Sunday, June 28, 2009

Yes, I Can!

Sunday morning, while the shade was still on the back side of the building, I decided to build the cover over the gutter. This is when I discovered the boards were all different lengths. Thankfully, the 95cm pieces that fit in the groove underneath were all the same. Only the top boards had to be fit together like a jigsaw puzzle - not only because they were different lengths, but because none of the ends were cut straight.

The children showed up about 2 seconds into the project to “help”. I layed out all the support boards across the gutter and then began laying the top planks. That’s when the big kids showed up - nearly all the adults showed up at one time or other throughout the project to see what that crazy oburoni woman was up to.

The man downstairs, Maxwell (not to be confused with our Max), came right over and started re-arranging the boards. I had determined I needed to put the four boards closest to the same length in the center (of 3) section so the two end sections would be the ones with the oddball lengths sticking out – and they could be sawed off later. It took some time to get Maxwell to understand this, but once he did, he decided it was a good idea. So, I layed out those four boards and Maxwell held out his hand for the hammer.

I told him I could do it – and he said no he would do it for me. So, I told him I wanted to do it. Then he shrugged, very confused by that, and said OK and that after I finished he would take me to church. I’m not sure of the connection unless a woman who wants to swing a hammer needs salvation or to better understand her place or something. I politely said, “another time”.

All the kids took a turn with the hammer, although as you can see, they barely let each other have one swing before someone else was reaching for the hammer to have a turn.

We finished up in no time and a good time was had by all. I still have to trim the edges, but that requires an investment in a handsaw, and what will Maxwell think of that?
XO

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Timberrrrrr!

I’ve wanted to play with the kids more in the courtyard, but the gutter just puts me off. I’m always afraid something will roll in there and it’s just too disgusting for me. Also, when it’s hot it really starts to reek. So, I decided I should cover it. I’ve seen it done in many places and, although I’m no carpenter, I sketched myself a design and made a bill of materials (hey, I may not be a carpenter, but I AM an operations geek). Since Max is writing a book, I was pretty sure he’d want to see the timber market, so I asked him along. It’s pretty cool.

We drove through rows and rows of timber “vendors” – just like the produce market, really – everybody brings their stuff and sets up shop, each with a different merchant and “cashier” shed. We finally decided they were all about the same, so we stopped and got out. We were immediately surrounded by men asking what we were looking for. As a true introvert, I just hate that. I tried my approach from home, “I just want to look around,” but it was no use. They called out “2x6”, “2x4”, “what do you want” as I walked around measuring pieces of wood (no two the same and all rough milled), until I found a stack I thought would work for the frame. They were willing to cut it as well, but the power happened to be out so one of the guys standing around agreed to cut it by hand. I measured out the length I needed and told him I needed 12 the same length and he got to work, using one to measure the next.

Meanwhile, I continued walking to find the top boards. I found some 1x12 boards (approximate) that would do and began discussions on how to cut them. I measured and the top one in the stack was 400cm exactly. So, I asked him for 6 of them, all cut in half. I later discovered I should have specified an exact length, because they were not all the same. I got home with 12 boards ranging from 195cm to 212cm.

Once we agreed on the cutting, the guys sat around looking at me. I was wondering when they were going to start cutting them. Then I realized, there was only one saw. They had to wait until my frame pieces were cut. So, we sat in the sun for about half an hour waiting for my 12 boards. I did finally suggest that I pay for them while we were waiting, to save time. They didn’t seem concerned one way or the other, but were willing to take my money. But, I had to go to the cashier shed – not because there was a cashier there. The guy who took my money was the same one who sold me the wood and he walked over there the same time I did, but I guess that’s just how it’s done.

On the way back to the office, Max said that of course, he’d be happy to help unload the truck. Never looking a gift horse in the mouth, I was grateful for the help – but it was not needed. The moment we pulled up in front of the building, a swarm of children descended on the truck like locusts. If it had been a crop it would have been picked clean in a matter of moments. The smaller ones carried a board between them (or I should say above them, since they all carried them on their heads) and the older ones each took one. The next thing we knew the truck was empty. Max had taken a couple boards on his first trip, but I never made it with a load at all. I was too busy trying to ensure the kids didn’t bean each other with these two meter boards on their heads. I had visions of Stan and Ollie – one turning around with a ladder under his arm and whacking the other one into next week.

