A quick post, a quick reflection :)

Greetings, family and friends! :)
So, I don't usually get to come online on saturdays, but as I'm here, and as there's a small issue to reflect upon that I might forget otherwise, it's sharing time! :)
Now, it's a sad but true fact that there seems to be a foreign language center in my brain, and that as I'm learning more and more Fante, my French is becoming less and less automatic. Now, to be sure, I don't think I've actually forgotten anything, or not any more than usual ;) but now when my French speaking friend Maddy (not Mardi - alas, I was wrong ;)) speaks to me, it's harder for me to respond in French. I'm used to pulling Fante responses out of the air now, but it makes me sad that this yields slower communication with him, when he has so few people to speak with in French already.
But honestly, I speak so much better in French than in Fante. I know so many more ways to express myself. I know I'm not fluent, but at least in some way I'm approaching fluency. People ask me how I'm doing in Fante, and I'm not quite sure how to respond, because I'm certainly learning and applying new things all the time, but still I'm not speaking Fante... I'm just communicating certain things in Fante. I know how to say where I'm going. I know how to say that I'm feeling well. I even know how to say where I'm from, where I live, and how to ask for a reduction in something's price, but I don't know how to say "he's nice", or "where can I find this", or even "how do I say ___?" Of course, I could ask someone, but it's hard to be a visual learner in a setting where most people don't write their Fante. It makes it more tricky for me to remember, and put things together... but eventually they do come. It's just a matter of being extremely patient, listening hard, asking questions and practicing. My mother's taken to showing me off recently, speaking to me in Fante when others first greet me in English. It's nice and I appreciate it, though the gaps in my knowledge always eventually become apparent.
Recently, though, I have learned how to say "I miss you". I still have no idea of the spelling (this is just an educated guess), and I suspect that the word "fyew" might be related to the word for beautiful, but I apparently haven't asked the right person yet. Here it is.
I miss you = Maa fyew (pronounced Mah fi-ohw)
Maa fyew.
Thanks for caring :) I'll write again on thursday, if at all possible.
Love,
Rachel Rose

I'm better from malaria, and Ghanaian language discussion again

Hello family and friends!

It’s Thursday, and all’s well. This morning felt slightly ill (fried plantain tastes awesome, but always does a number on my stomach); however, I’m completely better from that and from my malaria and I’ve learned many new and interesting things ;) Also, I’ve received mail! My family got a postcard from Clare (hi Clare!) and I received a package and a cd from my parents. The cd was a taping of the Good Friday and Easter services at my home church, Bethel United Methodist in Midland, NC, and it was awesome. So many thanks to the Moreheads and everyone else at church – the handbells and the choir were beautiful, just beautiful, and I loved singing hymns with you. Watching it on the TV was like having an open window into the Fellowship Hall.

This week has brought discussions on child fighting in Ghana, American culture exports, the strangeness of accepting gifts, the continuing water shortages. You may or not be able to tell, but many of these kinds of discussions come up around my friend Katie, a fellow Guilford student. She helps me think about things a lot.
But anyway, the current list of “things to tell you about” goes like this: the rhyme book, air conditioning and water, marching, polytanks (water storage tanks), appreciating the taste of your teeth vs. congratulating mediocrity, Molly’s library, internet cafes, the state of notebooks, hissing & sucking to get attention, hawkers (who they are and what they sell), milk in Ghana, chocolate, watching Disney movies in Ghana, songs with different tunes, encounters with other Ghanaian languages, carrying things on one’s head, carrying children on one’s back, women in education in Ghana, the coolest proverbs, the gesture for “come”, every company trying to be Ghanaian, food, and getting sunburned.

All of these topics are so tempting, and if you have a special request for a topic, one that I’ve mentioned or one that you think I should have, let me know :) I’ll try to comment intelligently.

However, I should probably tell you what I’ve been up to first ;) This week is technically the last week of class, though I definitely have a couple of them next week. Exams start for the University on May 2^nd, and everyone seems to be studying like mad. Now, maybe I just have a peculiar set of relatively easy classes, or maybe it’s because I have the freedom to adopt a more laissez-faire attitude because I’m about to graduate and go to grad school, but I’m just not worried about my exams. To be honest, I’ve *been* studying, and everything I study for gets delayed, but I generally always feel prepared and ok. It’s hard to get worked up about the idea of being tested.

In other news, I went to Takoradi with my friend Katie this weekend, to visit the Laryeas again. Again, we went to the market, and this time Katie got a dress in the same style as mine, thanks to the Laryea’s family friend, Oliver. My sisters here tell me that this style is called “patapata”, and Giftie said it’s also called a “boubou”, which might be a more familiar word. Anyway, they’re awesome, and they look great on practically everyone (especially my sisters ;)).

We also went out to the same Chinese restaurant our group visited the last time we all went to Takoradi, and then saw a live band in the evening. I even danced a little, though I was tired. The band was playing mostly High Life music, which is a distinctly Ghanaian style. It has sort of reggae beats, and was very popular over the past few decades. Now there’s also Hip Life music, which is Hip Hop on top of High Life style music, and I think it’s interesting. However, I can’t emphasize enough how different the dancing is here. I’ve always been taught that African Dancing emphasizes sinking into the ground, and maybe this is partially true for some of the traditional dancing. However, now at least southern Ghanaians seem to prefer reggae kinds of beats, and they pick up their feat more, and there’s more of an emphasis on going up on every beat. It’s tricky for me to copy (though it’s so ingrained here that you’ll see entire church congregations bouncing together) but I’m getting better at it. Also, it takes a lot of energy because their move at a quicker tempo than people from the US would use for the same song (we would usually move in half-time). But though that part takes more energy, I’ve also been lied to about the “dancing big” aspect ;) People don’t “dance big” in Ghana. When I start to get going they’re really surprised, and they approve, but there’s a serious conservation of motion in Ghanaian dancing.

Another mini-adventure of this week involved meeting the former (Episcopalian) Bishop of Los Angeles, Frederick Houk Borsch. I was sick with malaria when he first arrived in Cape Coast, but by Friday our paths crossed again at my house, and he was extremely nice. So was the other priest who was traveling with him, whose name I forget. We talked about being in Ghana, anti-malaria medicine, differences in schooling, and where I’m going to seminary. All in all, a very nice conversation. I’ve also finished reading one of his books that the Dean had lying around the house: Power in Weakness, which is an interesting set of discussions and retellings of many healing stories. I’ve just started the other one we have called “The Magic Word”, which is a collection of reflections. I like most of it a lot.

