Being Madame Fiona...

A year after my first post on this blog, I thought I would give a little reflection on the past twelve incredible months.

As I was leaving Ghana, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t just slip back into the person I used to be. I wanted to remember everything I had ever learned in my time away, but unfortunately life isn’t like that. It’s all too easy to once again become complacent about showers and microwaves and cheese, and I’m sure that Ghanaian Fiona would be horrified to see me now. However, here are a few lessons that have stood the test of time.

1. Home is where the heart is

And there is a little part of my heart in a small jungle town in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Ghana. Before I went away I could never imagine feeling at home outside of Glasgow, but now I know that if you have good friends and a loving family, your home can be anywhere you choose.

2. Laughter is the best medicine

Shockingly, sometimes living in Achiase wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows and cute little monkeys; sometimes it was cockroach-y and monsoon-y and I-keep-getting-attacked-by-a-demonspawn-chicken-y. But I also met some of the greatest people on this planet, and with their help I spent five months laughing so hard my insides hurt, until the horrible stuff just became hilarious future dinner party conversation.

3. The big picture

Not a day goes by when I don’t think about my Ghanaian family, the kids at VAGIS, and all the wonderful people I met this year. Everything I do - studying for university, going to work, fundraising for supportghana.org - I do so that I can get back out there into that big, beautiful world and do something more.

And finally, a few words that will hopefully give some comfort to returning volunteers in the future:

When I first came back from Ghana, I was really and truly depressed. It felt like I had lost my home. My family. My friends. My job. My children. My country. My sense of identity. I felt like nobody understood, and try as hard as they might, my friends and family seemed to always say the wrong things. They just didn’t…get it. It was honestly the toughest thing I have ever had to do.

And I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

"So...how was Ghana?"

I've been back two weeks, and man, I hate that question.

Because people are never gonna quite get what it's like. And the only people who do understand have been scattered across different sides of the Atlantic Ocean.

Now, don't get me wrong, I've loved seeing my old friends again, and I guess it is quite nice to choose my own meals and have hot showers and Diet Coke. But god, I'm bored.

I went from being one of the only obrunis in the village - highly educated and interesting and wealthy and worthy of respect - to just another student waiting for term to start. Unemployed and one of a million. And there are far too many white people here.

Already it's starting to feel like a dream, another life, and soon all it will come down to is a couple of paintings on my wall and a lingering sandal tan. Or maybe not. Maybe, in the middle of the jungle somewhere, there's a girl who's no longer beaten every day of her life because she can't see the board. Maybe there's a class of kids that might actually have a chance at passing at least some of their exams this year. Who can say if we ever truly make a difference?

If you need me, I'll be in the shower, holding a bucket.

149 Days Of Summer

Everyone always said that coming to Ghana would be one of the hardest things I'd ever do. But living in Ghana isn't the hard part - leaving Ghana is.

I've already said goodbye to some of my volunteer friends, to my Ghanaian family, and to those wonderful, wonderful kids at VAGIS, and I already miss them so much.

If ever you are considering doing something similar on a volunteer placement - GO FOR IT! If you head in with the right mindset , the "challenges" and the fears you had before you came will just disappear, and you'll feel like you've lived that way all your life. The friendships and the memories you make will be incredible.

It's been quite the adventure.

The Front Page Article Of “The Social Eye: Power Of The Pen” Newspaper, Thursday June 14th 2012

Mango With Human Features…. The Story As It Is

“Surprise and asking of questions were full in the mouths of listeners of Lorlornyo FM, a private radio station in Hohoe in the Volta Region when news about a mango with two eyes, an ear, a forehead, a nose and a mouth was broke. To be precise, a mango having almost all the characteristics of a human head.

This strange mango was found at Lolobi-Kumasi, a small farming community in the Hohoe Municipality by Belinda Adzkimah, a 16 year old mother of one when she decided to pluck some mangoes from a tree in the house.

