Miadogo

The last seventeen minutes of the flight were excruciating. Waiting in line to go through customs was even more so. However, that all came to pass when I found myself hugging my mom for the first time in six months. Ahh, to be home! Sweet Michigan, land of fresh air, great lakes, and discarded automobile factories. How I missed you!

On the extended flight back home from Accra, I had lazily put together a list of things to do. First, take a hot shower. Second, weed my way through the hundred plus emails flooding my inbox. Third, organize my Dale footage in preparation of review and editing. Finally, eat lots and lots of yummy Chinese food. Over the next couple of days, I’d knock off the extracurricular work that I had been pushing back while in Ghana. And, of course, I would be editing footage for the documentary.

My mother, it turned out, had a separate agenda for me: first to the dentist’s office, and then the optometrist. Come home, eat, and then get ready to go to Canada tomorrow to see my aunt, uncle, and younger cousin, who are moving to Windsor for a short period of time! While the lack of a hot shower in my mother’s plans was a bit of a damper, I was more than happy to go along with her schedule. After all, I was only half-lucid after a seventeen hour journey across the world.

Several eyedrops and a pair of stylish solarettes later, I found myself looking at the world through dilated pupils for the rest of the day. And while this condition made it difficult for me to really see things clearly, it did afford me the chance to sit back and reflect on my last week in Ghana.

Seven Weeks

During our last few days in Ghana, Pat asked me how I felt about leaving Ghana after having spent nearly two months in the Black Star of Africa. It was a loaded question. Doubtless, I was going to miss Ghana when I left. I had come to a point where I felt comfortable taking taxis by myself, walking through Ashaiman alone, bargaining with local traders, and doing the Ghanaian handshake with everyone from a Member of Parliament to the kids who perched on the wall surrounding EP Basic as they watched the construction process unfold. Though I was not fond of eating with hands, I had also come to love Ghanaian food, from the various types of plantain preparations to the fish stews served with boiled yams and bangku. Most of all, though, I had become enchanted by the Ghanaian people. They were all so friendly and welcoming! Sure, everyone you met tried at one point or other to get something for free out of the obruni, but this flaw is negated ten-fold by the passion that Ghanaians exhibit. Passion — that’s what Pat called it at the celebration dinner the church elders held for us on Wednesday evening. And I agree — Ghanaians are incredibly passionate people.

So how did I feel about going home? Sad, for sure. But also excited to go home after such a long separation. And, sandwiched between these two competing emotions, was also a small blob of satisfaction in the work that I had completed in seven weeks whilst in Ghana. I have interviewed over two dozen individuals for my Dale project. I have helped build the concrete substructure of the only public library in Ashaiman. I have, with the rest of the team, successfully networked EWB-PU with the big shots of Ashaiman and even parts of Tema. I’ve grown fond of papaya and pineapple, learned more about the art of negotiation, and uncovered the recipe to sugar bread. The list goes on and on. At the church elder celebration, Rev. Kwasikpui made a special note of thanks to me, saying that I had done so much for the project and had truly tried to assimilate with the Ghanaian culture. Sitting there with my hair in braids styled by the kids and a wax print cloth wrapped around my waist as a skirt, I was touched almost to the point of tears. Answering with a heartfelt, “thank you,” I felt, though, that I had gained just as much if not more from seven weeks in Ghana than the EP School gained from me.

At the church elders celebration dinner. The woman in the front has quite the sense of humor. That’s a Bailey’s bottle, in case you’re wondering.

With a Star on Top

The last week of construction went blazingly fast. In two days, the slab and apron was poured. The columns followed in short order with no major glitches. The final component — the ring beam — was set up on the first of September and then poured the following day. And then… phase I of the GSLI project was complete! Pat and I were there when the workers brought the last wheelbarrow of concrete to the site. A pan was filled with concrete and then a series of workers perching on different rungs of a ladder passed up the pan to the mason, who was himself standing on wooden supports built just that morning two meters above the ground. SPLAT went the concrete as the mason dunked it into the formwork and then began smoothing it down to shape. And then — it was done.

The atmosphere amongst the workers, Golden, and even the EWB team was tangibly different than before. Tuesday was a day to celebrate for the completion of our goal, but it was also a day of good-byes. We bid adieu to the construction crew that evening, encouraging them to come to the temporary library and then treating them to a round of cold beverages: Fanta, Malta, Alvaro, Guinness, and Star (beer). Scraps of paper with email addresses were passed around. And then, well past sunset, we finally rolled out of the EP compound.

The Pastor’s Wife

My last day in Ghana did not begin particularly auspiciously. Why? Well, there was the matter of the goat.

