slimgirl's blog

Even though I am more than excited to go home, I am trying to spend my last few days appreciating Ghana.  It’s hard, as all I can think about are the things I’ll get to enjoy once I get home—cheese, real bread, wearing scarves and boots, being able to walk down a street without having twenty people try to get my attention.  Yet I know once I get home, I’ll miss a number of things.  To try to remind myself of the best parts of my study abroad experience, I’ve made a list.
 

1. Coconuts.  Here, there are coconut sellers on street corners, kind of like the bagel/coffee carts in New York.  It’s usually a big iron cart heaped with dozens of enormous green coconuts.  A man hacks away at them with a long machete, cutting off the excess until the coconuts resemble little white huts.  He asks you if you want a soft (more juice, less meat) or hard (more meat, less juice) one, then he’ll tap on a few until he finds the perfect one.  He swiftly chops off the top with the machete, then hands it to you with a bit of the juice overflowing from the hole.  You gulp it down, then hand it back to him, and he chops the coconut open, scoops out the meat with his machete, and offers it to you to eat.  Somehow a bottle of VitaCoco won’t compare. 

 

1. Cheap Things.  Here, nothing costs much at all.  Taxis cost a few bucks, a pineapple is the equivalent of 66 cents, and an egg sandwich is less than a dollar.  It makes you feel a lot richer than you really are.  I know I’ll miss being able to spend no more than five dollars a day once I’m back in New York and two subway rides add up to $4.50. 

 

1. The colors.  Subtlety is not really a part of African culture.  People love glitzy, shiny clothing with lots of metallic trims and rhinestones.  They also love their bright African fabrics with yellow, red, orange, and blue all combined in a vibrant print.  You rarely see plain clothing or dark colors.  My eyes might have to readjust once I get back home. 

 

1. Not having as much to do.  Life here is a lot slower.  I’ve had way less schoolwork, no part-time job, and a lot more free time.  Though I thrive on action and often feel bored here, I know I’ll miss the relaxed pace once I return to the on-the-go American lifestyle. 

 

1. The people.  Since the NYU program is so small, we’ve all gotten to know each other really, really well.  I’m used to living with nineteen other people, popping into their rooms whenever I like.  You never feel alone or lonely here, as there is always someone around.  If you want to go anywhere, it’s easy to recruit a friend.  It’ll be weird going home and not living with twenty other college students.  The space will be nice at first, but I’m sure I’ll miss the late-night chats. 

 
 
There are certainly more things I’ll miss, but I know I won’t realize a number of them until I get home.  Of course, there are a number of things I’ll be happy to never see again (the gutters, plantains, aggressive men, the heat).  But for now, I’m trying to focus on the positive things.  I doubt I’ll be back to Ghana for a long time, so I’m attempting to enjoy the last few moments.  The semester has been quite mixed, at times miserable and wonderful, but it’s an experience that will always remain with me. 

Looking back on my semester in Ghana, there is a lot I wish I knew beforehand.  Before I left, friends who’d been to Ghana said that I’d love it, that it was so much fun.  One person even compared it to summer camp, which makes sense given the community atmosphere and group excursions.  This made my expectations quite high, unable to anticipate the flaws in NYU’s program and living in Ghana.  While I have had an incredible experience that I don’t regret, I believe that future students should think carefully about their decision to study abroad in Accra, as it is not a program for everyone.  To give you a better understanding of life here, here are some tips and suggestions. 

Above all, know what you are signing up for.  It might seem obvious, but life is Accra is drastically different than in New York.  You might think you can handle it, but remember you’ll be here for four months.  If you can’t do without a latte, bookstores, and reliable Internet, you might want to think twice.  Also, if you feel uncomfortable with open gutters, aggressive men, and a slow pace of life, it’s probably not a good fit for you.  You have all your basics here—a gym, grocery stores, bars, restaurants—but variety is much more limited and they are nothing like what you are used to in the US.  But if you’re okay giving up a lot of your comforts for a great experience, then the program is right for you. 

One of the biggest changes from life in New York is the lack of freedom.  Since the program is so small, the staff members pay close attention to everyone.  There are organized trips you basically have to go on, as well as meeting and classes you can’t skip.  Additionally, you cannot be as independent here as you are in New York.  You have to be careful going out at night alone if you’re female and expect to get a lot of attention from everyone just because you’re a foreigner.  If you are very used to your independence and freedom in New York, being able to do whatever you like without anyone paying attention, think twice about coming to Ghana. 

Obviously, study abroad is about more than academics, but the NYU Ghana classes are well below NYU’s standards.  To be blunt, all my classes are a waste of time, as I have learned very little academic material.  Instead, I’ve learned how to follow Ghanaian academic conventions.  The teachers here care more about the superficial details, focusing more on the length of your paper than the content.   I also happened to choose some of the wrong classes, as a number of my friends enjoy their courses.  Based on their feedback, I would recommend the Globalization course and Global Connections Accra.  Also, do volunteer work instead of an internship.  You get the same experience, but without having to sit through a useless once-a-week class and having to worry about fulfilling your hours. 

I didn’t bring much from home, but I would recommend bringing a lot of books, movies, or other things to do in your spare time.  You’ll have a lot more free time here!  Also, if you’re picky about food, bring some non-perishable items for yourself.  Even though you can get nuts, dried fruit, crackers, etc. here, they are generally really old, not very good, and expensive.

