The Way Things Change...or Not

I am back in Iowa City, back in classes. It is wonderful, in a way, to be back in a familiar environment. But I'm starting to feel as though I should be more different than it seems I am. I slipped painlessly back into my life here and at home in Chicago. There were some twinges, but nothing of any magnitude. There was some sense of being out of place, of being somewhere physically but not mentally, but not as much as I thought there might be. I almost feel as though I wasn't changed enough by Ghana. I'm still the same person I was before I left, albeit with more experience, more perspective. But this trip to Africa (Oh, romantic notion!) was not the catalyst of change that seems so common in stories like this. I think that is what I am having the most difficulty with--how ordinary everything seems, how normal. I feel like everything about me should be different. But it's not. I'm the same person I was when I left. Or at least a good facsimile of me. That is what feels most unreal about the whole experience to me. I was ready for change. I wasn't ready to stay the same.

The End is Nigh

In exactly one week, I will be back in Chicago, and this strange and wonderful adventure will be over. I am wrapping up my academic business; I have one final and one paper remaining. My big suitcase is sitting, half-packed, at the end of my bed.
I came across this quote on 3quarksdaily (my new favorite thing):

We have not even to risk the adventure alone, for the heroes of all time have gone before us - the labyrinth is thoroughly known. We have only to follow the thread of the hero path, and where we had thought to find an abomination, we shall find a god; where we had thought to slay another, we shall slay ourselves; where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to the center of our own existence. And where we had thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world."

          Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces

I think that, using this quote as a framework, I might manage to produce an interesting interpretation of my time here.
But I won't.
Not yet.
I think that I need to take some time to digest. And to reacclimate myself to America, to home.
I think that this might prove more difficult than I am now anticipating.
What has it really meant to me, to remove myself from familiar surroundings and try to live and learn on another continent?
My mother spent a semester in Strasbourg, in France, her junior year of college. She still talks about it. Will that be me in forty years? I wonder.
There have been ups and downs, ins and outs, to the past few months. But it is difficult to see the effect this has had on me while still in close proximity to the agent of change.
So, I'll wait.
I won't declare this blog complete, because I don't know if this experience will ever truly cease to affect me.
But, for now, adieu.

PS: I will be continuing my regular blog 'In Which Hannah Attends the University of Iowa,' which is mostly dedicated to my experience as an English major in a UNESCO city of Literature. Lots of poetry, a bit about classes, a smidge of politics, basically what I wrote about for this blog, but in Iowa City.

Oh, Malaria... or, In Which I am a Bit Catty

I had a bit of an argument with one of the girls on my floor yesterday. Her name is Julia; she is a pre-med student from West Virginia (which just makes me a little bit wary, irregardless of her personality). She rather casually mentioned, as we were discussing our just-finished history exam, that she stopped taking malaria prophylactics about a month after we got here. I couldn't believe my ears. Why in the world would anyone risk getting sick, when prevention is so easy? And she actually did get sick, about a month ago. She got, wait for it.... MALARIA! I never would have guessed *insert sarcastic surprised face here*. She was out of school for a week and felt awful. But then she started talking about how she was actually glad that she had gotten sick. She got to see what people here experience instead of the flu or a winter cold (not that the flu and the common cold don't exist here; they do, malaria just occupies their place in the average Ghanaian's life). She started going on and on about the wording of the Hippocratic Oath...Something about breathing the air that your patients breathe (Side note: I just looked up the traditional Hippocratic Oath and the more modern Declaration of Geneva, which is based on the Hippocratic Oath but modified for modern use, and there is nothing about breathing at all--the doctor's air or the patients'.). She laughed at me for taking my doctor's instructions very, very seriously, even arguing that the prophylactics do more harm to the liver than good in preventing malaria. I was very skeptical of this. She said, grinning at me all the while, that malaria isn't all that dangerous as long as you treat it right away. She was making some rather gross assumptions, inducing: the assumption that everyone knows what malaria feels like, the assumption that malaria presents easily identifiable symptoms,. that the symptoms of malaria are the same for everyone, that everyone is as aware of their bodies as she apparently is, and finally, that she knows better than all of the doctors who prescribed malaria prophylactics as an undergraduate pre-med student. I think that she was full of it. Even if malaria isn't the proverbial  boogeyman of the tropics (and need I remind anyone that West Africa was known as the 'white man's grave' during European colonial rule, before malaria prophylactics were introduced, for a reason?), it is still a serious health risk. My roommate's mother was in the hospital last month for untreated malaria. And she has lived in Ghana all her life and has had malaria before. I really bothers me that Julia was so dismissive of my concern for her health--and for my own. I have not missed a single dose of my malaria prophylaxis since I started taking them in January, and I do not intend to stop now, no matter what she says. I will conclude this rant by adding that Julia also said that she has been drinking tap water here, on occasion. I wish her luck with that, but I wash my hand of anything that may come of it. I think that it is incredibly reckless of her to take risks like that. A few biology classes do not make pre-med students invincible.