As I have mentioned before, there is one black goat in the Atsu courtyard. Or should I say, was. There was one black goat in the Atsu courtyard. Unfortunately, as Nizette and I walked to the EP car on Thursday morning, we passed by Dixon who was leading the goat behind the house with a stranger carrying a knife. Four rounds of painful bleeting later, there was silence.

On that note, the EWB-PU team set off to drop Pat off at the airport. After wishing our beloved site engineer a safe journey, Nizette, Kwesi, Michel, and I headed to EP to finish cataloging the books for the temporary library. The finished product is quite impressive, if I do say so myself.

The last book was entered into the database around 3:30pm, leaving us plenty of time to go to Kojo’s house in Tema to finish the payment matters with HydraCon. Because of the surplus of time, though, I asked Michel to take us to the Gloryland school in Ashaiman Middle East. I was hoping to find the woman Jane that Mohit and I had met my first week in Ghana. I had printed out her picture and wanted to give it to her. Unfortunately, en route, something completely shocking occurred. As Michel edged the car around a truck on the road, a woman walked across the street right in front of our line of sight. Michel braked — but not in time. We bumped the lady and from my front seat view, I saw her go down.

OH MY GOD. We jumped out of the car expecting the worst. The woman was laying on her right side, panting in pain. Chaos ensued. There was no blood, but dozens of bystanders began shouting. One stranger hustled up and brusquely picked up the woman, squeezing into the front seat of the EP car with her. “The pastor’s wife!” I heard Michel cry. Nizette, Kwesi, and I didn’t understand a word of the dialogue floating in the air — it was all in Ewe and Twi. We did understand the need for the woman to go to the hospital, however. Piling back into the car, Michel took off again. Along the way, it became evident that the man sitting in the front seat with the victim was trying to take advantage of the situation and get something from the obruni in the backseat. A short confrontation with Michel later, and the man was ejected from the car. We then continued on our way and found ourselves… in Reverend Kwasikpui’s courtyard.

The pastor’s wife… was Reverend Kwasikpui’s wife.

Mrs. Kwasikpui was taken to the Tema General Hospital. It was clear after inspection that the impact of the car did not do anything beyond push her, causing her to lose balance. As she tried to catch herself with her hand during the fall, she either sprained or broke her wrist and right pinky. Clearly not an ideal situation, but everyone was thankful that there wasn’t a more serious medical emergency on the table.

And on that note, Kwesi, Nizette, and I headed to Tema community 1 to Kojo’s house. We said good-bye to our dear friend (hereby dubbed the Pringle man of Ghana) and finally, at 7pm, set off for the Accra airport.

Miadogo

In Chinese, the word for “goodbye,” literally translated, actually means “until we see each other again.” Similarly, the word for goodbye in Ewe, “miadogo,” means “we shall meet again.” Though there is no guarantee of my return to Ghana next summer, I certainly hope that I will be able to do so. Thus, I do not say “good-bye.” Instead, I bid Ghana “miadogo.”

Flickr Galore

I have uploaded several weeks worth of photos onto the Flickr account (see right). In order to not overload the poor Internet connection, I have only uploaded small versions of the photos.

Church tomorrow. Yay for dressing up!

A Thousand Words, Part Two

There is an 8pm meeting today scheduled at the Holiday Inn (a very upscale place here in Ghana — the only one is in Accra and Obama stayed there during his visit) to sign the MOU with HydraCon. In the meantime, we are hanging out at an Internet cafe. So, I thought I would finish up the picture updates. More stories to come over the weekend.

Cheers!

On Tuesday (these pictures are in no particular order, by the way), I went to the Ministry of Agriculture to interview Rev. Mrs. Adiepena, cousin of the Pace Center’s Dr. Agawu and head of the Women in Agricultural Development. In the reception room office, I found the first map that I had seen with Ashaiman on it!

On Sunday, we went to go see Princeton alum AJ Whitman. He invited us to the Venus Bar in Osu, the snazzy bit just outside of Accra. Across the street is Citizen Kofi, one of the five hot night spots in Accra. It certainly stood out!

Now that you have already seen pictures of the finished slab, this is a little less impressive. In any case, here is the crew waterproofing the mat. This was the beginning of the Golden Era (haha — get it? Our foreman’s name is Golden), when things really kicked into gear with very few problems. Golden has really been doing a great job lately, and so have our workers.

On Sunday, we said good-bye to Mohit. Jennifer followed the next day but not before Pat landed. Our two lovely site engineers were able to spend one day together on the job. (Jennifer, we miss you! You left us in good shape!)

On Sunday, the church said good-bye to Mohit and Jennifer. Two of our students, Belinda and Darlington, presented farewell gifts.