That was enough for one day.
XO

Friday, June 26, 2009

Motherly Love

It rained and rained today. As a result, it didn’t get as hot as usual. Nevertheless, I was still in shorts and a sleeveless top. In the evening I went to sit on the steps as I do many evenings once the sun goes down – and in this case, once the steps have dried.

Whenever the children discover I am sitting out, they come running from every direction. I don’t know how they communicate but it must be something I can’t hear (along the lines of the way a dog whistle works) because they all show up at about the same time.
Anyway, I digress. Several kids were playing on the landing halfway up the steps, when the mother of one of the younger boys (maybe 3 years old) came out – as you can picture any mother anywhere in the world doing – with a jacket. She called him down, put him in the jacket, zipped it to the top, and put the hood up. I think the temperature was maybe 70, at the least.

XO

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

In Search of the Tooth Fairy

I had just finished brushing my teeth and I dropped my toothbrush on the floor. This sort of freaked me out, since, as I’ve written before, people pee right into the gutter, gutters overflow when it rains, I saw a cat pooping at the bottom of our stairs the other day – you get the idea. So, I figured the bottoms of our shoes are not very sanitary – even less so than at home (in America), or so my imagination says. The 5-second rule didn't sound very appealing.

Therefore, I decided that, since dentists recommend you should get a new toothbrush every 3 months and this one has been here since I first arrived in October, I should get a new one. But, it’s a nice one and I wasn’t sure I could find one like it here, plus, in a culture where everything is used until it wears out completely, I felt guilty about the idea of discarding the thing just because some dentist said so.

So,I decided that if I boiled it for 20 minutes or so, it would be good as new, fully disinfected and so on. I would be happy not to be brushing my teeth with cat poop and dentists should also be content with this solution. However, since the toothbrush is long, it wouldn’t fit in the standard sauce pans we have here, so I filled a frying pan with water and set it on the stove.

Then, I went into the office, intending to set an alarm, using Outlook, to remind myself when my toothbrush was “done”. Between the kitchen and the office (20 seconds at most), I forgot about setting the alarm and got busy working. Going into the kitchen later (how long?) to replenish my glass of water, I smelled my toothbrush before I was even halfway down the hall. The water had boiled away and there was nothing left but ash. Honestly.

So, dentists everywhere will be happy I did get a truly new toothbrush. But I only found Hard and Extra Hard and since I’m used to using the, dentist recommended, soft variety, it feels like a steel barbeque brush. But hey, arsonists can’t be choosy.
XO

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Celebrity Iron Chef!

Groundnut soup is one of the staples here. It is absolutely delicious, served over rice. More traditionally, however, it is served with fufu, a combination of cassava (a really big potato–like root) and green plantain (big banana-family fruit, not as sweet or soft), pounded into a glutinous bread-dough-like substance. Fufu is pounded in a large mortar with a long tree trunk that has been flattened on one end and has been stripped and smoothed at the place where your hands will be.

As Whit’s brother, Max, is here – writing a book about life and culture and our business experiences within that culture – and he loves to cook, I thought it was time we learned how it’s done. Our neighbors in the courtyard below pound fufu a couple times a week, so when I heard the rhythmic thumping one day I went down to check it out. They were amused that I was interested, but I made an appointment with the 13-year old girl, Savannah – one of my regular visitors, to teach us how to make fufu and groundnut soup last Sunday after church. She was very excited and enlisted Precious’ sister, Pamela, also 13, to help.

When the day finally came, we made a shopping list and went to the market with Savannah. We bought, 2 kilos of chicken (frozen thighs and legs, chopped into 2” chunks) at the “cold store”, tomato paste, groundnut paste (peanut butter), flavor cubes (like bouillon), cassava, and plantain. We already had red pepper (think cayenne), salt, and onions. All together, we spent about 18 cedis (about $12) for enough food to feed Max and me, Savannah’s family (two adults and 5 children), and Pamela’s family (two adults and 2 children), plus a couple other children who crashed our party when the food was ready.

First, we peeled and cut the cassava and plantain into chunks for boiling. They usually use a machete on the cassava, but I was so clever I pulled out my potato peeler, thinking I’d show them how it’s done when one has the proper utensils. We each grabbed a cassava and commenced peeling. As I finished my first one, with a small pile of thin peelings in front of me, I looked over at Savannah. She had “shelled” three or four cassava with our large kitchen knife. She whacked it lengthwise and then peeled off what is actually more like bark than skin. It also takes off a layer of meat, but is far faster than my "clever" potato peeler. I got another knife and did it the proper way, after that. I did find it interesting, thought that in a culture where every scrap is used, cassava apparently are so plentiful and cheap that losing a layer of meat with the bark was the accepted method (also, probably the best way given the available tools and the difference in speed).

