Koojo and Kofi, gathering water during one of our crazy thunderstorms.
11/18/07
“He was asleep when the boy looked in the door in the morning. It was blowing so hard that the drifting boats would not be going out and the boy had slept late and then come to the old man’s shack as he had come each morning. The boy saw that the old man was breathing and then he saw the old man’s hands and he started to cry. He went out very quietly to go to bring some coffee and all the way down the road he was crying.”
-Earnest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea
So my birthday came and went. Just like that. It was pretty fortunate timing in that my birthday was a day we were all together as volunteers. Thus we were able to go hang out afterwards and by no means was I alone. I feel for those who will celebrate their first birthday in country at their site…not that they’re necessarily be alone, but Ghana is not a country who pays particular attention to such dates. It was also a mail day on the 16th (I’m not sure I can explain the excitement of mail days throughout the group…it really is a great thing) and I received a lot of news from home which is always good. Thank you all for sending me cards and letters and packages and such; it was a tremendous blessing.
A lot of things are happening as training is coming to a close. We all returned from site visit last Thursday and I think I can speak for everyone when I say we all returned from site changed. I’d be lying if I said I was enthralled with the condition of my village and the task set before me but like everything else thus far you learn to adapt and then somehow things are ok. Somehow. My village is a very poor community in the upper Volta region. I’m replacing two volunteers who were married and, apparently saints, according to the community’s commentary. It’s very difficult coming this shortly after someone else has left because the community is still mourning the loss of the previous volunteers and thus comparing this new specimen of a volunteer (me) to the former. I understand that things become easier in this realm as I get to know more of the community. However, communication is also a little bit of a challenge considering I spent the last 8 weeks learning a language they don’t speak in my village. It’s good that I’m learning Twi because it’s spoken throughout the majority of Ghana; but it also would have been nice to learn even a little of the other so that I could at least greet in the local language.
Oh well.
So here is a small list of things I did at site visit:
-Swept.
-Met the chief.
-Accidentally locked myself in my room. (Don’t worry. They used a machete to get me out.)
-Made lots of coffee.
-Swept.
-Read a month old newspaper from the states.
-Watched the community women perform traditional dance.
-Tried to perform traditional dance.
-Ended up doing the index fingers out, shake your body boogie.
-Was laughed back to my chair.
-Met opinion leaders.
-Biked 20 miles to catch a taxi.
-Swept
-Ran with about 40 children in pursuit, with water buckets on their heads, barefoot, and yes, they kept up.
-Did laundry.
-Waited for laundry to dry.
-Swept.
-Wrote letters.
-Met lots of community women.
-Talked to my dogs.
-Talked to the roaches.
-Tried to beat roaches with sweeper.
-Swept.
-Visited clinic.
-Wished I was eating icecream.
-Wished it wasn’t 100 degrees in my house.
-Read.
-Arranged my books.
-Rearranged my books.
-Swept.
-Pouted. Only a little.
-Talked to my amazing neighbors.
-Rode 12 hours in a tro.
-Regretted not packing more underwear.
-Swept.
Two years seemed really long over site visit. It’s daunting to know that I was only present for 5 days and yet never felt that I had a complete grasp on what was going on. It’s not that the community wasn’t warm and accepting. My counterpart, Kingsley, is very helpful and seems respected in the community. My house is adequate, I have two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom along with sort of an inclosed porch thing that is nice. Chris and Sayward, the volunteers before me, left a lot of things that I would otherwise have to buy. Things like a gas stove, dishware, sheets, etc. so that makes settling in a lot easier. I think that overall my experience was pretty normal of site visit. It’s more the doubts that I have prevailing in myself that have presented the greatest challenge.