In an interview with this reporter, Belinda said that whilst picking the mangoes she had plucked from the ground, she found the one with the human features.

Terrified at her discovery, she threw the mango into a nearby bush and run to inform the mother. The mother then accompanied her to pick it from the bush.

Sensing danger that the ‘human mango’ might be a sign of a bad omen, the mother decided to send it to a fetish priest by name, Hunor Dodzi, who once lived in the house and planted the said mango tree. (Cont. on page 2)

(Cont. from page 1) When the Social Eye contacted Hunor Dodzi, he confirmed living in the house and also planting the tree. When questioned about what the strange mango could mean, he said, he had to consult his gods and whatever directives he is given, he will go back to the house to do just that.

Whilst some people attribute the mystery mango to the world coming to an end, others are of the view that the fetish priest might have buried a human head on the ground before planting the mango tree, hence the strange fruit.

When the acting Paramount Chief of Lolobi Traditional Area and his elders were contacted on the issue, they debunked the assertion that the fetish priest might have buried a human head in the house, an allegation that was causing fear and panic in the vicinity.

The chief and the elders opined that the mango was only a natural phenomenon.

Barely, a week after the Lolobi-Kumasi discovery, another mango with similar human features was picked up at the premises of the Hohoe Municipal Mutual Health Insurance Scheme when some children went there to pluck mangoes. Interestingly, that mango has since been eaten by some staff of the scheme.”

Two Conversations

The first, a conversation between myself and Mr Adam S Manly, the last obrunis standing in Achiase.
Me: I found a scorpion in my toilet today. I'm not happy about this situation.
Adam: Oh, really? Was it black?
Me: Yes.
Adam: Was it African?
Me: Uh, probably.
Adam: Did it speak Twi?
Me: No, not really.
Adam: Was it big?
Me: No, it wasn't that big.
Adam: Are you sure it wasn't the Rev?
Me: I think if I walked into the toilet and found the Rev pretending to be a scorpion I'd have bigger problems right now.

And the second, between myself and 11 year old Olivia Boateng, who had a baby on her back at an inter-school athletics rally.
Me: Is that your brother, Olivia?
Olivia: No.
Me: Then whose baby is it?
Olivia: I don't know. Somebody gave me a baby and so now I have a baby.

Oh, Ghana. 

School These Days

It's a well worn stereotype, the lazy white teenager. Don't care about work. Can't be bothered. So in what crazy, backwards schooling system are the Western teens the ones who care the most? Well, the Ghanaian one.

I honestly don't know how these kids stand it. A lack of resources of any kind mean that chalk & talk is the only kind of lesson they ever receive, that is, the only kind of lesson they receive when their teachers actually bother to turn up to class. Which isn't often. A few weeks ago I found myself accidentally becoming the school's ICT teacher in addition to my regular Science classes. Their actual ICT teacher stopped showing up in October last year and nothing was ever done about it, so the students just didn't get taught. And then when the teachers do actually turn up for class they spend half their time beating the crap out of the pupils. Talked in class? Caned. Answered a question wrong? Caned. Did badly in the homework? Caned.

And the reasons for all this are easy. Experience and money.

Teaching is not a prestigious job. Most teachers are very young here, around 21 years old, because teaching is just a stepping stone, a way to make a little money until they do something else. And what little money it is. At one of the volunteer's schools, a private school, some teachers earn as little as 20 cedi a month. That's less than eight pounds. And then there's the fact that these teachers are just fresh out of school themselves, and if they were caned and ignored and not taught half the syllabus in their classes, why should these students be any different?

It's a constant struggle, especially as the only obruni in a fairly large school, to bring some fun and variation into these children's lessons. I've had quizzes where they can write on the blackboard themselves, given out stickers, and one of my Science classes legitimately applauded me when I produced a packet of coloured pencils for them to use to make posters.

These kids are smart, and they deserve so much more than what they are getting.

“My favourite subjects are PE, woodwork and lunch time.”

