“Call in the Cavalry” by Tammi; 29 May 2009

Is something lurking…?

Since my class schedule and lesson plans had been all shot to shit, (another story in and of itself), I decided to do something semi-productive. I was planning to go out to buy bread. There were a few clouds in the sky keeping the sun at bay enough to make the mid-day temperature bearable for the short bike ride. So I mustered up the energy and went to the shed for my bicycle.

I unfastened the padlock, and swung open the door. As I took a few steps toward where my bike was leaning, my eyes adjusting to the dim light, and something in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I knew right away it was not one of the lizards that commonly share our quarters, but something else. The figure tried to conceal itself on the far side of an old bag of cement, but its slate colored tail was still visible sticking out from behind. More curious than alarmed, I drew closer. Not only did I wish to identify this mystery creature, but it had positioned itself between me and the bike which I intended to ride. Cautiously, I took hold of a handlebar and jiggled the bike a little bit. This proved to be enough provocation for the snake to stand up and take notice. Based on the color, I was not sure what type of snake I might be looking at. But when it raised its head and spread its hood, I quickly confirmed it was a cobra. “Wow, a cobra”, I thought. “Are those stripes on its neck”? Leaning a bit closer, I confirmed that those were fine markings indeed. But when the snake responded by spitting a warning shot of venom at me (and it traveled at least as far as he was long), I decided that this little snake with a big attitude should not be toyed with. I stepped back, rattled the garage door a little bit and looked on from a safe distance as the snake slithered away to the back of the shed where it could find a nice hiding place behind all the stuff.

Ok, so I will admit now that it was only a foot long. But after the way it acted toward me I had to consider it less than friendly. (And whether it comes from a big or little cobra, a venom filled bite could cause the recipient a fair amount of physical discomfort to say the least). Chris was over at school, so before I pedaled off on my errand I sent a text message warning him of our new occupant. I did not want him or one of the visiting small boys to reach into a box of tools and come out with fang marks.

When I returned home about 30 minutes later there were seven cutlass-carrying men, including my husband, huddled around the garage. “Ut oh”, I thought. “I hope I did not come off as the damsel in distress”. As it turns out, this was not the case. “Ashanti’s fear snakes paah” the men exclaimed, which is apparently why they sent in the cavalry! As the men took turns clearing away the jumble of shed contents in search of the 12 inch threat, one man found entertainment in sneaking up behind the other and pinching the back of his leg. This made for a most animated response, or course. (The man doing most of the teasing was the one who jumped the highest when someone snuck up on him). In the end, the cobra hunters completed their mission and the snake was “removed”. Now if something can be done about those scorpions that keep showing up in Chris’s art office at school…

"Portaits of Ghana" by Chris; 02 April 2009

After a lot of the heavier blogs I felt that maybe we should take a break and do something simple.

I have always been that kind of guy that will only shoot pictures of the landscape and natural scenery but not people… until now. Since we’ve come to Ghana I can’t help it, I want to take pictures of everyone, especially the kids and I have made it into somewhat of a sport. You sneak up on them, not that the kids would catch you but that the adults would catch you and want to also be in the picture or want to “compose” the picture for you. While we were in Old Tafo during training, we happened upon two young girls, one of them with a baby doll strapped to her back. Tammi asked to take their picture (as we always do) and they were quite excited, then an adult decided the picture would be better composed if she were holding the doll. It was not. I also enjoy taking these pictures because the Ghanian people are simply beautiful.
What follows is a series of portraits and I was told to make you all aware that Tammi took all the good ones. Actually I think I can take credit for all of these...
One disclaimer: It may seem that all these people are unhappy having their pictures taken. Well for some reason most Ghanaians do not smile for pictures. I have asked many times why this is but no one can really tell me why.

Enjoy:



JHS student


Girls with additude


Playing hide n seek


Mafeekopee





Primary students marching during Independence Day celebrations





One of the neighbor kids


Village Elders

“Don’t Sweat the Petty Stuff” by Tammi; 12 March 2009

It’s almost 9 months to the day that Chris and I arrived in Ghana. I’m sitting on the couch reading by “torch light” (flashlight) and Chris is in the shower room taking a bucket bath. This morning we had both running water and electricity. Tonight we do not and it’s funny how little thought we give to this set of frequent facts. We don’t even break stride. The boxed wine from the fridge is still cool and between pages of Truck A Love Story, I take a moment to squeeze some CheezWhiz (courtesy of dear friend’s care package) on a piece of bread.

Today, life is good. It’s the first time in weeks that the temperature has dropped below 80 degrees. A cool breeze is coming in from the open door and I’m loving it.

For the past several weeks the weather has been miserable. March came in like a lion, but not in the sense that a Midwesterner would conjure. It was in like a panting, sweaty, passed out under the nearest Baobab tree kind of lion. A can’t muster up enough gumption to even look at a wounded antelope, much less chase it kind of lion.

