Boy, I left Swedru today for Accra. I fly out of Accra tomorrow night and, 34 hours later, arrive in Vancouver. Leaving Swedru - my home for the past quarter of a year - was difficult, not physically (the tro tro left surprisingly early), but emotionally. I finished packing this morning then did a last over of the town and clinic. I tried to continue my ritual of reading to Awompa (my 2.75 year old host sister) but I got pretty choked up and could hardly finish the book. When the taxi was pulling away Awo was crying, and maybe so was I. Kojo, my host father, came to the station with me and then he broke down when I got on the tro tro. Just one emotional send off after another.
Yesterday the clinic threw a party for me! They had all the placenta you could eat, it was amazing. Then they presented me with a beautiful Fugu (smock-like frock) made out of kente (at 150 cedis per 6 yards, it's the most expensive material in Ghana) which they assured me, they don't give to all of the volunteers. Suffice to say I was hugely grateful and extremely chuffed.
The clinic has been blast, same ol', same ol', yuh know, babies born, malaria treated, scalps drained of fluid from cracked sinuses, polio kicked out of Ghana. One ailment that I am quite safe from over here is the "mad swine disease" or whatever you have over from Mexico (the first international news I've heard since hearing that Slumdog won the oscar, and that Terminator comes out later in May).
I was kind of hoping to say something infinitely profound here on my last entry. Something that would perfectly encapsulate my experiences here in Ghana, but unfortunately my muse left me two weeks ago. The fountain of inspiration has dried up (must be the heat)! I think, however, that it is quite apropos that Ghana can't be neatly summed up. Ghana is such a wildly diverse country, it would be heinous to try to capture it.
Although elements of leaving are upsetting, I am looking very forward to returning home and seeing my friends and family. Three months is a good amount of time to spend in a developing country. Life here is richer in many ways than our "more privileged" existence, but it is also more challenging. Don't worry, I'm not going to come home hating Western Culture. I have really had my eyes opened on this trip to the fact that places are just different, it's not really a matter of "better" or "worse."
Anyway, thank you all for tuning in to my monthly musings. I'm really looking forward to sharing all the stories and pictures in person with you all in just a few days!!!
Thanks again for all of your support,
Ryan
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Family Planning
Just a short one today to amend for the rather whiny last post. I'll blame my curtness on the fact that I was going through a little spat with my digestive system a while back (absolutely nothing serious) but now we're BFF's again.
Speaking of digestion, I got my second taste of placenta on Tuesday (well, figuratively speaking). I observed my second delivery. It was just as glorious as the first, and filled with all of the same heaps of emotion. Absolutely wonderful. I even snapped a picture of the baby when it was about 7seconds old, but gosh darn it, I can't post photos here (don't worry I'll make albums galore when I return)
I don't even really want to think about returning right now. I think I'll be able to fit one more post in before I leave, so I'll save all of the sentimentality for that.
This past week we ran a campaign encouraging "Family Planning" (birth control). It was pretty awesome: we kicked things off with a hyper-lively parade/rally through the streets of Nsaba. We all (~30 campaigners, and then the resulting Klingons) jogged in time to several drummers, trumpeters and boners (TROMboners that is). We all had premade placards, mine read "End childbirth NOW!!" Just joking, it, more sagely, read, "Times are changing, we must change too" The parade was a blast! Then I got to give a guy a vasectomy, well in the dramatization I was part of. I got to act as a doctor, and through raw, unadulterated acting ability (and a bit of deceit) we made getting a vasectomy look almost fun! Then we ran proper information sessions on all of the pros and cons (and gruesome bits) of the various Family Planning methods offered. It seemed like quite a success.
I don't know if I mentioned something in my last post, (I can't check from this screen) and it is really not something that I have been dwelling on, but is certainly worthy of note. I had the rather traumatic experience of having an old lady (74) pass away in my arms some weeks ago now. I'll fully admit that I was not thrilled with how the whole situation was handled - the whole western medical philosophy of preserving life at all costs is not really the same here, as the woman's last moments were spent with the doctor filling out paperwork rather than performing CPR. I am not trying to judge the medical system here, with which I have had largely positive experiences. It should also be noted that the clinic has no adrenalin to inject, defribulators, respirators, or even an ambulance to move her to a larger hospital. The resources just aren't there.
Anyway it was sad, but with a minute remaining I've read: "A Million Little Pieces" the pseudo-memoir (that would have been way more awesome if it was a real memoir as Opra though when she put it on her book list. "Ghost Stories of British Columbia" (believe it or not!!), and Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath"
Speaking of digestion, I got my second taste of placenta on Tuesday (well, figuratively speaking). I observed my second delivery. It was just as glorious as the first, and filled with all of the same heaps of emotion. Absolutely wonderful. I even snapped a picture of the baby when it was about 7seconds old, but gosh darn it, I can't post photos here (don't worry I'll make albums galore when I return)
I don't even really want to think about returning right now. I think I'll be able to fit one more post in before I leave, so I'll save all of the sentimentality for that.
