Thursday, August 27, 2009

Secret Garden

A few weeks ago one of our agents introduced us to another young man who wanted to be an agent. He seemed very industrious and said he went from village to village selling medicines, both over the counter and herbal. We made an appointment with him to “go ‘round”, as they say here. He took us to several villages, but the largest one was where people really grabbed onto the concept and began to whip out their money. In fact, they were all offering 5 and 10 cedi notes and we soon ran out of change. One man even gave us a 20. It was the first time I’d ever seen a 20 cedi note in a village.

We also met the chief and, trying to make chit-chat, I asked if they were farmers (the answer is always yes), and what they farmed. He said “many things”. I said, “Oh, maize and cassava.” He said “Yes, many things.” It was a scintillating conversation.

On the way back, we were talking about how they had so much money, and someone said it must be because this is harvest season. The new agent (he was a great salesman and we decided to make him an agent right away) said, “Well, they have secret farms.” We all had the deer in the headlights look of non-understanding, and he said, “They grow marijuana.” I asked if they put it in with other crops to hide it (not that there is any aerial surveillance here) and he said, “No, they just plant the whole field with it. When the police come, they just pay them.”

Oddly, the very next day, Whit saw a news article about secret farms in this particular region and about police corruption. I hope they don’t all get arrested. It was a very promising village from our standpoint. Everyone wanted and could afford our batteries. It’s no wonder it is an appealing alternative to abject poverty – although that village still doesn’t have electricity and day to day life doesn’t seem much different than other villages. However, the young people’s English was pretty good and the adults were encouraging them to interact with us, so I suspect they are investing their profits in educating the next generation.

In case you were wondering, one gunny sack goes for GHC 150 ($100).
XO

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Sit-In

For several months our second-hand furniture has been looking pretty sad. The cushions on our wicker sofa and chairs (2) were covered with thin cotton fabric (like a cheap summer dress) which was faded all over and split in several places on almost every cushion, making it look like the knees or rear end of a really "fashionable" pair of blue jeans. This is the only "before" photo I have. You can only see one small tear, but can at least see the pattern and the fading. Imagine several full length tears on each cushion.

This week Max had the cushions recovered and here is the result. African without being too loud for snoozing; true upholstery fabric; and nice workmanship. We keep the sofa on the veranda, where Whit or Max can often be found with a good book.

"Good book" may or may not include this one, Batteries in a Portable World, a treatise on re-chargeable batteries (how many copies can it have sold?). It is interesting when you have something specific to learn - and is otherwise excellent for napping.
XO

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Max-imum Tropical Delight

I think I've mentioned that Whit's brother, Max, is here (photo from his website, and more recently from here in Ghana). He was here with his son, Harper, in January, returned for a month in June, and is now here for two more months of sibling banter.

This stay is extra long because Max is writing another book (see below for his impressive credentials). This one will be about our crazy battery business and how it works within the Ghanaian culture. I can't wait to read it.

Anyway, Max lives in Maine now, but was a senior editor at People magazine in New York and, before that, the executive editor of Variety and Daily Variety, the showbiz trade publications, in Los Angeles. He has written many magazine articles (for Readers Digest, This Old House, Martha Stewart Living, Bon Appetit, Country Home, Smithsonian and many others), written for the New York Times Book Review, co-written a cookbook with a well-known chef, and published his first memoir, Man Bites Log: The Unlikely Adventures of a City Guy in the Woods, in 2004.

Then there's the sibling exploitation. Max also wrote a lot of the cultural questions for the original Cranium, although I wonder how much credit his brother gives him for its smashing success and awards... hmmm?

AND, Max L-O-V-E loves to cook - and we are the beneficiaries of this passion.

In January, Max decided our cheap imported Chinese cookware was insufficient to his needs, so in June he carried two huge cast-iron pots and a cast-iron skillet, maybe 15" in diameter - in his luggage. He immediately began using it to great effect. He used the skillet for a number of things, but Pineapple Upside-Down Cake took the cake. He made it about three times when he was here in June and has made it twice so far on this trip. It keeps getting better. I think this one should win a prize - especially since our gas oven only allows the use of the top or bottom burner, but not both at the same time, and has no thermostat!

If only there were a county fair in Ghana.
XO

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Best Dressed on a Budget

It's always interesting to see what people are wearing, particularly in the villages. Locally produced apparel is of two types: specific lengths of fabric wrapped and draped for ceremonial occasions; and skirts, drawstring trousers, and tunics in local patterns, most of which have been "stolen" by Chinese textile manufacturers who print and import the fabrics, undercutting local textile makers.

