High speed internet has been down for the past few days- across the entire country. Can you imagine the fallout that would occur if high speed internet when down in the US for even an hour? It is not unordinary here. While waiting for pages to load on dial-up I’ve been reflecting on various parts of life in Ghana. Here are some experiences/observations:
It is perfectly acceptable for men to urinate in public. I took a taxi the other day and when we reached the destination he got out of the car and urinated while I sat there waiting to hand him the money. I stared at my hand for awhile and then left the money on the passenger seat.
It is incredibly rude to hand someone something with your left hand. The left hand is the dirty hand. It is used for dirty things (also bathroom related). To eat with your left hand, give something to someone or even wave with your left hand toward a person is insulting. This is not an easy culture for the leftys.
Greeting is a big deal. You must greet people. If you do not it is insulting. A greeting is much more than a hi or a wave. You must stop, say good morning, ask how the person is, ask how their spouse is, ask about the children, ask if they slept well (if it is morning), ask about anything that transpired since you last met the person. You respond in kind to each question. It takes awhile, but it is very important and reflects the paramount value of relationship. When people respond to “how are you?” with “fine”, they sing it, “fiiiiiiiiiiine”. The “i” is thick and airy. I particularly like this.
Things are interestingly named and decorated. Flag stickers are popular for taxi windshields. I rode in one today with the Australian flag and the Mexican flag. I have frequently seen a large sticker of a naked white crawling baby on the back of trotros. I have no idea where it comes from, what it means or why there seem to be so many floating around Ghana. Many business have religious names like “Blood of Our Savior Beauty Supply” and “Grace of God Bar”. I did not make those up. I should do a photo project on shop names and taxi decorations. It was be very interesting- mostly because it is so random.
Most housing is in compound form. In a rural area, earthen huts are clustered together and surrounded by a low fence to keep the livestock enclosed. The extended family lives together in one compound. In an urban area it is similar. Houses are large and hold multiple families. The guest house I am staying in has like 6-7 bedrooms in the main house and other living space in several small structures on the property. Granted it is a guesthouse, so of course it is large, but it was not originally built for this purpose. Many city houses have walls and watchmen. Crime is not particularly high in Ghana (very low compared to other African cities), but people are very conscious of security.
It is not rude to play loud music. It is considered favorable to share your music with your neighbors. Even at 6:30 AM on a Saturday. Let’s get the party started.
“Tomorrow” is a relative term that can mean anything from five minutes to eternity. When will the shipment arrive? Tomorrow. When will your sister visit? Tomorrow. When will we invade Mars? Tomorrow. It can literally mean the next day, or it can mean the person has no idea, or it can mean that the person does not want to be impolite by telling you that something is impossible or never going to happen. This can be annoying if you’re on a schedule or trying to plan something. (In general planning is kind of… um, pointless). However, I actually enjoy the acceptability of being vague. A young man very intently wanted to sell me a painting of Bob Marley. I could, in full cultural appropriateness, escape by politely saying “perhaps tomorrow”. I wonder if I could spread this cultural principle at home, say at school.
Oh, there are so many things I could talk about. I will certainly write more on this theme tomorrow.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Passing Days
I have spent the first part of this week organizing a research project for the team. I am sending reminder e-mails, making spreadsheets, and generally using my meticulous side. Later in the week I will begin working with a client who is coming to Accra from another West African country. The clinical work is intense and brief. We will meet in 2-3 hour chunks, sometimes twice a day for 5-6 days. It is very different than the weekly 50 minutes sessions I am used to in the States. Because people must travel across several countries, therapy cannot take a typical form.
