jessrabbit's blog

 
It's really weird to think that by the time this post is actually due, I'll be back in the U.S. As I trudge my way through finals and prepare to go home it’s a little hard to process all of my experiences this semester. I think that was definitely one of the benefits of taking the Art of Travel course. Having to sit down and write each post would force me to move past all of the little everyday details that were surrounding me and really reflect on everything that I was experiencing.

Overall, I think my time with NYU in Ghana has really expanded my worldview and helped me to grow as a person. I think that I’m going to return to the U.S. with a much greater sense of perspective on my life. My time with City of Refuge, the NGO that I interned with, has been especially influential. City of Refuge has really inspired me to become more involved in charitable activities and to really believe in the power of the individual to have a positive impact on the world.

I have gained so many wonderful memories since I’ve been here. When I look back on this experience I think I’ll reflect on all the wonderful friends that I’ve made and the amazing adventures that we shared. I’ll think back fondly on my time with City of Refuge and all of the inspiration and encouragement that they’ve offered (As well as the amazing children I got to bond with there, like Abigail, who I'm hugging in my picture.). I suspect I’ll sit back and laugh at a lot of the difficulties I encountered. The frequent lack of internet and the inconsistent electricity will merely be a few of many funny struggles that have shown me just how much I can handle. I can’t wait to share all my stories of all the incredible trips and excursions I went on.

Looking back at all of my awesome experiences (which I don’t have enough positive adjectives for) I couldn’t be happier with my decision to come to Ghana. It has been nothing short of life changing and I have made so many amazing friends that I am truly lucky to have been able to share this time with. I’m essentially just engaging in an incredibly positive rant at this point, but I really don’t have the words to describe just how much I have enjoyed this semester. This has been a really, really wonderful time in my life. I hope that everyone else can report having similarly positive experiences at their sites.
            

I probably couldn’t recommend studying abroad in Ghana more if I tried. I distinctly remember sitting in our pre-departure orientation and listening to the students who had already studied in Ghana talk about how much they loved it and how jealous they were that we were about to go. As the session moved on Kate Bruce, the woman from the study abroad office in charge of NYU in Ghana’s pre-departure stuff, began to tell us about how we were all going to become a family. At the time all I could think was “That sounds nice. Probably kind of exaggerated, but nice.”
As it turns out, there was really no exaggeration. I’ve loved my time here and our little group really has become a family. NYU in Ghana really turned out to be the perfect fit for me. I got to have a great opportunity to broaden my understanding of the world, work with an amazing NGO, and finally experience the sense of community that I had always thought NYU was lacking. Beyond that, the staff here is incredibly fun, caring, and highly responsive to students’ needs. If all of those things sound appealing to you, don’t hesitate to apply for NYU in Ghana.
If you do end up coming to Ghana I definitely have plenty of recommendations. First, take advantage of every single one of the NYU planned excursions. Every time we returned from one of our trips and caught up with a friend that had skipped it for whatever reason they were immediately greeted by a chorus of people declaring “You missed out!” and listing all of the various amazing details of the trip.  I also recommend living in church crescent. While both Church Crescent and Solomon’s are good dorm options, church has a great set-up and allows for easy access to the bank, the pizza stand, etc. In terms of bars, restaurants, and all that I think it’s probably a little more fun to figure those out on your own (although, I can’t resist mentioning the pizza stand that I wrote my “place” post about. You can tell just how popular it is from my picture).
NYU in Ghana certainly isn’t perfect and it definitely isn’t for everyone. It requires a little bit of a thicker skin, the ability to rough it a little, and a whole lot of patience. Some days your dorm just isn’t going to function. The other day, my friend Leigh counted how many times our power went out. 62 times in about 3 hours. You can only deal with things like that if you have the right attitude. You can sit there and be annoyed by it or you take it as an excuse to take the afternoon to go out and explore Ghana (or if your in Leigh’s shoes and stuck at home sick, count the number of times it goes out to keep yourself entertained). Sometimes life in Ghana isn’t the easiest to handle but it’s so worth it. It’s worth it not only for all of the amazing experiences it offers but for all of those little annoyances too. They’ve made me tougher. The kinds of issues I run into living in New York seem like nothing to me now. NYU in Ghana has been a truly amazing experience and it has changed me for the better.