A particular issue that arose this week concerned the use of English and Ghanaian languages in schools. Technically, after the second year of school, teachers aren’t supposed to use Fante (or, one would assume, any other Ghanaian language) with their students. They only use English. In practice, this doesn’t always happen, but every time you visit a school, you’ll see posters and places where it’s just written across the wall : Speak Only in English! Katie tells me that this was encouraged by Kwame Nkrumah, the first president of Ghana, who was at first loved, then hated and deposed, and is now appreciated yet again. He thought (probably rightly) that it was important for Ghanaians to be able to speak English so that they could communicate internationally. Most of Ghana’s neighbors, of course, are francophone (and I have reason to believe that in those countries people might speak more French than people speak English here), but English was chosen for Ghana because they had been most recently colonized by the British, so everyone had already been learning it, and the US was also a major world power in 1957. Now, in fact, even though education up to a certain point is required in Ghana, and even though the official government language is English, many people speak surprisingly little of it. In common parlance, people almost always use Ghanaian languages, maybe with a little bit of English spliced in for modern words or just for kicks. Most people don’t *write* Ghanaian languages, of course, because they’ve only recently (say, within the past couple hundred years) been given a written form, and this isn’t even taught as well as the other subjects in school, according to Katie. Now, this is not to say that it’s dying. No no no. I would say that Fante, at least, is doing just fine as a language, and that it will continue to be spoken for a long time. But it’s strange to me that a Research Assistant (who teaches my class the half of the time that the lecturer doesn’t come) would say “we don’t write papers in Fante, we write them in English”, as he was talking about a 3^rd year paper that had been written in shoddy English. Now, I know that what he says is true, but the way he said it, and the mindframe from which he said it is what really bothers me. Why couldn’t you write a paper in Fante? What would be wrong with it? Apparently Ghanaians don’t consider Fante (or likely any other Ghanaian language) to be scholarly. To me, this makes no sense. How could an entire language not be scholarly? I mean, it could be that a smaller group of people could read and critique a work if it’s in a less-widely-known language, but in many ways that’s a) a standpoint that could lead to opinions being suppressed, and b) an easily resolved issue. It’s frustrating that in a culture that values scholars, this simultaneously involves them devaluing their own language. Arg.

That said, there are other issues surrounding particularly Fante & Twi, the two branches of the Akan language family. More people speak Twi, but there are also region-specific forms of Twi. Twi and Fante, you will remember, are also mutually intelligible to good speakers of these languages. So, most people in Ghana speak Akan as their first language, but there are also lots of Ghanaians who don’t. Most of them learn Akan as a second or third language, though, so it’s debatably more universal than English here. For that reason, I’ve been told that no one can get mad at you if you’re speaking Akan in Ghana, because then they know you aren’t whispering secrets – your speech can be understood by practically anyone, and if they can’t understand it’s partially their own fault. This is interesting to me in light of discussions in the United States, particularly among asian immigrants who feel like they’re constantly asked what they’re talking about with their family or friends, and are annoyed that people won’t leave them their privacy. I feel like I’ve also heard Southerners complain that they feel like Latino immigrants are talking/laughing about them behind their backs in Spanish. Arg. So many misplaced tensions.

Also, I find it interesting that there are different opinions about whether Fante or Twi is easier or closer to English. Some people tell me that it’s easier for English speakers to learn Fante and vice versa because the Fantes spent so much more time with the colonizers that their language shifted to become more like English & include English. I think this might be true to a small degree. Others, however, argue that it’s easier for English speakers to learn Twi because Twi is more straightforward while Fante carries more embellishments. For example, whereas Twi people say “didi” (to eat), Fante people say “dzi dzi”. The person who said this claimed that studies had been done. Then yet again in the other direction, Twi speakers sometimes say in mock frustration, “Those Fantes! They shorten everything! Instead of Kofi, they sometimes use Fiifi!” In my mind this doesn’t amount to a shortening at all, though it does sound more like a pet name, but it’s interesting that people take it that way. In Fante (and probably Twi) there is a tendency to repeat certain syllables to make certain words. For example, the words for colors, and tall, and short, and many other descriptive adjectives use repetition. For example: Fufu (white), Tumtum (dark), Koko (red/fair).

I don’t fully understand it, but it’s completely true that young Akans don’t distinguish between red and fair. My Twi-speaking friends tell me that when they were little and saw Obrunis (technically spelled Obroni, though it doesn’t sound that way to me) they would yell “Obruni Koko!” I’ve tested it among my sisters, too. When they play the guessing game of red vs. black in a deck of cards, when they play in Fante they say “tumtum” or “koko”. And I’m not really sure how far the spectrum of “tumtum” ranges either, because the other day the little girl Maame called gray “tumtum”.

Anyway, sorry for the relatively short entry today. I promise I’m feeling much better, but my day’s become abbreviated by friendly circumstances ;)

I love you all very much! Thank you for caring!

love,

Rachel Rose

Look at the previous post, too :) this is the one meant for today/tomorrow

Dear family and friends!

Hello :) Greetings. There are two posts today… the one below this was supposed to be posted last week, but the internet went out just before I posted it (the power went out somewhere along the internet chain and destroyed some adaptors) so alas, I apologize for the lack of blogging last week. I have not quite fallen off the face of the earth ;) please read the one below first if you want a sequential understanding of how the past two weeks have been.

As for this week, it’s been as complex as ever. On Thursday night I had my third in what I consider a series of good dreams. The first one occurred a couple of weeks ago, and it was about going back to a Yachting Club meeting. Naturally, it was very surreal and bizarre, but some of the appropriate people were there, and all was well. The second happened right around my trip to Takoradi, and it ended with me waltzing with Tristan. We defied some physics, and even though that’s not at all necessary for great waltzing, the dancing in this dream felt perfect.

The dream I had on Thursday night was the first dream that I remember which was set in Ghana, which is interesting, because I had noticed this lack of Ghana-dreams a day or two before having this one. Also, I know I had been thinking about Eric Mortensen, my academic advisor at Guilford. But anyway, in this dream Eric came to visit me in Ghana, and even in my dream I was quite surprised, but it was great. We had a big, long hug, and I expressed things that I needed to say that basically sum up my home/Ghana experience – specifically that I’m doing just fine in Ghana, and learning and enjoying a lot, but that this doesn’t diminish the fact that any new experience carries some stress, and that I truly value and miss everyone at home. Don’t worry, Eric will get a more complete letter on all of this.

So anyway, this was the happy feeling with which I embarked with my group on a trip to the Eastern and Volta regions of Ghana; or at least, it was supposed to be happy. It was at certain points, but it took us a long time to leave on Friday morning, and for some reason I felt *awful* for about an hour before we left. I had no idea why at the time, but it turns out that that’s what malaria feels like ;) joy. Fortunately I was able to sleep for a while on the van, and the worst of the feeling eventually left me. We basically spent all day traveling, stopping for a late lunch in Accra and then seeing a bead-making place near the Akosombo dam (which we never got around to seeing. O well). The bead making was very interesting, and I bought one necklace and was given one bracelet, which I appreciated. Our tour was somewhat truncated, however, because it was Light Off in the area and dusk was fast approaching. We looked at the beads in the shop with flashlights and lanterns. After that, I simply grabbed a snack and we all went to bed at a closeby hotel.

That night it was extremely difficult to sleep because it was also Light Off where we were sleeping. They ran the generator so that we could use the lights before we went to bed, but the generator would not suffice to run the air conditioning unit in our room, so Katie and I sweltered in a room with no real windows. Eventually, though, we slept, and awoke at 5am to leave at 6am for the Volta region. Fortunately, by this point I was feeling better again, and didn’t feel ill again until lunchtime; thankfully that too was brief.