I am also working on preparing to co-facilitate a support group for teen mothers at a nearby refugee camp. This will be quite an adventure! I face the multiple challenges of establishing rapport as an outsider, navigating the dynamics of a different culture, and trying to connect with teenagers which can be internationally difficult. Despite the challenge, I am really excited about it and confident that it will be a rich learning experience. There are few situations more difficult than refugee life. These people have had to leave everything- homes, villages, family, businesses, school, even their country, in order to save their lives. They relocate in a foreign country where they may not speak the language, they have no ties, and must start over or at least wait out the conflict at home. They live as a community in a refugee camp which quickly becomes the size of a city. The one I will visit has over 40,000 inhabitants. Most of the camp is without running water or consistent electricity. Some people have been there as long as ten years. It is extremely difficult to reconstruct a country after a civil war or ethnic conflict. Africa’s poverty and instability make it an excruciatingly slow process. I hope that I can encourage or strengthen a few of the young women I will work with.
Days pass very quickly here. I cannot believe I’ve already been here for two weeks. Life goes slowly and normal tasks (like cooking) take much longer than at home. The day fills up fast with basic tasks. Some moments I want to slow it down so I can be sure I am really soaking in as much as possible. Other moments I am grateful that I do not have too much free mental time to dwell on being apart from Rob.
I am also working on preparing to co-facilitate a support group for teen mothers at a nearby refugee camp. This will be quite an adventure! I face the multiple challenges of establishing rapport as an outsider, navigating the dynamics of a different culture, and trying to connect with teenagers which can be internationally difficult. Despite the challenge, I am really excited about it and confident that it will be a rich learning experience. There are few situations more difficult than refugee life. These people have had to leave everything- homes, villages, family, businesses, school, even their country, in order to save their lives. They relocate in a foreign country where they may not speak the language, they have no ties, and must start over or at least wait out the conflict at home. They live as a community in a refugee camp which quickly becomes the size of a city. The one I will visit has over 40,000 inhabitants. Most of the camp is without running water or consistent electricity. Some people have been there as long as ten years. It is extremely difficult to reconstruct a country after a civil war or ethnic conflict. Africa’s poverty and instability make it an excruciatingly slow process. I hope that I can encourage or strengthen a few of the young women I will work with.
Days pass very quickly here. I cannot believe I’ve already been here for two weeks. Life goes slowly and normal tasks (like cooking) take much longer than at home. The day fills up fast with basic tasks. Some moments I want to slow it down so I can be sure I am really soaking in as much as possible. Other moments I am grateful that I do not have too much free mental time to dwell on being apart from Rob.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Market Day
If you have not had the opportunity to go to an outdoor market, I hope you go someday. Makola Market, the central market in downtown Accra is one of my favorites. Piles and piles of brightly patterned African fabrics are reminiscent of scenes from Wonderland. You can find anything in the market. All wares are neatly displayed on stands created from plywood and scraps of metal. The stands are packed in aisles so close together, there is hardly space for two people to walk past each other. The close quarters and sensory overload can make the market very overwhelming, especially the first time. When I lived in Ghana, I tried to make it to the market once every week or two. Few places afford such entertainment and cultural learning.
Particularly interesting are the loads that people manage to carry on their heads. Some of the loads are astoundingly heavy. Mission nurses tell stories about cracked vertebra and other injuries from carrying heavy loads. Many of the loads are carried by street children and young homeless women who make their living as kayayos, or transporters. On Saturday, I saw a woman carrying twenty-two plastic chairs on her head. The stack of chairs was taller than she was and very, very heavy. It was an amazing navigational feat to get the huge stack of chairs between the stalls. I am not sure how it was spatially possible. She needed help from two other women to get them up onto her head. Another interesting load was a large metal bowl full of 10-15 live chickens. Their feet were bound which apparently makes them go limp. They lay in the bowl clucking a bit, their eyes searching wildly.
I wish I could take pictures of everything I see. I’ve posted a few in an album you can reach by clicking on one of the other photo links.
Particularly interesting are the loads that people manage to carry on their heads. Some of the loads are astoundingly heavy. Mission nurses tell stories about cracked vertebra and other injuries from carrying heavy loads. Many of the loads are carried by street children and young homeless women who make their living as kayayos, or transporters. On Saturday, I saw a woman carrying twenty-two plastic chairs on her head. The stack of chairs was taller than she was and very, very heavy. It was an amazing navigational feat to get the huge stack of chairs between the stalls. I am not sure how it was spatially possible. She needed help from two other women to get them up onto her head. Another interesting load was a large metal bowl full of 10-15 live chickens. Their feet were bound which apparently makes them go limp. They lay in the bowl clucking a bit, their eyes searching wildly.
