October 12, 2008

Hi all.

I haven't written in a while because there hasn't really been an event that tops a fist fight since I last wrote. I've been waiting for something really exciting and out of the ordinary to happen to inform you of. Not much to update about school. It is a daily battle there that becomes slightly easier to fight with each passing day. It has been hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I won't be able to change the Ghanian school system in 3 months. Most, if not all, of my students have never had a teacher that really believed in them, or made learning fun, or even knew how to write in English correctly. While it's hard for me to keep this in mind as I struggle to get them to open their notebooks and be quiet, it really isn't fair for me to expect that they would have taught this habit to themselves. I have been trying to get them to write for 15 minutes at the beginning of each class. Not as easy as I thought. Alot of them don't have paper or pens. After wallowing in sadness and disgust with the unjustness of it all for a few days, I came up with the bright idea to get them notebooks! For 10 cents each! I got a nice round of applause for that one. I told them now they have no excuse not to do their homework, and Bernard (one of my faves) said "O Madam that is tricky." Thankfully, I have my mother, who is always full of good advice, to send me different ideas of writing assignments for each day. My goal is to get them to start thinking about the importance and value of their own opinions and beliefs. I think that this practice is overlooked in most households here. If nothing else I say gets through to them, I hope that I might plant the tiniest little seed for self-reflection.

There are things here that remind me so vividly of home that I sometimes forget I'm in Africa. A cup of tea tastes the same, even with powdered milk. I've taken to having at least 4 a day. The sound of my computer powering on. The smell of rain on asphalt. The pleasure I find in making a child laugh. These things haven't changed a bit. It's funny too, the things I found so foreign when I first arrived seem so normal now. For instance, I've learned to just keep my eyes closed as much as possible on the tro tro, or bring a book. It's better not to look. I've accepted the fact that personal space/information is not commonly acknowledged or respected here. I've had people practically sleeping on top of me in the tro before. One of my students raised his hand in class (of 45+ other students, mind you) to ask "Madam, are you a virgin?" Appropriately, I just had someone reading this over my shoulder.

Unconsciously, at first, I began to think of the adults here as characters in a book. I found that makes it easier for me to figure them all out, really. It's so interesting to just be plopped into a world that is completely different than your own and try to figure out a way to coexist effectively. I find this especially pertinent at the orphanage, and with Mama Esi. Living there, day in and day out, I see the good and bad the ugly. There are things that Mama does that make me furious, and those that I have great respect for. I'm thankful for it all, though. I feel I've really been able to get an idea of what life is like for the children. I've heard that Ghanian parents are the strictest in the world, and I don't doubt it. The older kids do all of the cooking and cleaning for the rest. They do the wash. They get up at 4:30 am every schoolday to start the fire for water to bathe the younger ones and help them get ready for school. Even the littles have to do their own wash sometimes, and they are always in charge of carrying their own shower bucket to the fire to be heated, and fanning the coals. The girls must always be within earshot of the kitchen in case they are needed for something. [Mary, who I feel especially akin to because she is 9, my sisters' age, doesn't get to watch TV when the younger ones do because she has to help chop vegetables or do other chores for cooking]. There is very little affection used, from what I witness. This has been hard for me, because how can you not hug and kiss these precious little children all day long? And tell them that they are smart and that you are proud of them. In the end, though, I am a visitor in their house. They have survived for 2 years at the orphanage without me, and will do so long after I leave.

Resilience is a word that I continue to think of. I have a new appreciation for the meaning of it since living here. I think of it walking through my village in the morning, as I see people walking to and from the well, or starting their fires to heat up water for cooking and bathing. I thought of it when I visited the hospital with our youngest, Love (diagnosis: malaria, bacterial infection), and waited with everyone in an unairconditioned waiting room for 4 hours only to have the doctor send us somewhere else. Mostly, though, I think of it with my kids. These are children who have lost their parents. Usually, you wouldn't know it. They play games, do homework, tease each other, laugh at cartoons, all the same as anyone else. There are sometimes when each of them gets more upset than they should about one thing or another, or whines for too long about something silly. It's during these times when I am most reminded that they have a history I will never be ably to fully understand or make up for. We had two new arrivals, Kingsley (12) and Eric (9), last week, and it really hit me then, that wow, they just lost their parents. They are brothers, which makes it a little better, having someone to hold on to. You could tell when they first arrived, how hard it was for them, and obviously upsetting. But even this week, they are already much better. They have acclimated to the situation and get along excellently with the rest of the kids; telling stories, wrassling, surviving. All of the kids react similarly to injuries. They are much more brave and stoic than I have ever been. Fall down and quickly get back up, that's what they do here. There's not time for much else, the coals need to be started for cooking.

Next time, I will try to prepare a bio for each of the kids. I feel like I've left you all in the dark a little about what they are like individually. Pictures, sadly, I think you'll have to wait for. I doubt this little old computer can handle it.

Love,
moh