We Match! (But that might not be a good thing...)

So, Caitlyn and I got our dresses back from the seamstress... And they are rather adorable! Maybe too adorable? I get the very unsettling feeling that we look a bit like sisters whose mother insists that they wear matching clothes...oh, or those big family trips where everyone wears matching t-shirts. But these dresses are too pretty to be tacky. Still, it's a good thing (for the dresses, at least) that soon Caitlyn and I will be two thousand miles apart. But we're going to wear them to the farewell dinner tomorrow, just so that we get pictures... or more pictures, that is.
It is surprisingly easy to have clothes made here. There are, literally, seamstresses everywhere. A few have even come knocking on doors in the student hostels.I have, thus far, had five dresses made for me and two skirts. I particularly like the one in the picture (it just screams 50s to me) and a wrap dress that is an aqua greenish color with bold splashes of color: golden yellow flowers, red leaves and purple swirls. More pictures of all later...

A Day with Elephants

One of the things that I promised myself when I decided that I wanted to go to Africa was that I would not allow myself to buy into stereotypical tourist activities--like safaris. Then I read about Mole National Park in the Northern Region of Ghana. My guidebook calls Mole the unsung safari destination. Not only is it much less expensive than better-known destinations like Kenya or South Africa, it also offers a unique opportunity, one found nowhere else in Africa: in Mole, it is possible to get close to elephants, really close. I could probably do without the typical lions and cheetahs of traditional safaris. I probably will do without them, because who knows when I will get the chance to come back to Africa. But the opportunity to see elephants up close was irresistible. And I did get close--probably within fifteen feet. On a morning safari walk, we encountered a group of six elephants, five adults and an child, and followed them to the watering hole near the park hotel. They spent the day swimming and eating, and I spent the day watching them, first from the opposite shore of the watering hole, then from the observation balcony at the hotel. The whole thing was a magical experience: a day with elephants. A day with kind giants.

A Glimpse of Winneba and the Aboakyir Festival...

Irritibility and Irresistibility

I have had a very frustrating day. Perhaps the most frustrating day of my time here thus far. It seems as though everything today is late--late or missing altogether. I had a make-up class scheduled for 8 am. The majority of the students did not begin to appear until 8:30. I mentioned this to my roommate, and she brushed it off, saying that Ghanaians have a different conception of time than Americans do--than I do. It just seems so disrespectful to me. It is a waste of the professor's time. And my time. I am trying to remind myself to moderate my frustration. I am in a foreign country. There are bound to be differences. But this is just ingrained in my psyche. It is common courtesy. You show up for class prepared and on time, or you should not even bother. To make matters worse, I had a meeting scheduled with one of my professors for this afternoon, and he didn't show. He wasn't in his office and none of the department office staff knew anything.
I am actually surprised that I haven't had a day like this before this. Maybe I have and it just hasn't upset me as much as today has.
On a brighter note, Caitlyn and I went to see a seamstress today. We went to Medina on Saturday, the large open market near campus. We were able to find two patterns that suit both of us. We wanted to buy GTP, the Ghanaian brand of cloth. It is rather expensive--relative to everything else that is available here, that is (the only kind of cloth that is more expensive are the really beautiful Dutch wax prints)--and is only sold in six yard pieces. Six yards is a bit too much for one person, but it is a perfect length to split between two people! Both pieces are blue. But one is a pale blue, almost sea-foam, with rust red flowers and arabesques. It is feminine and lovely. The other is a bright pattern of birds and trees in cerulean, hot pink, and purple; I was drawn to it from across the room. It is playful and beautiful. The cloth made here is all so beautiful. I picked a lovely, low-back pattern for the light blue and an empire-waist halter dress for the bright blue. I'll post pictures when I get them back!