But anyway, in the morning we went to a beautiful waterfall, supposedly the tallest in West Africa. Comparisons between this and similar experiences in the US:
Similarity: I have been on 45 minute walks to see waterfalls before- that’s normal.
Difference: Usually paths for 45 minute walks are not so nicely laid out and so wide.
Similarity: We crossed sturdy bridges that gave gorgeous views of the stream that came from the waterfall. Nine of them. It was lovely.
Difference: There were mangoes that had just fallen onto different points along the path, so someone gave me a ripe one and I ate it. Yum!
Difference: At the waterfall end of the path, there was litter *everywhere*. People don’t litter to that degree on park paths in the US. I have pictures that you can see when I get back.
Similarity: gorgeous waterfall
Difference: this waterfall had a bank that was covered in fairly smooth stones. We also learned that right underneath the waterfall the water was only waist deep, though in another section it was deep up to my neck, and we were explicitly invited to swim. We did so, and had a marvelous time. The water pressure was intense, but not so intense that it wasn’t enjoyable. Katie, Chantal and I got in while Akwasi took pictures for us. Also, there were bats and butterflies to be seen. It was grand.

All of this happened before 10am, though afterwards we had trouble gaining momentum again, and had to wait quite a while for lunch. The afternoon, however, was similarly eventful. We proceeded to climb one of the tallest mountains in West Africa, and there’s a reason why I’m not saying “hike”. This was more of a climb – almost always straight uphill, nearly as steep as a staircase, but on rocks and ground, with occasional trees as aids. It was tough, and though Akwasi went straight ahead (he’s in good shape) Katie, Chantal and I picked slower paces. Eventually, though, we made it, and the sight was truly beautiful. We could see Togo from where we were positioned, and they had cleared the little spot that formed the top of the mountain so that you could gaze out and even down in practically all directions. Apparently sometimes people camp up there for the night, which would be grand in my opinion.

Climbing down the mountain was of course difficult, but not unmanageable. I got to eat yet another mango after we reached the bottom. Afterwards we drove the few hours back to the hotel and slept, this time with air-conditioning, and I had another good dream. This one was about reconciling with Jon, an old friend from middle school who I haven’t spoken to for years (not out of malice, simply out of lack of communication). Again, it was really nice, and I woke up happy and wishing that it had truly happened, though it also had many surreal aspects. For example, the setting was a mix of Cape Coast, Greensboro, and Midland – and none of those match my middle-school settings. At this point I seriously wondered whether I was having so many good reunion dreams simply because I like having them.

On Sunday, we were told we would go on a ferry ride, which I wrongly presumed would be short. In fact it lasted from 10am to 4:30pm, and I was sick again at the beginning and by the end of it. But fortunately, there were some very nice beads for sale before the ferry actually took off, so looking at those killed some of our down time beforehand, and though the ferry ride was long they gave us food and drinks during the trip, and Katie, Chantal and I played cards for the rest of it. The middle of the ferry ride was particularly bizarre, because we were sailing along the Volta River with very little context about where we were or what we were doing (though Chantal had been on this trip before and warned us a little); the middle, though, consisted of us getting off of the ferry for a half hour and walking around on a little island. Basically as soon as you got off the boat, little children would grab your hands and keep you company for the rest of your time there. At the end, they beg for money. Along the path to the other side of the island (where there’s a beach) two sets of people playing music and dancing are stationed, encouraging the tourists to enjoy the atmosphere. It’s simultaneously extremely real, because you know they’re playing local music and doing local dancing, and extremely fake, because they’re doing it for tourist entertainment, and only receiving tips in exchange. It’s like they’ve tried to set up a mini-African island paradise for your half hour’s pleasure, but the ironic thing is that the people who are begging there don’t even live on that island. They canoe over there on days when the ferry comes. The whole situation is very bizarre and frustrating to me, especially because people are encouraged to act like someone’s friend in exchange for money. It left a bad taste in my mouth.

Also, by the end of the ferry ride I felt extremely sick, a feeling which didn’t leave me for the entire five hour journey back to Cape Coast. We never really stopped along the way because there was too much traffic and everyone else wanted to get home, and so that, the stop-and-go of traffic in Accra and the hundreds of speed bumps between Accra and Cape Coast only exacerbated the problem. And I’m not at all kidding about the speed bumps. Literally every couple of miles there are at least two sets of them, and each set consists of 5 (occasionally 3) bumps, and none of them are tame. My insides were threatening to mutiny long before we reached our city, and I stayed sick all night.

The next morning I went to one class, but after informing some classmates I skipped the next one in favor of going to the hospital. I’m not sure if I explained this before, but there aren’t really doctor’s offices or emergency clinics here. If you’re sick, you go to the hospital. After a couple of slight fiascos I ended up in the correct department of the Regional hospital which I had visited once before, in Abura. I waited a few hours, and became very tired, but I realize that this probably took no longer than unexpected visits to the doctor take in the US. C’est la vie. Eventually I saw the doctor and she (I’ve only seen two doctors and they were both women) said that I had malaria. It seems even more clear than last time. At least I now know what it feels like.

The curious thing is that while people at home flip out when they hear the word “malaria”, people here say, “o, it shall be well,” or “really? you’re still feeling sick?”. It’s just not a big deal here, and Ghanaians have different theories on why that’s so. Some think that Ghanaians are simply more resilient than foreigners, because they’ve been getting malaria all their lives. Others say that it’s simply psychologically less stressful because people here have been treating and surviving malaria for ages – long before modern malaria medicine was invented. People here know how it works: they know the symptoms, they understand all the options for treatment, and they understand how all of these things interact with each other. When they feel sick with malaria, they don’t go to the doctor, they just go to their local chemist or pharmacist and get some medicine. And some doses of medicine are stronger – you don’t have to take them for as many days, but they’ll inhibit you from functioning in your daily life and they can kill you if you don’t have enough weight to take them. But there are plenty of other options which work just as well that are less strong, and people know what they want. They know their schedules, and they know how to take care of themselves. UCC students generally don’t miss class because of malaria.

Now that said, I definitely missed class for malaria (all of Tuesday), and I don’t feel bad about it because I felt really sick. And do you know why? Because I had no idea I had malaria. Had I been a Ghanaian, I would have known what was going on, and I would have bought some medicine. Since I wasn’t, and since I was only feeling ill off & on, I felt perfectly justified in waiting till Monday to see a doctor since we were traveling. In truth, I didn’t even feel distressed until Sunday. So, that’s that for the sickness itself. Malaria ;) yay.

I do have one thing to say, though, on getting drugs here. I can understand all the more clearly why HIV drugs are so inaccessible to people in Africa, because the exchange rates are all wrong. The drugs that I got here would be considered dirt cheap in the US, but are a slight annoyance in Ghana. The pharmacy at the hospital rang up my bill for three of the four things I needed, and it totaled 90,000 cedis (These were: artemether (the anti-malaria), vitamin capsules (overkill, because I already take a multivitamin), and Oral Rehydration salts (also overkill, because I never got dehydrated, but they didn’t ask me)). As you may recall, 1$ is approximately 9,300 cedis right now, so the two Ghanaian and one Canadian pharmacists laughed and said “haha, that’s only ten dollars!” I wanted to laugh mirthlessly and say “ha, that’s absolutely all the money I have with me right now,” but I restrained myself. To be fair, I had brought over 140,000 cedis, but 10,000 was spent on transportation and 40,000 for visiting the doctor. My medicine had only cost 60,000 the last time. Did you know, you can buy a filling meal for 1,000 cedis, and a balanced meal for 2,000 to 4,000 cedis? If you go to a real restaurant, of course, they’ll have you pay about ten times that. It boggles my mind, but I suppose in some ways it’s not so different from home.

