Pictures from Ghana

Merry Christmas, from Chief Sahanaa of Karaga, Tamale, Ghana

When I arrived in Ghana for my volunteer program, I really had no expectations other than to try and make a small difference in the lives of young children. Little did I know what else was in store for me...

One lazy Sunday, which also happened to be Ghana's Election Day, (If you thought the US Election consumed everybody's attention, Ghana is ten times worse!) I was sitting around the living room just listening to all the various heated political debates between my friends Jawad, Frederick, Omar, and others, including, "This Guy." Just for the record, "This Guy" had been dropping by the house on a pretty consistent basis, but I never really caught his name. I figured the time would come when we'd be introduced formally. He was a rather happy and jolly fellow, and I'd always slap fives with him and we'd greet each other like we had known each other for years.

Anyway, Grace, my neighbor, brought me a big bowl of fufu, which is basically mashed up yams, plaintains in a bowl of meat stew and very delicious. The texture and taste remind me of a favorite wintertime dish that my grandma and mom make, tong yuen. I asked Grace for a spoon to eat it with but all my friends objected loudly and said I'd have to use my hands. "When in Ghana," I thought. I went outside to wash my hands, came back, and ate about half of it before I was stuffed. I left it on the table and offered everybody around me if they wanted it. "This Guy" took it.

I went outside to wash my hands and when I came back inside I saw "This Guy" eating the fufu with a spoon. My big mouth just opened and said something to the effect of, "Why are you using a spoon, what are you, crazy???" The room fell silent. I looked around me for some signs of life but I couldn't even hear crickets. All I heard was Jawad say, "You just called the Chief crazy, man." As a side note, Jawad and I became good friends over the past week and we joked around quite a bit so I didn't actually believe him at first and replied incredulously, "He's a chief!?" I always kind of expected African chiefs to be wearing ornate headpieces and perhaps a few skulls around the neck-- something to distinguish them from the ordinary riff-raff. Well, my disbelief apparently caused further insult to injury as I not only called him crazy, but questioned his obvious chiefdomness. I took one look at him, and The Chief did not look happy at all. In fact, it was the first time I had seen such a serious, upset look about him. Sorta like how my dad looked at me when I was a kid and ruined the front lawn by trying, rather unsuccessfully I might add, to make my own water slide. Anyway, I apologized profusely, and did a special African dance of apology and told him I'd apologize the American way and buy him a beer the next day.

He likes beer:

From Ghana

He really does:

From Ghana

We made up:

From Ghana

Reminded me never to call him crazy again:

From Ghana

And said he wanted to make me a chief of his village...

From Ghana

I accepted, of course!!

The chief organized a huge party where I coughed up about a hundred bucks for my chief gear, consisting of a smock, pants, hat, money for the drummers, and of course beer for the elders. It is a huge understatement to say I was extremely overwhelmed. (I will upload pics and videos as soon as I get a broadband connection. Uploading those five pics above took 45 minutes!)Everybody in the village showed up-- kids, elders, women, men, road chickens, and even a few stubborn old goats made their way over to see what the commotion was all about. Plenty of dancing to drums preceded the actual ceremony in which I was given my smock, hat and some other formalities that I could not quite understand. They named me, "Sahanaa" which is pronounced Sah-ha-NAH, which translates indirectly to mean chief of opportunity and good luck/fortune. To the village of Karaga, I represent the opportunity to help make a difference. This is a really huge honor, as I have discovered, only one other foreigner has been asked to be a chief of a village in Tamale.

From Ghana

Being a chief of Karaga would entail no major obligation except to help out in any way possible when I come back home. As I told Frederick, helping the village out would not only be an honor, but I would know that 100% of my efforts and donations, whether they be books, clothes or money, would go directly to the village. Donating to organizations like UNICEF are absolutely commendable but sadly, the overhead involved in running them means a large percentage doesn't go directly to those who need it most and instead go to things like salaries and advertising. I'm not trying to diminish their objectives and the immense impact they have made, except to merely point out that if I send ten dollars to Karaga, ten will show up at Karaga. By the way, one dollar can buy 10 liters of clean drinking water, enough for probably four kids for a day.

Currently, most of the girls at Karaga have sponsors, donors, and charities who pay for their education at a nearby school that Sarah and Allie also volunteer their time at. Unfortunately, that program has not extended to the boys in the village. It is one of my long-term goals to establish, fund and sponsor a program for the boys and will be asking you for your help in the future, so stay tuned.

Here are some of the rules I have to abide by, now that I'm a chief:
1) I have to speak through a linguist, or rather, a spokesperson, to anybody. I appointed my friend, Al-Hassan.
2) I cannot walk alone, nor should I ever have to walk first.
3) I am not allowed to carry anything myself. (Somebody care to travel with me for the rest of the year and carry my 18kg backpack???!!)
4) People have to greet me by squatting down and clapping their hands together. (I think I'll have a hard time convincing my friends back home to do this...)
5) Most importantly, I can now eat fufu (or anything for that matter) with whatever utensil I feel like using!

After just less than three weeks in Ghana, I went from insulting and calling an African chief crazy, to (crazily enough) becoming one myself. I couldn't have been given this gift at a better time, as we approach Christmas, a time of giving. I have donated less than three weeks of my time here in Ghana, yet I have been given the honor of a lifelong title I will uphold and aspire to live up to. I promised everybody I would come back one day, and hope that someday all of you can see for yourselves what a difference one person named Daniel, Chief Sahanaa of Karaga can make.