I wish I could take pictures of everything I see. I’ve posted a few in an album you can reach by clicking on one of the other photo links.
Friday, June 24, 2005
This Week
This week MMCT is leading a workshop on interpersonal skills and stress management. Expatriate mission workers and intra-African mission workers came from 5 or 6 different West African countries. People are from a variety of backgrounds- translators, librarians, doctors, brail teachers, accountants, pastors, and a variety of home countries: Canada, Congo, Benin, France, Japan, The Netherlands, and the US. It is amazing to see how many different ways people support the work that is happening in Africa.
I am here to participate in the workshop, but am also strategically interacting with certain people who are having difficulty or coming from particularly stressful situations. Several are working in the Ivory Coast or Togo; both countries are that bubbling with civil unrest bordering on war. One session focused on grief and it was particularly poignant for the group. There are so many losses that come along with international life, especially life in Africa. Most of the people have had at least one experience of being evacuated because of due to the outbreak of war, faced the threat of innumerable dangers, and all of them have left family and friends at home. Living here means giving up a certain degree of safety; it means being away from comfortable people and loved ones. It also means watching people come in and out of your life. Most people come for several years and then return to their home country for six months or a year, come back, or go somewhere else. There is a lot of coming and going, a lot of turnover and many organizational shifts. People do not always give themselves time to acknowledge loss, or grieve, especially because there are so many losses piled on top of each other.
In a way, some of the conversations here remind me of a conversation I had with a young gulf war vet. We talked about the deaths that he had witnessed while he was in Iraq. He knew that going to war would involve death. It did not surprise him- it was a predictable outcome of war, an expected risk. Yet, he was not prepared for the sadness he felt, his emotional reaction shocked him and made him uncomfortable. Because death was expected, even matter-of -fact, he expected himself to have a matter-of-fact reaction and was unprepared for the extent of depression and distress that followed the loss of his friends. International workers make calculated sacrifices, they expect separations and danger. However, the nature of the work and the decision to take risks do not undo the inner workings of the heart. Like with the soldier, it is unrealistic for them to expect to sail through incredibly difficult experiences without any type of emotional reaction. People still grieve when they loose friends, safety or experience death and poverty around them. As we have talked about loss and grief throughout the course of the week, I have watched people soften and become more open and real – perhaps giving themselves license to feel a bit. It is not a pity party, but an acknowledgement that all decisions (even good, brave, noble decisions) involve loss, and losses (big or small) come with pain.
I am here to participate in the workshop, but am also strategically interacting with certain people who are having difficulty or coming from particularly stressful situations. Several are working in the Ivory Coast or Togo; both countries are that bubbling with civil unrest bordering on war. One session focused on grief and it was particularly poignant for the group. There are so many losses that come along with international life, especially life in Africa. Most of the people have had at least one experience of being evacuated because of due to the outbreak of war, faced the threat of innumerable dangers, and all of them have left family and friends at home. Living here means giving up a certain degree of safety; it means being away from comfortable people and loved ones. It also means watching people come in and out of your life. Most people come for several years and then return to their home country for six months or a year, come back, or go somewhere else. There is a lot of coming and going, a lot of turnover and many organizational shifts. People do not always give themselves time to acknowledge loss, or grieve, especially because there are so many losses piled on top of each other.
In a way, some of the conversations here remind me of a conversation I had with a young gulf war vet. We talked about the deaths that he had witnessed while he was in Iraq. He knew that going to war would involve death. It did not surprise him- it was a predictable outcome of war, an expected risk. Yet, he was not prepared for the sadness he felt, his emotional reaction shocked him and made him uncomfortable. Because death was expected, even matter-of -fact, he expected himself to have a matter-of-fact reaction and was unprepared for the extent of depression and distress that followed the loss of his friends. International workers make calculated sacrifices, they expect separations and danger. However, the nature of the work and the decision to take risks do not undo the inner workings of the heart. Like with the soldier, it is unrealistic for them to expect to sail through incredibly difficult experiences without any type of emotional reaction. People still grieve when they loose friends, safety or experience death and poverty around them. As we have talked about loss and grief throughout the course of the week, I have watched people soften and become more open and real – perhaps giving themselves license to feel a bit. It is not a pity party, but an acknowledgement that all decisions (even good, brave, noble decisions) involve loss, and losses (big or small) come with pain.
