Damn, where did it go?

Where has my inspiration gone?  I have been trying to write a blog entry for weeks, but I keep losing steam.  Usually, I will get a burst, most likely in the form of a sentence or a congealing idea, but I have felt little these past couple weeks.  In fact, my writing in general has taken a hiatus.  I can’t understand why.  How can lose it only after a couple months at site?  Aren’t I still seeing new things every day?  The answer is yes, but for some reason, I am lacking the creative abilities to spin into something interesting.  I don’t want to just list bland updates, and great epiphanies have abandoned me for the time being.  It is among the many things that are slipping and a constant source of anxiety for me.

It seems whenever I begin another adventure/task/phase in life, I come to a point, a trial I must pass through where I come to grips with the reality that my vision and expectations about what I am undertaking and its actual reality don’t match up.  I am there now.  When I stepped on the plane at JFK I had goals.  Goals to push myself to do more than I had attempted before, to really take charge of my professional development, to take advantage of my academically-prepped mind and be as sharp as ever.  I was really gonna figure out how to be a leader here, how to be a professional anthropologist, and maybe this time, this endeavor, I would find that I could be the best at something instead of just merely “good.”  Maybe I could be the best at learning language, the best at writing, observing, culturally understanding, or critiquing.  Maybe, in my wildest dreams, I could even be the best volunteer.  In some ways all my switching between different endeavors in life are a result of my many interests in the world—dancing when I was a kid, music when I was in high school, culture, archaeology, traveling, and language in college, jobs in (sort of) exotic locales, trying to merge them all in grad school, plus all of the minor interests in between.  And that is definitely true.  I never really possessed the ability to devote myself and my attentions to any one thing.  The world is a big, diverse, and interesting place that everyone should explore to the fullest, but a big part of all that “dabbling” has been about searching for something I was naturally better at than anyone else.  And I thought, this time, with as much work, time, and knowledge I gained in graduate school, I could be a step ahead, but also at the same time be active in gaining so many more insights and skills.  That vision, like so many others, is not being realized.  That doesn’t mean other good things aren’t created in its place, but it is still a struggle to let go of it, to not use the f-word—failure.  But now, as someone recently advised me, it’s time to come down from that.  No matter what I gain, I am still no better at anything than anyone else.  But it is even more splintered than that.  Some things I am still weak in, others I am strong.  I am not strong in all things.  All of the advanced education in the world won’t make me better at gathering people, running meetings and making inspiring speeches, but that’s what I have Kwesi for.  No amount of education can make me a complete master of my space such as he is as we walk around Damanko and I am a bit jealous of that.  I am lucky to have such and able and knowledgeable counterpart—a prime example of what Peace Corps envisioned when they created such a role in their program—so why can’t I just relish this blessing I have instead of being intimidated by it?

In many ways, I have been thrust into a role I have never encountered before.  This was not unexpected.  I wanted that as a part of continually trying to push myself to new insights and growth opportunities.  Never have I been asked or looked to to organize things, to be the source of serious quality of life improvements, the source of new ideas, knowledge and advice.  It’s rather intimidating.  In a place like this, people are hungry for ideas, for knowledge, for opportunities.  Sure there are always those who are looking to improve their lives only through money (or trips to America), because they think that is the only way they can make their lives better, but if you can find those people who aren’t worried with that, you have found the gems.  The people who want only to learn more, to be connected to something different, to be given something they can in turn give to others, are the real movers and shakers of development and the ones who will make the most impact.  So then I find myself thinking—Damn, how do I live up to that?  Kwesi and Joseph talk to me about following Peace Corps because the advice that comes to them through its volunteers suits them well and has really moved them somehow.  How do I live up to that?  People never come to me for advice at home.  Peace Corps training provides me with certain technical knowledge that I am expected to give, but life as a foreign volunteer in an underprivileged community requires a much wider breadth of advice.  Sometimes I look at the two of them and I think:  You can already do so much, what can I possibly give you?

Tis the season--even in 90 degree weather...

A little late on the post, I know, being that Thanksgiving was about a week ago, but some thoughts just struck me.

As has apparently become expected tradition, all the Peace Corps volunteers in Ghana were invited to the Ambassador’s luscious house in Accra to celebrate the most American of holidays.  And so, missing our turkey, mashed potatoes, and pies of the sweet kind (not to mention free booze and the lure of a swimming pool) about 120+ travel raggedy volunteers descended on the carefully guarded premises for an afternoon.  The perpetually warm weather, the enthusiasm for which the swimming pool was sought, the many glasses of wine poured in merriment, and many ladies’ new Ghanaian-made warm weather dresses made the gathering easily mistaken for a beach party.  We swam, drank to our hearts’ content, chatted with new volunteers we hadn’t met, caught up with some we hadn’t seen since training, the Ambassador proudly paraded his new 8 week old son, and we all eagerly awaited the time we could stuff our faces with some old fashioned soul food. 

