Chocolate: bitter or sweet?

Jess' Last Blog

2010-07-18T08:15:00.000-07:00

As a goodbye to Africa I would like to publish our "African Counting Game"

10- the number of shops with the words "Jesus Saves" in the title. For example "Jesus Saves Rice and Chicken" or "Jesus Saves Stop and Shop"
9- the number of times we genuinely thought we would crash and die in a speeding taxi with no seatbelts
8- the number of meals Jess secretly slipped Beth some of the meat from her plate
7- the number of times Beth slipped Jess a gnawed on bone to pretend Jess had eaten the meat
6- the number of times Beth saved us tons of money with her patented bargaining skills
5- the number of other white people we saw in Kumasi and Burkina Faso combined
4- the number of women we saw wearing the full burka
3- the number of pigs we saw (as opposed to 1,000 chickens, accompanying roosters, 500 goats and just as many cows)
2- the number of working seatbelts in all of West Africa (both worn by taxi drivers bent on mass destruction)
1- marching band (this one is for you, Dad!!!!)

time to come home

2010-07-18T08:13:00.000-07:00

Our dear readers, this is our final farewell. Tomorrow morning we will head to Accra, and the following morning we will fly home. This expedition has exceeded all of our expectations of learning, adventuring and having fun. We are so grateful for this experience, and at the same time, we are really looking forward to coming home. Here are the top five things we are most looking forward to when we return home:

5. Salads.
In order to avoid getting sick, we had a diet of only VERY well-cooked vegetables and peeled fruit. Mmmm, the lettuce is calling us now!

4. Washing machines.
We have been washing our clothes by hand every night ini the sink. Not that it is that much work, but we're not very good at it, and we have been getting progressively more and more skanky as the trip goes on.

3. American driving rules.
The West African style seems to be just step on the gas and the horn at the same time no matter what happens. we have had to muffle quite a few yelps from the backseat of taxis.

2. Chocolate, sweets, and dessert.
Given the thrust of our research, there have been very few actual treats in our lives the last few weeks! Divine Chocolate here we come!!

1. Our friends and family.
Dear ones, we have missed you, talked about you, and deeply appreciate all you have done to support our amazing adventure in Africa. Thank you for the help with childcare, gifts, emails, and just sharing the excitement with us. We can't wait to see you all and show you our pictures!

Gender Markers

2010-07-18T08:02:00.000-07:00

Just before leaving on this trip I was out buying flip flops. My daughter chose a little pink pair with Tinkerbell on them and, of course, so did my son. An interesting moment for a mother who professes not to play into the gender distinctions culturally imposed. I had to admit a twinge of discomfort with his choice. I am happy to report there are NO SUCH ISSUES HERE!!
West Africa is teeming with burly men standing tall and proud in dashikis made entirely from pink eyelet. Teenage boys proudly sport backpacks of teal and purple and small boys are perfectly happy wearing pink camouflage. There is an undeniable layer that involves money, the affluence to choose the color of ones shirt, that is true but gender markers here are undeniably different even taking preference into account. Girls and young women sport many different hairstyles but the most common in Ghana is closely cropped and without decoration. Thus earrings are the mark of a female child (often) because boys and girls have the same haircut. All in all, a wonderful education into another culture and as soon as I get home Emmett is getting those Tinkerbell flip flops!!

Cape Coast Castle

2010-07-18T07:51:00.000-07:00

Cape Coast Castle dominates this city. Facing the ocean, the castle is enormous and covered in peeling white paint. Piles of rusty cannonballs line the entrance and inner courtyard as cannons line the outer walls. The museum is thought provoking, informative and extremely well balanced. Our tour guide was well spoken, knowledgeable, and captivating. We learned a lot about the terrible history of this slave fort and the people who were held, tortured, raped, and killed there. We were taken to places where unspeakable things were done to human beings. We struggled to remain present with the waves of information and resulting emotion. Like so many parts of this trip our visit to Cape Coast castle was not for the faint of heart. Words fail to describe the experience of being there.

Local School Burkina Faso

2010-07-17T04:39:00.001-07:00

Local Schools
Unfortunately our visit to a local school in the village of Ponga was short due to students being on vacation. We were shown around by a very friendly teacher who lived next door to the school. Classrooms were large with blackboards on two walls and two large walls of windows facing inward. One classroom (there were four total) had desks and another did not, students sit on the mud floors to study. Class sizes averaged about 65 students and one teacher in a room. The teacher we met described some difficulties with teachers not being invested in the school, coming late to work, leaving for a few days at a time and not coming in at all. He had found success in his own classroom and was duly proud of having turned out top scholars this past year.

rice

2010-07-17T04:39:00.000-07:00

Hamidou was immensely proud of his rice. As we drove through the village we passed piles upon piles of humungous bags of rice, 60 kilos in each bag. Rice was drying on the ground everywhere on main street, and was hulled by a Chinese-made machine that one could pay to use. He showed us his rice farm, where the harvest was just ending and only a few workers remained cutting the very last of the stalks. During the height of the harvest, everyone in the village had come to help, women, men and children. Hamidou explained he was so busy that he had slept right in his field for three weeks-- he spread a mat on the ground and propped up a mosquito net with sticks stuck in the ground. He didn't have time to go home to go to bed.

