Upon arrival back in the US, I spent hours staring at my computer screen in amazement of the fast-speed internet. With air conditioning strategically positioned to blow directly at me, I've been able to catch up on my emails and blog-reading (I believe there is not a more appropriate name for our blog than "Fletcher Globe Trotters" -- we are all quite the adventure-seekers). I've taken a bunch of hot showers (unbelievable) and even jumped in the swimming pool to cool off from the intense humidity of DC. I've eaten beef (not safe in Ghana, I know this from first-hand experience....twice, actually, I didn't learn my lesson the first time). I've had real, green lettuce and fresh fruit, both of which my body has been insanely craving. We never did get that running water in my house, so even flushing the toilet makes me giddy. Not kidding.
I've been back for almost a week, and although the side effects of the malaria medicine still hits me every so often with some nausea when I least expect it, I'm strong and healthy and enjoying life at home. Nonetheless my dreams are still based in Africa, so it is clearly still deeply engrained in my mind.
In Accra there is a fast-food restaurant called Papaye with a menu that strongly resembles Popeyes. Since Accra has no street signs and taxi drivers rarely know where they are going, it is good to know some landmarks near where you want to go so that you can tell your taxi driver the general direction of your destination. Papaye is one of these places, and, inevitably, this is where I ended up eating quite a few times.
Papaye has no connection to Popeyes, which PK and I quickly figured out. In fact, I am surprised they even call the place a 'fast-food' restaurant. To an outsider, it appears to be fast-food, with the neon yellow sign out front, the plastic red and yellow booths and the matching outfits that the staff wears. But it takes no less than 45 minutes for them to serve you after you order, even if you just order some coleslaw and chicken. Now that I'm back home, I almost want to jump up and hug my waiter when he gets the food to us in a record 15 to 20 minutes.
As is the life in Ghana.
My research added a really exciting dynamic to my work in the camp. Unfortunately given the tense situation between Liberian refugees and Ghanaians at the moment, meeting with the Ghanaian government was impossible (that is another story in and of itself), but I was lucky enough to have contacts at the US Embassy who linked me up with quite a few other public officials. After hearing both sides of the story, it quickly became clear to me that refugees did not understand their options, and that before the March protests many had high hopes of being resettled to the United States even after the resettlement program was over (it is also worth mentioning here that very, very few refugees get resettled, something around 1%). Since the protests in March, refugees have reluctantly accepted their only option of going back to Liberia and are scrambling to find ways to survive. Unfortunately this is when resources from the international community are turning away from the Liberian refugee situation and towards other, more immediate crises such as that in Darfur. So now there are hundreds of people piled outside the registration office on camp -- run by Ghanaians -- to go home when six months ago it was hard to even fill up a UNHCR airplane from Ghana going back to Liberia.
Since resources are decreasing and the number of returnees is vastly increasing, this causes some major problems. What normally should be a one-week process -- from registration to a spot on the airplane -- is often taking over a month for most. It's clear that the misperception that resettlement was a viable option for them caused a vast numbers of refugees to stay in Buduburam. If they really understood that returning home was their only option years ago, then many more would have left or at least started making plans to leave earlier -- when donor countries were still willing to spend on the Liberian case.
I have come up with some recommendations and various ideas on what to do about these issues, but I won't bore you all to death with these. For now, I'm busy planning a party / fundraiser at my house for a few people I want to help go to school and send back to Liberia. Since I don't believe in giving away too much for free, I had a Liberian family make some necklaces with beads from the Eastern region of Ghana and I will be giving them all the profits.
Ghana may offer fast food and in reality provide slow service, but from my experience they do evenutally deliver. It just means the longer you wait, the hungrier you get. It is probably the same for the refugees as many of them wait to go back to Liberia. As a Liberian once told me, "they make you wait, unless you have money to give them... it's not easy when we want to go back and start life."
Showing posts with label Dana B. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dana B. Show all posts
Friday, July 25, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
"It's not easy"
As my time here is wrapping up, the camp is getting more and more quiet. I’d like to think it is a moment of silence before I leave, but it has more to do with the fact that refugees are heading home as fast as they can. “It’s not easy,” as they say here. It’s even less easy for those who don’t have UNHCR ID cards because the machine broke down about three years ago (a rumor yet to be confirmed). If you don’t have a UNHCR ID card, you cannot travel with the UN that gives refugees a free plane ride home and $100 per adult ($50 per child) upon arrival. Although the money will most likely be gone in less than two weeks since prices in Liberia are high in comparison to Ghana, it is at least a safe and free way of getting back. Finding the money to pay for rent in the overcrowded Monrovia is the next challenge. For those who have no networks in Liberia, either because their family was killed or they grew up in Buduburam, it is a frightening reality that they will not have a place to stay while they look for a home.