This past week we ran a campaign encouraging "Family Planning" (birth control). It was pretty awesome: we kicked things off with a hyper-lively parade/rally through the streets of Nsaba. We all (~30 campaigners, and then the resulting Klingons) jogged in time to several drummers, trumpeters and boners (TROMboners that is). We all had premade placards, mine read "End childbirth NOW!!" Just joking, it, more sagely, read, "Times are changing, we must change too" The parade was a blast! Then I got to give a guy a vasectomy, well in the dramatization I was part of. I got to act as a doctor, and through raw, unadulterated acting ability (and a bit of deceit) we made getting a vasectomy look almost fun! Then we ran proper information sessions on all of the pros and cons (and gruesome bits) of the various Family Planning methods offered. It seemed like quite a success.
I don't know if I mentioned something in my last post, (I can't check from this screen) and it is really not something that I have been dwelling on, but is certainly worthy of note. I had the rather traumatic experience of having an old lady (74) pass away in my arms some weeks ago now. I'll fully admit that I was not thrilled with how the whole situation was handled - the whole western medical philosophy of preserving life at all costs is not really the same here, as the woman's last moments were spent with the doctor filling out paperwork rather than performing CPR. I am not trying to judge the medical system here, with which I have had largely positive experiences. It should also be noted that the clinic has no adrenalin to inject, defribulators, respirators, or even an ambulance to move her to a larger hospital. The resources just aren't there.
Anyway it was sad, but with a minute remaining I've read: "A Million Little Pieces" the pseudo-memoir (that would have been way more awesome if it was a real memoir as Opra though when she put it on her book list. "Ghost Stories of British Columbia" (believe it or not!!), and Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath"
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Well it looks like my "every two week" posts have turned into monthly posts, but this time when I came here last week the power was working but the internet was down. Go figure. At least I'm getting lots of exercise walking hither and yon.
Since I last wrote MUCH has happened.
St. Paddy's came and went with perhaps less rocking with Good Craic than I've been used to in previous years, but just as much Guinness. Speaking of which, it's Guinness' 250th birthday this year so they put it in fancy new bottles. I know, the excitement never ends.
In other life-changing news I assisted with my first delivery the other week. It was a medium pepperoni with extra cheese...haha no, a beautiful healthy baby boy. The whole thing was just incredible, and I have to say I was happy to be the one assisting rather than the new mother. I don't know how women do it. Really. When the wee face first appeared it was completely motionless and had a grayish hue, I was really worried that it was a still-birth. Then suddenly when the shoulders emerged the baby sprung to life and began flailing and screaming, it was really wonderful. When the baby was all cleaned off he was placed on a bed opposite his mother and there was a moment when they both looked at each other with fascination and satisfaction. It was a magical moment. When the placenta came out, I must admit that a certain song started running through my head ("Placenta: you're my nutrition sac...") but I managed to restrain myself. The midwife let me bring the new baby (Joseph Kojo) over to his mother for the first time. "Aya ko" (I-yak-oh: Congratulations) I told her, and she replied "ya yay" - thank you.
Last week I was part of a nation-wide campaign to "Kick Polio out of Ghana" - after recent outbreaks of the virus. Over the 6 days (Monday through last Saturday) we inoculated almost 1800 under five-year olds against polio BY FOOT!! The worthiness of the cause was an essential motivator, because it was hard work! We just covered the villages surrounding the clinic, but there were no roads, so we'd be tramping up dry river beds, through plantain patches, over hill and dale and hither and thither until we had vaccinated usually about 280 kids per day. It took EIGHT SOLID HOURS. A typical immunization went something like:
Lug the medicine container (and our hurtin' bodies) up a gravelly hill, ask the inhabitants at the top if there are any children under 5, hear "dabbi - no, but there are up that other hill over there." Then whether we'd immunized or not we'd write U2 on the house in chalk in honour of the band. And to indicate that the house had received full immunization if applicable. When we reached a house with children of the appropriate age (and we reached at least 100 of them (as some had multiple babies) I would, more often than not, be met with the screams of sheer terror from the children I was sent to help. I mean obviously the white monster has come to steal your soul. Sometimes I would call, in a very friendly voice "I'm gonna eat you!" - no one understood me but at least the children's crying was rendered legit. Then I would (sometimes through extreme tribulation) get the two small drops into the baby's mouth - the two simple drops that were the whole point of this venture. After the drops I would take my indelible marker and "paint" the nail of the left index finger to indicate that the struggling child was now fully immunized against polio and would have one fewer thing to struggle against in this tough world. The fingernail was only painted often with comparable (and sometimes greater) effort as administering the drops, which I can appreciate, as a marker does quite resemble a tenticled demonic claw. The downside of terrifying the beejeesus out of beautiful little children is that now my hands are covered in permanent ink and live polio. Once the child was "marked" (like Kane) he was "registered" (like all the people of Nazareth before Jesus was born) on the tally sheet then the house was marked (with chalk, not sheep's blood) so that polio (not the Holy Ghost or the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come or whatever) would pass over the house without killing the first born or any-borns. So, as you see our work was purely Biblical and my birthday being a month before Jesus' is not pure coincidence. Anyway it was honestly a great time! I think I could have survived without doing 6 solid days of it, but maybe some of the kids we vaccinated, couldn't have.
I'm quickely running out of time, so I throw in my personal bits:
I finished Machievelli's "The Prince" which was certainly worth restarting. I read "The Five People You Meet in Heaven" and found it to be horrendously clichéd but somewhat thought-provoking and highly immersive, and I read "Where there are no doctors - A Village Handbook for Africa" which I loved even more than the BC Health Guide (one of my favorite books).
