Another day in the life..

So today I had what seemed to be a very normal day for me in Northern Ghana. But at one point it dawned on me, and I heard a voice in my head say:"this wouldn't have seemed so ordinary before".

Hope this gives you a taste of what some of my days look like here in Ghana. Enjoy.

6 am. I wake up after snoozing my alarm one too many times. I just got back to Wamale last night after an 8 hour bus ride from Kumasi. Still a bit sluggish. I wake up Rahama, my dear little sister who slept on my floor last night, and tell her to go to the compound house before her mom comes looking for her. I read and write for some time in my room before heading to the compound for breakfast.

As usual, I am greeted by many children, and proceed to greet each of the women, one by one. We ask the usual questions and wait for the usual responses, in Dagbani. I sheepishly tell them, half Dagbani half English, that I will be traveling again today- to the Upper East. They tell me I travel too much and need to rest. I smile, tell them it's true. I grab a wooden stool and sit beside one of the mothers to drink some delicious Nescafe and eat some bread- same breakfast I've always had in Wamale, since October 2009. Still satisfies.

I'm already sweating and its only 8am.

Fast forward to me hopping out of a sweaty taxi in town, as I venture into the Tamale Central Market. I am coming to pick up a new dress that my seamstress, Auntie Fausti has made. As usual, I am always a bit nervous- "will it turn out the way I envisioned? Will it even fit? Will it make me look fat? Will they tell me I'm fat?".

But this time, it’s a success! The dress is great, she really is an amazing seamstress, and Erin picked out a beautiful cloth. Fausti and her young female apprentices remark at how well the dress fits, and before I know it I'm walking back through the market. Turn right by the high heel shoe seller. Turn left by the groundnut paste seller.

I'm walking through the crowded aisles and then I hear "whack. Whack. Whack!" A ha; I see a butcher chopping some meat.
Whack. Whack Whack.

And just as I am passing by, WHACK and chunks of meat and meat juice splatter on me. "That's a first!"- I think to myself, as I flick a piece of meat off my shoulder. The ex-vegetarian in me cringes a little bit.

I head to the Transport Yard to catch a Tro Tro to Bolga for another wonderful West Africa Retreat, with all EWB staff currently working in Ghana and Burkina, as well as some staff coming from Canada, Zambia, and Malawi.

I buy the ticket, 5ghc, and wait on a bench in the shade; it is incredibly hot and sunny these days! I am wiping sweat off my face but it doesn't seem to help much.
Just when I thought this was bad, I'm squished into the Tro tro, with no air conditioner but the natural hot breeze that passes through the windows. I enjoy the time to think, though. I think about the weekend. Think about all that has happened in the past week in Accra and Kumasi. New ideas come to me; I jot them down. I listen to music. I make a few calls.

After nearly 4 hours, I arrive at the Guest House and greet familiar faces- we have come here before, and I remember the warm staff just as much as they remember me. I love that. After some discussions, confusion, and finally clarity, we've sorted out all the logistics; meals, rooms, conference halls, drinks. I get to talking with Mary, one of my favourite staff, as I'm playing with her son. I ask innocently, "Where is his father?" and she replies, "He is dead". I stop. I feel horrible. Try not to make a big, obvious reaction on my face. I ask calmly, coolly, "What happened?". She goes on to tell me that when Damien was just 2 months old, her husband died in a moto accident. Suddenly I see her so differently. I see Damien so differently. A little boy who never got to know his father. A woman who may never marry again. Imagine becoming a widow with a 2 month old. Wow. ...

They bring me to my room- a "special one" with an air conditioner and a hot shower! They tell me that, since I'm "the organizer", I get this nice room for free. And for once, I'm not complaining about special treatment and hierarchy in Ghana but enjoying it. Just a little.

After a delicious, refreshing shower, I put my MTN Internet Modem into my beautiful little laptop (thanks Mom!) and get down to business. So many emails to reply to. So many things to finalize before everyone arrives tomorrow.

Just another day.

The Myriad of Faces

If there ever was a faster transition from Ghana to mass materialism and excessive consumer culture than an AIRPORT, I haven't known it...

The airport truly is a fascinating bubble of society. As you rush out of the plane, you are immediately lured left and right by shiny, beautiful things. Designer purses, designer watches, designer perfumes, and you can't even get a bottle of water for less than $5. Notwithstanding the overwhelmedness this facilitates in me as I guiltily window shop, and browse the aisles of deliciously enormous chocolate bars, bestselling books, airbrushed magazines, sparkling watches and crystals, and spray myself with perfume I will never buy, I am almost equally enthralled with the beautiful people- not just the products- that flood the airport.