Try to take advantage of every opportunity; it’s why you came to Ghana.  Realistically, you’re unlikely to come back to the country (or the rest of Africa) soon since it is expensive and far away.  Go on every trip.  Even if a rural homestay doesn’t sound fun, when else are you ever going to do that in your life?  From my experience, these types of activities turn out to be the best.   

One of my biggest pieces of advice is, as clichéd as it sounds, go with the flow.  Ghanaian culture is so different than American culture that you’ll just get frustrated if you don’t adapt.  Slow down and don’t expect anything to run on time or work.  Don’t get annoyed if your taxi driver doesn’t know where to go or if a man on the tro-tro launches into a sermon for thirty minutes about Jesus.  Yes, in New York, it’d be appropriate to scream at the taxi driver or tell the preacher to shut up, but it’d be incredibly rude here.  Just take a deep breath and hang in there.  Everything eventually works out fine; it just takes some time.  

(own photo from a voodoo market)

Nothing in Ghana happens quickly.  People talk slowly, walk leisurely, and take their time.  When I first arrived, I was easily irritated by the slowness, annoyed by waiting two hours in a restaurant or sitting in traffic.  Over time, I adjusted and got used to zoning out  or carrying a book with me.  I still don’t enjoy the pace, but I can tolerate it.  In this environment, the suddenness of an epiphany seems out of place.  Instead, things occur over time and from repetition.  I’ve learned an enormous amount here, but I can’t pinpoint a particular moment.

My biggest realization is that development is still a far-fetched dream.  Back in the U.S., it’s easy to read about organizations providing clean water to rural communities or saving women’s lives through better maternal health care and feel inspired.  I’m sure these organizations are doing good work, but I now see beneath the optimistic façade.  For every person they help, there are thousands more suffering.  For those lucky enough to get assistance, their lives don’t necessarily improve that much.  A community might now have water, but they are still left without healthcare, adequate food, and an education.   Of course, I knew these types of facts before I came to Ghana, but it didn’t deter me.  I knew that seeing poverty every single day would be overwhelming and difficult, but I expected to still have some hope, to believe that things were getting better.  And yes, Ghana is developing, but very slowly.  There are still so many problems that any improvement feels small, like it is not enough. 

I’ve learned this over time, from walking past the handicapped beggar on our street every afternoon or hearing yet another sob story from a patient at the health clinic where I intern.  All of their multiple problems build upon each other, adding up to make you feel powerless.  What can I do for a woman whose husband abandoned her because she had AIDs and left her with sick, with no money and a newborn child?  I could give her money, but that’s just a temporary fix.  I could give the beggar some change, but not what he really needs.  He needs a culture that doesn’t stigmatize those with disabilities, but allows for them to have jobs, to pay for their own food and housing.  That is something I can’t drop in his hand. 

Two weeks ago, when we traveled to the northern, poorer region of Ghana, I had an especially poignant reminder of my inability to help.  We visited a widow’s village, where widows are exiled if they refuse to marry their husband’s brother.  These women have few resources, but a number of NGOs are attempting to help them.  The women now weave and sell baskets to earn money to support themselves and their children.  We visited the village and bought a lot of items, but there was little else we could do.  I’m sure the money helped them, but it’s only so long before it runs out. 

As we were leaving the village, we gathered together our empty water bottles from the bus and began handing them out to the children.  They started fighting over them, punching and shoving each other to grab our trash, to get a few pennies by recycling it.  Meanwhile, we sat on the bus, some of us already engrossed in our iPods or books, others looking at the scene through our windows.  The children behaved like a group of pigeons squabbling for breadcrumbs.  Our actions, our trash, made the kids behave like animals.  We were trying to help, but I wondered how much harm we were inflicting in the process.  If giving an empty water bottle causes fighting, how helpful is it?  More importantly, how much of a difference do all the small actions of development really make?

For me, one of the highlights of traveling is food. I love being able to try regional dishes and new tastes, enjoying the best a place has to offer. Eating is also one of the best ways to situate myself in a foreign environment, to make me feel a bit more like a local. I can’t help but remember that I’m truly in France when I eat a baguette, a runny cheese, and some wine in Paris. In Accra, an enormous bowl of fufu and groundnut soup definitely reminds you that you’re in Ghana. Yet even with the enormous culinary different between countries, food and eating is a constant around the world. Whether you’re in Ghana or France, you can count on sitting down to enjoy a meal (as long as you have enough money to eat). The meal will be completely distinct, but at its core, it’s the same—the act of feeding your body. Of course, you can’t have food without its producers—the cooks, the farmers, the vendors. All over the globe, people gather, sell, and make food to earn an income. Eating is a basic act of life. When I travel, buying food is one of the best ways to feel at home. Though food stores vary all over, shopping for groceries still feels like a familiar action. I might go to a farmer’s market in San Francisco or a little shack in Accra, but in the end, I’m still buying food. This act always involves and interaction with the vendor, whether it’s a grouchy cashier at a supermarket or the friendly fruit seller. In Ghana, I immediately got to know one of the local fruit sellers, Mary, who operates a stand a block away from the academic center. Though Mary doesn’t always have the largest variety of produce, she is always nice to NYU students. She makes sure to teach us Twi, the local dialect, telling us the words for papaya or avocado and insisting that we use them. Mary also greets us in Twi and, when we respond properly, she smiles and laughs. You can tell she genuinely enjoys teaching us about Ghanaian life and feels proud every time we learn something new. It doesn’t hurt that Mary also sells the best produce. Unlike other vendors, who’ll encourage you to select the overripe mango or the almost rotten tomatoes, Mary won’t sell anything that is on the verge of going bad. She closely examines each product before selling it, making sure it’s not bruised. She also lets you know what to buy, telling you that the mangoes are sweet today or that the avocados are no longer good. Since we’re unaccustomed to tropical produce and the seasons here, it’s helpful to get this advice. You don’t exactly find that at your regular supermarket. Even on days when I don’t stop by Mary’s stand, it’s comforting to know that she’s there. I can walk down the street and expect to see her chatting to the plantain seller next door, calling out “how are you?” as I walk by. If I drive by in a taxi, I recognize her stand and her large stacks of pineapples. More than her food, Mary’s presence is reassuring. In a city of strangers, she’s someone who knows my name, who will be kind and ensure that I buy the best fruits and vegetables. It’s a small relationship, but these interactions with Mary make Accra feel a bit more like home.