Since I last wrote MUCH has happened.
St. Paddy's came and went with perhaps less rocking with Good Craic than I've been used to in previous years, but just as much Guinness. Speaking of which, it's Guinness' 250th birthday this year so they put it in fancy new bottles. I know, the excitement never ends.
In other life-changing news I assisted with my first delivery the other week. It was a medium pepperoni with extra cheese...haha no, a beautiful healthy baby boy. The whole thing was just incredible, and I have to say I was happy to be the one assisting rather than the new mother. I don't know how women do it. Really. When the wee face first appeared it was completely motionless and had a grayish hue, I was really worried that it was a still-birth. Then suddenly when the shoulders emerged the baby sprung to life and began flailing and screaming, it was really wonderful. When the baby was all cleaned off he was placed on a bed opposite his mother and there was a moment when they both looked at each other with fascination and satisfaction. It was a magical moment. When the placenta came out, I must admit that a certain song started running through my head ("Placenta: you're my nutrition sac...") but I managed to restrain myself. The midwife let me bring the new baby (Joseph Kojo) over to his mother for the first time. "Aya ko" (I-yak-oh: Congratulations) I told her, and she replied "ya yay" - thank you.
Last week I was part of a nation-wide campaign to "Kick Polio out of Ghana" - after recent outbreaks of the virus. Over the 6 days (Monday through last Saturday) we inoculated almost 1800 under five-year olds against polio BY FOOT!! The worthiness of the cause was an essential motivator, because it was hard work! We just covered the villages surrounding the clinic, but there were no roads, so we'd be tramping up dry river beds, through plantain patches, over hill and dale and hither and thither until we had vaccinated usually about 280 kids per day. It took EIGHT SOLID HOURS. A typical immunization went something like:
Lug the medicine container (and our hurtin' bodies) up a gravelly hill, ask the inhabitants at the top if there are any children under 5, hear "dabbi - no, but there are up that other hill over there." Then whether we'd immunized or not we'd write U2 on the house in chalk in honour of the band. And to indicate that the house had received full immunization if applicable. When we reached a house with children of the appropriate age (and we reached at least 100 of them (as some had multiple babies) I would, more often than not, be met with the screams of sheer terror from the children I was sent to help. I mean obviously the white monster has come to steal your soul. Sometimes I would call, in a very friendly voice "I'm gonna eat you!" - no one understood me but at least the children's crying was rendered legit. Then I would (sometimes through extreme tribulation) get the two small drops into the baby's mouth - the two simple drops that were the whole point of this venture. After the drops I would take my indelible marker and "paint" the nail of the left index finger to indicate that the struggling child was now fully immunized against polio and would have one fewer thing to struggle against in this tough world. The fingernail was only painted often with comparable (and sometimes greater) effort as administering the drops, which I can appreciate, as a marker does quite resemble a tenticled demonic claw. The downside of terrifying the beejeesus out of beautiful little children is that now my hands are covered in permanent ink and live polio. Once the child was "marked" (like Kane) he was "registered" (like all the people of Nazareth before Jesus was born) on the tally sheet then the house was marked (with chalk, not sheep's blood) so that polio (not the Holy Ghost or the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come or whatever) would pass over the house without killing the first born or any-borns. So, as you see our work was purely Biblical and my birthday being a month before Jesus' is not pure coincidence. Anyway it was honestly a great time! I think I could have survived without doing 6 solid days of it, but maybe some of the kids we vaccinated, couldn't have.
I'm quickely running out of time, so I throw in my personal bits:
I finished Machievelli's "The Prince" which was certainly worth restarting. I read "The Five People You Meet in Heaven" and found it to be horrendously clichéd but somewhat thought-provoking and highly immersive, and I read "Where there are no doctors - A Village Handbook for Africa" which I loved even more than the BC Health Guide (one of my favorite books).
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Workin' It - The Ghanaiain Way
Okay Guys,
First I need to start off by saying a humongous kafra (ka-FRAH), sorry, for my lengthy absence from the online scene. I don't know whether to blame it on the fact that when I made the 37min trek here to "Greenland" (the Internet cafe) last week the light (ie. power) was off, so no dice - or the fact that I have been too totally enraptured with, and immersed in, life here to make the trek again sooner. Regardless I am here now, and dying to fill you all in!
A few days after my last blog I moved from the sweltering bustle of Accra, the country's vibrant capitol, to Swedru, my home for the remainder of my time in Ghana. Swedru is a town of 7000, four hours to the west (and a wee bit north) of Accra. According to the weather man, that "wee bit north" is all it takes to separate Swedru from Greater Accra's 'coastal region' and place it firmly in the 'jungle region.' In addition to being titularly more exotic the jungle region - or at least it's inhabitants - enjoy temperatures that are ~ 5 degrees cooler: Thank God. Don't get me wrong though, even my teeth sweat from the exertion of sitting absolutely still, and I tend to sweat through at least a couple of shirts per day. But enough scene setting.
I anxiously met my host family - the complete strangers from a radically different culture with whom I would be spending the next 2.75months - and instantly hit it off!
