOCABLY FUSING WITH MY OWN.

I HAVE “SLOWED DOWN” CONSIDERABLY. SOME SUGGEST IT’S FATIGUE AFTER THE JOURNEY. I SAY THERE’S BEEN A FUNDAMENTAL CHANGE IN ME AS A RESULT OF THE EXPERIENCE THAT I DON’T WANT TO LOSE.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SINCERELY WANTED TO KNOW HOW SOMEONE WAS
WHEN YOU SAID “HOW ARE YOU?” AND WAITED FOR THEIR REPLY?

THE VERY FIRST THING I LEARNED IN THE VILLAGE OF KLOE WAS THE IMPORTANCE OF GREETINGS.

“GOOD MORNING. HOW IS YOUR FAMILY? HOW ARE YOU.” TO OVERLOOK THIS AND THE RESULTING CONVERSATION IS CONSIDERED RUDE IN THE EWE CULTURE. MY INITIAL IMPATIENCE GAVE WAY TO RELIEF, A DIMINUTION OF THE URGENCY TO “GET RIGHT TO WORK.” I FOUND IT DISARMING, REFRESHING, AND NOTED THAT THE MORE I ENGAGED IN IT, THE BETTER I FELT. I SUDDENLY RECONNECTED WITH THE REAL “MEANING OF LIFE” AND NOT MERELY THE IMAGE OF IT.

I’VE BEEN BLESSED WITH GREAT OPPORTUNITIES AND HEALTH. LEAVING FULL-TIME EMPLOYMENT OPENED EVEN MORE DOORS I’VE YET TO ENTER. I’LL CONTINUE TO BE ACTIVE, BUT I ALSO KNOW THAT I WON’T ALLOW MYSELF TO SUCCUMB AGAIN, TO THE “30-SECOND SOUND BITE” MENTALITY. ( I THINK MTV HELPED IN THE DOWNFALL OF EVERYTHING FROM COMMON COURTESY TO
THE AFTERNOON NAP.)

I’M GOING TO LIVE LIFE IN THE SLOW LANE FROM NOW ON. I STILL HAVE A FEW THINGS LEFT ON MY “BUCKET LIST” AND THERE ARE MANY THINGS I ENJOY. BUT I WON’T BE IN SUCH A HURRY TO DO ANYTHING. I’M GOING TO WRITE THESE CHANGES, AND OTHER THINGS, IN MY NEW BLOG WITH NAPLES DAILY NEWS. AND NEXT TIME I ASK SOMEONE HOW THEY ARE, I’LL REALLY WANT TO KNOW.

"Life in the Slow Lane"

2009-09-05T05:20:00.001-07:00

http://www.naplesnews.com/blogs/life-slow-lane/

Check out latest "blog" now running as part of Naples Daily News online edition (Naples, Florida, USA).

XVI. Africa and Back Again

2009-08-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

IT’S BEEN A LITTLE OVER TWO WEEKS DAYS SINCE I RETURNED TO THE USA, AND I’M STILL MARVELING. “DID I REALLY GO TO AFRICA? AS I STEP INTO A REAL SHOWER, TURN ON THE TAP FOR A GLASS OF PURE WATER, GET IN MY CAR TO GO TO A GROCERY STORE.

I CAN’T QUITE BELIEVE I’M HOME. AT TIMES, I AWAKEN WONDERING WHY THE ROOSTERS WERE SO QUIET, BEFORE REALIZING THAT I’M BACK HOME AND THE ONLY NOISE IS THAT OF MY PURRING CAT.

I PROMISED HIM I’D NEVER LEAVE HIM AGAIN FOR SO LONG, ALTHOUGH HE WAS WELL CARED FOR IN MY ABSENCE.

I THINK ABOUT LITTLE DEDAE, (EWE FOR “CAT”) IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD IN KLOE: THE TINY CALICO KITTEN WHO SHARED SPACE WITH THE DWARF GOATS, SHEEP, CHICKENS AND GUINEA HENS. ONCE SHE DISCOVERED THE JOYS OF CHIN-SCRATCHING, WE BECAME THE BEST OF FRIENDS.

I ‘VE HEARD FROM MY NEW AFRICAN FRIENDS SEVERAL TIMES. THEY HAVE BECOME IMPORTANT TO ME NOW. BUT THEN, A LOT HAPPENED THESE LAST COUPLE OF MONTHS I NEVER EXPECTED.

SINCE RETURNING, I’VE LUXURIATED IN THE SIMPLE PLEASURES. I’VE ALWAYS APPRECIATED BEING AN AMERICAN CITIZEN, BUT NEVER SO MUCH AS NOW. I DON’T THINK I EVER SAW A CUSTOMS AGENT SMILE BEFORE. I WALKED THROUGH HIS BOOTH, THANKED HIM FOR BEING THERE. CHUCKLING HE SAID, “I GET THAT ABOUT TEN TIMES A DAY.”

I’M SURE HE DOES. WE IN THE USA ARE THE LUCKIEST PEOPLE ON THE PLANET.

WHAT’S NEXT FOR ME?

I’VE ALREADY PUT TOGETHER A POWERPOINT PRESENTATION WITH SOME OF THE PHOTOS AND MOVIES I SHOT IN GHANA, THAT I INTEND TO USE TO TELL THE EWE STORY, AND HOPEFULLY HELP RAISE FUNDS FOR THEIR EDUCATIONAL EFFORTS. TWO INVITATIONS ALREADY TO SPEAK, AND MORE PLANNED.
ALSO, WATCH FOR SOME OF THESE PHOTOS SOON TO BE ADDED TO MY FACEBOOK PAGE.

"YEVU, (WHITE WOMAN): MY FIVE WEEKS WITH THE EWE TRIBE" WILL BECOME A BOOK. I HAVE AT LEAST HALF A DOZEN UNPUBLISHED CHAPTERS TO ADD TO THOSE ALREADY PUBLISHED.

THE GLOBAL VOLUNTEER NETWORK HAS CHOSEN MY STORY IN GHANA AS A FEATURE ARTICLE ON THEIR WEBSITE.

THE “NAPLES DAILY NEWS” OFFERED ME A REGULAR POST AS A "COMMUNITY BLOGGER," WHICH I HAVE ACCEPTED. HTTP://WWW.MARCONEWS.COM/BLOGS/TEXAS-AFRICA/2009/AUG/11/TAUBERTCOL13/

I STILL MARVEL AT THE INTELLIGENCE, DETERMINATION, RESOURCEFULNESS AND DRIVE OF THE EWE. IF EVER THERE WERE DESERVING FOLKS FOR HELP, THE EWE IN ABUTIA-KLOE ARE AT THE TOP OF MY LIST.

THEY ARE GENERATING PROPOSALS FOR EQUIPMENT, SCHOLARSHIPS AND MICRO-FINANCED SMALL COMMUNITY BUSINESSES FROM THE LIST OF POSSIBLE WE IDENTIFIED TOGETHER. THEY HAVE PLANNED THEIR FIRST “VILLAGE FUNDRAISER” FOR SEPTEMBER, FOR EDUCATIONAL SUPPLIES FOR THEIR CHILDREN. THESE PEOPLE ARE “THAT CLOSE” TO MOVING FORWARD WITH GIANT STEPS. A LITTLE MORE GUIDANCE FROM GVN AND BRIDGE VOLUNTEERS, AND THEY’LL BE ABLE TO FUNCTION ENTIRELY INDEPENDENTLY. I HAVE OFFERED TO HELP RAISE FUNDS FOR THEIR MOST URGENT NEEDS. THEY ARE WORKING ON THE LONG TERM ONES.

THEIR SENSE OF EMPOWERMENT WAS TANGIBLE AS I LEFT. THEY HAVE THE TOOLS NOW TO MOVE AHEAD. HEAVEN KNOWS THEY HAVE THE ABILITY TO USE THEM. I FELT PROUD FOR THEM.

IN PUTTING TOGETHER THE POWERPOINT PRESENTATION, I WAS TRANSPORTED BACK TO KLOE.

TO FRANCIS, 34, SUPPORTING HIS MOTHER AND YOUNGER SIBLINGS, WHO DREAMS SOMEDAY OF BECOMING A NURSE.

LITTLE 4 YR OLD OBED, WHO ONCE I GAVE HIM HIS FIRST PIECE OF REAL PAPER AND BALLPOINT WANTED TO DO NOTHING BUT WRITE AND DRAW. WE’D SIT TOGETHER ON THE PORCH, CHATTING AS HE WROTE HIS LETTERS AND NUMBERS. IT DIDN’T MATTER THAT WE SPOKE ONLY A FEW WORDS OF THE OTHER’S LANGUAGE. WE UNDERSTOOD EACH OTHER PERFECTLY.

RUBY WHO WITHOUT COMPLAINT SAW TO MY EVERY NEED. COOKING, CLEANING, CULTURAL ISSUES, SHE WAS MY CARETAKER.

CHAIRMAN SEM, (EVERY VILLAGE EVERYWHERE NEEDS A CHAIRMAN SEM) WHOSE WARM BROWN EYES AND DIMINUTIVE, BUT COMMANDING PRESENCE LED OUR EFFORTS.

TO TOGBE (CHIEF) AYIPE WHOSE HEARTFELT EXPRESSIONS OF REMORSE FOR THE TREO INCIDENT SO TOUCHED MY HEART.

BRILLIANT LITTLE 3 YEAR OLD MAWUNYA, WHOSE FACE WOULD MELT A THOUSAND HEART-HEARTED MISERS ANYWHERE.

HER FATHER WORLANYO, HEART AND SOUL OF THE CBO, WHO’S WISH IS TO “LEAVE SOMETHING FOR THE CHILDREN WHEREVER I GO.”

EMMANUEL, 21, UNABLE TO PAY FOR COLLEGE TO BECOME AN ARCHITECT, DRAWING PLANS WHENEVER HE COULD FIND PAPER TO DO IT, AND WORKING AS A MASON IN THE MEANTIME.

COLBY, LOVEABLE BULL-IN-A-CHINA-SHOP 3 YEAR OLD ALWAYS GOOD FOR A HUG AND A LAUGH.

MY COUNTERPART, GUIDE, TRANSLATOR AND FRIEND SAMSON, WHO THE DAY I LEFT, RELAPSED WITH MALARIA, FURTHER DELAYING HIS RETURN TO COLLEGE IN ACCRA. HE’S ONE OF THE LUCKY ONES, ABLE TO AFFORD COLLEGE. BUT IT’S TAKING A LONG TIME. AT 25, HE STILL HAS THREE YEARS TO GO FOR THAT PHD. HE DOESN’T KNOW WHEN HE’LL BE ABLE TO FINISH.

PRETTY YOUNG JUDIT, LIVING WITH HER GRANDPARENTS, HOPING TO BE ABLE TO GO ON TO HIGH SCHOOL, IF HER MOTHER CAN MAKE ENOUGH MONEY SELLING BREAD IN ACCRA TO PAY FOR IT.

AND SO MANY MORE. THEY HAVE ENRICHED MY LIFE IMMEASURABLY. I CANNOT EVER REPAY THEM FOR WHAT THEY HAVE GIVEN ME.

BUT I WILL HELP THEM AS BEST I CAN. THEIR DREAMS HAVE NOW BECOME MINE. SOMEHOW, SOMEDAY, SOME WAY, PERHAPS THEY WILL COME TRUE.
I KNOW SOME OF YOU HAVE HEARD THE HORROR STORIES ABOUT GRAFT IN AFRICA. REST EASY.