In early April, some of my students wrote letters to Scottish pupils from my old high school, telling them about their lives, their families, and the best way to dance Azonto. This week I got the replies.

My pupils were ecstatic, they were so excited to learn about Madame Fiona’s country. But it was funny, as I read through the letters saying how in Scotland to get water you turn on a tap, and asking for facebook adds, I got a sense that this might be a prediction of how people are going to react when I go back. When I tell people about my life here they say that it makes them feel lucky. But it’s not that life here is hard, it’s just that life over there is easy.

Okay, I realise that the tone of this blog is starting to get a little moody as I dread my fast approaching return to Scotland. So here’s a surprisingly touching excerpt from one Scottish girl’s letter to finish on:

“I read Ruth Baiden’s letter and found it interesting how different her life was to mine because she is always so busy and always helping her family. She must be a very lovely girl.”

Sight

It started with a single sentence.

"There's, what, 400 kids at your school and not one of them wears glasses?"

For those of you who don't know me so well, when I return to Scotland I'm studying for my optometry degree at university, so when my dad pointed this out to me on his trip to V.A.G.I.S. I wondered how I hadn't seen it before. Uncorrected sight is the number one cause of blindness in the world, and if any of my kids had ever seen an optometrist in their lives then Mary Woode lived to be 100 years old (basically...no.). So I decided to do something about it.

I tested my entire school's eyesight in one week (headmaster was practically dancing with joy), and in the next few weeks I travel to Takoradi to test the pupils at Timoskay and Nazareth schools. I've finally found a way that I can make a real difference in this country.

I guess my optometric career began under the shade of the big tree in a dusty schoolyard in the middle of West Africa. And was almost immediately interrupted by a herd of goats.

Amyless

Yeah, she's not coming back.

Homecoming

After three weeks travelling, I finally returned home to Achiase last week. It was strange, I never realised just how much I missed this place until my tro-tro pulled into town. Leaving here is going to be hard.

In other news, last week was supposed to be the final and definite return of my partner to Ghana. I know I haven't ever spoken about it properly on this blog, but after just three weeks at our placement my partner, Amy, was called back to Canada for a family emergency. Due to a mixture of airline strikes, bad weather and visa problems, she's been trying to return to Achiase for two months now. I was told on Tuesday that she had arrived in Accra, she was actually in the country, and on Wednesday she would definitely be here.

I still don't have a partner.

I'm beginning to think she was just a mass hallucination.

Don't Panic.

Don't panic.

You. Right there. You.

Calm down.

It is impossible to panic in Ghana. We all operate on Ghana-time, which basically means that something will happen when we are ready or possibly sometime after that or maybe not at all but it doesn't really matter because it's all going to be okay either way, so it really is just impossible to panic. At home everything is such a BIG DEAL and everybody is worried about something, but here nobody worries, and when nobody worries, nobody needs to worry. Okay, I realise I'm not really making sense right now. What I mean is that if a person in the U.K. were to do something wrong, the repercussions of that wrong action would cause others to panic, hence the first person would also have to panic. But in Ghana there is no panic in others to be caused, and so there is absolutely no need to panic.

Get it? No? Oh, nevermind then.

Just don't panic.


P.S. Had by far my most dangerous encounter in Ghana the other day - with a drunk London geezer trying to pick a fight at a beach resort. Fortunately, I didn't panic.

Mole Mole Mole Mole

After a bone-rattling ride up to Northern Region, I spent a fun weekend in Mole (pronounced Mo-Lay) National Park, during which time I learned one very important life lesson – beware of the baboons.

It was a Monday afternoon. I was preparing to go on a canoe safari, when just as I stepped out of the door Adam asked me a question. I chatted for a moment with the open door in my hand, then turned around to see a GIANT BABOON SITTING RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. Panicking ever-so-slightly (which you should never do in Ghana), I ran back into the hotel room screaming “baboon! BABOOOON!” and hoped to God that the door behind me would slam shut quickly. It did not. A furry, human-like hand grabbed the edge of the door and in came the big boy. Being the brave people we are, Adam and I jumped on the bed, realised the monkey wasn’t going to leave, and ran into the toilet slamming the door behind us. As I said, we are both extremely courageous souls. We took a few seconds to catch our breath (not easy as we were laughing so much at the ridiculousness of the situation), then plucked up the courage to open the bathroom door to find that the baboon had gone. Our ordeal was over!

