Obruni in Ghana

We did it! We managed to get the bikes (and 6 books, a ball and a skipping rope) and after a 2.5-hour struggle, we got them to the kids. Well, the story goes... we bought the bikes and we were supposed to pick them up today. As we did. It took 45 minutes of waiting, though, of course (the Ghanaian way :-)). It turned out, too, that the guy didn't do anything he'd promised - greasing the chains etc., getting air for the wheels (the Ghanaian way). I paid him less for that reason (the Ghanaian way) and then we went on an adventure trying to find a gas station where we could get air for the bikes. It took 4 gas stations, but we managed. I also managed to get an oil-spray to grease the bikes.

And then we got to the orphanage where 6 smiling kids welcomed us yelling "bikes bikes" at us. That was amazing. I got a couple of hugs and was really happy, but then it turned out that the lady who runs the orphanage wasn't there... And we couldn't just leave the bikes there with no adult supervision. So what do we do? Well, this is what we did: we gave them the bikes, let them ride them for about an hour and then gave them the ball and the rest of the stuff, packed the bikes and drove them to a friend who lives nearby and who would drive them back when the lady is back. I felt really mean taking the bikes away from the kids again, but it would have been too dangerous. And they had the ball so they were still happy and playing when we were leaving. So yea - my "let's surprise the kids" plan had a flaw. I still have a lot to work on...

Or partially wrong... But I went to visit my friend in Takoradi and they use street names there! So - I'm going to correct myself. No street names (or nobody really uses them if they exist) in Accra, but I can't really tell you if it's true for the rest of Ghana, too. Just that you know. :)

Last Sunday, I went to an orphanage. Six kids live there, 14 more come... The house has one room which serves both as a bedroom and a classroom. The lady who runs the orphanage has no other income but what she gets from selling charcoal and bread she bakes. It was outside of Accra, away from any main road and it was a very peaceful place. The children were very humble and sweet.
Why did I go there? Because my friend supports the orphanage. And because I still had the toys my nieces gave me for some kids here. The kids didn't ask for anything. Until the moment I got into the car and one of them whispered - I like biking... Suddenly, the quiet kids were smiling and telling me they all love biking...
I left the orphanage and couldn't stop thinking that that area was perfect for biking - no traffic, open area. And I just couldn't stop thinking about the kids. So I asked my friend - how do we get 6 bikes for free? And she said: "Well, can't we just put the money together?" Within three hours, I had enough money to buy all six bikes! And I didn't even get out of bed to do that! Internet is amazing, isn't it?

So today, me and my friend went to Tema to check if we can actually get the bikes. So we bought them and here they are:

On Sunday, we're going to take them to the kids. I can't wait to see their faces!

PS: One of the bikes is with Spiderman. I had to get that. Marketka would love it. :)

I've talked to many people living with HIV/AIDS in Ghana. And let me tell you, it's not easy - stigma and discrimination can reach such a level that it's almost impossible to understand (to me). People lose jobs because they're HIV+. They lose families. They lose dignity. They lose everything.

Do you want to attend support group meetings to be able to talk to someone who understands you once a month? You better go to a place that is about 2 hours away from your home so that people don't know where you're going.

When you look at the statistics, you'll see that Ghana is pretty good, compared to the rest of Sub-Saharan Africa, when it comes to prevalence rates. According to the statistics, too, almost 100% of adults know about HIV, how it spreads etc. Knowing is one thing, though, behaving accordingly is another one. And you can't change someone's behavior overnight. Unfortunately...

And so it is...

My office. Some of you know that dealing with them might have been the most difficult thing I've had to do here. Ok, so what do I do, actually? I do research on support for AIDS orphans, other children made vulnerable by HIV/AIDS and their caregivers. I intern at an NGO that, let's face it, is one of those that make you wonder why people enter the world of development? To waste other people's resources? To tell people you're doing a wonderful job while actually all you do is sleep in the office? Yea, that's my office...

Anyways, there's one man in the office, let's call him M. Before I say anything about him, I have to say that my NGO is supposed to promote women's rights, among other things. How he ended up working there, I wonder...

Me: Some people are really stupid. [after reading an article about a man who left his family because his wife gave birth to a baby girl with cleft lip]
Jojo (not her real name, another girl from the office): But he returned to the family after they fixed her lips.
Me: Are you kidding me? I wouldn't let him back.