The United States had donated rice to Burkina Faso for several decades before abruptly stopping about five years ago. At that point, the government of Burkina asked the Chinese to come and assist them to build a dam that would simulaneously create hydro electric power and also provide water to make rice farming possible. The Chinese did create the dam, and electricity is coming to villages for the first time. Electricity still has not reached Hamidou's village, but is probably not more than a couple years away. Now there are many rice farms where before farming rice was impossible in the dry climate. rice gives much bigger yields than any other crop traditionally farmed here, such as corn, millet, and cassava. With the extra money from selling their corn, the villages can afford less flammable building materials for their homes. Before, fire from the kitchen would often overtakes the thatched roofs. Now many villagers can afford concrete walls and tin roofs, much sturdier, longer-lasting and less flammable than before.

shea butter cooperative

2010-07-17T04:16:00.000-07:00

While staying in Hamidou's village, we spent a day driving to a local shea butter cooperative. Creating shea butter is strictly women's work. All women know how to make it: it starts with a small green fruit that grows from local trees. The fruit is delicious, like a cross between an avocado and a peach. The pit of the fruit is roasted and then pounded until the oil is pressed out. It is a great deal of work to pound it and then separate out pure oil from the bits of pit. But a group of women in a nearby village managed to buy several machines to make the process less labor intensive with a cleaner product that would have a longer shelf life. When we arrived we were greeted warmly and Hamidou explained that we were teachers and would like to learn more about the process of making shea butter. The women were very happy to show us each step of the process, and explained at the end that they were having trouble selling the shea butter at a fair price. They wanted 4000 CFAs per kilo (about $8) in order to pay everyone well but customers were only offering 2000, only half of their price. They may be forced to close the factory if they can't find customers who will pay better, since they can't cover their costs well. Ia sked about shipping to the US, but they are a landlocked country, and this would involve driving all the way through Ghana to a ship, which is prohibitively expensive. The women were hopeful about our interest, although we couldn't figure out how we could help aside from buyiing large jars at the moment. The women thanked us over and over and even broke into spontaneous song at the end of our visit. Hamidou translated the song: "we have been suffering for too long but now our suffering is ending." We left with their names and address, and a faith that our visit there will make some difference in their lives in a way we cannot foresee now.

Plate O' Chicken

2010-07-17T03:58:00.000-07:00

Before we left on this amazing adventure, Beth gently asked if it was o.k. with me (the resident vegan) not to eat a vegetarian diet while in Africa. "It will be virtually impossible to travel in Africa and not eat meat," she said. I took this as a pessimistic view and assured her I would be fine no matter what. I also harbored a secret hope that perhaps there would be more options than my faithful travel companion was aware of. Oh the naivette of the first time traveler to Africa!
I need to preface my discourse on West African cuisine with a heartfelt acknowledgment of the people here who have fed us, giving us the best of what they have in bigger portions than one person could ever comfortably consume. Having said that there have been some...challenges for a visiting vegetarian. The one that stands out above all is a little lunch spot I dubbed "Plate O' Chicken".

En route to Dirze we stopped in Ponga, a neighboring village. It had been a long, hot, dusty drive and we were ready for a bathroom and something big and filling for lunch. The village itself was bustling and colorful so our hopes rose as we pulled in to what looked to be the only restaurant in town and settled into plastic chairs beneath a large thatched canopy. The server brought us enormous bottles of orange Fanta (shockingly cold and delicious after a long drive in 90 degree weather) and we were joined by the local chief of police who was a friend of our host. There was no mention of ordering food and so it was with some relief that we saw a large plastic tray of food being brought to our table. Mouths watered. Conversation paused and the lid was lifted to reveal...the biggest plate of chicken I have ever seen. This was no clean and anonymous pre packaged breasts and thighs from the grill either. This was the entire chicken- claws curled, legs in full glory, liver and other parts all laid out in glistening array. Everyone dug right in. I went to the bathroom.