Or not.

Mere minutes later, Adam and I were wandering around outside looking for the rest of our safari party. I had a packet of recently acquired Haribo in my hand (we had deemed Baboon Attack a legitimate enough occasion to break out the imported sweeties) and was just standing minding my own business when I heard Adam shout “THERE’S SOMETHING RUNNING AT YOU!”. I looked up to see another big baboon sprinting full pelt at me. After peeing my pants a little, I ran for my life. Realising what the monkey was after, I dropped the Haribo on the ground at kept running. As huge a loss as it was, I felt quite okay with trading half a packet of gummy sweets for my survival.

Only after the second close baboon encounter did any of our friends show up to find the pair of us in a heap of adrenaline and uncontrollable laughter. I feel like this may be one for the dinner parties.

Also, elephants.

This Hotel Has Wi-Fi...

So here are ten pictures that pretty much sum up my life in Ghana...

Thoughts From Oxford Street

Last Friday, my parents arrived in Accra for a little visit to Ghana, and so began a very strange weekend in which two worlds collided.

I generally think of my two lives as being separate. There's my life back home, where everything is cold and comfortable and soft and people go to uni and town and watch tv and have power showers (and moan and complain about every little thing that does/does not happen...!). Then there's my life in Ghana, where I dress differently, talk differently and act differently. It's not that one is better or worse than the other, it's just...different (well, apart from the Ghana Gut, that's definitely NOT a welcome addition to my life...). So when the two came together, I was sort of confused about which me I was meant to be.

I guess it started with the journey to Accra. I had been staying with volunteer friends in Takoradi, so we were able to get a nice fancy coach from Taco to the capital. It was strange. As I sat in my big comfy leather seat, with air-conditioning blowing in my face and the curtains drawn, I forgot where I was. I would catch a glimpse out of the window and remember that this was the same coast road I travel along almost every weekend, and, weirdly, I found myself actually missing the wind and the squish and the sweat of a tro-tro.

It then continued as I showed my 'rents around Accra, an incredibly Westernised part of Ghana, and they were amazed at how African(!) it was.
"Look, there's a woman with a baby on her back!"  "Yes..."
"Those people are carrying things on their heads!"  "Uh huh..."
"This taxi doesn't have a speedometer/hand brake/door!"  "And your point is..."

We went to Oxford Street (nicknamed after its London counterpart) and suddenly there were white people everywhere and tonnes of private cars! NICE private cars! And I found myself thinking as I watched the obruni businessmen being driven around in their Audis that even though they may have been here two years, in two months I have become more African than them. They sit in their big houses in their compounds with their air-conditioning and wi-fi and swimming pools and drivers, and the fact that all of this is happening in Ghana is something of a slight inconvenience.

But not for me.

Because this isn't some place that my company happened to send me on business. This isn't just some country that I'm living in for five months.

This is my home. Cockroaches and all.

The Most Excitement That Oda Has Ever Seen

Between budgetary constraints and a desire for Adam, Louis and I to not spend 14 hours of a weekend in a tro-tro, it was decided that on Friday we would get some visitors in Eastern Region to hit up Oda and our home away from home - the Ntiamwoah Hotel.

It started with six intrepid travellers leaving Achiase with hope in our hearts and BoysBoys in our bellies. We tro-tro-ed to the main junction in Oda, then squeezed into a taxi to Ntiamwoah. (At this point it's worth explaining that the Ntiamwoah Hotel - like Oda itself - is permanently empty. Deserted. Completely vacant.) So it was with a surprised look on our faces that we were told that the hotel was full. Right. That's new. So, a little disappointed, we walked back up the track and got another taxi to a different hotel. Which was full. Went to the next hotel along. Full. What is happening?! This is Oda! A deserted town in the middle of a deserted jungle! And THREE hotels are full?!