Africa
Several friends have written and asked me what Africa is like. I do not think my writing skills can manage an accurate description, but I will ramble a bit on the topic…
To me, coming to Africa is coming closer to earth. Sometimes I feel like California life has been plasticized, like a rock wrapped in layers and layers of saran wrap. All the layers make it look sparkly and it feels nice and squishy between your fingers, but it is no longer a rock. Africa is pure rock. There is no protective or decorative coating between your bear skin and the course texture of the natural earth. If it does not rain, people starve. If it rains too much, people become infected with diseases carried by mosquitoes. Every part of human life is entwined with the ebb and flow of nature. There are very few shields. Earth is everywhere and everything smells like earth. People have a sweet, warm ripe scent. Homes are made from earth, food is grown from earth. Water, fire, all the necessities of daily life are gathered daily, directly from earth.
For me, being in Africa feels like a return to something inside me that preexisted modern life. In my courses, we’ve talked about post-modernity and modernity. Modern people operate based on facts, post-moderns on conversation, expression, intellect, ideas, etc. People in the States are kind of a mix based on generation and geography. Africa is pre-modern. Its highest values are survival and tribe. It is an entirely different way of life (and death). It is at once both simple and wild. The simple and wild parts of me feel at home here and I am drawn to a way of life that is unwrapped. It calms my raw American nerves and redefines the use of the word need. This life requires trust in the Creator of the earth for even the simplest of needs. I have tremendous respect for the African people and their ability to survive, and even thrive, in what some would call unbearable situations.
I do not mean to make poverty unduly poetic. I look around me with novel eyes that appreciate and love this place, but I have not lost a baby to disease, nor have I experienced the slow erosion of hunger. Also, I do not mean to create a caricature of Africa as a collection of huts and people with spears. There is tremendous innovation here and push toward modernization and development.
Perhaps the underlying issue is that when I stepped off the plane in 1998 I felt tremendous compassion for Africa. That compassion has grown, but in addition, I have developed a deep respect for this continent and even eyes to see what is good and beautiful here. I began wanting to help, I have shifted to wanting to learn and love.
Africa is like a home and predates the ones you have known. Whether or not one has been here before, there is a sense of return, of coming back.
To me, coming to Africa is coming closer to earth. Sometimes I feel like California life has been plasticized, like a rock wrapped in layers and layers of saran wrap. All the layers make it look sparkly and it feels nice and squishy between your fingers, but it is no longer a rock. Africa is pure rock. There is no protective or decorative coating between your bear skin and the course texture of the natural earth. If it does not rain, people starve. If it rains too much, people become infected with diseases carried by mosquitoes. Every part of human life is entwined with the ebb and flow of nature. There are very few shields. Earth is everywhere and everything smells like earth. People have a sweet, warm ripe scent. Homes are made from earth, food is grown from earth. Water, fire, all the necessities of daily life are gathered daily, directly from earth.
For me, being in Africa feels like a return to something inside me that preexisted modern life. In my courses, we’ve talked about post-modernity and modernity. Modern people operate based on facts, post-moderns on conversation, expression, intellect, ideas, etc. People in the States are kind of a mix based on generation and geography. Africa is pre-modern. Its highest values are survival and tribe. It is an entirely different way of life (and death). It is at once both simple and wild. The simple and wild parts of me feel at home here and I am drawn to a way of life that is unwrapped. It calms my raw American nerves and redefines the use of the word need. This life requires trust in the Creator of the earth for even the simplest of needs. I have tremendous respect for the African people and their ability to survive, and even thrive, in what some would call unbearable situations.