Uncle Kojo, my 34 year old host father, is a high school history teacher and administrator. Unfortunately his school is in a town some distance away for he will often stay there for days at a time. When he is around, we have lively conversations about customs in Ghana vs. Canada and the history of Ireland. His quick speech is perforated with pensive pauses to find the right word to ensure eloquence.
Aunty Efua (A-foo-ah), also 34, is a primary school teacher who helps manage the family hair salon next door ("Best and Humble Hair Salon" absolutely no joke!). And, as such, always has a funky doo. She is between 6 and 7 months pregnant, is serene, and displays the maternal instinct to feed her "young" as much as physically possible. Her "young" being Awompa, my two and a half year old host sister, and myself.
I love Awompa. I am trying to get her to hop up on a piece of bread for me so that I can eat her up. She is absolutely adorable and gorgeous in the way that only young black children can be. Along with many other useful English words (such as "koala bear," "Buzz Lightyear," and "time" - none of which really exist in Ghana) I taught her to say "I am proud to be Canadian" which (after adorning her dress with the shiny maple leaf stickers I brought for her) she ran around the place squealing gleefully!
So my family rules.
Next big uncertainty was my job - you know, one of the main reasons I'm here...
I started my volunteer work at Nsaba (IN-sab-AH) Health Clinic on Monday morning. [N.B. Transportation and food in Ghana are both breathtaking and exhilarating (not to mention among my favorite aspects of my time here thus far) enough to deserve their own posts, ergo, I will devote a future blog post these subjects] so suffice to say after being well "fed" I "got" to the clinic which is just outside Nsaba (surprise surprise), a town ~25min "drive" from Swedru. In keeping with my expectations consistently being proven to come from left field, (or Mars or Canada), the clinic was not what I had in mind. It is better.
On my first day I met the bountiful and boisterous staff of nurses, matrons, orderlies and the one doctor, Chief, who is quite ill and often absent. The only other males are Sly, the outreach driver who comes biweekly, and Justice, whose business managing records often takes him to Accra and Cape Coast. I toured the facilities (main ward, immunization room, maternity ward, emergency room, outreach centre, as well as a records office, and dispensary) which were almost disappointingly sanitary. No lizards, cockroaches or lions running through the clinic. I was then put to work.
I was taught how to take and record vitals (temperature, weight, and blood pressure, glean and record all symptoms) and proceeded to make myself useful for the rest of the day. By my second day I was given preliminary training in giving I.V. (a technique that's used like it's going out of style) by the end of the day I'd stuck my first patient, and on the first vein, was successful! A proud moment to be sure! Day three (Wednesday) was outreach.
On Wednesdays and Thursdays I arrive at the clinic around 5:30am and with Sly, our driver, and a shock squad of three other nurses, head out into the bush to mega rural villages. Even after 6 such outings, it is still a little surreal to be sitting in the back of a pickup truck, pelting down a highway only to suddenly pull off the road (at seemingly random), drive along dry river beds for 25 minutes with cocoa trees casting green-filtered light and giant spiders (okay that only happened once) down on us before materializing in a little community of clay houses, tin roofs and nike T-shirts. We spend Wednesdays immunizing and weighing babies (by my third day I had jabbed a poor wee chubby baby in the deltoid - but I can sleep at night with the knowledge that his squeals of pain (and those of his subsequent comrades who have since cried at the end of my needle) will be transformed into peels of laughter as they grow up happy and healthy. So in three days I had covered perhaps months of nursing school.
Thursdays are more about education. We go to rural schools to educate children and parents about malaria prevention, basic "home treatment" first aid methods, and sex ed. I also (obviously) managed to fit a little anatomy song in there by singing "Head and Sholders" to a class of 4 year-olds.
I haven't time for detail now, but some of the medical conditions we've seen at the clinic or on outreach so far are:
<WARNING: some very graphic content>
malaria galore, severe dehydration, malnutrition, kwashikor (starvation), a girl who's tumble into the open sewer was a little more serious than mine as her septic leg gashes attested, the results of assaults and motor vehicle accidents, a girl whose wound from stepping on sharp bamboo harboured a maggot, a boy who chopped his thumb off with a machete (which the doctor reattached), a boy who melted half of his face off with boiling water, an 8 year old boy with very advanced tetanus, and one 43 year old man with AIDS.
Sorry to get really heavy all of a sudden. It can get pretty intense sometimes, but I came here, among other reasons, to have my eyes opened and the only times I have closed them are a few death-defying moments on the public transit system, once when Aunty Efua was preparing dinner, and when the boy was having his thumb reattached. As extreme as many of these experiences so far seem (and certainly they are extreme) maladies of similar magnitude (though different cause) could be observed in an emergency ward of any western hospital.
Before I depart for another indeterminate length of time, I need the obligatory blog personal tidbits: I finished "The Time Traveller's Wife" and loved it. I finished "By the Seat of my Pants: A Collection of Humorous Travel Misadventures" and thought it was very hit and miss (though mostly miss). I have started "The Great Gatsby" and am loving it. I have written several songs here (I guess my muse is African). Have the Oscars happened? I (somewhat ridiculously) made a concerted effort this year to see all of the major nominees, and now I can think of few things that are less relevant. As well as "Canada," I have given up "not doing my 8 minute abs (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWjTnBmCHTY) everyday" for lent - as Aunty Efua's delicious food will have me awfully roley poley upon my return.