Quote of the quarter-

With the look of epiphany drawn on his face, Chris stares at me and conjectures, “I’ve never seen you sweat as much as you do here”.

“Thanks Einstein. Why the *$#^ do you suppose that is?!” I reply. My husband has moments of brilliance. This was not one of those moments.

I try to keep it as cool as possible in the house. I strategically open and close louvers and curtains, and turn ceiling fans off or on (when the electricity is working). But the last few weeks my attempts have been futile. The other night a few hours after the sun went down and the temperature started to “cool”, I checked the thermometer beside the bed as I attempted to go to sleep. It read 90.4 degrees.

Apparently when we first came here it was the “cool” time of the year. I’d go to bed wearing a t-shirt and cover up with a sheet. Now we strip off our clothes and flop on an open mattress. But trust me, there’s nothing sexy about this. It reminds me of the song lyrics “I’d like to sleep with my baby tonight, but it’s too darn hot”!

Back to Chris’ scientific observation- Maybe you have heard the adage, Women don’t sweat. They glisten. In Africa we glisten our asses off! The slightest effort and I’m dripping…no, make that streaming with sweat. Walk to the store to buy t-roll and sweat pours down my front and back. Write on the blackboard during class lecture and the sweat drips down my leg. Simply sit in a chair and watch the world go by…dare to stand up and the puddle of sweat makes it seem as though I’ve wet myself. And I’m not even what you would call a sweater! Back home I don’t perspire readily. But here the difference between breaking and sweat or not is the difference between survival and ceasing to exist! To put existentially, I exist simply. Which is to say, I simply sweat (my balls off)!


Chris celebrates one of the first cooling rains of the season

"Cousin Kelly’s Questions" by Tammi; 05 March 2009

First a side note: Thanks to those of you who sent words of encouragement after my last blog entry. I never expected this to be easy, but it was good to vent a little bit anyway. Not much has changed, but my spirits are more my own again anyway. There are still many times when Chris will catch me in a mood, look sternly at me and say “Attitude”?! Then I respond, “Yes, and there is more where that came from”! But as they say here in Ghana, “We’re managing”.

Recently, I have had some email correspondence with my cousin Kelly. In her last email, she had a few questions. It occurred to me that if she has these questions, then others probably do as well. So here it is---Cousin Kelly’s Questions, Answered:

What did you guys eat yesterday?

6:15 AM-first breakfast-“Tea and Biscuits”

What this actually means is that we had coffee and cookies. The coffee was real, good, fair trade coffee that was shipped to us from the U.S. by friends and family. (Thank God for friends and family)! The only coffee available within many hours of Donkorkrom is Nescafe instant coffee. It will do in a pinch if you fluff it up with some additives, but there is nothing like the real deal. On the other hand there are several kinds of “biscuits” available here that are quite nice with coffee. Yesterday, we had Vega brand Malt’n’Milk Biscuits which are a product of India. Tomorrow we’ll likely switch it up a bit with Good Luck Crackers made in China. First three ingredients in both are wheat flour, sugar, and palm oil. (Let me take this moment to apologize to my Primary Care Physician back home in Ames; Sorry Dr. Molian, I know that a starchy diet along with palm oil is bad for my cholesterol, but my options here are very limited).

10:30 AM-second breakfast-waakye

Yesterday it was Waakye (sounds like watch-ee), from the school canteen. Waakye is a conglomeration of rice, beans, pasta, tomato paste, gari (dried & ground cassava-the texture of cornmeal), topped with two types of hot sauce and the ubiquitous red palm oil. Normally we take it topped with an optional hard-boiled egg. (Again-Sorry Dr. Molian). Think Wisconsin hot dish meets Ghanaian village.


School Canteen

Mrs. Wiredu, the Assistant Headmaster’s wife, makes a mean batch of Waakye. She prepares a big 5 gallon vat of it every school day to sell on campus. Chris has a real weakness for Mrs. Wiredu’s waakye and he typically buys it a few times per week. (At the equivalent of 45 cents for an all-you-can-eat meal we can afford for him to do this even on a volunteer salary). Assistant Headmaster, Mr. Wiredu, is a smallish man who seems a bit serious when you first meet him, but is one who quickly shows his, soft, kind, good-natured side. In contrast, Mrs. Wiredu is not small, maintains a stern front, and generally speaking is not someone who I would want to “mess with”! Two days ago, while Mrs. Wiredu was asleep on the bench behind her waakye table, Chris decided to diversify and purchased Red-Red (red beans served with fried ripe plantains) from another food lady instead of getting his usual. It was scandalous!