Everyday brings a new t-shirt surprise. A steelbender will wear a “Women of Steel” NYC Women’s Union shirt. Abraham wore a Central Michigan t-shirt to class one day. The laborers also always bring a change of clothes to work in (generally their less-liked clothes). Imagine my surprise when I caught one of them styling a Class of 2006 Princeton shirt!

If you give a goat a pot… it will jump on it and nibble the tree leaflets. I have actually seen this goat jump onto the plant pot sill… but I’ve yet to capture it on film.

The kids have a habit now of changing up the board tally of EWB-PU members each day. I wasn’t there when they wrote it this particular time, but we know at least one of the kids’ aspirations. Mohit, I hope you see this.

The lovely Ms. Jennifer Pazdon in the American Hotel, as we waited for Kojo to arrive at the party house.

On Saturday, we took the Atsu clan (16 of them) out to dinner at the Imperial Peking restaurant. It was actually quite fabulous — better than the Chinese restaurants I have been to in America! That meant two things: I had a thrilling time filling up on food that reminded me of home and I taught the family how to use chopsticks.

On our way to Ho last Thursday, we stopped by the Akosombo Dam, which (according to Mohit) is the third largest dam in the world.

Column forms are up! To pour the concrete into them, the masons used the bracing as ladders. I was nervous the entire time, but no one got hurt, thankfully.

This Sunday, for the first time since construction has begun, we will not need to work. The team will be spending the time getting other bits of work done, though. We have to plan the play presentation for the kids, print out pictures, finish cataloging books, and then, we’re going to go take a little looksie around Ghana. After all, it’s summer vacation. More tales to come!

A Thousand Words

Now that I do not have time for daily visits to the Internet cafe, my pictures and footage have become the most reliable record of what has happened over the past few days. I have thus updated the last two posts to include pictures. The body of this post will primarily consist of pictures, with a little bit of explanation in the captions. Enjoy!

P.S. I began uploading pictures in the order of most recent to oldest — the Internet cafe is closing so I have to go now but more updates to come!

On Tuesday, work really began at top speed. Now that we have gotten out of the ground, a huge crew of 20 laborers came out to help us lay the slab. They worked from 6am to 6pm. It was epic… and pretty amazing.

The kids are enamored with my hair — “It’s so soft!” On Wednesday, they girls gave me “cornrolls.” The next day, the boys also played hairdresser.

Mr. Ankugah arranged for the reception room outside of his office to be converted into a temporary library. We are in the process of cataloging, stamping, and moving all of the books down from their current location on the third floor of the school. The kids have been very helpful in the entire process — they even insisted on helping us carry the books down!

Concrete curing is a hydrolysis process. On the day the slab was finished (it was a two-day process), the sun was beating down hard. To keep the slab wet, Pat and I poured buckets of water over the surface and then used a hand broom to even out the distribution. You could hear the concrete fizzle when the water hit the surface — yeah, chemistry at work!

Each of those bags has a mass of 50kg.

Houston, we have a slab! Column boxes are up too. At this rate, we’ll be done by next Tuesday!

Behind the library is this lovely open area that we will probably use as an outdoor reading space / theater.

William, also known as Braham, is a cousin who lives in the Atsu residence. He is studying civil engineering at Cape Coast Polytechnic, so he came along to the site one day to check it out. At 6′6″, he also plays basketball in university. It is amazing standing next to him; I feel so small!

This Update Brought to You By….

Though there isn’t enough time for me to make a full update right now (have to love paying for Internet by the half-hour!), I thought I would leave a teaser about what is to come…

1. Princeton t-shirts
2. Toenails
3. Getting our slab on
4. The Golden Era
5. Achieving greater heights

On a slightly related note, I can’t believe I will be back in America by next Friday!

A Midnight Barbeque

Preface: Apologies for it having been so long since the last post. Finding time to go on the Internet has become harder and harder as of late. In any case, I have made two updates just now. “Abaja” covers the beginning of last week. “A Midnight Barbeque” accounts a few interesting experiences from the later half of the week.