So we jump in another taxi. "Just take us to a hotel. Any one will do". We were getting a little downhearted, trapsing from place to place, until everything changed at hotel number five.

Oh yes.

The rain started.

And in Ghana, when it rains, oh how it RAINS.

Within mere seconds we were reduced from bone dry to "there's water running down my underwear" wet. And just like always in this country, when something bad or stupid or ridiculous or horrendous or terrifying happens...we laughed.

Eventually, at hotel number seven, the six drowned volunteers found a place to rest their heads. The funny thing about living in Ghana is how quickly your standards can become...flexible. It has a toilet that flushes? And a fan?! WOAH! Sign me up!

So I spent an evening with friends playing Cluedo and watching Cool Runnings on Billy's laptop. "Mrs Obruni in the hallway with the pistol. Yeah mon!"

Life As An Obruni

I realise that I have spent most of this blog writing silly posts about alphabets and bucket showers, so here is hopefully a more informative piece about the various aspects of my life in the jungle...

Obruni
"Obruni" is the Twi word for "white man" or "white woman", and I can't walk down the street for 20 seconds without hearing it shouted. I literally answer to Obruni faster than my own name (although this is partially because "Fiona" is very confusing to Ghanaians, so there are some interesting pronounciations). I can't help wondering what would happen if I went back to Glasgow and started shouting "BLACK MAN!" as I walked down Sauchiehall Street...

Bugs
There are three main thoughts that go through my head when dealing with creepy crawlies: "It's not so much that I want to kill you, it's more that you cannot be permitted to stay alive", "I'm glad they're colour-coded so I can tell which spiders want to murder me the most", and of course "How did a mosquito bite me THERE?"

Sweat
My anti-perspirant boasts the bold claim of "48hr protection - even in extreme conditions". I do not know to which extreme conditions this statement refers, but on an average day in Achiase expecting 48 minutes of sweat protection is overly ambitious.

Travel
If it doesn't have holes in the floor, a door that doesn't shut, rusty nails sticking out of the walls and a temperature greater than that of the core of the sun, then it's not a real tro-tro.

School
I have absolutely fallen in love with teaching. I love my classes and I know I'm going to miss them so much when I leave.

Water
At home you hear people say "I can't live without facebook" or "I can't live without my iPhone" but you never hear someone say "I can't live without running water" because it is generally accepted that you CAN'T live without running water. But you can. Very easily. A lot of you were shocked last week about my accounts of bucket showering, but in reality the fact that I don't have running water doesn't even cross my mind. Ever. 

Noise
The noise usually starts around 4:30am. One rooster crows and wakes up his friends, until a chorus of hens, roosters, goats, sheep, bats, frogs and who knows what else is blaring outside. And since the whole house has been woken up, now is clearly a good time for everyone to start playing their different radio shows, and screaming across the hall in Twi. Oh, except for the times when I am woken up by gunfire from the army barracks. Well, gunfire and the occasional explosion.

Rooster
There is a creature with a heart colder than Winnipeg in winter time. A creature that fears nothing, not even fear itself. A creature so evil that Hell itself spat him back out. The cock of the walk. You can see what he is thinking as he charges at you with hatred in his eyes, beak pecking, tallons scratching: "WHO'S CHICKEN NOW?"

Ghana: everything is loud and nothing is soft. I love it.  

The Art Of Bucket Showering - A Nine Step Guide

Shortly after arriving in Achiase I came to realise that giving yourself a good bucket shower is a delicate art. Here is a short step by step guide, in case any of you decide that running water is soooooo 2011...