So, anyway, after that I pushed myself, went to the bank, bought some toilet paper, and went to Ola. I briefly got to see Katie there, but my true purpose was attending a bible study for my Jesus in the African Context class. We had them read two verses in Matthew on divorce, and then asked them some questions to bring out all their thoughts on the matter. It was very interesting, but I only caught bits and pieces because it was almost entirely in Fante. It’s amazing, though, what you can pick up on when you know just a little but you pay attention. For instance, in a cab ride today when we were first taking off, someone asked what the price was (we were going from station to station). I already knew, and therefore didn’t need to ask, but simply handed over my 3,000 and waited for 800 in change. At the end of the taxi ride, however, I’m pretty sure that someone was telling the cab driver (who had been considerate throughout the short drive) that he could have given the obruni (me) 500 in change. Someone had, afterall, before the driver’s correction suggested that the fare was 2,500. But in response I’m fairly sure the driver said “she understands Fante a little”, which is happily true. I smiled and waved on my way out of the car, and felt good.

Back to Monday, though: after bible study in Ola I went home and essentially crashed. I really was planning to go to school the next day, and I woke up for it, but about ten minutes into getting ready I decided that I couldn’t. I told my Mother and she replied “nobody is saying that you should go! Go to sleep” ;) Mother and Ruth were extremely supportive, though the kids were kind of confused at how sick and sleepy I was.

Also, sadly, one of the lecturers at the seminary died completely unexpectedly on Tuesday morning, so the place is still bustling in a sad kind of way. There are also a few important Anglican people here from the US, so between entertaining them and taking care of all the people who are suddenly at the seminary, Mother’s still quite busy. She’s very good at this kind of thing, but it wears her out.

Since I felt sick & sleepy & didn’t want to be in the way, I truly slept through most of Tuesday. As a result, today (Wednesday) I feel fine. I’m particularly writing today because the power will be out at the internet café tomorrow, and I don’t want to miss posting for two weeks in a row.

Also, for the past two nights my pattern of good dreams has been broken by nonetheless extremely interesting bad dreams. After the first night of this (Monday night) I was looking at the side effects of my medication, and the cipro (sp?) I’m taking does list bad dreams, so I completely blame that, because I really tried to avoid them last night and failed.

Now, I wouldn’t properly call these dreams nightmares. I wasn’t scared in the same way that I feel I should be for a nightmare. They just simply weren’t good.

On Monday night I first dreamt that I was arguing with this boy, approximately my age & white, who was turning evil. I was trying to sympathize with all of his & his friends’ grievances but not condone any of their methods. Also, I was always trying to counteract what I saw as their misperceptions. I feel like this argument took place in some kind of tall, dark tower, and that there was a big gothic-looking desk (if such a thing exists) with papers scattered and gathered on top of it. I think I was trying to convince him not to do this one overarching bad thing.

Then, in a second dream, I was mainly an older brother or sister (I’m not sure) and half of my consciousness knew that some great chaotic evil had been unleashed upon the world that I should know about, and the other half of my consciousness was oblivious, just like everyone else. All these crazy things kept happening, like cars going missing and blowing up, and the entire middle row of pews in a church crashing over the altar and into the street (this would be a US street), and half of my consciousness would say “Rachel, you know why this is so! You vaguely remember pouring some flammable liquid all over your car for no known reason… o, except for that great evil thing that’s happening” and then the other half would say “O, that’s strange, where did my car go?” Such is the logic of fantasy novels, which inform much of my imagination. Also in this dream, I had a younger sister (not Chelsea, though she was blond) who was about seven years old, and the evil forces wanted to take her but of course I couldn’t let them. And usually in this dream I was the older sibling, but sometimes I was the younger sister. A weird dream.

Also, last night I had a dream in which Albus Dumbledore (from the Harry Potter books) had actually turned Smeagol/Gollum from the Lord of the Rings into his dog, but he changed him back into Smeagol sometimes to play with him and teach him things. Somehow the One Ring from LotR had turned into a semi-neutral but still powerful blob, but when Smeagol started to act possessively and obsessively over it again, Dumbledore (from whose perspective I was looking) made the horrifying decision to kill Smeagol with the blob(s). It was awful and sad. Dumbledore looked upon it as a necessary loss, and then successfully hid what he had done by transforming both himself and Smeagol’s bodies into other creatures. And then later there were zombie prisoner problems at Hogwarts, which had for some reason turned into Azkaban, and there were continuity problems, and I made friends and sympathized with a zombie prisoner who liked to escape every day, but it didn’t end well because we eventually got caught and he separated into different fragments. For some reason one of those fragments absorbed into me and therefore mandated that I go on a rampage of anger, which was not at all consistent with either of our personalities, so it was upsetting, but not quite nightmarish because the rampage of anger didn’t happen.

Anyway, I know all of this is strange, but I think that dreams are very interesting, both because of why they come about and the perspectives we take or are given within them. I don’t remember my dreams *that* often, so when they’re vivid I try to take notice.

But, now it’s getting towards 7 on Wednesday night, and I need to get home :) Exams are coming up in a week and a half, so I should be posting again before then, and should be completely recovered from malaria.

I love you all! :) Thanks for touching base here, and thanks so much for caring!

love love love,

Rachel Rose

The entry I meant to post on April 12 ;)

Greetings family and friends!

So, life has been quite eventful since last I wrote. The trip to Takoradi was extremely fun and worthwhile, so I’ll begin with that.

I was rather surprised at the invitation for Easter weekend to come to Takoradi… I had been planning to spend Easter at the seminary, as I had seen some neat pictures from last year, but it was not to be. Sometimes you receive invitations that you can’t politely turn down, so I went – to visit Mother & Father Laryea, who are friends (practically siblings) to my host parents. Father Laryea is also an Anglican priest, and they’ve come to Cape Coast for funerals multiple times.

Anyway, the Laryeas don’t actually live in Takoradi. They don’t live in it’s sister city, Secundi, either. They live in Essikadu, a village/town which is smaller than the other two. From west to east it’s Takoradi, then Secundi, then Essikadu, and then an hour later, Cape Coast (with many other places in between, like Elmina). These are all pretty much along the coast. What I learned while I was there is that these three places to which I was exposed behave very much like communities at home. Residential communities that are closer to Essikadu are still claimed by Secundi, because Secundi is bigger. Also, Takoradi has more business and industry than Secundi, so people consider the former to be more lively & the latter to be more tame. People go to Takoradi to work & for active fun, and they go to Secundi to wind down & settle down. Interestingly, both Secundi and Takoradi have lots of roundabouts. I think this is true in other cities as well, like Accra, but perhaps not to the same degree as the twin cities. Takoradi is also especially beautiful to me because it has so many established trees along the road, whereas Cape Coast just seems to have a lot of bare dirt and buildings. As I think I mentioned the last time I wrote of Takoradi, it also seems very well maintained in general.