As I sit here in Amsterdam, enjoying a cup of green tea and 1 hour of free wifi, there is an endless rush of people walking to and fro, coming from one flight, moving to the next. The myriad of faces is enchanting. Woman wearing 5 inch high heels, men carrying babies, couples holding hands, couples arguing, children sleeping, flight attendants walking, always smiling- like mannequins. Some people are fat and some are quite thin. Some look African, others European, some look Asian, some you can't really tell.. some carry with them enough hand luggage to throw a flight attendant into a fit, and others simply carry themselves. Some are dressed for this cold weather, others clearly come from warm climates. Some have small fancy laptops and blackberries, while others look humbly, innocently lost in the airport- first timers? Some are sneezing- a cold from Canada, other look weak and tired- Malaria from Ghana? Some carry more wealth on their fingers than entire communities have collectively, and most seem at the very least comfortable, if not "well off". Where are they all going? Where are they all coming from?

I suspect that the airport is comprised of a specific, select range of people, with some nearly excluded, or in a serious minority. With recent experiences of qualified, educated Ghanaians being rejected Canadian visas to come to EWB's National Conference , I know that for many, many people in this world, travel is a luxury and one that vast numbers will likely never enjoy in their lifetimes.

As Christmas Carols and decorations begin to swamp my world, I am finally coming to the realization that Christmas is just a few days away now... and Christmas is always an opportune time to show gratitude for all the grace, favour, and opportunities that we enjoy.

When I see this myriad of faces I marvel at a world so vast, so diverse.. and yet, we are all one.

I love you all. May this Christmas be an exceptionally memorable one.

Seeing every disability as a mere challenge

Meet Salifu Sandow, and join me in congratulating him. In Ghana I have seen countless people on the street begging for money; granted likely fewer than many other developing countries, but it is still commonplace to see beggars on the street- often in wheel chairs, blind, limbs lost, etc..

Though Salifu is in a wheel chair, he is not one of these "disabled" Ghanaians. His innovation, commitment, and work ethic haven't been paralyzed by his disability, nor caused him to revert to begging.

Last week, I visited him in his home, with the family he is supporting, as a result of his farming activities. We came to inform him that he had been selected as the Regional Best Physically Challenged Farmer for MoFA's Annual Farmer's Day Celebration.

Meeting Salifu reminded me that though every person has "disabilities"- flaws, weaknesses, and shortcomings... we should perceive them as mere challenges.. a challenge can be overcome. Through perseverance and commitment, you can still succeed. He is the kind of Ghanaian I revel in seeing, knowing, and learning from. He inspires me that change is possible.

Never forget that you can beat the odds, and no matter how difficult change may seem; remember that you are ABLE....

A Microcosm of African Brain Drain

Brain Drain: the unfortunate reality that most of Africa's most intelligent, educated people end up leaving Africa to work in a country that is richer and more profitable. From the outside, it is easy to say that they should stay in Africa. Invest in their country. Use their skills to benefit the next generation of their people. But in many cases, a job abroad can pay more than quadruple their home country, not to mention living conditions, infrastructure, etc. But.. Can you really blame them?

I knew about this phenomenon, but have more recently come face to face with a microcosm of brain drain here in Africa. Ghana can relatively easily be divided into two; the North and the South- though this oversimplification often frustrates me, I confess that in many ways the North and South of the country are vastly different. The North is characterized by a drier, more extreme climate, poorer quality of education, higher prevalence of Islam, and perhaps are about 50 years behind the development of the South (as a result of slave trade, gold, cocoa, and general colonization all along the Souths coast, on the Atlantic.)

Some people in the South talk generally about "Northerners"; about how they are backwards, rough, aggressive, etc. Similarly, Northerners can have oversimplified perspectives of those in the South- as unfairly privileged, rich, full of opportunities, etc.

Because the best schools are in the South, any Northerner who is fortunate enough to complete their primary education in the North, and is brilliant, is almost guaranteed to further their schooling in the south. After graduation, how much do you think they are pulled back to the North? This is like a Zambian-educated Doctor who finds work in London...

A friend recently told me that Ghana's best lawyers are Northerners- but you'd never know it because they are all based in the South. It is very likely that these few, top "Northerners" are sending back money to their family in the North, it is probable that they are helping to pay school fees of some of their siblings/relatives, and that they visit on holidays; but it is highly unlikely anyone could convince that person to come back to the North to settle permanently.