You will need:

• 1 standard size plastic bucket (also used for laundry, toilet flushing and chasing bats out of the hallway)
• Shampoo
• Soap
• Towel
• Sponge (advanced users only)

Step 1 - Okay, if we're going to be picky about it, technically step 1 would be going to the river to collect water and trekking back up The Mountain with a bucket on your head, but since this usually happens well in advance of the actual shower let's just move on, shall we? So first you must fill your bucket from the water bins in the hallway. It is advised to use the industrial-size butter tubs to help you do this, as if you just stick your bucket in you run the risk of catching a few tadpoles that have emigrated from the river, and it's not particularly pleasant throwing one of those slimy things down your back.

Step 2 - Take your bucket, soap and towel into the washroom. Hang your towel on the rusty nail sticking out of the back of the door, but be sure to check for cockroaches first (these creepy crawlies are the same colour as the door and are easily camouflaged). Undress and hang your clothes along the line strung across the washroom. Make sure not to place them in the Splash Zone. If there are any spiders on the walls just tap the tiles with your shampoo bottle and they should keep their distance.

Step 3 -  You are now ready to shower. Bend over and stick your head inside the bucket, wetting as much hair as possible. Use your hands to scoop water on to that hard-to-reach back of the scalp area. Remove your head and allow the excess water to run off your hair and back into the bucket.

Step 4 -  Apply shampoo to wet hair in the usual way. Once hair has been sufficiently lathered, squeeze as much shampoo as possible out of your hair before proceeding to step 5. Avoid letting excess lather fall into the bucket - try to aim near the drain.

Step 5 -  Tilt your head back and pour a small amount of water onto your hair near the front of your scalp. Allow water to run back through your hair and onto the floor. Squeeze out as much excess shampoo lather as possible, as in step 4. Repeat this process until all shampoo is removed (this usually takes about three rounds).

Step 6 -  By this point you should have used around 1/3 of the water in your bucket (maximum). Use your hands to scoop water on to your arms, legs, torso and back. Advanced users may wish to use a sponge at this point. Use your soap to wash your body until a thick layer of lather coats the majority of your person.

Step 7 -  Pour water over the soapy areas until lather has been rinsed away.

Step 8 - You now have half your bucket of water remaining to use in whichever way you see fit. Popular uses include: repeated washing of feet, cooling sunburn, killing spiders and shaving of legs (although this must only be attempted by experienced users to avoid a great deal of pain and bloodshed).

Step 9 - Take your towel off the door, shake it to dislodge any insects, and dry yourself off. Dress and exit.

Congratulations! You have just efficiently bucket showered your entire body using less water than most Westerners use to wash their hands. Don't you feel clean and fresh? (The answer is no, because obviously you have already started sweating again.)

Independence Day (Will Smith Sold Separately)

Last Tuesday was Ghana's 55th birthday, and so independence day was celebrated in true Ghanaian fashion - by making a lot of noise and doing an awful lot of marching.

Ever since I arrived at VAGIS the students have had to march for hours every day "for practice", and now I've seen what the practice was for. To be honest, the whole thing reminded me a bit of the Highland Games back home - thousands of people gathering in a scabby field and making a lot of noise to celebrate the fact that they aren't English (although in Achiase it wasn't 10 degrees and pouring with rain. Also, there was no bouncy castle). All the locals schools assembled in their best uniforms (apart from Sacred Heart and the boys, who were in Swedru), there were a few announcements, a quick sing through of the national anthem, and then the marching began.

And continued.

For two hours.

It was really quite a military display, not least because Achiase (a town whose only notable attribute is an army training base) has two cadet schools, so there were several groups of young people marching with rather large guns slung over their shoulders. I was asked if I wanted to march alongside my school, but I declined. Somehow the idea of marching on Ghanaian independence day as a representative of their former oppressors didn't really appeal to me. Having said that, even just sitting down I found myself becoming quite the tourist attraction as the only white skin there (I am currently Cerasani-less), and blending in isn't really an option for me here.