WE INSTALLED PROVISIONS FOR ACCOUNTABILITY AND TRANSPARENCY INTO THE EWE FUNDING PROGRAM. THE HO BRANCH OF THE STANDARD BANK (STANBIC BANK) IS INVOLVED, THERE ARE MULTIPLE SIGNATORIES REQUIRED FOR ANY DISBURSEMENTS. THE BRIDGE OFFICE (WWW.BRIDGINGDEVELOPMENT.ORG) WILL HELP THE CBO MANAGE INCOME AND EXPENSES ACCORDING TO THE STRICTEST CODES OF CONDUCT. I TRUST THESE PEOPLE. I LIVED WITH THEM, AND SAW FIRST-HAND EVIDENCE OF THEIR ETHICS AND MORALITY. (REREAD “EWE JUSTICE” HTTP://WWW.NAPLESNEWS.COM/BLOGS/TEXAS-AFRICA/2009/AUG/11/TAUBERTCOL14/). THEY JUST WANT A BETTER LIFE FOR THEIR CHILDREN AND ARE WORKING HARD TO ACHIEVE IT, HONESTLY.

Your donations to date are already helping purchase basic supplies for kindergarten and primary school children. Village teachers have prepared the list of most needed items, the CBO treasurer is negotiating with vendors in capital City of Accra to get the best prices at this writing.

$1,500 will allow us to meet those needs for 120 kindergarten and primary school students.

$5,500.00 will purchase four computers, two multi-function printers and supplies for a whole school.

$10,000.00 will establish high school scholarships for deserving students. Presently, there are 84 students identified as “brilliant” who cannot afford to go to high school.

YOUR DONATION IN ANY AMOUNT WILL HELP.

Additionally, anyone in the SW Florida area interested in learning how to prepare for a “volunteer vacation” as well as what it was like living with the Ewe Tribe, I am offering my Powerpoint presentation at no charge to interested civic, fraternal clubs, community social clubs, school groups. About one hour, including Q and A, and includes both photos and movies.

While the Ewe focus upon their long-term goals, I promised to help them with the most urgent needs. The “kids on the cusp” most at risk of falling through the cracks of Ghana’s progress. Ten years will see a very different Ghana, even more successful in raising the poverty level of its citizens, competing in the world marketplace, and educating its citizens. But for those whose need is now, the risk is greatest. Ghana will need educated youth to move forward. Together, we can help them achieve their dreams. After all, their ancestors helped us achieve ours. Maybe working together we can help them achieve theirs.

Thanks, in advance, for your interest in my journey, and for your help. We can’t solve all the world’s problems, but we can make the space around us just a little better. And if we can take some of that ideology to distant shores, perhaps we can, one person, one gift, one “village” at a time, create a better world for all of us.
I’ll keep you posted!

IF YOU’D LIKE TO MAKE A TAX DEDUCTIBLE DONATION TO THE EWE EDUCATIONAL EFFORTS, MAKE CHECKS PAYABLE TO B.R.I.D.G.E. AND MAIL IT DIRECTLY TO ME AT THE ADDRESS:

KATHRYN TAUBERT AND ALLTHATJAZZ, LLC
P.O. BOX 683, ESTERO, FLORIDA 33969.
TELEPHONE: 239-590-0013

TO ARRANGE FOR A PRESENTATION OF “YEVU: (WHITE WOMAN) MY FIVE WEEKS WITH THE EWE TRIBE IN GHANA”, CALL THE NUMBER ABOVE.

XV. THE WHOLE PIE

2009-07-31T01:45:00.000-07:00

Hotels in Ho provide a clean towel or two, but bring your own washcloth. The soap may have been used by a previous guest (NOTHING is wasted), and there certainly aren’t any free little shampoos.

If there’s a TV, it will have two, maybe three channels. One will have non-stop commercials and little else, the other music videos, an occasional movie, futbol game or news. Commentators may be dubbed in English, or maybe the voice recording didn’t get synched with the video. Movie subtitles are so small I can’t read them WITH my glasses. Sometimes the “foreign film” is USA action with Matt Damon or Donald Sutherland as a lovable, soon-to-be dead, thief.
Electricity is intermittent, and footing as insecure on the streets as anywhere on earth.

Tro-tros take you anywhere in Ho for 35 pesewas (about 20 cents), except for the occasional negotiator who asks you how much more you will give him. (Pass it up. Tro-tros are everywhere, and 35 pesewas is fair.)

Taxis don’t deliver door to door. You go to the Ho “Civic Center,” a cacophonous gathering of taxis, tro-tros and buses blended with goods-toting vendors adjacent to the Market, an outdoor ménage of hundreds of stalls selling goods to everybody, all the time. From the Center, you get a vehicle wherever you wish.

Purified water is found readily, so I’ve not used my purification systems. There’s an art to drinking from the cellophane baggies of water. You bite off one corner and squeeze the contents directly into your mouth. If you don’t bite just so, it squirts out the side the way a lemon zaps your dinner companions instead of your fish.

Ewe is one of about fifty Ghanaian languages, and most nationals speak at least two or three, as well as English. In the towns, Twi and Ga are probably understood most readily, but English is the nation’s official language for consistency and international cooperation. Ewe isn’t easy. It’s a “tonal” language in which inflection changes meaning. I’m getting used to being laughed at. It’s all very good natured, and many times I’ve been thanked because “You are trying.”

It’s the same with dress. I was given a lovely traditional outfit on arrival. When I wear it people often tell me “How nice you look in our dress.” I know they mean it kindly.

Milk, when available at all, is generally soy. I’ve only seen one cow since being here, and she was lying in the back of a pickup truck with a towel over her shoulder, three men tending her. I don’t know if she was injured, but they were headed toward the Market, so I don’t dwell upon her fate too long. Cows are expensive.

Chances Hotel is the only place I’ve been that served butter, and coffee is always instant Sanka. A thermos of hot water and a tin of Nestle-Carnation “tea creamer” (probably soy) is provided, along with sugar. Tea bags, and Milo are ubiquitous alternatives. Milo is a chocolate-flavored “energy-drink” served either hot or cold, with cocoa fifth in content after sugar, skimmed milk powder, vitamins and the usual polysyllabic list of mystery ingredtients.

The hotel restaurant had a display of alcoholic beverage bottles, but sold none. Few I’ve met drink at all, much less Remy-Martin or Bacardi Gold. There is one Kloe villager who clearly imbibes a lot of something. He is tolerated at public events, harmless, and no one seems to mind. They’re generally tolerant of differences, folding them into the community as anyone else. There isn’t much they can do for them anyway, and exclusion is, for the Ewe at least, not an option. He is someone’s relative, and they look after their own.

People often seem to understand more English than they do, which you find out after getting something different than requested. They’re quick to rectify, however, and I often find myself wondering if the fault was mine, for speaking too quickly in the face of friendly nods and those beautiful, geographic smiles. We are both trying, as it should be. I am, after all, in their country, and they are trying hard to accommodate me and mine.

Never assume that lack of education means lack of intelligence or drive. Growing up speaking three languages builds capacity. Living without pen and paper develops memory. Having few tools, no toys and practically no money generates resourcefulness. Collectively, these are some of the brightest people I’ve met in a while. The kids play hand games (recalling “Pattycake”), and manufacture toys out of what’s around. A pot or pan is too valuable to play with, so kids use small green limes to throw and/or kick against the wall, sort of a cross between handball and futbol. Round seeds the size of quarters are “marbles.”

Bent reeds are turned into futbols. Singing, drumming, dancing, playing chase, running around together the ways kids in the USA used to do before computer games. They are interacting with each other all the time: young and old. The teenagers look after the young ones, and the parents shepherd the whole process with firm, but loving hands. These children have absolutely NO manufactured toys whatsoever. And yet, they play. They are inventive, and as importantly, they are interactive. I noted somewhat surprisingly that there are no screaming children here. You hear the occasional crying infant, naturally. But rarely an unhappy child, and then its brief. Occasionally a parent will lecture a teenager. I don’t need to know Ewe to know that. But I have seen no whining here. How come?

I came here worried about the animals, too. You’ve seen the photos of mangy dogs and scrawny cats. Every domestic animal I’ve seen is fat, healthy, living fenceless and bothering no one. Dogs, as I mentioned, aren’t allowed in Kloe because of the adjacent Wildlife Preserve, but I’ve seen a few in Ho. We have a calico kitten in the compound and she doesn’t have a flea, tick or ear mite on her. She’s well-fed, sociable, and lives easily with baby chicks, guinea hens, goats, lambs, and kids. She has high hopes, however, taking off after some pretty big wild African birds now and then. I haven’t seen a rodent yet, although I know the “grasscutter” is quite large and ends up in stews sometimes.

Going to town for the weekend to escape heat and the roosters may find you with intermittent a/c and African tree frogs instead. The tree frogs are much louder than roosters, but their serenades are a nearly steady, hypnotic thunder of African night harmonies. The roosters intermittently shatter the night with their “er er ER…ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR‘s!! generating feedback from every other rooster within half a mile. I’ll take tree frogs if I have a choice of moonlight sonatas.

To do this, age doesn’t matter, but you must be reasonably fit and willing to endure the lack of conveniences. You walk long distances in stifling humidity, bring only the most comfortable clothing and shoes. Better yet, buy a pair of thongs when you get here, since everyone else wears them or sandals that neither bind, pinch nor elevate your feet. You will end up even fitter, and thinner, than when you arrived. I’ve lost probably 10 pounds and feel great.

Pack your suitcase, then remove half and leave it home. Ghanaians, in the Upper Volta region anyway, dress simply but tastefully off work, and sensibly on. Buy some of their beautiful cotton cloth or tie-dye in the Market and wrap it loosely and artfully around you, or have someone make you traditional clothing, as Ruby is doing for me.

Negotiate fairly with vendors. Better yet, make friends with your Ghanaian counterparts and let them do it for you. They’re much better at it than you’ll ever be.

Most of all, make friends. Smile, try, laugh, listen, learn, observe, tip even though tipping is done only in a few places. These people work hard for the little they get. Tro-tro drivers generally don’t get tipped, but “chop house” wait staff do, and gratefully.

Learn a few words like “Good morning,” “How Are you?” “Thank you” and “How is your family?” and never make the mistake of engaging directly in business without FIRST a greeting and expression of interest in family welfare. Greetings are endemic and you’re rude to ignore them. Ghanaians are noted for hospitality, so reciprocate. Even if your efforts are comical, they’ll appreciate your trying.

Ghanaian time isn’t the same as GMT, and sometimes you will be thwarted in your efforts to do what you want when YOU want. Deal with it. It’s not your right to impose your will upon people in their own country.

In time, they will change a lot. It seems that younger people are marrying later, having fewer children, adopting contemporary names, struggling harder to get educations, realizing that merely surviving is not enough. They are acquiring cell phones and the occasional IPOD and rare motorcycle. More brand-name shirts and logos are appearing here and there. My young friends in Kloe aspire to be Marketing PhD’s, R.N.s, Architects, and Building Contractors. They’ve got the brains and drive. All they need is the money and a chance to finish school.

Ghana pays for education through jr. high. Villagers do not pay school taxes (rural Ghanaians couldn't afford it anyway), but are expected to pay for supplies, materials, uniforms. Even with that subsidy, it’s unaffordable for most, and high school is totally paid for by the student’s family. High school facilities are limited, so only kids who are both bright and have money can attend. The rest labor on farms on roadside markets all their lives.

Bright kids without money end up there too. Presently there are 70 kids in Kloe identified as “brilliant” by educators who cannot go to school for lack of money. Ghana is doing its part to help. But with per capita income at $690 per year, families couldn’t pay school taxes even if they were asked to do so. There simply is not enough money. The developing of the Jubilee Oil Fields off shore will, however, hopefully help this economy. Small rural projects like ours will help the locals now. They can‘t wait. As I’ve written before, their children are on the cusp of the New Tomorrow. But their need is now.

The hardest thing future leaders of this country will have to do is reconcile life in the fast lane with the blessings of indigenous cultures. I’m not sure sometimes just how big a favor we’re doing by encouraging them to “do business” our way.
I hope there is some way that these wonderful people can manage the “happy medium” at which so many of us in the West and elsewhere have failed. Moving into this brave new world while keeping that which is fundamental to who they are will be the most difficult task of all.