And that's it for another installment. I hope that you are all safe and well - you can rest assured that I certainly am. And well fed.
First I need to start off by saying a humongous kafra (ka-FRAH), sorry, for my lengthy absence from the online scene. I don't know whether to blame it on the fact that when I made the 37min trek here to "Greenland" (the Internet cafe) last week the light (ie. power) was off, so no dice - or the fact that I have been too totally enraptured with, and immersed in, life here to make the trek again sooner. Regardless I am here now, and dying to fill you all in!
A few days after my last blog I moved from the sweltering bustle of Accra, the country's vibrant capitol, to Swedru, my home for the remainder of my time in Ghana. Swedru is a town of 7000, four hours to the west (and a wee bit north) of Accra. According to the weather man, that "wee bit north" is all it takes to separate Swedru from Greater Accra's 'coastal region' and place it firmly in the 'jungle region.' In addition to being titularly more exotic the jungle region - or at least it's inhabitants - enjoy temperatures that are ~ 5 degrees cooler: Thank God. Don't get me wrong though, even my teeth sweat from the exertion of sitting absolutely still, and I tend to sweat through at least a couple of shirts per day. But enough scene setting.
I anxiously met my host family - the complete strangers from a radically different culture with whom I would be spending the next 2.75months - and instantly hit it off!
Uncle Kojo, my 34 year old host father, is a high school history teacher and administrator. Unfortunately his school is in a town some distance away for he will often stay there for days at a time. When he is around, we have lively conversations about customs in Ghana vs. Canada and the history of Ireland. His quick speech is perforated with pensive pauses to find the right word to ensure eloquence.
Aunty Efua (A-foo-ah), also 34, is a primary school teacher who helps manage the family hair salon next door ("Best and Humble Hair Salon" absolutely no joke!). And, as such, always has a funky doo. She is between 6 and 7 months pregnant, is serene, and displays the maternal instinct to feed her "young" as much as physically possible. Her "young" being Awompa, my two and a half year old host sister, and myself.
I love Awompa. I am trying to get her to hop up on a piece of bread for me so that I can eat her up. She is absolutely adorable and gorgeous in the way that only young black children can be. Along with many other useful English words (such as "koala bear," "Buzz Lightyear," and "time" - none of which really exist in Ghana) I taught her to say "I am proud to be Canadian" which (after adorning her dress with the shiny maple leaf stickers I brought for her) she ran around the place squealing gleefully!
So my family rules.
Next big uncertainty was my job - you know, one of the main reasons I'm here...
I started my volunteer work at Nsaba (IN-sab-AH) Health Clinic on Monday morning. [N.B. Transportation and food in Ghana are both breathtaking and exhilarating (not to mention among my favorite aspects of my time here thus far) enough to deserve their own posts, ergo, I will devote a future blog post these subjects] so suffice to say after being well "fed" I "got" to the clinic which is just outside Nsaba (surprise surprise), a town ~25min "drive" from Swedru. In keeping with my expectations consistently being proven to come from left field, (or Mars or Canada), the clinic was not what I had in mind. It is better.
On my first day I met the bountiful and boisterous staff of nurses, matrons, orderlies and the one doctor, Chief, who is quite ill and often absent. The only other males are Sly, the outreach driver who comes biweekly, and Justice, whose business managing records often takes him to Accra and Cape Coast. I toured the facilities (main ward, immunization room, maternity ward, emergency room, outreach centre, as well as a records office, and dispensary) which were almost disappointingly sanitary. No lizards, cockroaches or lions running through the clinic. I was then put to work.
I was taught how to take and record vitals (temperature, weight, and blood pressure, glean and record all symptoms) and proceeded to make myself useful for the rest of the day. By my second day I was given preliminary training in giving I.V. (a technique that's used like it's going out of style) by the end of the day I'd stuck my first patient, and on the first vein, was successful! A proud moment to be sure! Day three (Wednesday) was outreach.
On Wednesdays and Thursdays I arrive at the clinic around 5:30am and with Sly, our driver, and a shock squad of three other nurses, head out into the bush to mega rural villages. Even after 6 such outings, it is still a little surreal to be sitting in the back of a pickup truck, pelting down a highway only to suddenly pull off the road (at seemingly random), drive along dry river beds for 25 minutes with cocoa trees casting green-filtered light and giant spiders (okay that only happened once) down on us before materializing in a little community of clay houses, tin roofs and nike T-shirts. We spend Wednesdays immunizing and weighing babies (by my third day I had jabbed a poor wee chubby baby in the deltoid - but I can sleep at night with the knowledge that his squeals of pain (and those of his subsequent comrades who have since cried at the end of my needle) will be transformed into peels of laughter as they grow up happy and healthy. So in three days I had covered perhaps months of nursing school.
Thursdays are more about education. We go to rural schools to educate children and parents about malaria prevention, basic "home treatment" first aid methods, and sex ed. I also (obviously) managed to fit a little anatomy song in there by singing "Head and Sholders" to a class of 4 year-olds.