I spent midday of Good Friday, though, in Essikadu. I’m not sure I know of anything to compare that town to… it’s a crowded but lively and seemingly happy little place, on one side surrounded by bush, and on the other quite close to Secundi. On Good Friday every year, the Anglican church does the Stations of the Cross in the morning, and then at noon has another service where the crucifix is shrouded, then uncovered, and you can ceremonially come up and kiss Jesus on the cross (I did). Then, all the churches in the community get together and process around the town (I also did this. People decided that I was brave, and they approved. The kids, of course, shouted “Obruni!” all along the way, and were their normal, cute selves.) A lot of people at shops along the road were still working/ waiting for customers when we processed by. Sometimes we also sang songs, as did the other churches independently, but the way the Anglicans were arrayed in two lines, one on each side of the road, was hardly conducive to group singing. Through this, I came to understand precisely what processing entailed, and also got to walk all around Essikadu. Apparently this multi-church effort also occurs in Ola, Cape Coast. However, when we were done processing, I was pretty tired from a combination of factors, and slightly afraid of getting sunburnt, so I went inside and skipped the last part of the service. I’m really glad I went, though.

Shortly afterward, a friend of the Laryea family who I had already met in Cape Coast came over to take me out & introduce me to the area. That was when I really started getting a feel for the three places (Essikadu, Secundi, Takoradi) as communities, having their own, interconnected identities and functions. While we were out, we also came upon Market Circle, which is this huge circular building surrounding a (surprise!) circular market in the exact middle of Takoradi. Apparently Market Circle is one of the more famous places in West Africa, so I’m surprised we didn’t visit it the last time I came to Takoradi with my Guilford group.

Now, if truth be told, I find markets very intimidating. The pressure to buy is rather high, I don’t really understand bargaining like I should, and I don’t speak Fante as well as I’d like to. When I know I’m going into a market and not buying anything, I almost feel worse, because I feel like a poser and a tourist. There’s just something very strange about being a tourist in Africa, and I would simply rather avoid it. I can talk more about that later. But anyway, in this case, we went in to see some of my host’s friends who work at the Market. They have extended family there, so one of them took me by the hand and led me around. She explained the different sections of the market where different things were sold, and told me that unfortunately, since it was a holiday (Good Friday), most places were closed. I was still able to see quite a bit, though.

One thing that I saw on the outside was tons of people selling fruit and vegetables out of baskets and carts. They were blocking a lot of traffic, and my friend said that they were only able to stay there because it was a holiday and no one was willing to “sack” them on that day. On the inside of the market, when walking around I saw the section that had burned down a few weeks ago. When I say “section”, I mean dozens of wooden stands; they’re not a cohesive set, except that they probably sold similar things, and were touching each other, and therefore close enough for the fire to jump between them easily. So, while there, I decided to ask the person who was leading me around some question. Is it hard to get established again after such a fire? Yes. And are the people selling outside the ones who used to have stands in here? Yes. Ah, I see. It’s a hard topic all around.

While I was at the market, though, my friend decided that I should have some African clothes, and therefore bought me a dress! I think it’s called a bou-bou, though one of my 5 year-old relatives in my host family had one on the other day and called it something different. Anyway, it’s basically a huge rectangle of fabric, with a lined hole already cut out for your head. To try it on, you wear it like a poncho, but then they simply sew two long lines down the sides to make it into a dress, leaving spaces at the top for sleeves. I’ll take a picture for next week. Mine is batiked (tie-dyed) green and yellow, with a subtle orange background, and I love it. They also gave me a head-scarf to go along with it, and I wore both on Easter Sunday.

Saturday I spent the morning doing some homework and playing with some small children. That afternoon, I went with that same family friend back to the market, bought some cloth which I will later get made into a dress, and went to hang out at the beach. Ironically, I have never in my life been under so much pressure to drink alcohol as I was in Takoradi and Essikadu. And interestingly, no one was trying to get me drunk- they just all thought it was preposterous that I didn’t want to drink Guinness, Spark (a local carbonation + gin drink), and brandy. I know, I’m strange. Ah well ;) By the way, Ghanaians treat Guinness and all drinks made by them as if they were their own kin. It seems more universally “Ghanaian” in their mindset than the Accra Brewing Company.

As for the rest of that day, I came home, had fufu with light soup (with insane amounts of meat), and then went out to a club with the same family friend and the market ladies. They had also arranged for one of their nephews to come along to “keep me company”. From some earlier conversations we had had at the beach about friendship, courtship, and marriage, I knew that they were somewhat disappointed that I’m not dating a Ghanaian, so they got this boy to come along. I had lots of mixed feelings about it, but overall thought “what’s the worst that could happen when I’m going out with a total of five other people?” This turned out to be a fine theory. I actually had a *great* time. The boy was very nice, we talked about all kinds of things, and then we had fun dancing together. He wasn’t a fantastic dancer, but he was willing to be creative and it was great. We played off each other well, and no other guys bothered me. Overall, this was a marvelous success.

As a side note, though, Ghanaians love my dancing. It’s slightly different from their aesthetic of dancing, but people are always telling me that they approve and like it. On that particular night my friend also said “they had never seen a white lady who could dance to the rhythms before”, which is a perfectly fair observation. It’s just interesting to me that over half of the songs played at the club came from the United States. Of those, perhaps 4/5 were done by African Americans, and it’s crazy how everyone can adopt music, beer, or any idea as their own no matter its source. But anyway, when I dance, in church or in other contexts (yes, I sometimes dance in church, but only when I feel led) people say “Aye adze” – You have done well. It’s nice. I also got this comment that same night when I helped push a car so that it could be kicked into second gear, as it’s starter wasn’t working. That felt good, especially because a part of me was fighting the fact that I was a girl, wearing a dress, being taken out to a club and feeling somewhat stereotypical. This worked out well to balance my sense of self-identity, since both dress-wearing and car-pushing can be fine things in the US and in Ghana.

Sunday was fairly calm for Easter, though I was intensely tired. We came in at about 3:20am, which is culturally even later in Ghana than in the US, so then I slept at 4am and then I woke up at 8am for church at 9am. Keep in mind that I was already tired from the past several days, not to mention the hours of dancing. Then the Easter service was very nice. Mother Laryea gave me her white handkerchief to wave around at the appropriate times since I didn’t bring mine (handkerchiefs are very important in some churches). It went on for about three hours, and the communion was especially nice. This service in Essikadu was even more exclusively in Fante than the other Anglican services I’ve attended. They said most of the creeds and prayers entirely in Fante, and at the times when the words were definitely in English, the Father Laryea just said the liturgy while the congregation sang. In this service, also, we processed – but this time we just went around the church once. There’s also a lot more standing in Anglican services than I’m used to, which is fine, but different.

I got to take a tiny nap after church and after lunch, but then we were invited over to a judge’s house (also a congregation member), so we stayed there, and everyone else spoke in Fante smattered with occasional English, so I tried to stay abreast of at least the topic of discussion, but mostly listened to the Christian music (from the US) playing in the background. I knew a lot of the songs from my childhood, youth choir, and the past few years of occasionally hearing Christian songs on the radio, so it was nice. They also served us really good food, so though I had only eaten a few hours before, I had to eat yet again, and remained full for the rest of the day through the combination of drinks I was given and one final kabob. Overall, it was a very nice day. I even got to spend some evening time in the middle of Essikadu, hanging out with some guys, one of whom was going to marry the next day. So it was a “bachelor” gathering filled with non-bachelors, but I had fun, drank Fanta, and also got to speak with children and learn more about Ghanaian names. Monday was a fiasco of getting back, hanging out with Professor Lawrence’s family, and then spending time talking to Giftie & Katie in Ola, so I’ll just move straight on to the glorious issue of naming in Ghanaian, and particularly Akan cultures :)

So, all names have meanings here, and not just in the sense of “hey, if you look this up it has some archaic meaning” nor in the sense of “hey, you were named after some biblical person”. The names here mean something in the present tense. However, because names are so standardized, and no one cares about last names (they were forcefully introduced by the colonizers) it’s very common to meet someone with your own name. Sort of the “John Jacob Jinkle-Hiemer Smith (or Schmidt)” dilemma, but no one seems to mind. I think I’ve maybe given a little background on this before, but now I’ll try to be thorough, since my knowledge is more fleshed out.