If you don’t have an ID card, you have to travel by road. It is rainy season, so traveling by road can be dangerous. In Ghana, the deafening pounding of a rainstorm on my tin roof is enough for me to appreciate the intensity of storms here in western Africa. If I put my buckets out to collect water, they are filled in five minutes. But in Ghana, these storms come and go. The farther you move west, the longer and harder it rains. A normally two- or three-day trip back to Liberia can turn into three weeks as the roads are destroyed and Liberians have to set up camp in Cote d’Ivoire. Cote d’Ivoire is also not safe. Because of the recent civil war there, the crime is high and many Liberians are afraid to stay multiple nights. But some can’t even afford to go by road. If refugees have no money, no vehicle, and no ID cards, they are stuck in Buduburam, which will be closing in the next few months.
Refugees have had three options over the years: local integration into Ghanaian society, repatriation back to Liberia, and resettlement to a third country such as the US or somewhere in Europe. Resettlement to the US ended last year, not including the few P3 cases (which means there are family members there) that are still being reviewed from last year. Only 1% of refugees were sent abroad, since an intense interview process picks out the most vulnerable to go. Refugees are not interested in reintegration in Ghana, which was part of the protests this past March that raised tensions between Ghanaians and Liberians. Ghanaians think Liberians are ungrateful since they have been allowed to settle in Ghana for 18 years, but Liberians know it would incredibly difficult to start a life in Ghana. Even though local integration is free, and Liberians will in theory be given all the rights of a Ghanaian, it is still unlikely they will get a job because employers will hire a Ghanaian before a foreign national.
What is going to happen to the camp once it is ‘closed?’ What does ‘closed’ really mean? What happens to the Liberian refugees who are still here, and can’t afford to go back home? These are questions I’ve asked public officials in Accra who don’t even know the answers. Some Liberians think this area will turn into an army base, while others think Ghanaians will come and live here. And as for the Liberians who can’t afford to leave – breaking up the camp in October or November is still a possibility. The more aggressive Interior Minister who was advocating for this has been replaced, and it would take a great amount of resources to do this – but it has been done before in Togo and could happen here. No one really knows what to expect.
With repatriation as the ‘preferred’ – in other words, pretty much only – option that refugees have now, everyone is heading home. Now it’s just a question of how they get home safely and how to “start their lives” upon arrival to an overcrowded city, high crime rate, and few resources. As I head home with a recorder full of interviews with nervous refugees and notes from discussions with public officials, I’ve come up with a few theories on how to better help the process of repatriation; but these ideas will be shared in a later blog entry.
It’s not going to be easy to leave the people I care about. It’s as though they are walking off a cliff with their eyes closed, unsure of how far they are going to fall before they hit the ground.
If you don’t have an ID card, you have to travel by road. It is rainy season, so traveling by road can be dangerous. In Ghana, the deafening pounding of a rainstorm on my tin roof is enough for me to appreciate the intensity of storms here in western Africa. If I put my buckets out to collect water, they are filled in five minutes. But in Ghana, these storms come and go. The farther you move west, the longer and harder it rains. A normally two- or three-day trip back to Liberia can turn into three weeks as the roads are destroyed and Liberians have to set up camp in Cote d’Ivoire. Cote d’Ivoire is also not safe. Because of the recent civil war there, the crime is high and many Liberians are afraid to stay multiple nights. But some can’t even afford to go by road. If refugees have no money, no vehicle, and no ID cards, they are stuck in Buduburam, which will be closing in the next few months.
Refugees have had three options over the years: local integration into Ghanaian society, repatriation back to Liberia, and resettlement to a third country such as the US or somewhere in Europe. Resettlement to the US ended last year, not including the few P3 cases (which means there are family members there) that are still being reviewed from last year. Only 1% of refugees were sent abroad, since an intense interview process picks out the most vulnerable to go. Refugees are not interested in reintegration in Ghana, which was part of the protests this past March that raised tensions between Ghanaians and Liberians. Ghanaians think Liberians are ungrateful since they have been allowed to settle in Ghana for 18 years, but Liberians know it would incredibly difficult to start a life in Ghana. Even though local integration is free, and Liberians will in theory be given all the rights of a Ghanaian, it is still unlikely they will get a job because employers will hire a Ghanaian before a foreign national.
What is going to happen to the camp once it is ‘closed?’ What does ‘closed’ really mean? What happens to the Liberian refugees who are still here, and can’t afford to go back home? These are questions I’ve asked public officials in Accra who don’t even know the answers. Some Liberians think this area will turn into an army base, while others think Ghanaians will come and live here. And as for the Liberians who can’t afford to leave – breaking up the camp in October or November is still a possibility. The more aggressive Interior Minister who was advocating for this has been replaced, and it would take a great amount of resources to do this – but it has been done before in Togo and could happen here. No one really knows what to expect.