I haven't time for detail now, but some of the medical conditions we've seen at the clinic or on outreach so far are:
<WARNING: some very graphic content>
malaria galore, severe dehydration, malnutrition, kwashikor (starvation), a girl who's tumble into the open sewer was a little more serious than mine as her septic leg gashes attested, the results of assaults and motor vehicle accidents, a girl whose wound from stepping on sharp bamboo harboured a maggot, a boy who chopped his thumb off with a machete (which the doctor reattached), a boy who melted half of his face off with boiling water, an 8 year old boy with very advanced tetanus, and one 43 year old man with AIDS.
Sorry to get really heavy all of a sudden. It can get pretty intense sometimes, but I came here, among other reasons, to have my eyes opened and the only times I have closed them are a few death-defying moments on the public transit system, once when Aunty Efua was preparing dinner, and when the boy was having his thumb reattached. As extreme as many of these experiences so far seem (and certainly they are extreme) maladies of similar magnitude (though different cause) could be observed in an emergency ward of any western hospital.
Before I depart for another indeterminate length of time, I need the obligatory blog personal tidbits: I finished "The Time Traveller's Wife" and loved it. I finished "By the Seat of my Pants: A Collection of Humorous Travel Misadventures" and thought it was very hit and miss (though mostly miss). I have started "The Great Gatsby" and am loving it. I have written several songs here (I guess my muse is African). Have the Oscars happened? I (somewhat ridiculously) made a concerted effort this year to see all of the major nominees, and now I can think of few things that are less relevant. As well as "Canada," I have given up "not doing my 8 minute abs (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWjTnBmCHTY) everyday" for lent - as Aunty Efua's delicious food will have me awfully roley poley upon my return.
And that's it for another installment. I hope that you are all safe and well - you can rest assured that I certainly am. And well fed.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
One Week In / Eyes Wide Open
Ma Dwo (mah-JO) - Good Evening,
Well friends, I don't even know where to start. Me pe Ghana! I LOVE it. I may be seeing the wold through the rose-tinted specs of the "honeymoon stage" of culture shock, but I am really positively wowed by this place.
Because my time is limited I want to fit in the really important things: the misconceptions I (and I'm sure many of us Canadians held before I arrived here.
-I was under the impression that HIV/AIDS was rampant in Ghana. I had heard people through around "statistics" saying up to 70% of the population lived with HIV/AIDS. In fact only 3.4% of the population has HIV/AIDS.
-I have seen far fewer mosquitoes here than back home.
-I have only come across one beggar.
-English is surprisingly scarce. Although many people do speak it, the level of fluency is similar to an anglo-Canadian's "mastery" of French.
-The level of respect is much higher here. Especially in terms of age.
-Most everyone I meet is EXTREMELY friendly compaired to Canadians. As I walk down the street people will call out asking how you are, and will genuinely get to know you a bit. Even street vendors that I have met once have remembered me by name, and where I'm from down to the city. If I try to speak Twi (chwee), a language that I have already come to love, they laugh and clap and help me along.
-They DON'T use their left hand for the toilet, it is merely the hand that most Ghanaians use to hold the toilet paper.
-I prefer bucket showers to "regular" showers.
-I have not (yet) used one "non-western" toilet - and that's not for lack of trying!
-I have honestly not had one meal (yet) that I haven't enjoyed more than average (and usually effusively).
-Chocolate (for which Ghana is known) is actually relatively expensive and somewhat hard to come by (but "pebbles" like peanut m&m's, but bigger and with better chocolate) are wonderful and cheap.
-The produce is mind-blowing. Even by B.C. standards. The fruit (all kinds are available, but most commonly pine-apple, coconuts, papaya) is naturally sweet and mouth-wateringly refreshing and D-lish.
-The colours of Ghana's flag (green=forests, yellow=mineral wealth, black=overcoming slavery) are shared by Jamaica's flag. This is suspiciously coincidental as the vast majority of Ghanaians adore reggae, and Bob Marley is something of a cultural idol. Reggae is played in shops (rather than "easy listening") which is really refreshing and at a Reggae night I attended last night at La Badi Beach I met a few full-blown Rastafarians ("Ja Bless!")
There we go.
I am a little hesitant to just write everything I am doing and experiencing here because many things will require additional explanation or background info, which I haven't the time to write here. I will, however, fill you in by saying that it is with mixed emotions that I near the end of my orientation week with the other volunteers here in La Badi, Accra. On the one hand I am excited to get to my placement (with the homestay family and at the clinic) in Swedro (two hours east of Accra) and take in a new community that is even more "traditional" than Accra. At the same time though, I have really bonded with the ten other volunteers (mostly from Canada, one from Australia, one from Sweden), and have come to love our neighborhood, and the local neighbors. We have spent the week learning about and immersing ourselves in the culture of Accra. We have had lessons in cultural do's and don'ts (I've had a definite don't by yelling "testicle" (eneshwee) in a restaurant, while trying to say "no problem" (eneshway). There are four phrases that are just "don'ts" waiting to happen: "me bow" (I'll beat you), "m'abo" (I'm drunk), "me buwo (I respect you), "me boa" (I'm lying). I suppose falling in an uncovered sewer (don't worry not hurt, not even my pride as it provided great entertainment for the children I was making paper aeroplanes with) could be considered a "cultural don't". But I think that's more of a global "don't".