So, first of all, there are “day names”. These are names derived from the day of the week on which you were born. Everyone has a day name with which they identify even if it’s not the name they go by. For example, my sister Tracy was born on Saturday (making her an Ama), so she was very happy when a girl named Ama won the Ghana’s Most Beautiful pageant, over girls with names from other days of the week. I’m putting the Fante versions first, then less common forms & nicknames in parentheses, then any Asante/Twi variants in brackets.

Pronunciation Guide: “dw” is pronounced “j”, and for Kobena and Kow I’ve but in an “o” where there should instead be an “open o” character, but Microsoft Word doesn’t have it on it’s character list. Alas.

Boy Girl
Monday (Dwowda): Kodwo, (Jojo) Adwowa
Tuesday (Benada): Kobena (Koby, Ebo) Abena, Araba
Wednesday (Wukuda):Kweku (Abeku, Kuuku) Ekua, Kukua
Thursday (Yawda): Kwaw, Kow, Yaw Aba
Friday (Fida): Kofi (Fiifi) Efua
Saturday (Memenda): Kwame, Kwamina Ama (alt. spelling: Amba)
Sunday (Kwesida): Kwesi [Akwasi] Esi [Akosua]

So, now you know that Kofi Annan was most likely born of Friday. I say most likely because I have met one person who was technically born on Thursday, but his family wanted to name him after a notable family member who was born on Friday, so they decided it was close enough and named him Kofi anyway.

Day names are important and also nice because they give you another seventh of the population to identify with. At church, during one of the (often multiple) offering collections, either your day of the week will be called or there will simply be a basket with your day’s name for you at the front. So you deposit your money with the rest of your comrades, and there’s sometimes a mini-competition between the days of the week as to who can bring more money to church. More on collecting money in Ghanaian churches in another entry.

There are also specific names for other circumstances. For instance, if you’re a twin, your name is Ata if you’re a boy, or Ataa if you’re a girl, and then Panyin or Kakra if you’re the older or younger twin, respectively. Often, however, “Ata” gets embroiled in other people’s names, and twins just go by Panyin & Kakra. Kakra is part of the same word family as “small” and “a little bit”, but I’m not sure about Panyin. In Fante culture, twins are appreciated and looked upon as signs of super-fertility and therefore super good fortune.

Other names:
Tawia- a child born after twins
Baako- an only child
Piesie- firstborn of a nuclear family
Manu- secondborn of a family
Mensah/Mansah- boy/girl names for third born of a family (that’s me!). Sometimes without the final H.
Maana or Anan- fourth born (I think... Chelsea, someone told me to be sure to tell you that you're Maana, but I need to check on the spelling ;))

After the third born, you just use the Fante names for numbers to designate children. Often, though, these are placed with day names, especially for the higher numbers, so no one would simply be known as “eight”, but they might be Kofi Awotwe. This gives you quite a lot of information. This boy is the 8^th child of his family, and he was born on Friday. My name, then, is Esi Mansa. In most other cases apart from birth order, however, the other name besides the day name comes first.
For example:
Owura/Ewura- Lord or Sir/ Lady or Madame. Can be combined with any day name, though I’ve only seen it done for girls. It’s often used to designate a person who’s educated, or who is getting their education. So I’ve been called “Ewuresi”, which is Ewura plus Esi.
Paa- you use this when you’re naming a child after someone’s father. Ex: Paa Kweku
Maame- you can either use this to talk about someone who’s old enough to be a mother, or if you’re naming a girl after your mother. There are lots of Maame’s in my family here.

Names that often stand alone:
Giftie- the first girl, the only girl, a girl child for whom the parents are especially grateful
Nyamekye- Gift of God, used whenever you think your child is a gift of the Supreme Being. Usually for boys.
Uncle- a boy named after someone’s uncle
Auntie- a child named after someone’s aunt, or just an older woman who acts like everyone’s aunt.
Agyeman- Savior of the nation

There are actually a lot of names like Agyeman, but I don’t know all of them. They basically serve the same purpose as Auntie, Uncle, Paa, etc, though, because names are given to remind children that they should live up to a certain standard. Traditionally, this meant living well and positively, and upon death becoming an ancestor, which is not an automatic honor. Naming someone after a person reminds them to live up to that person’s standard, and naming someone after an idea works in a similar way. Parents never name their children after themselves (it’s considered presumptuous. Who would do such a thing when there are so many ancestors who are so much more worthy to be honored?). That’s why most Ghanaians are particularly appalled at the notion of surnames, which they still must use, because surnames carry on names from fathers to children. Also, even though the overarching matrilineal families have names, they never actually form a part of the children’s names. The families do have rallying cries, though… there are seven families, but only two rallying cries, translated as “sixth fortress” and “ninth fortress”. No one is quite sure why. But anyway, if you call both sixth and ninth fortresses at the same time at a gathering (presumably an Akan gathering), you can get everyone’s attention at once. I forget how to say fortress, but this appellation is added onto another standard way of beginning an address. So you say “Aban Asia na Akron, mfre yie! (Fortresses six and nine, let us invite good)” and then everyone says back “Yie mbra! (Let good come)”. I feel like it’s a nice way of starting things. You’ll notice again the verbs for call (fre) and come (ba/bra). Neat, isn’t it?

Finally, there are also earned names (for a good or bad reputation you might have), nicknames, stool names (for chiefs), and baptismal/Christian names for the many people who still use them. People often go by their baptismal names in school, and are twice as likely to tell me those names first rather than the names that they prefer, which is I feel is unfortunate. Currently, however, many people are rejecting their baptismal names, saying that their traditional names are fine, that there’s no need for them to have white people’s names. Others also dislike the names, but don’t want to change them because of the legal hassles and how very conspicuous it looks anytime one changes one’s name. It implies that you’ve done something wrong and cannot be trusted for testimony. How unfortunate.

Also, it seems to me that here the children take the father’s last name, but when two people get married, they often both hyphenate their surnames to include both theirs and their spouse’s. So, for example, my siblings here all use the surname “Baffoe”, but my parents are Dorcas & Victor Atta-Baffoe. People’s surnames also seem rather arbitrary, because they’re generally just taken from men’s names a long time ago, which they were then required to place on their children. So it’s just a whole host of first names being used as surnames, like Mensah, Essien (six), Atta, etc.

Now for another short topic I’ve been meaning to write about: Gye Nyame.

Gye Nyame is the symbol that should be in this entry around here somewhere... and it’s an Adinkra symbol. There are many Adinkra symbols, and the theory is that they were probably created by Arabs several centuries ago, then they were adopted by Akans and mostly used at funerals. There are tons of them, and they all have interesting, complex multi-layered meanings, but Gye Nyame is one of the most common, and it’s a good one. It means “Except God”, or in other words, “I will fear nothing except God”. It also encompasses a whole worldview that includes ladders, the living, the unborn and the ancestors, but nowadays you’ll find it everywhere in Ghana. It’s in churches, on altars, on pillows, on business signs, on the 50^th anniversary of Ghana logo. It pervades everything, and I think that some versions of it are remarkably pretty. I appreciate the fact that it can be stylized in many ways, and I usually draw it at the top of my daily journal every time I write. I try to use it to keep my priorities straight.