With repatriation as the ‘preferred’ – in other words, pretty much only – option that refugees have now, everyone is heading home. Now it’s just a question of how they get home safely and how to “start their lives” upon arrival to an overcrowded city, high crime rate, and few resources. As I head home with a recorder full of interviews with nervous refugees and notes from discussions with public officials, I’ve come up with a few theories on how to better help the process of repatriation; but these ideas will be shared in a later blog entry.
It’s not going to be easy to leave the people I care about. It’s as though they are walking off a cliff with their eyes closed, unsure of how far they are going to fall before they hit the ground.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Bad Leadership
June 26, 2008
Nelson Mandela finally commented about the crisis in Zimbabwe, and blamed it on ‘bad leadership.’ He never mentioned ZANU-PF (the ruling party) or Mugabe, but it is a great step forward. With the run-off elections tomorrow, and the MDC opposition leader , Morgan Tsvangirai having pulled out of the race, there could be absolute chaos. Tsvangirai pulled out in fear of his life since so many of his colleagues have been killed in recent weeks, but has offered negotiations with Mugabe to try and settle the crisis. It is an important offer to give, but we all know very well that Mugabe will never negotiate.
So why is Mandela only just speaking out against Mugabe now? Mandela was one of the best leaders Africa has ever known; even that the world has ever known. He avoided major civil war in South Africa and pulled his country out of the violence of Apartheid. He is a man who believes in peace, democracy, and term limits, and stepped down once his time was over. For the past decade, people have been saying Zimbabwe ‘can’t get much worse.’ But it has. And there was silence among almost all South Africans, the one neighbor that could have actually done something to stop Zimbabwe’s spiral towards disaster.
Mugabe and other leaders of the ZANU-PF helped protect the ANC (now the ruling party of South Africa) during their fight against the Apartheid regime. So not only do ANC members feel indebted to the ZANU-PF, but many of them see Mugabe as a symbol of the fight against white colonial rule. Mugabe was a major player in fighting the brutal white regime in Rhodesia – the colonial name of Zimbabwe – in the 1960s and 70s. Mugabe was praised as Zimbabwe's savior and has been treated almost as a God ever since.
In Africa, these bonds matter. You respect your elders, and you do not speak out against your brothers who fought alongside you. But Mugabe’s claim that he is protecting Zimbabwe from western colonialism is getting old. Although Mandela was careful not to say Mugabe’s name, the fact he said that Zimbabwe’s crisis is a result of bad leadership is a vital step forward, especially since the Southern Africa Development Community (SADC) countries are taking a stance against Mugabe as well.
From an on-ground report, apparently the slogan is “support Mugabe, vote Tsvangirai.” Civilians are forced to wear t-shirts and hats with Mugabe’s face, people have to drive with Mugabe slogans in their cars, and restaurant and hotel owners must have a portrait of Mugabe on their walls. Anyone who does not have this is considered an enemy, and is accused of supporting the opposition.
Tomorrow’s run-off elections could end in violence. Tsvangirai’s name is still on the ballot, even though he pulled himself out of the race. There is no doubt that the Zimbabwean army – both official (what is left of it) and unofficial – will be out in the rural areas forcing people to vote for Mugabe. But if Mugabe claims victory, even after the clear win of Tsvangirai in last March’s elections, who knows what will happen.
Bread costs 8 billion Zimbabwean dollars, and even the average Zimbabwean can’t afford it -- all as a result of ZANU-PF policies and Mugabe's hunger for power. Talk about bad leadership.
Nelson Mandela finally commented about the crisis in Zimbabwe, and blamed it on ‘bad leadership.’ He never mentioned ZANU-PF (the ruling party) or Mugabe, but it is a great step forward. With the run-off elections tomorrow, and the MDC opposition leader , Morgan Tsvangirai having pulled out of the race, there could be absolute chaos. Tsvangirai pulled out in fear of his life since so many of his colleagues have been killed in recent weeks, but has offered negotiations with Mugabe to try and settle the crisis. It is an important offer to give, but we all know very well that Mugabe will never negotiate.
So why is Mandela only just speaking out against Mugabe now? Mandela was one of the best leaders Africa has ever known; even that the world has ever known. He avoided major civil war in South Africa and pulled his country out of the violence of Apartheid. He is a man who believes in peace, democracy, and term limits, and stepped down once his time was over. For the past decade, people have been saying Zimbabwe ‘can’t get much worse.’ But it has. And there was silence among almost all South Africans, the one neighbor that could have actually done something to stop Zimbabwe’s spiral towards disaster.