Ni ti yun pali!! (Merry Christmas in Dabani)

Volunteering in Tamale, Ghana, Part I

Right after Copenhagen, I flew back to London to apply for my visa to
Ghana. During the last few months I've been kind of fretting (errr.
procrastinating) about how to do this in the most efficent manner
since, according to their website, would take a minimum of four days
to process, 10 if by mail. Given my hectic travel schedule and the
fact I needed to have my passport with me left me no choice but to
apply in person. However, I didn't want to spend four more days in a
city I had already visited seven times in the past seven months. It
also wasn't my idea of fun to be strolling around 40 degree weather in
a pair of paper-thin, holed-up jeans and a jacket that is about one
more wash away from disintegrating.

Anyway, back to the visa. I arrived at the embassy with my best smile
on, knowing full well that I'd have to be on my best behavior if I was
to pull this visa off in a day. After waiting over three hours, my
number finally came up. However, a nearly-in-tears young woman in
front of me was complaining quite loudly about how she took a day off
to get her visa, that she needed to fly out the next day, and rudely
demanding to see a supervisor, blah blah blah. Needless to say her
words went unheeded and was shooed away. What a great warm up act for
me. I knew I'd really have to put all of my sales experience to pull
this one off. I kindly asked the nice immigration official if I could
get the visa processed by the next day. Naturally, in his best
robot-voice he stated that all visas take four days minimum. I told
him I was flying out the next day and showed him my "electronic
ticket" which was really just a printout of my standby reservation
*snicker snicker* The robot repeated again that he couldn't do
anything. Then I pulled out my ace under my sleeve and went all in by
telling him that I needed to be in Ghana the next day because I had a
class full of kids to teach in a remote village (I hadn't even applied
to any volunteer programs actually!) His robot-voice softened up and
he asked me why I didn't apply for this in the US before my trip. At
this point I knew I was good and I told him there was no way since I
had been travelling for the past seven months. He took one look at
all my stamps, and told me under his breath to come by the following
morning to pick up my visa! I thanked him over and over again, as my
endophins were high-fiving each other all over the place. I realized
two things: 1) If you treat a robot like a human, you'll get a
human(e) response 2) I miss closing deals and the immediate rush you
get afterwards!!!

I hopped over to McDonalds to celebrate this victory and splurged on a
double espresso (if you saw the prices, you'd know what I mean) while
I jumped on the free wi-fi and applied to my volunteer program
formally. I decided on www.touristvolunteers.com because it stated
that they only needed one days' notice and could start anytime for as
long as you wanted. Most other programs had formal start/end dates
and required more than one days' notice. Frederick, the Program
Director, would later tell me that I was the first volunteer ever to
apply and show up the following day. He thought (and probably still
does) I was nuts as most people plan weeks, if not months ahead. As
I've discovered over the past seven months, however, decisoins about
where to go, what to do, and when to leave can be made very quickly--
everything always works out in the end.

I arrived into Accra late at night, where Jawad greeted me at the
airport. We spent the night in Accra, where we would travel 12 hours
north the following morning to Tamale. And no, there aren't any
Mexicans here. At least none I've seen or met. Speaking of race,
Ghanaians consider anybody who isn't "black" to be "white." In other
words, I'm white. Not yellow. Not Chinese. Not American. White
Daniel. Hah!!

I did meet two "real" white girls who were staying in the same house
as I was. Sarah, (UK) a second-year medical student, is spearheading
the effort behind building an actual health clinic in the village of
Wulanyilli, where we are volunteering. Though Ghana has provided
universal health care for about $7/year, most do not even have the
means to get to a medical care facility. Allie, also from the UK, is
focusing her tiem on teaching the students.....ahhh... the kids.....

My first day at the village was an eye-opening,
heart-breaking/warming, gut-wrenching rude awakening. As much as I
have written about my travels so far nothing can really compare to
this, as far as how deeply moved I've been. My second day of teaching
proved to be an example of this. I began the days' lesson with long
addition and noticed two kids, Poul and Anas, struggling and staring
at the problems I had written on the board. By the end of the class,
however, their look of total confusion eventually turned into bright
smiles, eager to raise their hands and share their newfound knowledgee
with the rest of the class. I used to be averse to volunteering of
any sort because I thought I couldn't really make a difference in the
whole grand scheme of things. After that day I know that I did and
that's all that matters to me. Will they remember me as the teacher
who shed some light on how to add? Maybe they will, maybe they
won't-- but I know I will.

I spent my second weekend travelling to Mole National Park, about 70
kilometers away from Tamale. Jawad, Rebecca, and I took a "tro-tro"
there, which is basically, well, a beat up old jalopy. It took us
about 5 hours to get to Dumongo because of an hour long breakdown
delay. When we arrived we ran into Rebecca's Dad's best friend, who
offerred us a ride to Mole, about another 6 kilometers away. It was a
welcome relief to go from a broken down old jalopy bumping along at 20
km/hr to a 4WD Toyota truck plowing through the dirt roads at 50+
km/hr. The A/C was not a bad touch, either!

At Mole, I saw wild pigs just strolling around, fed some monkeys my
biscuits, and spotteda couple of elephants hanging around their
favorite watering hole. We spent the night sleeping on the rooftop
under the starts. It was the first time I had ever done that (well,
except for that time I passed out on the beach...but that's a
different story!)

In a nutshell, my first two weeks here in Tamale really reinforced and
reminded me how lucky I am, and how great of a life I have back home.
From hand washing my clothes in a bucket, to having inconsistent
electricity, to pushing our van to jump start our way to the village
to something as basic has having running, (not to mention, clean)
water, to the kids who walk two hours to school only to be taught by
indifferent and apathetic teachers who are PAID, to having a healthy
meal everyday....to everything I have that they do not, I am deeply
humbled and gracious-- yet tremendously inspired by the strength of
the human spirit under the most difficult conditions.