So you see a picture where all the brilliant, educated, trained, exceptional Northerners end up contributing to the economy in the South, and the North remains closer to stagnant as vast numbers go uneducated, barely literate, or merely basic education. Some Southerners may come to work in the North- but this is almost always a temporary situation; and not something they are proud of. I can't count the number of southern Ghanaians I know that have never even been to the North- not once, "Why would I go there?", they ask.

Quite often, someone of the street will be greeting me jokingly, and say that I should send them to my country. More seriously, people I know well in Ghana often state that they'd love to go study abroad. I have often told people my very biased opinion quite openly- "I wish you would stay here." Or, "fine, if you go to do your masters in the UK, come back to Ghana. Ghana needs people like you." Is this arrogant of me?

I ask the question again- can I really blame them for wanting a better life for themselves? If you knew you could double, triple, or quadruple your salary by moving- would you stay where you were, out of the goodness of your heart, to sacrifice and give back to your community?

I am inspired and touched by the Ghanaians I know who are entirely committed to staying in Ghana. Even some have been abroad, to UK or US, and have come back and are still convicted that they should stay in Ghana. This is promising. The future of Ghana lies heavily on the shoulders of Ghanaians. Though westerners will come and go, and foreign aid and charity may abound, real, lasting change and transformation - I believe- will be borne out of a generation of Ghanaians who want to see change in their country and are ready and willing to enact and ignite that change for a better Ghana.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brain_drain

What have your hands got to say?

Take a minute, and look at your hands. What colour are they? How do they feel? What (if anything) is on your fingers?

Prior to coming to Ghana, I never thought much about my hands.. except that I didn't like them. They were too big, somehow not feminine enough. I'd been told they were long and would make me a good pianist- but I still have yet to learn the piano. Apart from being a fast typist on the computer, which helped me in writing papers during University, I never really thought twice about my hands.

On several occasions, I'll greet someone in Ghana and we'll shake hands and then snap together (I'll have to show you this in person). And many a time, the person will remark; "You have such soft hands!"

My host brothers in Wamale often want to just hold my hand or rub my palm because "it is so smooth"..

This post is not to brag about my hands, but to ask; what have your hands got to say? What do your hands say about who you are? What you do? What you can do? What you have done?

If you look at my hands, apart from being big, I have long nails. Mostly because I am not consistent with cutting/filing them, and they grow fast. I have never worn acrylic nails but have almost always had relatively long nails. In Ghana, especially rural Ghana, this shows people that you are wealthy, and that you are not a farmer. Long nails mean you don't do a lot of physical labour, and certainly don't weed, plant, or harvest. You probably don't wash your own clothes or weave baskets or braid hair or wash bowls.. you probably have an office job, "real work"... Some in Ghana, even males, will keep their pinky fingernail long intentionally...

My point; the length of your nails says a lot about your position and lifestyle.

Having soft hands and white, white palms is like icing on an already luxurious cake. Your hands are soft: you probably- no, you definitely!- haven't been washing dishes by hand or scrubbing clothes by hand your whole life. It's clear I've been blessed/spoiled with dishwashers and washer/dryers my whole life in Canada.

And I think it's self explanatory, the perception of you when you have a huge diamond ring on your finger, or even silver ones..

I remember shaking Amos' hands, after he had been working in the mines for several months. They were swollen, with blisters, and almost as rough as sandpaper.. I almost felt embarrassed to shake his, knowing what he would say about mine subsequently.

Just another example of how something so insignificant to me growing up, is now something I am conscious of, almost every time I greet and shake someone's hands.

What do your hands say about you?

This is my perspective..

Hello my dear friends, family, colleagues, distant acquaintances, strangers..

I'm taking part in The Perspectives Challenge this holiday season to raise funds for Engineers Without Borders and get people asking important questions about the way we approach development in Africa. After over 14 months in Ghana, I am more passionate and hopeful than ever.

I've shared my perspective on an important part of Engineers Without Borders' work and beliefs, and I invite you to read it here:

If you like my perspective, and/or the work EWB is doing to alleviate poverty in Africa, please donate generously to Engineers Without Borders today and help me achieve my personal goal of raising $3000. It's simple and easy - all you have to do is click the donate now button.