We boiled all that until it was soft (like you would boil potatoes for mashing). Then came the pounding. Savannah’s aunt, Joyce, (although she calls her mother because Savannah lives with her and is raised by her, she is really Savannah’s mother’s sister) helped with this part. She is the one who reaches into the mortar and places or re-arranges the cassava and plantain in between the pounding – and she is very particular about her fufu. In all fairness, Savannah, Pamela, and Pamela’s mother, Mary (who has reappeared from “traveling” to, once again, live with and help raise her children) did most of the pounding, but they did let Max and I give it a try after we had asked enough times. All were much entertained by Max pounding fufu, because it is something rarely, if ever done by men. He was giggled at, pointed at, and cheered, in turn.

When pounding fufu, it is the responsibility of the pounder to keep a steady rhythm and the responsibility of the “placer” to reach in between the beats to place the cassava or plantain or to rearrange the dough for the next pound. Joyce was understandably cautious when Max and I were pounding. Every time she would reach in, Max would stop pounding. Instinct just wouldn’t let him start the down stroke when her hand was there. Nevertheless, he was encouraged and he pounded for some time. I, on the other hand, was much criticized by Joyce (in Twi, so it didn’t bother me) for not doing it properly. I was doing it too soft or too hard. Apparently, my gender should make me a natural at this god-given task. I’m not entirely sure how one would screw up this particular process however – you just keep pounding until it is a big ball of sticky, bread dough-like glue. Not that I’m bitter.

Meanwhile, before the cassava and plantain had finished boiling, the girls started the soup. The chicken pieces, tomato paste (15 oz. can size, if you're trying this at home), onion (one large), red pepper, the bouillon cube, and salt were placed into a large pot with some water and set to boil. They added so much red pepper that even Max blanched. They said it was necessary, however, because if they didn’t use a lot you wouldn’t even taste it after the groundnut paste was added. Once the pot heated enough so the tomato paste and bouillon cube melted and could be stirred in with the water, more water was added and the pot left to boil.

When we finished pounding the fufu, the girls came back upstairs to add the groundnut paste (about 6 cups, I think!) to the soup. As groundnut paste is sold in plastic baggies (like a sandwich baggie filled and tied at the top), they first squeezed the peanut butter out of the bags into a bowl. Then they added water and squished the peanut butter into the water with their hands, squeezing it through their fingers, like mixing hamburger and other ingredients for meatloaf. Once it was thinned out with plenty of water, they poured it into the soup pot through a sieve. The chunks of peanut butter left in the sieve were then further mooshed through the strainer with wet fingers to thin them out. Finally, with all the ingredients in the pot, the soup was set to simmer until it was time to eat.


Fufu and soup are generally eaten family style, although they can also be served individually, at home or in restaurants. When served family style, the fufu is in a big bowl or several smaller bowls and the soup may be split into several bowls so everyone can easily reach one. The process is to dip the fingers (right hand only) into the soup (to oil them up and prevent the fufu from sticking) and then to pull off a small piece of fufu and roll it into a ball, about the size of a large-sized marble. The ball of fufu is then dipped into the soup, placed in the mouth, and swallowed whole. I made the mistake of trying a bit of fufu without the soup and it took 10 minutes to get it off my teeth. It is literally like glue.


The soup is delicious. The fufu, I can really do without, but I think because cassava and plantain are so readily available, it has become a staple since it fills the stomach and must take some time to digest. Neither Max nor I could eat half what they gave us, but the children vacuumed every last scrap of fufu before we were finished. It was a feast.
XO

Monday, June 22, 2009

Give me a P!

Precious is learning English! Isn’t school great? I think everyone should do it!

So now, when she plants herself on the top step outside the door and spies me through the window, instead of saying , “Auntie Jan, bra,” she says, “Auntie Jan, come.” Her word of the week is “sleeping”, making her favorite sentence, “Grandma is sleeping.” Whether grandma is, in fact, sleeping or not seems to be irrelevant. I’ve taken it as an opportunity to teach her how to say “awake”. She has some distance to go on prepositions and verb selection and tense – as in “Me is sleeping,” means, as near as I can tell, “I am tired,” since she was sitting droopily in my lap at the time. But, hey, she’s only been in school 4 months! And, she’s highly motivated since she has these darned oburonis living next door.