I’m finding that compassion, at least for myself, is fleeting here. There are certain coping mechanisms that we all apply when subjected to intense situations. In the quote that I mentioned above from The Old Man and the Sea, the boy walked in on the old man sleeping. The old man had just returned from a fishing trip in which he was badly beaten both physically and mentally. His hands had been especially mangled while spending two days reeling in the king kong of fish. I’m not wanting to give a book report but I was moved by the compassion the boy had on the old man. To cry from the wounds of another seems almost sacred and though one cannot rely solely on feelings, there’s no doubt that compassion can begin a movement. But what happens when that is no longer present? When the feeling of wanting to make things better fades into a thought process of blame and apathy? What about when I see the malnourished child and instead of embracing I ask why the mother is so ignorant to let her child waste away? I’ve talked to a few people about things and Ryan, a health volunteer in my region and one who has been here already a year, explained that our quest is productivity. He talked about how he’s changed since he’s been here and he mentioned how his compassion has changed to logical problem solving. It is true that if one were to weep at every injustice then there would be no time spent not crying. So instead, he focuses his energy into assessing the needs, and then logically plans out the steps that need to happen to ensure change. This is hard coming from a country that romanticizes everything. Hollywood can glorify any historical event or story line; religion adds a twist where somehow in the mix Jesus meets Abercrombie; we glam up the party life as if sex and booze will solve all of our problems; and one can definitely find the exaggeration in our idea of compassion. We get all worked up about a noble cause, mustering tears of empathy and perhaps even some sort of financial contribution.
But it passes.
Because it can.
Because it was only a feeling that changes with the seasons or perhaps the song one is listening to.
That’s definitely me and thus far this sort of process has sustained me. But things are getting harder along with maybe my heart and I’m finding doing things void of feeling is a huge challenge; mostly because that means I’d have to stop thinking about myself. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this and I don’t even know if this is making sense. Needless to say, I do hope to grow stronger and to be fueled more by the greater good rather than self serving compassion. But like the boy looking at the old man, I still want something inside of me to hurt by the wounds of another. I don’t want to discount authentic compassion in the least; but I’m learning that it’s the productivity of compassion that makes it authentic.
Anyways, we only have a few more days of homestay. It’s going to be a very, very sad day when I say goodbye to my family. I can’t believe it’s already gone by this quickly. Some people from home have asked a little about my family, like how many are there and what their names are. My father’s name is Papa Amoah, my mother’s is Maame Alice, and then I have 2 sisters named Diana (14 years) and Obina (25ish years) and 3 brothers named Koojo (10 years), Kofi (12 years), and…well I never really learned the last one’s name…so I call him “brother” (maybe 16 years?). They’ve been amazing and I honestly can’t think of how this phase could have been better.
Happy Birthday Cody.
11/20/07
Our big language test is tomorrow. One week ago I would have said this test would be a piece of cake. Now, since we’ve been reviewing, I’m finding how much I don’t know.
Such is life…like my mom would say. At least I’m getting good at doing laundry and finally mastering how to eat without utensils.
With only one hand.
My right hand.
Because one doesn’t use the left hand for anything here. The culture considers the left hand unclean (I think in olden times this hand was used for wiping after toilet) and therefore if any task such as eating or shaking hands or even handing something over is done with the left then it is considered insulting. Just for kicks you should try omitting the left hand out of your daily interactions. It's harder than you'd think. I also carried water on my head for the first time today. I made it about 10 yards…or maybe it was 10 feet…really just depends on perspective…I spilt a lot of it. All over myself. And they all laughed at me. Then a kind gentleman carried it the mile hike back to our house from the stream. My 10 year old brother, Koojo, had gone with me and it bothered me a little that his bucket was twice the size of mine, but again, humility comes easily in this country.
11/21/07
Language test is over.
That’s a really good feeling.
I’m sore from carrying the water bucket.
There was an amazing storm that just passed through leaving everything really cool and quiet. I don’t think I really have much more to say. I find that my blog entries are a bit vague. If anyone on the receiving end of this has a question concerning…well anything please ask as it would give me something else to write about aside from simply my thoughts.
I miss you all very much and the holidays are going to be different here. Thank you to everyone who was in Matt’s video, it was so good to see you all. I’m still a bit bitter about the cheesecake factory scene but I guess I have some time to get over it.
Kassi, I miss you.
A whole lot.
And Stacia, I really wish you would have been in the video.
11/22/07
-My compassion is fleeting
and I wonder why you fail to notice.
Could it be your presence is less conditional
than my intentions?
Or maybe, that I feel more obvious is only wishful thinking.
Twilight speaks different
as every dusk seems as the last,
and happiness is patiently redefined
into something more attainable.
Perhaps it simply takes peace within myself
to understand the vagueness of purpose;
and then be content within the abstraction,
Or sometimes subtraction of feeling.-
Happy Thanksgiving.