Much to the disappointment of my fellow students and I (and even to my professor as he eventually admitted) NYU in Ghana did not cancel classes on Thanksgiving. So with classes on as usual I trekked through my typical routine for the day. I anxiously sat through my Twi class, did some grocery shopping, got through a little reading, and so on and so forth. The holiday was not ignored entirely however and that night NYU organized a rather impressive dinner.
As dinnertime rolled around we all wandered outside of the dorms to find a large white tent had been set up in our courtyard. The tent and the long tables with their pure white tablecloths and immaculate place settings felt a little out of place for Ghana but were lovely nonetheless. I sat down amongst the other students, our staff, and several representatives from the various organizations that students have chosen to do community service with and the food quickly began to appear. Everyone happily devoured the turkey, chicken, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, yams, and the wide variety of other foods that had been provided as the DJ played an increasingly amusing playlist (“You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman” is not a song I’ve ever associated with Thanksgiving or large parties but many of us sang along regardless). Towards the end of the meal a microphone was passed around to let everyone share what he or she was thankful for. It was very sweet task and many people commented about how thankful they were to be enjoying Thanksgiving with the whole new family that had been created here, a sentiment I echoed in my own turn with the microphone although I don’t think I really have the words to get across just how incredibly thankful I am for these people.
Soon after we were all directed to a table in the back that was filled with a wide range of delicious creations that several students had prepared for dessert. We were not allowed to sit and lounge in our massive calorie intake for too long though, within no time the DJ was back in action and everyone flocked to the other side of the courtyard to start dancing. I was so thoroughly happy to be there on the dance floor surrounded by so many good friends and our wonderful staff. We quickly discovered that almost every member of our staff has moves that put us all to shame and stood there grinning as everyone from our program director to our drivers shimmied their way across the floor. We grooved our way through the “Cha-Cha Slide” and “Empire State of Mind” until finally the night came to an end and we all dragged our sweaty selves inside to collapse into bed.
I wish I could do a better job of capturing the feel of the night in words. It was filled with a sense of pure joy, a joy that was only tainted by the knowledge that we all have to leave each other so soon. It was actually the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.

I really liked the idea about habit that de Botton discussed in this chapter. It’s very interesting to consider the idea that travel is based more on a state of mind than on actually going to visit a new place. The things he said about how we start to tune out the details of the places we live really struck home for me. As much as I like to bitch about how annoying the tourists in New York are I still have these moments from time to time where I have to stop and say “Oh my god. I live in New York City!” When I’m struck with these moments there is nothing I want to do more than wander slowly about the city while staring upward, snapping pictures, sneak in a visit to one of the famous sites, and all those other activities that we’re so quick to fault the tourists for. But on far too many days I’m just like de Botton rushing to his Underground station, rushing off with barely a passing though for all that surrounds me. I’ve noticed some of that same oblivious attitude popping up in Ghana as well. Many times when I’ve asked for suggestions about things to see the response is prefaced by “Well, I’ve never been but most of the tourists seem to like…”
I think that one of the good things about being away for so long is that it can really refresh your attitude to your home. I don’t think that I’ll be returning home to Boston and New York with the same dreary sense that de Botton returned to London with. Rather, I’ve been talking with my friends about all the great little details of these places that we now dearly miss and many of us have started to make plans to visit some of the sites that we have yet to check out. I’d like to say that I could always look at my home with the excited attitude that de Maistre is able to approach his bedroom with but at the very least I think that my time in Ghana will refresh my attitude. Hopefully it will also remind me of the importance of maintaining this attitude in the face of all of the day to day life details that I get so caught up in.
 
(The picture is mine. I thought the idea of these kids turning a plastic bag into a kite was a pretty good example of approaching something we see everyday with a new attitude)

