Is it true love?

Within one day of being in Italy Jacob announced that he could spend the rest of his life here.

While I don’t doubt that he loves it, I wonder if it could partially be the change of scene from Ghana, human development: low to…

Rome.

From raw poverty

to polished sophistication 

From aggressive sales pitches to anonymity

From piles of trash and crowds of people selling their wares

to cobblestone streets and crowds of tourists at the Trevi Fountain

From outdoor fruits and vegetable stalls and maggots in my couscous

to refrigeration and a kitchen and Carrefour

 

From all sorts of species of animals

 
to nothing but well-groomed pets on leashes (except for the odd pigeon or two)

From massive traffic jams to high speed metro

From sweaty tropical heat to borderline cold and rainy, but just right if you bundle up weather.

From a dangerous and precariously attached ceiling fan with only one setting and cold showers to a heater, warm blankets, and hot showers

 

From getting my nails done in a parking lot

to listening to Nessun Dorma in front of the Pantheon

From a hippie bedroom with dirty floors and styrofoam-stuffed pillows to a classy soft-bedded spacious apartment

 

 

From casual security and open doors to quadruple locks in a pickpocket-heavy city…

 

 

From a view of our laundry fluttering in the breeze after opening our bedroom door to a view of ancient Roman ruins…

 

 

The distance from Ghana to Rome feels like more than only an 8 hour flight. Remembering Ghana puts a smile on our faces though…

So is Jacob really enamored with Italy or is it just that it feels more like home? Does it even matter? As for me, I’m loving cooking again, eating green olives and feta cheese to my heart’s content, NOT eating pizza and gelato to my heart’s content because then I would put on 10 pounds, but allowing myself the odd bite or two, and breathing in beauty.

I can’t believe I’d forgotten how beautiful Europe is. Rome is wonderful.

 

Goodbye Ghana

For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ

Romans 1:16

Ghanaians live this scripture and it’s inspiring. And joyful.

We felt like these people truly knew God.

 

We took some missionaries out to dinner.

 
This is the Portuguese Church inside the slave castle. Isn’t it sickening to know that all around them was human suffering embodied waiting to be sold into slavery while the pious white people went to church?
 

Kakum National Forest

   

Nearly every single white LDS person we’ve met invited us to dinner. We were grateful to get fed American-style meals and see what it’s like to be a senior missionary in the church. Of the four different couples, they had 6, 8, 8, and 9 kids respectively. Wow!

 

 

As our time comes to a close in West Africa, I think Jacob summed it up just about right:

“The draw of Africa, for me, isn’t to see any particular sight. It’s to see people living simple lives of faith.”

I couldn’t pity anyone in Ghana. People lived with too much joy. In some ways Ghana has got it together more than any developed country.

It’s not an easy country to visit, but it’s bittersweet to leave.

Have you ever wondered…

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to stay in a hippie village overlooking the sea in a community of Rastafarians?

You have?

Well, I’ll tell you.

It’s called Rising Phoenix Magic Beach Resort and it’s run by a man who renamed himself Phoenix. A short, balding man with knowing blue eyes and a bit of a lisp, who cocks his head when he speaks and who speaks irrhythmically.

When you wake up in the morning, it’s to the sound of waves. Tie-dyed curtains flutter in the breeze.

 

You feel sticky, because it’s hot. There’s a faint drumming. Always drumming. Ghanaians love music. It’s always happy-sounding music.

You open the door to a view of the Gulf of Guinea, with fishing boats as far as the eye can see. You walk past the signs talking about not littering

 

and peace and love. 

 

You order breakfast from the vegetarian restaurant.

Maybe you, like Jacob, prefer plantains (sweet fried bananas) with nuts, called keleweli, served with fresh pineapple juice mixed with ginger (heavy on the ginger). Or maybe, like me, you’ll think the drink tastes like soap.

When breakfast arrives, you go out and sit in a private booth to look out at the sea. It may seem private, but it’s not really, because soon people will come up to talk to you. Most of them will be Rasta.

This means they will have dreadlocks and will be smoking pot. They’ll also probably be dressed in red, green, and black and wear knit caps. They’ll talk about “One Love” and they won’t drink alcohol or eat meat, but they will swear marijuana is good for your health. They’ll sit around all day and play on the drum and smoke. It doesn’t smell bad, actually.