Nearly all non-Ghanaian apparel outside the cities comes from bulk wholesale purchases from charities in North America and Europe. That means people have to sort through whatever is left after the charity selects the best stuff for their own thrift shops. And the people in villages have even slimmer choices because the people closest to the markets (in cities and larger towns) get there first when huge bales of clothes arrive on market day. These clothes often have broken zippers, missing buttons, or other imperfections, stains, or holes, and are often several sizes too big (consider beefy American sizes vs. living-off-the-land Africans) but they are cheap and readily available.

There are loads of polo shirts and t-shirts as well as skirts, pants, shorts, sweats, and jeans. You do see more men and children wearing this clothing than women. Particularly in the villages, women tend to wear locally made clothes and wrap-around fabrics with perhaps a t-shirt from the used bin. These are some shots of people in our neighborhood and in some of the villages we visit. They are a combination of local and bulk-used everyday apparel. I'll work on getting some shots of people in their Sunday best so you can see the difference. For now, enjoy these...

Especially, this one (below) - to which I give the "Very Best Dressed on a Budget" award:
  • Worn-out dress shoes, now worn as casual shoes with the heels crushed down so they slide on like slippers

  • Brown polyester slacks

  • Very large tourquoise boxers over the brown slacks

  • And last, but not least, the Saddam Hussein print polyester shirt. I can't imagine which country's charity this one came from!

XO

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Gotcha!

Many of you may remember my post about the spider in the drawer of my bedside table (
http://skitocoast.blogspot.com/2008/12/reading-is-good-for-you.html). Here is a photo in case you don't want to look back.


Since then, I have been understandably cautious when reaching into the drawer, particularly in the dark. I did just that the other night, to get my over-the-head type headphones. It was dark, but I reached in anyway and felt around for the headphones which had the cord wrapped tidily around them. When I pulled them out, I felt something small and soft against my hand, which fell to the bed as I retrieved the headset. I immediately looked down and my eyes were adjusted, but without my glasses I could only make out a small dark shape against the sheet.


In a panic, I quickly grabbed the top sheet and covered it, then proceded to beat the daylights out my unwelcome visitor. Once I mustered the courage to look and see what terrifying creature had invaded my space, I turned on the light and lifted the sheet to discover I had done no damage at all to a foam earplug.
XO

Friday, August 14, 2009

15 Minutes of Fame - Village Style

We went to a new village the other day and found the chief, a very gregarious man who invited us to come today because several villages would be there for a “communal labor” activity, building a temporary facility for a Junior Secondary School. He said it would start at 8:00AM and there would be chiefs from six villages there. That sounded great to us because making contact village by village is very time consuming and it usually requires two trips – one to meet and greet and set up a time for a “gong gong” meeting, and then a return visit for the actual gathering of the village. If I haven’t mentioned gong-gong meetings before, it is when the village gong-gong beater (an official position) goes around the village the night before and beats the gong-gong and tells everyone there will be a meeting the following day at a certain time. The gong-gong is a hammered metal bell type instrument, only squished a bit flat – about as long as my forearm. It is held in the left hand by, the ring at the top of the bell-ish shape and resting in the crook of the elbow and beaten with a mallet in the right hand. Anyway, as a result of the communal labor, we were able to meet six chiefs at once and make appointments to come to their respective villages to introduce our batteries.

HOWEVER, we were a little late, arriving around 8:20AM and it was overcast. We went to the chief’s house whom we had met and chairs and benches were brought out to welcome us. After 10 minutes of organizing and greeting and so forth, we were told that the people had not arrived yet from the other villages, “But you wait small, they will not come until 8:00.” As he was saying this, the speaker (one of the chief’s elders) looked at his watch and saw that it was 8:30. “Oh,” he says, “the weather has made them think it is not time yet.” I thought that was funny, but it was, in fact, the best excuse for Ghana Maybe Time I've heard so far.

So, we waited small. The chief offered us a beverage – and he wanted to give us a real beverage, not just water. So, I had a Fanta (yep, orange soda) and Rose had a Coke. Then he had one of his kids bring out another bottle – a Coke bottle, but not containing Coke. He pointed to it and explained that it was Ghanaian gin. I’ve written about this before (http://skitocoast.blogspot.com/2008/12/village-people.html) – it is distilled Palm wine and very strong. I know it as Akpeshie, it’s Twi name, but this is a Krobo chief, so he gave me the name in Krobo, which I have forgotton, but it started with an “o”, if that helps.