Rosemary is one of four CRAs here at NYU in Ghana. They’re essentially significantly more lovable version of RAs (they do enforce rules when necessary but somehow it doesn’t carry the same sort of annoyance as when a someone whose exactly the same age as you, and likely breaking exactly the same rules, is doing it). The CRAs are all Ghanaian students who recently graduated from a local university and must now complete their year of service. The tuition for public universities is free but students are required to complete one year of service to their country to pay back the costs and NYU happened to be lucky enough to successfully apply to be one of those service sites.
It’s a little hard to properly describe Rosemary. Think of the most adorable things you can come up with. Kittens, puppies, laughing babies, all of that. Now imagine all of that adorableness embodied in a single personality. That’s Rosemary. Her appearance fits perfectly with this description as well. She’s gorgeous and a tiny, slight little thing that you feel like you could break with a particularly enthusiastic hug. She is the epitome of the famous Ghanaian friendliness; cheerfully chatting with everyone while simultaneously helping to organize all of the programs that are offered, helping us figure out where the nearest post office is, and trying to deal with the many maintenance issues in the dorms (some days in Ghana the bigger surprise is finding out what isn’t broken). At the same time she keeps her level of friendliness much more reasonable than many other Ghanaians do. Tell Rosemary you won’t be going to dinner with everyone tonight and she’ll say ok but I’ll miss you. Tell an average Ghanaian person that and expect to be questioned thoroughly while they continually try to convince you. Rosemary understands how strange and uncomfortable this persistent friendliness can feel for us and has given me some tips on how to deal with it.
Even though I’m sure dealing with us all the time can be quite exhausting, Rosemary has still managed to spend several lovely evenings just hanging out with us (see my picture of her teaching us how to make waakye). Some nights she’ll join us to see the latest American movie we’re all raving about (at the beginning of the semester we managed to snag a bootleg of Inception and got to introduce her to that). Other nights she takes the time to introduce us to her favorite bits of Ghanaian culture, be it dancing or the hand games she played as a girl. I’d really love nothing more than to take Rosemary back to New York with me at the end of the semester. Unfortunately I think the TSA would find my attempts to bring a human carry-on wildly inappropriate at best. Regardless, I sincerely hope that she does make it to the States someday so that I can show her life in the states with the same enthusiasm that she has shown me life in Ghana.

It’s a little hard to describe my favorite restaurant in Ghana. It’s actually probably a bit misleading to call it a restaurant. I’m not even entirely sure it has a name. The only form of signage is a wooden plank with the word pizza in Christmas lights stapled to it that is occasionally flipped on. It has neither walls nor a roof. It’s essentially just a stand by the side of the road with a tent over it. By day it’s a pineapple stand with one hundred or so pineapples stacked high across the long front table. At night all of the pineapples are cleared away and the table now holds a large cooler for drinks and a radio. Duck under the tent and you’ll find two small tables with about four chairs each towards the front for the costumers and another long table in the back. Sitting at the long table are two men, one who is making pizza dough and piling on the toppings and the other who is manning the small portable oven. For whatever reason, their chef’s uniform consists of throwing a long white lab coat over jeans. One of the guys has taken to having his more favored costumers sign it was a sharpie he carries in his back pocket (an honor that was bestowed on me a week or so ago).
            The food is delicious and the fact you can get a small pizza for 5 cedis (about $3.50) and a Coke in a glass bottle for 60 pesewas (about 40 cents) has made it my go to dinner location for the past few weeks. It’s become the perfect place to sit and laugh with friends as we wait patiently for our food to appear (see my very cheery picture of my friends as we waited for our food one night). The pizzas are made one at a time so patience is a virtue but this is true of any Ghanaian restaurant (sometimes excessively so) and the pleasant atmosphere makes the wait completely tolerable. I’ve already realized that I’m going to miss this place quite a bit upon returning home but I know that it will sound a little insane when I try to explain it to my friends whose context of where to eat consists entirely of New York City’s impressive restaurant scene. In the meantime I’ll just have to take the opportunity to stuff my face over the next few weeks. Not that I really needed an excuse.