I hope I’ll be around long enough to see that outcome. With my genes, I may very well live another 40 years. If I do, I’m keeping an eye on Ghana, as a fulcrum for the PanAfrica that founder Kwame Nkrumah imagined. But for now, all I can do is record my thoughts and hopes for people who welcomed me in ways I’ll never forget. I expected to learn a lot from the Ewe. I never expected to fall in love with them too.

I’m now sitting in a hotel in the capital city of Accra, having arrived yesterday afternoon. It’s surreal here, with all the modern conveniences one would expect of a capital city hotel. I luxuriated in running water and thirsty towels. I had my first real cup of coffee in five weeks this morning at breakfast, with tablecloths and china cups. A young Ghanaian waiter commented on my typically Ghanaian attire, shortly thereafter bringing me a beautiful set of beads. He refused any compensation, saying how he appreciated my wish to dress as they do, and it was merely a gift.

This is typical of the Ghanaian people. Yesterday on the grueling “tro-tro” trip from Ho, three and a half hours of sitting with my knees under my chin, a kind young teacher sitting behind me rode the entire way to the terminal with me, took my bags and loaded them into a taxi, negotiating the fare down by half, and extracted promises from the driver to deliver me safely to the hotel. Pushing the lock button down on the door, he bade me farewell, and said, “thank you for coming to my country.”

I’m leaving Ghana Monday, and this is my final blog before departure. I can‘t believe it‘s been almost five weeks since arrival. In some ways, I‘ve been here forever. In others, a day. These people have captivated me, and forever linked themselves to my heart. I shall miss them dearly.

How will I feel when I stroll thru the Port of Miami Tuesday night, easily entering a country so many are desperate to achieve?

It will be good to be home. As much as I’ve come to love and appreciate these people and their developing country, this experience has reinforced for me what we already know. I am a citizen of the greatest country in the world. And I’ve never felt that more than I do right now.
Kathryn

XIV. EWE JUSTICE

2009-07-27T03:59:00.000-07:00

The tro-tro was crowded, so my backpack went in the trunk. I didn’t realize there was a youth there also, until he banged on the window to alert the driver to “STOP.”

I was mildly uncomfortable, dismissing it till I reached the hotel in Ho. Sure enough, my TREO was missing. Hoping I’d left it in Kloe, I determined not to jump to conclusions and settle the matter when I returned after the weekend.

On Monday, it was painfully clear that my Treo had been stolen, and as difficult as it was, I notified Samson and Worlanyo, my village Counterparts.

Fortunately, I knew the driver, hoping he’d recall the youth’s identity. Within a few minutes, Samson located him, got the youth‘s name (a resident of the next Village). He then said “We will find your Treo, and I will report to you in the morning.”
I never expected to see it again. It was just too much temptation for a young man with so little. I went to sleep blaming myself for not managing it more securely.
At 7:30 AM the next day, Samson paid me an unexpected visit, saying the Chiefs were waiting to see me! I felt badly, knowing this would cause them much embarrassment. They are very proud of their hospitality and having an American in their village trying to help them.

I was shocked to discover at least 25 people at the Chief’s house, several engaged in heated conversation, which stopped when I approached. Apologetically, Taugbe Avokpo, the Downtown Chief, offered me and others a seat in his home, and produced my TREO.
Surprised, I thanked him gratefully, as he motioned forward the perpetrator in the corner of the room, who promptly kneeled in front of us.

Chastened, he was unable to meet my gaze, but I had no idea what he had yet to endure.

Taugbe Avokpo expressed his sorrow and embarrassment. For the village to have this happen was a humiliation. He further stated his confusion at why someone would steal something from someone trying to help his people. Even though this boy was not a native of Kloe, the villagers felt responsible and apologized to me profusely.

Expressing my gratitude for their help, I implored them not to think the event changed anything between us. I also hoped they could forgive his youthful indiscretions as I would. “Every young person makes mistakes,” I said to relieved, concurring chuckles around the room. I told them I didn’t wish to have police involved. My property was returned, and hoped to put it behind us. This was a lesson for me too. I felt partially responsible for providing too much a temptation for a youthful error in judgment.

With smiles and expressions of gratitude all around, we parted. I hoped the young man in his 20’s, had also learned an important lesson.

I later learned that the Chiefs slept very little the night before, having felt so dishonored by this event. While I was sleeping, they were sending emissaries to his village, confronting him, confiscating the Treo, and him. Stealing is bad enough, but to bring dishonor on the village is tantamount to treason.

Later I asked Samson what happened after I left. Quietly he told me that the young man had been punished according to Village Law.

His father and his own village’s Chiefs had been informed first.

And then he was given “24 lashes” as punishment.

Noting my stunned reaction, Samson said quietly, “This is our way.”

I knew at once I was without control or influence. Rapid thoughts of the consequences in the USA of such an act flooded my mind, along with sobering awareness that “ I’m not IN the USA.” Discipline here is swift and sure, nevertheless I wished I had followed my instincts and left that TREO at home.

Although his lashes were apparently administered to his buttocks and not his back directly, with a stick taken from a tree, I know he is probably in much emotional, social, and physical discomfort. My heart aches for him. Had I known the outcome, I’d have thought twice of telling anyone of the theft. This experience further highlights the fact that if we are going to learn about each other, we should prepare for the possibility that others’ ways will be very different, and try not judge or criticize too soon or harshly.

The Ewe are generous, caring, giving. They revere family, honor, and hospitality. Their graciousness cannot be overstated. Their children are among the best behaved I’ve seen. They are extraordinarily polite, well-spoken, friendly, and happy kids. The older children are respectful and for the most part, hopeful and as gracious as their elders.

Justice serves three ends: punish the guilty, deter future crime, help assuage victims.
In the best of all worlds, punishment is swift, sure, just, and serves those purposes.

I do know that the justice administered this day was swift, sure, punishing and to some extent, I suppose assuaging.

Was it just? I cannot truly say without imposing my values upon the Ewe‘s. Nor can I say that I or perhaps the Ewe are more assuaged than regretful. But I expect this kind of punishment is a pretty effective deterrent. Crime here’s practically non-existent.

It was investigated, the perpetrator seized, prosecuted, found guilty, punished, released and the matter ended all in less than 24 hours. I was later told that the only reason he was spared arrest and incarceration was because I “spoke for him.” Apparently his lashing was considered the lesser of the two.
There has been no further mention of it since.

The resident police officer was aware but left it to the Chiefs, apparently checking that “things were resolved.“ Even Ghana national police respect the old ways of their Tribes.

Does anyone truly have the right to say whose way is “better?”
My heart says the punishment was harsh. My head tells me perhaps there’s a middle ground, but where, I don’t know. This reinforces the importance of not judging, condemning, endorsing or perhaps even changing too quickly. And this presents a dilemma I’m not smart enough to readily solve.

I

XIII. OLD GHOSTS

2009-07-27T03:57:00.000-07:00

She could be my age, ten years older or younger. Routinely passing my perch in early morning, toting at least 25 lbs of cassava root on her head in a large metal pan, a wicked machete in her hand, she’d announce her arrival with a simple “NORDEBRAU.” I soon learned that’s her name, meaning she was born on Tuesday. Many older Ewe were named for the day of their births.

As days passed, I’d see her at the “market”, the space alongside the main road in town under the big Acacia trees, sitting in her plastic lawn chair, selling small, square cellophane-like bags of “Mt. Zion Purified Water.” For the equivalent of about 70 cents, you can buy a couple of gallons worth.

One day Nordebrau invited me to see her house nearby. She gave me her chair as she sat on a stump. Her interest in children not waning in her retirement from teaching, she wanted me to know that there were orphans in the village who were even more disadvantaged than kids with a parent. I asked her about them, which pleased her.
Since then, Nordebrau and I have had regular little chats by her stand at the market as I await the tro-tro for Ho.

I learn a lot by sitting on the front stoop, or at the market, or merely walking down the road. People tell me things that help me understand Village life beyond what my handlers can. There is much to learn here.

Nordebrau commented early on the fact that we both have white-hair, although hers is cut about as close as can be. She has a gray fuzz dusting around a strong, handsome face. And she’s smart.

Turns out she has a brother who is retired doctor in Accra, a sister who teaches, and relatives in the USA. She hopes one day to go live with them, but she can’t now, because “it‘s very expensive,” and “who would take care of our house?”

I wondered aloud if selling the house was an option so she would have money to go. You’d have thought I had asked her to sell her first born child! To the Ewe, the family home is a place to go in perpetuity. The thought of selling is heresy. So Nordebrau stays. “I came from Accra to see my mother, and I didn’t know she was going to pass,” she said, the implication being it fell to her to remain as the caretaker of the family home.

Over time she’s asked about the USA.

“Does it get cold there like today?” (It was all of 80 and she had a wrap).
“Oh much colder in places, but we have many different climates there too.”
“Is it true that the Black people live all over the country there and that some of them have painted their houses black to celebrate OBama?” she asked?
“Yes, Blacks live all over the USA. I don’t know about the houses, but I suppose it’s possible,” I replied.

“Are there a lot of Black people there now?”

“Yes, and they do better now, although it wasn’t always so in the bad period of our history.”

“Yes, I know about The Slavery,” she said, suddenly growing serious.

“Many of your people helped build my country, Nordebrau, even though they didn’t want to be there, they helped it become what it is. And now they are doing much better than they did for a long time. Perhaps your great-grandparents were among them?”
Nodding thoughtfully, she looked at me quietly with her expressive brown eyes. No words were necessary.

“There weren’t many grandparents or great grandparents for my generation,” she said. “The Slavery took them. Sometimes I see pictures of Blacks in America that I think look like me.” (More than 3 million Ewe were shipped as slaves to the USA alone).
There was sadness in her for the first time since I’d met her. And for a moment, she and I shared a profound sense of loss. Her, for long lost members of her Tribe. Me, at the thought of having family ripped away never to be seen or heard from again.
Nordebrau speaks English well, is good-humored, bright and kind. She helps me flag down the tro-tro and seems to enjoy our little chats under the Acacia trees.

Somehow, I am already sad at leaving her, which I will in a few days. These people really grow on you. I sense that there may be some in the Village that look askance at her from time to time. She’s outspoken. I expect Nordebrau speaks up at times when some wish she wouldn’t.

It’s not easy being such a person. But without them, who would speak for those who cannot speak for themselves?

I’ll miss her as I recall our little chats under the big Acacia trees at the market on the side of the road, thousands of miles from home. Perhaps much like her people did generations ago, before “The Slavery” stole them away. Maybe even Nordebrau’s great-grandparents are somewhere smiling now, at just how far we’ve come.

XII. A DEAD CHICKEN, A BASKET OF CORN, AND THOU

2009-07-23T02:10:00.000-07:00

Church in the Village is a three-hour affair, with a minimum of two collections, lots of music, dancing in place, ritual, and more contrasts.

Ghanaians are well-dressed, in spite of poverty. They make most of their clothes. Tommy Hilfiger in the Village is a rarity. Large pieces of cloth artfully wrapped around the body, layered for decoration and shocked with contrasting head scarves (women), are as appealing as anything you’ll see in back home. I don’t know how they mix and match the plethora of colors and prints they do, but they are masters at it. Before arriving I was told to bring modest, cool clothes: baggy safari 100%, easy-pack cotton stuff. But next to the Ewe’s beautiful outfits I look like I’m the one who just stepped out of the jungle. Combined with their marvelous posture from head-toting cargoes, the young and old are at worst attractive and at best absolutely stunning.

Everyone dresses for church in form-fitting or exotically draped and modest, colorful clothing, including the men. It’s the one day of the week when most rest, as well as dress to impress.

But the reality of their condition is never far away from the discerning eye. Multi-colored triangles of leftover cloth hang as pennants on strips strung across the sanctuary, interspersed with old satin gift bows. (Nothing is wasted here). It’s surprisingly festive, if less than chic. There are few rows of sturdy, donated pews in which a group of older women sits weekly. Other seating is handmade, rough-hewn, terribly uncomfortable benches with rail backs or old plastic garden chairs on the bare concrete floor.