Food in West Africa is delicious. Most commonly there is a starch (rice, cous cous, pasta, yams) accompanied by a mildly spicy sauce with meat. Jollof rice is a great favorite and is served with a spicy shito sauce that our friend in Ghana taught us to make. We also took part in making Fufu, a traditional West African food made by pounding plantains, yams, and cassava together. Fufu is made with an enormous wooden mortar and pestle, the pestle is about six feet tall and the mortar is about three feet high and about two feet in diameter. Each of us took a turn pounding the mixture as it turned from seperate ingredients into a PlayDough-ish consistency. Fufu is served with a light sauce and eaten with the fingers (an art that we never quite mastered and always brought an amused smile and offering of a spoon from our dining companions).

Drinks are generally soda, beer, or water and when juice is available it is spiced with ginger and beyond delectable. Bread in Burkina is french baguettes and in Ghana is large white loaves similar to a dense Wonder bread. Sugar is reserved for flavoring morning tea in heaping amounts and dessert is nonexistent.

Street food is varied and fascinating. I have looked with longing wonder at dried fish on platters, bread pastries filled with unknown delights, and fried wonders that have gone untasted. Beth and her self proclaimed "stomach of steel" have tried more than I. My one experience with an eggroll bought impulsively in a moment of desperation at the market went...badly. All in all the food is an experience not to be missed especially here in Cape Coast eating crepe- like pancakes coated in brown sugar and staring at the ocean.

Les femmes va au marche! (The women go to the market)

2010-07-16T10:37:00.001-07:00

Fousena, Hamidou's wife in the village, wanted to go to the market, and offered to show us the local market there. Fousena does not speak English, but speaks several African languages and good French. Our French is extremely limited, but Fousena has been patiently coaching us, using slow, very articulated French with many hand gestures: "Va au marche!" went with a fist swinging forward like we were on an important mission. Our repetition of the phrase was too wimpy for Fousena, who made us repeat the phrase several times until our voices and fists had enough chutzpah. Fousena has a lot of chutzpah. When she was very young her family left her village iin Burkina Faso to search for more economic opportunity in Cote d'Ivoire. They stayed in Cote d'Ivoire for 18 years, until violence among ethnic groups specifically targeted Burkinabes and her family had to run for their lives as groups went through the countryside burning villages. She returned to her village and married Hamidou, having seen more than most of her in-laws who had stayed in peaceful Burkina Faso.

The economic worlds of the genders are rather distinct: men are in charge of the storefronts along the main road, including gas stations, tire shops, imported food and goods, and restaurants. We had seen a lot of this while driving around with Hamidou, but we hadn't yet seen "the market" and we accepted her invitation enthusiastically. Hamidou offered his car and we all climbed in. He asked who would drive and I answered that Fousena would drive. He looked at me and said, "Fousena doesn't drive!" Oh, dear lord, that means I have to drive. Driving in Africa is not like driving in the US. In Hamidou's words, "Driving in the States is easy! You don't have to swerve around the animals, the roads aren't washed out, all you have to look for is other cars!" So I said a little prayer for the cows, goats and chickens to stay out of the road, vowed not to go faster than second gear would take me, and climbed into the driver's seat. Fousena directed me through cornfields, around potholes the size of canyons, through scattering flocks of chicks, and we made it to the market.

We finally found the women's scene! Everyone was there! Thousands of women, sitting on small stools in a large open area, with piles of dried beans, mountains of peanuts, tennis ball-sized piles of homemade shea butter, fried dough, stunning fabric (some of which featured pictures of Obama), plastic housewares, jewelry, and other beautiful things spread out on fabric spread on the ground. With our eyes and nostrils full, we wandered around, met Fousena's older sister, shook hands with many and gently asked if we could take pictures. Some allowed it, others wouldn't, and by now we understand people's resistance.

We made it back home without crashing the car and we all congratulated ourselves as we stumbled back, "Bravo! Les femmes va au marche!"

Dirze

2010-07-16T10:16:00.000-07:00

To say that the village of Dirze, Burkina Faso is off the beaten path would be an understatement. We reached the village after a three hour drive from Ouagadougou and were ushered inside one home by the most welcoming and genuine people one could ever hope to meet. The homes in Dirze all followed some similar constructions- there was a low wall enclosing numerous buildings, the number of which was determined by the size of the family living inside. Families were extended, fluid, and large. For example, the family we stayed with included an elderly mother, her son and his wife, their two children, four or five aunts and a smattering of children from an infant to children of eight or nine. The "fluid" nature really refers to the fact that at any time there were new faces, all related in one way or another, all eating and resting and visiting together. The saying "it takes a village to raise a child" is a truism in the villages of West Africa.
The buildings themselves were made of dried mud and as the family we were staying with was doing well financially, the roofs of the bedrooms were made of tin. There were also four or five circular rooms with the same mud walls but these had thatched roofs and housed the livestock- chickens, goats, the horse, dog, donkey, and sheep. The dried mud is a light brown color and is punctuated by colored doors or windows in blue. Beautiful fabric hangs in the breeze to dry and moves in splashes of color- swirls and sunbursts, geometric designs and wild patterns. The courtyards between houses were used for sitting together, preparing food, and eating. Peanuts are constantly being shelled (they are the big snack food) and sorted. The home of our hosts had six or seven round houses, six bedrooms, two shower stalls, and an outhouse style toilet. The entire compound was surrounded by fields of corn (these crops are rotated with millet and peanuts as well) and large, lush mango trees. There is no electricity and the stars that blanket the sky are breathtaking and awe inspiring.

