Continuation of Funeral from a month ago! So on saturday at sunrise people parade around town from the wakening, and then go back to their houses to sleep (staying up all night has its downsides). At 9am (so, 10am Ghana Time) the church service starts for the eulogy and finally burial. Everyone wears their funeral best – meaning black and brown everything. I had a traditional Ewe funeral garb consisting of a fuzzy brown with black spotted fabric, draped about in a toga-esque fashion with the material used for my shirt and short (if spotted in the US in just my shirt and shorts, people ponder which mental asylum I had escaped from). Needless to say, so I will say it anyway, my townsfolk were pumped to see me decked out with a cape and undergarments; all day I heard "Mike! You are looking cute." from all the elders of the town (please remember cute is synonimous with handsome, and English is not the primary language here, and words take a different meaning here). Also, as being the village white person, I attracted a large amount of people from out of town who just wanted to talk to me – I view it as a game. Elders and out-of-towners want to monopolize my time with talk such as "Oh you just relax here in my house until the evening, then I will walk you back", even though it was only 2 in the afternoon. I can't spend 5 hours talking to one person; the game part comes in when I'm trying to leave... hmm which excuse can I give to not give out my phone number, avoid committing myself to visit someone a few hours away next weekend, and still get out of the conversation and back to my Ghanaian family. I digress.
Eulogy/Burial service was nice, even though they didn't talk in English (but in Ewe with a Twi translator). Afterwards, I heard of a buffett being held by some members of the Asafo family and like a ball rolling down a hill I naturally made my way over there with minimal interruptions. I ate one meal that day – and it was HUGE!!! So happy. Fried chicken, jollof (spicy) rice, cole slaw= yummy. During my personal waist enlargement procedure, elders met at my house to drink palm wine and help pay the family for the funeral. Fast Forward to Sunday with a brief recap – I went to my friends house and just relaxed for the night.
Sunday: Thanksgiving church service was at 9, but I had to wash clothes so I didn't go. I took a nap because I had some sweet palm wine (deha vivi in Ewe), but when I came out to go and bucket shower, the church had relocated the entirety of their sound equipment to my house. From 3 until about 7, singing, dancing, and one exceedingly loud keyboard pumped out the gospel jamz in my courtyard area. I ate some fufu during this time at another house, just to get some respite from the constant barrage of musical notes entering my ears.
End of funeral.
One of my students, 12 years old, favorite word is: focking. But he doesn't know what it means, and neither do other Ghanaians. I tried to give a rough estimation of the American English translation (replacing the O with U), but my plan backfired: my students then asked what other words meant: bullsheet, sheet, and damn, to name a few.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Bush!
This post was supposed to finish up my blog about the megafuneral at my house, but I've decided to throw every convention out the window and talk about: THE AFRICAN BUSH!
For those of who don't know or might otherwise misconstrue the word bush, it means anything that is far away from towns, roads, and semblence of civilization. Now, sit down and let me regale you with tales from the Bush.
The first time I went to out, I woke up at 5:30 to meet my friend Gazale, or Rasta-man (the name probably arises out of his religion, Rastafarianism) at his house. We went out to the bush to collect some palm wine (for teetotallers, palm wine in the morning is only about 1-2% alcohol) with a few guys and a hunter, complete with rifle and hunting dogs. I tried my hand at harvesting and setting up the palm wine collections, but it turns out I was only good at standing around and watching the other guys do work. Why standing, do you ask? In fact, walking in the bush is difficult because you have to look where your feet are going, look up to see where you are going, and look around from the dirt path for mushrooms (quite a tasty treat!). I almost fell several times, and ended up with some nicks and cuts on my feet from walking around. After we had collected some palm wine, I saw where they make apoteshi (moonshine), and of course I promised to come back when they were distilling it in a few weeks. As we were returning to town, the hunter's dogs found some grass-cutters, rodents about two feet long that resemble giant rodents of unusual size (ROUS). It was great to see the dogs herd the animals toward the hunter where he shot two dead. Later, they made a stew and invited me over to enjoy it with them. End of Trip 1.