(The picture is not Mary but a stand that looks similar)

Africa is many things.  It’s a hot sun bearing down on my back and dirt roads that swirl like clouds when cars pass.  It’s men cracking coconuts with machetes, scooping out the sweet meat with dirty blades.  It’s women hawking stacks and stacks of plantain chips on their heads by the side of the road. 
These are the things I won’t find anywhere else, the smells and noises I’ll remember as distinctively African.  They remind me that I’m in Ghana, that I’m far away from my concrete streets and subways.  It’s easy to forget, at least when I’m in my air conditioned room and talking with my American friends, where I am.  But once I walk outside and feel the heat wash over me, I know I’m not at home. 

More than anywhere else, the tro-tro station makes me realize I’m in Ghana.   The tro-tros are a uniquely African form of transport, the equivalent of public buses in countries with little infrastructure.  They are beat-up vans, so worn out they would just be abandoned in the U.S..  But here, they continue to work, even as the seats split open and reveal their stuffing and the exhaust pipes leak thick smoke.  If the door won’t shut, the driver will just tie a rag around it, literally holding the car together. 

We’ve been told to not take the tro-tros, as they are unsafe.  There’s even the rumor that they use dishwashing soap instead of brake fluid to save money.  Who knows if it’s true, but there’s not a better way to get around.  Taxis are too expensive to take all the time, but more importantly, we’d miss out on an entire aspect of Ghanaian culture if we never took tro-tros. 

Just the tro-tro station is an experience.  It doubles as a market, with people selling everything from donuts to washcloths to cellphones on their heads.  The sellers wander between the tro-tros, calling out the names of their products.  Passengers, waiting for their tro-tros to leave, will call the vendors over by hissing.  They’ll then exchange money for the product through the window, shopping while staying in their seat.  

The station is crammed full of tro-tros, each heading to a different part of the city.  Yet there are no signs, so you have to ask various drivers, telling them the name of your destination.  They’ll point in one direction, so go you that way, asking more and more people until you finally find the right one and climb in.
The tro-tros are packed tightly, making a crowded subway car seem comfortable.  When you get on, you have to make your way to the back, stepping over people’s feet and occasionally knocking them with your bag.  As more and more people get on, they take the seats up front, maximizing the amount of space.  The tro-tro won’t leave until it is completely full, generally holding twenty people in a vehicle slightly bigger than the average minivan.  Once it’s reached capacity, the car lurches out of the station, honking to warn pedestrians to get out of the way. 

A man then begins to collect money from all the passengers.  Since there’s no room to walk on the tro-tro, people pass money to their neighbors and it eventually gets to the collector.  If you have change, it’ll come back to you by the same method.  After that, you then get to enjoy your hot and bumpy tro-tro ride, looking out at the scenery through the windows.  Sometimes passengers listen to music or read the Bible, but most lay their heads down and try to fall asleep.  You have to give up any notion of personal space, since people are likely to stick their elbows into you or even sit so close that you can feel their sweat.  To get off, you signal to the driver and he pulls up at the designated stop.  You then motion to everyone in front of you and they move to let you out.  Since the tro-tros are so crowded, this can get complicated when you’re in the back and half the van has to get up to let you off. 

Yes, the tro-tros are slightly unpleasant, but they capture the spirit of Ghana more than anything else.  They are designed for average Ghanaians, for everyone from businessmen to plantain sellers, offering an authentic view of Ghanaian life.  They give you a sense of Africa, the heat and the smells, the language and the food.  They show you how people adapt, creating their own transportation system when the government doesn’t set one up.  It’s far from comfortable or perfect, but it functions.  You might get hot or dirty and your trip might take two hours, but you get where you need to go.  Like many aspects of life in Ghana, it’s a little broken but it works just well enough. 