All in the family

2010-07-16T09:56:00.000-07:00

We were so thrilled to finally arrive at Hamidou's house in Ougadougou. The car drove up to a blue metal wide door and honked. Out came the family. We met Rasmata, who, at six feet tall, was just a little shorter but just as regal as her husband. She shook our hands joyfully, exclaiming "bon arrive!" About five kids came running out and clamoured for Hamidou's attention. When we entered the blue door, we walked into a courtyard with an outside kitchen. The first inside room was the living room, with very plush and comfortable couch and chairs, a coffee table, a tv and a refrigerator. Off of this room were two small bedrooms and a bathroom. When we had all gathered in the living room, Hamidou made introductions. Hamidou's mother, who was in her eighties, noramlly lives in the village but was in Ouagadougou because she needed to visit the hospital. She showed us her hurt wrist and shook our hands gently and lovingly. There was Omar and Samet, Rasmata's two sons, age three and six. There was Magit, age 4, Hamidou's son by his other wife, who had come to Ouagadougou because he wanted to spend more time with his father. There was Celia, age 5, and we had no idea how she was related, but was certainly in the fold. There was another teenage boy who was blind who lived there, then Hamidou introduced his daughter, who was 16. By this point I was totally confused, as I knew that Hamidou only had sons and he had joked previously that he "didn't make girls, they were too much trouble." Several days later, I asked Hamidou how she got to be his daughter, and he explained that she was his brother's daughter, but came to Ouagadougou and now he was taking care of her.

After a delicious meal and a night's rest at the hotel, we went to the market. The market is open-air with a roof, and a pleasant breeze blew through all the stalls. There were clothes, meat, fish, beautiful fabric, drums, jewelry, and much more to drool over. Jessica was doing some great, hard-nosed bargaining over some beautiful straw baskets and emerged from a stall thoroughly proud of her performance. She brightly asked Hamidou how she did, explaining her final price. Hamidou looked at the baskets, frowned, and told us to leave the bargaining to him. Jessica's bubble burst, we dutifully handed over the job of bargaining to him when we found a talking drum and a West African game our students would enjoy. Hamidou spoke Mossi, the African language used for trade, so we could only read the facial expressions and rising volume to guess at the seller's impatience at Hamidou's hard-nosed price. Finally, the trader was so frustrated at Hamidou that he walked over to me and said, "your father said his final price. You give me 10,000. (About $20). I thought, "my father! Hamidou is only 5 years older than me! Come on, he can be my older brother, perhaps even my uncle, but not my father!" I managed to bite my tongue and finish the transaction and our future students will be very glad. Afterward I was recounting my silly reaction to Jessica and she wisely immediately understood the African notion of family. She said, "but in that moment, he was playing the role of your father, so he was your father. That's the African way."

the long road to Ouagadougou

2010-07-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

The road to Ouagadougou is a lesson in economics, culture, patience and faith.

Ouagadougou is the capital of Burkina Faso, one of the poorest countries in the world. We wanted to visit Burkina because there are some interesting fair trade projects there with shea butter, but mostly because I (Beth) have an old friend, Hamidou, who is from Burkina Faso and I wanted to see him and meet his family.

Hamidou is really a part of my family. Hamidou met my parents-in-law in Cote d'Ivoire after he left his village at age 18. African notions for family are much looser and more inclusive than Western notions, and in this tradition he became a part of the family and came with them to the US for a while after they left Africa. He became a world traveler, living in the US (with me and my partner for a while) and in Mozambique and Thailand. He speaks about seven languages: Bisa, his mother tongue; Mossi, another African language used widely for trading in Burkina Faso; Bambara, an African language used widely in Mali; French, the colonial language in Burkina Faso; English, which he perfected in the US; and Spanish and Portuguese which he learned in Mozambique. Hamidou is Muslim, although not very devout, the same way that I grew up Christian but don't find myself in church often. He is now back in his home country and has always invited us to meet his family there. This was finally my opportunity to see his home.