Mugabe and other leaders of the ZANU-PF helped protect the ANC (now the ruling party of South Africa) during their fight against the Apartheid regime. So not only do ANC members feel indebted to the ZANU-PF, but many of them see Mugabe as a symbol of the fight against white colonial rule. Mugabe was a major player in fighting the brutal white regime in Rhodesia – the colonial name of Zimbabwe – in the 1960s and 70s. Mugabe was praised as Zimbabwe's savior and has been treated almost as a God ever since.
In Africa, these bonds matter. You respect your elders, and you do not speak out against your brothers who fought alongside you. But Mugabe’s claim that he is protecting Zimbabwe from western colonialism is getting old. Although Mandela was careful not to say Mugabe’s name, the fact he said that Zimbabwe’s crisis is a result of bad leadership is a vital step forward, especially since the Southern Africa Development Community (SADC) countries are taking a stance against Mugabe as well.
From an on-ground report, apparently the slogan is “support Mugabe, vote Tsvangirai.” Civilians are forced to wear t-shirts and hats with Mugabe’s face, people have to drive with Mugabe slogans in their cars, and restaurant and hotel owners must have a portrait of Mugabe on their walls. Anyone who does not have this is considered an enemy, and is accused of supporting the opposition.
Tomorrow’s run-off elections could end in violence. Tsvangirai’s name is still on the ballot, even though he pulled himself out of the race. There is no doubt that the Zimbabwean army – both official (what is left of it) and unofficial – will be out in the rural areas forcing people to vote for Mugabe. But if Mugabe claims victory, even after the clear win of Tsvangirai in last March’s elections, who knows what will happen.
Bread costs 8 billion Zimbabwean dollars, and even the average Zimbabwean can’t afford it -- all as a result of ZANU-PF policies and Mugabe's hunger for power. Talk about bad leadership.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
If you give a mouse a cookie
Refugees are now asking me on a daily basis for money and favors. Some have been demanding for more than what we are already giving them -- as though all the work we are doing to help just isn't ever enough.
Not that I can blame them -- with that little income, and that much fear about my future, I might do the same. I'm lucky to be born into a world of running water and a family who can support me if I need help. I suppose that after staying in a place like Buduburam for over a month reality begins to sink in. People start to feel comfortable with you and tell you stories about their past you don't necessarily want to hear -- not that I don't care, but that is not why I am here. I want to help them focus on a more hopeful future, not on the trauma of the past.
I hate thinking "it's because I'm white." But I do, every time something seems slightly pricey. I think about it when someone is friendly to me, or even just says 'hello.' I give a friendly nod, but think to myself, "it's because they want something from me." It's as though they think you have money flowing out of the drain pipes at home.
It's a shame that's the way it is. So many of the volunteers on camp march in thinking we can make the world of difference. We do, in some ways. The orphanage wouldn't exist without the support of my organization which means 25 children would be malnourished or not even alive, and most children would go to school hungry without our morning feeding program. But sometimes it's as though they just want more and it is never enough. They want a raise for their work, they need more clothes, more food, more... more... more.
Understanding the dynamics of refugees on the ground will really affect my research next year. I do believe that these people have seen things no human being should ever have to see. Many have done things none of us should ever be forced to do. The sense of loss is so great it makes my stomach turn. But, if all we do is give away our help, then it doesn't only create dependency, it also creates expectation.
If you give a mouse a cookie, well, then he'll just ask for some milk.
Not that I can blame them -- with that little income, and that much fear about my future, I might do the same. I'm lucky to be born into a world of running water and a family who can support me if I need help. I suppose that after staying in a place like Buduburam for over a month reality begins to sink in. People start to feel comfortable with you and tell you stories about their past you don't necessarily want to hear -- not that I don't care, but that is not why I am here. I want to help them focus on a more hopeful future, not on the trauma of the past.
I hate thinking "it's because I'm white." But I do, every time something seems slightly pricey. I think about it when someone is friendly to me, or even just says 'hello.' I give a friendly nod, but think to myself, "it's because they want something from me." It's as though they think you have money flowing out of the drain pipes at home.
It's a shame that's the way it is. So many of the volunteers on camp march in thinking we can make the world of difference. We do, in some ways. The orphanage wouldn't exist without the support of my organization which means 25 children would be malnourished or not even alive, and most children would go to school hungry without our morning feeding program. But sometimes it's as though they just want more and it is never enough. They want a raise for their work, they need more clothes, more food, more... more... more.
