3:05PM, on a Monday

11.22.09
Saturday dawned bright and early for me. I had to meet everyone with ProGhana for our trip to Elmina, a town about 15 minutes away, at 9AM. Steve, Zach and I met on time but Lawrence was running about 40 minutes late. I have learned that Ghana (and, I am told, Africa in general) runs on a very different, relaxed sense of time. It is both common and generally acceptable for people to be tardy by a good hour or more. Anyway we finally got to Elmina for our tour of St. George’s Castle a little after 10AM. Promptly upon opening the taxi door, we were swarmed by hawkers trying to sell us beaded jewelry and other knick-knacks. They asked each of us our names, including spelling. Steve, who has visited Elmina twice already, warned us to lie about our names and origins. I became Stephanie from Saskatchewan and refused to buy anything. After a good heckling, we entered St. George’s and began the tour with a group made up mostly of European tourists. (I have encountered very, very few Americans here – Brits, Scandinavians, and Australians are much more common.)


This building is the Portuguese Church. St. George’s was established by the Portuguese in 1482 as a trading post, but as the slave trade proved to be most lucrative, this became the castle's function. It was later taken by the Dutch who also used it in the international slave trade. After Great Britain abolished the slave trade in the early 1800s, the Dutch sold the castle to them for use as a military base. Anyway, when the Protestant Dutch took over from the Catholic Portuguese, the tower which used to sit atop the church was razed and the building was thereafter used, in some combination, as a trade center and as further space for soldiers to meet, drink and eat. Today it is a small museum dedicated to Elmina’s past and present.


This is the administrative portion of the castle directly across from the Portuguese Church. Between them lies a large, open square flanked by imposing castle walls on each side.



Signs for the male and female slave dungeons.


The passageway to the female cell block as well as to the point of entry for newly captured slaves.


A low, narrow door at the top of a steep staircase (now barred for tourists' safety). The boats of slaves would anchor at the base of the stairs and they would be forced up into the castle single-file. The transport of slaves was always conducted single-file to reduce the risk of escape.


This is the first female cell we visited. It smelled dank and musty. I am sure it smelled a whole lot worse packed with a hundred unwashed women forced to relieve themselves in corners, not to mention the odors of disease and death when their health failed.


This is a well in an open courtyard, surrounded on three sides by cells for female slaves. The fourth side is the back wall of the administrative section.


Soldier’s quarters above the cells.


This is an overpass famous for its use by the governor. Dutch women were generally not present at St. George’s, so the governor picked a hapless female slave to satisfy him. The women were brought into the courtyard and the governor, standing on the overpass, would choose one. Soldiers would wash her with water from the aforementioned well, then force her up a rickety ladder (pictured below) and through a trapdoor to the governor’s quarters.





Another female cell, followed by a window between this cell and the neighboring room. The window was installed to give the cell some ventilation. How humanitarian, right? Unfortunately, the adjoining room to which the cell was thereby connected happened to be the room for ammunition storage. The sulfuric fumes from the ammunition would waft into the women’s cell, poisoning and ultimately killing many.


This ominous-looking door led to a cell for soldiers who were victims of various epidemics. To save the other inhabitants, sick soldiers and those believed to have been exposed to disease were locked in this cell and left to die (thus the skull and crossbones).


The door to an adjacent room used as an isolation cell for unruly soldiers.


Our tour group filing through the passage to where boats would have been waiting to ship the slaves to wherever they had been sold.


The other side of the passage. As you can see, the doorways were miniaturized to force single-file passage.


The narrow doorway called the Door of No Return. This was the slaves’ final exit point from the castle.


Next to the quarantine cell, this structure (and its twin on the other side of the square) was built in the castle’s later years to buttress its walls. When the British began using the castle as a training ground for soldiers (many Africans were sent to fight in World War II for the Allies), railings were installed to condition the men with climbing drills. This little boy would have gone all the way to the top if our tour guide had let him.




More views of the castle’s interior.



Ancient cannons.




Ocean views from St. George’s.



Views of Elmina from the castle.

After we exited the castle, the hawkers magically reappeared, running towards us and calling our (fake) names. We were each presented with a shell inscribed with a Fante verse as well as the names we had provided. The hawkers insisted the shells were free, but Steve had already told us the truth. They will give you the shell, then demand you make a donation to their “soccer league” which you can be sure does not exist. They will show you the donation record, each made-up entry boasting no less than 20 cedis. If you do not consent to donate, or at the very least to buy their trinkets, they will verbally assault you until you manage to escape. Steve and I wisely refused our shells, but Zach got suckered into taking his (addressed to “Chris”) along with a few items of beaded jewelry.

After Elmina, we spend the rest of the afternoon at Anamabo, relaxing on the beach shaded by palm trees and playing in the ocean. My camera battery ran out of power or I would have pictures of a gorgeous sunset over the water for you. Next time!