Trip 2 – This trip started the same way; collected palm wine (and by collected I mean I stood there and walked around with them while they did the work), found some mushrooms. I collected some cocoa pods to eat later, ate some palm fruits and bananas. So we were coming back from palm wine watching, and my friends stopped and pointed at a hole. It turns out there was a hole in the ground that they covered with leaves: if the leaves were disturbed the next day, it meant a rat had its den underground there. The rats here are clever; maybe its the tropical climate, but a rat has two entrances to its lair so that if a predator comes through one way the rat runs out the other side. Fine. So the hunter gets a machete and starts digging to find said rat, while the other guys are clearing the area to find the other entrance to the den. They find the other entrance, and the dogs are still sniffing around the hole and trying to dig and find the rat. I should pause here and say that this is not your black stereotypical rat, but a large white rat maybe two feet long including the tail: it provided enough meat for a good size meal for all of us. Back to the story – we finally dug (I watched with rapt attention) enough for Rastaman to cut off a branch and use it to push the rat out of the hole, like a pushrod used on cannons to pack gunpowder. So he's pushing the branch as far as he can and the rest of us gather and gawk at the other end for the rat. Dogs are waiting, ready to pounce; the hunter has his machete's dull edge ready to pummel the rat to death; I'm waiting 5 feet away to see what this suppossed rat looks like. Does the rat come running out to its doom? Nay, my dear children. Instead a black spitting black cobra snakes its way out, hood flared and fangs ready. Everyone, myself included, screamed and ran away into the bush. The video documentary of this would have provided some nice entertainment and showing that yes, in fact, I do get scared – next time I'll bring the camera men.
Later in the day, we found another rat, killed it, at some fufu with rat soup, drank some nice sweet palm wine, then went to sleep like a baby. I think I dreamed of cobras, like Raiders of the Lost Ark-style, but the palm wine and heat make it hard to recall specifics. Needless to say, I will be going back to the bush next weekend if possible!
Live snakes seen: 1
Dead snakes seen: 5
Electronic devices broken in Africa: 3
Average high, according to my thermometer: 94
Rats eaten: 2
For those of who don't know or might otherwise misconstrue the word bush, it means anything that is far away from towns, roads, and semblence of civilization. Now, sit down and let me regale you with tales from the Bush.
The first time I went to out, I woke up at 5:30 to meet my friend Gazale, or Rasta-man (the name probably arises out of his religion, Rastafarianism) at his house. We went out to the bush to collect some palm wine (for teetotallers, palm wine in the morning is only about 1-2% alcohol) with a few guys and a hunter, complete with rifle and hunting dogs. I tried my hand at harvesting and setting up the palm wine collections, but it turns out I was only good at standing around and watching the other guys do work. Why standing, do you ask? In fact, walking in the bush is difficult because you have to look where your feet are going, look up to see where you are going, and look around from the dirt path for mushrooms (quite a tasty treat!). I almost fell several times, and ended up with some nicks and cuts on my feet from walking around. After we had collected some palm wine, I saw where they make apoteshi (moonshine), and of course I promised to come back when they were distilling it in a few weeks. As we were returning to town, the hunter's dogs found some grass-cutters, rodents about two feet long that resemble giant rodents of unusual size (ROUS). It was great to see the dogs herd the animals toward the hunter where he shot two dead. Later, they made a stew and invited me over to enjoy it with them. End of Trip 1.