I do not mean to make poverty unduly poetic. I look around me with novel eyes that appreciate and love this place, but I have not lost a baby to disease, nor have I experienced the slow erosion of hunger. Also, I do not mean to create a caricature of Africa as a collection of huts and people with spears. There is tremendous innovation here and push toward modernization and development.
Perhaps the underlying issue is that when I stepped off the plane in 1998 I felt tremendous compassion for Africa. That compassion has grown, but in addition, I have developed a deep respect for this continent and even eyes to see what is good and beautiful here. I began wanting to help, I have shifted to wanting to learn and love.
Africa is like a home and predates the ones you have known. Whether or not one has been here before, there is a sense of return, of coming back.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Unhappy African Experience #1
As I was getting ready for bed tonight, I grabbed a dirty shirt from a small pile of dirty laundry at the bottom of my closet. I usually wash my clothes each night so that the dirty ones don’t pile up and lead to hours of hand washing. It has been a full week so, I’ve let a few items accumulate, mostly socks and underwear that I prefer to wash in hot water while I am more than half awake. When I touched the shirt, I felt some type of non-clothe item brush my hand. I looked and I saw a small flurry of movement, also not clothe-like. The movement was small so I leaned over, inspected and poked the pile with a hanger. To my shock and disgust a virtual multitude of roaches scattered all over my room. I jumped on the bed and let out a series of squeaking sounds (which may have been some kind of primordial roach communication), trying not to scream and wake up the house. After I composed myself a bit, I grabbed the hanger and begin to move each item of dirty clothing one by one, carefully examining for any evidence of remaining roaches.
Now, 90 minutes later, I have emptied the hot water tank by compulsively washing every item of clothing on the closet floor. After spraying enough Raid and mosquito repellant to asphyxiate a roach twice my body weight, I am sitting by the window with the fan on my face trying to muster up the courage to turn the light off and go to sleep.
I am not bug-phobic but, there was something so violating about seeing those little nasties scurrying over my underclothes. The fact that I didn’t kill them all allows me to entertain the paranoia that as soon as I turn off the light they are going to come back with big brother roaches, homey roaches, and fat roaches named Vinny and Sal. Then the mighty roach army will viciously pillage my newly washed clothes, already clean clothes, fabric not yet made into clothes, and worst of all worsts – crawl on me. Ugh! I can’t even think about it. I’m going to put my headlamp on and thoroughly inspect every inch of the sheets.
Now, 90 minutes later, I have emptied the hot water tank by compulsively washing every item of clothing on the closet floor. After spraying enough Raid and mosquito repellant to asphyxiate a roach twice my body weight, I am sitting by the window with the fan on my face trying to muster up the courage to turn the light off and go to sleep.
I am not bug-phobic but, there was something so violating about seeing those little nasties scurrying over my underclothes. The fact that I didn’t kill them all allows me to entertain the paranoia that as soon as I turn off the light they are going to come back with big brother roaches, homey roaches, and fat roaches named Vinny and Sal. Then the mighty roach army will viciously pillage my newly washed clothes, already clean clothes, fabric not yet made into clothes, and worst of all worsts – crawl on me. Ugh! I can’t even think about it. I’m going to put my headlamp on and thoroughly inspect every inch of the sheets.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Power Optional
We have spent 30 hours without power. It is amazing what can be accomplished by candlelight. Thankfully is has not been too hot so it was bearable to sleep without a fan. Life in Africa certainly demands flexibility and creative problem solving. People go about their business unphased by the lack of electricity. People are used to it. Of course it is novel to me, but I rather enjoy the excitement and the challenge to adapt.