2:39PM, on a Monday

11.22.09
I have a lot of pictures today that require some explanation, so I’ll intersperse them as I go in two separate entries. Before we get started, I wanted to give you an example of the little brushfires I mentioned:


Free from Symi on Friday (11.20.09), I asked Lawrence to take me to an orphanage for a look around at how orphans and vulnerable children (hereafter referred to as OVC) live. First, we went for a quick visit at the school Lawrence sponsors. All the schools in Ghana are private, requiring uniforms and tuition. Enrollment is unrestricted by proximity; parents send their children to the best school that the family can afford (which, I would imagine, contributes in some way to the perpetuation of the poverty cycle). Anyway, here are the pictures from the school visit:


This is a typical landfill, located about 100 yards from the school. It reeks.


Bathrooms at the school. I also saw a few buckets scattered about that are used by the children for the same purpose. They were flies EVERYWHERE, being kicked up into swirling clouds as we walked.





These are several classrooms in the school, which has two levels. The younger children (ages 2-6) are on the lower level, with the older children (ages 7-10) upstairs.


Some teachers studying. Many of the teachers the school employs have only secondary (high school) education themselves; the school sponsors their tertiary (university) education which they complete by correspondence. The headmaster himself is only 25 and is still working on his university degree.


Me!


An example of Ghanaian women’s skills of balancing anything on their heads. Unfortunately I think this particular bucket was also one of the makeshift toilets…


A Michigan State banner in the headmaster’s office.


Notebooks typical of Ghanaian schools at all levels.


The basic schedule for the children, divided by age groups into grades.


Lunch menu with typical Ghanaian dishes.


The wee ones! These were so adorable; they crowded around me with wide eyes and huge smiles and reached for my hands, all the while saying “Obruni, obruni!” I had about ten children on each hand by the time Lawrence pulled me away.


A baby girl learning colors in English. SO CUTE.

After the school visit, Lawrence and I proceeded to the orphanage. These are pictures I took along the way:


A typical Ghanaian obituary. When someone dies, the body is embalmed and stowed away somewhere (I am not exactly cleared on the details). Weeks later, obituaries are released in the form of posters to be plastered randomly throughout the community, celebrating the person’s life in pictures and biographic essays. Funerals are generally held 1-2 months after death.


Bananas growing by the side of the road.


A good example of the open sewers that line most of the roads here.

I wasn’t able to take any pictures at the orphanage because the proprietor, a serene elderly woman named Nancy Arkorful, discovered long ago that many visitors just come to take pictures and never return or provide assistance. I will be able to take pictures once I have proven myself as a contributor to their cause. The orphanage, called Human Service Trust or HST, houses 11 OVC who are all girls in order to prevent any sexual abuse. The girls sleep in two rooms crammed with three sets of bunkbeds each, with no room for anything else but a couple of bookshelves lined with the hampers that contain their clothes. There is a small “kitchen” where the girls eat, but the cooking is done outside on crude grills under a donated tent. They share one toilet, one sink and one shower among them. Upstairs is a storage room for food, supplies and the occasional holiday party. The building, while clean and well-kempt, is severely pressed for both space and furnishings. In addition to the 11 residents, HST looks after another 39 OVC who reside in the community with relatives but need extra support due to their families’ absolute poverty. When not in school, these OVC spend most of their time at the orphanage where Nancy gives them whatever she can spare. She also orchestrates community outreach programs with the aid of peer educators (local volunteers) to teach youth and their families about pertinent topics such as teen pregnancy, various health issues, abuse, and more.

I spent the morning with Nancy and (I think) her daughter, also named Nancy. I asked them to show me everything from the children’s files to the 2008 budget to the plans they have for a new facility. Then we discussed their most pressing needs:

1. Food. HST used to receive donations of and support for food, particularly fruit, from the Catholic Relief Service. The aid was bound up in a contract that this agency had with the Ghanaian government, which has expired and is not expected to be renewed. Now, HST can hardly afford to feed its own residents, much less support the nonresidential OVC when it comes to food.

2. New Facility Costs. HST has purchased a large tract of land where they hope to build a second facility to house more residents as well as a school of their own and a playground. They have managed to pay off half of the debt owed, but need a further 6000 cedis (about $4000-$4200 USD, depending on the current exchange rate). They also need a tractor to clear the land, support to employ a building supervisor and crew, and materials and furnishings.

3. Printer/Copier/Scanner: Such administrative services are readily available but rather expensive here. They had a machine donated to them, but it is now broken beyond repair, severely hampering all their efforts at essential correspondence.

Lastly, they also desperately need help developing a website, in which I have no experience but will try to find someone who does. I promised I would investigate sources for donations, either in-kind or cash, and report back next week. HST can’t afford internet access to search for grants on its own, so I am going to try to spend a day each week researching and writing for them. Please let me know if any of you have leads on these issues for me!

So that was Friday. Saturday was another big day, so I’ll break off now into the next entry.