Trip 2 – This trip started the same way; collected palm wine (and by collected I mean I stood there and walked around with them while they did the work), found some mushrooms. I collected some cocoa pods to eat later, ate some palm fruits and bananas. So we were coming back from palm wine watching, and my friends stopped and pointed at a hole. It turns out there was a hole in the ground that they covered with leaves: if the leaves were disturbed the next day, it meant a rat had its den underground there. The rats here are clever; maybe its the tropical climate, but a rat has two entrances to its lair so that if a predator comes through one way the rat runs out the other side. Fine. So the hunter gets a machete and starts digging to find said rat, while the other guys are clearing the area to find the other entrance to the den. They find the other entrance, and the dogs are still sniffing around the hole and trying to dig and find the rat. I should pause here and say that this is not your black stereotypical rat, but a large white rat maybe two feet long including the tail: it provided enough meat for a good size meal for all of us. Back to the story – we finally dug (I watched with rapt attention) enough for Rastaman to cut off a branch and use it to push the rat out of the hole, like a pushrod used on cannons to pack gunpowder. So he's pushing the branch as far as he can and the rest of us gather and gawk at the other end for the rat. Dogs are waiting, ready to pounce; the hunter has his machete's dull edge ready to pummel the rat to death; I'm waiting 5 feet away to see what this suppossed rat looks like. Does the rat come running out to its doom? Nay, my dear children. Instead a black spitting black cobra snakes its way out, hood flared and fangs ready. Everyone, myself included, screamed and ran away into the bush. The video documentary of this would have provided some nice entertainment and showing that yes, in fact, I do get scared – next time I'll bring the camera men.
Later in the day, we found another rat, killed it, at some fufu with rat soup, drank some nice sweet palm wine, then went to sleep like a baby. I think I dreamed of cobras, like Raiders of the Lost Ark-style, but the palm wine and heat make it hard to recall specifics. Needless to say, I will be going back to the bush next weekend if possible!
Live snakes seen: 1
Dead snakes seen: 5
Electronic devices broken in Africa: 3
Average high, according to my thermometer: 94
Rats eaten: 2
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Second FUNeral
So a few weeks ago there was a funeral in my town. Maybe, thats not quite correct: the funeral was in my house for someone who died about a month prior. Being at the epicenter of the funeral action was an event in itself, especially being the white person in town. So let's begin the recap!
Friday: The body arrived at about 6:30 via ambulance to the town from the morgue. The ambulance stops on the outside of town, to 'ask permission' from the chief to enter the town with a dead person. Also, a large number of people (150?) escorted the remains to our house amidst much (select three of the following) singing/dancing/rejoicing/mourning. Then, the dress the body for viewing. Viewing in America? In the casket. Viewing in Ghana? Well, in order for the person to look as lifelike as possible they put on what appears to be a wedding dress (all white and very large) and sit the person up in a chair like they are still alive!! I wonder how one applies to be a dressing consultant for dead people: is it an inherited profession? The experience of seeing someone upright, clothed, not in a casket, but still very, very dead was like finding out people in Ghana, eating with no utensils, wash their hands with soap and water AFTER they eat – it doesn't make sense to me and in both instances is fairly disturbing. There were viewings from different families coming to pay their respects, but the most interesting part was the aftermath of what I'll call 'Deceased Dressing'.
Tradition here dictates that the body arrives on Friday and buried Saturday, so from when the body arrives in evening until the next morning, they have 'wakening', which is essentially an all-night party of music, food and dancing to keep the corpse company until it is buried... analogous to a going away party, just for a dead person. The music they play is LOUD; I'm talking KISS-concert wattage with a DJ blaring gospel music for 12 hours – in my courtyard. I tried to sleep for a bit from 12 until 6, but in every dream I dreamt I was in either at a bar, or like Inception there was background music warning my dreaming consciousness that I was about to wake up due to ear-drum damage.
Hmm, I won't be able to post all of this in a single day, so to conclude, at dawn on Saturday the party is over. At sunrise everyone left at the party goes and parades around the town with music. In my dream, I dreamt that every living person disappeared and, once again like Inception, I was stuck in a place like limbo where I was the only living person in my dream; I felt very alone so I woke up.
Continuation will occur next week: Same Ghana time, Same Ghana Channel.
You may have noticed me always talking about music. Present everyday (especially Sundays), music may occur from a soccer match, singing at school assembly, church, funerals, weddings, and when the boys from the schools play football (soccer) the girls then proceed to run around the field singing and clapping tunes from church.
Some of my colleagues want me to teach them how to talk like an American, so I've started to use larger words (draconian, ginormous), slang "What's up?" (A common misperception here is the response to "Whats up" is "Cool" – I dont know why either), and interjections of various expletives into my Ghanaian speaking style. Funnily enough, little kids as small as 5 know "sheet", but my students haven't figured out any other bad words through age 18.
