**WRITTEN IN THE AFRANSIE, THE VILLAGE, BEFORE THE MOST RECENT BLOG POST**
Life has changed significantly since Kumasi, as I’ve moved out of the modernized world that I know into a village. As most villages in Ghana, this place is in a transitional phase. Modernization continues to reach the people here which can be seen most clearly in the architecture. There are three types of buildings here – traditional, transitional and modern. Some are built of bamboo and red clay, some of dirt and stone and some of cement blocks. The society reflects their homes – it is a village far from the busy city life, but it feels the impact primarily through radio (the one form of media they have here) and from the younger generation that leaves and returns home to see their parents.
It’s a very interesting phenomenon to observe, especially because as Americans we don’t really know what we want to see. It’s shocking enough to reach a society that survives off their farms with limited electricity and no running water, but it we almost wish modernization had reached them even less and the effect of radios hadn’t reached them. This may come from a selfish motive. The radios are a measure of social status. To own a radio is to have enough money to have it, and to prove that you have it you blast it at full volume at all hours of the day. The best times are at six AM and between ten and eleven PM, often going long into the night. It’s something we haven’t quite figured out – one would imagine they would sleep sometime.
And yet here they have the most beautiful stars, the clearest air free from smog and burning trash, gorgeous jungle at every turn and barely a car in sight.
On the other hand they have a school that is falling apart and at least one hundred kids with bloated bellies from malnutrition.
It’s a constant inner battle when I try to analyze my feelings about the village. The hardest part is the people.
Most of these children have never seen white people in their lives. The last time they had white visitors was ten years ago when a group of Canadian students came. If we thought we stood out anywhere else, we were horribly mistaken compared to our small village of Afransie. The children watch us like hawks and we feel like zoo animals. They watch us talk, work and sleep. Literally. There’s no place to escape and that is the core of the problem. To feel constantly watched and as if you can’t move without someone knowing it is uncomfortable for a short period of time, and coming on the tenth day it makes your skin crawl.
Please don’t take the above and the following as a sign that I am not enjoying my time in Ghana. Every single day is an incredible learning experience and don’t regret one day of it. It’s all worth it, but it comes at a personal cost.
Our time in the village has driven something home: the role of women in Ghana, especially in the rural areas, is a strict definition of oppression. There is women’s work and there is men’s work. Women work at the farm and in the home. They are expected to take care of the children, do the washing, prepare all meals and sponsor guests. The men are expected to go the farm or work and beyond that they may do as they please. Often times they won’t come home after they work, rather they will go to “the spot” and drink akpateshie (a highly alcoholic drink made in “the bush” – it tastes like tequila, but hits you ten times harder) or have a few beers. Almost every evening the men are “boozed” and it’s considered normal and even expected. No matter how hard you work or prove yourself, you will always be a woman and you will always be less than a man.
Part of our work here has been going into the community and helping with building projects to become part of their village. We helped build a foundation for a house, mixing concrete and carrying it on our heads to the building site – it was hard work and we were all sweating bullets, but it felt good to help and we knew they appreciated it – even if it was just because they liked seeing “obrunis” work. They are simply impressed that people they think of as dolls can get dirty and work their muscles. But even at the end of the day I was approached and told “You did great work, but Jake was marvelous.” Now imagine a comment like that at least two to three times a day and see how you feel about the role of women in this society.
“The kids don’t stand a chance” – B.oB. just came across on my iPod and sang those words, which is precisely what I and my friends have noted about this village. The children here have what we would consider a very poor example, and it’s hard to look at their smiling faces and regret what they may grow up to be like.
The respected people in the community are the elders – all men who make up a council that makes decisions for the village. Upon our first day of meeting them the spokesman asked almost all of the American women to marry him, and asked Jake, the one man in our small group, to take him to America with him. Almost every time they talk to us they are asking for us to take them to America, and typically it’s through marriage proposals. If the respected elders ask us these questions incessantly you can only imagine the rest of the village.
As a white woman in this village you often feel like a piece of meat. Certainly I’ve experienced this in America, but it’s not from almost every single male adult that I come across in a day. Where are the respectable people here? Do they throw away all manners for the desperate hope that we will fall into a trap of fake love so that they can go to America, which they know little about? It might make a difference if they at least asked questions about the States, but they don’t. They assume they know about it, or at least assume that they know enough, but there are so many misconceptions, just as we had about Ghana before we came. When we met with the teachers at the local primary school, they thought that all American students that finished high school were paid. There is so much that we could share, but they aren’t very interested to learn. Instead they are fascinated merely by our skin color, which I have never wished I could tear off more than now.
It’s taken a lot of introspection to analyze these feelings, and they grow stronger every day I am in the village. But that’s not to say that I’m not having a good time. I have met many kind people who are more than willing to share their lives with me. The children love us, and when we aren’t exhausted we love playing with them. They want nothing more than to hold our hands and learn our names, and have us know theirs. It’s particularly hard for the kids these days because as of last week every public school teacher in Ghana is on strike. Although the Ghanaian teachers deserve their proper pay and the government has been abusing them, it’s sad to know that the only people that will suffer are the kids. Many of them won’t complete primary school (sixth grade) and will end up working on their family farms and halting their education does nothing to encourage learning.
It’s hard for us to watch, knowing that many of these children won’t complete school, many of the boys will become just like their fathers, and many of the girls who might want to continue school won’t be allowed to because they need to care for the house.
On a lighter note, every day I receive gifts of fruit from a seventy year old man looking for me to marry him. I have received four marriage proposals since reaching Afransie, and the number is almost uncountable for Ghana as a whole. I am given so much attention here, I think I will miss it when I get back home.
Why aren’t all you guys after me? Why don’t you think I’m beautiful? Where’s my fruit?
Jerks.
**END OLD POST**