As part of the Thanksgiving experience, the Ambassador’s people (and Peace Corps’ people too) made it possible for about half of the volunteers expected to be hosted by local ex-pat families (just in case someone doesn’t know what that is: ex-pat refers to families or individuals living in a foreign country for a temporary but extended period of time working for their own government.  Like “immigrant” but richer and not for permanent residence).   My friend Francesca and I were lucky to be housed with a woman named Lisa, who works for USAID in Ghana (and served in Peace Corps in the 80s), and her two teenage sons.  Ex-pat families tend to live pretty high on the hog, especially if they’re working in developing countries, because they earn American salaries and live in countries with lower cost of living.  Often the working for the embassy or foreign service means you are provided with a furnished house and, as part of a larger ex-pat community, able to get American products sent over pretty regularly.  Many employ a local housekeeper.  Some have swimming pools.  There is a water heater, air conditioning, internet, clothes washing machines, and dish washing machines. This allows many people who spend most of their careers abroad to maintain a very American household.  Having spent most of their lives outside of America, Lisa’s two boys are every bit as American in behavior as you’d expect.  They attend school with other ex-pat kids, fight their mom over the amount of time spent on the internet and World of Warcraft, love TV shows like Battlestar Galactica and Heroes, and they’ve read the entire Harry Potter series.

This lifestyle, of course, does not belong to American ex-pat families alone.  It is very obvious once one has been in Ghana a short while how different life can be between those that live in the northern regions and those that live in the south, particularly Accra.  Like any big city, Accra has is ghettoes, its poorer places, the people without much to their name that come to the city to seek a better life, and it also has those that do live well, those who can afford and strive to live “modern.”  I’m not just talking in material objects, but mindsets, education opportunities, ideas, and exposures are more modern/enlightened/Western (choose your favorite word—of course that’s not to say that these words mean the same thing; what is “enlightened” is not always “modern” or “Western”).  Politics in the last 50 years is mostly responsible for this enormous gap in current development situations.  It also casts a pretty rigid dye for the stereotypes of “village” and “modern” in Ghana.  Anyone from the north, or those living in the north are all villagers and know nothing but farming, or so those in the south are given to thinking.  Their logic goes something like this:  Villagers are mostly farmers, and because they are farmers they don’t value education for themselves or their children.  Because they have no education they are ignorant/stupid.  Also, they don’t know how to spend their money.  They will tell you they can’t afford to send their children to school, but if there’s a funeral to conduct, somehow they find the money for large expensive livestock.  This thinking is a problem in Damanko, and many rural places in Ghana, because the government stations people from the southern provinces in the rural areas to work in civil services.  They are teachers, clinic staff, police officers.  This is part of the government’s plan for development in rural areas.  Theoretically, if people from the more developed areas are brought to the less developed areas, specifically in jobs crucial to development, that will help, right?  Well, to a certain extent, but pretty much all of them buy into this villager = stupid mentality.  Most are not blatant about it and still perform their jobs as expected, but their motivations in performing these services begin to slip.  It’s going to be a challenge teaching or reminding people, that even these uneducated people have some worthy contribution to make and that opportunities offered to people in life are different for everyone.  Not everyone here is uneducated, is a farmer, etc etc.  There is diversity, even here!!

But anyway, my rant over, I’ll return to Accra.  Thanksgiving dinner was great, and I stuffed myself as required by every Thanksgiving—tryptophan effects and all.  The next day, most of us went to The Mall (gasp!) to see Harry Potter 7 P1 and I reminded a few of us that we got to be IN a mall and miss all the Black Friday craziness.  Accra’s mall (complete with Apple Store) has two big stores (plus many others)—a grocery store and a Target-like store.  In the Target-like store, I wandered through and found myself chuckling at the commercialized Christmas decorations, trying to imagine their presence in Damanko: the lights adorning a thatch roof, tinsel and ornaments hanging from Kwesi’s moringa tree, garlands strewn about being nibbled on by goats….  It did offer a pretty unbelievable picture in my mind’s eye.  Looking at them, they just felt so…..pointless.

The grocery store was fun too.  It offered many imports and included a deli, fish counter, and lots of cheese.  It was a scene familiar to me, but I did entertain myself by imagining Joseph, my 15 year old friend who’s rarely been out of Damanko, in a store such as this.  It’s common in Ghana for people to ask for small gifts when friends or family are traveling.  If I got something for everyone who asked, I’d use up my paycheck every month, so most people don’t take it seriously, yet I always take a few special people some gifts.  Since I was in this very American-like grocery store, I looked for something I knew would probably not reach outside of Accra.  Several people received pears when I got back.  I was happy to find them, to eat one for myself, and to present even a couple of my more educated and worldly friends with something they hadn’t seen or tried before.  “It is sweet, oh.  I like it.”  Maybe someday I’ll do a post just on the Ghanaian use of the word “sweet.”

So all in all, Thanksgiving was a blast, and it gave me a chance to ruminate on some things, like my fluctuating definition of “luxury.”  If you ever want to enjoy something 100 times more than you do currently, just deprive yourself of it for a while.  I have become used to bucket baths and don’t mind them so much.  Of course that doesn’t mean I didn’t nearly weep for joy during the first hot shower I took at Lisa’s.  Yes, they feel good when you have one everyday, but they feel 100 TIMES BETTER when you haven’t had one for six months.  Francesca and I slept in an air conditioned room on beds with sheets and duvets, we ate homemade pizza and pancakes (not at the same time), washed our clothes in a washing machine, and stretched out on real sofas.  Life feels so much more satisfying when even the little things become so pleasurable you can’t stand it.  I don’t feel deprived when I’m at site.  I don’t sit around and think “Damn, I’d do anything for a _____ right now.”  Well, at least not always.  Having some of those things just wouldn’t feel right out here.   They just don’t fit in with life as it’s lived here.  That said, when I get back, I’m going to get a whole lot more out of that hot shower than you will.  I am thankful for the chance to rediscover how wonderful even some minor things can be.