Understanding the dynamics of refugees on the ground will really affect my research next year. I do believe that these people have seen things no human being should ever have to see. Many have done things none of us should ever be forced to do. The sense of loss is so great it makes my stomach turn. But, if all we do is give away our help, then it doesn't only create dependency, it also creates expectation.
If you give a mouse a cookie, well, then he'll just ask for some milk.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Ghana’s Most Beautiful.
I am now a celebrity not only amongst the children of the Buduburam camp but now also among all of those who watch Ghana’s Most Beautiful on Sunday nights. Ghana’s Most Beautiful is a slightly altered African version of US reality television. The stage is small, there were only about 100 people in the studio, and the judges are kind in their criticism, but everyone with a TV in Ghana watches it. It is down to four contestants and this Sunday each of them had to describe a social service project they would conduct for their country.
I went with my friend Laura who has a family member who works in the studio, along with PK from Fletcher. After we waited for a full hour past the time the show was supposed to start – technical difficulties, surprise, surprise – the show finally began. It somehow worked out that the three of us sat behind the three judges – which means that every time a judge spoke, there was one of our white faces reflecting the light in the background in an otherwise-completely-African setting. I wanted to laugh every time I saw us on the screen, only because I couldn’t believe that somehow it was the three of us who got those special seats. I got a phone call from some of the Liberians on camp when the show was over, who were extremely excited to have a celebrity friend and another American friend of mine told me there was a direct close-up of my face that took up the entire screen. Yikes, here I come, Ghana.
The past week and a half has been busy. Last week, we had to carry one of my roommates to the camp clinic in the middle of the night because she was so sick and her fever was so high. Even though she was hooked up to an IV immediately, she still wasn’t feeling well 48 hours later so we took her to the hospital in Accra. She got treated for dehydration, got some Cipro, and turns out she is ok, but the ride home was hectic. Between being forced to change taxis in the middle of the ride, two hours of traffic before we even left the city, a flat tire (which had to be changed just off the road) and almost running over a bicyclist who fell over in front of the taxi (just ran over his tire, I almost had a heart attack) we got home safely. Since then I’ve been working and spent the weekend relaxing during the day and dancing with friends at night in Accra, while also meeting some public officials for my research. Life is exciting, busy, stimulating – and exhausting.
Where is everyone else’s blogs? I want stories!!
I went with my friend Laura who has a family member who works in the studio, along with PK from Fletcher. After we waited for a full hour past the time the show was supposed to start – technical difficulties, surprise, surprise – the show finally began. It somehow worked out that the three of us sat behind the three judges – which means that every time a judge spoke, there was one of our white faces reflecting the light in the background in an otherwise-completely-African setting. I wanted to laugh every time I saw us on the screen, only because I couldn’t believe that somehow it was the three of us who got those special seats. I got a phone call from some of the Liberians on camp when the show was over, who were extremely excited to have a celebrity friend and another American friend of mine told me there was a direct close-up of my face that took up the entire screen. Yikes, here I come, Ghana.
The past week and a half has been busy. Last week, we had to carry one of my roommates to the camp clinic in the middle of the night because she was so sick and her fever was so high. Even though she was hooked up to an IV immediately, she still wasn’t feeling well 48 hours later so we took her to the hospital in Accra. She got treated for dehydration, got some Cipro, and turns out she is ok, but the ride home was hectic. Between being forced to change taxis in the middle of the ride, two hours of traffic before we even left the city, a flat tire (which had to be changed just off the road) and almost running over a bicyclist who fell over in front of the taxi (just ran over his tire, I almost had a heart attack) we got home safely. Since then I’ve been working and spent the weekend relaxing during the day and dancing with friends at night in Accra, while also meeting some public officials for my research. Life is exciting, busy, stimulating – and exhausting.
Where is everyone else’s blogs? I want stories!!
Sunday, June 1, 2008
"Is America always cold?"
Some nice men are letting me use the internet cafe for free since apparently it is closed on Sundays. But as I entered they smiled and offered me the one working computer in the place, which faces out onto the single highway going through the camp. That seems to be the general attitude of everyone here - despite the circumstances, the majority of people are focused on the community, and generously share the little they have. So this one will be quick.
When I look above the computer screen, I see a number of scenes - a sign that says "Buduburam School for the Deaf", a group of elders standing around in traditional dress and waving their arms around, a man behind them slowly transporting some chairs in a red, rusty wheelbarrow, and a young boy probably not taller than two feet carrying a bucket of water on his head. There's also a fire burning and the smoke is drifting towards me, smelling of burning plastic. I'm listening to some sort of jamaican-sounding song on the radio that the internet place is blasting out into the streets. To the left, there is a truck, probably about forty feet high packed with all sorts of various household items, such as refridgerators, tables, even lamps and drums. It is heading for Liberia and who knows how expensive things will be when it arrives.
