Sept. 11, 2007, Evening- Trials & Tribulations of Vacation Volunteers

 

Sonjelle insisted that I nap and I felt a little better when I woke up.  The afternoon was pretty standard- we sent a few of the kids to the market for some things and did a little tutoring until bedtime- but by the time they were all in bed I felt brain-dead.

All three of us are brain-dead.  Sonjelle suggested a trip to the Internet café then “Maxi Spot” (spot means bar, chop means restaurant).  Mauwli met up with us at the spot, and a girl Sonjelle had met the night before stopped by.  A nurse from the hospital.  It was hard to tell how old she was.  Barely into her twenties at most.  Her hair was either a really great wig or really expensive extensions.  It was straight and silky black.  She wore tasteful makeup, and a not-so-tasteful tight dress.  She was chatty and seemed personable, so I asked her to come by the house to talk to the kids about her education and experience.  She agreed to come on Sunday afternoon, and told us we are invited at her house.  A few minutes later a huge, shiny black SUV rolled up to the bar and a tall middle-aged man with a basketball-shaped belly stepped out wearing a fancy blue and white print cloth wrapped expertly around his body.  The nurse excused herself and made a bee-line for the guy. 

I gawked at the sparkling Ford Expedition.  It’s not liked I hadn’t seen one before.  They’re all over the place at home.  Then I realized why it looked so funny.  It was parked on a shoddily paved road (the one paved road in town) next to a rusty bike and some men who weren’t wearing any shoes.  Plus it was almost as big as the Maxi Spot itself. 

My bar-mates explained to me that this dude is the richest dude in town (as if I couldn’t have come to that conclusion myself), and rumor has it our nurse friend is on the prowl for him.  She’s spent a few nights with him already, and is hoping to marry up.  Mauwli told me that she was just being polite earlier, saying she’d come to the home, and inviting us to her place is a nice customary thing to do even though she didn’t mean it. 

He saw my disappointment, so he started telling us what a great idea it is.  He brought up the point that it’s also a great way to empower the presenter, and build up their sense of self-worth.  We’re still not sure that this is the most important thing we can be doing for the home—it’s just what we can do now.

Big Stars in hand, we launched into a brainstorming rant, barely knowing where to begin.  Edem seems to keep the kitchen stocked, and the kids have their medicine and a roof over their heads.  We have no idea how long the money will last, or how much money there actually is.  Sonjelle says that Joy, the 22 year old nursing student who helped Edem get this off the ground, is trying to figure out the fundraising.  I guess they got a $10,000 grant from MTV’s Staying Alive Foundation.  I have no concept of how long that will last here, and of course, not having seen the grant, we don’t know exactly what that pays for.  And then there are the day to day worries.  Joy’s not here.  Edem isn’t here.  Not really.  Maybe that’s just because he has us volunteers at the moment so he can take care of other things (what other things, we have no idea) until we’re gone.  It doesn’t feel like there is consistency for the kids.  How do we make that happen?  At the very least we should make a schedule.  There wasn’t really a schedule when we got here.  We can make it, but will it continue after we’re gone?  Did someone set up rules and schedules before we got here, all for nothing also?  And that’s just the beginning of their day to day wellbeing.  These kids need someone to be thinking about their futures, too.  They’ll need to be prepared and have the money to go to college or learn a trade.  And they need to feel loved.  All of this needs to happen when we’re not here.  We went around and around from big picture organizational issues like accounting and record keeping and international fundraising, to long-term childcare issues like ARV meds and adulthood, to immediate issues like consistency, education, food, security, and love.  And how do a bunch of vacation volunteers fit in to this without emotionally scaring these beautiful children who have already been through enough?

Although John was just as overwhelmed as the two of us, he reminded us of “small small.”  He suggested we implement “house meetings” every night and try to set up a few “career day” presentations.  Then we write out a schedule and “volunteer responsibilities” for future volunteers, which Sonjelle had already started.  Small small.

Just as we started to feel as though things were manageable, a new yavo who looked and dressed European but sounded American, wandered over to Maxi Spot and Sonjelle invited him to join us.  Sam is teaching for two months and today was his first day of school.  He was given the textbook (a student copy, since they don’t have teacher copies) as he walked into the classroom.  It turned out he was the new sex-ed teacher and the text was, as most texts are, distributed by the government.  The book was absolutely ridiculous.  It said that in order to eschew HIV/AIDS you should “avoid deep kissing” and that every adolescent must shave their pubic hair.  And, last but not least, don’t share bread.  There were even graphics of not sharing bread.  The outrageous falsities went on and on.