I assure you your donation will go to a reputable Canadian charity doing important work in Canada and Africa. 87% of every donation goes directly to that work - EWB has one of the lowest overhead budgets in the country thanks largely to thousands of volunteers (students and professionals) logging unbelievable hours. Take a look at my perspective and feel free to ask me any questions you might have - this isn't just about money. And when you donate to EWB you are helping to create lasting change, not ongoing charity.


Thanks for your continued support,

With love and immense gratitude, Robin Stratas

From the diamond mine to the classroom.. an update on Amos

Amos continues to be an inspiration to me. Even now.

As you may remember, around this time last year I stayed in Abokobiisi and spent time with an amazing boy, Amos. When I came back from Canada, this August, I was setting myself up for the next year ahead.. what did I want to do differently in my second year in Ghana? How have I changed? What and who did I need to reconnect with?

This led me to take some time away from the office and get back to Abokobiisi. In the past year Amos and I continued to speak, mostly through the phone, just 1 visit in person, but I was eager to actually get back to where it all began for me, when I came here a year ago and started my placement with EWB. I wanted to see what had changed. Have those deep conversations with Amos again.. the kind that can't happen on 5 minute phone calls, text messages, but always happen as you sit together for hours each day in Abokobiisi.

So this experience began when I picked him up in Kumasi and we took at 7 hour bus to Tamale. From there, we spent the night in Wamale- and for the first time, my "Dagomba family" met a member of my "Fra Fra family" (they still eagerly await the arrival of my CANADIAN FAMILY!). We rose up early the next day and took a bus to Bolga, then a taxi to Sirigu, then a 90 minute walk to Abokobiisi.

I could write for days on my time there, the conversations we had, my reflections as I left them once again.. but instead, for now, I'll just narrow in on Amos. What has happened in the past year that has brought him to where he is now- what I consider to be a much better place.

When I left Abokobiisi September 2009, Amos had been out of school for nearly 2 years. Not because he wasn't brilliant; because of money. (In Ghana, though there are technically no "school fees" for primary school anymore, there still are for JSS and SSS). He was home, helping people farm, in attempts to save for his own school fees. He had nearly given up, but I encouraged him to keep preparing, hoping, and praying, and maybe he would get to go back to school. He was just too bright to be out of school.

There were several communication gaps in the past year, due to the fact that he didn't have a cell phone so every so often he would borrow someones phone to call me- but I could never reach him. At one point he called and said he was no longer in Abokobiisi- that he had gone South to make money..

This, for better or for worse, is very common for Northerners. At first, he was weeding. Whenever he could get work, he would weed for some money- and he said he was still saving for school, hoping that this year, 2010, he could finally go to Secondary School (SS).

He then called me and asked where I was. I said Kumasi.. before we knew it, we were both in Kumasi, having lunch together face to face. I learned that he was no longer weeding because it was less profitable (about 5 GHC per day), than Galamsey.

I have come to understand that Galamsey refers to mining in Ghana, often gold or diamonds, and is illegal.

Now, I see him face to face in October, and the first thing I notice about him is a wound on his face, and the stunningly swollen nature of his hands. He too, like many others, was injured during the job, in addition to the normal physical effects of the work. And his mine is the one where several Northerners just died. It is widely known that this work is dangerous, and yet many young, rural Ghanaians (often Northerners) willingly go into this work.

Amos explained the painstakingly laborious nature of the job, and that he saw diamonds almost daily.

He said the average working day was 7am to 5pm, and that on a good day they would get 9GHC, but depending on the amount of diamonds found, they could receive as little as 4GHC, or even nothing at all for the whole day's labour.

Through his work, he came in contact with a Pastor who was amazed by Amos' English fluency. He asked to see Amos' school results, and was shocked to see how a boy so brilliant could be stuck in a mine.

Though Amos' story continues to haunt me. Though his challenges and continued hardships always pull on my heart strings.. I am still, more than anything else, amazed by him. Despite the fact that I am sad that he is orphaned, with no parents alive, and the extended family members he has are unable to send their own children to school, let alone him. Though I experience waves of discomfort to think of how I was, how my days were, when I was his age. Still- more amazing than anything else is his heart, his wisdom, his perseverance, his kindness and gentleness, and his intolerance of failure, his refusal to give up. We are both so similar. And yet, there are vast differences.. though both our hands have touched diamonds and school books, the contexts have been completely and entirely different...

I am glad to say that as I write to you, Amos is not mining, but is in school.. in Accra- learning and expanding his knowledge. Putting his hands and his head to the books, not the mines.

(To find out more about Amos, or to offer any support to him, please feel free to contact me: robinstratas@ewb.ca.)