“He was asleep when the boy looked in the door in the morning. It was blowing so hard that the drifting boats would not be going out and the boy had slept late and then come to the old man’s shack as he had come each morning. The boy saw that the old man was breathing and then he saw the old man’s hands and he started to cry. He went out very quietly to go to bring some coffee and all the way down the road he was crying.”
-Earnest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea
So my birthday came and went. Just like that. It was pretty fortunate timing in that my birthday was a day we were all together as volunteers. Thus we were able to go hang out afterwards and by no means was I alone. I feel for those who will celebrate their first birthday in country at their site…not that they’re necessarily be alone, but Ghana is not a country who pays particular attention to such dates. It was also a mail day on the 16th (I’m not sure I can explain the excitement of mail days throughout the group…it really is a great thing) and I received a lot of news from home which is always good. Thank you all for sending me cards and letters and packages and such; it was a tremendous blessing.
A lot of things are happening as training is coming to a close. We all returned from site visit last Thursday and I think I can speak for everyone when I say we all returned from site changed. I’d be lying if I said I was enthralled with the condition of my village and the task set before me but like everything else thus far you learn to adapt and then somehow things are ok. Somehow. My village is a very poor community in the upper Volta region. I’m replacing two volunteers who were married and, apparently saints, according to the community’s commentary. It’s very difficult coming this shortly after someone else has left because the community is still mourning the loss of the previous volunteers and thus comparing this new specimen of a volunteer (me) to the former. I understand that things become easier in this realm as I get to know more of the community. However, communication is also a little bit of a challenge considering I spent the last 8 weeks learning a language they don’t speak in my village. It’s good that I’m learning Twi because it’s spoken throughout the majority of Ghana; but it also would have been nice to learn even a little of the other so that I could at least greet in the local language.
Oh well.
So here is a small list of things I did at site visit:
-Swept.
-Met the chief.
-Accidentally locked myself in my room. (Don’t worry. They used a machete to get me out.)
-Made lots of coffee.
-Swept.
-Read a month old newspaper from the states.
-Watched the community women perform traditional dance.
-Tried to perform traditional dance.
-Ended up doing the index fingers out, shake your body boogie.
-Was laughed back to my chair.
-Met opinion leaders.
-Biked 20 miles to catch a taxi.
-Swept
-Ran with about 40 children in pursuit, with water buckets on their heads, barefoot, and yes, they kept up.
-Did laundry.
-Waited for laundry to dry.
-Swept.
-Wrote letters.
-Met lots of community women.
-Talked to my dogs.
-Talked to the roaches.
-Tried to beat roaches with sweeper.
-Swept.
-Visited clinic.
-Wished I was eating icecream.
-Wished it wasn’t 100 degrees in my house.
-Read.
-Arranged my books.
-Rearranged my books.
-Swept.
-Pouted. Only a little.
-Talked to my amazing neighbors.
-Rode 12 hours in a tro.
-Regretted not packing more underwear.
-Swept.
Two years seemed really long over site visit. It’s daunting to know that I was only present for 5 days and yet never felt that I had a complete grasp on what was going on. It’s not that the community wasn’t warm and accepting. My counterpart, Kingsley, is very helpful and seems respected in the community. My house is adequate, I have two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom along with sort of an inclosed porch thing that is nice. Chris and Sayward, the volunteers before me, left a lot of things that I would otherwise have to buy. Things like a gas stove, dishware, sheets, etc. so that makes settling in a lot easier. I think that overall my experience was pretty normal of site visit. It’s more the doubts that I have prevailing in myself that have presented the greatest challenge.