During Sunday’s sermon, I noted a colorfully dressed elder in the front pew go quietly from her seat to the base of the pulpit, to adjust the dead chicken in a bag next to the basket of unshucked corn. Coming or going to market before Church, she placed her wares near her in the front row. No one seemed at all disturbed by this tiny scene. The Minister continued his sermon, the congregation nodded and responded appropriately. I figured if it didn’t bother them, it shouldn’t bother me (although disturbing images of that chicken’s last moments lingered.)

And little kids with big knives. Those “crocodile tested” machetes are everywhere. I passed a forge in the Ho Market where they were made and displayed. The length of a two year old, it’s not uncommon to see a child carrying one, as the tool of choice in Kloe. A man splitting huge bamboo stalks for fencing. A woman cutting corn, slicing cassava. And little kids, handling these weapons since practically old enough to walk, chopping grass around school yards. There are no power mowers in Kloe.

Since when did so many of us become afraid of knives and animals and truly physical labor? I can’t imagine an eight year old in the USA with a machete. Of course, we don’t need one. But something is lost, methinks, in independence and self-sufficiency when we become so dependent upon others to do for us. It’s human nature to want to leave the drudgery to others if we can afford it. But isn’t it ironic? So many folks disparage the “poor African” (or Mexican or Honduran) who is “on the dole” and can’t live as we do.

But what would happen if suddenly there was no one else to mow our lawns, bring chickens to market, shuck our corn, fix our plumbing, change oil in our cars? What, indeed, if there were no more lawns, groceries, pipes or cars?

What we gain in “progress,“ we lose in self-sufficiency. I’m not sure that’s a good thing. When kids barely out of toddler stage are capable of safely handling Very Big Knives in one part of the world, what does it say about the fact that kids in another can’t even clean their own rooms?

If a Ewe kid got lost in New York City, and a USA or European city kid lost in the jungle, which one do you think would do the best? I know who I’d bet on.

Maybe we can learn as much from the Ewe as they from us?

XI. THE WHOLE TRUTH

2009-07-23T02:09:00.000-07:00

I know you’re wondering. “What’s she not telling us?”

Well, lest ye think I haven’t cleaned my rose-colored glasses and fallen victim to the Noble Savage construct, fear not. I may have my head in the clouds, but my feet are always on the ground (well, almost always).

So, what’s the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me Mawu?

The bugs, paralyzing humidity, extreme poverty, 24 hour roosters, horrible roads, and teenagers.

The bugs are, frankly, the least of it. Mosquitoes never liked me much anyway. Some say it’s all the B vitamins I ingest imparting a subtle odor humans can’t discern but bugs can.

Covering food is a must if you don’t want an ant farm on the table.

You could mount guns on the termite’s wings, which is why it’s good houses are poured concrete. I walk past a ten foot mound daily, wondering if it’s as busy inside as quiet on the outside. What few books the Ewe do have are secured to keep termites from eating them.

I haven’t seen much “wildlife” beyond domesticated ones. Some interesting birds and lizards, but there aren’t spiders the size of dinner plates or snakes in the house (perish the thought). They tell me cobras and pythons live nearby, but I’ll pass on the opportunity to meet those neighbors.

Temps are in the upper 80’s but the humidity has to be pushing 100% all the time. The good news is that it’s great for the skin, and probably one reason why elders have few wrinkles.

Never make the mistake of thinking roosters crow only at dawn. Roosters crow round the clock if they think another rooster’s around. These are trying to usurp each other’s territory all hours of the night and day.

And then, there’s teenagers. Actually, most of the ones I’ve met are great. But you know “that look.”

“Yo, who are you, what are you doing here, and why should I care?” It’s a developmental trait that some kids go thru. Kids up to about 16 and older people are the most friendly.

There are those few in the middle, however, who aren’t particularly enamored with me in their midst. I think they have reached the point where they realize their limited options. Unlike younger kids who still hope and play, and the older people who have grown philosophical, it’s those in the middle who suffer most the extreme poverty.
Disappointment when they realize they can’t make enough money to get education, get jobs, get out, and will probably spend the rest of their lives laboring on farms, sitting along the roadside selling peanuts or beads.

Here I am, a citizen of the richest country in the world with multiple pairs of shoes and two baseball caps and all sorts of high-tech gadgets. They look at me like I’m rich and maybe here to mock them. After all, why else would I be here, but to remind them of what they cannot have?

The hardest part is dealing with the extraordinary need you meet everywhere. People think Americans live on streets of gold. Metaphorically speaking, we do. I see the look on the face of one youngster as she eyes my red baseball cap. I know she’s thinking “You have two and I have none, why can’t I have one?”

I found myself wondering the same thing. But where does it stop? I’ve been instructed by my handlers not to give in and give out because I’ll be setting an example that forward thinking Africans do not endorse. The “handout” mentality is not what Ghana is about, although there is plenty of precedent, some of it promulgated by well-intentioned organizations who write checks without insuring accountability. It’s human nature to take when offered. And in some cases, it may mean whether or not you eat that day.

Villagers in Kloe are luckier than many. They have government-built concrete homes and limited electricity. But they have poverty unlike anything you and I generally see. No matter how bad off you are in the USA, there is ALWAYS help somewhere . Ghana isn’t there yet, but she’s trying. The longer I’m here, the more I appreciate what she’s trying to do.

To harden my heart when a ten-year old says “Give me money” or an obviously sick adult begs to sell me a scrap of cloth to tie my hair are among the hardest things I do. I admit weakening now and then and try to make it look like a true trade going on. It’s hard when I hold all the chips. When I leave I’ll give some things to those who have been most kind. A few small bottles of shampoo, lotion, a small “torch” (flashlight), mosquito net, all that unused bug repellant, etc. And maybe even that red baseball cap, although it means a lot to me because of its origins. But I can only imagine how much more it’ll mean to a certain little girl. I can always buy another, even if I have to go back to Panama to do it. But at least that option is available to me. She’ll probably never have that choice.

There is cynicism here, and jealously, and envy. But it all comes from the same place: fear.

Not having enough to be frivolous when one wants is one thing, but not having enough to survive is, indeed, another.

The majority of people here are gracious, hospitable. But they are, after all, human too. We’re not so different. What amazes me is that these people aren’t MORE cynical, jealous, envious.

What they lack in “stuff,“ they more than make up for in heart. One can never have too much of that.

X. GOING TO SCHOOL

2009-07-19T03:39:00.000-07:00

Tall, well-dressed and skeptical, I could see in his eyes the moment I stepped beneath the thatched canopy of the outdoor classroom, this man was going to challenge me with questions I was hoping someone would ask.

It’s not always good to have unquestioned support from the get-go. People need to ask hard questions too, and when they don’t, I start wondering who’s really thinking. Tough questions always result in better outcomes if one learns from them.
“The first thing I want to know,” he asked, “is why did you come here, and what do you hope to do?” The look in his eyes told me that truth and pragmatism were his watchwords. He’d been mislead before.

So I gave him an abbreviated version of what I’ve written to you. (Yes, I am capable of brevity under duress).

“And what have you learned by being here so far,” his next great question. The man was a born teacher.

After having spent the morning with two other groups of teachers, this Jr. high school headmaster confirmed what I had learned.

“You are teaching your children with few to no supplies,” I said. “You are trying your best to educate your youth in an environment which fosters learning but has no money for it. You need virtually everything from basic supplies to computers and recreational equipment. And you are very, very tired.”

His suddenly softening eyes told me I’d hit the nail on the head. This dedicated man was exhausted, and yet, in some small way, still hopeful. Had he not been, he wouldn’t have even shown up for the meeting that CBO Chairman Sem had arranged.

“You are in Obama-land here,” he stated, and I took it as a subtle test of how I felt about our President, and perhaps even him. “I am proud of my country,” I said, “and a majority of Americans are also in that ‘land,’ having voted for this man who seems to be a peacemaker. I’m glad to represent my country in this day and age.”

Many questions and answers later, we parted. I don’t know if I changed his mind about anything, but I do know that the look in his eyes was less hard than when I arrived. My heart ached for him because I saw what I have seen in other educators, even in the USA. They have the hardest job in the world. While in Kloe they have the emotional support of parents, disciplined children and a culture of learning, they have no money or basic supplies.

How do you, as an educator, resolve your obligation to prepare your students for the world, without paper and pencils or computers, or athletic equipment to stimulate play and incentive to study? The kids in my neighborhood here are fabulous “futbol” (soccer) players. Their ball is about five inches in diameter and made out of bent reeds. They have no other games except the hopscotch “board” they scratch in the dirt under the big Acacia tree. No tennis, badminton, volleyball, regulation soccer balls, building blocks, puzzles, jump ropes, nothing. The kindergarten children can’t even make cutouts. They have no construction paper, scissors. They write with chalk on small slates because they have no paper or pencils. They make music with old buckets and gas cans and sing. And still, they hope.

One teacher said they need things to help the littlest ones develop fine motor skills. Computers help do that too, if funding for them can be obtained.

Another well-intentioned organization gave them 12 computer desks which they put in an empty, nearly-electrified building. (Another failed project due to lack of proper long-term planning). Lots of well-intentioned organizations help construct buildings, then leave. I understand why. They are tangible evidence of having been here. But if there is no plan for managing or maintaining them, replenishing supplies, the long-term result is an unused building collecting dust and serving only as a monument to false hopes and broken dreams.

The empty desks in the “computer-classroom” sit dust-covered, while children and teachers are starved for opportunity to practice the computer technology about which they can only read. The Ewe have enough exposure now to know what they are missing. They see it on the one or two TVs in the village. The few students who do get to college bring the knowledge back. It’s everywhere except here. The hunger is deep because the appetite has been whetted, without the possibility of dining at the table. Of the 2500 or so people in “metro-Kloe,“ 654 are school-aged children. Twenty of them have been classified as “brilliant“ with no money to finish high school, much less college or trade school. (There is no “official” census. The CBO has acquired these numbers through their efforts on our project.)

I don’t know why there isn’t more cynicism among these people. I’ve seen some of it, and will write about that later. But like the Headmaster, these people still hope. They see their country growing, they see the President of the greatest country in the world visiting theirs first. They know the carrot is just out of reach. Tantalus could learn patience from these people.

But how long can hope last without sustenance? And at what point does a child, or a dedicated teacher, just walk away?

IX. BEING NICE

2009-07-19T03:36:00.000-07:00

Why is it so hard for some people to be nice?

I am in Ho this weekend, on a little R&R from the heat and roosters. I decided to stay in a motel with running water and a/c. I also figured my caretakers might need a break too. Sure enough, even though Ruby questioned me closely about my plans, she made plans to visit relatives in an adjacent village, a fact which reinforced my feeling that she also needed a little R&R, although she would never have said so.

They’ve been very good to me if a little overprotective at times. Women, here, especially “Madame’s” (how they refer to “us Elders”) are not as independent as American women, especially Texans. So I thought a little break would do us all some good. I also admit a certain longing for running water and private bath with flush toilet, especially at 3 AM.

I stayed last night at the Freedom, the “number 2” motel in Ho. Forty-five cedis (about $30) bought me a clean room with working amenities plus breakfast, although the power was out when I arrived. That happens a lot in Ho. Not fancy by any means, but more than adequate, with a large stall shower, working toilet, fuzzy TV, lights, a/c and ceiling fan. The Ghanaian fashion sense doesn’t always translate to interior design, however, with psychedelic 12 by 12 tiles on the floor that confuse the eye and trip up an already klutzy American. I had to watch myself carefully walking up the stairs to my room along a 3-D tile floor that never heard of OSHA must less got cited. Not to worry, I’m getting pretty good at walking with my eyes on the ground, although I’m missing a lot above ground level that I’d otherwise see.

