Chronicle of my summer volunteering with Futures for Kids and School For Life in Northern Ghana doing international social work; program evaluation and project management.
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Monday, July 11, 2011
Homestay
I am staying in a homestay arranged by my colleague here. I have my own room in an apartment in a building of subsidized housing known as the SNITT area. Anita is my homestay mother, she is in her 40s and has a 5 year old son named, Nana. She has mocha colored skin while her child is very dark. He is a hyper, amusing, intelligent, sweet boy. She is a kind, thoughtful and independent woman. The apartment is comfortable and safe. The living room when you walk in has plush red couches with a medium sized TV at the front. There is a small balcony to the right and a long table along the wall to the left. This is where I eat my meals, sitting alone at one end of the table while they lounge on the couches. The kitchen is to the left, protected as all the rooms are by a swinging door with a mesh metal grate across it to minimize mosquitos. Through a curtain and another door from the living room is a short hallway with a sink on the end, a small bathroom; toilet, and a small room for the shower. On the left is my room, mostly visible since instead of a wall it is more mesh with curtains on the inside. My room is painted a deep blue and has a two beds, a small table, and a large wardrobe structure. To the right of the hallway is the curtain which leads to where Anita and Nana sleep, I have not been invited in nor taken a peek.
Anita is a great cook and very sympathetic to my vegetarianism. Even though I technically opened up to seafood a couple years ago, so far the only dishes I enjoy are tilapia, salmon, crab cakes and scallops. She has made me a few dishes with sardines, mackerel and other types mixed in with rice. I do my best to swallow it. She usually prepares spaghetti or rice and beans with delicious spices to taste. She also makes plaintains, soft and sweet which I cut up and blend into the bean mixture. In the morning I have a fried egg on a piece of soft cake type bread, she uses a lot of butter so the combination is tasty. I feel badly because she cooks my food separately than what her and her son eat. When I realized this I tried to leave food for him from my plate, but he took one bite of spaghetti with vegetables and thought it was nasty. I have tried a few local dishes and most of them I would prefer not to have again, if only due to my acute response to textures. I try to buy some boxes of spaghetti when I’m out and if I could find some avocados which I haven’t seen up in the north, I want to make them guacamole. I’m not used to eating just a few large meals, on my own I eat small amounts throughout the day, so I usually end up stuffing myself as much as possible and still being really hungry later. Fortunately, I have a supply of cliff bars in my room which have proved useful.
Anita asked me what my background is, since I don’t look like her other volunteers; blond and blue eyed and white skin. I explained to her that I was born in south america but adopted as a baby. She lit up and said that she herself was an orphan. She proceeded to tell me her life story and I will recount as much of it as I recall. I plan on speaking with her more in depth and producing a long story about her.
She was born, her parents were somehow or another out of the picture, and so her elderly grandmother raised her during babyhood in a rural village outside of Tamale. The biggest mystery to her is why she is what they call “half caste” or mixed race. When she was about 7, her grandmother sold her to a family in the city as house help, thinking this would provide her more opportunity. Her light skin was expected to bring her favorable chances. The family was wicked and treated her as a slave. She was the sole cook and maid for a family of 6, slept on the kitchen floor and was beaten regularly. She was only given hand me down clothes to wear, and the one time she got a new outfit at Christmas, one of the kids shredded it with scissors and told the parents she had done it. They barely paid her anything and she finally became rid of them. She worked as a street seller, carrying trays of water and fruits on her head, walking around through traffic. Occasionally someone would point out her light skin and toss her some bills, one man even paid for her to go to school briefly but then moved away. At one point she wanted to kill herself, but was told that she had a sister somewhere in the area who was married. She didn’t have any money to try and find her, but it made her keep on going.
She worked for a company for a few years when an NGO helped her get employment, but even though she was doing well she was not compensated enough or promoted ever. Eventually another company hired her to sell cosmetics and helped her to get into this subsidized housing. She is deeply Christian and has struggled with God making her suffer so much but continues to have faith.
Her personal life was equally tragic. She met a man and fell in love and remained loyal to him for years while he was away in the US. After a decade he returned, only to say that he had another woman in the US, impregnate Anita, and leave. Just this year he has contacted her saying he is willing to help support Nana, but her pride makes her bristle at accepting his help. She is perhaps an overly kind person, as evidenced from her insistence that I pay her less money than I had agreed to. There is a woman in the building who has three children by three fathers and seems pretty incompetent. Anita feeds at least one of her kids each day. She has been hosting volunteers for about 7 years now and it seems to be one of her favorite things. This past year she registered an NGO and has a strong passion to set it up to host volunteers and help the orphanage she took me to see. I hope I can help her however I can and feel fortunate to be staying here.
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