My first week in Ghana killed any daring impulses I may have had in regards to food. However, after a few weeks of safe eating, I decided it was finally time to have not only the local foods such as fufu and kenkey, but also to indulge in a little street vendor snacking. It’s all about making the right choices, right? Just stay away from the meat pies. Nizette, having already tried out many of these foods in Kumasi, took me around to try out her favorites. First stop: a coconut stall. There are always coconut vendors selling their wares on carts parked by the side of the road. They hack away half of the coconut shell with a machete and then, when a customer chooses a particular coconut, they once again wield their utensil to chip off the tip of the fruit. My first sip of coconut milk was, well, rather disgusting. I am not so much a fan but luckily, Nizette is, and she happily downed the juice for me. We then handed the empty shell back to the vendor, who thwacked it a few times with his machete to open the fruit up and reveal the soft flesh inside. He also ingeniously carved a small scooping “spoon” out of the shell to scrape the flesh off with. In the end, I decided that fresh coconuts were not for me. However, it was certainly an interesting experience from the beginning, to the very end, where a tro-tro (previously misspelled “cho-cho”) decided to try to squeeze past the stall and another car, effectively bumping into another woman who was enjoying her coconut milk. Surprisingly, there was no burst of outrage from the woman or cry of concern from the tro-tro passengers. Everyone just seemed a tad more disgruntled until the tro-tro managed to sidle all the way past the coconut cart.

The next culinary stop was at a grilled plantain stall. Plantains are huge in Ghana. They come in all forms: boiled, grilled, fried, pulverized… grilled plantains are a nice, filling snack that you enjoy with “groundnuts,” or what is better known in the states as “peanuts.” It was quite delicious; even the sand sprinkled in with the groundnuts couldn’t detract from the taste.

Finally, on the walk back to EP, Nizette and I passed by a girl selling borofu from a glass display case balanced neatly on her head. Borofu is a Ghanaian form of donut. Slightly sweet and very chewy, it made a lovely end to my tour of Ghanaian street food.

Beyond food, I have also managed to get out of the Accra-Tema-Ashaiman triangle. On Thursday, we went to Ho, the capital of the Volta Region, to go souvenir shopping. Incidentally, Ho is also the Ghanaian E.P. headquarters. There is a National Cultural Center in Ho and Mohit and Nizette brought back so many lovely things from the NCC in Kumasi, that we were all eager to see the local crafts at the market. When we finally pulled up to the Ho NCC, however, we were greeted by a dilapidated concrete structure that clearly not completely finished.

There was a whole host of people working at this empty shell of a building, however, and when we inquired as to where their crafts were, they led us to a small room on the second floor. On a tiny table in the corner were a few dusty statues and strips of kente cloth. To say the least, it was rather underwhelming. For a quarter of an hour, we tried to figure out if there could possibly be another NCC in Ho. A contact of Sefa materialized out of no where and from him, we learned that the particular building we were in was being “developed” into the NCC. For the meantime, there were a few shops in downtown Ho that we could visit. One of the staff members, a woman who looked to be between 35 and 40, went with us. A co-worker of hers asked Mohit if he wanted to marry her. “You take my woman, I’ll take yours,” he said, tapping me on the back. Ugh.

While the shops we went to were not what we expected, we were still able to make some lovely purchases. Most likely, we will have more shopping in store for us. The plan is to go to Osu on Sunday afternoon to collect the last few gifts for people. Osu’s markets are purported to be rather aggressive, with higher starting prices for items. However, it also has a great selection and after a day at the Tema Market, my bargaining skills have de-rusted so we should be good to go.

Speaking of going (I know, terrible transition), Mohit is set to fly back to Indiana on Sunday, and Jennifer will also be returning to the states the Monday after. Due to their eminent departure, we have become quite the social butterflies as of late. On Friday evening, for instance, we attended a barbeque at Kojo’s house. It was originally set to begin at 8pm but of course that meant we should arrive by 8:30pm at the earliest. When we did make our way to East Legon, one of the more affluent parts of Ghana to say the least, we discovered that Kojo himself was not yet at the house. There was a large hotel across the street, however, and so we killed half an hour in its restaurant, snacking on (overcooked meat) samosas. When Kojo arrived, he brought us over to the house, which belongs to a colleague of his. At first, the party was quite awkward as no one else had yet arrived and Kojo left for 45 minutes to get us drinks, meaning we were left in a gigantic living room that contained a large-screen TV, on which we could only get a highly dramatic, dubbed Philipino movie to play with reasonably low static levels. The awkwardness dissipated slightly when Kojo’s friends came round. By then it was at least 10pm. Kojo’s friends ran in the higher circles of Ghana, so to speak. At least one was a millionaire. In turn, they all came round to greet us. Absolut Vodka and Star (beer) went around, though Nizette, Kwesi, Mohit, and I (all teetotalers) opted for water, Fanta, and orange juice instead. The alcoholic consumption was not at all excessively high, though there was one particular guest who seemed to have reached his argumentative tipsy side. Jennifer and I thus found ourselves in a debate on the merits of humanitarian work such as EWB’s projects. Kojo’s friend took the side that what we were doing was more of an experience for ourselves, rather than something that would have a lasting impact on the Ashaiman community. Jennifer and I, obviously, disagreed.