My head started spinning again.  What a mess.  What can we do?  What is being done already about this?  Their government issued this?  Who do I email my concerns to?  Does Condoleezza Rice know about this?  What should we do tomorrow at the home?  Sit down and talk with the kids?

When I came out of my own head, Sam was preaching to a shell-shocked John and a fuming Sonjelle.   He looked all relaxed, oblivious to his audience.  He was saying things along the lines of “This place is retarded.”  Sure, the textbooks are cause for concern, but yapping about how the whole culture is completely backward is a bit much.  I fantasized about stapling his mouth shut, folding him into a box, and mailing him back to wherever he came from.  John and I couldn’t stomach him anymore, so we left Sonjelle to spar with him on her own.  I’m pretty sure she was enjoying herself.

September 11, 2007- Morning: No School = Career Day

 

I made it through the night without using the toilet, but this morning I woke up with a stuffed up head and a bit of a fever.  Edem appeared, dropped off a few massive bags of rice and beans, examined my head while looking very concerned, explained the symptoms of malaria, and then disappeared.  I think it’s just a cold.  That’s what I get for touching all these adorable little noses.  I couldn’t even taste my fried eggs and sugar bread.

Mauwli getting the kids ready to try to go to school.

The kids were supposed to start school yesterday.  Well, they were supposed to have school Monday but it was postponed.  Again.  I understand that since all of our kids are new to the school they still have to enroll, and that takes a few days to sort out.  I don’t understand why school starting for everyone kept getting postponed.  No one else seems concerned, though.  I suppose it must be normal.  Edem wasn’t here, so the troop of kids left with Mauwli to try to sort things out.  Sonjelle followed after breakfast to meet with the head master to participate in a strange formality where we basically pay a “fee” per kid and thank him profusely for “letting” the kids go to his free public school, which the children are required by law to attend.  The junior high (they call it JSS) students were sent home because they are required to bring their own desk and chair.  The set costs about $15 a piece, which is astronomical and a reason many families can’t send their children to school.  Other school supplies include brooms and bush knives, which families also must provide.  You can actually be sent home from school if you don’t bring your bush knife.  Kids are responsible for maintaining the grounds, so they mow the lawns with the knives and sweep around the school.  This year both Elikplim and Justice are in JSS.

The kids returned before Sonjelle- apparently they have to take an aptitude test tomorrow to be placed, so they were sent home.  It was unclear why the students with paperwork from their previous school couldn’t start today in the grade they are suppose to be in.  It was unclear why they couldn’t take the test now or later today since they have the tests at the school.  As Sonjelle explained all this, she threw her hands up in the air, shrugged a little and said “small small,” meaning things take time around here and you can’t rush it.  I’m glad she’s in charge of this mess.  I’d be strangling someone by now.  I don’t know what we’ll do when she leaves.

While Sonjelle and John went to Hohoe, the next town, to change John’s dollars into cedis (our town doesn’t do that, apparently), I took the kids to the library.  I figured if they couldn’t be in school, they could at least be doing something academic. 

At the library I asked the librarian to speak to the kids about what it’s like having his job.  John, Sonjelle, and I had talked earlier about how it would be nice to have “career day” type presentations from locals to help motivate the kids in school and get them thinking about their futures.  Unfortunately for me, the librarian spoke in Ewe, and I got the feeling that he merely told them about the library, not his education and why he likes his job.  I’m also afraid that he doesn’t have much of a formal education or training in being a librarian considering the state of the library itself, and that he likes his job because he can sleep under a fan all day.  Regardless, the kids politely pretended to listen while they stared at the floor with their hands in their laps and he spoke very formally, and at length, at them and paced back and forth, pointing a finger to the sky and shaking it now and then.  I thanked him when it was finally over, not mentioning that I was almost sorry we’d ever come up with this idea.

