We're well into the semester here at the University of Ghana, but it sure doesn't feel like it. For starters, few students take doing homework seriously, and although I'd love to start reading for my classes, many departments have yet to finish photo-copying our reading materials. When we arrived to the school, I was initially frustrated at the fact that many parts of the campus, including our residence hall, were not done being cleaned and primped for the new school year. I was frustrated that it would take three weeks before someone would mow the grass around the library and that garbage still lays strewn across our beautiful, tropical campus. In the past few days, though, I've realized that universities and colleges here in Ghana, and probably in many other countries, are very different from American universities for one simple reason: business. On my first college interview at a small school in Erie, PA, the admissions representative asked me if I knew that college is a business, and I have to make myself look like a good investment to each school I apply to. It's totally not like that here in Ghana. Getting into college isn't nearly as competitive as it is in the US. Schools aren't competing with other schools, either, to attract more students and their money. The government pays for most of Ghana's students to study at the university level, and schools in turn welcome as many students as wish to study. A greater student body shows the rest of the nation, and the world, that Ghanaian students are ready to learn and compete with the rest of the world. I worry a little that with the education Ghanaian students receive from, at least, the University of Ghana, they may not be able to compete with graduates who have had a competitive mind-set about college from the get-go. Are American and European students more willing to sacrifice or go the extra mile to get the competitive edge over international students? I fear, just a little, that that might be the case.
Sometimes I miss neatly manicured hedges and bright green grass that is used to attract students to schools. But now I'm learning to appreciate the basics of school: namely, the academic level to which I am exposed. Several students study here from other African countries because of it's outstanding level of academic rigor. That was hard to believe, since I've been to several classes since the semester has started, and have only had a few lectures to learn from. The learning style is much different and certainly not as creative as in the United States. Here, we are dictated notes which we will regurgitate at the end of the semester in the form of an exam. We've taken active learning approaches to acquiring knowledge. Lecture-based classes are becoming a rarity at my small SUNY school, and taking example from films, poetry, and other media has become more common and much more enjoyable. But then again, are we really expanding the way we can learn, or are we forgetting that school is just a place to get a bare-bones education, and it's our responsibility to supplement our book knowledge with life experiences? I don't know. I'm sure we'll figure it out.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Football, a travel through a unique experience.
Imagine being choked, not literally, but that same intense feeling of being uncomfortable. Add that to the hertz-shattering noises that spews from every corner of your eardrum. Multiply that by the fanatical, nationalistically superior aura brought in the form of a thousand Ghanaian flags, big and small, held by legions more of people from all walks of the Nation-State. Subtract any kind of inhibition or shyness and add to that the gratifying, humbling and warm feeling you get when your favorite team wins. Now put all of those previous figures over 2, multiply it by 100 and you would still only know HALF of what it feels like to go to a professional soccer game in Ghana.
The day was a Sunday and I already forget the exact date, but I remember having a feeling that something bad was going to happen. A guy gets trampled, a riot breaks out, the opposing team, Sudan, would have to be rushed out on gurneys and all of Independence Square would go up in flames. But wait, I thought, “maybe I’m stereotyping this too quickly, maybe every soccer clip-show I’ve ever seen of riots breaking out was only unique to Europe and Latin America. Maybe I’ve been socialized to believe that soccer is nothing more than a savage-foreigner wet dream. All those shows, ‘World’s Most Amazing Videos,’ where the innocent bystander gets his clocked cleaned by fans who were enraged by the loss of their team. But, maybe Ghanaians are different. Maybe they’re more reserved; giving golf claps when their team scored, quietly enjoying the satisfaction of an occasional wave, and NEVER standing when the power forward makes a move for goal. Well probably not, but maybe it’s somewhere in the middle.”
After that very long aside, I found myself wading through a parade. It was me, Emily and the rest of our program-mates, all in awe over the powerful figure of people waiting to get in. Though we were at the stadium 4 hours early, you would never know by the sounds and the amount of spectators. What was crazy was that half of the Ghanaians in attendance didn’t even have tickets, they were just hoping on a blind blessing that they could shimmy past the guards, which usually never happened. Getting in took all the strength we could muster, we were like the cast of “300” and we pushed and shoved, got pushed and shoved, all the way to the cold, iron, gate.