It was the hot topic when I stopped by the school food vendors on my way home after class. I was purchasing some fruit to bring home for our pantry and overheard some chattering between the ladies. My Twi is not good enough to catch it all, but combined with a little power of observation I was able to decipher what the gossip was about. As the ladies chided her about it, even Mrs. Wiredu could not help but to reveal the slightest Mona Lisa smirk in response to the whole situation even as she was thinking “How could he buy red red instead of my waakye?”!

Mrs. Wiredu cracks a smile

2:30 PM-snack-fruit and crackers

After a heavy second breakfast, lunch was pretty much overlooked. I think I snacked on a banana, an orange, and some Soda Milk-Salt Crackers (manufactured in Beijing). It is noteworthy to mention the fruit. There are several varieties of bananas here in Ghana. The ones we had yesterday are small. One would have to eat two or three of these bananas to amount to one of the bananas that we see in the States. But what these little guys lack in size, they make up for in flavor. These jazzy little bananas put their big brother bananas to shame.

The oranges on the other hand leave a bit to be desired. First, the color is not orange. They are more greenish-orangeish-yellow when they are ripe. (Open and orange colored orange, and it is most likely spoiled). The oranges have good flavor though. But like so many other things here in Ghana, they are thick skinned. Even the membranes dividing the inner fruit are thick and fibrous. Ghanaians consume oranges by first using a knife to shave off the outer skin down to the thick pith. Then they slice off the top of the orange and suck the good stuff out. Removing the skin makes the orange pliable enough to massage the pulp and juice up and out the top as you go. I have not mastered this technique. My attempts result in pulp all over my face and juice dripping down my elbows. So I avoid eating oranges in public. Instead, I bring them home, section them and chew out the edible parts the best I can before hosing myself down afterwards.

6:00 PM-Supper-Corned beef hash and eggs with toast (breakfast for dinner)

Canned corned beef, imported from Argentina, is readily available in our village. It makes for a tasty hash. The emaciated cows we have in Ghana do not have the easiest of lives, and the taste and texture of the beef reflects this sad story. As a big fan of red meat, I’m here to tell you that Spam is gourmet compared to “fresh” meat in my neck of the woods! From now on, I will eat steak only from happy cows who dreamed of lush green grass and grain while they slept and feasted on it while they were awake.

Potatoes are rare in Ghana. What they do have is yams-real yams. I have never seen a real yam in the U.S. What we have in the U.S. are actually sweet potatoes. Yams are huge tubers. One yam is about 10 times the size of a potato, (a long, somewhat skinny potato). There are even multiple varieties of yam. Right now water yams are in season. I don’t understand why water yams come into season during the dry, hot time of year, but apparently that is the case. Most things we do with potatoes back home can be done with a yam in Ghana. Last night we turned part of a yam into hash.


A water yam

Onions are grown here and are available year round. The onions have wonderful flavor. You may cry a river in the process of cutting one up, but they don’t taste as strongly as they jerk tears.

The eggs we ate were from guinea fowl. Up until the end of the year we had been purchasing most of our eggs from the lady at the little poultry farm just beyond the teachers’ village. When we went to buy eggs after the holidays we learned that the eggs were “finished” and that it would be several weeks before they would have more eggs. When we inquired as to why this was the case, we learned that they had sold all of their laying hens for meat over the holidays. Now it’s March. They still do not have chicken eggs, but we were able to buy a few guinea fowl eggs. That works.

In our village several women bake white bread. Sugar bread and butter bread are the most common. Tea bread, which is a little less sweet, is also often available. But lately we have not been able to find any tea bread, probably because it is our preference. (Whoops there I go with the attitude again). In order to find the exotic and illusive whole wheat variety, one must take a full day to travel over the river and through the woods (literally). So suffice it to say, that while we are thankful for our daily bread, it is most often of the standard white variety.

Normally we buy from the nice bread lady who lives just around the corner from the egg lady. When we went to her house to buy bread this week, we learned that she had traveled over the weekend to attend a funeral (attending funerals is all the rage in Ghana, but that’s a whole separate story). When she returned, she was understandably too tired to bake. So after trekking the rest of the way into town, we were able to buy bread and make toast to go with our hash.

We washed it all down with some Crystal Light (courtesy of a care package).


Our friend Stephen in front of his typical “super market”

About our diet:

Given the levels of saturated fat and starch in the above menu, you might think we are turning into a couple of Goodyear Blimps! Personally, I don’t get it. When Mom and Dad came to visit, they went on and on about how we looked. “You’re so skinny!”, “Don’t you eat?” “Are you sick?” “Do you have worms?” Mom asked. Mom’s comments slowed down shortly after we arrived at a favorite restaurant in Accra and she witnessed me pounding down three entrees in addition to sharing some appetizers and desserts. I guess she decided I was not starving myself.