While the kids read, I snuck away for a few minutes to go across the street and picked up my dress.  It fits fine, and is a happily ridiculous pattern.  I’m not sure I will ever wear it.  Afterward, I stopped next door to see Obey the Tailor.  I told him about our “career day” plan, and he was interested.  He even suggested he teach interested kids to sew and maybe take an apprentice because he doesn’t want to tailor for longer than five more years.  This seems like a better idea than yakking at a group of half-asleep kids.  We volunteers had discussed asking him if he’d do that, so I was very pleased that he came up with the idea on his own.  I told him that I’d like to run it by Edem and the other volunteers and we’d talk again to set something up.  Fingers crossed.

Lunch, and I’m exhausted.  My cold, the heat, residual jetlag, culture shock, and 14 children.  Apparently it tires you out. 

September 10, 2007: Three Yavos Walk Into a Bar

 

There was no car sent for Sonjelle so she didn’t end up going to pick up the new guy, and rumor had it that Edem had picked up the kids for the trip to the clinic very early that morning, so we didn’t have anything planned out for us to do today.  After our ritual egg sandwiches and the kids went off to school, Sonjelle and I went to the market in Kpando (It was actually Market Day!  It’s only Market Day every three or four days, and so far I’ve missed it.) and got some cloth.  We brought it to Obey, the local tailor.  He’s going to make a men’s shirt for me to give to JB, and the seamstress next door will make me a dress in the same fabric.  He can’t make my dress, though—only a female tailor can make my dress, apparently.  The fabric was 8 cedis for 4 yards and each item will cost 3 cedis to make. 

Obey the Tailor

Obey’s bright, flashy patterned tunics are only outshined by his bubbling giggles and grins.  His tailor shop, a little wooden shed barely ten feet long, is painted bright blue and has the name “Still OBEY the BIBLE Tailoring Shop” stenciled in white and gold above the door.  His sewing machines and fabric fit nicely inside, but he can’t be contained.  Sonjelle mentioned the “friend” that Obey is often holding hands with, and I mused that Joyce might have to retract her statement that “there are no gays in Ghana.”

Uncle Mauwli

The new volunteer, John, got in around 11:00am.  Edem had sent his friend Mauwli to pick up John and they came straight to the home to drop him off.  There are a few people Edem can trust to help him out with the home, and Mauwli is one of them.  Mauwli takes college classes in Accra, and comes home to Kpando on the holidays and some weekends.  He looks a little older than your typical college student with his full five o’clock shadow, wiry build, and designer jeans, but he’s as optimistic and chatty as a freshman.  He’s interested in starting his own nonprofit, so I have the feeling he won’t always have time to help out quite as much around the home.  It’s a shame, because the kids crawl all over Uncle Mauwli the minute he steps through the gate.

Uncle John

After a nap and lunch the three yavos took to the kids to the sports stadium for something to do.  John looks like Professor Plum on vacation, with his short, dark hair parted on the side, his stylishly nerdy glasses, and his completely nerdy bucket hat.  His own five o’clock shadow is a bit sparse, and he says he isn’t shaving until he gets home.  Ah, the benefits of volunteer vacations.

We talked while the kids played soccer and jumped rope.  He has never been to a developing country- he’s a bit overwhelmed.  The first thing he said after being quiet for a minute was “I knew we lived above our means… but now I KNOW we live above our means.” 

He and his partner live together, above their means, in Providence, Rhode Island.  Unlike me, it sounds like he actually did his homework before planning his trip.  He chose Ghana because it is relatively politically stable and safe, has travel and tourism infrastructures, and the people are welcoming.  Not as welcoming as he’d like, however.  He had read that Ghanaians love to see pictures from home and hear stories about the friends and families of travelers, but he decided it was best to leave pictures of Frank behind. 

The matrons served us dinner and we helped with homework, read stories, sang songs, dolled out and collected dozens of kisses and hugs, and put the babies to bed.  Then we went out on the town.  The internet wasn’t working (“internet finish,” as we were told), so John wasn’t able to assure his poor family that he is alive and well on the other side of the world.  Mauwli had helped him purchase a phone and some credit, so at least Frank knew he was all right and could spread the word. 

What a spectacle we were; three yavos walk into a bar.  Well, a bar is called a “spot,” so I suppose the joke would go “three yavos walk into a spot.”  And then that’s it.  That’d be the joke.  Both Mauwli and Obey showed up and joined us.  We felt like celebrities.  Or zoo animals.  People staring at us, strangers coming up to say hello.  It was totally weird.