In the global sphere, Africa is often cast as the problem child, the continent stuck in poverty that can’t seem to develop.  Yes, Africa, is struggling, but this simple perspective ignores the reasons behind Africa’s problems.  From my classes, books, and observations, I’ve come to understand that a huge factor is European, American, and Asian involvement, from the early days of colonization up to the modern forms of development.  One current belief is that foreign aid, seemingly benign and beneficial, is just a continuation of imperialism, a way for the rest of the world to continue to control African countries.  Considering that aid can account for 50 % of a African nation’s budget, this gives donors enormous say in governmental programs and policies.  Furthermore, this money is often used ineffectively, causing many countries to remain stuck in poverty. 

In In Search of Africa, Manthia Diawara, a Guinean born NYU professor writes about these problems.  At one point, a cab driver in Dakar tells him that “African leaders are not real presidents—they are mere ambassadors, who do what the “real presidents” in France and the United States tell them to do” (157).  Diawara goes on to explain: “African governments should not be run according to the needs and concerns of Europe and America” (157).  Though Diawara wrote this in the 1998, the statement is sadly still true over ten years later.  Just a few days ago, England announced it would reduce its aid to African countries that had anti-gay policies.  This has provoked a number of reactions in Ghana.  Some people take the stance of “we don’t need your aid if you’re going to tell us how to behave” while others recognize the acute problems of a sudden aid cut.  Nevertheless, England’s announcement is forcing African rulers to discuss their stance on homosexuality.  England wants Africa to have more tolerant policies, but isn’t this measure just pushing Africans to follow European beliefs? 

One of the problems with this approach to development is that it doesn’t give African nations the freedom to develop in their own manner. As Diawara articulates, other countries like Japan or China “did not wait for the advice of the white man to devise their own style of modernity” (158).  One of the reasons that development has largely failed in Africa is that leaders are applying Western models that do not work outside of the Western world.  Take, for instance, even the concept of the nation-state.  It does not make sense to draw arbitrary lines in Africa when Africans divide themselves among their own groups and clans.  Yet these divisions create situations where half of a person’s relatives live in Ghana while the other half live in Togo.  These people are supposed to identify via nationalism, supporting Ghana or Togo, but older, tribe-based structures have more signifigance.  Even today, a number of people from Togo will cross the border to vote for a Ghanaian president if he is from the same group as them. 

I’ve also found that this model applies to everyday aspects of life in Ghana.  Ghanaians try to take on elements of Western lifestyles, as they are regarded as modern, but it ends up not making sense here.  People will wear jeans or high heels, somehow ignoring the oppressive heat or the muddy dirt roads.  Perhaps the best example is the electronic key we use to get in and out of our houses.  To unlock the door, you simply tap the card to the sensor and the door clicks open.  Seems modern, less annoying than regular keys, but it doesn’t work so well when the power regularly goes out.  We just end up getting either locked in or out of our houses until the power switches back on.  We’ve quickly learned a more old-fashioned (but far more effective!) method—stick a rock in the door so it never completely closes and locks.  Sounds silly, but the rock is an example of using local resources and methods instead of relying on foreign models that don’t function in this environment.  Like Diawara, I believe that “Africans must find their own way in the modern world” instead of listening to Europe, Asia, or America. 

As some of the other Ghana students have mentioned, Accra doesn’t have your typical “great good places.”  There aren’t really cafes, parks, or bookstores, at least not by Western standards.  The Ghanaian attempts at these places, like a lot of things in Ghana, are similar in theory but different in reality.  For example, there’s a café near us called “Labone Coffeeshop.”  We all originally assumed it was what it sounded like—some sort of café where you could get a latte and read a book.  Nope, it’s really just a restaurant with an odd medley of food from traditional Ghanaian dishes to spring rolls.  And coffee?  Only Nescafe.  Not exactly a place to hang out with your laptop. 

The other places that try to create this café atmosphere are clearly designed for tourists or expats.  If you go to these spots, you’ll find obrunis trying to simulate a Western style café.  They sit with their laptops, sipping a smoothie or eating a muffin as though they are at Starbucks.  But look closely and you’ll realize the muffin doesn’t quite taste right and the smoothie has FanIce in it, not milk or yogurt.  The whole scenario is a somewhat sad, homesick attempt to bring a bit of Western culture into Accra.  But like trying to find a blueberry muffin in a tropical climate, it doesn’t quite work. 
So, you might wonder, what is the Ghanaian equivalent of a café or coffeeshop, a place where people hang out and relax?  I’m still trying to figure that out.  The bars here certainly seem to be one example, though there are a lot of Western style nightlife spots.  There are places like Bella Roma or Ryan’s Pub, which create an Italian or Irish atmosphere and not surprisingly, attract a lot of foreigners.  These spots generally play American popular music or offer karaoke, making you feel like you’re not really in Ghana.  Clearly, these aren’t the “authentic Ghanaian places.”  From what I can tell, the more Ghanaian spots are casual, often roadside bars with a couple of plastic chairs, some bottles of Star beer, and a few speakers.  People sit and dance in a very relaxed manner without any of the pretense involved in going out in the US.  We’ve tried going to these bars a few times and they’re fun, but we somehow always end up back at the more Western style places where we chat with other foreigners. 