When inside, I was a little more relieved, but still I felt something was going to happen. I don’t know why, I just did. Being in a strange place and sharing an exotic experience outside of one’s norm is scary, but that was the least of my troubles when I got to the usher to be seated.
OH MY GOD
Firstly, I have to say that if colonialism did anything to mess up this country, the introduction of the Roman numeral system must have been a weapon of mass destruction! The stadium is sectioned from 1 to 10, or “I” to “X” I should say. The ushers had a hard time seating us because they couldn’t read the numbers to our section right. So I must have been moved around about three times before I found the dang seat myself!
But when I was finally seated my anxiety left some. I began to make a home for myself amongst the noise and filling seats. It was like I was in a euphoric trance, seeing how the seats in he rafters bore the same colors as the national flag. Seeing the crisply blue sky blowing a few clouds along the lining of the stadium. Seeing that my V.I.P. section was only inhabited by foreigners and rich Ghanaians. Seeing the happy faces of the
Working-class fans as they sang at the top of their voice, proud, as if they were as rich as those in V.I.P. It was like a dream, I mean I don’t even play sports, and I know even less about soccer, but here I am, just chilling out like fan.
But as the game began, the bad feeling I felt actually came. It came in the form of a cantankerous Ghanaian fellow who felt that I was sitting in his seat. “You’re in my seat!” he cried. I looked at him, shocked and pissed at the same time. I looked at his ticket and saw that the seat number was identical to mine, but, his section was in a different Roman numeral! He couldn’t comprehend the number so he mistaken the dang seat for mine! OH MY GOD! After about 20 minutes of arguing with this man, some Ghanaians, worried that the armed soldiers doing security would be alarmed, told the man to sit somewhere else, and he did, ironically in an empty seat that was directly in front of my row. Unbelievable.
Anyway, the game went off without a hitch. But what I thought was supposed to be a soccer game ended up being a karate match! Both Ghana and Sudan were jumping in the air, kicking the ball, doing amazing stuns and acrobatics. Both teams were performing vicious round-houses on the ball as they went for the kill. I thought I lost my ears when Ghana scored the first goal. The energy was absolutely kinetic and the second score by Ghana sparked a wave that lasted 6 staggering go-rounds across the whole stadium! I got a good work out from it. The game ended 2-0 Ghana, a match they needed to win to qualify for the FIFA World Cup in Johannesburg in 2010.
I’m not big on sports, I couldn’t tell you the names of the players, I couldn’t tell you plays they executed, but I can say I’ve been to a game in a soccer-nation and I will never forget the spirit of its fans. And I can also say that when I’m in town, the home team wins.
Miles
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Hey Ghana! Treat the Ladies Right!
One of the biggest controversies that faced me before coming to the African Continent was its treatment of the woman. Many of my progressive female colleagues (or chick friends, as they hate to be called) would applaud me for retracing my roots, but also slam me for not speaking on the fact that many African societies still oppress their women. Well this has been no easy task because it’s very hard for me to speak against Africa. I favor her more than any other continent. Africa has been the face of defiance to the western political-economic machine for the past 50 years. Who wouldn’t shed a tear of pride and honor for an underdog land with countless underdog nations who converged and overcame adversity from 1960 (dubbed Africa’s year by the U.N.) to as late as 1994 (the end of Apartheid in the wake of Mandela presidency)? Africa is like the living, breathing Rocky movie of world politics and this is why I favor her.