Anyway, the kid who brought out the Akpeshie disappears for a second and returns shaking water out of a glass (just washed? or rinsed?) - something between a shot glass and a juice glass. He pours some liquor in the glass (it’s still 8-something AM) and hands it to the chief. He holds the glass up ceremonially and begins chanting what I think is some sort of blessing or prayer – in one of the many ways old traditions have melded with new religions - with his advisor beside him seconding everything he says in the way you might imagine a gung-ho deacon amen-ing the preacher. Every few phrases, the chief dribbles a bit of liquor on the ground at his feet as an offering to God. Finally he finishes and pours the rest on the ground in a flourish and he and his advisor throw their hands up in the air in a final sort of hurrah. Then the young man, who has approached as the blessing was coming to a close, pours him a real glass, full, and he downs it in one go.


The youth fills the glass again and hands it to the person on the chief’s right. I was about the fifth person to get the glass and I had watched carefully, so thanked them for their hospitality, poured about half on the ground and to their great surprise, drank the rest. It was remarkably good for such a strong drink. Palm wine is very sweet to begin with, so is a good candidate for distilling I guess, and the result was far smoother than I would have expected for the product of a hole in the ground (palm wine) and a couple metal barrels (distillation).

Then, the chief, having finished the circle by drinking a second glass and feeling his morning libations, told a young girl something I didn’t understand. She went away and came back with a shell – like a medium sized seashell – which she dipped in a bucket of water and began shaking, just like the other guy had shaken the glass (so I’m thinking the glass was “washed” in a similar way). She handed it to the chief, who put the big end with the hole to his lips, puffed out his cheeks, and blew. Or should I say sputtered. He kept trying and just about the time I got the camera rolling, finally got one long blast and some nice short toots, then more sputtering. Satisfied, he said that would call people in. It didn’t.




The shell then became a source of entertainment as one man after another tried to blow it to little effect. One guy would puff up and blow, get no result, then turn the shell around and look at the other end as if to see what was wrong with the shell. Finally, they had all given it a try and everyone was laughing (150 proof at 8:30AM will do that), so I looked at the chief and looked at the shell and back at the chief and sort of shrugged and smirked playfully. He was a very animated guy anyway, but he immediately starting talking fast and pointing and suddenly the shell was in my hand.

Although I played the saxophone in school, which requires a different embouchure (use of the mouth muscles) I did manage to scratch out reveille, come ’n’ get it, and taps on the bugle every day for one summer at camp, so I looked at the shell and looked at the chief a couple of times. He egged me on like I knew he would, so I put it to my lips (still unsure what exactly would come out), tightened my diaphragm and my cheeks and blew. I got a nice long deep sound and then did a few single accented toots for good measure. The cheering and laughing and pointing was a lot of fun – made even more entertaining for them since it was coming from a woman. I had to repeat my performance every time someone new came along.

Before I get too big headed, however, my shell blowing didn’t bring the people to the meeting any faster than the chief’s so we didn’t get started until after 9:00 and even then only two of the chiefs had arrived. They did finally all arrive and we made our sales pitch to the workers who had come to help with the school, asked the chiefs for help in selecting agents in each of their villages, set appointments for gong-gong meetings in each village, and presented the traditional bottle of Schnapps (no flavor, just plain Schnapps "imported from Holland") to each chief. Then we asked permission to leave since we were late for our route visits to our existing agents.

However, leaving a chief who enjoys his liquor as well as being the center of attention is not that easy. The chief had sent a “small boy” back to his house to get a glass (likely the same one) and before we left, he wanted his elder/advisor (the one from the beginning) to break open the Schnapps and perform another traditional blessing ritual. So he did, after first ceremoniously stepping out of his "slippers" and standing foot to earth. And in a friendly symetry, the chief, to my left, backed him up the whole way, taking on the energetic deacon role.





When the ritual finished, they poured Schnapps for each of the chiefs, who either emptied most of it on the ground (the polite way of not drinking but also not offending) or dashed it back. And finally, I was offered a glass, of which I poured 90% and drank a sip just to see what it tasted like. I bought the good stuff, not knowing it came in five different grades ranging from about $2.50 to the top $7.00 a bottle, so it was actually pretty smooth. Then, somehow the shell appeared and I was an organ grinder’s monkey for a few minutes, again to hoots, hollers, and amazement. All in all, a great introduction to six new villages.
XO

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

A-weigh We Go

Our agents tend to be very busy people – as the most ambitious and hard working tend to be the ones who gravitate to a new business opportunity and have the organizational skills and attention to detail that we require. Therefore, we were not surprised to learn that another of our agents is a volunteer with the polio eradication effort. On this day, she was helping to weigh babies and counsel mothers on breast-feeding and child-nutrition.