Why, it makes me wonder, do I and other obrunis gravitate toward places that feel more familiar to us?  I came here expecting a cultural experience, looking to try the local food and nightlife, not just stick with what I know.  And I have sampled it, eaten some fufu and danced to some Ghanaian music.  But I end up craving coffee and muffins, so I end up at cafes trying to feel, just a little bit, like I’m not in Ghana.  You could say I’m not immersing myself, but I think of it more of creating a balance between Ghanaian and American culture.  Ghana is so drastically different than the U.S. that I end up not just wanting, but needing a little dose of home.  Clearly, from the popularity of such establishments, I’m not alone. 

Clinging to familiar things seems to also be just a part of living in a foreign environment.  Go to a Ghanaian restaurant in New York and you’ll likely find a bunch of homesick Ghanaians eating some plantains and red red, thinking of Africa.  Can you really say they’re not enjoying America, that they’re not getting an authentic experience?  No, they’re just making themselves at home in New York, adding a bit of Ghanaian flair to America. 

Like other aspects of Ghana, art has multiple layers.  There’s the formal art, the old Komabusa terra cottas or Ashanti masks, but many of these objects are now in museums in America or Europe.  There is a National Museum in Accra, but it is very small and contains few objects.  Thus, it’s hard to see the traditional African art in Africa; for that you have to go to England or New York.  This art acts as yet another resource the rest of the world takes advantage of, much like the exportation of cacao and coffee.  For example, Ghana is one of the world’s largest producers of cacao, but it’s impossible to find high-quality chocolate here.  Yet go to Paris and you’ll find a fine bar of dark chocolate made with Ghanaian beans.  This leaves Ghanaians without part of their culture and goods, while others get to enjoy them.  Yet don’t Ghanaians have a right to admire and view the art of their ancestors?

This sort of art exportation creates an environment in which art and creativity occurs in the informal sphere.  There is a growing group of contemporary artists, but it is not an easily accepted or understood career path.  The art then, becomes the fabric and the beads, the dance and the music.  It’s not art that can be contained in a museum, but it’s just as much a creative expression.  Take the fabric, for instance.  It comes in an incredible number of prints with vivid shades of blue or pink, among other colors.  The patterns are just as beautiful as paintings, with the same attention to color and composition.  But to Ghanaians, it is just fabric, something that everyone wears.  This relates to one of the main distinctions between African and Western art, that African art always has a purpose while Western art is generally more decorative.  Though you can apply this difference to older, traditional art like masks or sculptures, it also applies to modern crafts like batik or beadmaking.  The art here is wearable, not something that sits on a shelf. 

This practical component of art also means that the art intertwines with commercialism.  Ghanaians make their livings selling or sewing fabric, thinking of themselves as businesspeople, not artists.  They also cater to tourists or non-Africans, often making jewelry that gets exported and sold in the US or other parts of the world.  This art becomes another commercial product like shea butter or palm oil.  To the Western shopper, though, it is a piece of African art, something exotic and different.   This shopper views the jewelry from an outsider’s perspective, not necessarily considering the commercial motives behind the craft or questioning whether the jewelry maker even regards her work as art. 

Accra, unlike most other NYU locations, does not have much of a tourist industry.  Sure, there are a handful of tourists, but it is nothing like Paris or Florence, where the city center can seem overrun by foreigners.  It’s a lot easier to feel like you are getting an “authentic experience,” as there are few tourist traps.  Instead, you’re thrown into Ghanaian life—the women hawking fruit on their heads and the constant honking of cars. 

Yet is this Ghana’s “back region,” what MacCannell describes as “closed to audiences and outsiders” (590)?  It might seem like real Ghanaian life, but after living here for two months, I’ve come to realize it’s just another version of performance.  It’s not a performance for tourists per se, but a “front region” for society as a whole.  All the “real” things on the streets of Accra do not show their roots, what MacCannell calls the “props and activities that might discredit the performance out front” (591).  For instance, you can find a woman roasting plantains and see a handful of men purchasing them for a few cents.  The woman looks like she’s doing fine, as she’s selling her products and presumably making a profit.  But what happens when she’s not selling the plantains, when she goes home?  The onlooker doesn’t know her economic status, her living conditions, or whether or not she even enjoys selling plantains.  All the viewer sees is a smiling woman wrapping sweet smelling plantains in newspapers and handing them to customers. 

If her life is the real “back region,” how does a tourist, traveler, or anyone get there?  There is not a clear answer to this question, but instead it’s useful to think about performance as a whole.  Performance studies, a growing discipline, suggests that every moment of our lives is a performance, that everything we do is consciously or unconsciously staged.  With this in mind, the streets of Accra become a big performance of rumbling cars, vendors calling out “biscuits, biscuits,” and people on their way to work.  It might seem like the back region, the daily life of Ghanaians, but its no more authentic than the Duomo in Florence.  Both are staged, places where everything is constructed to create a particular scene. 

What, then, would a tourist encounter in Ghana?  The tourist would certainly see such street scenes, but would also find highly staged “cultural centers.”  We got a taste of this a few weeks ago on a trip to Kumasi, another city in the Asante region of Ghana.  Our guides took us to a village where a group of Ghanaians demonstrated how to weave kente cloth and make adinkra symbols, both of which are traditional crafts.  Even though what they were showing us was real, the entire experience felt fake.  These Ghanaians were making the products for tourists, staging the whole process so we could have a “cultural experience.”  Afterwards, most of us felt obliged to purchase something in return for the demonstration.  I ended up buying a piece of cloth with adinkra symbols, but felt conflicted.  The product, in theory, had cultural significance, as it was an example of the usage of these traditional symbols.  Yet since the piece was produced solely for tourists, it had lost all its meaning.  The symbols weren’t valuable because of cultural tradition; they were valuable because they were now commodities for tourists.  Is this Ghana’s form of staged authenticity?