Final Notes:
I read "Stiff: The life of human Cadavers" about the same time as my funeral. Great book.
About 60 students from my school were caned (google if unfamiliar) for attending wakening.
Punishments given out by me are now to carry water ¼ mile to my house, on a bucket on their head.
Two other teachers and I ate an entire box of Oreos in one night.
Book Count Since September 15th – 53 books completed. Next up: Animal Farm, 1984, Sphere.
Friday: The body arrived at about 6:30 via ambulance to the town from the morgue. The ambulance stops on the outside of town, to 'ask permission' from the chief to enter the town with a dead person. Also, a large number of people (150?) escorted the remains to our house amidst much (select three of the following) singing/dancing/rejoicing/mourning. Then, the dress the body for viewing. Viewing in America? In the casket. Viewing in Ghana? Well, in order for the person to look as lifelike as possible they put on what appears to be a wedding dress (all white and very large) and sit the person up in a chair like they are still alive!! I wonder how one applies to be a dressing consultant for dead people: is it an inherited profession? The experience of seeing someone upright, clothed, not in a casket, but still very, very dead was like finding out people in Ghana, eating with no utensils, wash their hands with soap and water AFTER they eat – it doesn't make sense to me and in both instances is fairly disturbing. There were viewings from different families coming to pay their respects, but the most interesting part was the aftermath of what I'll call 'Deceased Dressing'.
Tradition here dictates that the body arrives on Friday and buried Saturday, so from when the body arrives in evening until the next morning, they have 'wakening', which is essentially an all-night party of music, food and dancing to keep the corpse company until it is buried... analogous to a going away party, just for a dead person. The music they play is LOUD; I'm talking KISS-concert wattage with a DJ blaring gospel music for 12 hours – in my courtyard. I tried to sleep for a bit from 12 until 6, but in every dream I dreamt I was in either at a bar, or like Inception there was background music warning my dreaming consciousness that I was about to wake up due to ear-drum damage.
Hmm, I won't be able to post all of this in a single day, so to conclude, at dawn on Saturday the party is over. At sunrise everyone left at the party goes and parades around the town with music. In my dream, I dreamt that every living person disappeared and, once again like Inception, I was stuck in a place like limbo where I was the only living person in my dream; I felt very alone so I woke up.
Continuation will occur next week: Same Ghana time, Same Ghana Channel.
You may have noticed me always talking about music. Present everyday (especially Sundays), music may occur from a soccer match, singing at school assembly, church, funerals, weddings, and when the boys from the schools play football (soccer) the girls then proceed to run around the field singing and clapping tunes from church.
Some of my colleagues want me to teach them how to talk like an American, so I've started to use larger words (draconian, ginormous), slang "What's up?" (A common misperception here is the response to "Whats up" is "Cool" – I dont know why either), and interjections of various expletives into my Ghanaian speaking style. Funnily enough, little kids as small as 5 know "sheet", but my students haven't figured out any other bad words through age 18.
Final Notes:
I read "Stiff: The life of human Cadavers" about the same time as my funeral. Great book.
About 60 students from my school were caned (google if unfamiliar) for attending wakening.
Punishments given out by me are now to carry water ¼ mile to my house, on a bucket on their head.
Two other teachers and I ate an entire box of Oreos in one night.
Book Count Since September 15th – 53 books completed. Next up: Animal Farm, 1984, Sphere.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Traveling
Transportation in Ghana is quite different than the United States. For one thing, the country is small that you don't need to fly anywhere. Instead of Greyhound buses like we do in the US, they have tro-tros here, which are like 16-passenger vans that transport people long distances.