3:45PM, on a Thursday

11.17.09
Despite all my best efforts, I managed to eat or drink something disagreeable yesterday that had me in a wretched state of digestive sickness for a good 10+ hours last night. Once my host family discovered my condition, they were as supportive and helpful as my own parents would have been – asking to take me to the hospital or at least bring me some medicine, making up an oral rehydration solution for me, bringing me tea and toast, etc. In addition, Lawrence called to check on me, as did Sally, Steve and Victoria (who also came to see me before she went on her way to Symi). It’s doubly awful to be sick when you are away from home, but it was very touching to have so many people concerned about me. I consider the showing of support indicative of the value they place on family and community here. On a happier note, Fred’s aunt (who I visited in the hospital) has recovered limited mobility on her right side and has been released from the hospital. She continues to improve.

Here are some more notes about differences in Ghanaian culture and living, since I have been told my observations on these are interesting to read.

Home Décor: I don’t know if this is common to most Ghanaian families, but mine has a penchant for fake flowers. I counted 20 bouquets in the living room alone, a space no more than 10’ by 12’. I have also seen a number of shops devoted entirely to the sale of fake flowers, which leads me to suspect its widespread popularity. As far as furniture goes, much of it looks old and worn (particularly living room sets) but is perfectly serviceable. Spring mattresses don’t seem to exist, just foam. Most interiors look very dated and mismatched to me, mixing the fashions of each decade from the 1950s through the 1980s.

Crime: The most prevalent form of crime in this area seems to be theft. Steve told me that the building next to Symi was broken into last night via the roof, and a large number of computers, along with 4000 cedis in a safe, were lifted by the thieves. Lawrence told us they are much more likely to be killed upon capture rather than subjected to judicial processes, the reason being that most thieves in Ghana are armed and ready to kill anyone who stands in the way of their heists. Thus, immediate annihilation is considered an appropriate consequence for such (assumed) would-be killers. As a side note, I have never felt unsafe here in any way, nor have I ever heard as much as a street-fight.

Language and Greetings: I have had 3 Fante lessons now and am coming along pretty well. Some of the constructions are terribly lengthy though. For example, the month of May in Fante is Esusɔwaketseaba (pronounced ay-soo-saw-wah-keht-say-ah-bah), and the number 38,000 is mpemeduesaebiasa (m-pay-may-doo-ay-sah-ay-bee-ah-sah). Subject-verb agreement is also very difficult. There are 4 different ways to say “I” – me, mi, mu, and mo, depending on the last vowel in the verb you are trying to conjugate. And of course, there are arbitrary exceptions to the rules (what language is complete without that?).

People here try to stop me on the street any way they can from yelling “White lady!” (never meant to be offensive, simply a statement of fact) to touching my arm to following me down the street until I answer or they give up. Often it is someone trying to sell me something (all white people are generally viewed as “rich” and targeted in the markets), sometimes it is a man trying to get a date or phone number, and on occasion it is someone who is simply interested in where I come from and what I am doing here. I am told it is just the friendly nature of Africans to approach strangers, even if there is a good chance they will never meet again. I am probably considered rude for not responding, but I can only stop my progress so many times… Sometimes when I do talk to someone, they will continue to speak Fante to me no matter how many times and ways I try to indicate my ignorance of the language. They LOVE when you speak a little Fante to them though, even if all you can say is thank you.

Noise and Smells: I have to admit, these are two of my least favorite things about Ghana so far. I wake up at about 8AM every day to the sound of drumming, which lasts for 20-30 minutes. I think it comes from a neighboring church (the church density here outshines even Wheaton). Throughout the day and often into the night, I hear the sounds of roosters and sheep, buzzsaws and hammers, incessant car horns, crying babies, playing children, people calling to one another down the street, and of course, intermittent drumming. Also, the more evangelical/revivalist preachers enjoy taking to the streets with elaborate speaker systems and hooking themselves up to a microphone to “spread the word” at ear-shattering decibels for literally hours on end, starting as early as 5AM and continuing as late as 10PM. Occasionally a car similarly decked out with enormous speakers will inch down the street at about 2MPH, blaring African music that I assume has something to do with Jesus, as most music here does. Needless to say, they do not have noise ordinances in Cape Coast. Yet no one seems bothered by the constant ruckus, which I think is just another part of what they consider to be community.

As for the smells, the open sewers always provide a faint aroma of human waste that the nose adjusts to surprisingly quickly, but I still experience bouts of nausea when I pass a particularly pungent area. The odors of livestock are not so prominent in town but are more noticeable around Symi, where a host of goats, sheep, chickens, roosters, cats and dogs roam freely. The car fumes are terribly noxious whether you are inside or outside of them. But the worst has to be the burning – mostly trash, sometimes just the grass. I see little fires by the roadside all the time, with no one appearing to be in attendance (although I have been assured this is not the case). A couple times now, though, I have endured absolutely enormous fires belching smoke over the town, covering everything in a suffocating haze. Unfortunately, my house lacks air conditioning, and open windows (that are engineered to never fully close) are the only means of ventilation, so my room is often briefly perfumed with the smell of trash ablaze.

Lastly, here are a few more photos I have taken, top to bottom. I have made them a little bigger this time:
Kitchen
Dried (?) Fish
Kitchen
Hallway
Bathroom (tub out of sight to the left)
Eating Area
Living Room
Living Room
Home Décor
Patio
Entrance to Property
Cattle on Main Street
Cattle on Main Street