Hamidou divides his time between two homes: one in the capital city, Ouagadougou, where he sells mosquito nets and other imports, and the other in the village where he grew up where he is a rice farmer and seller. Polygamy is a long tradition in West Africa, and Islam allows for a man to marry up to four wives as long as he can provide for them. Hamidou has two wives: Rasmata, who lives in Ougadougou, and Fousena, who lives in the village. Each of his wives has two sons, and Hamidou also has another son by a wife whom he later separated from.

Hamidou came to pick us up in Kumasi on the bus so that he could escort us to his country himself. He brought us to the Kumasi market to take the night bus north. We had been to the marke thte day before withour friends in Kumasi, but being in the market with Hamidou was another world. He brought us to the part of the market where his fellow Burkinabes were preparing to travel north with us. Muslim sunset prayers were chanted from loudspeakers, men washed their feet and spread their prayer mats on the ground. Traders finished their shopping at the market and loaded the bus with bags and bags of oranges, hair products, cloth, and other things they would trade. There was so much that our luggage wouldn't fit beneath the bus and was piled on seats in the back of the bus.

Hamidou said the bus was scheduled to leave at 6 pm, but assured us that it wouldn't leave until at least 7. In fact, at about 8 pm the bus finally pulled away from the station and we began the next part of our African adventure.

For a block. Then the bus broke down and we sat on the bus for a half hour until they got it running again and we were on our way. We rumbled north over red dusty roads, full of potholes from the rains, and we rumbled and we rumbled. The windows wouldn't open and the airconditioning was broken, so we sweated through the night, which helped in the toileting aspect of the trip (there were no toilets but we just sweated everything out anyway). We made it to the border at about 9 am. We went through immigration, and we waited at customs for the traders to declare their goods. We waited and waited and waited. After about three hours it became clear that one of the traders had not declared all of her goods, and the entire bus was unloaded for a full inspection. After another hour we were finally cleared with customs, and one of our fellow passengers pleaded with the police, "please, I am an old man, please let us go." The customs officer took offense at this, yelled, "who is an old man?! I am the old man here!" and out of fury forced the passengers to again take off their luggage and open them up for a second inspection.

Finally finally we were on our way. About an hour later the bus broke down on the side of the road, in a dangerous strip known for bandits. Hamidou flagged down a mini-bus and as many of us as could possibly fit piled into the vehicle-- there were about 17 of us in a bus designed for nine. My leg kept falling asleep because my circulation was cut off, but we finally finally made it to Ouagadougou at about 5 pm, almost 24 hours after we began.

Hamidou walked across the street to get his car and I began to see the life he lived here: he couldn't walk for two feet without shaking someone's hand, bumping fists, doing the special handshake with the snap at the end, and waving greetings to everyone. He knew the entire city! We loaded our things into his car and he waved at everyone all the way to his house. We were tred but joyful at finally arriving at my old friend's home.

Beadmaking

2010-07-08T09:17:00.000-07:00

Osuofia is off thebeaten path to say the least. At the end of a long journey we made it the small village and were generously instructedin all things bead related. Glass beads are created by crushing bottles (recycling at it's most beautiful), filling a handmade clay mold with colored powder, and baking the mold until the beads are formed. Clay beads are formed with clay from the nearby river and carved and molded with different instruments. This instruction was given by a wonderful Ghanaian woman who showed us the most gorgeous display of necklaces and bracelets one could ever imagine. It was truly unforgettable.

Goodbye to Kumasi

2010-07-08T08:59:00.001-07:00

Today marks the last day of the first part of our amazing adventure in West Africa. We have had the time of our lives in Kumasi, surpassing all expectations by far. We have seen so many things, were helped so many times by an amazing family who befriended us and took great care to show us all aspects of Ghanian life. Last night we went out to dinner with the entire extended family to celebrate our stay in Kumasi. The grandfather and grandmother arrived in traditional Ashanti robes, and were joined by three generations of their progeny, including the people who befriended us. It is such a large family that every time we were driving around with our friends we would inevitably pass one family member or another who was walking by the side of the road. We would stop the car and everyone would get out and introduce ud to their aunt or uncle or cousin and we would try out our few words of Twi that we learned, "otise" (how are you) and "medasi" (thank you) when they welcomed us to Ghana. Our word were always followed by peals of laughter, everyone bumping into each other and slapping hands. Of course we laughed along with them at our attempts, and shook hands and squeezed back into the car, and continued on our next adventure.