I expect the decorations in these buildings are cast offs from some building project or another, perhaps foreign imports obtained inexpensively by budding Ghanaian entrepreneurs.

The small restaurant served a limited but decent menu. Curious about Ghanaian vegetarian pizza, I was pleasantly surprised to find it quite good, but not quite pizza. They made the dough from scratch, baked it with at least an inch of vegetables in tomato base, and then whispered “cheese” over the top. Mostly chopped lettuce, onions, green and red peppers, and maybe even a little shredded cassava, it was filling and tasty.

The “Business Centre” contained computers of the same vintage (just short of obsolete) as most here, and a non-working printer. It took me almost three hours to empty my inboxes and send an article or two. Nothing here is “high-speed,” pizza or otherwise. But the young man attending the room was, as are all, most hospitable.
Today I took a tro-tro to the Chances Hotel where I had originally planned to stay the weekend, but for the unavailability of a room last night. While the Freedom is just down the road from the busy Market in Ho, Chances is on the outskirts set back in a peaceful “suburban” setting. For a little more a night, the accommodations are newer, more modern, quieter. This is the place for a get-away or conference, with it’s open air conference center, small adjacent open sided restaurant, tree-filled courtyard and pleasant “chalets” around the courtyard. It’s not the Hyatt, or even a Courtyard Suites, but for Ho, it’s first class, for about $60/night.

I had lunch at a table next to a group of Europeans. Booting up my PC, I was distracted by the behavior of my lunch mates.

This small hotel is Ho’s attempt to upgrade it’s facilities to attract visitors from other countries as well as Ghana. Tourism is the fourth largest source of Ghanaian income, and budding entrepreneurs are trying their best to appeal to Western and European standards. Staff are extremely polite, accommodating, if somewhat inexperienced, and facilities not quite pristine. But what they lack in experience, they more than make up for in gracious hospitality.

The woman at the next table, whose unmistakable accent shall remain unidentified to protect her country, had ordered her meal: grilled chicken, braised rice and mixed vegetables, for $8.00 cedis (about $5 US). Unmistakable thunderclouds roiled in her face as she virtually leapt out of her chair, plate in hand and stormed back toward the kitchen, almost shouting “THIS IS COLD” while stabbing at the air with her finger. Turning on her heels, she left the young waitresses and cook in a flurry in her wake, chattering anxiously amongst themselves in a clear attempt to appease.

I was saddened by this unkind display and found myself wondering at the propensity of some to take the mean road instead of a kinder, gentler one.

I am ever mindful of my role here as a guest in someone else’s country in which I am “the foreigner,” who will, by virtue of my country’s limited representation in this part of Ghana, leave an indelible impression upon the minds of those whom I meet. Many of them have never before met an American, and many have never seen a white person. (I frightened more than a few small children initially, including 3 yr-old Mawunya, who ran screaming from the room when she first saw me. Now, she doesn‘t want to leave me, or my “gadgets.”).

I am not only representing myself, I am an unavoidable representative of the USA. Whatever I do speaks not merely for me, but my country. I can’t imagine treating these people rudely when all they are trying to do is please, and lift themselves from crippling poverty.

Why this woman, like so many to be found everywhere, behaved as she did instead of nicely requesting that the cook “heat this a bit more for me, please,” I’ll never know.

But I made a point of thanking the young waitress who served me and asked her to tell the cook that my meal was cooked flawlessly (it was), tasted delicious (it did), and left a good tip to show my appreciation.

I was rewarded with another of those geographic smiles I love so much. I can only hope in some small way, I made up for the unfortunate behavior of another “white person” who behaved so thoughtlessly.

I do not want people here to learn the term “Ugly American.” At least not from this American. I hope to leave them with at least half as good an impression as they have left upon me.

Being nice goes so much farther than being unkind, and like smiling vs. frowning, takes so much less energy. These people are struggling to better their lots in the new world economy. I applaud their efforts, and hope that others who follow will show them the respect and admiration they deserve.

VIII. Another Slice

2009-07-17T08:38:00.000-07:00

Funerals are REALLY big here. I’ve been to three: two on the same day. Seems like the entire region turns out. It’s not merely a memorial, it’s a real celebration.

When I die I want a memorial like the Ewe’s. A prominent Christian denomination hosted one ceremony in the sanctuary. Another denomination hosted theirs outside.

While both had music and dancing, the former was more subdued, with dancing somewhat restrained, if you can call a singing Conga line up the center aisle restrained. Drums played all night and day. If the drummers don’t play in shifts, they must be just short of Herculean, if not all the way over the top. We’re talking double-time, two handed, non-stop congas. In the middle of the night I could hear them in the distance. I wondered if that’s what the “lost” Livingstone heard, and if so, did it put as much fear into his heart as they did delight in mine? I felt as though I were in his Africa, before life got so complicated.

People dress up, ministers preach long, energetic sermons, dancing is spontaneous, singing joyful, and everybody participates. There are the usual, heartfelt eulogies and prayers. Meanwhile there’s a street party in town, feasting and vendors with beads and food and more. I pooped out pretty quickly and it’s still going on after twenty four hours. Word has it, there’s another ceremony for the one of the deceased during the week.

Anything is an excuse for kids to make music. Sitting on the porch with my notebook computer, I’m soon surrounded by a flock of smiling little kids.
My computer and digital camera are kid-magnets. We draw on the computer, take photos and movies, and watch them laugh and point at themselves and each other. This afternoon, I did a few “bongo moves” on a wooden bench to see what would happen. Without hesitation, one little guy ran to retrieve two small buckets, upended them and the party started. Singing, dancing, drumming: it’s fundamental.

Kids here grow up with music instead of TV. I think they have the better end of the deal, frankly. I’ve heard some kids I’d hire for a gig in a minute.

And when was the last time you didn’t have to tell your kids to do chores?

These are the most well-disciplined kids I’ve ever seen. Every day, like clockwork, the are sweeping the overnight goat residue off the front stoop, carrying water and wood, starting the cooking fire, ironing (with an old FLAT IRON heated on cooking stones). There’s a key to the outhouse hanging inside the house. Returning it, I handed it to a five year old on his way out the door whom I assumed wanted it. Without a word, he took it, turning obediently around and putting it back in its rightful place. Adults rule around Kloe, and the kids don’t seem to mind at all!
Three year olds squatting next to buckets of cold water and covered with soap are a frequent sight. Alone they perform their ablutions, without wheedling or help. Little tiny people covered in suds next to buckets almost as big as they are, I’d love a photograph, but that would be a little to invasive. They squat because they’re too little to lift the bucket. They end up spotless anyway.

Road signs. I have just got to get the tro-tro to stop long enough (or at least slow down) to take photos. My favorite so far: “Machetes: Crocodile Tested!”
And speaking of “tro-tros:” any small vehicle with an engine that mostly works and can be routinely stuffed with as many passengers as possible qualifies. Imagine 7 people in a Datsun the size of a shoebox, (and one in the "boot" with the lid up), or a “TaTa” (a small car whose origins I don’t yet know but which is altogether too reminiscent of American slang for a prominent body part). I get the connection with “Yo“, (“Ok” in Ewe) but the other eludes me.

Out of deference, my companions initially put me in the front seat. Now we know each other well enough so I quality as just another sardine. For one cedi (about 70 cents), I ride 15 kilometers (about 9 miles) to the Ho office. I had to give up seat belts. They either don’t work, or are covered with so much red dirt that the driver can’t clean them. In the backseat, I haven’t found belts because it would be most indelicate to look with that many laps back there alongside mine. So, I say a silent prayer that it’s not my time yet, and try to avoid the very large road signs admonishing drivers to SLOW DOWN AND LIVE!

Slowing down isn’t part of the driving culture. Beeping is. Some drivers beep for the sake of beeping, methinks. They beep at everyone and everything warning we’re coming (fast). Sometimes they beep when nobody is there.

I guess after a while not beeping causes withdrawal. Some of these guys would put a New York cabbie to shame.

I met the Queen Mother the other day, at the Ho apt. where she sometimes stays. She’s a joyful person of humor and wit, and a down to earth attitude one wouldn’t expect from a Queen. We hit it off immediately. You know how it is when you meet someone you “just know?” Well, Mama Ayipe and I could be good friends in another life. The fact that she said she might come see me in Florida delighted me. I gave her my card. I hope she keeps it. We took photos. She’s much prettier than I am, dressed in traditional Ewe finery and me in baggy cotton “safari” clothes. It was ok by her. It’s good to be Queen.

I don’t know when I’ll run out of things to write about. Naples Daily News editors are, by now, tearing their hair out at the length of these things. I was pretty good at keeping ‘em to 400 or so words, BEFORE I got here. Now my head is so full of images and words. I feel like a brakeless, overloaded tro-tro careering down the slippery slopes of synonym and simile, straight off the metaphorical cliff into bottomless verbosity. In a culture medium like this, it’s a given.

LEGACY

2009-07-16T02:41:00.000-07:00

An old friend I love is dying today. I saw him just before I left for Ghana, knowing it would probably be the last time. He was an uncommon man, the likes of which one knows from the instant you meet that this indeed, is a special person.

He was among those who encouraged me when planning this trip. I wrote about the many reactions I received. His was at the top of the list of encouraging ones. “How excited I am for you,” he said. “I know this will be among the most extraordinary experiences of your life.”

He’d done this kind of thing too. A worldly man who traveled the globe on missions of mercy as well as professional responsibility. His mind’s eye captured images not unlike I am doing now.

It was a bittersweet visit two weeks before I left. Although I promised to see him again, we both knew the odds of that happening were slim. His condition was deteriorating far too rapidly for even the most optimistic to ignore.

And so, today, from 8,000 miles away, I received the news I’d been dreading. He is slipping away in the arms of Morpheus, unaware of the ravages his body is enduring these last moments.

My belief that we are here for a purpose has sustained me through a lifetime of loss, and blessings as well. We may never know entirely what our purpose is until at last our own lives pass before us, and we say, “This is what I am leaving, and this is what I am taking with me.”

For some, the answers are never entirely clear. For others, they come quickly.
I believe my friend was among those who discerned it early. And what he is leaving is a legacy of love and caring that is evident in everything and everyone around him. What he is taking with him is gratitude of many, some of whose names he probably never even knew.

But they no doubt will always remember him.

Today, I’ll go to the office in Ho, lose myself in the midst of this incredible experience and push aside, for the moment, the sadness I feel at yet another loss.
In time I shall recall only the best, and the memory of a strong, gentle person who encouraged me when taking a far bigger step than ever before. And I’ll thank him, yet again, knowing in my heart that he has ownership in what I accomplish here too. If the Ewe have another funeral before I go, and odds are they will, I’ll celebrate two lives: one who lived and loved in this land. And the Other who lived and loved in mine, but whose influence reached right along with me to touch these people in ways they’ll never know.

Our legacy isn‘t “stuff.” It’s the impact we’ve had upon those around us. No matter how near or far they may be. I hope my own legacy speaks as well of me as my friend’s does of him. It’s the only thing we can both leave behind and take with us when our times come. He who dies with the most love wins. “Stuff” doesn’t really matter at all.

VII. THE JOB WE'RE DOING

2009-07-16T02:35:00.000-07:00

Today was an all-time high: watching two young men discover the world through computers.

Francis and Emmanuel, early twenties, are victims of poverty. Having finished high school but thwarted in continuing educations, they are the youngest members of the CBO, wanting to help their village find ways to increase educational opportunities. They are always polite, dressed neatly in long pants and shirts, looking as though they stepped off any USA college campus and found themselves caught between yesterday and tomorrow, with no way of transition.

My work with the CBO has been productive. Within a week, we identified a plan for the Village that will, hopefully, meet their long-term and short-term needs. It quickly became apparent that they’ve seen many projects come with a flourish, then die on the vine for lack of long-range planning to make them self-sustaining. That loss may, however, be Kloe’s gain if our plan comes to fruition. (Two empty buildings built by well-intentioned organizations sit empty, ripe for other opportunities.)