The whole plan was straightforward enough. In theory it would only take us about seven hours to leave the Volta region to head up to Tamale and meet up with our other friends before we all made our way to the Burkina Faso border. However, with trotros nothing ever goes exactly like you would expect. A trotro is the most commonly used form of transportation in Ghana. They’re essentially old vans that someone ripped the seats out of and filled with stiff benches that allowed them to cram in as many people as possible. They’re often highly uncomfortable and just rusty enough to ensure that you feel like if you put your full weight on the floor that you may very well end up contributing some sort of Flintstone’s like foot action to your forward momentum but they’re cheap and there’s almost always one running along the route that you need to take.
The trip up to Tamale would require three separate trotros. The first two went relatively smoothly (or at least as smoothly as you can go on bumpy, bumpy African roads) but the third one immediately became problematic. Since Tamale is a major stop the trotro was larger than usual and actually took the time to assign seat numbers. Unfortunately, this meant that my friends and I couldn’t sit together. We climbed on board and quickly discovered that the larger size was rather deceiving and we were going to be spending the next three hours (three hours turned out to be a laughable estimate) with even less legroom than the minimal spaces that we had been squeezing ourselves into previously. I found my seat and soon realized that I was quite lucky and could actually put my feet down in front of my but some of my friends had wound up in seats that forced them to curl into a ball with their knees tucked into their chests. We all began to prepare ourselves for what was going to be a long three hours.
I had actually managed to wind up with a rather charming seating arrangement. There was a little girl who must have been about three or four sitting in front of my who was quite amused by checking out the obruni sitting behind her. Soon she worked up the courage to stick her tiny hand back between the seats and brush her fingers across my knee to feel what my pale skin felt like. I smiled and reached my hand out and she grinned back and took it, holding two of my fingers in her tiny hand. She kept a firm grip on my fingers and we both managed to drift off for a nap before waking up about an hour later (still holding hands) to the sounds of our trotro breaking down. The driver gestured us all off, mumbling about the back wheels when we asked him to explain in English exactly what the issue was. The mother of my little friend sensed trouble and she quickly hitched a ride for herself and her daughter with another passing car.
We boarded the trotro again about half an hour later and I couldn’t help but miss the joy my tiny friend had provided. I didn’t realize exactly how much I would miss her pleasant company until the trotro broke down again about twenty-five minutes later. Again several men fiddled with the wheel for about half an hour and again we were all herded back on to set out once more. Another thirty minutes or so passed and we broke down again. This time we got off and no one made any moves towards the wheel. Instead, we all stood around for a few minutes while someone fiddled with the engine before being directed towards the rear of the vehicle with shouts of “Push! Push! Push!” We pushed and finally the engine started and everyone ran to climb on board once more. This happened about two more times along the way.
In the end the ride that should have taken about three hours took about eight. We arrived in Tamale tired, dehydrated, and drenched in sweat. We all looked like we had beautiful golden tans but in reality we were covered in a fine layer of Ghana’s deep red dirt (see my friend Kate Stockhecker's photo for a sense of just how filthy we were). As miserable as it was it was quickly transformed into one of those ridiculous occurrences that we could all laugh about and it certainly taught me to appreciate just how good a cold bottle of water can taste after a long day.

Somebody’s Heart is Burning: A Woman Wanderer in Africais Tanya Shaffer’s reflections on the year she spent in West Africa. Overwhelmed by the serious course her relationship with her boyfriend was taking Shaffer decided to spend a year volunteering in Ghana and travelling around Africa in general. I found the book thoroughly enjoyable, largely because she and I shared many of the same experiences. The thing that I found most poignant though was the way that she developed her understanding of how to make friends with the locals.
One of the things that I’ve found very difficult in Ghana is making friends with Ghanaians. Ghanaians have a tendency to be very, very friendly. It’s not uncommon for someone to declare immediately upon meeting you that they wish to be friends and demand your phone number. Me and my fellow students quickly discovered that if you do give out your number it’s not uncommon for someone to call you around 5 times a day, often with the goal of just saying hello. Another issue comes in the form of demands. For Ghanaians it is not at all rude for someone to point at some object you have and problem “Give me that.” Since the general stereotype of Americans is that we are all very rich we get this demand a lot and it often leaves me feeling used. Of course, these are all cultural differences it’s just that these attitudes are so different from what I’m used to back home that it makes friendships very difficult to navigate.
Shaffer often encounters both of these things during her time here. I was pretty impressed by the way she embraced the natural friendliness of Ghanaians. Rather than allow herself to be put off by how different it is she accepts it and enjoys the extensive hospitality that Ghanaians have to offer. While there were still times when Shaffer did grow uncomfortable and was forced to ask someone to tone down their friendliness the range of interesting experiences that she got out of just embracing their kindness has made me want to work much harder to push through this particular cultural difference.
In terms of the second issue, Shaffer struggled in much the same way I did. I think that this is largely because in America demanding something is seen as so rude and as taking advantage of someone so it’s really hard to reconcile that even knowing that it’s not looked at that way here. A tragedy winds up pushing Shaffer to really consider the issue and I found the conclusions that she drew very interesting. Mostly she just focuses on the need for patience and the need to remember that one flaw shouldn’t end a friendship, even if different cultural backgrounds make that flaw seem bigger. She’s also careful to make the point that even though Americans aren’t as rich as the stereotype would imply, most of the time we are significantly better off than most of the people we meet and that fact will play into our understandings of each other at some point.
It felt a little like Shaffer’s book was really helpful in working out some of my issues with adjusting to life here. Since she has had the benefits of significantly more time and the chance for a lot of reflection she has made far more progress than I have in creating a better understanding of how to handle these issues and I think I really benefitted from getting to see that. 