Yesterday Laura and I took a trotro to the market. A trotro is the standard Ghanaian public transportation. Usually a trotro is a mini-bus with four or five rows of seats. Each seat sits four + adults. The whole experience completely violates any of my cultural standards about personal space. People sit on each other, climb over each other and hold each other’s children, suitcases, and baskets of chickens. It is hot and sweaty and often physically uncomfortable. Trotros have no schedule, no specific stops, no set route, no standardized licensure…. To a Westerner, they are pure chaos. They are manned by two people: a driver, who drives like a stuntman on speed, and a conductor who is a young man (age 13-25). The conductor has a very important job! He hangs out the open door or window and yells the destination to people outside. The destinations are abbreviated and often are accompanied by a hand signal. For a trotro going downtown to Kwame Nkruma Circle, the conductor yells “Circ Circ!” and waves his hand in a circular motion. At a busy intersection, 20 trotros line up with the conductors yelling the various destinations. At a big intersection or station, drivers do not like to leave until the trotro is absolutely full. Everyone has to sit in the hot trotro waiting until it fills up. This can take hours- literally, not hyperbolically. In the past I have been tempted to yell the destination myself in order to round up more people.
They are uncomfortable, dangerous, slow and confusing, but I have a special place in my heart for the trotro. It is such an African experience! I love rubbing shoulders with strangers and watching the landscape fly by. I did not really feel like I was back in Africa until I rode in a trotro. It is a great way to interact with “normal” folks, and watch life happen genuinely, without packaging or performance. I can sit and listen and watch (as long as I move my feet every few minutes so some blood can circulate down there)!
Yesterday Laura and I took a trotro to the market. A trotro is the standard Ghanaian public transportation. Usually a trotro is a mini-bus with four or five rows of seats. Each seat sits four + adults. The whole experience completely violates any of my cultural standards about personal space. People sit on each other, climb over each other and hold each other’s children, suitcases, and baskets of chickens. It is hot and sweaty and often physically uncomfortable. Trotros have no schedule, no specific stops, no set route, no standardized licensure…. To a Westerner, they are pure chaos. They are manned by two people: a driver, who drives like a stuntman on speed, and a conductor who is a young man (age 13-25). The conductor has a very important job! He hangs out the open door or window and yells the destination to people outside. The destinations are abbreviated and often are accompanied by a hand signal. For a trotro going downtown to Kwame Nkruma Circle, the conductor yells “Circ Circ!” and waves his hand in a circular motion. At a busy intersection, 20 trotros line up with the conductors yelling the various destinations. At a big intersection or station, drivers do not like to leave until the trotro is absolutely full. Everyone has to sit in the hot trotro waiting until it fills up. This can take hours- literally, not hyperbolically. In the past I have been tempted to yell the destination myself in order to round up more people.
They are uncomfortable, dangerous, slow and confusing, but I have a special place in my heart for the trotro. It is such an African experience! I love rubbing shoulders with strangers and watching the landscape fly by. I did not really feel like I was back in Africa until I rode in a trotro. It is a great way to interact with “normal” folks, and watch life happen genuinely, without packaging or performance. I can sit and listen and watch (as long as I move my feet every few minutes so some blood can circulate down there)!
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Orientation
I went for a jog this morning and watched the neighborhood begin its day. After zigzagging around huge puddles, I passed a crowd of children wearing tan and orange uniforms walking to primary school. I passed groups of people waiting for the bus to work, women setting up their fruit stands, boys selling papers, men opening their shops. The busy streets overflowed with life, activity and a sense of expectation for the day ahead. A jogging obruni (foreign person) is an anomaly on the Accra streets. People are too polite to comment but I sense being a specticle. I like the opportunity to get out and explore in a way that allows me to observe and take in daily life.
We have spent most of the day getting to know each other as a team. We had meetings this morning about our expectations, hopes and desires. We met for dinner tonight and began to tell our stories. The stories of how we grew up, came to faith, and ended up in psychology and Africa. It is a gift to be supervised by people who are willing to share not only their training and expertise but also their lives. The next few days will also be spent in orientation and rest. Next week, our schedule will be full with a training on interpersonal skills and beginning some counseling. The week after that we will be doing some work in a Liberian refugee camp. Not sure exactly what that will invovle but I am looking forward to working with Africans.
I have been sleeping well and feeling healthy. I am grateful for the light schedule and the gentle transition.