Anyway, that’s it for the day :) We’re going to Volta region this weekend to see waterfalls, climb mountains, and do many other hopefully exciting, crazy things. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. I love you all so much! Thanks for caring!

Love again,

Rachel Rose

Some different impressions I'm getting ;)

Greetings, beloved family and friends!

Life has been good since last I wrote. It’s Passion week on the Christian calendar, and therefore tons of Ghanaians are busy. Churches are extremely active at this time, and most kids are off from school (though we only get the latter half of Good Friday and all of Easter Monday off). This is part of a six week break for primary school kids, and my brother Paa Kweku is also home, which is nice. He and I get along well.

In response to earlier things and comments: yes, Tristan sent me that music :) I think that families sometimes name their pets in Ghana, but not always. I think that one of Giftie’s dogs is named Patience, but the second one (the one in the picture) was one of Patience’s puppies. Giftie never intended to keep her, so that dog never got a name. She says it’s harder to get rid of female dogs because of the possibility of them having puppies. Spaying dogs is expensive.

The most pressing thought at the moment is that the power situation in Ghana is ill-managed. The electricity is run by the government, and it’s very cheap, but goodness gracious I find the current circumstances ridiculous. Part of the issue is that there’s still not enough power because there’s not enough water behind the dam. THE dam. The Akosombo dam, on the Volta river, that as best as I understand it supplies power for the whole country. Apparently two generators are also running at the moment, just because. If the water level behind the dam sinks another two feet, then there won’t be power at all. Recently, the dam has been losing water at a rate of 1 foot every two weeks, and this even with power sharing. Even in this state the dam is barely operational.

However, none of this is a problem for me. In fact, I could entirely go without power if necessary. It’s current main functions in my life are keeping me cooler, allowing me to stay up later, and allowing me to communicate through this travel log and my cell phone. These are all luxuries, and I very much understand that. My personal frustration is that the power doesn’t go on or off when it’s supposed to. In fact, recently at least three different schedules for power sharing have been announced, and yet no pattern has emerged from the madness. If I only knew when the power was going off and on, I could arrange to do my work and charge things at that time. But no such luck. I’m currently typing on battery power, so this letter may be somewhat short ;)

However, I have a larger frustration for other people. Interestingly, it’s the radio stations that have the responsibility of announcing these schedules of power sharing, just as they announce pretty much everything else going on in Ghana. Not that I can understand them, because announcements are usually made in local languages and I’m nowhere near that good in Fante, but all the same, radio is big here. It’s an important means of communication because radios *can* operate on batteries, they’re cheaper than televisions, and you don’t have to be literate in English to understand what’s going on. But apparently the radio stations in Accra have to spend 4 million cedis a week on fuel for their generators right now. This equals out to maybe $450, but that’s far more money here than it is at home. Similarly, with an outage schedule that’s running roughly 24 hours on, 12 hours off, all kinds of industries are suffering. The internet café I use is doing alright because they have other investments, but though generators can power their bay stations which channel the signal to the café and other businesses that are their clients, a generator can’t produce enough power to make operating one at the café worthwhile. Also, while they provide internet for some schools and businesses, Ocean View also provides for other internet cafes in the area who don’t have generators, and probably won’t be able to make ends meet during the power shortage. So, this situation is extremely rough on industry and technology-based jobs. This also makes Ghana unattractive for foreign investors, though bringing them in is debatably a rotten idea anyway. More on that later ;)

That said, this affects most Ghanaians very little. Lots of people just don’t have electricity, and most jobs don’t require it. They do occasionally require fuel in some capacity or another (fuel for the oven that bakes bread, fuel for the motors on the fishing boats, fuel for trucks that move vegetables and fish around, etc etc), but not necessarily electricity. So it’s an interesting situation.

Ironically, as I have finished this section, the power just came back on after being off for an hour ;) I wish that there was logic behind it.

In other news, I’m going to Takoradi this weekend to stay with the Dean’s brother (also an Anglican priest) and his wife Ellie. They’re really nice, and have extended a generic invitation to me multiple times. I was planning to go a couple of weeks after Easter, but they specifically asked me to come this weekend, so I’m going. I had expected to stay at the seminary, but maybe I’ve been getting too complacent. Our program actually has a trip planned to the Akosombo dam & the surrounding areas for the next weekend, but it’s true that I haven’t gone out on my own much. I just really like being a homebody, even while I also like traveling.

Another thing that happened this week: I got a quiz back in my Muslim Ethics class. I had felt pretty good about my answers while taking it, but these things are tricky and in such a new context one can never really tell what grades will be like. I was not to be disappointed on that front: I both did fine and was surprised. It happened like this: I came into class right on time, and was greeted by the TA (Teaching Assistant), who was holding a stack of papers and called me to come over. Everybody said “You have done well!” (a favorite Ghanaian phrase). The TA handed me my quiz paper, and I saw that I had received a 15 out of 20. This is 75%. Where I come from, this is bad. Sub-par. But, no, everyone kept congratulating me. The TA said that I had one of the highest grades in the class, and then said that he and the professor had both been very surprised. The professor had not thought I could write so well, and the TA thought I would fail because he never saw me taking notes, but he said this in the most nicely sincere tone that I knew he didn’t mean anything negative by it. In fact, he and the professor had always been nice to me. So it’s interesting first to know what people expected of me and why, and also the way they behave to me along every stage of the way.

A side explanation about note-taking in Ghanaian schools, and then we’ll get back to the issue of expectations: in Ghana, much of the education is done through rote-learning. The kids do a lot of copying from the board and from their few books, and are expected to regurgitate things well. Most lecturers also have a set of carefully written notes, written in full sentences, which they use to teach their classes. They may also do some side explanations, but generally they recite their notes word for word, and the students copy them down word for word. I knew this, but was still amazed the other day when a student asking a question wanted to cite what the professor had said in class, so he read at least a full paragraph from his notes that was verbatim what we had heard in class. Unfortunately, this does not mean that Ghanaian students write faster than anyone else, so it often takes an excruciatingly long time to cover something in class – sometimes because the professors will interrupt themselves to explain, the students get lost in the official notes, or the professors will go much faster than the students can actually write and are therefore obliged to start from the beginning yet again. Personally, I can’t handle that kind of note-taking. I know that Ghanaian students often go back through and reinterpret what their professor was trying to say into more reasonable terms, but I don’t want to write down their words in the first place: they’re often too convoluted. So, I always look like I write less than other people because I wait until the professor has finished saying something, and then I write it down as I understand it, adding on the side my own commentary. This also often makes my notes take up different amounts of space from my colleagues, because they write in paragraphs while I write in lists, add things that aren’t in the official notes but are from the explanations, and sometimes leave things out that I already know. It’s just a very different philosophy on how one should learn.