(pictured: me and some random woman who insisted on posing with me at the beach)

When we arrived in Gorum-Gorum we were immediately perplexed. As we looked at the empty street, lined only by a few buildings on each side, one of us wondered aloud whether or not we were on the outskirts of town. “No… I’m pretty sure this is just it;” one of my friends replied. We wandered into our hotel to put our stuff down only to reemerge just as several men were marching their cattle and goats home for the night. We all went to bed that night a little unsure. We had included Gorum-Gorum in our journey through Burkina Faso because we had heard great things about its market and it offered the opportunity for a camel trek and camping in the desert. While the chance to camp in an isolated spot certainly seemed viable we couldn’t help but wonder about where exactly they could possibly be hiding a marketplace in this sparse little town.
The next morning we met our guide outside of our hotel. He immediately led us away from the main street that we had been staying on and down a little side road. He started things off by having us climb up this little quartz mountain that gave us a gorgeous view of the area and finally gave us a sense of the layout of Gorum-Gorum. Then he began to lead us through the more residential areas. We sweated profusely from the incredible heat and sun of the Sahel as we wandered through winding streets amongst huts and mud and concrete structures.
Soon enough, we finally reached the market. The market was amazing. Aisle after looping aisle of brightly colored clothes and outfits, fragrant foods, and gorgeous jewelry and sculptures (check out the beautifully dressed women in my photo). We started off in the animal market where we all passed on the opportunity to purchase one of the massive cows or one of the many goats that were quite loudly expressing their annoyance with us humans. As we made our way out of the animal section we stopped briefly to buy a snack from one of the many stalls. I wound up with what was essentially a little ball of fried dough, a wonderful snack that could only have been perfected by the addition of a little powdered sugar and cinnamon.  As we happily munched away at our snacks we asked our guide to help us negotiate the purchase of a turban for each of us (we had come to understand that for the camel trek a turban would be very useful in keeping us cool and shielding us from the sun). As I stood getting my bright blue turban wrapped around my head I couldn’t help but be in awe of everything in Gorum-Gorum and how unaware of it we had been when we first arrived.

I don’t really think that Ghana has been touched by tourism in the same ways that most of MacCannell’s examples have. I have frequently had conversations with people here about the “real” Ghana but the question of reality does not revolve around a tourist set-up. Rather, it is about the disparity between the areas that fit the typical Western understanding of Africa as a land of poverty, starvation, and disease and the richer areas of Accra that have beautiful mansions among gated communities.
This is not to say that Ghana hasn’t been affected in at least some ways by tourism. Wander through the more urban and touristy neighborhood of Osu and you’ll be surrounded by men selling loads of traditional African artwork. You’ll stand in the middle of the busy street as people rush around you to get to the ATM and the supermarket as a man offers up a painting of some village and mumbles about how you should take home a piece of “the real Africa.”
Even so I don’t really feel like I’ll ever find myself progressing through McCannell’s six stages here the same way I might in a region that was more affected by tourism. I got my first real experience with stage two the other day when a group of us decided to go exchange money at one of the local hotels. The Golden Tulip is an incredibly fancy hotel and it offers all the amenities of the developed world while still making sure that the place featured a lot of traditional African art in its decorations. Having already been in Ghana for two months we all immediately walked in and laughed as one of my friends declared, “I didn’t realize that we had arrived in Europe.” The hotel was so vastly different from anything we had experienced in Ghana that we couldn’t help but feel incredibly out of place. It just felt ridiculous. We left almost immediately after arriving. I feel like I’m lucky in that I believe that I actually get to experience stage six fairly regularly. Since tourism is relatively uncommon the idea of creating a variety of false back spaces hasn’t really taken root so I think (or at least I’d like to think) that a lot of the experiences I have here are genuine. There certainly have been times when we’ve been taken to see some false back spaces, with things like tours of the old Ashanti palace that was led by a guide whose biggest concern seemed to be that we had skipped the gift shop on our way out (pictured in my photo), but overall the spaces we visit just aren’t organized that way.
I can relate far more to McCannell’s ideas of tourism as an almost religious experience. I certainly came on this trip with the hopes of understanding something bigger than myself, although in my case I have no interest in God but in the day to day life of an average member of the human race. I came on this trip hoping to have a better understanding of the world and then use that lens to have a better understanding of my own life and that certainly fits in with the way many people feel about their religion.