Not all conversations fell along that line, however. Another of Kojo’s colleagues took me aside at one point, declaring that he had never had a chance to speak to a Chinese before. “We don’t bite,” I offered with a laugh. And with that invitation, the man and I launched into a discussion on several topics from our travels to the EWB project in Ashaiman. The man noted that he was surprised we were working in Ashaiman (“There are armed robberies, you know!”) so I decided to slightly change the topic and steer it to ways that he could volunteer without going to Ashaiman. The model I brought up was Big Brothers, Big Sisters. Wouldn’t he consider organizing a group of his friends to serve as mentors for young children in a local school who are without fathers? Whether purely through politeness or actually through general interest, the man asked me questions on logistics of beginning such a program. Afterwards, I excused myself and the Princeton crew started a dance party in the living room. Occasionally Kojo’s friends joined but majorily, it was Nizette, Kwesi, Jennifer, and I bopping to the mix of Ghanaian and American music. After being tickle-attacked, Mohit also got up and did a bit of dancing as well.

At midnight, food was served. It was quite the array of dishes: grilled chicken and fish, pasta and potato salad, french fries, and of course, rice. Those of us on Malarone were thrilled. There were also Pringles, which were an amazing connection to America that I think a lot of us were missing.

It was quite a surreal experience being at Kojo’s party. Just an hour away was Ashaiman. Yet here, in this concrete castle guarded by a high fortress gate, we seemed to be in a completely different world. Though the evening was nice, as we made our way back to Mango Street at 3am in the morning with alarm clocks set for 6:30am, I felt that I rather liked Ashaiman’s world better.

Abaja

With the coming of the new foremen, it has become only necessary for Jennifer to be on the site at all times. While we take turns checking in once or twice a day, Mohit, Nizette, Kwesi, and I have much more time to spend working with the kids and running errands. On Monday, we began using the Reading A-Z books to gauge the reading level of each of the kids in our (what we now call) day camp. As we took the kids out individually, the others read voraciously from the hundreds of books now sitting happily in and on top of the bookshelves made for the library. It was interesting to see the spread of the students’ reading abilities. There were some Class 4 students who were reading well beyond what their American counterparts would be reading and some Class 6 students who were struggling a little bit. Overall, though, I was very impressed by their reading abilities. Their writing doesn’t quite seem as up to par, but we hope to remedy that with the next project: writing miniature song-and-dance skits to be performed to their parents at the beginning of September.

Class ran from 10am-12pm (the kids, like their parents, go by Africa time). Afterwards, the crew went upstairs to the library to continue stapling Reading A-Z books. A few of the students came with us and helped fold and staple the little stories. Nizette and I took the opportunity to learn more about the kids. We asked about where they lived (most in Ashaiman, though in different boroughs), what religion they subscribed to, what their first language was, etc. The plethora of languages represented was astounding: Hausa, Ewe, Ga, Twi, English, Well… the list went on and on. The majority of the students there were Christian but we had one Muslim student. The kids answered our questions candidly and then took it upon themselves to educate us on a little bit of Twi and Ewe. They also serenaded us with gospel songs (all of them sang and danced), which I captured on tape. It was the most adorable thing. Mary, one of the Class 6 students, is an amazing singer. With Abraham beating on a book like a drum and doing back-up vocals, Nizette and I could see a miniature band forming. Kwesi can take the keyboard.

It was very interesting learning about the music and dance that the kids were familiar with. They know more about Michael Jackson than I do. Mary also told me the name of the Ghanaian chicken dance: abaja! Barikisu and Mary also demonstrated Ampe to us once again, clearly explaining the rules. Think of it as a more active form of rock-paper-scissors. There are two positions: one player is assigned same-side feet; the other is assigned opposite-side feet. Then, the two players jump up while facing each other and at the same time, upon landing, stick out one foot. If opposing feet are played (both left feet or both right feet), then the appropriate player scores. On the other hand, if one left foot and one right foot is kicked out, then the other player scores. The clapping and jumping around is actually superfluous but I like it. It keeps the kids active.

In other news, I have two more interviews lined up for the documentary. As of yet, I have only interviewed males but these next two focuses will highlight females in the education system, which is exciting. I am also getting permission from the parents of the students in our day camp so that I can film our adorable little kids. And, finally, we are up to the grade beams now in construction. That means that the piers have been poured and we are prepping the support for the foundation slab. The culvert surrounding the entire slab is also being poured. Next comes the slab, then the columns, and finally the ring beam!