Every place has its stereotypes.  If you think of Paris, you might envision croissants, cafes, and the Eiffel Tower.  For New York, you might imagine taxis, people dressed in black, and tall buildings.  These images are not incorrect—they are just not the whole story.  The same is true of Ghana and Africa as a whole.  Yes, there are starving children and women carrying things on their head, but there are also upscale shops and men in designer suits.  Part of the Ghana experience is discovering the layers of Ghana, the nuances in the story. 
Many Ghanaians have an equally stereotypical image of America.  I’ve heard one man tell an American girl that everyone in the U.S. is rich, so she must be lazy if she isn’t wealthy. It’s hard to break these preconceived notions, especially as most Ghanaians get their ideas from television or movies, not from real interactions.  Maya Angelou, author of All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes, faced a similar situation while living in Ghana in the 1960s.  At one point in the book, a receptionist tells Angelou that “American Negroes are always crude” (34).  Angelou writes that the woman’s “knowledge of my people could only have been garnered from hearsay, and the few old American movies which tacked on Black characters as awkwardly as the blinded attach paper tails to donkey caricatures.” (34)  Instead of saying something, Angelou ends up just leaving the office.  Though she knows she needs to challenge the receptionist’s assumptions, it is too overwhelming. 
Even though I do not have to deal with such racial stereotypes, I still understand Angelou’s sentiments.  Explaining American culture can feel like a hassle, especially when a person rudely generalizes about my background.  The natural inclination is to just ignore the comment, dismiss the person, and move on.  At the same time, I realize that educating people is important.  A few weeks ago, we had a Peace Corps representative come speak to us about the program and its intentions.  He articulated that one of the primary goals is to educate people about Americans, as people in rural villages are unlikely to otherwise meet and interact with someone from the United States.  The Peace Corps, he explained, tries to dissolve myths about Americans and enhance intercultural understanding for both parties. 
Before hearing this, I had thought of study abroad in Ghana in a more selfish light, thinking I was primarily educating myself about Africa and using the semester as a growing experience.  Yet whether I want to or not, I’m representing America.  As someone who has a number of qualms with American culture and society, I feel conflicted about my role.  Part of me wants to defend the United States, explain that we’re not all rich and spoiled, but I also don’t want to slip into the “America is the greatest” mentality.  I end up questioning and thinking about my own relationship with the United States.  In her book, Angelou goes through a similar process, learning about her identity as an African-American.  She writes: “If the heart of Africa still remained allusive, my search for it had brought me closer to understanding myself and other human beings.” (196)  Though Angelou initially went to Ghana to experience Africa, in the end, it was more a journey of self-discovery.  Living abroad is more than adapting to another culture; it’s also a process of reevaluating oneself and background. 

I’m known among people as the health nut. I eat try to avoid processed foods, obsessively shop at farmer’s markets and Whole Foods, and choose local and organic products whenever possible. I eat mainly vegetarian, generally only eating animal products when I know they are from reputable sources and don’t have hormones or other chemicals. I’m a certified yoga teacher, regularly go running, and own way too many workout clothes. Even my Gallatin concentration—Food and Health Justice—is about health and wellness.
When traveling, I usually have to loosen up a little. Outside of the U.S., health foods and fitness aren’t that popular (except in some parts of Europe). Trying to eat consciously while in Costa Rica or Thailand detracts from the cultural experience. After all, am I really going to turn down some pad thai because it was cooked in genetically-modified soybean oil? A little won’t do much harm and I can revert back to my healthy habits once I get back home.
This time, it’s different. I’m in Ghana for four months, not two weeks, so I want to try to eat healthy while I’m here. As you might expect, healthy food isn’t much of a concept in Ghana. In a country where malnourishment is a major issue, people aren’t exactly vying for chia seeds and bee pollen. Instead, people look for high-calorie foods that pack in “nutrients,” since many Ghanaians don’t have the ability to eat three meals a day. Here, Fan Ice, a type of ice cream made from reconstituted milk, fortified with processed vitamins, and eaten out of a plastic bag, is considered a healthy choice. By my usual standards, Fan Ice is the equivalent of eating suntan lotion or some other chemical concoction.
Fan Ice is a new, modern creation, but the traditional Ghanaian diet is far from healthy. It usually consists of starch mush with red mush, meaning some form of carbohydrate (fufu, banku, plantains, rice) with a spicy, tomato based red sauce on top. Sometimes there’s some fried fish, fried chicken, or hard-boiled eggs thrown in for protein. But vegetables? You’d be lucky to get some canned peas garnishing your rice.
Things also get a little tricky with the meal plan NYU has given us. Five nights a week, we get a buffet dinner at a restaurant. Sounds nice, but sometimes the options are unhealthy or unbalanced. I try to avoid the massive quantities or rice or pasta, which leaves room for overcooked vegetable stew, salad with mayonnaise dressing, and fried plantains. It’s hard to know how the food is prepared, whether MSG was used (it’s extremely common here), or what type of oil it was used. Still, it’s a communal activity and free food, so I usually end up trying to choose the healthier options.
Things are easier for breakfast and lunch, when we are on our own for meals. I generally make a massive bowl of fruit with pineapple, bananas, papaya, and watermelon and then something more substantial to accompany it. Lately this has been imported organic English yogurt, one of the only organic things I’ve seen here, mixed with oats, flax seeds, and bee pollen (brought from home). Sometimes it’s Weetabix that I try to make edible with soymilk, raisins, nuts, and cinnamon. I also make a cup of Nescafe, pretty terrible instant coffee, but I’ve yet to find any coffee that tastes decent. For lunch, I’ll be more ambitious and make something with vegetables, beans, avocado, or bread.
From looking around the various supermarkets, I’ve managed to find some imported Lebanese, Indian, and British products. I then buy produce from a local stand, though the variety is pretty limited. Overall, I’ve found decently healthy products, but it requires searching through a lot of junk food. It’s certainly no Whole Foods, but it’s about as good as it gets in Ghana.