Bit by bit I’m becoming more and more adjusted to life here. Often I don’t actually realize this until someone else points it out to me though. The other night at dinner I was sitting with one of my friends discussing the four stages of culture shock (honeymoon, hostility, humor, and home) when she pointed out to me that I’d actually progressed to the humor stage pretty quickly. She made this claim based on a particular lunch experience we’d had just a few weeks after arriving in which I had tried to figure out just how to order a plain burger (they’re often covered in a very spicy sauce). I explained to the waitress that I wanted a burger with absolutely nothing on it and after pausing for a moment she said “So, just bread?” and I nodded vigorously, thoroughly pleased that I had gotten my point across. I soon realized that I should not have been quite so quick to be so pleased with myself when she reappeared over an hour later still looking rather perplexed and presented me with a plate containing a bun and a side of fries. I immediately burst out laugh and had to assume that it had only taken so long because the kitchen staff had to have stood staring at the order for half an hour wondering why on Earth  I would have ordered that. Reflecting on that story made me realize that my friend was right, I definitely had progressed to the humor stage pretty quickly (although I’ve certainly bounced around within the stages just like everybody else).

The next person to point out to me how used to Ghana that I’ve become was a random Ghanaian man that I met in the back of a taxi.  Unfortunatley the internship site I chose to work with is in Tema, a lengthy commute from my home in Accra. To get there each day I take transfer between two shared taxis. Shared taxis are significantly cheaper than regular taxis, they have a set rate and set routes that they move back and forth across several times a day. The driver won’t leave until the taxi is full so I often wind up sitting there with one or two other people waiting for someone else to show up and fill up all the seats. Often this ends up being an opportunity to sit and read my book, other times I’ll have a pleasant chat with another passenger, sometimes I just wind up lying about how I’m already married or have some nice boyfriend back home so please stop hitting on me. On this particular occasion it was option number 2. I was already in the front seat when the man climbed in back and greeted me in the usual cheerful Ghanaian way. We lingered on small talk for a while and he asked how I liked the weather. I explained that since it was starting to get very cold back home it was mostly a nice change although I sometimes found the heat uncomfortable. He laughed at that and asked if what he’d heard about the US was true, that when it gets very hot people start walking around with practically no clothes on. I laughed at that and explained that this did sometimes happen but by our standards the lack of clothing wasn’t very shocking. Here he paused again and asked exactly how long I’d been in Ghana. When I said only two months he looked surprised and explained “You don’t react to the heat the way most white people I’ve seen do. You are fine with it. You react like a Ghanaian.” As we chatted more he pointed out a few other little ways in which I “act like a Ghanian,” things about my attitude and how I handle things. I couldn’t help but laugh a little but overall I think it was a pretty big compliment.  

There are times when I get really overwhelmed by just how different life is here. Other days, I get so swept up in my usual routine that I barely think about how I’m adjusting. It’s taken the comments and observations of friends and strangers to make me see that I really am getting used to life here and I can’t help but feel a little proud of myself for that accomplishment.

(photo by me)