And here comes M.: Of course, you white girls are looking for every little excuse to break a family.

Now, call me dumb, but the fact that your child isn't born perfect is a GOOD reason to leave the child? Thank you, M., but I'd rather be a single mother than live with someone who's probably going to leave me as soon as I start looking old...

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That, though, came after our argument about marital rape, which, according to M, doesn't exist. I tried to explain to him that forcing someone to have sex with him/her against his/her will is rape no matter where it happens. He didn't agree. And let me say - I do respect different cultures, but I place basic human rights above. To take it to an even higher level, M. then (after telling me that he would first beg his wife to have sex with him - and I'm not even going to comment on that - and then have sex with her anyways) asked me if I would marry him. I just started laughing, because he can't be serious, right? Well, he was.

And he made sure to make me believe that marrying him would be the "smartest" choice by telling me that a woman has to ask her husband for permission if she wants to visit her parents, and by telling me that every woman needs supervision so that she doesn't do anything stupid. Thank you, M., for your offer to be your wife, but no, thank you.

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I know what it would look like... Just like when he asked me and the other intern to carry crates full of drinks to the first floor. Because he can't do it. That's as far as he goes with women's empowerment, I guess... :-)
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You know, it’s Africa time… Without any offence, let me give you some advice. If you are meeting a Ghanaian and the meeting is at 10, tell him/her that the meeting is at 9. Chances are that you (after getting there really at 10) will wait for only about 30 minutes. I’m giving you a piece of advice that I myself don’t really follow. I feel mean when I do that and I kind of always hope that THIS TIME, they’ll really be there on time. Well, usually not…

“I’ll be late” is relative as is “a short while” (well, my ex-boyfriend used to ask me “your short while, or mine?” :-)). When I send a message to someone apologizing for being late, I’m about 15 minutes late. When a Ghanaian tells you “I’ll be a little late”, it probably means at least 30 minutes. When a Ghanaian says “I’ll be there in a bit”, you should here “I’ll be there in 30 minutes”. When they say “I’m leaving right now,” you should hear “I’m leaving in about 20 minutes, maybe.”

I’d like to say – you’ll get used to it, but it’s not really so much true for me. While I’m not the most punctual person in the world, I’m not patient enough to wait for someone for an hour and a half. I wish I was, I’m working on it, but there’s a combination that is killing me. Getting up early for a meeting AND ending up waiting for more than an hour. I like my sleep. I hate getting up. And in such situations, all I can think of is – you just took my sleep away from me for no reason! The funny thing is, though, that I just don’t start showing up late. Because – what if this time, the person is actually going to be there on time? Naïve… I know. :-)

I will escort you to the station, you should take a trotro there and alight at Shiashie. If somebody worries you on the trotro, don’t mind him.

That, I guess, is self-explanatory.

There is more to it, though. Bored. Bored here is used for both annoyed and bored which I think is pretty cool – it’s like killing two flies at once (as we say in Czech, I feel like I can do this since we’re having this little linguistic session here :-)).

Coming to Accra makes you realize that we use terms without actually knowing if they apply to the situation, or not. Urbanization is one of them. We say that urbanization is the trend in Africa (and the rest of the developing world). Well, in Ghana, not really. It’s more of a rural movement to the cities. People come to Accra to live their rural lives in the urban setting. I didn’t do any research on this, but from the conversation I’ve had and from the observations I’ve made, I’d guess that it’s because they believe that there’s bright future waiting for everyone in Accra (and while it’s certainly easier to find a job here than in the North, for example, it’s not true for everyone, hence all the homeless people and beggars, but that’s another story).

People actually move here without making any changes to their lifestyle. Hence all the goats and hens on the streets of Accra, or cows at bus stations. People move their rural lives to Accra with all that a rural life takes, all the animals, all the things they were used to. They don’t urbanize Ghana, they ruralize the city. And I might just have coined a word. :-)

Some things are simple. I love the word "queue" but I stopped using it when I got to the US where everyone says "line". I'm back to "queue" now (and I use that word a lot, trotros, you know...) but it will probably last only till I'm back in Pittsburgh.