A student recently backed my mother’s observation when she saw me in a family photo taken last Christmas. Upon recognizing me in the photo she exclaimed, “Madam, you were fat!” (Ahhh, kids say the darndest things). But it’s true, and to say a person is fat is akin to a compliment here in Ghana. So I found her comment really funny.

Before I came to Ghana, I was mindful of and worked hard to maintain a healthy diet. I also exercised regularly. Now I have no exercise regiment and I eat whatever I can get my hands on that sounds appetizing. As most have witnessed, I never have been a slave to fashion. But here is the real kicker- I was fat in a fashionably skinny country and now I’m “skinny” (as Mom put it) in a fashionably fat country. Figures! Oh well. When, or by the time I return to the U.S., I’m certain I’ll be fat again. But this time it will be different. I don’t think I’ll care. I have too many visions of cheese curds and red meat dancing in my head! (And maybe Dr. Molian will need my business).

Are there snakes there?

One of the standard issue items that we received while in training was a copy of West African Snakes by G.S. Cansdale. The contents include descriptions of many snakes broken down by their family groupings of python, back-fanged, cobras and mambas, vipers, and harmless snakes. There are in-depth descriptions that include everything from color, diet, scale patterns on the underbelly, mating behavior, and construction of the fangs, to snake bite treatment. The lesson that I took away from this 69 page publication is that if you can observe all of these qualities of a snake, you are most likely way too close!

I personally have seen just a few snakes – all dead. Chris says he saw a big cobra in the back yard. Luckily it was searching for an escape route. A few weeks ago on campus, some students hacked the head off of a big snake which was about the diameter for Chris’s forearm. This poor creature had been flushed from its home by the brush fires that were lapping against the walls of our school buildings. Other snakes probably took shelter underground. This snake ended up as a meal for two families.

So, yes, there are definitely snakes about. But they seem to prefer avoiding people. And that’s just fine by me.

How far do you have to walk to use the internet?

Use of the internet is a sore subject with me right now so I’ll try to be brief with my answer.

There is an internet café which is a sweltering 25 minute trek into town on a good day. The computers are crappy and the service is painfully slow, especially for the price that they charge.

Cell phones, however, are prevalent in Ghana. As a result, internet service is available through some cellular service providers-“somehow”. For a few glorious months, Chris and I were splurging for what we thought was an exorbitant luxury - internet access via my GPRS capable cell phone for 40 cedis/month (about $35). This means that we had internet access from our own home or anywhere we traveled with my cell phone and laptop in Ghana. Then one day it stopped without notice. After many arduous calls and frustrating broken English conversations I found that we can still get internet access by pre-paying at a rate of 3.005 pesua per kilobyte uploaded and downloaded. Translation – Stinking Expensive! Until (if/when) we can get something different in place (which believe me is not going to be easy to do in a developing country) we will not be doing any “surfing”, opening or forwarding those fun little emails with photo attachments, or doing anything else on line that we once took for granted.

This makes me frumpy! (I’m sure that part of the attitude that may have been detectable in my last blog entry can at least be partially attributed to this).

When you go into the "village/city" are there armed men walking around like I've heard about in other places?

I do have to admit that initially the sight of automatic weapons was a bit unnerving. We often see local police officers with automatic weapons slung over their shoulders. Most times, though, you don’t see them with any weapon at all. Not even a night stick. It’s probably not in their budget. But you do see the guns often enough that you get used to it. You also get used to seeing everyone from grandmas to small children carrying machetes. It’s not unusual to see shot guns strapped to bicycles like you would see rifles in the rack of a pickup truck on a frosty Wisconsin morning. Here machetes and shot guns are typical farming tools. It’s akin to seeing farmer Smith in striped overalls with a screwdriver in his pocket.


Tammi handing out candy canes to armed officers guarding ballot boxes before the last election

Do your parents send packages or mail to you or is it impossible to receive things like that there? If so, how long does it usually take to get to you?

The postal service seems fairly reliable for things like standard letters and cards. In fact, Mom reported sending out a few Valentines, and we apparently received ours before Uncle Bill got his! Regular mail is delivered to us via the school where we teach. It practically comes to our doorstep! Anything bigger than your standard letter, however, is a bit trickier and more expensive.

Some friends and family have sent care packages, (bless their hearts). I think that priority mail reaches the post office in Accra in about 2-3 weeks time. We have a perfect track record so far in that all packages sent have been received (and very few bribes have been paid). Due to customs crap, however, we have to travel at least one full day to retrieve packages. It’s not an easy routine so we combine it with other travel tasks and typically are able to pick things up about every 6 weeks or so. (As you can deduce, sending anything a bit perishable is out of the question).

There is actually a FedEx office in Donkorkrom! It cracks me up and makes me think of Tom Hanks in the movie Castaway. One might have to take out a second mortgage to ship something here FedEx but it has been done. Somehow it gets through the customs process without us having to be there in person and comes right to the house strapped to the back of a “motto” (motor bike). It’s a beautiful thing!