One of the things that immediately caught my eye the moment I walked into the Artist’s Alliance Gallery was the set of giant wooden carvings sitting in the middle of the room. Standing there in a row were a huge polka dot tiger, an eagle, a few fish, a Nike sneaker, and a coke bottle. All had been created with elaborate detail. The tiger had a complete set of teeth, claws, and whiskers. Every fin and feather had been carefully carved or painted on. The show had even been laced. One of our tour guides quickly informed us that these were not just another random decorative piece but were in fact coffins. Apparently it’s not uncommon to costum build coffins here that are based around the lifestyle or interests of the person who had died. The fish might be used for a fisherman, the sneaker for a runner, the polka dot tiger for someone who was known among their friends as a more eccentric personality, etc.
Despite the huge range of beautiful and interesting work within the gallery I couldn’t help but keep coming back to the coffins. I was fascinated both by how pretty and elaborate they were and by how different they are from the fairly simple pine and metal coffins that we typically use in the States. They were also very different from the other types of carvings that were on display in the gallery. The vast majority were based in a far more traditional approach; things like masks and fertility that featured Adinkra symbols and were typically solid-colored.
The coffins served as my first real introduction to the way death is handled in Ghana. When a person dies in Ghana the focus of the funeral doesn’t really revolve aroud mourning, rather it is a celebration of the person’s life (this is especially true if the funeral is for someone who has died at a very old age). The coffins simply play into this idea, serving as one last bright, ornate, celebration of the person that serves as their final send-off.
Seeing the coffins definitely inspired me to take a greater interest in the way death is handled in Ghana. It also made me rather curious about what kind of coffin would be created for me if I were to live and die in Ghana. Exactly what aspect of my life would be chosen to celebrate? Maybe my passion for psychology would be represented by a huge brain or I too would be placed in an eccentric polka dot tiger. Regardless, that was certainly the most positive way I’ve ever thought about death. The coffins encouraged me to consider the Ghanaian perspective on death so rather than look to it with fear and discomfort I simply wondered about how I would be celebrated. There’s something really refreshing about that idea and I’m amazed the coffins led me to such intense relfection.

(photo by me)

Most mornings I find myself pretty early. On a rare occasion I manage to sleep in until 10:30, a stark contrast to my life in New York when I could easily sleep past noon if I’d been up late the night before. Despite this sudden trend towards being an early riser I still use the alarm on my cell phone to ensure I’m ready in time for classes. The alarm is thoroughly ridiculous, each weekday I awake to “It’s time to wake up! The time is 8:30! It’s time to wake up!” While I found this generally quirky and amusing for the first few weeks the novelty has now worn off so I tend to find myself grumpily mumbling “I know. Shut up.” as I climb down from my top bunk to turn it off.

Once I’ve made it out of bed and gotten myself ready for the day the walk to class from my dorm takes about 15 minutes. I’ve become quite used to the route now but I initially had to use a series of random landmarks to make my way there each morning (for the record, it’s a left at the Winnie the Pooh mural, a right at the Islamic center, a right at the random cornfield, and a left at the part of the open sewer that has a giant watermelon painted on it.) This particular approach is how I find my way to most things in Ghana. Ghanaians have mostly rejected the idea of street names and give directions based almost entirely on landmarks and I’ve adjusted accordingly.

Most of the time I either greet or respond to the greetings of at least half the people I see as I proceed along my walk. Usually this consists of the typical “Hello, how are you?” kind of scenario. Sometimes I’ll run across someone who wants to test me a little and will run through the whole exchange in Twi and they’re often very pleased when I can manage the proper response. From time to time I’ll stop along the way to grab myself a snack. Sometimes I’ll go to one of the women with fruit stands along the road and have them cut me up a delicious pineapple for only 1 cedi (about 70 cents) Other times I’ll go the less dignified route and chase after one of the honking sound of a fanice man to buy one of the little plastic pouches of ice cream that they sell out of coolers attached to their bikes. Fanice makes for a particularly sweet treat since it only costs 40 pesewas (a little less than 30 cents).

More often than not my days wind up being pretty full. Whether it be classes, my internship, hitting the gym, or lunch plans at one of the local restaurants that have now come to expect to occasionally be taken over by random groups of obronis, I tend to be out and about until early evening. This leaves me with a little time to relax and get some homework done before the vans come to pick us up for dinner. We’re all required to have a meal plan and dinner alternates between two restaurants every other night. Unfortunately, I’m a very picky eater so I tend to wind up rather disappointed by the dinner options although they’re frequently very satisfying to my less choosy classmates. After dinner we’ll pile into the vans where we’ll return to the dorms to either spend the evening doing homework or collectively procrastinating. Naturally, my favorite nights are based around collective procrastination whether we head out to one of the local bars or simply sit around chatting on one of the porches. By the end of the night I fall into bed exhausted and try to prepare myself for the moment when I’ll once again be awakened by that strange british woman’s voice.

Photo by me.