A News Update...

So, some updates:

1. The American in the room next to mine has cholera. Lovely!
2. The water in my building has been out for a week.
3. The strike is over, but, so far, there will not be any changes in the finals schedule, despite the 2½ weeks of missed class. 
4.  My roommate’s mother has been in the hospital for several weeks. She is so stressed; I wish that I could help her somehow.
5. There is a lizard trapped in my room. I can’t figure out how to encourage it to leave…

Yeah. I am ready to come home. Home to water that does not shut off. Home to reliable wifi. But, as I have only five weeks left in Ghana, I have suddenly realized that I have so many things left to do! I still have the trip to Winneba for the hunting festival in May. I have to figure out when I can make it up to Mole, the National Park where you can get within twenty meters of elephants! And there are several things in Accra that I still want to see—the National Museum and a market known for its bead selection, for example. And I have to get ready for finals, too! Ach! My perception of time has shifted once again! In February, I had all the time in the world. Now, I have only five weeks. Of course, three of those weeks will be mostly free time, as more time is allotted for finals here. I have two free weeks before my first final. They did give us specific instructions advising us not to travel during finals week…but pretty much everyone is anyway… So much to do and think about in so little time!

The Borrowers

Another thing that I have noticed about Ghana is the seemingly random way in which Ghanaians borrow from other cultures. The most obvious source, of course, is the British. The British controlled Ghana for seventy-three years—some things were bound to rub off. Language is, again, the obvious legacy. But there are other, less sensible remnants of British culture. For example, Ghanaians use the British method of numbering floors. My room number is in the two hundreds but my room is on the third floor! This is one British idiosyncrasy that does not amuse this anglophile. But Ghanaians drive on the right side of the road—both literally and metaphorically—as per the American system. But there does seem to be the general disregard for the rules of the road that is so common outside of the US. I am reminded of the stories my father tells of driving in Peru and of tales of maniacal Italian drivers. Positions and organizations tend to have British-style names and structures. The UG, for example, calls the vast majority of the teachers here lecturers rather than professors. There are also such things as class prefects—by which I am very amused. But there is an underlying tendency here to downplay the Ghanaian relationship with anything British, which makes noticing the changes all the more interesting. There are many other influences on Ghanaian society and culture. The Chinese are a huge new presence in the last decade or so. Everywhere in downtown Accra there are buildings underway—buildings built by Chinese companies, for Chinese companies, with Chinese funding. All of the Asians in my  group are routinely mistaken for Chinese (much to my Cambodian friend’s dismay). There are also lesser cultural influences: Indian, Lebanese, French (from the French colonies on either side of Ghana—Cote d'Ivoire and Togo). Then there are the numerous ethnic groups within Ghana with different traditions. Life in Accra is a mélange of colors, flavors, sounds—from all of the very different people who have made the capitol city their home.

A Bit about Food...

I’ve realized that I have yet to say anything about Ghanaian food. About half of what I eat here could probably be considered Ghanaian; the rest I cook myself or is basic enough—eggs, for example—to be relatively universal. The Ghanaian diet is largely based on different varieties of stew and on rice. The stews are generally served with some form of carbohydrate base—sometimes within the stew itself. Fufu, for example, a typical dish that is served throughout West Africa, consists of a ball of pounded yam and plantain dough served in a soup with some form of protein—fish, chicken, goat. Banku is a fermented maize and cassava meal that is served with a variety of soups and stews. Groundnut, or peanut, soup, is a delicacy here. It is very difficult to prepare correctly. Ghanaians also make soups with spinach, okra, and fish. One of my favorites is a dish called red-red. Red-red is a bean stew that is served with fried plantains and rice.