First of all, to hail a car when you are by the side of the road you can do one of two things. To hitch a ride (hitch hike), you hold out your hands like taking communion (for catholics) and smack your hands together; this is especially useful on my road, as sometimes there are absolutely no commercial vehicles going by and I can hitch a ride with private vehicles. Or, if you are hailing a taxi in town and want to go a short distance, you point down at the ground with your right hand. Should you want to go a long distance, you point up. Guess where you point to go a medium distance? That's right, you point about shoulder level. BUT, what if there is a fork in the road a little ways down? Easy, simply point the way you want to go at the fork. Sometimes it can get complicated, like if you want to go a long distance but there are two sets of forks in the road. It's really funny to see a person point up, point right, then point left, and repeat frantically attempting to stop an uninsured, twenty year-old rusting tro already sardining 20 people into 15 child-sized seats.
Taxis. They resemble Americans taxis in name only. There are no meters (too expensive), so you have to negotiate a price based on how far you travel. Of course, this assumes you know how far it is, which is really a fallacy since prices are also increased being a white person; one person may give you a ride for 2 cedis while another, after hard bargaining will only go down to 4 cedis -at this point I pretend to huff off to see if they make a final offer... typically to no avail – I continue to walk away. There are also 'line-taxis' that take a predetermined route, but there aren't any maps to see where they go – trial and error works best in this situation. Bargaining is funny – at the airport in Accra, to get there is maybe about 4 cedis from a certain destination, but leaving directly from the airport the taxi driver charge 20 cedis.
United States = Price gouging
Ghana = Leverage
On a more cultural note, there was a funeral in my compound this past weekend. It was planned for months ahead of time so everyone in the family could make it. My landlord (Michael Asafo) is the patriarch of the family, so hundreds of people descended upon my house for a weekend of festivity and mourning. Since it only ended yesterday, I haven't had time to write about it and will post about it in full next blogupdatetime.
First of all, to hail a car when you are by the side of the road you can do one of two things. To hitch a ride (hitch hike), you hold out your hands like taking communion (for catholics) and smack your hands together; this is especially useful on my road, as sometimes there are absolutely no commercial vehicles going by and I can hitch a ride with private vehicles. Or, if you are hailing a taxi in town and want to go a short distance, you point down at the ground with your right hand. Should you want to go a long distance, you point up. Guess where you point to go a medium distance? That's right, you point about shoulder level. BUT, what if there is a fork in the road a little ways down? Easy, simply point the way you want to go at the fork. Sometimes it can get complicated, like if you want to go a long distance but there are two sets of forks in the road. It's really funny to see a person point up, point right, then point left, and repeat frantically attempting to stop an uninsured, twenty year-old rusting tro already sardining 20 people into 15 child-sized seats.
Taxis. They resemble Americans taxis in name only. There are no meters (too expensive), so you have to negotiate a price based on how far you travel. Of course, this assumes you know how far it is, which is really a fallacy since prices are also increased being a white person; one person may give you a ride for 2 cedis while another, after hard bargaining will only go down to 4 cedis -at this point I pretend to huff off to see if they make a final offer... typically to no avail – I continue to walk away. There are also 'line-taxis' that take a predetermined route, but there aren't any maps to see where they go – trial and error works best in this situation. Bargaining is funny – at the airport in Accra, to get there is maybe about 4 cedis from a certain destination, but leaving directly from the airport the taxi driver charge 20 cedis.
United States = Price gouging
Ghana = Leverage
On a more cultural note, there was a funeral in my compound this past weekend. It was planned for months ahead of time so everyone in the family could make it. My landlord (Michael Asafo) is the patriarch of the family, so hundreds of people descended upon my house for a weekend of festivity and mourning. Since it only ended yesterday, I haven't had time to write about it and will post about it in full next blogupdatetime.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Harmattan!
Harmattan! It means that everything is dusty and dry. I have some mountains that are about 2 miles away from me that I can't even see now because there is so much dust in the air. The dust reminds me of an overcast day in the US, except its always overcast and foggy. Its dry - a stream next to my village has completely dried up.
Unfortunately, all of my stuff is covered in dust as well - If I go out to my market town, my pants and shirt look like I decided to roll around in a dirt field for an hour. The upside - its pretty cool here at night and the sun is mild (for Ghana), but the sky is just all gray... there is no blue sky to be seen.