She is also learning how to write her letters and to count. Here is a cute shot of her after copying her name on our white board. She can barely reach it - just like me!
XO

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Don't Touch That!

Evenings with Auntie Jan are back in session. I brought lots of goodies back with me, like pencils, crayons, games, books, etc., so we’ve been having a good time writing, coloring, and playing – but only after the homework is finished (theoretically).

The office now has a pencil sharpener mounted on the corner of one of the desks, so I sharpened the new American flag pencils (packages of 10 in the $1.00 section at Target for 4th of July!) and sharpened them to a fine point for each child. They wanted to know how I got the pencils so sharp, so I took them in the office to see the sharpener. Everyone had to try it and they were amazed. When the first pencil came out of the sharpener with a point, they all cheered and jumped up and down clapping their hands.

Pencils here are generally sharpened with a razor blade. This is done by the child and the razor blade is part of her school kit from the time she starts school – at age 5 or so. Fingernails and toenails are also trimmed using a razorblade. Quinn, a local 8-year old, was sitting on the porch just this morning, trimming her nails by running the edge of the blade under the nail at the corner and then just peeling it off. Seeing these things and several others - like small children (4 or 5) walking alone along the side of the road or walking to school and crossing busy streets; small boys (6 or 7) deftly handling machetes, pre-teen girls carrying 10 kg (22 lbs) or more on their heads to sell water sachets on the street – makes me wonder about our perception of children’s capabilities in much of the “developed world”.

My father has told me (many times) that, at home in South Dakota, it was his job to milk the cows morning and night when he was six. I’ve always believed him, but sort of wondered if there wasn’t a bit of the “walking-five-miles-in-the-snow-to-school-uphill-both-ways” in it as well. I’ll admit it was hard for me to imagine a 6-year old with the ability, dexterity, responsibility, or attention span to have such a big job. However, after seeing all these self-sufficient, confident, and capable children just doing what is normal in their culture, I’m pretty sure Dad was doing a great job yanking those udders. It was completely normal in his culture, too. Although, if he had been here, he’d have also carried the bucket of milk to the house on his head! (Hi, Dad! Happy Father's Day!)

So, now I have to ask myself, why, just a generation or two later, do most Americans so underestimate children’s capacity for challenge and responsibility – and then turn around and spend so much time trying to instill in them a sense of self-esteem?

Sure, there is a risk a child might be injured doing challenging jobs, or learning to perform detailed manual tasks, or handling sharp implements. But, I’ve fallen down walking down the street, nearly cut my pinkie finger off while slicing an avocado, and seared my thumb white while making a grilled cheese sandwich – all as an adult of 25, 35, and 45. Some of my friends will tell you I’m not a good example because I’m a card-carrying klutz, but still, it’s about training, attention, and respect for the equipment and dangers.

So, go on, America, let’s teach them to do real, challenging, meaningful chores and activities that make a contribution to the family and their own well-being – as much and as soon as they are able. Being recognized for performance at the limit of one’s potential is the best self-esteem builder there is. Just think of all the energy we’ll save by not having to pat them on the back and applaud every time they manage to find the laundry hamper with their socks or line up four rocks in a row.
XO

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Convenient Banking

I arrived in Ghana safely for my second stay - this time for only three months. We now have three employees, so I’ll be working primarily on marketing and testing new business concepts. The others will keep the current operations running.

Immediately upon my arrival, I was reminded that things aren’t quite as “buttoned down” as I have become used to at home over the last few months - data security, for instance. The good news is that there is now an ATM in the international baggage claim area at the Accra airport. Most international travelers know they generally receive a better exchange rate through their banks and therefore prefer using an ATM to the Foreign Exchange Bureaus. So, ATM in the baggage claim? – definitely a good thing.

The bad news? Well, the PC with the ATM’s brains, as well as the modem, and router (probably?) and all the cabling and power cords are in a jumble on the floor next to the ATM. Now, wouldn’t that PC have all the programmed logic in it to access the network of banks around the world? And several times a day, that ATM is surrounded by the chaotic jumble of hundreds of people, luggage carts, and bags of every sort. Is it just me, or does it seem like it would be easy to pop that PC into a suitcase and carry it out?

XO