But, then again, my female colleagues are right in many respects. I’ve only been in this nation little over a month and I can already see the clear discrimination women face in law, institution and in custom. I remember being in class this past Tuesday, a class called the “Sociology of the Family.” It was only a hand full of men in the class, surrounded by a troop of intelligent and confident women. We were discussing the issue of Gender roles and societal constructs in this particular session. I remember a man in the class made a comment saying that he didn’t understand why women wanted to play football (or Soccer) because that is a “masculine” thing to do. In his opinion, women were born docile and weak, and on the other hand men were born strong and aggressive. He made this sweeping generalization with such confidence and zeal, as if it were a no-brainer. At that moment a female student said in a strong voice “I do not agree; men and women are socialized to play roles that are set and facilitated by our society...” The sister went on to cite passages from the reading to validate her claim, all while the man was laughing to his friends and blowing off her every word.
I saw this, again and again. Ghanaian men having a say in everything: from politics, to the economy, to society, but not allowing their queens to speak. This was the Africa I could no longer hide from, the Africa I was afraid of. Ghana to me is a great representation of progress in developing nations, the University of Ghana is host to many great minds, and even the professor of the course was a female. But with all its progress it is still a developing nation, because, I think, it has yet to give women their right to develop.
Many women in Ghana are still illiterate and still are encouraged to seek menial labor, such as trading or homemaking, instead of building high-power careers for themselves. Even the traditional systems of family in Ghana, both Matrilineal and Patrilineal only benefit the male next to kin if the Husband dies, leaving the women without property, financial support or even a place to live. And though there have been laws made on the books to ensure the protection of women from domestic violence and disenfranchisement since the 1980’s, namely the Intestate Succession Law of 1985, women have found it increasingly difficult to access any assistance.
Now in 1957 Ghana made their pitch for independence on the premise that they deserved FREEDOM and JUSTICE from an oppressive British colonial empire, and if anybody is aware of Ghanaian history they wouldn’t disagree with that pitch. But coming from an experience as hellish as the one Ghana had gone through, they need to bear to witness and pay credence to the hell that they are giving their women. John Hendrik Clark once said, “If your revolution doesn’t include the force of the woman, then your struggle isn’t worth the fight” and I believe that. If Ghana wants to be the beacon of modernity and change in Africa, they need to start allowing their queens to shine.
So with all of these sentiments boiling inside of me, as I sat thinking in desk, I glanced over to the young lady, raised my hand high and said “I absolutely agree with that sister.” In the end, I think I did my chick friends proud.
miles
But, then again, my female colleagues are right in many respects. I’ve only been in this nation little over a month and I can already see the clear discrimination women face in law, institution and in custom. I remember being in class this past Tuesday, a class called the “Sociology of the Family.” It was only a hand full of men in the class, surrounded by a troop of intelligent and confident women. We were discussing the issue of Gender roles and societal constructs in this particular session. I remember a man in the class made a comment saying that he didn’t understand why women wanted to play football (or Soccer) because that is a “masculine” thing to do. In his opinion, women were born docile and weak, and on the other hand men were born strong and aggressive. He made this sweeping generalization with such confidence and zeal, as if it were a no-brainer. At that moment a female student said in a strong voice “I do not agree; men and women are socialized to play roles that are set and facilitated by our society...” The sister went on to cite passages from the reading to validate her claim, all while the man was laughing to his friends and blowing off her every word.
I saw this, again and again. Ghanaian men having a say in everything: from politics, to the economy, to society, but not allowing their queens to speak. This was the Africa I could no longer hide from, the Africa I was afraid of. Ghana to me is a great representation of progress in developing nations, the University of Ghana is host to many great minds, and even the professor of the course was a female. But with all its progress it is still a developing nation, because, I think, it has yet to give women their right to develop.
Many women in Ghana are still illiterate and still are encouraged to seek menial labor, such as trading or homemaking, instead of building high-power careers for themselves. Even the traditional systems of family in Ghana, both Matrilineal and Patrilineal only benefit the male next to kin if the Husband dies, leaving the women without property, financial support or even a place to live. And though there have been laws made on the books to ensure the protection of women from domestic violence and disenfranchisement since the 1980’s, namely the Intestate Succession Law of 1985, women have found it increasingly difficult to access any assistance.