Here is a baby being weighed in what reminds me of a Johnny-Jumper, except that the baby just bounces until she stops and then the ride is over.
XO

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Bikes not Bombs

Early on we recognized that bicycles could be a significant boon to our business, but that most of our agents did not have one and could not afford to buy one. So, we started offering agents loans to buy bicycles once they had 100 batteries on the Burro program. This number was selected because it indicated a commitment to the business and could reasonably be achieved on foot.

Serendipitously, we also met a young American in the early days who was starting a bike shop almost across the street. In a venture with a Ghanaian-American, Emmanuel Ofosu (you may have seen him on Oprah), of the Emmanuel Education Foundation and Sports Academy for the Physically Challenged, the bike shop is called Ability Bikes and all the employees are physically handicapped in some way.

In a country where one's living is largely dependent on physical labor, those with physical challenges can be particularly hard-pressed to find work and contribute to their families - or feel confident even having families of their own.

Dave Branigan, the guy we met on the street one day, is an avid cyclist and bike mechanic as well as a returned Peace Corps volunteer who spent his tour in Ghana. He has started Ability Bikes from scratch and trained all the mechanics as well as administrative staff and got the business off the ground in about the same time we have been here in Koforidua. (http://bikesnotbombs-eefsa.blogspot.com/)

However, unlike Burro, Ability Bikes receives its "inventory" of used bikes from a number of organizations in the U.S., including Working Bikes Cooperative, Bikes Not Bombs, and Re-Cycle. The bikes come in a variety of conditions but are almost all high-end bikes even by U.S. standards. The mechanics here strip them down and completely overhaul them, cleaning everything, replacing parts that are worn or broken and basically making them like-new.

All our our agents' bikes have come from Ability Bikes and they pay anywhere from 45 to 75 cedis (thats $30 to $50, for reference) per bike depending on their taste for flash. They pay off their interest-free loans to Burro over four months. It's a great deal and we're thrilled to have met Dave early on. It gives us tremendous confidence in the bikes our agents buy. Dave is moving on to a head-office position, with Bikes Not Bombs, I think, but Ability Bikes seems well on it's way to being a huge success story - run completely by Ghanaians with physical disabilities. And, they have really gelled into a fun and amazing team as you can see by the photos, taken on the day they unloaded their latest container of bikes.
XO

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Pomp and Circumstance

Several weeks ago, Savanna asked if I would attend her Graduation on August 1st. I asked what sort of graduation it was and she said Christ Complex Junior High School. Since she is only in (our equivalent) seventh grade, I was a little confused but nevertheless agreed to attend. I was looking for a cultural adventure and I was not disappointed!

Last night Savanna came to say that she had to go at 7:00AM, but that it started at 10:00AM, so I should come with her father (actually her uncle – but I think we’ve been down this cultural road before, so I won’t explain). So, this morning I was ready by 9:45 and went outside. Maxwell (yes the same one from the gutter covering project) said he needed to do "one or two things" before we would go. He said it started at 10:00AM so we would leave the house at about 11:00. I just love GMT (Ghana Maybe Time).

Once I saw the programme – I knew how they got around the whole time thing. It says "Arrival of invited guests and parents - 10:00AM". It doesn’t actually say how long they would give everyone to actually “arrive”. We arrived at about 11:00 and the program finally began at 11:45.

As you may also notice on the program – the event is scheduled for two days! This worried me initially, but then I saw that they are having a thanksgiving service at church tomorrow – so that is Day 2. Day 1, however, was sufficient for me. The official title – highly utilitarian and descriptive - is “12th Graduation, Speech and Prize Giving Day”.

The programme contained 26 items. It started with a prayer, many introductions, a small school choir singing the school anthem, and a wooden-rifle drill team. In all, mostly before the diplomas were even distributed, the programme included 2 prayers, 10 speeches, remarks or addresses, 3 sets of introductions, and a history of the school (Christ Complex is one of the best primary and junior secondary schools in the Eastern Region). In addition, although it was only one agenda item, there were over 80 poetry recitals by the primary class children, along with the other entertainment items, which included two dance groups and two short skit/plays.