Some things are easy to figure out but aren't so common like queue and line. "I'll put some water on fire for you." When I first heard it, I thought it sounded funny. Of course it doesn't really mean to burn water, it means to heat water, but I think it sounds funny.

Alight at Paloma. Alight? Right. Alight. I understand what it means, but I swear I never heard that before. I checked the Oxford English Dictionary and found out it's an old-fashioned word, interesting. At least for me. Also, it explains why the mates never told me when I still needed help figuring out where to get off (ALIGHT, white girl!) - they probably didn't know what I was talking about.

That's the linguist in me - always learning. Always. :)

Ok, the number of posts about trotros on this blog says two things: (1) I love trotros, (2) I spend way too much time on them. Why do I love trotros? Because there's no better place for people-watching. But yes... I don't call this commute to work, it's a 2-hour (if I'm lucky) journey to work and it can be done only temporarily.

I've had some accidents with trotros. The door fell once (well, it kinda did hang onto the trotro, but still...) Everyone seemed surprised, but I thought - come on, guys, you've had to see this many times before. Yea, I also thought - ha, that's new; but then stopped paying attention and continued my people-watching. Or I fell asleep, I don't remember. I was hoping, though, that we wouldn't kill anyone on the road with the door flying away while in motion (we didn't).
I do like trotros but I don't like the front seats. I sat there once and it's not much fun to be squeezed on the seat with one other person when the door suddenly opens. While in motion, of course. I do like window seats. And I make sure I choose the row with the best leg space if I can. :)

I did have some accidents that weren't entirely pleasant - it's getting warm and people smell. But people don't smell as bad as a baby puking in front of you. The drivers are crazy and I sometimes wonder how it is possible that I got home alive. But then you end up sitting next to a child trying to break your nose with his mother's purse and you stop carrying about the driver that much. Also - I'm good at hitting my head at least once a day. But you get used to it and knowing that everyone is watching the obruni getting off a trotro, you know that you at least amused someone.

And I like that many of the St. Peter's car mates already know where I'm getting off. Or alighting, but that's for another post.

I have to say that I'm being unfair, probably. Because I keep saying that work ethic here is awful but well, work ethic at my work place is awful, which doesn't mean it's everywhere (although I'm gonna be politically incorrect and will say that I think that bad work ethic is a common thing here and might be one of the reasons for underdevelopment). The people selling stuff on the road (traders, they're called) must work really hard to actually earn a little money and I can tell you - they don't do the kind of job I'd like to do. So here is my solution - stop paying people by an hour and start paying them for what they actually do. Thus you'll save money on paying people for sleeping in the office. And things might get done. Just a thought... :)

Taxis in Ghana are a no-go place for me as an obruni. By that I mean - I'd rather walk for half an hour to get on a trotro than argue with the taxi drivers over the price. They are, however, fun to watch, as most of them have the most ridiculous signs on them. My personal favorite so far is "A before B" - I mean, isn't that obvious, or is it really such a surprising message that you have to put it on your car window? :) "1 + 1 = 3 way" is also good, although here I'm not sure if the meaning is so obvious.

And well, as for the prices - the best advice I've been given before coming to Ghana was "They'll give you a price. Say you'll pay 30% of it and you'll end up paying 50%." This is especially true with taxi drivers. I think that they believe all obrunis in Ghana are here just for one day and don't have time to figure out that they're trying to cheat you, but hey, dear Accra taxi drivers, you're mistaken! I was lucky, though, and met a taxi driver who's fair (I have his phone number so if you're coming to Accra and need a ride, let me know :)). I mean - there are some who give you a fair price no matter what the color of your skin is, but I just don't need to go through the arguing process every time I'm trying to get somewhere.
So this is me dealing with the taxi drivers:
"Do you need a taxi?"
- "It depends on how much you'll charge me to Madina."
"15 cedis."
- "Are you kidding me?"
"How much would you pay?"
- "I paid 5 yesterday."
"Give me 10 and I'll drive you."
- "Even if you said give me 3 and I'll drive you, I'd say no."