I started my research this weekend after getting approval from Tufts IRB. I've done five interviews in the past two days and I am beginning to dig deeper into the lives people expect upon arrival in Liberia. I am hoping to write my thesis on repatriation and the role of the international community. I have yet to come up with a specific thesis yet - but as I am talking to people I am finding that there are three main concerns that continue to surface. First, most are worried about housing and where they will live. No one has money - and that is a given. The $100 they get if they travel with the UN will not be enough to get their lives started, and if they have no network they will arrive without a place to spend the night. Second, jobs. Monrovia is already overcrowded but is the only functioning part of Liberia - how will refugees return and find jobs to support themselves and their family? And third, education. Some never finished high school while they were here and have started raising families or created their own businesses alongside the main road to have some sort of income. How will they be able to complete their education so they can make a living in Liberia, when there is only one or two universities, all located in the capital city?
One of the older men I interviewed, who has a law degree and fled Monrovia in 2002 to come here, said that he wishes they could be given some cement so they could build houses outside of the capital. It turns out that most of the houses on camp were built by refugees - not UNHCR - and he said they could do the same in their own country. Buduburam has flourished over the years, and although a refugee camp (officially a settlement camp today), it is actually richer than many other villages in Ghana. This is in part because of the remittances sent back by friends and family who have made money in the US, Australia, and the Netherlands, but some of it is from people who created their own businesses from buying materials in Accra and selling their products for a profit.
More on this later. Last night, a funny comment from a young Ghanaian (there are Ghanaians still here who were part of a village before the Liberians settled here). We were watching Save the Last Dance, and there was a scene in the snow. He turns to me, completely straight-faced and says, "Is America always cold?" Sometimes I wonder how people picture the US from the movies they see and the songs they hear. There are so many American movies and soap operas on TV I have no idea of how they picture the States. It is also never cold here - and although the nights have cooled and it rains almost every day now, I still sweat through my shirt and have a fan directly on me whenever possible.
Ok, a friend just called, and I'm off to the beach....
When I look above the computer screen, I see a number of scenes - a sign that says "Buduburam School for the Deaf", a group of elders standing around in traditional dress and waving their arms around, a man behind them slowly transporting some chairs in a red, rusty wheelbarrow, and a young boy probably not taller than two feet carrying a bucket of water on his head. There's also a fire burning and the smoke is drifting towards me, smelling of burning plastic. I'm listening to some sort of jamaican-sounding song on the radio that the internet place is blasting out into the streets. To the left, there is a truck, probably about forty feet high packed with all sorts of various household items, such as refridgerators, tables, even lamps and drums. It is heading for Liberia and who knows how expensive things will be when it arrives.
I started my research this weekend after getting approval from Tufts IRB. I've done five interviews in the past two days and I am beginning to dig deeper into the lives people expect upon arrival in Liberia. I am hoping to write my thesis on repatriation and the role of the international community. I have yet to come up with a specific thesis yet - but as I am talking to people I am finding that there are three main concerns that continue to surface. First, most are worried about housing and where they will live. No one has money - and that is a given. The $100 they get if they travel with the UN will not be enough to get their lives started, and if they have no network they will arrive without a place to spend the night. Second, jobs. Monrovia is already overcrowded but is the only functioning part of Liberia - how will refugees return and find jobs to support themselves and their family? And third, education. Some never finished high school while they were here and have started raising families or created their own businesses alongside the main road to have some sort of income. How will they be able to complete their education so they can make a living in Liberia, when there is only one or two universities, all located in the capital city?
One of the older men I interviewed, who has a law degree and fled Monrovia in 2002 to come here, said that he wishes they could be given some cement so they could build houses outside of the capital. It turns out that most of the houses on camp were built by refugees - not UNHCR - and he said they could do the same in their own country. Buduburam has flourished over the years, and although a refugee camp (officially a settlement camp today), it is actually richer than many other villages in Ghana. This is in part because of the remittances sent back by friends and family who have made money in the US, Australia, and the Netherlands, but some of it is from people who created their own businesses from buying materials in Accra and selling their products for a profit.
More on this later. Last night, a funny comment from a young Ghanaian (there are Ghanaians still here who were part of a village before the Liberians settled here). We were watching Save the Last Dance, and there was a scene in the snow. He turns to me, completely straight-faced and says, "Is America always cold?" Sometimes I wonder how people picture the US from the movies they see and the songs they hear. There are so many American movies and soap operas on TV I have no idea of how they picture the States. It is also never cold here - and although the nights have cooled and it rains almost every day now, I still sweat through my shirt and have a fan directly on me whenever possible.
Ok, a friend just called, and I'm off to the beach....