Some evenings, the Rastas gather to sell their wares. Maybe someone will approach you like someone approached me, telling you that not everyone can be a Rasta, you have to be called.

“And you have been called,” he says. “Get dreadlocks, read our holy book, and become one of us.”

I notice a white girl with dreadlocks at that point and I don’t think they look very good.

I ask one of them, “Could I become Rasta without having to smoke marijuana?”

His eyes grow big.

“Why do you have to put down marijuana? Would you tell me not to eat an orange? This is natural. Just try it, once. Then you will be able to see Jah (God). These days, governments are trying to tell people it’s bad for the health. It’s not true. It will heal your womb. It will heal your mind. It will heal everything. It will help you to see Jah.”

Late at night, there will be reggae parties. People will gather round, drinking Guiness and doing the reggae dance. The bass will thud in your head until 4 am when the party finally stops. You’ll go to sleep to the sound of the fan above your head, and the waves from the Gulf of Guinea.

And that’s what it’s like to live in a hippie village overlooking the sea in a community of Rastafarians.

Am I high-maintenance?

West Africa has caused me to want to ask this question. I don’t usually think of myself as high-maintenance. After all, we have ants in our toothbrushes here, cold showers, a bucket for laundry, and no AC and I don’t even mind.

But West Africa is not an easy place to live—maybe it’s the accumulation of it all.

The endless streams of men who want you to come to their shop at the cultural center and buy their artwork.

The way things close without notice, like the gym.

The lack of infrastructure.

The lack of anything to do, really.

The muggy heat—no stores to buy snacks—running out of gum. No place to buy contact solution.

Don’t get me wrong; I like it here. The people are so kind.

But the pace is what really has me shaking my head. People here are soooo slow. Really laughingly slow. If you order a simple meal at a restaurant, it may take 2 hours. If you ask for your change, you may be told “We are too busy. Come back later” as they slowly shuffle around, 3 workers for one customer. If someone is blocking their way, they wait patiently for the other person to move instead of walking around them. Ordering fast food at the mall took 45 minutes. What a slow, slow way of life. If I’d come straight from America, the land of efficiency, I’d probably have a heart attack. As it is, I’ve learned to savor the slow moments in life, but this… life here is S.L.O.W. Peaceful, and slow.

“Don’t Worry, Be Happy”

 

What Ghanaians do on a Friday night

Last night, I went to hear the President speak about sports at the football stadium a short taxi ride away. That’s what I was told, anyway, by a security guard who walked me to the gym and proceded to sit and, in a friendly manner, follow me around while I worked out on different machines. Anyway…

That’s not who it was at all. It was The Prophet. Bishop David Oledepo.  He called himself a prophet in any event, and the stadium was full of cheering, dancing Africans as he spoke about the grace of Jesus.

I looked around. I was the only white person there. I sat with some people who invited me, and I got some explanations of what was going on. There was a lot of standing up with your hands in the air and shouting “Amen!” and a lot of wiggling around in emotional prayer and a fair amount of just plain dancing and clapping. What were they getting excited about?

The Prophet was telling them that he foresaw a better future for Africa. He said he knew a lot of Ghanaians who wished they were in America. But look at the suicide rate in America—they aren’t any happier for their lifestyle, he said. He promised the Lord would lift them out of their poverty. Everyone here is very religious. It gives them hope.

Life here is so much less drastic seeming than in India, despite Ghana’s lower ranking on the Human Development Index.

Here are some reasons why…

1. Equality. There have been studies done on the happiness of a country being equivalent with the divide between the rich and the poor, between men and women, among race, etc…The more equal the society, the higher the satisfaction of the society. Thus European countries will always rate a higher happiness level than the US. In India, there are so many different levels of people left over from the caste system, perhaps. Here in Ghana, there are only 3 professions: drum maker, artist, or acrobat. I try to look interested every time someone tells me proudly they are one of those three, but it’s hardly a surprise. Most people live a similar lifestyle here.

2. Women have a strong and powerful presence. It shows in the way they carry themselves. It shows in the way they are every bit as much a part of society as men. It shows in their loud voices. I feel like a wimp when I talk with them, to be perfectly honest. It shows in their manner of dress. They are so bold.