But anyway, sometimes people’s expectations of me come out in other interesting ways. One common misconception: people rarely initially guess that I’m from the United States. I’m not saying that this is a good or bad thing in any way, it’s simply true. I personally think that I exhibit many markers of my origin: my accent, the way I dress, the way I behave, etc. But though I don’t ever solicit guesses, people often think I’m from the UK or Germany. Possible reasons for this: people from the UK and Germany often come to Ghana. Goodness knows I haven’t met many, but I know they’re around. Also, one Ghanaian said he thought I was German because of my blond hair, and a bank teller thought I was from the UK because I seemed more friendly and open than most Americans. My first thought to that was “Really?” That’s sort of the opposite of what I would have expected, having always heard that US folk have a reputation for being friendly (even presumptuous) whereas UK folk have a reputation for being reserved. Maybe this just isn’t true in Ghana, though. People might also expect me to be from Europe because A) it’s closer, B) the UK and Germany colonized different parts of what is now Ghana, and C) maybe they really can’t tell the different accents apart. I had assumed that this final aspect would be the largest giveaway of my origin, but no. I’m a bit surprised.

Despite this small amount of confusion, however, it’s very clear that I’m a “Westerner”. The glorious thing about that is that no one expects me to be Ghanaian, so when I pull off Ghanaian things (pounding things like fufu, doing well on a quiz) people are amazed and happy. Also, when I do completely strange things, like wear pants that are slightly too short, or say things that are out of the ordinary, no one can tell because I’m already so strange. Because there’s no possible way for me to blend in, in *some* ways I can be far less self-conscious. It’s really nice.

Things people inquire about that they find strange:

1) My bandanas. It may surprise you to learn that I wear them far less frequently here than I do at home. Instead, they often work as sweat rags. But, when I do wear them, people are very curious. They consider it very American, and tell me it looks like a fan.

2) My bracelet. I have had a bracelet on my right wrist since the late July 2006. It’s made from a twisted piece of bandana, and is very important to me because it’s a symbol of solidarity with my summer staff from last year (Joshua Youth Camp, Carolina Cross Connection ’06! :)). People simply ask me about it a lot more here than they do at home, and so I tell them. I think they’re partially curious because I don’t wear anything else resembling jewelry besides a watch, and it stands out all the more because I never take it off.

3) My hair. People are curious about it. I know very little about hair apart from my own, but whereas I always thought that “perming” involved curling, it apparently can also mean permanently straightening. So, several of my friends here are curious about the way my hair works. They all have to perm their hair if they want it to be straight (and SO many of them do. This is cultural discussion topic all on it’s own) so people want to know how I take care of my hair, whether they can touch it, whether it’s naturally this color, etc. I get the impression that it’s difficult for people to imagine blond hair actually growing on a person.

4) My skin color itself. I’ve had one or two conversations with people my age about it, and I’ve had conversations about moles and freckles with my younger sisters here, but mostly this comes up in taxis where I’m sitting next to small children. It’s just not true that kids don’t care at all about skin color. If you take a child who has only seen Africans his or her entire life and then put them next to a white person, one of two things generally occurs: they either want to touch your skin (this is extremely cute), or they get scared and upset because they’ve never seen a creature like you before, and no one has proven to them that you’re ok. So, in either case, I try to make the little one feel as comfortable as possible. Generally we end up being friends for the brief time that we know each other.

I’d like to talk about some interactions involving commodities I brought to Ghana: flashlights, a laptop, an MP3 player, a nice bag. I know that I’m extremely fortunate and privileged to have them. However, it’s interesting to consider the interactions I have surrounding them. Occasionally, my sisters will ask of the flashlights and such “can I have that?”, and people will ask me how much I would sell the laptop or the MP3 player for. To such queries I always reply “I can’t, it was a gift,” and it’s true. Everyone is amazed that I could have received all these things as gifts, and even I know that in some sense it’s crazy, but what can one do? I certainly like and appreciate these things, and in addition to the fact that I don’t want to part with them, I really dislike the idea of giving or selling gifts I’ve received. I can’t even tell people how much they’re worth, because I’m not great at estimating costs and I’d rather not even try to figure such things concerning gifts. But people often want to know. It feels odd to me that I can so easily use their status as “gifts” for excuses, but at the same time it reminds me of how truly fortunate I’ve been. The one other thing that people have asked after is my watch, which is nothing glorious, but simply has an interesting design. I simply don’t part with that because I need it and like it, and because watches aren’t hard to get here.

Another thing I’ve been thinking about a lot: important words and phrases in the Fante language. I’ve been thinking about them because I wish we were taught this vocabulary earlier and more thoroughly ;) but anyway, one major thing is the issue of coming and going. Here are some examples of things that are said all the time:

Meriba- I am coming
Moroko- I am going. Ex: Moroko asur (church), moroko skuul (school), moroko fie (home)
Eroko hen?- Where are you going?
Bra- Come.
Kobra (or) Ko na bra- Go and then come
Akoaba/ “Awaaba” – You have gone and come back/ welcome
Yebehyia- We shall meet

In this culture, you need to announce that you’re leaving. However, this allows for more polite forms of saying “I feel like leaving now” than the English language usually does. Also, whenever someone calls for you, you’re expected to come. Usually older people call younger people, but not always. People will often say “bra” if you give an indication that you understand them, because they want you to come and talk. But it’s such a conventional thing that it’s very simple and straightforward. People also always acknowledge that you’re leaving. The thing about Akoaba/Akwaaba is that it’s translated into English as “you are welcome”, and that’s how it functions, but it means “You have gone and come back”. Because of a general belief in reincarnation, no one is considered truly a stranger. You might have known them in a previous life, or they might have been here before in a previous life, and even beyond that you want to make them feel included – so you say “Akoaba”. It’s taken me awhile to be able to say this, because I feel strange welcoming people into a home that is only sort of mine, but I think that I should welcome people more, so it’s coming along. As for “Eroko hen?”, people always want to know where you’re going. It’s particularly useful around taxis, but I hear it all the time elsewhere too. Yebehyia (pronounced “yeh Beh shia”) is just one of those handy things you can say that will tickle people to death, because Ghanaians say it to each other, but don’t expect foreigners to learn it. Okyena (pronounced “o Chen a”) meaning “tomorrow” is much the same. Similarly, there are advanced ways of asking and responding to the question “how are you” that people will ask all the time, and will be happy if you answer correctly.

Forms of “How are you?” from most simple to most culturally specific
Otse den? – How is it?
Apow mue? – how is your health/are you strong?
Wo ho tse den? – How is your body?
Woho yie a? – Are you ok? (you must answer “yes” or “I am good”)

Forms of “I’m ok” from most simple to most culturally specific
Bokoo- Cool
Moho yie- I am good
Moho yie paa- I am very good/ strong
Nyame n’adom- God’s grace/ by the grace of God, I am fine

I apologize if I’ve said some of this before, but hopefully now at least it’s more fleshed-out :)

Anyway, that’s it for this week… Maybe next week I’ll get to taxis. As I knew I would, I owe them a partial apology, and now I know enough to make an informed on along with a thorough explanation of how they work ;) I also really need to explain names (like Giftie :) what people’s names mean, how and why they’re given), and many other things, like Gye Nyame. Don’t worry, there’s a list, but even if I lost it I don’t think I could run out of things to say. Sometimes I just have to be careful of the frame of mind in which I say them ;) So, thanks for thinking of me and praying for me. Thanks for listening, and thanks for caring. I’ll talk to you soon, and I love you all!

Again, love,

Rachel Rose