aripeskoe
(living in ghana)
Back to Normal
(written on November 17)
The strike is over. Nearly all of the teachers have returned to the classroom, and one of them got a bit of a workout at school today.
A few weeks ago, a court ruled that the strike was illegal and ordered the teachers back. But they remained defiant for a few days until the government announced that their salaries for the month of October were being withheld. Some remained committed to the strike, but the union officially called it off last Friday.
So with two weeks of class left in the term, school has finally begun. The first year students have arrived and teachers seem to be generally showing up for work. The first years (called juniors around here) are abused by faculty and the second and third year students. "Abuse" is probably a term that would be disputed by the staff here. Two weeks of weeding, sweeping, and moving furniture by the juniors is considered normal here and certainly would not be termed abusive. The school could easily afford to hire a few local men to do these jobs (unskilled labor is really cheap), but for some reason the people who run the schools prefer that the students do the physical labor.
Various forms of hazing by the senior students are common. Some demand money for phony "school fees" or other scams. Others resort to more traditional forms of physical abuse. This morning I witnessed the punishment for these abuses.
The entire school gathered outside one of the school buildings for an "assembly." Each of the twelve classes, which range in size from 35 to 65, was arranged in something like a line. At this assembly, the headmaster lectured the students about discipline. The headmaster is a quiet man, but he can be quite amusing. He talked for about 15 minutes about all of the different types of misbehavior that had been going on at school and in the dorms. Then, the assistant headmaster, an unashamed big fan of the cane, called out the names of about ten students. These students walked out to the front.
Meanwhile, one of the teachers went to the administration building to retrieve the cane. Technically, only the headmaster is supposed to cane students and technically each student is supposed to receive only three hits. But those rules are for pansies, and pansies don't grow in Ghana.
One at a time, each student bent over making about a 135 degree angle at the waist with their bodies. The teacher caned each student approximately four times in the buttocks and then once in the back. All of this in front of the entire school. Some of the students tried to move with the cane to minimize the pain, leaning in the direction of the hit as it was about to come. Some of them just stood there and took it. A few of the students had an issue with their shorts. Apparently the cloth was a bit too baggy and was interfering with the cane making direct contact with the body. I suppose the teacher who was administering the punishment felt that the pain should be maximized, so some of their hits had to be repeated (do over!).
One of the students protested the punishment, claiming that he was not involved but was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know this student because he comes to the computer lab almost every day. He's small and probably could not hurt another student even if he tried. The day before he had bought me bananas, and he has repeatedly expressed interest in buying me oranges. Yesterday I also saw him typing that he wants to be a good boy, so he will take good friends like Mr. Ari (that's me). Bribery and brownnosing notwithstanding, he seems like a good kid and I doubt he was beating up any students.
Addendum #1: In happier news, I got a cat! He's about two and half months old and is orange. He was carried across town in a boy's arms to my house. He was absolutely petrified when he got to my house and spent the first 12 hours hiding. At 4 in the morning, I got up to feed him tuna fish (I had already fed him the previous night), and this was the turning point of our relationship. He emerged from his hiding spot and instead of hissing at me as he had been, he climbed on my leg. I named him Eish, the Hebrew word for fire, because he's orange and he's got a lot of energy, as kittens do.
Addendum #2: I have since learned that my cat is female. This is OK, I guess.
Addendum #3: The third member of my Peace Corps group - the 32 other people who came over with me in June - has left the country and will not return.
The New Utah's Heritage
There are literally signs of well-meaning non-Ghanaians all over. Signs on the sides of major roads indicate that they (the roads, not the signs although I suppose both) were built with the assistance of the government of Japan. The country's electricity infrastructure has been backed by other Asian nations. Many schools have big signs that read HiPC benefit (Highly Indebted Poor Country), meaning that money was made available from international donors for their construction because of Ghana's high debt. These signs, with HiPC underlined in bright, cheery, rainbow colors never made international debt look like so much fun. On a smaller scale, I've seen latrines (the deluxe kind) decorated with the stars and stripes with a sign indicating that they were a project of USAID.
More locally, the Minnesota Bible School is right outside of my town. And my town boasts a Methodist church that was built by some Europeans in the 1920s, and it is modeled after a medieval cathedral. It similarly dominates my town's "skyline." Non-Methodist town residents seem ambivalent towards this towering structure, but it's inevitably the first thing Peace Corps volunteers notice about my town ("what is THAT doing here?").
And then there's my school's library. It seems that most of the collection is donated from somewhere. There are definitely some good things: a complete 1993 World Book, textbooks about English, math, and science from Ghana and abroad, books by Dickens (but does anyone really like Dickens), world maps, and Al Gore's "Earth in the Balance."