Ghanaian Construction 101

In the EWB paperwork, we submitted a construction safety plan outlining proper safety procedures, equipment handling methods, and attire for all construction workers and EWB members. There were, of course, the basics: daily meetings at the beginning of the day to outline the day’s course of action, specifications on sticking to the drawings, and requirements for all personnel to wear hardhats, work gloves, and steel-toed boots.

And then, we came to Ghana. In addition to sticking to “Africa time,” where 7:30am means 9am at the earliest and 1:30pm more often than not, things are definitely not sticking to the plan. Take attire, for instance. Hardhats do not exist. Neither, apparently, does proper footwear. All of our workers have been in flip-flops from day one, with the exception of dear ol’ Paul (who has honest-to-gosh work boots) and Moses (who wears rainboots since he’s tramping in mud and concrete all day). Pink, by the way,  is all the rage when it comes to Ghanaian flip-flops.  The first day we saw the workers, we were appalled. I even gave one of them, Christopher, my shoes to wear for the day. He returned them after washing them (they were cleaner than they had ever been before!) and I asked him to bring proper shoes the next day. Lo and behold, he showed up in the same flip-flops. I was about to go out and buy shoes for the workers when Afrisand’s men came as well. They wore sneakers to my relief… and then they took them off to start working barefoot!

Notice Chris’ t-shirt: We can do it!

In the end, we have purchased work gloves for the laborers and face masks for ourselves and the concrete mixer operators. Some of them prefer to wear the masks on their head as a fashion statement, unfortunately, rather than over their nose and mouth.

This is Dixon, one of Mrs. Atsu’s nephews. He wanted to make money for a school trunk and mattress so he asked if he could join us on the site. Sorry for the sideways-ness.

Safety shocks aside, I must say that Ghanaian construction is truly a display of the human species’ remarkability. Almost everything is hand-made. The formwork is constructed by a few carpenters and handsaws. The rebar benders use their arms, empty metal pipes,  and well-practiced leverage skills to bend 10mm and 16mm rebar into cages and stirrups. Excavation and sand-filling is done with shovels, wheelbarrows, and buckets. Our workers generally spend over 8 hours a day working in the hot sun. We buy water for them — they sell these little packs of water in the provision store across the street for the ridiculously low price of one cedi per thirty packs! — and stay under the sun as well, helping out so long as we don’t get in the way. Still, I cannot imagine doing this sort of work every day of my life. What is even more remarkable is that most of our workers do not hold only one job. One of the guys told us that he is a hardware repair technician. He works as a laborer to exercise his body (and presumably support his family).

Paul, wheelbarrowing cement. Paul actually has a bum leg but he is one of the hardest workers we have. Never complains. I love the guy.

The tiny little sand compactor.

Rebar bending station

Rebar bending equipment

IRON STRENGTH!

Pumping water out of the footing holes. We hit groundwater about 2m above what the (faulty) soil report said we would.

Aligning the kickers (base of piers). The rebar was done incorrectly, unfortunately.

I am quite fond of the guys working on our project. By now, I have learned most of their names. They complain a lot and every few hours we have to argue with them to convince them that they need to keep doing their job. I think that the workers don’t know what to make of Jennifer and me. As girls who obviously do just as much (and sometimes more) than the guys on the team, we stand out as distinctly non-Ghanaian in behavior. Even when I wore my cloth on Sunday at the work site (I had planned to attend church but then the Atsus and Mohit went to another church and Nizette and Kwesi went to Kwesi’s church, so Jennifer and I just spent the day at the construction ground), the carpenters were obviously baffled by me. Because of a series of really aggravating mistakes made on the part of our contractor, the workers were here on a Sunday free of charge to us. They were instructed to finish the form work for the piers today so that first thing tomorrow they could pour the piers and begin the mat and columns. However, after the new foremen, Mawuli and Golden, left for the day, the three carpenters tried to convince Jennifer and me to let them go for the day. After a phone call to Mawuli and my going in my dress to the wood pile, hoisting up my skirts to jump onto the platform, and then dragging 12″ wide planks of wood down to be made into the boxes we needed did the carpenters begin to do their job. And even after that, I needed to spent another ten minutes arguing with them as they tried to sweet talk and guilt-trip me into letting them go. I flipped the tables on them and pointed out that as they were citizens of Ashaiman, this library was their library. They could use it — but only after it was finished being built and in order to do that, they needed to do their jobs. After throwing in the fact that I was still a student and that I hadn’t been home in six months but I was here to help and why is it that the greatest resistance we have encountered so far was from the people of Ashaiman, they finally started to diligently complete their task. Well, okay, they didn’t finish the columns, but they only need to make four more and at the rate at which the cement workers go, they’ll have them done before the pier form work is actually needed.

Ben, Francis, and Donbonko, our three carpenters.