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Avocado sandwiches
Let me explain what an average day is like here for me in Buduburam. When I was still living on camp, I used to wake up early with the rooster crowing and the sounds of pots and pans between 5am and 6am. I think I have already described this experience. Now I am living across the street; and although not officially part of camp still has the same get-up-early mentality. This morning, for the second time in a row, a man made 'camp announcements' at 4:30am. I swear he had his loudspeaker directly outside my window and was screaming at me in my bed. This bizarre form of communication continued for about a half an hour when he clearly was bored with my inaction and moved down the camp to try the same thing on some innocent sleeping souls. Since this has now happened twice, I suppose I will have to expect the same tomorrow.
After I finally go back to sleep, my alarm goes off at 6:30am. I usually meet one of our partners at the internet cafe to teach them some super-western way of reporting finances or writing proposals (google docs, that is). So far they are getting the hang of it, but there is still little computer literacy so it is incredibly time consuming - especially combined with the slow internet and intermittent change in computers when one crashes. If I am not doing this, I am cooking a Liberian breakfast (rice or gari with beans or fish) with the School Feeding Program - created by my organization - to feed every child at the elementary school before they start classes in the morning.
Then I wander down the main dirt street - I just found out they call 18th street - which is full of food and clothing stalls, little kids shouting 'white womaaahhhn', and men asking if I want to change money, just to find my favorite spot for breakfast. I eat an egg and bread sandwich - probably one of my favorite foods on camp since Abraham, the Sierra Leonian who cooks it puts all sorts of garlic (don't cringe Yanina) and onion in there. He also even has an espresso machine and puts in way too much sugar to make a super-sweet coffee. I love it; it is like drinking pure caffeinated honey. I sit in the shade and enjoy my breakfast, watching whatever he has on TV - usually Aljazeera news or a soccer match - or talking to my neighbors.
By this time it is usually around 10:30 and I have other meetings at the school or with the organizations I work with - either to train or meet about finances, reports, organizational methods, blah, blah, blah. The rest of the day is usually me running around the camp from meeting to meeting and getting burned. At least once a day I go down to the orphanage where I spend 3/4 my time talking business with the adults, and 1/4 the time cuddling various babies screaming to be on my lap. It's really fun.
You are probably wondering why I've titled this entry 'Avocado sandwiches.' Well, this is usually what I am thinking about throughout all of this activity every day. They have massive avocados here - actually, correction, they are called 'butter pears' here. At the end of my long day I usually buy one and make a sandwich just like old times in the Blakeley kitchen at Fletcher. With a little salt and mayonnaise, it pretty much tops off a productive and exciting day.
After I finally go back to sleep, my alarm goes off at 6:30am. I usually meet one of our partners at the internet cafe to teach them some super-western way of reporting finances or writing proposals (google docs, that is). So far they are getting the hang of it, but there is still little computer literacy so it is incredibly time consuming - especially combined with the slow internet and intermittent change in computers when one crashes. If I am not doing this, I am cooking a Liberian breakfast (rice or gari with beans or fish) with the School Feeding Program - created by my organization - to feed every child at the elementary school before they start classes in the morning.
Then I wander down the main dirt street - I just found out they call 18th street - which is full of food and clothing stalls, little kids shouting 'white womaaahhhn', and men asking if I want to change money, just to find my favorite spot for breakfast. I eat an egg and bread sandwich - probably one of my favorite foods on camp since Abraham, the Sierra Leonian who cooks it puts all sorts of garlic (don't cringe Yanina) and onion in there. He also even has an espresso machine and puts in way too much sugar to make a super-sweet coffee. I love it; it is like drinking pure caffeinated honey. I sit in the shade and enjoy my breakfast, watching whatever he has on TV - usually Aljazeera news or a soccer match - or talking to my neighbors.
By this time it is usually around 10:30 and I have other meetings at the school or with the organizations I work with - either to train or meet about finances, reports, organizational methods, blah, blah, blah. The rest of the day is usually me running around the camp from meeting to meeting and getting burned. At least once a day I go down to the orphanage where I spend 3/4 my time talking business with the adults, and 1/4 the time cuddling various babies screaming to be on my lap. It's really fun.