We have spent most of the day getting to know each other as a team. We had meetings this morning about our expectations, hopes and desires. We met for dinner tonight and began to tell our stories. The stories of how we grew up, came to faith, and ended up in psychology and Africa. It is a gift to be supervised by people who are willing to share not only their training and expertise but also their lives. The next few days will also be spent in orientation and rest. Next week, our schedule will be full with a training on interpersonal skills and beginning some counseling. The week after that we will be doing some work in a Liberian refugee camp. Not sure exactly what that will invovle but I am looking forward to working with Africans.
I have been sleeping well and feeling healthy. I am grateful for the light schedule and the gentle transition.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Travel and arrival
Long plane flights are the closest one comes to pausing time. A strange stage between asleep and awake. Substandard films stared at by mushy minds. Too tender to think backward to home. Too tired to think forward to months of learning and adventure. Too restless to be in the present. Too anxious and cramped to sleep. In a tiny capsule 50,000 miles above an unknown place. A night without darkness. Loosing hours of life to vertical lines on a map. Accompanied by strangers who become unnatural intimates- rubbing shoulders, sharing meals and bathroom schedules. Emerging from the daze on another day in another world.
I arrived in rainy season. Over the course of one hour a clear sky filled with dark clouds and hurled enough water to flood the city. Major streets were covered with water. Homes filled with a foot of muddy mess. Laura, Karen and I had to wade to mid calf through their driveway into their house. We scrubbed our legs thoroughly. We had to find someone with a 4x4 to drive us back to the guest house because the road was impassable for a small car. The situation is not serious, it happens frequently here. People have tile floors and keep valuable items up on tables or shelves. It does create some health concerns as the raw sewage in the gutters is spread around by the rain water. Never a dull moment in Ghana!
These first few days will be for rest, orientation and getting to know the team. "The team" (The Mobile Member Care Team) consists of Karen, Darlene and Marion- three wonderful women in their 40s-50s. Between them they have tremendous experience in Africa. Karen is a clinical psychologist and will be my supervisor and mentor while I am here. For more about them and their history visit www.mmct.org. Laura is the other summer intern. She is a Marriage and Family Therapist who graduated from Fuller. We will be sharing our lives for the next month- cooking together, sharing taxis, and talking through our impressions of this experience.
I arrived in rainy season. Over the course of one hour a clear sky filled with dark clouds and hurled enough water to flood the city. Major streets were covered with water. Homes filled with a foot of muddy mess. Laura, Karen and I had to wade to mid calf through their driveway into their house. We scrubbed our legs thoroughly. We had to find someone with a 4x4 to drive us back to the guest house because the road was impassable for a small car. The situation is not serious, it happens frequently here. People have tile floors and keep valuable items up on tables or shelves. It does create some health concerns as the raw sewage in the gutters is spread around by the rain water. Never a dull moment in Ghana!
These first few days will be for rest, orientation and getting to know the team. "The team" (The Mobile Member Care Team) consists of Karen, Darlene and Marion- three wonderful women in their 40s-50s. Between them they have tremendous experience in Africa. Karen is a clinical psychologist and will be my supervisor and mentor while I am here. For more about them and their history visit www.mmct.org. Laura is the other summer intern. She is a Marriage and Family Therapist who graduated from Fuller. We will be sharing our lives for the next month- cooking together, sharing taxis, and talking through our impressions of this experience.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Film for thought
I saw two movies within the last week that I am still thinking about. Hotel Rwanda tells the story of one man's heroism during the Hutu Tutsi genocide. Watching it helped me to think about the suffering that has gone on in Africa, particularly in countries that have had recent wars. It gave an image to the stories that I may soon here from Liberian refugees and aid workers who were stationed in Liberia, Sierra Leon, Cote d'Ivoire and other war-torn West-African countries. The film also touched on the relationship between Africa and the West: the nature of Western intervention, economic aid, and racism. In one scene, a white UN officer has to tell his Rwandan friend that there will be no aid or peacekeeping troops. He attributed this to race and the West's lack or interest or concern for Africa. In another scene, all of the foreign nationals were evacuated, sometimes ripped from the arms of their Rwandan friends, and the Rwandans are left to face almost certain death. There were no exit visas and no room on the bus to evacuate Rwandans- only (white) foreign citizens please. The Rwandans listened desperately to reports on the BBC, listening for any hint of rescue, and they hear deliberations about "acts of genocide" versus full genocide- and a lot of political jargon nonsense.
