Monday 31 October 2011

MEGABLOG (Part II)


Internship

This semester I am interning at an organization called Women Action Group (W.A.G). W.A.G is an NGO founded by Felicia, a Ghanaian woman who at the age of 18 was forced to drop out of school for personal reasons. In an effort to support herself, Felicia learned the skills of hairdressing, seamstressing and catering. Once she became successful, she taught other women in her community these skills as well as a way to help them out of their difficult circumstance. Almost twenty years later, Felicia received a massive donation that allowed her to open a small school where she could continue training young women.

W.A.G is now a vocational school that offers skills training in seamstressing, hair design, and catering. The school also offers classes in English, social studies, and human rights. After graduation, a microfinance organization provides graduates the money and supplies necessary to open their own business and they are given two years to pay back their loans. Initially I was interested in and applied to W.A.G because of their attention to human rights and women’s empowerment. When I was accepted I expected to be working with the human rights teacher and helping wherever necessary. However, due to lack of funding, W.A.G cannot afford to hire a human rights teacher so they asked me to become theirs.

 For the past two months I have been creating lesson plans on various issues ranging from general human rights to human trafficking to child labor/fair trade etc in an effort to help the women at W.A.G understand their rights and more importantly, how to protect them. I have no teaching experience so creating my own lessons has been a tad overwhelming. I was extremely nervous before my first lesson but before I knew it Felicia told me the women were ready for me so I just walked in and began. Halfway through I realized that I’d been teaching for thirty minutes without even really thinking about it and by the end of the lesson I realized how much I loved what I was doing.

When I was in high school my favorite teacher Mrs. Devine introduced me to human rights. She taught me that change doesn’t come from one giant donation or policy reform. It is the small steps towards progress that are most important. This is the same lesson that I’m trying to teach the women at W.A.G. Most of them are victims of the very issues I’m teaching them, and none of them are in the financial situation to support their cause with money. So, I’m trying to teach them what Mrs. Devine taught me, education is power. Everyone is capable of participating in change because everyone has a voice that can bring awareness to the injustice that surrounds them.

While I’ve been trying to familiarize the women with the Ghanaian law and legal system, I realize just as much as they do how corrupt that system is. These women need to look outside their own government and rely on NGOs around them. More importantly, they need to rely on themselves. In my last few lessons I’ve asked the women to teach one other person in their community what they learned in class and then write about it, I’ve asked them to write letters to various organizations, but most importantly I’ve asked them to respect and listen to one another. These women have dealt with more struggles in their lives then I’ll ever be able to understand but they are so smart and so strong and if they all came together for a collective cause, they really could make a difference.

My goal is to expose them to human rights issues around the world. I hope that by making them aware of people who have even less than they do, they will feel empowered to make change instead of feeling like they are the only victims. Hopefully helping others will allow them realize that they can also help themselves.

As much as I love Ghana, I have never thought so much about what it means to be a woman. While there are plenty of educated and progressive men and woman in this country, a huge population of Ghana is severely tethered to a patriarchal and chauvinistic past. Ghanaian women today battle to surmount this past but their struggle is a tiresome one. Most of the women I teach are my age and many of them have children. While being mothers makes it difficult for them to leave their abusive husbands or acquire enough money for a college degree, I am thankful that these women are at least in school and on the road to financial independence. Hopefully they will teach their own children about human rights issues and maybe that generation will be the one that creates real change for Ghana.

I know this entry is mostly big picture things and not very specific about what day-to-day life is like at W.A.G but I will be blogging about my experience there more. For now, my time there has been a mix of frustrating and thrilling. Sometimes the women are super difficult but other times they are engaging and responsive – I am learning so much simply by being around them and if I can have even a little bit of the effect on them that Mrs. Devine had on me, then I’ll be happy. All for now!

MEGABLOG (Part I)


So apparently whenever I’m in the hospital I decide it’s a good time to blog. Sorry for the MAJOR procrastination on this one…but here is is. MEGABLOG (Part I)
Miss Megan's 21st birthday dinner! 

Megan’s birthday weekend

After a night of exploring a sweet neighborhood of Accra called Osu for Megan’s Birthday dinner, myself, Megan, Hannah, and Jen left campus at 4am to begin our adventure to Ghana’s Volta region. 


After about five hours on the Tro-Tro we were dropped off in Fume, a tiny village in the middle of nowhere settled at the bottom of a string of massive mountains. Eventually we made our way up to the top of one of the mountains to where we were camping for the weekend. Our tent was set up on a piece of land completely encircled by the mountains and the only noises we could here were echoes from the villages scattered below us. It was beautiful. Soon after we put our stuff down, we made our way back down and headed for Mt. Gemi, the tallest mountain in Ghana.
Kingsley!!!

At the bottom of Mt. Gemi was a village called Bapikpa. The people there, realizing we didn’t know where we were going, called out to someone named Kingsley and asked him to take us up the mountain. For the next four hours we followed Kingsley (who somehow managed all of this in flipflops…) on a 6-inch wide “path” up Mt. Gemi. After what felt more like rock climbing than hiking, we reached the top and sat for an hour or so in complete silence in a haze of complete exhaustion and awe.