Anyway, at the restaurant there was a very formal ritual to wish us well on the next part of the journey. Our friends made formal introductions to everyone, then the grandfather said a prayer. Our friend said how much we have helped the two nations get to know each other, and we each made formal speeches about how blessed we were to know their family, and how amazed we are with the warmth and beauty of their country. We ate a delicious meal of jollof rice, fish, chicken and french fries! We had many interesting conversations including recent news about trading cocoa in Cote d'Ivoire and controlling child trafficking in the cocoa trade. The meal ended with a prayer, many hugs, photos, and promises to somehow find ways to see each other again. And even some tears. We will miss our new and dear friends in Ghana.

Next stop, Burkina Faso.

Photos in West Africa

2010-07-08T08:56:00.000-07:00

I can be an emotional person. Sometimes tears come easily for me in public. My husband will joke that over our years of marraige I have cried in too many restaurants to count for one reason or another. I have learned to accept that sometimes people will see me cry. Yet it always catches me off guard and I was not prepared for the flood of emotion in Kumasi Market that ended in yet another public cry.

I was standing at a stall while Beth purchased some household items to show our students at home. On my left was our guide for the day and on my right was a Ghanaian trader. The woman who owned the stall was sitting in a chair wearing a beautiful dress. Blue, green, red, and gold in swirling patterns fell to her feet and her face was lined and kind. Despite the language barrier, her eyes were direct and intelligent and she answered our many questions (thanks to our translator) with an amused air. I asked if I could take her picture and she replied that it was fine provided I waited while she fixed her headwrap properly. The trader to my right made a comment and when I asked our guide to translate he said, "She said you will take the picture and people in your country will see it and laugh at us." Flood of emotions. I asked him to please express my intentions and assure her that I was a teacher. He did. Then the tears came.

There is a terrible history between our two countries. I am at a loss to describe how powerful that moment was for me because what I wanted to do was capture all the amazing beauty around me from the market to the people and the buildings. However, I have learned in Ghana to always ask before taking a picture. I have also learned to truly consider the image I am creating on film. The thought that I would be seen as an insensitive, pompous American taking pictures here in Africa to exploit or make fun of it was awful. I am humbled by the responsibility of teaching our students well.

shrine worship

2010-07-08T08:43:00.000-07:00

We went to visit a traditional shrine at a small village yesterday, against the wishes of our friends here in Ghana. Our tour guide explained that shrine worship has been practiced since ancient times, and although most people in Ghana identify as Christians or Muslims, many people still visit shrines. Our friend felt that the shrine was only evil magic meant to harm, like voodoo. We walked into a house that had a courtyard in the middle surrounded by small rooms. Our guide led us towards a tiny dark room connected to the courtyeard, perhaps three feet by four feet. In it was a concrete structure like a table, with cowrie sheels embedded into it. Many implements hung on the wall behind it, such as a coconut shell, a knife, and a picture of the priest who had built the shrine. Below the table was a small hole into which one could insert papers with wishes on them. Our guide said that since the beginning, they have believed that the spirits on ancestors are still among us, and at shrines we can communicate them. A traditional priest first rings a cow bell in order to notify the spirits that someone has come to talk. If the spirits had been wandering they come back. The worshipper then explains the reason for coming. Perhaps they are hoping for love, for a baby, to get a particular job or entrance to a school. the priest then consults the oracle by tossing magical objects, and spirits speak through these objects, telling the priest what to do. the priest then explains to the worshipper what the spirits said. Perhaps the worshipper will need to visit someone or do a certain ritual, or bring an offering of alcohol or food. We were fascinated, but were not allowed to take pictures at all.

Kumasi Market

2010-07-08T08:26:00.001-07:00

As a first time visitor to an African Market, I was fully delighted by the color, movement, and beauty I found in the largest market in West Africa. I am ashamed to say that too much of my attention was directed just in front of me because the walking was very similar to the driving: fast with constant movement and governed by rules I am just beginning to grasp. Thus I was focused as much on not losing my fellow travellers and not being the "bruni"( Ghanian for white person) to somehow knock down a towering pile of fruit. Despite my need to keep eyes front for a lot of the time, the market was all encompassing. People were welcoming, knowledgable and more than happy to help us with anything we needed.

Long narrow corridors run up and down the market and tin roofs create an almost indoor feeling in some areas. Other sections in the market are wide open under the hot sun and everywhere we walked were women carrying enormous loads on their heads. Calling out their wares to sell, these women often carry children on their backs and stop to sell water, fruit, meat, candy, barrettes, fabric, fishing nets, spoons, or anything else imaginable that a person might want to buy. Adults and children alike prepare coconuts for people to drink the milk out of. These are prepared with a long machete. Music blares. Pots and pounded and bells are rung all in the hope a shopper at the market will indulge.