The trotro stop was only 20 minute walk from there. And guess what? I paid 20 pesewas for the ride instead of the 30 I was supposed to pay. I love trotros (and they sometimes also have funny signs on... :))

Vodafone house. MTN house. First, I thought that's where the offices are. But no - these are people's houses painted as huge billboards. And I bet the people don't get any money for this advertising space. Ha, MTN, the official partner (or whatever) of 2010 World Cup... And Vodafone, you call yourself a good neighbor in the Czech Republic. Is it just me, or do you think they're abusing the people who are often illiterate and just don't know?

Czech... Who'd have guessed? :)

Obama Hotel. Obama Inn. Obama everything... That's Ghana, Obama! :)

A week ago, after the awful and heartbreaking game with Uruguay where Ghana was robbed of its victory, I was chatting with a friend (well, also arguing a little as he was trying to make me believe that white = rich) and he asked me if I want to go to Cape Coast with him and his friends. I said yes (after I asked – “And if you say you’ll pick me up at 8, does it mean 8, or 11?”). Well, we didn’t go there in the end. We went to visit his sister as that weekend was the last day of visits for this school year.

So here we go – me and four Ghanaian men in one car. Let me tell you – there was way too much noise for one car. But it was fun, they were discussing girls and listening to that is always entertaining, no matter where you are.

We got to Timmy’s sister’s school after long hours of driving and I think it was the first time I visited a boarding school like that. If I’m right, we don’t really have same-sex schools in the Czech Republic. I mean – I believe there are some, but it’s not very common. So there I was, at a boarding school (high school) full of girls in uniforms. I’m not going to say anything about the guys’ comments because I want to believe they were just joking (and because I left after they started as I couldn’t listen to it), but check this out: 16 girls in one dorm room (and the room was pretty much 16 beds in the room, not much more space left for anything else), no cell phones allowed, visits once a month on an assigned day, wearing a uniform probably all week long (it was Saturday and the girls had their uniforms on). When going to the bathroom with Timmy’s sister, I saw girls doing their laundry (handwashing – having a washing machine is a great luxury in Ghana), asking their “house lady” (I don’t know what the person is really called, but each dorm has someone who’s in charge of everything) for permission for pretty much anything, it seemed (like if I, since I’m not a student there, could use the dorm’s bathroom). Where does the discipline disappear when people leave school and enter the work market? Did they just have too much of it and are tired of it after they’re done with school?

While I haven’t fully embraced the Africa time concept (and no, don’t worry, I’m not annoyed or surprised by that, I learnt how to live in Africa time in South Africa), I managed to embrace some parts of this attitude. Last Friday, I didn’t go to work because it was raining. A good enough excuse (and not that there was much to do anyway).

However, while I’m not known for being the most punctual person, I could pass for this title in Accra. You tell me we’re leaving at 11am, I’ll be ready at 11am. And I’ll be ready, although I know we probably won’t leave until 2pm (and this really happened). I don’t get angry, though, I just take a book, read and wait (learning patience, you know :)).

In the light of this, I answer questions “Where are you?” when we’re supposed to meet someone and the person is waiting for us. Winnie called last week, before the game, where we are. We left the house 1.5 hour later than planned, but already where in a trotro on our way. I said: “We’re almost there.” And hung up. Doreen started laughing and asked if I know where we are. My response: “No, I have no idea, but does it matter if we’re 10 minutes from there, or an hour?” And no, it didn’t, at that point. We were planning to go shopping before the game, go to the internet café, but we got to the bar the minute the game started without doing any of that. TIA. :)

I don’t remember if I wrote about them already (I most probably did) but they deserve another post. I love them! I love them, I love them, I love them, although they’re wasting so much of my time (but hey, so is being in the office; and being on a trotro is much more interesting). On Tuesday, I made it home in 2 hours and 10 minutes. Record time! I was so happy I had to tell everyone. :) Can you imagine me being anywhere else (meaning in the “Western” world) and not complaining about 2-hour commute (well, it’s usually faster to get to work, it takes about 1.5 hour, from work, it can take up to 3 hours) every day? I can’t… I wouldn’t be willing to do it. But here I am and enjoying it. I know it’s probably because it’s for a limited time, but still.