But my favorite part of the collection are five (5) middle school textbooks sent to us by the Church of Latter Day Saints titled, "The New Utah's Heritage" ('The New' is written in smaller letters, indicating this edition is far better than the original). Jessica Bunting had one of the books in 1996 at Bingham Middle School and listed the book as issued in "good" condition. Jessi Hunn had the book in 1999 and described the condition of the book at issuance as "boring." And then some Mormons decided that this book would be better used in Ghana.
Chapter 1 is objectively titled, "Utah: A Great Place," but the introduction warns, "This book will open the door to Utah's history and people, but you will want to read more books about Utah to fully explore its rich past." Indeed. If only my school had more books about Utah. That's exactly what we need here. Thank you Mormons for identifying this critical need in Ghana and promptly filling it.
I suppose some Mormons may think that everyone should learn about the "western Zion" (as the chapter on Mormon religion refers to Utah).
Addendum #1: The epoxy has been used. But I still have plenty left so no need to run out and ship more to me.
Addendum #2: The computers in my lab all have viruses. It's horrible. I hate trying to fix computers.
The Boy, the Girl, and Other People I Live With
Before I moved into my house, I was introduced to the Boy, named Kwame and also a 20 year old second-year student at my school. His uncle, who is at least three times his age, built the house that I live in. The Boy had been living there for several years I guess just to make sure that the place did not fall down.
So I fully expected to see the Boy the day I moved in. But I did not expect to see the Boy's brother also living there. The Boy's brother is named Kome (I have no idea how to spell that, but it's pronounced Ko-may. So I had Kwame and Ko-may). Kome had a speech impediment, which combined with the fact that English was his second language made it challenging to communicate with him for the first few weeks. Kome had failed his secondary school exit exam so he spent the summer holed up in the house studying. He left at the beginning of October to take his exams and live with his mother.
He was immediately replaced by the girl, named Ama and probably about 15 years old. The Girl used to live in the house on the weekends but became a full-time resident in September. I was not happy about this at all. Unlike Ghanaians, I value my privacy and my house is the one place in my town where I can sort of get away from Ghana. The more people going in and out, the harder it is to get away. Ama had failed her final year of junior secondary school, so she is in the process of repeating it.
Although her grandfather built my house and is a "big man" in town, the Girl's family seems significantly poorer. There are days when she complains that she has not eaten all day, so I either give her money to buy some food or cook extra food for her. It has not happened often enough to trouble me too much, but it may get to a point where I start to wonder why taking care of the Girl is my responsibility. Her grandfather can certainly afford to care for her, and if it continues I may go talk to him (he's also one of my favorite people to talk to in my town).
Then there's the Boy's friend. The Boy's friend is also a second-year student at my school. He comes from a nearby town. It's too far and expensive to commute every day, and it's expensive to be a boarding student, so Kwame generously offered to let his friend stay in our house. He was only living there for about a week before he went back home. I think because of the teachers' strike he has not bothered coming to school. I'm not sure if he will move back in if the strike ever ends.
And then there's the people who play Draft every day on my porch. I don't know enough about Draft or about American checkers to know the difference. There may not be any at all. The Draft players' schedule is somewhat unpredictable but they are there every day, and they are loud. There's often a morning shift from about ten to noon and then the older men come from about two to six. The skinny old guy who "manages" my house seems to run the show.
There's probably some calculation that can be done to determine the number of different possible games of Draft that could ever be played. I'm sure it's astronomical, probably more than the number of atoms in the universe or something like that. But I'm also sure that the skinny old guy has played every possible game. Twice. At least. I just can't imagine checkers being interesting enough to warrant dedicating 3+ hours of my life to it everyday. I guess good for him that he has a hobby.
Then there's my neighbor, who seems to be second cousins with the Boy, who comes over every day to use the latrine. I guess that's OK. Apparently his house does not have a proper latrine. And then there's every kid in the neighborhood (sometimes it seems like there are thousands of kids living next door) who thinks that my porch is their playground. I guess property is more communal here. Also, they're little kids, so the more I yell at them and tell them to go away the more they want to play on my porch. (When little kids watch white people, they want to see them doing stuff. Getting angry and yelling would only be entertainment to them.)
My house is busier than I would like, but I suppose that's how it is here. It's fairly unusual for someone to have a house to themselves anyway...
Addendum #1: A few new pictures. Just click on the link to the right. Me and my beard, my town, my school, the melted toilet, etc. Uploading pictures here takes a while and is expensive, so I could only post a few.