Their initial goal is to raise $1,500 for educational and play materials for their children from 1-6 yrs old. But what happens after that money is spent? How do we build a program that encourages self-sufficiency and renewal? There are resources here that lend themselves to a long-term, two-pronged approach to creating opportunities for the village to obtain the materials they need through outside funding sources as well as their own efforts.

So our plan is twofold: by the end of my stay here, we will have drafted a long-range plan which provides two income streams for the village: one for their immediate needs from grants and individual donations, and a longer-term one from eventual profit villagers realize by establishing small businesses through “micro-financing“ loans. Both sources of funds will be “seed” money: intended to get them started so that they can become, eventually, totally self-sufficient.

With the demographic information they are collecting, I am writing a “model” funding proposal for both money and supplies, instructing them in business practices and procedures necessary to properly manage donated funds & materials, helping identify initial sources of funding, and training them to take it over when I leave. And believe it or not, we are more than half way there. Opening their very first bank account (thank you Bob K, Joanne C, Judy H!), was a red letter day. We have checks and balances to insure all donations are properly accounted for. And you think USA banks are cautious? It took almost all day to secure the account at Stanbic Bank in Ho!

Today, Emmanuel and Francis used computers for the first time ever. I was almost breathless at the speed with which these two young men learned how to boot up, navigate with the mouse, open a Word document, type a few lines, save it to file, close and relocate it. But the real fun came with Google.

When they discovered the world through their finger tips just by “googling” anything they wished, the two hours of this first lesson was not nearly enough. Francis told me as we left the office: “The time was too short! We want to spend five hours here!!” (BRIDGE has offered free use of computers and supplies). I can’t believe they never touched a computer before. But I feel fairly certain their lives have been changed dramatically as a result of having done so now. Next week, we learn how to send and receive emails, and further refine search parameters .

Samson and Francis and Emmanuel represent Ghana’s future. So do Joy and Aretha and Judith and Mawunya and Colby and David and all the rest. They are smart and motivated. I can’t help but believe that learning to speak at least three languages by the time they‘re twenty has a lot to do with their intelligence. Were they in the USA, they’d be working at McDonald’s to finance school, getting college loans, pursuing their dreams. But those opportunities don’t yet exist here. These young people represent the future of an emerging nation that is soon to be drilling and exporting huge reserves of oil off its shores, presently the fourth largest importer of US goods, the most stable democracy in Africa. They just happen to be dirt poor at a time when their country is emerging. They are on the cusp.

And I thought two hours of computer training would overload them! Their eagerness to continue was worth my trip. The privilege of opening the door is enough, because I have no doubt that these young men can walk proudly through it by themselves, if only they have a chance. And one day, with persistence, a little more help, and perhaps some luck, I may be fortunate enough to greet them again as, Dr. Samson Hayward, Nurse Francis Afedo, and Mr. Obikyere Emmanuel, CEO.

I shall live long enough to do so. I do so hope they will too.

VI. A SLICE OF LIFE IN KLOE

2009-07-13T06:25:00.000-07:00

A fat white chicken nesting quietly in a circle of tiny black goats, safely curled under dim light near the house.

Full silvery moon floating in a hazy halo of humid air over encroaching jungle, a few degrees to the left of blinking red lights on microwave towers nearby.

An outhouse standing silently 50 yards away, visible in the high tech headlamp I use to light my path.

Lost in a writer’s paradise, I can’t get enough of these contrasts, metaphors leaping out at me like benign jungle creatures everywhere I look.

Surprisingly, there is little to alert one to the outhouses, or the deep gutters into which they drain. Raucous roosters, tiny goats, bawling lambs, guinea hens, kittens, wild birds, & encroaching jungle occupy yards all night, joined by kids during the day. With hard-scrabble red earth and sparse ground cover furrowed by constant Equatorial rains, careless footfalls result in graceless prat falls. Imagine walking here with five gallons of water on your head in a metal pan. They do it every day.

Homes are rectangular, poured concrete with tin roofs, small rooms, 12 ft ceilings. My private room has a bed, 2 small tables, chair, small bulb overhead, and electric fan they purchased just for me.

Ruby makes ice cream to supplement income. She cooks soy milk over an open fire at 4 AM to avoid the heat. Later she strains it, adds sugar, a little milk and vanilla, stirs then puts small portions into cellophane bags tied with a knot, then freezes it (if the freezer is working). It sounds simple but the whole process takes at least half a day. She sells them for 10 pwesas (about half a cent) each. It’s delicious.

Francis, 21 is one of six children. Always neatly dressed in slacks and shirt, he finished high school. His dream is to become a nurse, but there is no money. He’s applied for a national teacher training grant to support himself, and someday, realize his dream. “I go help in the hospital. Some there don’t seem to care so much. I feel in my heart I want to care more for the sick ones.” Rumor has it the grant money may not be available much longer. He hopes it will last long enough for him.

Dogs are “taboo” in Kloe, located adjacent to the Kalapke Wildlife Preserve. A law passed making owning dogs, fierce predators, punishable by fine this close to the Preserve. Ghana has been recognized world wide for it’s concerted efforts to preserve natural environment.

Primary crops are cassava, maize, yam. Ruby has lettuce, tomatoes, onions, knives, forks just for me, trying very hard to make me comfortable. Meals consist of peppery mashed beans with plantain, a delicious stew made of cocoa palm leaf, small bits of “cow,” fish, chicken. Sometimes it’s okra and fish/chicken stew, eaten with “banku,” a fermented, doughy mixture of corn and cassava flour. You scoop the stew into your mouth with a wad of banku or boiled cassava. Ruby’s baked, French-fry-like cassava slices are chewy, but delicious, her omelets to die for. I’m not sure how much I eat is part of the Ewe diet. I ask her to feed me as she would her family, but she smiles demurely and doesn’t answer. They are, I believe, a bit surprised that I wish to eat as they do.

Most here are fit, with beautiful complexions, teeth, strong bodies, feet shaped as feet should be. Their diet is organic by virtue of the fact that they cannot afford pesticides, fertilizers, etc. Starchy, but with enough protein (beans), meat is used more like a condiment. I don’t know why the life expectancy is only 56. Immunizations are now routine and malaria control programs underway. But at least two of my new friends regularly suffer malarial relapses. They gave me one of the only rooms with fine mesh screen on the large open window.

Word gets around fast. Twenty minutes ago I had a conversation that has already made the rounds, resulting in more requests for time. There is so much need. I try to listen mostly. A little hope is far better than an unfulfilled promise.

People seem surprised at my fitness. Samson says when his people get to be my age they’re usually “bent over with walking sticks.” I tell them my people live long (they do). How do I tell them I will probably live to be almost twice as long as they? The fact that my mother lived till 94 was cause for much amazement.

Less than two weeks ago, next to the lovely lake where I live, I took my usual morning walk into the flaming Sunrise over an uncut Florida landscape, and thought how lucky I am.

This morning, next to the pristine Wildlife Preserve where I live, I took my morning walk into the flaming Sunrise over an uncut African jungle, and thought the same.

V, IT TAKES A VILLAGE

2009-07-09T07:22:00.000-07:00

V. IT TAKES A VILLAGE
I stepped into the hall to better hear her singly softly singing across the way. Shyly she peeked around the curtain as I motioned her continue. Fifteen year old Judith was as lovely as her voice.

Samson, 25, guides me thru the cultural/information maze. He, like Joy, struggling to find money for schooling. Youthful demeanor belies high intelligence and depth of knowledge he willingly shares, having assumed my guardianship from Joy.

Ruby, a dressmaker, prepares my meals, hauls bathwater, washes clothes, cleans my room. She also farms, cares for a husband, household, 3 year old, and supplements income making ice cream. I urge her to let me do more for myself. Village Kloe is fortunate, having limited electricity, affording the simplest of pleasures in an otherwise laborious life. Water: pumped from the well, carried to the home, heated on opens fire in the outdoor cooking area. Showers: private, dimly lit concrete stalls or rooms. One douses with water, soaps, rinses, sweeps it down the drain. There is no sink, cabinet towel rack; only a high wooden shelf upon which to teeter the bucket. Each house has it’s own stall. I have my own bucket.

Clothes are hand-washed outdoors, sun-dried, a brutal effort in this heat. People are neat, clean, modestly dressed. All wear sensible thongs left at the doorstep before entering. I haven’t seen a case of “bad feet,” (other than mine), yet.
Chairman Sem of the CBO, a diminutive man with warm brown eyes & powerful presence, instructs me in protocol and language when meeting the Chiefs.

Madamn Sitsofe resembles Oprah, & represents Kloe on the Ho District Assembly. She quickly grasps fundamental business terminology. One might assume the Ewe less capable because of their poverty. But even those with a fourth grade education, if that, easily grasp the concepts I am here to facilitate.
You’ve seen the photos. I’ve met the models. How can there be so many beautiful, bright, polite children in one place? I am dismayed that 70% will not finish school. Daily they do chores at dawn, go to school if parents can afford it, then work in the stifling heat on farms. They sweep with homemade brooms, carry water on their heads, cook, tend animals, participate in family activities, take care of the sick, bury the dead. Extended family is, for the Ewe, what keeps them strong.

From what Ruby tells me, 3 yr old Mawunya may have eidetic memory. Poster child for all that is bright and beautiful in Kloe, its heartbreaking to think for want of a few hundred dollars, she may never realize her extraordinary potential. She took to my notebook computer like a duck to water.

I was lucky enough to be born where opportunities abound, of parents whose modest means far outstrip anything here. Three million of my ancestors weren’t ripped away from their villages to serve as slave labor as were the Ewe’s. While I do not take personal blame, I do take responsibility for helping as I can.

If one photo is worth a thousand words, then one visit is worth a thousand photos. Having seen it myself, I’ll never look at life the same again. Obscene portions of food, triple wrapped packages, casual discards of good clothing, new books, old furniture. I discard more paper in a day than a Ewe does in months. Everything is recycled. There is virtually no such thing as a “dump.“ Scraps of paper become toilet paper, too expensive for most. Some have cell phones to keep in touch. A few have an old TV, and lopsided antennae like my Dad used to install for extra money. One has a freezer that keeps breaking down. I defy anyone to say these things aren’t priorities when it’s the only semblance of modernity they have.

There are no computers, Game Boys, Hannah Montana shirts. Other than the few drums & horns for church, they sing, dance and play, beautifully, on 5 gallon gas-can drums. They don‘t even have enough pencils, paper, notebooks for school. Only 30% will finish high school for lack of money & supplies.

How does one choose among which, if any, of his children to educate?

I have not seen one whit of self-pity, recrimination, “entitlement” mentality. I have seen intelligence wanting only education, talent wanting only opportunity, desperate parents wanting only something better for their children, and motivation unlike anything I’ve seen in a long time.

It’s not for lack of trying. When you don’t have enough money for boots, how can you pull yourself up by the straps?

Where have we been?

Out of Africa

2009-07-06T03:36:00.000-07:00

IV. OUT OF AFRICA
Twenty-seven 27 hours and almost 8,000 miles later, I met a surprisingly cool breeze, and a boy named Joy.

All I could think of was the loving mother to so name her son, with his geographic smile and youthful confidence, to be my almost constant companion for the next 24 hours.
The spare Kokomleme Guest House had, thankfully, working facilities, a busy ceiling fan and resident rooster. I fell into relieved sleep after a short walk to unwind.

Early the next morning, pretty young Lucy served Joy and I a simple but nourishing breakfast as we discussed plans for the day. His role shepherding me safely to the BRIDGE office in Ho was invaluable; his gentle rearing evident as he quietly negotiated details of our trip. Orphaned young, his youthful face grew serious reciting the recent loss of his mother (to snakebite) with whom he was, not surprisingly, close. If this 25 year old self-supporting business student exemplifies Ghanaian youth, this country has even more promise than I imagined.