The second film that has been on my mind is Crash. It is about racial relationships in Los Angeles. It is brilliantly constructed and manages to address very difficult and volatile topics without being overwhelming. This film tracks a serious of interracial reactions and shows the way that people are dehumanized on the basis of their race. When I say dehumanized, I mean that their ability to parent, protect their spouses, make a fair living, be physically safe- very basic functions of being human - are taken away. This film, better than any other I've seen touches on the complexity of race. The conflicts are not just black and white (pardon the pun) but multidimensional. Good people do racist things. Criminals make ethical decisions. The film incorporates interactions that are redemptive. In these scenes people are forced to see past a general label and instead see the needs and pain of a specific human being.
Between the two films, I realize how dangerous thinking in the general can be. Actions that restore people, actions that are positive - love, compassion, heroism, forgiveness - are usually particular, between specific people or parties. Actions that destroy are general, they are directed toward all of something without distinction - racism, stereotype, genocide. It seems like a lesson to be as particular as possible, to look directly at a person and see them for their particular uniqueness, not their membership in a group.
The second film that has been on my mind is Crash. It is about racial relationships in Los Angeles. It is brilliantly constructed and manages to address very difficult and volatile topics without being overwhelming. This film tracks a serious of interracial reactions and shows the way that people are dehumanized on the basis of their race. When I say dehumanized, I mean that their ability to parent, protect their spouses, make a fair living, be physically safe- very basic functions of being human - are taken away. This film, better than any other I've seen touches on the complexity of race. The conflicts are not just black and white (pardon the pun) but multidimensional. Good people do racist things. Criminals make ethical decisions. The film incorporates interactions that are redemptive. In these scenes people are forced to see past a general label and instead see the needs and pain of a specific human being.
Between the two films, I realize how dangerous thinking in the general can be. Actions that restore people, actions that are positive - love, compassion, heroism, forgiveness - are usually particular, between specific people or parties. Actions that destroy are general, they are directed toward all of something without distinction - racism, stereotype, genocide. It seems like a lesson to be as particular as possible, to look directly at a person and see them for their particular uniqueness, not their membership in a group.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Going soon
Some of you may be wondering at the state of blog-silence that has persisted for the past month. Since I last wrote I have been almost fully immersed in academic life. I proposed my dissertation, a rare accomplishment for a third-year student. I have also completed all but four of the classes I need for my degrees. I have three years (12 academic quarters) to finish the rest. No more 10 week sessions of 5 classes, clinical work and research projects piled on top of each other. The era of classroom student is over. For the next several years my learning will take place in the research lab, the therapy room, and the classroom (from behind the podium). My work will be largely on my own schedule- something I am so, so ready for after almost 20 years of living life around scheduled classes. I feel like I can finally take a breath and dare to look back with satisfaction at all that has been completed.
I dare not linger too long in my reflection. I will be on a plane for Ghana in less than one week. I feel ready, even eager. The practical things have been taken care of: money, shots, visas. I even have a packing pile going. I have been amazed at the generosity of friends and family. Rob and I received more money than we asked for, meaning we will not have to use as much of our savings as we thought. That in itself feels like confirmation that we are meant to be going on this trip. We are sent by our community, sent with purpose and support.
I dare not linger too long in my reflection. I will be on a plane for Ghana in less than one week. I feel ready, even eager. The practical things have been taken care of: money, shots, visas. I even have a packing pile going. I have been amazed at the generosity of friends and family. Rob and I received more money than we asked for, meaning we will not have to use as much of our savings as we thought. That in itself feels like confirmation that we are meant to be going on this trip. We are sent by our community, sent with purpose and support.
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