The first time I began to really consider the role of slavery in the history of Ghana was when we visited the Elmina slave castle during one of the weekend excursions NYU had arranged for us. We toured the castle in the pouring rain on the ninth anniversary of September 11th. Even now it’s still difficult to capture the kinds of emotions that were stirred with in me by that visit. As we wandered from the church, to the dungeons, to the governor’s bedroom (a place where many, many women were raped) it was hard to feel somehow overcome by the past horrors that had occurred there. At the end of the tour we all gathered by the Door of No Return. People walked through this door to board ships and suffer harrowing journeys that would bring them to live as slaves in foreign lands. As we stood huddled and wet upon that hallowed ground our associate director took the opportunity to speak about the power of this place, the power of this day, and the power of all of us to take these things into consideration and prevent such injustices from ever happening again. We then laid down a wreath and had a moment of silence before collectively declaring “Never again!”

 Despite this experience and the others that NYU in Ghana has arranged for us to have on our future excursions it still feels far too easy to get so caught up in the day to day aspects of life in Ghana that I neglect to consider this dark aspect of Ghanaian history. I think that one of the benefits of reading Saidiya Hartman’s Lose Your Mother: A Journey Along the Atlantic Slave Route was the way it made me further consider the role slavery played in Ghana. Many of the individual stories Hartman relates are horrifying and drew a real emotional reaction from me but it was especially important to understand these stories in context. It’s easier for one individual’s stories to weigh on your heart and mind but the true horror lies in the way such tragedies were systematically carried out.

Hartman also made a very interesting point when she discussed the way most Ghanaians express little more than disinterest in this aspect of their history. This was a concept that I had already discussed with several of my fellow students after returning from Elmina. Many of us noticed that the tour groups of the castle were made up predominantly of tourists. Upon asking our Ghanaian friends about whether they had ever been they generally dismissed the idea and expressed little interest in going. Reading Hartman’s discussion of this issue starts to give me a sense of why Ghanaians don’t explore this aspect of their history and it also makes me want to further explore the issue. Overall the opportunity to visit the Elmina slave castle combined with Hartman’s book have started to give me a stronger understanding of the role of slavery in Ghanaian history and makes me want to continue to try to enhance that understanding.

I had expected to open the dryer to find a nice, warm pile of freshly cleaned clothes. Instead I found that when I opened the door a ton of hot water poured onto my feet. I stood there with my wet feet for a moment, staring at the pile of my sopping wet clothes as my initial shock was quickly replaced by annoyance. I grumbled angrily to myself as I began pulling my clothes from the large puddle in the dryer. As I collected each item to wring them out over the sink I decided I would allow myself exactly two hours to be annoyed.

Here’s the thing about living in Ghana: a lot goes wrong. A lot. The dryer that spewed water at me wasn’t an isolated event. It came in the days just after when my house had a small fire thanks to a power surge that fried our fuse box. The fire itself wasn’t really a big deal. We were evacuated and it was put out very quickly so it didn’t have the chance to do any real damage. However, because it was our fuse box that was damaged our house now had no electricity. And because our house’s water supply is brought in through electric pumps we also had no running water. The few days we spent without power and water were somewhat unpleasant but our fellow students were very understanding and allowed us over to their houses whenever we were in need. I did a pretty good job of sucking it up and finding humor in the situation and then a few days later when the power was finally fixed (Well, mostly fixed.) I happily prepared to finally do the laundry that had been piling up in my room.

That’s why it felt like such an attack when the dryer offered up a flood instead of neatly cleaned clothes. But I still felt like I could only allow myself a little bit of time to wallow in my annoyance. Letting myself wallow for a little while would keep me from loosing my mind but I still had to keep things in perspective. A common phrase among the students here for when things go wrong is “This is Africa” (frequently shortened to TIA). It’s typically said with a shrug of the shoulders and an understanding that life here tends to be complicated in ways you’d never expected. It’s a reminder to keep things in perspective. And when I take the time to get some real perspective I can’t help but remember that I’m allowing myself to be annoyed by a few days without running water or electricity in a place where most people simply don’t have access to such things.  By the end of my two-hour period of annoyance I had realized that while my home’s lack of functionality can be quite frustrating, it’s also an opportunity to have a glimpse at how most of the world lives. And that’s exactly why I came here. So I just need to remember to keep trying to frame things within the greater understanding that I’m gaining and from time to time let myself have a few hours where I give myself permission to be whiny.