That has sort of been the point of this past week of orientation, and also, sort of, this post. We have been breaking down our western stereotypes and ideologies and realizing that the majority of the world does not do things the way we do in Victoria. I ave also learned that although our cultures are very different, music, common sense and a sense of humour cross all boundaries.
Thanks for "tuning in." I do not know how accessible Internet will be in the smaller (7000 person) town of Swedro. And, with absolutely no effrontery intended, it's very nice not being on the computer. That said, I will make a strong effort to send an update within the next two weeks.
Byebye!
Well friends, I don't even know where to start. Me pe Ghana! I LOVE it. I may be seeing the wold through the rose-tinted specs of the "honeymoon stage" of culture shock, but I am really positively wowed by this place.
Because my time is limited I want to fit in the really important things: the misconceptions I (and I'm sure many of us Canadians held before I arrived here.
-I was under the impression that HIV/AIDS was rampant in Ghana. I had heard people through around "statistics" saying up to 70% of the population lived with HIV/AIDS. In fact only 3.4% of the population has HIV/AIDS.
-I have seen far fewer mosquitoes here than back home.
-I have only come across one beggar.
-English is surprisingly scarce. Although many people do speak it, the level of fluency is similar to an anglo-Canadian's "mastery" of French.
-The level of respect is much higher here. Especially in terms of age.
-Most everyone I meet is EXTREMELY friendly compaired to Canadians. As I walk down the street people will call out asking how you are, and will genuinely get to know you a bit. Even street vendors that I have met once have remembered me by name, and where I'm from down to the city. If I try to speak Twi (chwee), a language that I have already come to love, they laugh and clap and help me along.
-They DON'T use their left hand for the toilet, it is merely the hand that most Ghanaians use to hold the toilet paper.
-I prefer bucket showers to "regular" showers.
-I have not (yet) used one "non-western" toilet - and that's not for lack of trying!
-I have honestly not had one meal (yet) that I haven't enjoyed more than average (and usually effusively).
-Chocolate (for which Ghana is known) is actually relatively expensive and somewhat hard to come by (but "pebbles" like peanut m&m's, but bigger and with better chocolate) are wonderful and cheap.
-The produce is mind-blowing. Even by B.C. standards. The fruit (all kinds are available, but most commonly pine-apple, coconuts, papaya) is naturally sweet and mouth-wateringly refreshing and D-lish.
-The colours of Ghana's flag (green=forests, yellow=mineral wealth, black=overcoming slavery) are shared by Jamaica's flag. This is suspiciously coincidental as the vast majority of Ghanaians adore reggae, and Bob Marley is something of a cultural idol. Reggae is played in shops (rather than "easy listening") which is really refreshing and at a Reggae night I attended last night at La Badi Beach I met a few full-blown Rastafarians ("Ja Bless!")
There we go.
I am a little hesitant to just write everything I am doing and experiencing here because many things will require additional explanation or background info, which I haven't the time to write here. I will, however, fill you in by saying that it is with mixed emotions that I near the end of my orientation week with the other volunteers here in La Badi, Accra. On the one hand I am excited to get to my placement (with the homestay family and at the clinic) in Swedro (two hours east of Accra) and take in a new community that is even more "traditional" than Accra. At the same time though, I have really bonded with the ten other volunteers (mostly from Canada, one from Australia, one from Sweden), and have come to love our neighborhood, and the local neighbors. We have spent the week learning about and immersing ourselves in the culture of Accra. We have had lessons in cultural do's and don'ts (I've had a definite don't by yelling "testicle" (eneshwee) in a restaurant, while trying to say "no problem" (eneshway). There are four phrases that are just "don'ts" waiting to happen: "me bow" (I'll beat you), "m'abo" (I'm drunk), "me buwo (I respect you), "me boa" (I'm lying). I suppose falling in an uncovered sewer (don't worry not hurt, not even my pride as it provided great entertainment for the children I was making paper aeroplanes with) could be considered a "cultural don't". But I think that's more of a global "don't".
That has sort of been the point of this past week of orientation, and also, sort of, this post. We have been breaking down our western stereotypes and ideologies and realizing that the majority of the world does not do things the way we do in Victoria. I ave also learned that although our cultures are very different, music, common sense and a sense of humour cross all boundaries.
Thanks for "tuning in." I do not know how accessible Internet will be in the smaller (7000 person) town of Swedro. And, with absolutely no effrontery intended, it's very nice not being on the computer. That said, I will make a strong effort to send an update within the next two weeks.
Byebye!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Akwaaba - Welcome!
Hello Friends,
I have never kept a blog before; in fact, I have only rarely ventured onto them when I have tried to "back-up" other people's music on to my computer. If I could hand-write a letter and mail it to you all, I would. I don't hate technology, it's just that I prefer the tangible to the digital.
Anyway, now that I have gotten off to a hilariously deep and pretentious start (befitting a blog I think) I'll let you know what's going on.
I'm volunteering in a small medical clinic (the Nsaba Health Clinic) in Swedru, Ghana. If Africa is an "Allen key" then Ghana is just to the left of the "Allen" of the key. If, instead, Africa is a Tricerotops head (looking eastward), then Ghana is at the base of the frill. It's three to left of Nigeria, and on a standard world map, it's almost right in the middle. I'm just letting you know so that you have some idea of where I'm going. About two months ago I hadn't a clue either. My doctor thought it was in South America - that's Guyana.