Once the marching was over, the whole thing finished off when some rather banged up looking cars drove across the field, at which point the driver of the first car stopped, got out, took out a flamethrower and proceeded to attempt to set his vehicle alight.

Got to admit, I didn't see that one coming.

Achiase Alphabet

A is for air-conditioning, though it's rarely to be found
B is for bucket showers and tro-tros breaking down
C is for cockroaches and their kingdom made in Hell
D is for Doxycycline and our other drugs as well
E is for electricity, when the power's actually on
F is for the fan we wish we'd had but now it's gone
G is for Ghana-time, where numbers mean exactly squat
H is for heat and heat and heat and heat and hot
I is for ice cream and the huge amounts I crave it
J is for jollof rice, though the red stuff's not my favourite
K is for Kwabe and Kwasi, the boys' nicknames in Twi
L is for Linda who makes our food daily
M is for monster spiders that live on our bedroom wall
N is for the nights we spend watching Champions' League football
O is for Obruni, we're the only ones in town
P is for the pictures we take when we travel 'round
Q is for the questionable meat we find in our dinner
R is for the rice that makes me fat and Adam thinner
S is for the sun, sunscreen, sunburn and sunstroke too
T is for toilet, how I miss a proper loo!
U is for the unbelievable volume at which Ghanaians make a speech
V is for VAGIS, that's the school at which we teach
W is for waking up at 4am in our beds
X is for xenophobia, it's a fine line we all tread
Y is for yam chips, they really are the best
Z is undefined (because I couldn't think of anything)

Kwabe, Kwasi And The Afias

So here's some information about the four white guys stuck in the middle of the jungle in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Ghana...

Name: Adam Manly
A.k.a: Coach Love
Origin: Norfolk, U.K.
Likes: Sport, People, Music, Food
Dislikes: Cockroaches, Butter
Biggest Fear About Ghana: A cockroach will climb up my anus whilst on the toilet
Special Skills: Stickers

Name: Amy Cerasani
A.k.a: Emily / Snorlax
Origin: Winnipeg, CANADA
Likes: Canadian candy, SUGAR, Food, My daddy
Dislikes: Monster spiders
Biggest Fear About Ghana: Getting eaten by a chicken
Special Skills: Can talk to goats

Name: Louis Marquette
A.k.a: Uncle Louis / Asshole
Origin: Montreal, CANADA (also Vancouver)
Likes: Soft, Cold, Edible
Dislikes: Things that live where I poop
Biggest Fear About Ghana: see 'Dislikes'
Special Skills: Killing monster spiders using only a cooler lid

Name: Fiona Buckmaster
A.k.a: Madame Princess / Mrs. Science Guy
Origin: Glasgow, U.K.
Likes: Air Conditioning, Thinking about food from home
Dislikes: Smelly towels
Biggest Fear About Ghana: Worms will grow in my feet
Special Skills: Ability to catch a cold in a subtropical climate

(Note: I tried to put pictures on this blog post but clearly the internet in Ghana just hates me. Sorry!)

The Sweatiest Internet Cafe In The World

This blog post comes to you in six parts.

Part One - The Road To Achiase

On Sunday, the volunteers made the move from the big house in Accra to our respective placements.
Eighteen of us pile into a lovely big air-conditioned bus, bags strapped to the roof, and the journey begins. The first hour or so is pretty uneventful, most people just sit & nap in the relative comfort of the bus, but THEN, in a random town in the middle of Central Region, the Achiase volunteers are asked to disembark. What's this? This isn't our placement! Are we to be left to fend for ourselves in this unexpected town? How long can we four survive on just the three packets of Mentos in my rucksack? But NO! Along comes a tro-tro with the legend "Victory Assemblies Of God International School" (our school!) emblazened on the side. Saved by the school bus! So Amy, Louis, Adam and I climb into the tro-tro...and realise it was built for people less than 4ft tall. This thing is seriously tiny. Even I felt squished in there. And so the midget tro-tro speeds us away from our fellow volunteers, picking up and dropping extra passengers as it goes, and carries us to our new home. Which brings us to...

