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!)
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
Saturday, 18 February 2012
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.
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.
Friday, 10 February 2012
Akwaaba
So after The Eventful Journey, the Scots finally arrived in Ghana just 9 hours late to the party! Currently all the volunteers are staying in a big house just north of Accra, it's a lot of fun having everyone together, but it's a bit of a squeeze trying to fit us all into one tro-tro!
On that note I should probably explain a few things about life in Ghana. Ghanaians drive on the right side of the road - although I'm playing it fast and loose with the definitions of the words "drive","right side" and "road". The best (and cheapest) way to get anywhere in Ghana is by tro-tro. Tro-tros are basically very small minibuses, crammed full with people, and are held together solely by the hopes and dreams of the passengers (the "Tro-tro appreciation society" on facebook is utterly perfect in it's representation). Tro-tros - and the Ghanaian population as a whole - have a wonderful attitude to time-keeping: we will leave when we are ready and get there some time after that. This could be frustrating, but as the heat is constantly draining your body, it's a blessing.
The past few days we've been doing some teacher training, and today we visited a school to do some observation. It. Was. Incredible. The day started with the children cleaning the school yard (try doing THAT in Scotland!) and then the whole school crammed into a classroom and started singing at the top of their lungs. The atmosphere was unbelievable. Everyone was clapping and singing and dancing around the room, teachers and pupils alike, so it felt more like a party than a school assembly. I could do nothing but grin as a small boy took me by the hand and showed me how to dance around to the song. I wish my Friday mornings at Douglas Academy had started like that!
It's impossible to describe all that has been happening in the past few days. On Sunday I make the move to Achiase, so life will be even wilder, but I will try and keep you updated.
Hope you're all enjoying the rubbish British weather!
On that note I should probably explain a few things about life in Ghana. Ghanaians drive on the right side of the road - although I'm playing it fast and loose with the definitions of the words "drive","right side" and "road". The best (and cheapest) way to get anywhere in Ghana is by tro-tro. Tro-tros are basically very small minibuses, crammed full with people, and are held together solely by the hopes and dreams of the passengers (the "Tro-tro appreciation society" on facebook is utterly perfect in it's representation). Tro-tros - and the Ghanaian population as a whole - have a wonderful attitude to time-keeping: we will leave when we are ready and get there some time after that. This could be frustrating, but as the heat is constantly draining your body, it's a blessing.
The past few days we've been doing some teacher training, and today we visited a school to do some observation. It. Was. Incredible. The day started with the children cleaning the school yard (try doing THAT in Scotland!) and then the whole school crammed into a classroom and started singing at the top of their lungs. The atmosphere was unbelievable. Everyone was clapping and singing and dancing around the room, teachers and pupils alike, so it felt more like a party than a school assembly. I could do nothing but grin as a small boy took me by the hand and showed me how to dance around to the song. I wish my Friday mornings at Douglas Academy had started like that!
It's impossible to describe all that has been happening in the past few days. On Sunday I make the move to Achiase, so life will be even wilder, but I will try and keep you updated.
Hope you're all enjoying the rubbish British weather!
Monday, 6 February 2012
Saturday, 4 February 2012
Backpack Tetris
So this is it.
Sixteen months of planning.
Five months working at the Time-Out Club.
Three rescheduled flights.
Six injections.
One trip to Reading.
Countless boxes of tablet.
Who knows how many forms, phonecalls and invoices.
One rucksack.
One trip.
Tomorrow we fly.
Sixteen months of planning.
Five months working at the Time-Out Club.
Three rescheduled flights.
Six injections.
One trip to Reading.
Countless boxes of tablet.
Who knows how many forms, phonecalls and invoices.
One rucksack.
One trip.
Tomorrow we fly.
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