Now in 1957 Ghana made their pitch for independence on the premise that they deserved FREEDOM and JUSTICE from an oppressive British colonial empire, and if anybody is aware of Ghanaian history they wouldn’t disagree with that pitch. But coming from an experience as hellish as the one Ghana had gone through, they need to bear to witness and pay credence to the hell that they are giving their women. John Hendrik Clark once said, “If your revolution doesn’t include the force of the woman, then your struggle isn’t worth the fight” and I believe that. If Ghana wants to be the beacon of modernity and change in Africa, they need to start allowing their queens to shine.
So with all of these sentiments boiling inside of me, as I sat thinking in desk, I glanced over to the young lady, raised my hand high and said “I absolutely agree with that sister.” In the end, I think I did my chick friends proud.
miles
But I don't WANT six keychains for my family....
Hey, everyone! It’s so hard to keep up this blog because the internet at our school is completely unreliable. Anyways, everything is going well; we’re over the culture shock phase and are just enjoying all the new experiences.
However, there are several aspects of Ghanaian culture, at least modern culture, that are surprising and at the same time, make me feel a little disappointed. For example, we visited two little craft villages, one that produced and sold kente cloth and one that is known for its wood carvings. Undoubtedly, the crafts were amazing. The kente cloth, each piece, is wonderfully colorful and has a meaning. The wood carvings were intricate and well made. But, and this is probably going to sound way worse than I mean it, the people were the worst part of those villages. Everyone wants to sell you something all the time! We were watching a demonstration of how the kente cloth is woven, and before our guide could even start talking, people were berating our group to buy this and that. And it’s sad for a few reasons, but first, they aren’t selling things that anyone even wants, so we’re all constantly telling them that no, we do not want a keychain, even if you give us a good price. Second, they sound desperate and we feel bad that we’re affluent enough to travel and visit these villages, and we know that most of the children we see playing with pens and pencils will probably never ever get to travel outside of Ghana. But the adult men, and it was literally only men, were so hard to deal with. We understand that comparatively speaking, we are much wealthier than the people selling us their wares, and that’s probably why they were so eager to make sales. They would all crowd around and start pulling people in different directions, telling us to visit their store and buy something. The only problem is that everyone sold basically the same thing, so we already knew that we weren’t going to visit each store, much less buy something from each of them. One time, a man put a bracelet on my hand and told me it was free, a gift. I asked several times if I could keep it and that I didn’t have to pay anything for it, and he assured me it was just a gift. Ten minutes later, he comes back with a whole bunch of handmade cards (he hadn’t made them himself) and told me that since he gave me a gift, I have to buy something from him. He wasn’t very happy when I simply returned the “gift”. I guess I’m just totally used to salespeople not bombarding me as I walk into a store, but this was so out of hand. Once we got to the wood carving village after being in Kente, I was pretty good at brushing people off. I’m sure the men trying to sell us things are very nice, but it was impossible to learn about what they were selling because they were just concerned with selling something. Okay, so, the people themselves maybe aren’t the worst part, but their sales methods are…effective, but a little extreme. It was just very difficult to enjoy our time in those villages with people constantly at us to buy something. I don't know, I mean, it's sad that learning about culture has to be centered around money. But then again, I don't know what I expected because people try to sell me things everywhere I go. Haha. Oh well. Maybe for future travelers, it would simply be helpful to be forewarned, and that way they can avoid the unwanted attention.
