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.”