Teaching is just starting up again, so I am really excited to try out new teaching techniques and ways of getting students to care about learning. I went to church for the New Years with Ghanaians, and it was really different. Do they stay up until midnight? Yes. Do they celebrate with friends and family? Yes. Do they stay at home or go out to friend's houses? Neither, in fact Ghanaians all cluster in their churches to bring in the new year. Actually NYE is a larger holiday than Christmas (when no one goes to church unless its Sunday) because EVERYONE goes to church and prays for a successful new year. I think the strangest thing was not going to church, or having a 3 hour long church service, but between 11:30 and midnight, everyone is praying (some silently, some barely audible, some talking loud). No talking from the pastor, except to mark the time (15 minutes left!), and then all of a sudden its HAPPY NEW YEAR! and everyone cheers and breaks out into song and dance. An interesting experience... but one I probably won't redo next year - Ill be watching it on tv!
Days since last rain: ~30 days
Money spent for a 2-egg omelet on toasted bread: ~60 cents
Fuel price increase in one day, as determined by gov't: 20%
Extra ICT classes taught at my house: 20
Unfortunately, all of my stuff is covered in dust as well - If I go out to my market town, my pants and shirt look like I decided to roll around in a dirt field for an hour. The upside - its pretty cool here at night and the sun is mild (for Ghana), but the sky is just all gray... there is no blue sky to be seen.
Teaching is just starting up again, so I am really excited to try out new teaching techniques and ways of getting students to care about learning. I went to church for the New Years with Ghanaians, and it was really different. Do they stay up until midnight? Yes. Do they celebrate with friends and family? Yes. Do they stay at home or go out to friend's houses? Neither, in fact Ghanaians all cluster in their churches to bring in the new year. Actually NYE is a larger holiday than Christmas (when no one goes to church unless its Sunday) because EVERYONE goes to church and prays for a successful new year. I think the strangest thing was not going to church, or having a 3 hour long church service, but between 11:30 and midnight, everyone is praying (some silently, some barely audible, some talking loud). No talking from the pastor, except to mark the time (15 minutes left!), and then all of a sudden its HAPPY NEW YEAR! and everyone cheers and breaks out into song and dance. An interesting experience... but one I probably won't redo next year - Ill be watching it on tv!
Days since last rain: ~30 days
Money spent for a 2-egg omelet on toasted bread: ~60 cents
Fuel price increase in one day, as determined by gov't: 20%
Extra ICT classes taught at my house: 20
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Parenting Tactics
Today's blog post about Ghana is going to talk a lot about parenting styles here in country. For most of the villagers in my area, and indeed in most parts of Ghana (except Accra, where things are most westernized) children are viewed as small people that you have to take care of. Parents generally provide all of the necessary things like clothes and food, but don't take into account that a child needs to have adult supervision at a young age. Consequently, kids evolve into groups that, in a sense, raise each other through interaction with other children, and are not raised by adults most of the time.
There are two ways of thinking about why parents let their children 'run amok', except for disciplinary situations. First way of thought – parents prefer to let their children grow up independently so that they will become 'strong' and self-sufficient when they reach adulthood. Second way of thought – parents don't know how to be effective parents because their parents did not take an active interest in their lives, and as such don't know how to raise children to succeed in academia. Its important to note that in both of these, parents do less 'work' raising children than in the US. Generally speaking, parents don't sit down with kids at a young age to help them learn the alphabet or how to count or how to read; it could be because mothers have a crap-ton of work they need to do, like preparing food (at least 2 hours), bathing themselves and kids (1 hour), cleaning the house (2 hours), and going to visit relatives (2 hours).
In summary, to compare between US and rural Ghanaian parenting styles, American parents teach their children to prepare for school by reading to them and investing time in their kids, and developing a talking relationship. People in my town, from what I've seen, don't really prepare their kids for school and believe that teachers are entirely responsible for their child's education; also, because it is taboo to question an authority figure, parents talk at, rather than with kids when they get home.