It's great to hear about your adventure! (Better yours than mine)

It’s great to hear from you to, Kelly. Not only do I think that others share your questions, but some likely share your sentiment as well :)

“I am Madam Martin” by Tammi; 13 Feb 2009

Teachers at Ghanaian schools are referred to as Masters. As a woman teacher I am referred to as Madam.

I am Madam Martin. I am also Madam Tammi, Madam Iowa, Madam Adwoa (my Ghanaian name based on the day of the week I was born), Madam Toffee (because I have been known to reward students with candy) and Obruni (because I am white). I am more appreciative of some names than others. Students use the first four to address me in class or playfully great me on campus. On campus, I refuse to respond to the last one.

Madam Martin is uncertain that she should be attempting to teach at all. This is not due to the seemingly insurmountable circumstances that my mother made reference to in the previous blog entry. Poor facilities, lack of equipment and supplies, etc. –those are just things. My reasons are more personal and my feelings about it swing like a pendulum. I wonder if Ghana is making me bi-polar. Take for instance last Monday.

It’s nearing 7a.m. and I’m 1 of 2 “Master’s on Duty” this week, so I head across the street for morning assembly. (I am supposed to be a lot of places as Master on Duty, but what exactly I am supposed to accomplish by being at these places eludes me). For assembly we all stand outside. The students stand in sections, more or less in rows, based on which year they are. Many students filter in late, and many more are presumably absent altogether. After listening to the school song, the pledge, a few announcements and a few reprimands from the Senior Housemaster, the 7:20 a.m. bell sounds and it’s time for the first period to begin.

This morning I meet with my Form II (second year) business track students. My objective is to review the End of Term I exam so that all of the students understand the correct answers before we delve into new subject matter. (This is something that I really appreciated as a student and something that I think will interest the students.)

I do my best to engage the class. But I soon find that I am no competition for the distractions of other students wandering outside the windows, classmates inside the classroom chattering with one another after being apart for 3 weeks, or the multitude of students who wander and out of the class late. (There are no hall monitors or passes. In fact, there are no hallways). After about 35 minutes, having had enough of the teenage attitude; I clench my jaw, write a homework assignment on the blackboard, calmly announce that this is a waste of time, pack up my things and walk out of the room leaving the students to their own devices. Unfortunately this is not the first time that I, (or other teachers), have done this. And unfortunately it is not unusual for classes to be without teachers for all kinds of reasons. After being here for one term I find that it is more shocking when I walk by a classroom block in the middle of a period and see that almost every class has a teacher in it, than it is to walk by the classrooms and see that there are no instructors.

So anyway, I tramp away thinking: “This is a bunch of crap. I don’t know why I was assigned to do this anyway. Of all the things that I actually have to offer the Peace Corps, why did they ask me to teach?! I have no formal teaching experience, no teacher’s education, no kids of my own, (or any interest in having kids of my own), and I only deem myself to have basic computer literacy! So why on earth I am here trying to teach ICT to 55 uninterested teenagers? This is CRAZY”!

I pace about campus busying myself with various things until the 8:40-9:10 breakfast break. As Master on Duty I’m supposed to check up on the kitchen to make sure that food is prepared for the boarding students and see that the students are “taking” (eating) their breakfast. What I’m supposed to do if this is not happening, I have no idea! But I go through the motions for good measure.

My second class begins after the break. I am scheduled to meet with my Form I (first year) students. I consider this chalkboard lesson on basic software to be dry and boring. But the students are engaged and responsive. They even seem to be learning something and enjoying it! At the end of the 80 minute session, I leave the classroom thinking, “I totally rock! I am the best teacher ever."

So as you can see, this ride on the pendulum is a bit extreme. But I think that my pendulum may be leaning to one side. Maybe it’s the weather.

It’s hot! I stated on my application and in an interview with the Peace Corps that I do not function very well in hot weather especially when there is no relief in sight. So…now I am in Africa. I keep our bungalow as cool as possible via my strict heat management program. This means that I open and close the louvers and curtains at various times to keep the hotter air out and the cooler air in the best I can. By doing this, I am able to keep our bedroom at least 10 degrees cooler than the outside temp during the day. When I went to bed last night it was 88 degrees in the bedroom. It was nearly dawn before the temp “cooled” to 81 and then the sun started coming round to heat things up again.

Seriously though, I am very happy to be in Africa. I truly think it is great, (albeit there are cooler places in Africa where we could be). But if I were serving on another continent, I would surely be thinking, “I wonder what it’s like in Africa? I want to go there”.