It’s impossible to live in Ghana without thinking about history. Modern-day Ghana was part of the Gold Coast, a sought-after destination for European colonists, including the Portuguese, Dutch, and British. In 1844, the British took control, remaining in power until Ghana declared its independence in 1957. There are traces of this past in everything, from the foods in the supermarket to the architecture of the buildings. Such European influences are woven into Ghanaian culture, but not simply as reminders of British rule. Rather, the Ghanaians reinterpret British customs, situating them within an African framework. Along the side of the road, a woman wrapped in African fabric sells boxes of English biscuits and crackers, carrying her goods on her head. She incorporates the imported cookies into traditional culture, balancing them on her head as though they are native bananas or groundnuts. The cookies are no longer foreign—they have become Ghanaian. This cultural synthesis is especially apparent in language. There are an estimated 79 languages/dialects in Ghana, but British rule imposed English as the official language. English is still the official language, but it is far from universal. Many Ghanaians, especially those who live in poor or rural areas, speak very little English. Instead, they speak their local language, often Twi or Ga. English is imposed language, fitting in next to imported biscuits and cell phones. It is not from Africa, but it is now a part of it. Like the other foreign products, English assimilates in uneven ways, becoming the dominant language for some and a barrier for others. Government officials conduct all their business in English while a market vendor might only know enough to sell her wares. Even this English is its own language, different from American or British versions. Ghanaians speak with a strong accent, adding a heaviness and slowness to their words. It’s a bit like the food, dense but with a side of heat. At first, you have to strain to understand people, as your ears are looking for the clarity of American English. But you get used to the accent and the different constructions, treating Ghanaian English as its own entity. You learn that what sounds like “sect, sect, sect” is really an abbreviated way of saying “circle,” that “small small” means what it implies. You find out the hard way that “no” does not exist in Ghanaian English. Ask someone if they know where something is and they will nod, not admit that they have no clue. The answer is always yes. The phrases you know don’t mean the same thing here. If you’re trying to end a conversation, “nice meeting you” does not indicate it’s time to walk away. If you tell someone you’ll see them later, they’ll hold you to your word. It’s English adapted to Ghanaian customs, in which persistence and sincerity dominate. You might think you speak the same language. You do, but you also don’t. It’s like the British cookies on top of the woman’s head—the same cookie as in England, but consumed in a different context.

Foreign places can present themselves as home in the most surprising of ways.  You’ll be wandering around a city, not knowing anyone or anything, and somehow feel comfortable, like you were meant to be there.  It’s an inexplicable feeling with no logical explanation.  It just happens. 
I’d expected this to happen in Ghana.  I imagined warmth, lively music and dance, and comforting yet exotic stews.  Even though it was not my culture, I thought it would feel right to me.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  I was lost from the first day, confused by the lack of street signs, the water sold in plastic bags, and the open gutters.  Things can seem similar, but nothing is the same as at home.  You cut open a pineapple here and it’s white, not yellow.  You get in a taxi, but there’s no meter and you negotiate the price in advance. 
It’s these small differences that I find the hardest.  I was expecting the big things, the days when the Internet or water doesn’t work, and they are easier to comprehend.  The things I didn’t even acknowledge at home—crosswalks and clean air—are what I miss the most.  These are the everyday comforts, so mundane I never thought twice about them.  Yet they created a sense of home. 
Without their familiar presence, I find myself treasuring the few things I brought.  My shower gel now seems sacred, though it is only worth ten dollars.  My yoga mat has become my prized possession.  These objects, just insignificant and easily replaceable items, are valuable because they do not exist here.  I could find shower gel and a yoga mat, but not my specific kind, not the kind that feels right to me.  So I treasure these goods whenever I use them, reminding myself of life back home.  They are anchors, the little snippets of familiarity that keep me from getting completely lost. 
Meanwhile, I try to navigate my way in Accra.  I’m starting to learn things, understanding how to direct taxi drivers to our home and trying to feel comfortable while riding in a tro-tro, the broken-down vans that operate as buses here.  On the surface, I’m used to this way of life.  But underneath, it still feels not right.  There’s still a part of me asking: “Where am I?”
My friends and I joke that we’ll never feel adjusted here, that we’ll never quite feel at home even as we’re leaving.  There’s a sense that Ghana is so different, the culture so intricate, that there are things that will never feel familiar.  I’m living here, but part of me is back home.  It’s this part that will always feel lost here, even as the rest of me adjusts, and remind me that I do not fully belong. 
 