At this point, I think that the workers and the EWB team is beginning to form an understanding. There is a lot of repeating things and a lot of arguing about what should and could be done, but with the help of Mawuli and Golden, things are really shaping up. Jennifer, as the engineer on site, is the main point of contact. Besides her, I am the one who has been on-site the most and the guys all know me at least by face if not by name. It is an interesting experience to be sure. My knowledge of structural engineering has expanded ten-fold in merely a week. Of course, this is structural engineering, Ghanaian style.

This church across from EP Basic has been under construction for over five years. It is still not done — but that doesn’t stop its congregation from singing and dancing every Sunday.

On a final note, there was one issue that Jennifer and I needed to take care of independently of the foremen, and that was because the foremen were at fault as well. Let us just say that men relieving themselves at any place they find convenient, be it the road side or a construction site, is as ubiquitous a site as chickens running around or goats grazing by the roadside in Ghana. After having to walk up to two different men who had their pants down to inform them that the urinal was the only place they were allowed to relieve themselves while they were working on this project, Jennifer and I made a sign proclaiming the new construction site rule. We also threw in the rule of having to throw away trash, like the empty water sacks, into a designated bucket, rather than the ground.

Again, apologies for the sideways ness.

P.S. Oh, thanks for all of the notes of concern you all sent in response to “Yes.” I am now fully hydrated and feeling wonderfully perky. Mohit also found this delicious soy milk here in Ghana and I now have a regular source of calcium, which is absolutely lovely.

Yes

When I was a little girl, I was never the one to get down in the dirt and make mud pies. Instead, I enjoyed spending my time indoors, reading books or playing dolls with Lin. Here, in Ghana, if I don’t come home covered in a layer of dirt, sweat, andother sorts of grime (our building site is an old refuse area), I don’t feel like I have done enough work.For the past two days, Jennifer and I have been on the site with the workers, hauling buckets of sand over to fill the excavated area. (Kwesi, Mohit, and Nizette were teaching the kids how to throw a frisbee and sort books in alphabetical order.) The hard manual labor was the least of the difficulties we have encountered over the past week, however.

School’s out; notice the lack of uniforms?

Previously I had mentioned that Ghanaians are incredibly polite, and I stand by that conviction. However, over the past four weeks, it has become apparent that beginning at a young age, Ghanaians are taught to answer, “Yes” to any English question they do not understand. This habit remains ingrained in their souls even through adulthood. Thus, often at the work site, when we are asking about what is going on, why extra water was added to the cement, why the rebar wasn’t bent correctly according to the schedule, or why the foreman showed up at 1:30pm instead of 7:30am, we get the answer, “Yes.”

To say the least, it is quite frustrating sometimes. I have lost all faith in my ability to hold my temper and even sweet-tempered Jennifer found herself dancing off in the middle of a sentence to cool down as she tried to ask the assistant foreman (well, that’s what we think he is — he said, “Yes,” when we asked him if he was an assistant and then, “Yes” again when we asked if he was a foreman) why he dumped the wasted concrete onto a pile of sand for someone else to clean up.

Friday was a particularly challenging day. We are several days behind schedule due to the poor decision of the foreman to not have the formwork completed the day before and a slew of other delays and hold-ups with machinery and men. The foreman also went MIA and sent in his place mystery-title man, who speaks very little English but still took it upon himself to redraw the profile of our building and then have the workers position the rebar (called “iron rods” here) incorrectly such that we had to work until after sunset to reposition the bars before the concrete set. Of course, since there is little outdoor lighting, this meant we needed to pull up cars next to the work site so that the headlights could illuminate the level. At the end of the day, the amount of work finally caught up with me. Combined with dehydration (I’m not a big water drinker), I nearly collapsed onto my bed after dragging myself through dinner. Because we have run out of water (it is delivered to the Atsu-Agbomani residence every Wednesday and Saturday, but the municipal failed to deliver either of those days this week), I was covered in dirt and grime. Thankfully, Nizette has baby wipes and so I was able to wipe away most of the filth. I literally became a shade lighter.

In truth, so much has happened in the last few days, that it is hard to keep things straight. As I continue to interview individuals, I learn more about the church, the school, and the way that education is run in Ghana. There are contradicting stories, numbers that are definitely wayyy off base, and somewhere underneath it all is the true story. Whether it is crawling with corruption as one interviewee whispered or full of happy stories as another cheerfully insisted, somewhere on tape is the answer. Until I uncover the full story, we are all continuing to work on the EWB project. Two days ago, Jennifer and I walked over a rickety wooden bridge across a river of what can be politely put as organic waste to dig through a pile of trash plastics so that we could make cylinder concrete samples. It was quite odorous. On the way, we were also “welcomed” by a somewhat drunk worker who slapped Jennifer on the ass and me on the back. On Saturday, as Sefa’s sister said her wedding vows in the chapel, we held a PTA meeting in the JHS classrooms. It was supposed to start at 8am but most parents didn’t show up until 10am. Mr. Ankugah said that because it was cloudy, the parents couldn’t tell time. Mysteriously, all of the parents had cell phone numbers….