Many of my co-volunteers are here to gain teaching experience. When they return home they plan to either start or resume careers in teaching or something closely related. When they describe their trials and tribulations, I hear them say things like, “The education system is messed up, but I love the kids”. I must admit that sometimes I find the students quite appealing. On an individual basis, I’d even venture to say that I like and enjoy nearly every one of them. But when you stick them in a dysfunctional institution and pack them together in a classroom, it seems to me that they somehow become sub-human. There also appears to be an undocumented rule regarding the teacher/student relationship. Apparently there is some kind of game whereby the student’s have the mission of cheating and tricking, and the teacher has the mission of catching and beating. This does not work for me. Homey don’t play that game! So what am I to do?

Take my most recent dilemma for one example: All students take end of term exams. At least 70% of their grade is dependent on this exam. While one of my classes was taking the recent ICT term exam, the senior master who was invigilating went around to each student to check their fee card. If the student had not paid their school fees (or failed to produce evidence that he/she had paid), he pulled their exam and sent them out. Eight of my students were sent out, and as a result they had to receive a zero for their test score.

To me, this seems completely unfair. Even if the fees have not been paid it is an entirely separate issue from the students’ knowledge of the subject matter. So I stuck my neck out for them. After multiple discussions with the Academic Headmaster, I decided to do two things. First, I made a promise to the students that this will never happen again. At the very least not while I’m around. (I’m sure that there will be some “interesting” staff meetings prior to the term II exams as a result). Second, because changing the term I grades was not an option, I provided another opportunity for the affected students. If they wished, they could choose 1 of 2 assignments to complete. If they performed very well, I would add up to 30% to their second term exam scores. Ample time was given so as not to interfere with other class work.

This week, 6 of 8 students opted to hand in the assignment more or less on time. Five of those students chose the option of interviewing a person in the community who has a career that is associated with ICT. Unfortunately I found that not only are most of the reports generally lacking effort, but few students, (if any at all), actually spoke to a real person! I handed them a special opportunity. They handed me a pile of bull #%$@!

It is times like these that really make me doubt why I am trying to do this at all.

I spend a lot of time laboring over lesson plans, (probably too much), trying to foresee every potential problem and playing out what-if scenarios so I am ready to flex the plan and flow with the students’ needs as the lesson progresses. So when things like this happen I can’t help but to think that instead I could be spending time working on other projects. I fantasize about small enterprise development, community action, and eco tourism projects. I fantasize about collaboration with NGO’s, funding sources, and how together we could tap into the great potential of Afram Plains.

Unfortunately I do not believe the Peace Corps is as flexible as my belabored lesson plans. My primary assignment is teaching (this is my mission, which I chose to accept). So far I have not self-destructed. I still go to bed at night with hope for tomorrow. And I still wake up in the morning ready to give it another shot. But the swing of the pendulum is uncertain. And I’m not sure how long the momentum will last.

"Tammi’s Mom, Unplugged" by Tammi; 11 Feb 2009

Wouldn’t it be nice to be a fly on the wall…?

Here is your chance. Following is an email that my mom sent out to a few friends and family just after arriving home from visiting here. The previous blog entry was “authorized”. We’ll simply call this one “the rest of the story”. To lighten things up a little, I have added an email that I sent home just after my parents’ departure. Hope you enjoy it!
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(21 Jan 2009)

There are lots of things you CAN'T tell about a school by visiting an empty campus. Wish we could have been there when classes were in session but, after seeing DASHS and visiting with Tammi and Chris, we'd like to share our impressions about their primary job assignment.

DASHS is an agricultural high school so the campus is large. We saw no ag projects but some of the teachers who live on campus have plots which supplement their income.

There are seven educational buildings and all are either unfinished or in need of repair. One of the things I noticed in a pretrip perusal of the guidebook is the frequency of the word "crumbling." In the tropical climate buildings which aren't constantly cared for crumble.

The only furnishing in most of the rooms is a chalk board made from plywood painted black with "cooked" batteries. The school supposedly has a small library but it's in storage (part of the refurbishment process).

The proposed computer lab is in an unfinished building. The present lab has eight computers operable to some degree. There are no window screens and the ceiling fan doesn't work. The air entering the room during the present dry season is smoky and dirty; during the wet season it will be extremely damp, both conditions bad news for computers and uncomfortable for teacher and students.



Tammi in front of future computer lab

The dining/assembly building has a powdery dirt floor and sheep, goats and chickens were wandering around inside. They'll be ejected when classes start but meanwhile feces is being mixed with the dust. There's an outdoor kitchen and a tin-roofed, open eating area for day students. Sanitary facilities are bucket showers and pit toilets. Piles of trash are scattered about campus.


Inside the dining/assembly hall during term break

Curriculum is set by the Ghanaian school system. The school doesn't have the equipment for all the visual arts units Chris is supposed to teach but his class sizes are small and he can substitute for what's lacking.