[Spike: It reminded me of an FKU karate open house :)]

Some highlights included:

  • The speech by the PTA Chairman was entitled “Good God! Bad World” and in it he claimed that an “enemy” is responsible for all evil, sickness, and suffering in the world. Although god is all powerful, he chooses to let these things play out.
  • The youngest students at Christ Complex Early Childhood Development Center (primary school) recited bible verses in the “Poetry Recitals” agenda item. The youngest was 3 years old. Each recitation (regardless of language) went as follows: “My name is ______ and I am __ years old. I am a student at Christ Complex Early Childhood Development Center (a mouthful at any age!). I am in class ___. My recitation is from _____ chapter ____ verse___: ‘yada yada yada, depending on the verse”. Amen. (Amen from the crowd). As the children aged, there were some actual poems, but the basic format of the recitation was the same.

    -- One poem was called “My name is Electricity”, with words like: “My favorite food is water” (all the power in Ghana is hydro) and “My parents are the Water Conservation Board and the Electricity Company of Ghana”. It was cute.

    -- Another was called “My name is Mr. Trouble”: “…Mr. Trouble won’t trouble you if you don’t trouble Mr. Trouble…”

    -- Two 7 year olds recited a poem together, entitled: “I am Proud to be born a Boy or a Man” – I totally had the giggles.

    -- The youngest children recited their poems in English, but it was clear they were just making memorized sounds and didn't really know the meaning of what they were saying.

    -- One group of older students recited all their poems in French.

    -- When each group entered, they were led by a teacher who was singing – generally a Jesus song. She had a very nice voice and led each group in succession.

    -- Then she (same teacher/singer) led a group of 6 Muslim girls with heads covered (attending "Christ" Complex school?!) and she sang a song about Allah as they entered! The girls then knelt and recited verses or poems about Allah in another language, but not Twi as far as I could tell. I was incredibly impressed by this one. The children attend the school because it provides a very good education - and the school respects their beliefs, despite what must be a tremendous drive to proselytize. I have no idea how these children are incorporated into the "Religious and Moral Education" curriculum.

    -- Finally a group of children of varying ages in traditional tribal dress recited poems in Twi.
  • The two skits had strong messages - one was about different people living in harmony and the other was about how to improve sanitation.

  • Some of the parents of the children would go up to their child during their recitation and put money in their shirt collar, which was then collected and placed one of the strategically placed collection bowls. They finally asked them not to tuck it in the children’s clothes because they got so distracted from their recitations. After that, most parents just made a big show of waving the money in the air (in pride over their child) and put it in the bowl. Some parents did make such a to do out of prancing up to the bowl, though, that they totally stole the spotlight from their children.
  • After each group of children finished their performance – poetry, dance, dramatic skit/play, etc. – they could not return to their seats until their parents “ransomed” them for GHC 2.00 each! The longer it took the higher the price went, so a couple parents - who must have been in the bathroom at the time – paid up to GHC 5.00.
  • Savanna was in one of the dance numbers and was very cute. Maxwell ransomed her for GHC 2.00 – and I think he was thankful his two younger children hadn’t participated in the poetry recitals!
  • Another dance routine (a group of 14 year old girls in pink) was to a number called “You do me, I’ll do you”, which seemed a bit out of place at a religious Junior High School. Like a lot of dance music though, it was mostly music and the words were just an afterthought. Nevertheless, the group got lots of applause, stomping, shouting, and cheering – mostly from the school boys.
  • There was an appeal for funds (private school) that went on for at least 45 minutes. One person gave GHC 10.00 (about US$ 7.00) and it went down from there to GHC 2.00. Then, just when I thought it must finish soon, they started working on the dignitaries on the podium – starting back up at GHC 50.00 and working down to GHC 5.00.
All this was finally followed by the presentation of awards – including diplomas for the 36 graduates (19 girls, 17 boys), a “top student” award for each class beginning with Primary 1, the “top student” in each subject among the graduates, the best overall student (academic) among the graduates, as well as sportswoman and sportsman of the year, prefect awards, and best all around student (all activities and classes).

We left after the awards. There were still four programme items left and it was 4:00PM. We had been alternately rained on and baked in the sun (we were in the front row). I'd had one very chemical tasting sachet of water since my arrival, I had to pee like crazy, and both our bums had had enough. Still, it was a very interesting look at a celebrated rite of passage and the pride of parents (and uncles) everywhere in the accomplishments of their children (and nieces!).
XO