We were able to purchase so many items to demonstrate how people live in Ghana today: the grater they use in the kitchen, the calabash bowls used by many families, a lamp made from recycled tin, a bag made from recycled tires. Ghana is far ahead of the United States when it comes to creative, widespread, personal recycling. Most clothing being sold is either used Western style ( Western meaning western world not cowboy western) clothing or beautifully patterned and dyed fabrics in such dizzying array it leaves the senses a bit overwhelmed. These fabrics are everywhere and make our understated fashion at home seem drab and a bit sad.

adinkra!

2010-07-08T08:26:00.000-07:00

We are in fabric heaven! We went to visit a village that specializes in adinkra cloth, an ancient artform that originated in the Ashanti kingdom. Adinkras are stamps with particular meanings, and many stamps are on a single piece of fabric. If you know the meanings of the stamps than the cloth tells a message, like a code. We became intereested in this artform because we want our students to learn about symbolism in literature and art. Our students will make their own adinkras this winter. The artist stopped his work to show us the entire process from start to finish. The cloth is woven using traditional looms, which are only about six inches wide. The weaving results in long strips of cloth. The artist allowed us to try the weaving. We were very slow, and after Beth broke the spool of thread, it became very clear the power of going on an expedition ourselves. We have renewed respect for our students, and how hard it is to learn something for the first time.

The artist then collects bark from a particular tree, soaks and boils the bark for five days until it makes a strong dye. Then the artist dips the stamps (made from carving a calabash) into the dye and presses them onto the long strips of cloth. We were able to make our own stamped cloth using two symbols we chose ourselves. The strips are then sewn together side by side until a large rectangular piece is made. The fabric is just amazing. We couldn't stop marveling over the power and beauty of this very ancient art. Of course, we are bringing pieces home for our classrooms! We decided to get two, because we love the cloth so much, deciding who would dispal it in their classroom would be too much. It might end our friendship! We were also able to purchase a couple of the stamps carved from the calabash to show the students, but we plan to have our students make their own stamps using sponges. We took lots of pictures and we can't wait to show you!

Sunday worship

2010-07-05T10:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we attended Sunday services at a Pentecostal church. The men sat on the left, and the women were on the right. Our host was a man, and motioned for us to sit with him. We would have protested, but, hey, we were misfits in at least a dozen other ways, so why not sit on the wrong side of the aisle? Despite the fact that it was about 95 degrees with no air conditioning, everyone (except us) was dressed to the nines-- women in full, ruffly dresses of beautiful colors, with babies strapped to their backs, men in wool sweaters or suits. We were wearing our cargo pants and the nicest shirts we could muster out of our wrinkled backpacks.

The service started with a sermon, prayers were said, and communion was served. The minister scolded the congregation for being "demon possessed" when we commit sins such as drinking alcohol, smoking cigarettes or being lesbian or gay. He told the story of one such possessed man who was saved through a personal interaction with Jesus. We were then encouraged to have a "personal experience with Jesus" with words and song. After repeated entreaties to truly commune with Jesus and repent, there was time to celebrate God with xuberant song and dance. We were then kindly asked to introduce ourselves to the congregation as newcomers.

Donations were collected twice-- once for the running of the church itself and another time for the mission projects the church takes on. The minister explained that the curch funds missions not only in Ghana, but in Australia and America as well. I was reminded of our planeride here. Most of our fellow passengers were African nationals, a few packpacker types like us, and a sizable group of American missionaries. It made me wonder if the missionaries knew how many missionaries from Africa are working side by side with them, and even changing places with them-- they are preaching the word in our country while we are preaching in theirs. We had been stopped on the street the day before by Jehovah's witnesses and given pamphlets about God.

On our walk back from church, I asked our host about religion in Ghana. Ghanians are mostly Christian in the south, and mostly Muslim in the north. We are in Kumasi, which is in the south, so most of the places of worship are churches, but there is a sizable Muslim minority here. There are also traditional animist religious practices that are kept alive either through mixing with dominant religions (the idea of demon possession comes straight from ancient beliefs) or through existing shrines, which we hope to visit tomorrow. Our host proudly explained that all of the religions live peacefully side by side. Bost Christian and Muslim holidays are observed by the government and schools. People respect their neighbors' customs and beliefs. I commented that I wished that the rest of the world could learn from Ghana.