Tammi's assignment is to take classes of 40-60 students with limited English language skills and no keyboarding experience and turn out students proficient in MS Word, Power Point and Excel. Sound a little difficult? To me, it's pie-in-the-sky. She says most of her students, if asked their goals for computer training, would like to become knowledgeable on the internet to send out SPAM. In their defense, we didn't notice a lot of possibility for computer jobs in Donkorkrom and vicinity, which is as far as most of these students have been.

A passing grade is 35 percent. By the time some of the families scraped up tuition for the fall semester the students were so late in arriving that there was no possibility of passing. During Tammi's finals testing a proctor entered the room and removed tests from students because of unpaid fees. Hopefully, Tammi will find a way to alleviate that situation.

Students aren't alone in high absenteeism. Teachers fail to report to classes, sometimes for a couple weeks at a time, leaving students sitting in an empty classroom; there are no substitute instructors.

How do you measure success? None of us knows what we do that makes a difference in others' lives, either good or bad. In my opinion, though, Tammi is forced to set her own goals because the classroom goals she's given are impossible. Already she's faced co-ed classes (as has Chris), shown them both male and female condoms and talked to them about HIV/AIDS, probably their first sex education.

If Chris and Tammi can initiate clean-up projects which would in turn foster pride it would be a big step forward. Supposedly funds have been earmarked for building construction, renovation and new computers. Where are the contractors? Where are the computers? They're Ghana get it done...maybe...in their own good time.

Sound pessimistic? At the very least, we suffered culture shock.

Venturing into the community, however, was lots of fun. It's a short walk into town and interacting with residents at street level is an opportunity typical tourists seldom enjoy. The word akwaaba (welcome) characterizes the country. We heard it frequently as folks came across the road to shake hands and bid us good day. They seemed to get a kick out of exchanging courtesies in Twi with Tammi and Chris, who comprise two-thirds of the abruni (white) population of Donkorkrom (a Dutch nun completes the trio).

As we get caught up on chores at the Thirsty Horse I'll probably put fingers to keyboard to record more general impressions about Ghana. One thing about receiving them via e-mail, you're not a captive audience.

Later,
Marlene & Don


School “Kitchen”

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Hello from Ghana! (19 Jan 2009)

It was really luxurious having private transportation home from Accra. (We missed the ferry by just a few minutes which added about 3 hours to our journey but it all turned out fine). We were happy to arrive at home with our purchases and perishable groceries in fine condition. We got the yogurt in the fridge, the meats in the freezer, and most of our things unpacked before the power went out. Our spirits started to drop as the temp in our little fridge started to rise. We were still without power nearly 48 hours later when we started implementing our plan:

We prepared and ate as much meat as we could and I cooked the rest to extend its shelf life. We devised a low-tech evaporative system that we thought should work fairly well since right now the nights are cool and the air is dry. We decided to put the cooked meat in zip-lock bags, suck the air out, and wrap the bags in damp towels. We would then use our battery powered "nurf" style personal fan (a purchase that Terri highly recommended) to circulate the air around the meat and hopefully cool it enough to inhibit the meat from spoiling too rapidly. (I also decided that it would not be a bad idea to pray about it). Genius, right?!!

Well, while the meat was cooling and as we were trying to figure out how to "dry" our yogurt to preserve the live cultures for future use, the electricity came back!

1 Kilo of sausage- $ 7
Car, driver and gas for private transport-$230
Eating good meat for dinner at the end of the day in a developing country-PRICELESS!

As far as how school is going, students were scheduled to return to school last Thursday. Chris and I reported to morning assembly on Monday. We were the only ones who reported. Classes "somehow" resumed yesterday.

The headmaster was here for a day before he traveled again. He's back now though. We got in a little conversation in the yard between comings and goings though. We seem to have a lot of the same ideas for improving this school. So if we can get some commitment and follow through maybe...just maybe something will get accomplished.

Hope you are quickly recovering from your journey. I know that things could have gone a little more smoothly. But then it probably would have given you the wrong idea about life in Ghana.

t.

“Going to See The Kids” by Tammi's Mom; 29 Jan 2009

GOING TO SEE THE KIDS—that’s what geezers and geezerettes do, but our kids have made it an eXtreme sport. First our eldest daughter, Terri, and her family moved to Budapest for three years so it was off to Europe. As they were packing to return to the U.S., Tammi and Chris took off for Ghana. We’re starting to feel like Amazing Race contestants.

“Going To See The Kids” involves certain things. You’re installed in the guest room, you go out to eat together, take in the local sights and maybe meet the neighbors. Same in Ghana…well, sort of.


Ghana Gothic

Tammi and Chris’s new digs are pleasant enough—a two-bedroom apartment attached to the high school headmaster’s home, a nice yard…except the yard is surrounded by a high fence with a built-in guardhouse manned 24 hours a day to remind them that, though they make about $5 per day on Peace Corps salary, they’re among the elite in Donkorkrom and their possessions may be coveted. There’s a goat pen in the corner of the yard where table scraps are disposed of and cashew and lime trees, not exactly common in Ames, Iowa.