I am besotted with images. Accra: busy capital of tooting cars; neatly dressed throngs in traditional & western garb. Strong, healthy working men. Tall, lithe young women carrying, on their heads, everything, everywhere: dozens of boiled eggs, pyramids of bread, boxed lunches, cookies, cold water packets, towering stacks of mangos, bananas, wood bundles and more. Cargoes half their heights, posture perfect they glided amongst us at Kenbu Gardens taxi terminal: a raucus symphony of hawking vendors and jarring, recorded itineraries. Sitting pretzel-like in an old WV van, 14 of us, plus luggage, eventually made the 3 hr. trip. Contrasts:: Kente cloth, Ga, acrobatic marketing to cell phones, tabloids (“Seduction in Ten Minutes“), power ties. There is much poverty here, but the air fairly bristles with enterprise. Hard work on the faces of these people keeps company with hope & determination.

The ride through outlying villages took us to the cooler, green mountainous Lake Volta Region with the largest man-made lake in the World: my home for the next five weeks. I wrongly assumed Joy’s frequent phone calls along the way were personal.

Met in Ho by Worlanyo and Samson, members of the Village CBO (Community Based Organization), and BRIDGE Director, Bismark Agbeve, we planned for after the July 1, Republic holiday. I caught Worlanyo’s casual reference to a “little greeting” planned during the 15 km ride to Abutia-Kloe as he too made a call. Depositing my bags at his family’s compound at the edge of the village, we greeted his wife Ruby and other community members. I was soon to learn just how much community there is here.
Walking to the village proper, I was startled by Worlanyo’s comment about meeting the Chief. I nevertheless determined to comport myself as well possible in my disheveled condition. Suddenly, a score of singing, dancing children approached along with distinguished Chief Kwame Ayipe. With wit and wisdom in smiling eyes, I didn’t need a translation to know Taugbe (Chief) Ayipe is a good man. He bade us join him at the Church at the end of the road, rapidly lining with traditionally dressed Ewe.

Suddenly, two small boys approached me with bouquet & beautiful hand-made Kente “mufla, ” ushering me to the sanctuary filled with at least 500 people! In the classic understatement I now realize is characteristic of this soft-spoken man, Worlanyo said, “We have been looking forward to your visit.”

All those calls were progress reports on my arrival!!

After blessings, speeches, dancing, I was dressed in traditional Ewe garb, and reintroduced as “Mama Nyuiemedi II” (“She Brings Hope”), the new Youth Development Chief of the Village of Kloe. I hope I appeared more coherent than I felt. I thanked them, trying, as only the second American ever to come to this village, to be realistic as well as hopeful pragmatic. These people have been disappointed before. Then I then joined the festivities, vanquishing any doubt whatsoever about how I’d feel about the Ewe people.

Lack of formal education does not mean lack of intelligence, and while some Village leaders have more education than others, poverty leaves 70% of their children unable to finish high school. Yet they persist. I will be challenged less by living conditions than my task, which I’ll write more about later. There is so much about these gracious people I want to write.

This, after only two days. I’m tired after the trip, but hopeful. So far, so good. What will the week bring?

III. IT'S ALL ACADEMIC, TILL NOW

2009-06-23T04:57:00.000-07:00

Five days to go to Ghana. My biggest worry is packing all those little “baggies” of bottles for 5 weeks “in the bush.” I’ll have to check my suitcase. I hope I can sleep on the plane, not arriving comatose after the long trip (Ft. Myers-Miami-Frankfurt-Accra).

I’ll be easy for my B.R.I.D.G.E. escort to spot. At 63, I’m really “Senior” where the life-expectancy is 56. The Ewe (pronounced AYVAY) greatly respect their elders. With less than 4% of Ghanaians over 64, that’s a lot of respect. I doubt I’ll be the first light-haired person in Abutia-Kloe. I may be among the few Americans to go there, probably the eldest. The GVN increased the age limit (60 yrs) JUST for me. http://www.volunteer.org.nz/ghana/

I delude myself into thinking it’s cuz I have so much to offer.
It’s more likely not as many Seniors do this. Five other GVN international volunteers, from 19 to 36, will be in Ghana too. While Youth sees no limits, Age sometimes sees too many. But our blended efforts can move mountains.

In the Ewe language, inflections change meaning, and rhythm pervades all. As a musician, I’ll see and hear the legendary cadence in their speech, work, and play. I know I’ll love these people.

I’ll take few work materials, creating the rest in Africa. I’d forgotten how to pack. But I’ve crammed so much stuff in my bag it impresses even me. A friend will be house-sitting my cat and plants. Another good friend is “covering” me in case of emergency.

The list of supplies (see end of blog) is daunting, with recommendations from friends, camping retailers, the GVN (Global Volunteer Network), guidebooks, and my physician.

I’ve benefitted from great advice, including concerned friends. The evolution of doubt is knowledge. Thank you for caring enough to express yours. To learn, to love, to grow, we must, however, take the “road less traveled” now and then.

Thanks to those who sent donations to B.R.I.D.G.E . No donation is too small when $25 is equivalent to almost two weeks wage for the average Ghanaian. To donate: click title: "IT's ALL Academic...", go to "donate" link, and write "for Ghana/Abutia-KLoe CBO" on your check or in the appropriate space in the on-line donation field. All contributions are tax-deductible.")

Among my many questions: “What’ll be the most memorable experience?” and “Will I do it again?”

Imagining my life in a small West African village wasn’t too hard, or so I think before actually doing it. I’m fit and active (before sitting up all night in a plane, anyway). My doctor pronounced me good-to-go.
This experience is, for me, a litmus test. I will return to the USA thinking:

1.) It was absolutely FABULOUS. I’ll never do it again, OR
2.) It was absolutely FABULOUS. I can’t wait to do it again.

Anybody takin’ bets? (Next post FROM AFRICA!)

Kathryn

SUPPLIES:
First Aid Kit:
Treatment: Aspirin, Antibacterial Crème (Bacitracin), Mercurochrome (drying agent); hydrocortisone crème; fungicide (Lotrimin); prescription antibiotic (Keflex); antihistamine (Zyrtec: allergies; Benadryl: serious allergic reaction); Anti-diarrheal (Pepto tablets); bandaids/waterproof tape; swabs; various sized gauze bandages; snake-bite kit; fever thermometer (digital); tweezers; scissors;

Preventive: anti-malarial & “Travelers’ Diarrhea (Doxycyline); probiotics (Culturelle); yeast inhibitor (for long-term use of antibiotics); hydrogen peroxide spritz); lemon/citronella-based insect repellants; “Off” as backup; vitamin supplements; iodine tablets (water purification); hand sanitizers; alcohol wipes; cotton balls.

Equipment:
Portable water purifier (Katadyn hand-pump); battery-powered UV light water purifier (SteriPen); collapsible bottle/glass; xtra mosquito net; small bore length of line; camp pillow, blanket, towel; twin bed sheet; flashlights (Faraday, headlamp, small hand-held); battery-powered lighted mirror/curling iron (hey, I AM still a “girl”); tape recorder & microcassettes; notebook computer & cords; power strip/surge protector; electrical converter; battery powered hand-held fan; urine diverter (don’t ask); digital camera & cord; PDA/charger; butane lighter; xtra batteries; crossover computer cable and xtra battery & flash drives.

Clothing & Toiletries:
Lightweight 100% cotton; long pants, long sleeves, modest dresses, underwear); comfortable shoes; hats; sunglasses; clothes soap; extra reading glasses/case. Toiletries (soap, shampoo, deodorant, astringent, etc etc).

Miscellaneous:
Ruled pads/pens; brochures on teen pregnancy/HIV; gifts; templates for business plans/budgets/mission statements/by-laws/grant-writing/computer learning; list of contacts & important phone numbers; State department, Ghanaian resources; emergency phone numbers; personal papers (Passport/Yellow Fever Vaccination cert./VISA); small amount of cash (USD); conversion charts (CEDI-Ghanaian currency; metric system); debit card; insurance papers, small calculator; Africa guidebook; stuff to read, contributions; manuals on notebook computer/Sony camera.
Other:
Whatever I think of at the last minute that I “need” and can cram into the last remain two cubic inches of available space in my very big bag.

II. WHERE I'LL BE, WITH WHOM, DOING WHAT?

2009-06-08T06:06:00.000-07:00

There’s a marauding Lion loose in the neighborhood.
That’s the first thing I saw after “Googling” the name of my African home this summer.

Planning for my trip to West Africa has reminded me to get the facts. A science education imbued me with the mantra: “Where’s the data?” Even I have learned some new lessons in that regard these last few months. The plethora of comments I’ve received since announcing my plans spans the gamut from enthusiastic support to outright horror.

I have been bemused, amused, frustrated, fascinated, humbled, harried, and inspired. I’ve mused a lot about the social, emotional, anthropological, and educational implications of the reactions. (Yeah, I know, I THINK too much.)

Some examples:

“Are you nuts?” “Aren’t you afraid of being shot at? (or worse)
“You’re gonna’ come back with worms in your eyeballs!”
“OMG….I’ll never see you again!”
“You’re going to disappear into the jungle and get eaten by a lion!” (taking special note of THAT one).
“Don’t you know there’s a war over there?”

And one of my favorites: “DON’T drink the KoolAid!!”
To a lesser extent:

“What a GREAT thing to do. Wish I could go.”
“THANK you for letting me be a part of this!”
“I can’t wait to hear about your trip!”
“You’re doing something I always wanted to do.”

Seems to me that:

1.) People see the world either as a glass half full or half empty;
2.) Impressions are greatly influenced by “halo-effect,” causing us to make some pretty wild extrapolations in the absence of accurate data;
3.) A lot of folks (including me), don’t have a clue what goes on outside our own space other than what we see, hear or read (see #2).

I’m guilty. Until recently, if someone had asked me to pinpoint Guyana, Ghana and Uganda on a map, I would have selected the wrong continent for one, and couldn’t have located the other two within half of another. (Go ahead, try it BEFORE reading any further).

In fact, my friend of the “KoolAid” reference and I made the same mistake. We both initially thought Ghana was the place made infamous by Jim Jones (Guyana, South America).

The “war” in Ghana is the one on poverty.

And while there are certain health risks (see my first post), I grew up in Texas, folks, where the mosquitoes are big enough to shoot with a rifle; a “moccasin” isn’t merely something you slip on your foot (and better not until you shake it out FIRST)” and some Armadillos carry Leprosy. (You’re safe unless you eat them.)

What, me worry?

However, in deference to my concerned friends, I did a little more digging. So, just for grins, you do the following:

Match the city with the statistic: (each has about 2 million people):
City: (Chicago, Illinois, USA); (Houston, Texas USA); (Accra, Ghana, West Africa)
Murders Per Year: (11 murders), (377 murders), (598 murders)
Answers: Houston (377), Chicago (598), and yes, Accra (11).

So where would YOU rather be during the “Dog Days of Summer?”

Ghana is a pretty safe place, relatively speaking. Sure there’s crime there.
But the village where I’ll be living didn’t even register on the map, much less a “crime report.” Heck, I’m in less danger there than I am HERE!

http://www.travellersworldwide.com/04-ghana/04-ghana-about.htm

My home while there will be the village of Abutia-Kloe, the gateway to the Kalapka Game Reserve, 15 kilometers (about 9 miles) from the town of Ho in the Volta Region of Southeastern Ghana, about three hours northeast of the capital city of Accra.

http://www.geckogo.com/Guide/Ghana/Natural-Environment/Plants-Animals/

I don’t know how big Abutia-Kloe is yet. Judging by some of the photos I’ve seen, maybe a few hundred people? But that’s a guess. It’s one of a number of outlying villages around Ho. http://www.ghana-support.nl/fotosuk.html

I’ll be living with a young family in the Village: a teacher, his wife who is a dressmaker and farmer, and their daughter. He will advise me on cultural, social, and language issues. She will help with my physical comforts, meals, bath water. I will have my own space in their home, a bed with mosquito netting, kerosene lantern, private area for bath. I expect my host family is among the more fortunate in the Village, having enough space in their home to share with this stranger from a strange land.