Top of Mt. Gemi with Jen
Standing at the highest point in all of Ghana, we could see everything. Hundreds of rural villages, neighboring mountains, and the Lake Volta that stretched so far back it seemed like it just kept going. I’ve realized that living here has taught me to adapt to things quickly, sometimes without even consciously thinking about it. Because of this, everything that I’ve been thinking about or processing usually hits me all at once – sitting at the top of Mt. Gemi was definitely one of those moments. I thought about everything while I was up there and even though I didn’t have some revolutionizing epiphany, I am so grateful to Ghana for giving me the opportunity to just sit on top of a mountain for a few hours in complete silence and not feel guilty about it, not worry in the least about what comes next. That’s not the way to do things.

Eventually we began our super slippery hike back down Gemi… I may or may not have fallen in some sort of quicksand-like hole filled with fire ants. Both hilarious and terrifying. Once we safely reached the bottom, Kingsley invited us to see his home. We followed him through the village of Bapikpa and met a woman who was preparing dinner with her baby strapped to her back. Kingsley introduced these two as his wife and his first-born child.

I was shocked because Kingsley couldn’t have been older than 23. On the hike Kingsley told me that he hoped to make enough money to go to school and earn a teaching degree someday. Instead, he is already settled into his adult life with a wife, a baby, and a house that he is building himself. I don’t know how someone so young is also responsible enough to give up his dream in order to provide for his family or generous enough to spend an entire day guiding four hopeless oburonis without charge. He was the man.

William + Kulugu Falls 
That night we sat outside and talked with some of the people working at the lodge. One of them, William, is the most liberal Ghanaian I’ve met so far. He grilled me on U.S policy, same-sex marriage, religion etc. It was awesome because usually I have to drag these conversations out of people. I still don’t understand how William, who only had the money for junior school (U.S equivalent to middle school) and who has little to no access to TV or internet was so ridiculously knowledgeable, but he knew everything and it definitely made for one of my favorite nights in Ghana.

The next morning William led us on another hike to Kulugu Falls. While this hike was much shorter than Mt Gemi, it had even less of a cleared path. After an hour of hiking through rocks and pineapple/cocoa farms, we “Tarzan-d” it down a steep rock wall and landed at the bottom of Kulugu Falls. Overheated from our hike, we all jumped into the water and swam around the half cave that guides the direction of the river. Having a waterfall to swim around at the end of an arduous hike makes everything instantly refreshing.


Failing at synchronized swimming
Eventually we left the waterfall, hiked back up the mountain to out tent, packed our things and headed back down the mountain to catch a tro-tro home. Unfortunately we walked about 40 minutes in the wrong direction. Realizing this we asked directions and were told that if we continued straight we’d end up in Vale, a town that would have tro-tros going towards Accra. After another hour of walking and absolutely no sight of Vale, we were confused, hot, and hungry. Convinced we were in the wrong place we decided to ask the next person we saw for directions. Only a few minutes later we heard music and came upon a giant festival taking place.

Festival of Corpus Christie 
Our Don Walsh status tent 
There, in the middle of an otherwise silent mountain rage, was a festival of two or three hundred people adorned in Kente cloth dancing and singing to highlife music. When we asked what the festival was we were told it was an annual catholic festival that took place in honor of Corpus Christie. Around the main tent of the festival were women selling bananas, bread, plantain chips, water. Starving, we hurried over, bought some food and had a makeshift picnic under a tree where we could watch the adults singing and dancing and the children playing all around them. Eventually everyone joined together and paraded up to Vale where we followed them and eventually caught a tro-tro back to Accra. This festival in this very tiny village only happens once a year, and somehow we were lucky enough to get lost just enough to find it. 


Tema Harbor


Tema Harbor 
 In an effort to meet up with Rob Finn who is traveling with Semester at Sea this fall, my roommate Megan and I somehow found our way to Tema Harbor about five hours before his boat was supposed to dock. Not knowing what to do with ourselves until then, Megan and I wandered around the harbor pretty aimlessly until a Ghanaian named “Big Tony” introduced himself to us and insisted that we join him for his sister Irene’s birthday party. Unable to turn down the offer of free cake, Megan and I pulled up another two plastic chairs to the table and spent the afternoon celebrating Irene’s birthday under a big tent with birthday cake and some very entertaining Ghanaians.

 Once it started to get dark we headed for Rob’s boat but because we didn’t have cell phones to get in touch with each other, we had to go old school and just started asking around for him. A few hours passed and with no sign of Rob anywhere, we attempted to make friends with the Semester at Sea security… this ended up with the head of security calling immigration on us because apparently the two police who had let us into the harbor had (unbeknownst to me and Megan) snuck us in illegally. Ghanaian police at their finest.

Eventually immigration showed up, demanded to see the passports that we didn’t have, and told us we had to leave immediately or spend the night in the immigration office.  Not really feeling the idea of being detained in an immigration office, Megan and I regrettably had to leave the harbor empty-handed.

Super nice Semester at Sea boat
 After a miserable fail of meeting up with Rob, Megan and I cabbed back to campus with a driver who felt so bad for us that he lessened our fair and gave each of us a bracelet that he hand-painted himself. Eventually we got in touch with Rob who apparently learned far too quickly of Ghana’s aversion to set plans and instead was sent on a whirlwind adventure. Sorry Rob! While it was a huge bummer not being able to meet up, frolicking around Tema harbor certainly made for an interesting experience.