One thing that bothers me is the selection of fruit available locally. Fruit is plentiful—mangoes, pineapples, bananas, plantains, papaya, watermelon, oranges—but they are not fruits that I particularly enjoy. I am definitely more partial to European fruits than tropical ones (I will readily eat apples, pears, peaches, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, cranberries, cherries, etc.). I find myself surviving on dried fruit imported from South Africa—apricots, apples, raisins.

There are other dishes that are common but not necessarily local—fried rice, spring rolls, baked beans, chips (French fries), tomatoes, avocadoes, pasta. Jollof rice, rice and vegetables with a tomato sauce, is everywhere. Waakye, the local rice and beans, is even considered traditional—even though rice is a relatively new thing in West Africa.

In general, food here is filling and tasty but not particularly varied. I started craving Thai, Mexican, Indian, almost as soon as I got here. My arrival back in the states will probably be followed by an extensive gastronomic tour of Chicago’s widely varied and delicious cuisine!

Strike!

The lecturers at UG are on strike. Apparently they are not getting paid. In general, this would be a very bad thing. Everyone deserves to be paid--and paid a fair wage--for the work they do. But this is very inconvenient for me. I am torn between their right to strike and my own concerns. I really have no idea what it will mean for international students if the strike goes on much longer. They have to give us some sort of credit for being here. We pay for it, after all--unlike the Ghanaian students. I can't stay longer, if they end up extending the semester. I have to be in Iowa in June.
So, what to do? I have no idea.
I think that, generally, professors are highly under-appreciated. They do a lot more work than most people give them credit for--with research and publishing and teaching. It is very difficult to carve out a career in academia. But there are professors who manage to inspire students and to be rigorous scholars. Although, I think that it must be easier for people in the humanities--the very root of the word implies that human interaction is required. And if I ever end up teaching at the university level, I hope I am appreciated for what I do. I hope that I am appreciated no matter what I do.
So, yes, a strike. I'll write more when I know more...

Tressie, Taylor and Caitlyn on one our first days at the university...such beautiful colonial architecture!

For My Mother, Pictures

The Ghanaian version of the bat cave...

A

Kente, kente, kente...

And more kente...

Making Adinkra dye...

And Adinkra symbols...

Our very mature tour guide, Joe...

And Ada Foah... huts on the beach....

A little bit of paradise...

In Which I Drink Coffee

I’m sitting in my first coffee shop since I left home. There are a few coffee shops in Accra, in the areas that cater to wealthy Ghanaians and Westerns—Oxford Street in Osu. But coffee is not a big thing here, much to my chagrin. Most of what they do have here is instant coffee, which is definitely not my favorite. But I found a coffee shop in somewhat close proximity to campus. It is across the highway from the International Programs Office, so I have to go a bit out of my way to get there. But I think it’s worth it. The coffee shop is attached to a grocery store that carries mostly American and British products. It is interesting to see what the various supermarkets in Accra carry; their inventory reveals a lot about who owns them. Shoprite is a South African chain. It was a bit surreal to see one here, as I’ve only ever read about them in South African novels. Things there are generally produced in South Africa or in India and the rest of South Asia. I take an unholy amount of pleasure in determining where the different brands of cookies and processed goods come from. There is also a supermarket in Marina Mall near the Accra airport. It is obviously owned and managed by someone from Lebanon. I have encountered several Lebanese expats in Accra, but the really telling thing is the fact that the Lebanese supermarket carries French products as well as Middle Eastern. 

Shopping at supermarkets is a very "obruni," or white person, thing to do. But I don't really know how to go to an open market to shop--especially if I am expected to bargain. Going to the Evanston Farmer's Market could hardly have prepared me for the open markets--Medina in Legon or Makola in Accra. But I know supermarkets. And it is comforting to shop in a familiar setting.