Also of note, on Sunday I went to a neighboring town, Kpedze, by bicycle (maybe about 8 miles to get there). I had met a friend in Ho, my regional capital who lives there so I went to visit him (incidentally, his name is also Mike, just like the headmaster of my school, my landlord, and myself). He cooked some jollof rice for me, but we had a lot of discussions about how to raise children. His way of thinking about child rearing is vastly different than others: he doesn't let his kids go andplay with other kids in the neighborhood precisely because of how they are raised. Mike sits down with his kids every night, teaches them English, teaches them to read and take education seriously so that they can succeed in school. Think of everything I have said about how Ghanaians raise their kids, and now reverse that for Mike – in summary, he is determined to have his kids go far in life, and I know that they will succeed.
I dont mean to imply that all Ghanaians rear their children like this, but from the majority of parents I've seen its true. Obviously, there are many exceptions: like people living in Accra, the capital, are most westernized with their beliefs.
Fun Facts:
Harmattan has started, and because there is so much dust in the air sunsets are hazy and brilliant.
The day I'm writing this the key to the school was missplaced, so we are all waiting outside.
I'm teaching Kofi, the small boy in my complex, English, the alphabet, and numbers at night.
Temperature outside now: ~80 degrees.
A student just gave me 40 bananas and peanuts as a thank you for the semester.
Average price for a large, satisfying lunch in my town - 30 cents.
There are two ways of thinking about why parents let their children 'run amok', except for disciplinary situations. First way of thought – parents prefer to let their children grow up independently so that they will become 'strong' and self-sufficient when they reach adulthood. Second way of thought – parents don't know how to be effective parents because their parents did not take an active interest in their lives, and as such don't know how to raise children to succeed in academia. Its important to note that in both of these, parents do less 'work' raising children than in the US. Generally speaking, parents don't sit down with kids at a young age to help them learn the alphabet or how to count or how to read; it could be because mothers have a crap-ton of work they need to do, like preparing food (at least 2 hours), bathing themselves and kids (1 hour), cleaning the house (2 hours), and going to visit relatives (2 hours).
In summary, to compare between US and rural Ghanaian parenting styles, American parents teach their children to prepare for school by reading to them and investing time in their kids, and developing a talking relationship. People in my town, from what I've seen, don't really prepare their kids for school and believe that teachers are entirely responsible for their child's education; also, because it is taboo to question an authority figure, parents talk at, rather than with kids when they get home.
Also of note, on Sunday I went to a neighboring town, Kpedze, by bicycle (maybe about 8 miles to get there). I had met a friend in Ho, my regional capital who lives there so I went to visit him (incidentally, his name is also Mike, just like the headmaster of my school, my landlord, and myself). He cooked some jollof rice for me, but we had a lot of discussions about how to raise children. His way of thinking about child rearing is vastly different than others: he doesn't let his kids go andplay with other kids in the neighborhood precisely because of how they are raised. Mike sits down with his kids every night, teaches them English, teaches them to read and take education seriously so that they can succeed in school. Think of everything I have said about how Ghanaians raise their kids, and now reverse that for Mike – in summary, he is determined to have his kids go far in life, and I know that they will succeed.
I dont mean to imply that all Ghanaians rear their children like this, but from the majority of parents I've seen its true. Obviously, there are many exceptions: like people living in Accra, the capital, are most westernized with their beliefs.
Fun Facts:
Harmattan has started, and because there is so much dust in the air sunsets are hazy and brilliant.
The day I'm writing this the key to the school was missplaced, so we are all waiting outside.
I'm teaching Kofi, the small boy in my complex, English, the alphabet, and numbers at night.
Temperature outside now: ~80 degrees.
A student just gave me 40 bananas and peanuts as a thank you for the semester.
Average price for a large, satisfying lunch in my town - 30 cents.
Friday, December 10, 2010
A Funeral (but not sad)
Last weekend I went to my first Ghanaian funeral. Now, this isn't your typical American funeral with lots of crying and weeping; it was a funeral with lots of eating, dancing, and socializing. First of all, everyone that goes to a funeral of someone who died 'before their time' wears black, red, and brown to show mourning. However, if the person is old and 'the time is right' then everyone wears white and black to show the they are happy for the person to move on to the next life. Funerals are more like a party and less like a time of mourning, especially because some funerals aren't held until several weeks, months, or up to two years after someone has died!