These are hard-working people trying to make a better life. He is also attending the University of Lagon in Accra to further his education.

(http://www.ciee.org/program_search/program_detail.aspx?program_id=137)

My Ghanaian partner, the most helpful Bismark Agbeve and his associate Delah Acquah of the B.R.I.D.G.E. office in Ho, will help me access the resources I need to work there, as well as oversee my efforts on their behalf. From what I’ve read, I’m going to learn as much from them, as they from me. And maybe even more!

To say that I am excited about this is an understatement. Now that I can put names and locations with my plans, it all seems more real, more imminent, and more exciting.

My job will be to work with the Community Based Organization (CBO) in Abutia-Kloe, consisting of 15 members of the Village whose efforts to improve the lives of their people are paramount to this project. My assignments include helping the CBO find ways to fund and support their educational efforts in the village, specifically, provide basic learning materials for kindergarten-age children.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ewe_people

My additional task with be to work with the B.R.I.D.G.E. office to help them identify new sources of non-governmental support for their efforts in the Volta Region. My background needs assessment, fund-raising & grant-writing will help.

I hold no illusions about my ability to “fix” everything, especially in the short time I’ll live there. My role is to help them learn how to do it, not to do it myself. As Bismark so aptly paraphrased recently: “It is better to teach a man to fish than to fish for him.”

It is a mistake to think that lack of education means lack of energy, creativity, resourcefulness & drive. From what I have learned so far, many Africans could teach us a thing or two about entrepreneurship. If only they have a chance.

Their needs are great. While they have the determination and drive to succeed, they lack even the most basic resources. We think in terms of the latest computers, Blackberry or electronic communications systems. They need electricity, paper, pencils, basic educational materials, training and funds. I expect one of the most difficult things I will encounter is the lack of sufficient tools to do the job: the few computers are out of date, basic office supplies unavailable, and so on.

We take much for granted in the USA. In my work I found that lack of appropriate tools to do a job was an occasional and easily resolved impediment to increased productivity. I expect, however, that it will be among the highest priorities in my work in Ho and Abutia-Kloe. Basic materials are not available, outdated, or in very short supply.

It won’t be easy. The important thing is that one tries.

I’m starting to do some homework now, prior to leaving. Sometimes I wonder how we ever lived without the Internet. I’ll find out soon enough (again). There’s no electricity in Abutia-Kloe, much less computers and the ‘net. And forget Starbuck’s.

Lots of you have asked about all the stuff I have to do to get ready for a trip like this. Research is only part of it. My next post will describe how to cram a month’s worth of “stuff” into one bag. And as importantly, figuring out what stuff to cram into that bag. Expect one more post before my trip, TWENTY DAYS AWAY and counting.

I’ve already started the process of trying to live more simply and it feels good.
The irony: I’m going to Ghana to help folks learn how to get more, while I’m learning how to live with less. Who’s doing whom the biggest favor here?
.
So, what do I think about that Lion that’s loose around Abutia-Kloe?

I’m with the Chief who, from his hospital bed recovering from injuries inflicted by that lion has endorsed the game warden’s plan to herd the animal back to his rightful territory instead of putting a bounty on its head. I know I’m going to love these people.

But it does put a whole ‘nother spin on that stray cat in my Florida neighborhood!

Many of you have asked me what you can to do help. While Abutia-Kloe needs a source of kindergarten school supplies and the BRIDGE office needs updated computers & software to continue its efforts to help reduce poverty in the Ho region, a monetary donation will insure the best use of the funds to purchase the most appropriate materials. No donation is too small in a country where the per capita income is less than $700 PER YEAR.

You may send your tax-deductible donation (check) directly to me, or to the BRIDGE office in Ho, made payable to:

B.R.I.D.G.E. (write Abutia-Kloe Concern for Child Development CBO in memo line)
mail to either:

Kathryn Taubert & ALLTHATJAZZ, LLC
P.O. Box 683
Estero, FL 33929

OR:

BRIDGE (Building Rural Institutions that Develop Grassroots social-Entrepreneurs)
Bridge Volta Office,
P.O. Box MA 288
Ghana W. Africa

http://www.bridgingdevelopment.org/

If you choose to help, send your donation ASAP.
I’m leaving in TWENTY DAYS!!!

Stay tuned…..

Blog Underway...stay tuned!

2009-05-22T11:02:00.000-07:00

Entries to be posted within the next few days! Thanks for your patience!
K.A.T. 5/22/09

I. What Am I Doing Here? And Why Am I Going There?

2009-05-22T10:21:00.000-07:00

I thought the shots might be the deal-breaker when I first thought I’d volunteer in West Africa this summer.

Yellow fever, Hepatitis A & B, diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis, polio booster: add drugs for typhoid, malaria and “Traveler’s Diarrhea.” The list was daunting.

The thought of living in a place where flush-less, “squat toilets” are the rule, hot showers happen by heating water over an open-pit fire and drizzling it overhead didn’t deter me nearly as much as the thought of all those needles.

I was surprised when the Health Dept. nurse gave me almost all of them at once.

“Are you sure?” I queried tremulously as she prepared the harpoons.

“We give multiple vaccinations to 7 month old babies all the time,” she retorted, tidily putting me in my place.

Amazingly the next day, I had only a slightly sore arm, mild headache, and about five minutes of facial flushing. Looks like that was the easy part.

If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be going to Ghana as a part of the Global Volunteer Network’s effort (http://www.volunteer.org.nz/ghana/) to help with poverty reduction programs, I’d have said they were as crazy as some say I am for doing it.

It all came about the way such things often seem to for me, after research and that subliminal accumulation of experiences that says “GO for it!”

It was an idea that took root as I thought I’d like to reach out beyond my own personal comfort zone, while doing something truly worthwhile.

I have been blessed and giving back has always been a part of my life. I’d been away from that for a while. I was 10 when my Mother took me to the Red Cross to roll bandages. I’ve been volunteering ever since.

And now at 63, my evolution from domestic, to international volunteer is taking me to a place I never thought much about before. Some might go there for an exotic vacation to see the forest monkeys, beautiful beaches, or the grim historical sites from which more than 3 million Ghanaians were brought as slaves to the USA. But as I have since learned, there are many people in the USA and here in SW Florida, who have been there, made friends, and will go back.

I reassessed my life these last few years, having the chance to reverse a decision I made 30 years ago and turn an old passion into a new career. I answered my long-standing question: What might have happened had I made a different decision then? The experience has been heady, rewarding, even humbling.

Becoming a jazz singer again, has been fun. (http://www.kathryntaubert.com/)
It also reinforced something else I learned over the years.

Life’s not just about what we get out of it. It’s more about what we give back. It's not just about what we know, but what we do, and for whom.

It’s in the giving we get; the extending a hand that we receive; the letting go, we acquire. It’s in caring about others, that we find our true purpose.
I missed the spirit of cooperation among people who are working for a common, humanitarian goal. I missed the sense of doing something truly worthwhile, because it needs doing. Metaphorically speaking, I missed “rolling bandages.”

I've spent the last five years taking time for myself to heal from a series of difficult personal losses. Taking care of oneself, too, is healthy. It's the balancing act that's often difficult. I've been lucky to spend that time doing some fun things.

I've done about every kind of volunteer job there is in my life: donated time, money, experience, sweat, and tears to more organizations than I can name. I even wore the not-for-profit executive hat for a while.

And they all had one thing in common.
There’s always help in the USA, and millions of volunteers helping the needy find it. We live in the greatest country in the world. I won’t stop volunteering here.

But I decided to extend my reach to a place where I could make a substantive contribution for the greatest good in the shortest amount of time, while immersing myself in a new (to me) culture.

I settled on the Volta River Region, near the town of Ho, in southeastern Ghana, the first region to achieve British decolonialization in Africa under the guidance of Kwame Nkrumah. A native African educated in the United States, this “ Father of African Nationalism[i]” was the first to help fulfill the dream of a free and independent African nation.

Democratic Ghana is a country of hard-working people who are trying to reduce poverty through improved educational opportunities for their youth, economic development, greater access to modern services, technology, and health care. Christians and Muslims live and work together peacefully.
Environmentally conscious, education-loving citizens of Ghana are eager to increase their opportunities for a better life in an increasingly Globalized economy.

Children grow up learning that they are loved and nurtured by an entire village. They have opportunities of which their parents only dreamed, but they lack resources, especially the skills, supplies and funds to help.

The more I learn about Ghana’s potential for even greater presence on the world stage, the more exciting it is: a developing country where much is happening that we don’t hear about because it doesn’t involve terrorists, bloodshed, wars or economic melt-downs. Ghanaians are asking for help learning how to do for themselves, not merely having others do it for them.
I’ll be living with my host-family in a rural village, Abutia-Kloe, three hours from the capital of Accra, and working with B.R.I.D.G.E, the Global Volunteer Network partner (www.bridgingdevelopment.org/) for five weeks in summer, 2009. My specific assignment will be the topic of a later entry.

The first hurdle was making the decision where to go.

The second one was all those needles and pills. (I was a bit disconcerted by the “LIVE TYPHOID VIRUS” on one package.)

The rest of the substantial “To-Do” list will be the topic of a future entry. Another will discuss the interesting questions and comments from those who learn about my plan. Ranging from excited support to outright horror, they have given me additional food for thought into the nature of my venture, and human nature itself.

I will also submit regular entries about a totally new (to me) culture, rural African Village life, the people, projects, disappointments, and hopefully, successes. And what it’s like to live in a place where life is very different from any place I have ever lived as a US citizen.

What will it be like for a 63 year-old widow, resurrected jazz singer, former corporate executive, and chronic volunteer from a privileged country, to live with indigenous people for a month in a rural West African village, without electricity, hot running water, cell phone, Wal-Mart, or take-out?

I can do anything for a month.

There are educated, dedicated, talented Africans already helping their native country move into the future. My role will be based on my professional experiences in my former career, assessing needs, setting goals, management training, fundraising and grant writing. As English is Ghana’s official language, young Ghanaians want to hear it from native speakers.

Volunteers from the USA, Great Britain, Australia, Germany and The Netherlands, among others participate in these programs. I will be assigned to a project with perhaps one other international volunteer, working with our African liaisons in the B.R.I.D.G.E office and surrounding Villages.

What can I accomplish in 30 days? I can make specific recommendations to improve existing poverty-reduction & education programs, help set goals for new ones, or write a grant template for funding. And most certainly, speak my native tongue while learning theirs (Ewe), and make friends of some of these people who will, no doubt, change my life. Yet again.

I plan to submit Blog entries once a week while in Ghana. I’m told, however, that the electricity in the town of Ho is intermittent. And since I’ll be living in a village without electricity, and working out of the office in Ho, I will need to coordinate entries into my blog on the days the power is available.

There is much preparation to do. The more I learn about the people, culture and projects, the more the more “right” it feels. And yes, there is a certain nervous anticipation.

After all, I am reaching outside my comfort zone. But that’s what growth is all about, isn’t it? Can there be any greater legacy than enhancing one’s own personal growth while helping others?

One person can’t change the world.
Nor can nations change it through violence and domination.
We can, however, make the space around us just a little bit better.

If we take that space to places where the need is great, we can spread the wealth of spirit far beyond our own shores.

I like to imagine what the world would be like if everyone did that within their own space, wherever it is.

One doesn’t have to go to Africa to make a difference. I just decided it was time for me to take what I have learned to a place where I have a chance to contribute something substantive, and learn something really new for, and perhaps even about, myself.

In some way, maybe it will show that one person can make even a small difference no matter how daunting it seems.

The journey to our future begins with a single step.
And this is mine.

Stay tuned.

1) Kwame Nkrumah, The Father of African Nationalism, David Birmingham, Ohio University Press, rev. 1990