On Saturday, things finally calmed down. Though he arrived late, our new foreman (the old one got sacked and then HydraCon admitted that they had given us new, inexperienced foremen who apparently has a habit of sending his friend — mystery man — in his place, even though mystery man is not even a HydraCon employee) knew what he was doing and spoke English on site, which is helpful. Jennifer spent the day at the site while the rest of us ran the PTA meeting, took parent surveys, and then went to Sefa’s sister’s wedding reception. I got some lovely pictures of us riding in the back of the pastor’s truck to Sefa’s house and then some footage of Kwesi, Nizette, and Mohit dancing.

As a final note, I still have tons of pictures to upload. I think what might happen is that I will put them on the Flickr account sometime in the (hopefully) near future for your viewing pleasure.

Football

A typical day now starts at 5:30 or 6am. The crew gets up with just enough time to stumble into clothing and quickly wash our faces Then, it’s into the car and to EP Basic. The construction site has become far more impressive in the past two days. With the rebar (“iron rod”) bending underway and sand, aggregate, and cement piles surrounding the area, the little plot looks like a real construction site.

Most days, Veronica packs us a breakfast of bread. Those of us who get up early enough sneak a cup of tea or coffee before jumping into the car. We don’t usually eat a proper lunch. There is a provisions store right across from EP and it gets a lot of business from us, as we go in to buy packages of cookies and crackers (all of which are called “biscuits” here).

Yesterday, I spent most of the day sitting off the side of the primary school building, watching the kids play. There was a hiatus on the construction until the next day since our foreman went MIA and there was a hold-up with materials. Kwesi and Jennifer went with Michel to an Internet cafe and then Accra, to meet Ing. Kofi and Ebenezer. I stayed behind at EP. My little perch put me in the perfect position to watch the children, both older and younger, re-read the presentation Mr. Mohit and Ms. Jane had given a few weeks back. All of the pictures had been posted on the bulletin board outside the church and now that five obruni are on the ground, our pictures are scrutinized each day for likeness. Meanwhile, other groups of children find ways to entertain themselves during their thirty minute breaks. Some play with jumpropes, making shapes with the twisting cords or jumping themselves. Other children play the game ampe jumping and clapping duel between two children. “I attack you with this foot,” cries one, jumping and clapping. The opposing party retaliates with the other foot and they clap and jump at each other wildly.

Without fail there are the few groups of students who sidle up to me, sitting and staring for a few minutes. Some of them ask questions. What is the name of my friends? Jennifer and Kwesi. When will you go to university? In September. They all ask very politely, beginning questions with the word, “Please.” After my reply, most of them giggle along with their friends and then run off with the new distinction of having had a private conversation with Miss Jane. One child, I noticed, was taping a wad of paper together as he asked his question. After running off, he threw the paper wad to the ground and a crowd of boys followed him. A miniature football (soccer) game commenced.

During recess, classes of kids alternate coming over to the construction site to help move the pile of dirt removed from the earth to the street, filling up the potholes. The boys and girls alike shovel, but it is the girls who walk the dirt over to the street. They balance the buckets of soil on their heads. The more fastidious put a plastic bag over their heads to protect their hair from becoming dirty. In the afternoon, the kids pulled out one of the pick axes the excavators were done using. I watched for a moment as one small boy in class six wielded the tool, arcing it over his back and throwing it into the ground. About thirty seconds later, with pained visions of blood and dismembered student bodies flashing through my mind, I confiscated the pick axe and told the kids to keep a two foot perimeter around whoever was using it — me. For the next hour, I pick axed through the mound of dirt, loosening the compact soil for the kids to shovel up and move away.

My money retrieving duties have been passed onto Kwesi, as my B of A account is now empty. I spend the extra hour and a half each day planning out the daily class that we hold with fifteen students, selected to help us pilot the educational resources we plan to put in the library. School officially is over on Thursday but the kids want to continue class. We have been meeting for two hours during term and they requested three hours during summer recess. Once the books come in from the port (we finally got the teller’s release!) we will be hauling 20 boxes of books to the school.

Internet access, as has become apparent by the infrequency of blog posts recently is becoming quite precious. Hopefully this weekend there will be more time to update people properly.