Ghana, properly (and more sensationally), The Republic of Gaana, is pretty neat. It means "Warrior King" in reference to the many warring kingdoms from which it was comprised in medieval times. Fortunately the militaristic tone is now only titular, as the country itself is among the most peaceful and IS the most democratic in all of Africa. It was one of the first African countries to be taken from the Portuguese by the British in 1874 - a mere seven years after Canada's somewhat similar fate, though it was the French who were done out. Not wanting to be outdone, Ghana was then the very first African country to gain independence. First in, first out. In December a man named John Mills was voted in as President (America isn't the only country with a black President). While, apparently, he's a pretty swell leader, he has the most comparatively uninspired name.
My homestay family is comprised of: grandma Queen Elizabeth (who goes by Mrs. Elizabeth), mother Philomena Fynn, brother Kofi (19) and his sixteen year old cousin Blessing. Other common Ghanaian names are: Godswill, Godstime and Precious. "Ryan Say" might make me stand out, but I think my skin colour will take care of that.
Last summer was the first time in my life that I had ever managed to tan (and only slightly at that). Prior to that I'd transition from white to second degree burns (with the intermediate "lobster-red" stage). Just as we lump the African peoples' great cultural (and indeed geographic) diversity together with the label "black people" to them we are all white. My new friend Navi (who is of Indian heritage) worked in an orphanage in Ghana. When she was with the blond child of another volunteer the Ghanaian children assumed that she was the child's mother. But, Navi told me, although we may seem to stand out, Ghana has a sense of community that even the Gulf Islands could aspire to. People run on "Ghana time" meaning that they may be late for work because they bumped into someone they knew (or didn't!) and had them over for a fine chat!
Anyway, thanks for reading even this far. I just wanted to give you a bit of an outsider's (soon-to-be insider) introduction to the country that I will be living in for the next three months. Just to manage all expectations, when I arrive in Ghana the nearest internet connection will be a good half hour away (at least) so I will aspire to no more than bi-monthly blogging. Feel free to e-mail me at rsay@uvic.ca or send me a facebook. While I will take pleasure in reading the messages I receive, I can pretty much guarantee that individual responses will be unlikely. That is the glory of the ubiquitous blog.
I have never kept a blog before; in fact, I have only rarely ventured onto them when I have tried to "back-up" other people's music on to my computer. If I could hand-write a letter and mail it to you all, I would. I don't hate technology, it's just that I prefer the tangible to the digital.
Anyway, now that I have gotten off to a hilariously deep and pretentious start (befitting a blog I think) I'll let you know what's going on.
I'm volunteering in a small medical clinic (the Nsaba Health Clinic) in Swedru, Ghana. If Africa is an "Allen key" then Ghana is just to the left of the "Allen" of the key. If, instead, Africa is a Tricerotops head (looking eastward), then Ghana is at the base of the frill. It's three to left of Nigeria, and on a standard world map, it's almost right in the middle. I'm just letting you know so that you have some idea of where I'm going. About two months ago I hadn't a clue either. My doctor thought it was in South America - that's Guyana.
Ghana, properly (and more sensationally), The Republic of Gaana, is pretty neat. It means "Warrior King" in reference to the many warring kingdoms from which it was comprised in medieval times. Fortunately the militaristic tone is now only titular, as the country itself is among the most peaceful and IS the most democratic in all of Africa. It was one of the first African countries to be taken from the Portuguese by the British in 1874 - a mere seven years after Canada's somewhat similar fate, though it was the French who were done out. Not wanting to be outdone, Ghana was then the very first African country to gain independence. First in, first out. In December a man named John Mills was voted in as President (America isn't the only country with a black President). While, apparently, he's a pretty swell leader, he has the most comparatively uninspired name.
My homestay family is comprised of: grandma Queen Elizabeth (who goes by Mrs. Elizabeth), mother Philomena Fynn, brother Kofi (19) and his sixteen year old cousin Blessing. Other common Ghanaian names are: Godswill, Godstime and Precious. "Ryan Say" might make me stand out, but I think my skin colour will take care of that.
Last summer was the first time in my life that I had ever managed to tan (and only slightly at that). Prior to that I'd transition from white to second degree burns (with the intermediate "lobster-red" stage). Just as we lump the African peoples' great cultural (and indeed geographic) diversity together with the label "black people" to them we are all white. My new friend Navi (who is of Indian heritage) worked in an orphanage in Ghana. When she was with the blond child of another volunteer the Ghanaian children assumed that she was the child's mother. But, Navi told me, although we may seem to stand out, Ghana has a sense of community that even the Gulf Islands could aspire to. People run on "Ghana time" meaning that they may be late for work because they bumped into someone they knew (or didn't!) and had them over for a fine chat!
Anyway, thanks for reading even this far. I just wanted to give you a bit of an outsider's (soon-to-be insider) introduction to the country that I will be living in for the next three months. Just to manage all expectations, when I arrive in Ghana the nearest internet connection will be a good half hour away (at least) so I will aspire to no more than bi-monthly blogging. Feel free to e-mail me at rsay@uvic.ca or send me a facebook. While I will take pleasure in reading the messages I receive, I can pretty much guarantee that individual responses will be unlikely. That is the glory of the ubiquitous blog.
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