I tried to come to Ghana with no expectations.  Like De Botton, I understood that the “reality of travel is not what we anticipate” (11).  No matter what I imagined, I knew Ghana would be vastly different.  I’d been to developing countries before, namely Cambodia and Thailand, so I expected non-flushing toilets and rickety cars.  Yet I knew Accra was a modern city, with movie theaters and shopping malls.  I had two contrasting images in my head—one of a cosmopolitan, Western-influenced city and the other of dirt roads and huts. 
Neither image is incorrect, but each represents just a slight segment of Ghana.  You can easily wander into the poorer parts of Accra and find tin shacks with women cooking food and children bathing outside with buckets.  But you can also find yourself at a chic nightclub, drinking champagne in heels and a tight dress.  The two scenes don’t necessarily clash.  Rather, they represent the multiple layers of Ghana, the interplay between wealth and poverty, tradition and modernity.  It’s this complexity that makes Ghana so hard to imagine before arriving.  There are the stereotypical notions of Africa, of colorful fabric and jewelry, drumming, and starving children.  All of this exists in some form, but Ghana is so much more. 
One of the biggest challenges of living in Accra is understanding so little.  I sense the multiple Ghanas, the differences between the patients at my volunteer site (West African AIDS Foundation, WAAF) and my wealthy neighbors in Labone.  Obviously, the two populations are connected and affect each other, but as an outsider, I don’t fully comprehend the complicated dynamic.  I’m not familiar enough with the government, the economy, and traditional lifestyles to truly know how the different layers of Accra interact.  Instead, I end up thinking a lot, trying to reconcile everything I see. 
For example, at my internship I spent the day shadowing a doctor as she talked to HIV/AIDs patients.  One of the patients was a farmer who lived outside of Accra in a rural setting.  He originally believed his disease was caused by a curse and needed much convincing before recognizing that Western drugs could improve his condition.  As this example demonstrates, tradition constantly influences modernity, creating complex developmental situations.  How does the doctor encourage the patient to believe in Western medicine without dismissing traditional African medicine?  One does not want to push Western values, yet still wants to improve quality of life for Ghanaians. 
This ambiguity illustrates my own trouble as a white Westerner in Ghana.  I feel like I can help Ghanaians in some way, namely at my internship at WAAF, simply because of my comparative affluence and resources in America.  Yet, what right do I have, as a white outsider, to try and improve healthcare and overall infrastructure?  Like Ghana itself, my sense of purpose here is not clearly defined. 

(own picture)

I’m Hillary and I’m a junior at Gallatin, studying Food and Health Justice with a Focus on Women.  My concentration addresses most of my interests, namely sustainable and healthy food, public health, alternative medicine, and women’s health, specifically reproductive issues and maternal care.  Given my concentration, it made the most sense for me to study abroad in a developing country where I could learn about improving healthcare and food access.  So here I am, living in Ghana for the next three and a half months. 
I always knew I wanted to study abroad in college.  My parents introduced me to traveling when I was eight with a trip to Bali, Vietnam, and Cambodia, and I’ve been hooked ever since.  I’m always looking for ways to go somewhere new, whether it’s a community service trip in Thailand or a surf camp in Costa Rica.  In high school, I spent my junior spring in Rome at an international school.  It was a mixed experience, but the challenges only made the semester more valuable.  I came back far more mature and independent and, as clichéd as it is, with a greater sense of the outside world.  Since Rome, I’ve tried to travel with a purpose and grasp a non-tourist perspective.  This usually involves ending up in bizarre but wonderful situations, like painting a chicken coop on a farm in Italy or stumbling into a Austrian wine tasting.  I figured Ghana would provide the least “touristy” study abroad experience and would challenge me far more than the typical European semester.  As wonderful as studying abroad in Europe is, I felt like I already had my turn—spending another semester in Europe would be too familiar, too easy. 
Even though I signed up for a dramatically different experience by choosing Ghana, there are certainly moments when I wish I’d chosen Berlin or Florence.  It would so simple to just sit in a café and sip a latte.  In Ghana, everything requires effort and thought.  Every interaction with Ghanians is so loaded with cultural complexities—white/black, foreigner/native, Western/non-Western—that even buying a mango is challenging.  On the walk to the fruit stand, I’ll attract stares and men call out, “hello, hello.”  When I get there, a young girl, no older than ten, will sell me the mango.  Instead of going to school, she has to help her mother’s fruit business.  It should be a simple transaction, but it raises so many difficult issues of race and class that it becomes exhausting.  Yet I remind myself this is why I’m here, to challenge myself and better understand the developing world.  Before this year, I envisioned myself working in the global public health field, improving maternal/child health in developing nations.   This semester is a test for myself, a way to gauge whether I truly want to work in that difficult field and live without the comforts of first-world countries.  After Ghana, I’m spending my spring semester with International Honors Program, studying public health around the world.  I’ll be spending around a month in each country (Brazil, Vietnam, and South Africa).  Ghana feels like just the very beginning of a challenging, but hopefully an amazing year. 

(own picture in Senya Beraku)