2010-07-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

Today we were honored to visit 3 schools here in Ghana. Our day was a long one but well worth every minute. We have successfully set up connections with 2 private schools and 1 parochial school. This connection began with our meeting the staff at the various schools. Teachers took time out of their busy days to sit and talk with us, sharing their practices and methodology. We in turn told a bit about the United States educational system, our experiences teaching at the Springfield Renaissance School, and expeditionary learning. Ghanaian teachers were warm, friendly, and full of sharply intelligent observations and questions. One of the most heated questions was about corporal punishment-- teachers had heard that students are never beaten in America and could not imagine how order could be maintained without this discipline method. One teacher mentioned that the few American students who had transferred to the school were very stubborn and asked why this was.
The Gilead Academy was the first school we visited. A relatively new school, in its eighth year, students at the Gilead Academy were dressed in pristine uniforms and were the picture of polite, focused scholars. The classes we visited ( a level six class which is equivalent to our sixth grade and a level 2 class which is the same as our second grade class) both had an average of 15 students. We told students all about snow and asked questions about President Obama and natural disasters in North America.
Vicande Primary School was a much larger school (1,200 students total ranging from 1st through 8th grade) and the thing that struck us first was the average of 45 students per class.
At each school students stand when an adult enters the room and the person is greeted with a "Good Morning (Sir or Madam)!" There is an overwhelming sense of respect and interest in Ghanaian schools only outmatched by the overwhelming lack of facilities and materials. The computer lab at this school had ten computers total for its student population. Upon being asked what advice we would leave these students with, Ms. Adel told them to "always ask questions and think for yourselves". This garnered quite a few student smiles.
The third school we visited was a Presbyterian government (public) school where Headmistress Amelia Ajuiyeiwaa was a charismatic and generous hostess. We were taken to see three different (8th grade) classes full of bright and charming Ghanaian students. These students asked what was fast becoming the most popular question, "In the United States do you beat students when they do something wrong in school?" When we responded that teachers would be fired for such behavior there was a cheer. The United States has quite a few fans here in Ghana now.
At each school, we asked the students to write a letter about themselves that we could bring back to our students in the fall and create personal relationships. The students worked diligently at this task in each classroom. It seemed to resonate with the students that we wanted to teach our students more about Africa-- the students seemed very aware that stereotypes abound about Africa. One student asked, "why do Americans think we live like monkeys in trees?" At least one student in each classroom asked about American racism in one way or another-- asking why black people are treated badly or if the black students are schooled separately. We responded to all that it was our goal to educate our students as much as possible about the realities of modern day Ghana- the beautiful trees, the wonderful people, and the delicious food. We explained how important it is to disspell stereotypes and spread goodwill between our countries. We are truly hopeful that our work here will be richly rewarded.

2010-07-03T11:08:00.000-07:00

When we got out of the car we were greeted by the enthusiastic smiles of twenty or so children who had run to investigate the small car with its American visitors. We were shaking hands and taking photos and it was an experience to get new energy to even the most weary of travelers. Among the things we photographed were various dwellings, a village well and water pump, (where some very gracious Kumasi residents allowed the crazy Americans to take photos of them doing their daily laundry.) and termite hills of epic proportion. We were escorted on our field work by the farm owner, two of his workers, and various friends on the lookout for our safety and satisfaction. And satisfied we were! We interviewed the farm's owner about all the ins and outs of his farm: who works there, the work and dangers involved, watched trees being planted, and even got to sample a freshly picked cocoa pod.

The beauty and richness of Africa is humbling and invigorating. We look forward to continued learning and enjoyment.

We made it to Ghana!

2010-07-03T10:33:00.000-07:00

CHOCOLATE> Three weeks, two teachers, one goal: to bring back as much chocolate-y goodness to the students of Springfield, Massachusetts as we can. We want to capture the richness of this country and use it to educate our students about the world. We will travel to cocoa and shea butter farms, interview as many African people as possible, take photographs and videotape of our adventures, and gather tools, art, and fabrics to help our students share in the wonder of being here in Ghana. We will teach our students about fair trade practices in Ghana and help them understand how they can impact the world with what they buy.

DAY 2 (July 03, 2010)

Otise! (Greetings from Ghana!)

It has been quite a journey- a plane ride long enough to inspire loud and grateful applause upon touchdown, more traveling, a dramatic World Cup match, a gracious family, and a trip to a cocoa farm- and it's only been two days!!!!!

We have met such generous good will in Africa it's amazing. Everywhere we go we are met with smiles and waves (especially from the children). We have been taken care of in the most lovely way by the people of Kumasi. Abena ( In Africa people can assume a nickname of sorts based on the day they were born.) has been a wonderful source of opinions and information. She is dedicated to us seeing "the African way" in all things- how women are treated, food, the neighborhood sights, gardens, and plants are all topics of discussion and exploration. She and her family have welcomed us to Kumasi with open arms and are full of help and care.

The cocoa farm we visited today was so beautiful. Ten acres of farmland full of cocoa trees (and corn, cassava, and orange trees) which we hiked through gathering pictures and video footage.