Don helping out with the chores

The house has electricity and running water—at least most of the time. The electricity cut out only twice momentarily during our stay but when Tammi and Chris returned home bearing sausages after seeing us off they had an anxious two days trying to preserve their rare treat without refrigeration. The electricity is also really nice to have because it runs the ceiling fans, providing cooling in this sweltering climate.

Our stay was during the dry season so I quickly learned to shower first thing in the morning, when the water was most likely to be running. When it wasn’t you could still shower and flush the toilet by getting a bucketful of water from a barrel in the kitchen or shower.

In tourist areas of Ghana restaurant dining can be pretty ordinary if you order off the continental menu—you just have to remember that chips are fries. In Donkorkrom there ARE no tourists, hence no tourist menu, but there are several places to eat out.

The first thing I noticed when we were seated at one of the local establishments is that there was a squeeze bottle resembling dishwashing liquid on the table. The waitress brought individual wash basins and towels, substituting for the lack of restroom facilities. The menu for the day consisted of rice, light soup and chicken. We each ordered all three. The chicken went in the light soup, a spicy, tomato-flavored broth, and the rice came alongside.

The next day we tried patio dining at a spiffy new restaurant/bar/guest house. This time instead of the chicken we each ordered grass-cutter, the most popular bush meat (probably because it’s about the only one available). The Ghanaians can’t afford to be finicky so our serving of grass-cutter (otherwise known as cane rat) included skin (remarkably thick and chewy) and tail (toothpick-size bones). It’s never going to earn a place on the menu at Hickory Park. To add insult to injury the kids made us try fufu which is basically a large goo ball made of cooked cassava and plantain served at the bottom of the bowl of soup.

After that, the kids seemed to realize that the geezers wouldn’t survive long on restaurant fare and, besides, their Peace Corps salary doesn’t allow such extravagance on a regular basis. They’ve adjusted local specialties to the western palate and their home cooking suited us better but it’s not like whipping up a bite in a hurry.

Chris grinds the coffee with a pestle (only Nescafe is available locally). He also roasts ground nuts (peanuts) and makes their own peanut butter. An all-purpose condiment is shitto, a spicy homemade red sauce. My personal favorite and the dish I’ll attempt to fix at home is kelewele, which is made with plantains flavored with lime juice, fresh ginger and pepe, Ghana’s version of cayenne.

Although we saw beautiful vegetables and fresh fruit in markets as we traveled around the country, Donkorkrom’s dry climate apparently doesn’t produce them in abundance. Carrots were more expensive than in our super markets and not nearly as nice. Tomatoes were tasty but small. Greens aren’t much in evidence. Meat is a luxury Tammi and Chris can’t often afford and when they do splurge choices are limited. The meat shop butchers one animal a day so if you’re hungry for goat on a beef day, you’re out of luck. Signs which say “cold store” mean they have freezer food. The kids went all out and bought four chicken fryer quarters. After two hours of cooking, Chris’s and my chicken fell off the bones. Don and Tammi couldn’t gnaw theirs off. After another two hours on the stove it made a flavorful addition to the next day’s pasta salad.


One of those "special" mother-daughter experiences

Clothes are washed in tubs, wrung out by hand and hung on the clothesline to dry. A broom with no handle substitutes for a vacuum cleaner. For entertainment there’s a small TV and one government channel with poor reception. Entertainment is provided by the ipod or pirated DVDs, which are available locally. Without labor-saving devices, entertainment isn’t such a priority.



The Martins see lots more of their neighbors now. Instead of waving as your cars pass, you have time to visit as you meet on the road. Greetings are more prolonged. Though Tammi and Chris’s knowledge of Twi doesn’t allow for involved conversations, the locals seem to get a kick out of exchanging pleasantries.

Neighborly gestures seem more meaningful in a subsistence economy. When we were introduced to a shopkeeper he gave Don and I each a one-liter bottle of water. We stopped to admire the yams a neighbor was bringing in from his farm plot to sell in the local market and he gave us one big enough for a meal. We went to visit a member of the school’s art department faculty and were accompanied home by his daughters carrying a picnic basket with our dinner already prepared. When the paw paws (papaya) ripened, quantities appeared at the door, lots like zucchini does in Iowa.

We’re glad we went to see the kids. It costs lots more and it’s way more uncomfortable than going from Colorado to Iowa and back but you can’t put a value on time together. We’re glad we got to see where and how they lived and to go road tripping together to see Ghana up close and personal.

We’re going to be happy too when they’re back home in Iowa. Waiter, make mine a saucy southerner and a peppermint patty sundae.