However, there are several aspects of Ghanaian culture, at least modern culture, that are surprising and at the same time, make me feel a little disappointed. For example, we visited two little craft villages, one that produced and sold kente cloth and one that is known for its wood carvings. Undoubtedly, the crafts were amazing. The kente cloth, each piece, is wonderfully colorful and has a meaning. The wood carvings were intricate and well made. But, and this is probably going to sound way worse than I mean it, the people were the worst part of those villages. Everyone wants to sell you something all the time! We were watching a demonstration of how the kente cloth is woven, and before our guide could even start talking, people were berating our group to buy this and that. And it’s sad for a few reasons, but first, they aren’t selling things that anyone even wants, so we’re all constantly telling them that no, we do not want a keychain, even if you give us a good price. Second, they sound desperate and we feel bad that we’re affluent enough to travel and visit these villages, and we know that most of the children we see playing with pens and pencils will probably never ever get to travel outside of Ghana. But the adult men, and it was literally only men, were so hard to deal with. We understand that comparatively speaking, we are much wealthier than the people selling us their wares, and that’s probably why they were so eager to make sales. They would all crowd around and start pulling people in different directions, telling us to visit their store and buy something. The only problem is that everyone sold basically the same thing, so we already knew that we weren’t going to visit each store, much less buy something from each of them. One time, a man put a bracelet on my hand and told me it was free, a gift. I asked several times if I could keep it and that I didn’t have to pay anything for it, and he assured me it was just a gift. Ten minutes later, he comes back with a whole bunch of handmade cards (he hadn’t made them himself) and told me that since he gave me a gift, I have to buy something from him. He wasn’t very happy when I simply returned the “gift”. I guess I’m just totally used to salespeople not bombarding me as I walk into a store, but this was so out of hand. Once we got to the wood carving village after being in Kente, I was pretty good at brushing people off. I’m sure the men trying to sell us things are very nice, but it was impossible to learn about what they were selling because they were just concerned with selling something. Okay, so, the people themselves maybe aren’t the worst part, but their sales methods are…effective, but a little extreme. It was just very difficult to enjoy our time in those villages with people constantly at us to buy something. I don't know, I mean, it's sad that learning about culture has to be centered around money. But then again, I don't know what I expected because people try to sell me things everywhere I go. Haha. Oh well. Maybe for future travelers, it would simply be helpful to be forewarned, and that way they can avoid the unwanted attention.
Friday, September 11, 2009
From bubble baths to bucket baths...
I can honestly say that in my 21 year odyssey of pointless tests, sexual awkwardness, eventual puberty, and a ton of mind numbing music, there is nothing more sobering or sincere than washing my 180-pound frame with a bucket of frigid water and a tiny square of a rag.
No, this hasn’t been an everyday thing, and I wouldn’t want to give an impression that UG is the land of the waterless (though it may be in other areas), but when the water went out on that hot Thursday afternoon I had a mind altering experience. When I turned that jagged faucet attachment clockwise to hear nothing but a loud gurgle of dryness it panicked my soul. But then something, namely my better judgment, told me that this situation faces many brothers and sisters on the Dark Continent. Many look to their faucets, their parents, their leaders, and their government, but no matter how badly they want water, change, education, freedom and justice, they are forced to confront the realities of disappointment and survival.
So, with a plastic bucket I purchased from a crusty Ghanaian brother at the market, I marched over to that ground floor spigot and I turned that knob, not caring what kind of liquid came out. The cold fluid filled that bucket and it filled my morale along with it. After all, I was doing what I had to do to take a shower, I was surviving.
And with some Dial soap (which is my favorite) I had the coldest and most refreshing baptism, a baptism that welcomed me to reality, that welcomed me to Ghana, that welcomed me to Africa.
No, this hasn’t been an everyday thing, and I wouldn’t want to give an impression that UG is the land of the waterless (though it may be in other areas), but when the water went out on that hot Thursday afternoon I had a mind altering experience. When I turned that jagged faucet attachment clockwise to hear nothing but a loud gurgle of dryness it panicked my soul. But then something, namely my better judgment, told me that this situation faces many brothers and sisters on the Dark Continent. Many look to their faucets, their parents, their leaders, and their government, but no matter how badly they want water, change, education, freedom and justice, they are forced to confront the realities of disappointment and survival.
So, with a plastic bucket I purchased from a crusty Ghanaian brother at the market, I marched over to that ground floor spigot and I turned that knob, not caring what kind of liquid came out. The cold fluid filled that bucket and it filled my morale along with it. After all, I was doing what I had to do to take a shower, I was surviving.
And with some Dial soap (which is my favorite) I had the coldest and most refreshing baptism, a baptism that welcomed me to reality, that welcomed me to Ghana, that welcomed me to Africa.
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