I’m finding that compassion, at least for myself, is fleeting here. There are certain coping mechanisms that we all apply when subjected to intense situations. In the quote that I mentioned above from The Old Man and the Sea, the boy walked in on the old man sleeping. The old man had just returned from a fishing trip in which he was badly beaten both physically and mentally. His hands had been especially mangled while spending two days reeling in the king kong of fish. I’m not wanting to give a book report but I was moved by the compassion the boy had on the old man. To cry from the wounds of another seems almost sacred and though one cannot rely solely on feelings, there’s no doubt that compassion can begin a movement. But what happens when that is no longer present? When the feeling of wanting to make things better fades into a thought process of blame and apathy? What about when I see the malnourished child and instead of embracing I ask why the mother is so ignorant to let her child waste away? I’ve talked to a few people about things and Ryan, a health volunteer in my region and one who has been here already a year, explained that our quest is productivity. He talked about how he’s changed since he’s been here and he mentioned how his compassion has changed to logical problem solving. It is true that if one were to weep at every injustice then there would be no time spent not crying. So instead, he focuses his energy into assessing the needs, and then logically plans out the steps that need to happen to ensure change. This is hard coming from a country that romanticizes everything. Hollywood can glorify any historical event or story line; religion adds a twist where somehow in the mix Jesus meets Abercrombie; we glam up the party life as if sex and booze will solve all of our problems; and one can definitely find the exaggeration in our idea of compassion. We get all worked up about a noble cause, mustering tears of empathy and perhaps even some sort of financial contribution.
But it passes.
Because it can.
Because it was only a feeling that changes with the seasons or perhaps the song one is listening to.
That’s definitely me and thus far this sort of process has sustained me. But things are getting harder along with maybe my heart and I’m finding doing things void of feeling is a huge challenge; mostly because that means I’d have to stop thinking about myself. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this and I don’t even know if this is making sense. Needless to say, I do hope to grow stronger and to be fueled more by the greater good rather than self serving compassion. But like the boy looking at the old man, I still want something inside of me to hurt by the wounds of another. I don’t want to discount authentic compassion in the least; but I’m learning that it’s the productivity of compassion that makes it authentic.
Anyways, we only have a few more days of homestay. It’s going to be a very, very sad day when I say goodbye to my family. I can’t believe it’s already gone by this quickly. Some people from home have asked a little about my family, like how many are there and what their names are. My father’s name is Papa Amoah, my mother’s is Maame Alice, and then I have 2 sisters named Diana (14 years) and Obina (25ish years) and 3 brothers named Koojo (10 years), Kofi (12 years), and…well I never really learned the last one’s name…so I call him “brother” (maybe 16 years?). They’ve been amazing and I honestly can’t think of how this phase could have been better.
Happy Birthday Cody.
11/20/07
Our big language test is tomorrow. One week ago I would have said this test would be a piece of cake. Now, since we’ve been reviewing, I’m finding how much I don’t know.
Such is life…like my mom would say. At least I’m getting good at doing laundry and finally mastering how to eat without utensils.
With only one hand.
My right hand.
Because one doesn’t use the left hand for anything here. The culture considers the left hand unclean (I think in olden times this hand was used for wiping after toilet) and therefore if any task such as eating or shaking hands or even handing something over is done with the left then it is considered insulting. Just for kicks you should try omitting the left hand out of your daily interactions. It's harder than you'd think. I also carried water on my head for the first time today. I made it about 10 yards…or maybe it was 10 feet…really just depends on perspective…I spilt a lot of it. All over myself. And they all laughed at me. Then a kind gentleman carried it the mile hike back to our house from the stream. My 10 year old brother, Koojo, had gone with me and it bothered me a little that his bucket was twice the size of mine, but again, humility comes easily in this country.
11/21/07
Language test is over.
That’s a really good feeling.
I’m sore from carrying the water bucket.
There was an amazing storm that just passed through leaving everything really cool and quiet. I don’t think I really have much more to say. I find that my blog entries are a bit vague. If anyone on the receiving end of this has a question concerning…well anything please ask as it would give me something else to write about aside from simply my thoughts.
I miss you all very much and the holidays are going to be different here. Thank you to everyone who was in Matt’s video, it was so good to see you all. I’m still a bit bitter about the cheesecake factory scene but I guess I have some time to get over it.
Kassi, I miss you.
A whole lot.
And Stacia, I really wish you would have been in the video.
11/22/07
-My compassion is fleeting
and I wonder why you fail to notice.
Could it be your presence is less conditional
than my intentions?
Or maybe, that I feel more obvious is only wishful thinking.
Twilight speaks different
as every dusk seems as the last,
and happiness is patiently redefined
into something more attainable.
Perhaps it simply takes peace within myself
to understand the vagueness of purpose;
and then be content within the abstraction,
Or sometimes subtraction of feeling.-
Happy Thanksgiving.