Part Two - Whitney Houston And Other Deaths

The first piece of news from the Western World to reach us out here (that wasn't football related!) came in the form of a phonecall from my mother.
"Did you hear that Whitney Houston died?"
No, mum, that particular little nugget of information hadn't actually reached me in the jungle. And then, just two days after this piece of news shattered our world, Amy and I were whisked away from school with a couple of other teachers to visit the funeral of a VAGIS pupil's father.
A Ghanaian funeral is unlike anything I have ever experienced. The first segment (or level, or whatever you want to call it) consists of lots and LOTS of people dressed in black and red dancing fervently in front of a WALL OF SPEAKERS which is blaring out music. Loudly. You walk through segment one, are momentarily crushed, and then emerge into segment two. Segment two is a large circle made of chairs and bodies and grief. Everywhere you look there is sobbing and wailing, and those who attempt to walk trip and stumble over their own cries. And in the centre of the segment two loop is segment three. I did not experience segment three. It was hidden from view by curtains, but I knew what was inside. The body. The sound of the cries issuing from segment three cannot be described. Suffice to say I was glad to get back into the midget tro-tro.

Part Three - The Deep End

This week at school was supposed to be an observation week for us to learn how a Ghanaian classroom works. Note the phrase "supposed to be". On Tuesday, our first day at VAGIS, I spent the first part of the morning observing Class 6 (10 year olds) being taught Maths and French. After the funeral interlude, I returned to school and walked into class to find no teacher.
"Where is your teacher?" I ask. "You are our teacher, Madam Fiona". Right. "What would you like me to teach you?". A chorus replies "Science, Madam". Still thinking at this point that this is a joke, I say "But I have no books". A pupil calmly stands up, exits the class, and returns a minute later with a textbook. He opens the book at the page titled "Respiration" and says "You are to teach us this".
Okay. Respiration.
So with no lesson plan, no preparation, and no warning, I begin to teach. As I read the textbook I write a note on the blackboard for the pupils to copy, and soon realise that this work is far too advanced for 10 year olds. But I plough on nonetheless, simplifying where I can. I explain the note and decide to get some feedback.
"Does everybody understand?" - "Yes, Madam"
"Is there anything that anybody does not understand?" - "No, Madam"
"Are you sure?" - "Yes, Madam"
"So can anybody raise their hand and tell me what blood vessels do?" - blank stares.
Oh dear.
This could be difficult.

Part Four - Demonspawn

Aragog, Shelob and The Empress Of The Racnoss had a lovechild, and it lives on our bedroom wall.

Part Five - A Welcome Surprise

On the Friday of our first week at school, VAGIS held an official welcome ceremony for their White Sisters. The entire school crammed into the main school hall, and the sweating began. After the speeches from teachers and proprietors and PTA members and such, they decided that it would be best for Amy and I to experience some African dancing. We spent ten minutes watching pupils in groups of two or three dancing to some African beats. These kids are just amazing. Not only are they the most polite, humble and happy children I have ever met, man, can these kids boogie. Then, after a quarter of an hour...HORROR! The White Ladies are called upon to dance. Well, this is going to be embarassing, I think. But gladly, an idea strikes me, so just after the music starts up I invite some of the pupils in front of me up to dance, and before I know it there is a full on rave occurring in the packed hall of my Achiase school.
This will go down in history as the sweatiest moment of my life. I have been in some sweaty places before (a certain No. 42 bus in China comes to mind) but that was unbelievable.
When the dancing had finished, and the children began to leave, an unexpected gift arrived. RAIN. HONEST TO GOD RAIN.
I ran outside, and danced some more.

Part Six - Worshiping At The Temple Of Air-Con

Last night, we traveled to Oda and stayed at a hotel. Executive suite, running water (flushing toilet!!), shower, good booze, tv, big bed, and most importantly, air-conditioning. And how much did this luxury cost?
Four. English. Pounds.
Heaven.