Trotros just amaze me. The whole system amazes me. Coming from Europe, I’m used to having pretty good service when it comes to public transport. Buses, trains, timetables… Being able to check if my train is late online. All these things. Here – no timetables, no air-conditioning (I mean – really, just imagine, you’re happy the car doesn’t break down while you’re in it most of the time, who cares about A/C?), you’re squeezed on a seat that is sometimes too small for me (and you know African women have butts much bigger than mine is :)), in this humid weather, with too many people (one of the reasons I love trotros – they’re much safer than taxis as there are too many people to let someone do something to me; also, in a taxi I feel too much like a tourist, the color of my skin is enough :)). But, as much as there are no timetables, there are bus stops. And most of them have names. For some reason, it amazes me. I wonder how the system developed. How it started, how they figured out where to start a new route, all that. Back home, it’d be easy – you just look at how many people live where, how many commute to where and you got all you need. But there’s no way to figure this out here by looking at some statistics. And talking about bus stops, I’m the source of entertainment for many mates (the guys on the trotros who collect money from the passengers) when I tell them that I’m going to Heavens (that’s the name of my bus stop because the inn in front of the house is called Heavens). Because the trotro is loud, people speak quietly, so it’s pretty much like answering “Where are you going?” with “Heaven.” Yea, right, white girl! :)

Lastly, I’d like to say that I’m pretty good at telling which trotro is going to break down on the road just by the sound of it. It’s entertaining. I’m also good at hitting my head almost every time I’m trying to get on/off a trotro (entertaining probably for the other passengers watching the obruni, but my head hurts right now :)).

Upon arrival to Ghana, the immigration officer asks you to give him/her your address in Ghana. Simple, right? Well, not really, as houses here don’t have addresses. So you try to write the P. O. Box address you have, knowing that, well, they probably know you’re not going to live in a P. O. box, but what can you do? I didn’t know until I got here. Actually, I found out only a couple of days after I went through the immigration process. I found out after I told my family the address of my office and they started laughing. I was confused – did I pronounce it wrong or what? No, they said, but nobody uses addresses here. Ha, that’s interesting… so I asked more about it. And I was told that streets here don’t have names because people give them names randomly and these names can change. So let’s say that one year, you live on Nkrumah Street, because maybe Nkrumah set his foot there once and it was a big deal, but the next year, you can live on Kingson street, because Kingson lives there now and won the World Cup with the Black Stars (as he deserved, if you ask me :)).

For people like me, it means some difficulties. Because we’re used to know the address of the place where we’re going, that’s what helps us know where we are. But it’s amazing how everyone knows where places are here anyways, and Accra is pretty big! So how does it work? You simply have to know something relatively important in the area where you’re going. For example, when I go home by taxi (which happens almost never because I love trotros, see the next post), I ask the taxi driver if he knows where St. Peter’s Mission School is and if he does, I tell him to go there and then navigate him from there (which, after I managed to get home like that for the first time, impressed my family, because it’s not so easy from the beginning).

I was told that people are starting to use addresses, but that’s probably going to be a very long process. Not only because people aren’t used to it, but also because the city is growing way too fast. And while I don’t consider it strange anymore, I remembered watching “Voices of the Poor” earlier today and the Mexican (I think) lady who was saying that being poor means not having an address and thus not having access to things. Well, not in Accra. Here, you can have a car, you can have a house, but still don’t have an address. I wonder if things like that are mentioned in travel guides. :)

Maybe you’ve noticed I changed the name of my blog. The moon and the star are still in Ghana (apparently having a tattoo here is something that is quite shocking for some people ) but they’re being called “obruni” many times a day. Obruni literally means “white man” (if I’m right) but Ghanaians call obruni every foreigner, no matter what the color of the skin. Thus, African-Americans are called obruni, too (I’m not sure, however, if it is so also for Africans from other countries). It might sound a little racist but they don’t call you obruni to offend you. Most of the time, they just want to say hi, ask how you’re doing or welcome you in Africa. Sometimes, they want to sell you something (obruni = opportunity to charge more than usual ). And kids just want your attention, because some of them have never seen an obruni before. So I took it as a challenge and my mission here to be an “ambassador” for all the obrunis coming to Ghana. When someone calls me obruni, I smile, say hi, ask how they’re doing. I try not to get upset that some people see me as a walking wallet (and no, I don’t feel guilty, I work here for free…). I try to create a good reputation for all future obrunis coming to Accra.