So back to my funeral: I, being the only white person there among hundreds of Ghanaians, stuck out like... well like a white sheep among a flock of black sheep. I wore black clothes (which are extremely hot in the tropical sun!) and greeted tons of people. However, the best part of the funeral (if there is such a thing) was that my landlord, an 80-yera old man, has unofficially adopted me into his family! And, at said funeral, I entertained not as the Yevu, but as a member of the Asafo family. We met the paramount chief of our surrounding villages who is still chief after being enstooled (crowned) in 1936, visited a few houses and said our remorses to the families, and I even got to eat a nice meal and beer in the end. I had a great time going as an Asafo; supposidly as the next family meeting I will be introduced to the other members of the family – its an extended family over several towns, and I'm sure jokes will abound about how the all black family has a white person in it.
Things are starting to get hot, and its almost time to buy a fan in my non-air conditioned concrete house. The concrete house is an excellent insulator, and proves it worth about midday when its still cool inside and scorching outside... however the flip side is the sun heats up the building and doesnt cool off until the next morning, making going to sleep inside painful. In fact, I've thought of buying a hammock to put outside and sleep in my courtyard, but then I wouldn't be under a mosquito net outside, and would rapidly develop malaria. School term is almost over, so we are giving exams. Speaking of which, Religious and Moral Education (RME) is a class, and some of the standardized questions are just that – questionable. Examples are as follows, and read the question before you look at the answer to see how YOU perform as a model student in middle school.
Q: It is good practice to ____ while eating.
A: keep quiet
Q: Children must be ____ to promote a good relationship with parents.
A: obedient
Q: God always blesses people who _____.
A:donate money for His work.
These were all from our end-of-term exams. So, Kofi means I was born on a certain day of the week, Yevu means white person, and Asafo is the family that has taken me in in Ghana. I have another funeral to go this weekend, so I look forward to being called Kofi Michael David 'Yevu' Asafo Shoup.
So back to my funeral: I, being the only white person there among hundreds of Ghanaians, stuck out like... well like a white sheep among a flock of black sheep. I wore black clothes (which are extremely hot in the tropical sun!) and greeted tons of people. However, the best part of the funeral (if there is such a thing) was that my landlord, an 80-yera old man, has unofficially adopted me into his family! And, at said funeral, I entertained not as the Yevu, but as a member of the Asafo family. We met the paramount chief of our surrounding villages who is still chief after being enstooled (crowned) in 1936, visited a few houses and said our remorses to the families, and I even got to eat a nice meal and beer in the end. I had a great time going as an Asafo; supposidly as the next family meeting I will be introduced to the other members of the family – its an extended family over several towns, and I'm sure jokes will abound about how the all black family has a white person in it.
Things are starting to get hot, and its almost time to buy a fan in my non-air conditioned concrete house. The concrete house is an excellent insulator, and proves it worth about midday when its still cool inside and scorching outside... however the flip side is the sun heats up the building and doesnt cool off until the next morning, making going to sleep inside painful. In fact, I've thought of buying a hammock to put outside and sleep in my courtyard, but then I wouldn't be under a mosquito net outside, and would rapidly develop malaria. School term is almost over, so we are giving exams. Speaking of which, Religious and Moral Education (RME) is a class, and some of the standardized questions are just that – questionable. Examples are as follows, and read the question before you look at the answer to see how YOU perform as a model student in middle school.
Q: It is good practice to ____ while eating.
A: keep quiet
Q: Children must be ____ to promote a good relationship with parents.
A: obedient
Q: God always blesses people who _____.
A:donate money for His work.
These were all from our end-of-term exams. So, Kofi means I was born on a certain day of the week, Yevu means white person, and Asafo is the family that has taken me in in Ghana. I have another funeral to go this weekend, so I look forward to being called Kofi Michael David 'Yevu' Asafo Shoup.
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