3. There is space, and nature. It’s not overpopulated. No one is sleeping in the streets. It seems like people are living like they did long before any white people came and tried to change things. Traffic and pollution are not problems.

4. Things of a private nature, like going to the bathroom, are kept private.

5. Children stay children here. They play, they go to school. The people who come selling odds and ends to the taxi windows in bad traffic are adults, not kids.

6. Ghana is extremely peaceful. It hasn’t been at war in many years, which is unusual for an African country especially. Violent crime is not an issue, nor is terrorism.

So I thought, maybe, that Ghanaians were happy to stay just the way they are. Until last night, when I was reminded, once again, the winning of the lottery that being born in America is.

Which brings me to my final point…

So many countries around the world are waiting on America to help. It may not be fair, and we may not be recognized for the work that we’ve done. Nevertheless, it’s a responsibility.

Please visit http://www.borgenproject.org/ 

This nonprofit doesn’t request your money. It simply lists different bills addressing international poverty that are placed before the Senate that you can call and voice your support. The website tells you how.

I believe the US government has a greater responsibility for the welfare of other nations than it is currently now exhibiting. Because of ignorance in a lot of Americans who have not traveled to other, poorer, nations, there is often not a lot of support for using tax dollars for international aid. This is where you go to voice your support, to show that as Americans, we accept the responsibility that being the wealthiest nation in the world brings.

Ghana, Week One

When coming to Ghana, I really didn’t know what to expect. I tried to research it, but the information I found wasn’t adequate. I knew I’d have to go myself in order to get a frame of reference from my own perspective. Would it be as impoverished as parts of India? Would it be developed? Would there be good food to eat, beautiful sights to see?

Well we’ve been here half a week and so far it’s been unlike anywhere else we’ve been.

These are my first impressions so far…

For the most developed city in West Africa, Accra is surprisingly undeveloped.

However, it’s not as undeveloped as Ouazazarte, Morocco.

For some reason, the slums in Ghana don’t bother me nearly as much as the ones in India. There’s slums surrounding the outside of Rising Phoenix Magic Beach Resort where we’re staying.

We’re at the time of year where there aren’t hardly any white people. In the summer, I guess, it becomes overwhelmed with college students coming to do a good deed.

I’d like to volunteer with an organization myself, but of the 20 some odd organizations I’ve emailed, only one has gotten back to me, and it’s for a project that won’t begin until the beginning of December. I’d like to be involved with something, I really would, but it would require greater energy than I presently have (ie, go door to door asking) to find something. If anyone reading has any suggestions, please comment.

No one carries anything in their hands, it’s all on their heads.

 

This was meant to be the King’s house, but somehow it fell through, so it’s not used for anything. It’s shaped like a typical African stool.


Everyone dresses so vibrantly.

 

Food

A lot of potatoes. Below is jolof rice from the food court in the mall. It’s flavored with Indian-tasting spices. And… I eat salad here. I eat raw tomatoes here. I have not gotten sick. It’s a miracle. There’s a vegetarian restaurant on site which I love.

 

Jacob and I have both caught on to the nation’s favorite drink, which is like sweet nonalcoholic beer.
 

People from the slum dry their clothes on the lawn.

 
This building is our next-door neighbor.

 

Jacob got this little boy from Niger, who was cuddling up next to him like they were best friends, some coconut juice.

 

Internet

The internet situation here is pretty rough. No place has wifi, anywhere. Here we are getting registered for an internet stick. We have to pay per download which means I may be waiting to upload any videos until we leave the country.

Gyms

There are no good gyms in Accra. Zilch. We’ll go to the one at the national soccer team stadium and Jacob says all they have is a squat rack. I think this is going to cut our visit short.

“Do not pee here or you will have to pay 50,000 cedis” this is equivalent to $35019.40. Ironically, this is just outside the slum. You can bet everyone is urinating there.

 

People

There are many, many people here who seem to want something from us. It makes us doubt people’s intentions. They are extremely friendly. I went for an hour walk and got 3 phone numbers. But do they want my money or my friendship? Only time will tell… Two women that I met wanted to give me an African name. They asked me what day I was born on. I told them I didn’t know. They were shocked. “You don’t know the day of your birth? Was it a Wednesday?” they guessed. “I think it was Saturday.” “Ahh, then your name is Almah,” they said.

The view of the Gulf of Guinea from our place is the best part.