You are probably wondering why I've titled this entry 'Avocado sandwiches.' Well, this is usually what I am thinking about throughout all of this activity every day. They have massive avocados here - actually, correction, they are called 'butter pears' here. At the end of my long day I usually buy one and make a sandwich just like old times in the Blakeley kitchen at Fletcher. With a little salt and mayonnaise, it pretty much tops off a productive and exciting day.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Jolly Ghanaians
The Ghanaians are known for their jolly personalities and ability to get along with anyone. Since this is my first weekend with a Ghanaian family in Accra this has already proven to be true. I was welcomed immediately by my friend's family and they took me in and fed me as though I was one of their own many daughters. When we were shopping with the mother and father today, the father took all my food, dumped it in with his groceries, and asked me if I liked chocolate. When I grinned and said I loved chocolate, he grabbed about seven chocolate bars and added it to my pile 'in case I get hungry at the camp.' I reminisced about my dad and how he used to force-feed me anything of substance when I was growing up (Snickers at least has peanuts, right?), and thought how he would do exactly the same thing. I suppose having daughters does something to a man.
On the way to the mall today we saw a minor accident. A man on a motorcycle wasn't paying attention and bumped into the back of a car. He was fine and so was the car. However instead of the expected cursing and shouting, both driver and motorcyclist started giggling. I don't mean just chuckling to themselves, I mean both men were curling over in laughter. I couldn't believe it. You would never see this in New York City. You'd see the middle finger before anyone would even crack a smile in this situation. Made me love this country even more.
Had quite an adventure yesterday evening. After spending the day at the market, PK, Laura and I decided we wanted to watch a movie. We had read about this great place in the Bradt guide, where we could choose a movie and all sit and watch it in a room for about 7 gh cedi total (around $7). We got lost driving there, and after several confusing conversations with locals, PK finally spotted a faded picture of Mel Gibson and "Video Fun Plaza" with an arrow pointing us to our destination. Hallelujah!
When we finally arrived we thought we might have driven into someone's personal parking lot. It was empty and one man came towards us with a confused expression on his face. It turned out we were in the right place, though, and we got out of the car and were led to a front desk where we had our choice of imported Chinese-pirated movies (16 movies per DVD). We were shocked to hear that all ten rooms were taken, so we headed out to get some snacks while we waited. As we were leaving we noticed the place was open from 9am-6am and was only closed for 3 hours. Huh.
When we got back, we got our movie and were led down a few dark hallways to our room. It was dimly lighted and there was a long lounge-chair - more like a bed - and a TV and DVD player. Suddenly it dawned on us that this was not a regular place where teenagers went just to watch movies. I sat down, so far on the edge of the couch that I was almost falling off, and was hysterically laughing into my shoulder to muffle the sound while the man was getting the movie prepared. What could he possibly think, with three white Americans patrolling into the place - one red-headed guy with a safari hat on and two brunette girls cheerily following him into this tiny room? All we wanted to do was watch Lord of War. As soon as he left we all looked at each other. "Where's the beer?" was the first comment. We all snickered as Laura passed the black plastic bag over to PK.
On the way to the mall today we saw a minor accident. A man on a motorcycle wasn't paying attention and bumped into the back of a car. He was fine and so was the car. However instead of the expected cursing and shouting, both driver and motorcyclist started giggling. I don't mean just chuckling to themselves, I mean both men were curling over in laughter. I couldn't believe it. You would never see this in New York City. You'd see the middle finger before anyone would even crack a smile in this situation. Made me love this country even more.
Had quite an adventure yesterday evening. After spending the day at the market, PK, Laura and I decided we wanted to watch a movie. We had read about this great place in the Bradt guide, where we could choose a movie and all sit and watch it in a room for about 7 gh cedi total (around $7). We got lost driving there, and after several confusing conversations with locals, PK finally spotted a faded picture of Mel Gibson and "Video Fun Plaza" with an arrow pointing us to our destination. Hallelujah!
When we finally arrived we thought we might have driven into someone's personal parking lot. It was empty and one man came towards us with a confused expression on his face. It turned out we were in the right place, though, and we got out of the car and were led to a front desk where we had our choice of imported Chinese-pirated movies (16 movies per DVD). We were shocked to hear that all ten rooms were taken, so we headed out to get some snacks while we waited. As we were leaving we noticed the place was open from 9am-6am and was only closed for 3 hours. Huh.
When we got back, we got our movie and were led down a few dark hallways to our room. It was dimly lighted and there was a long lounge-chair - more like a bed - and a TV and DVD player. Suddenly it dawned on us that this was not a regular place where teenagers went just to watch movies. I sat down, so far on the edge of the couch that I was almost falling off, and was hysterically laughing into my shoulder to muffle the sound while the man was getting the movie prepared. What could he possibly think, with three white Americans patrolling into the place - one red-headed guy with a safari hat on and two brunette girls cheerily following him into this tiny room? All we wanted to do was watch Lord of War. As soon as he left we all looked at each other. "Where's the beer?" was the first comment. We all snickered as Laura passed the black plastic bag over to PK.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
ACCRA!
I'm lying in bed with wireless internet and air conditioning blowing in my face. Oh the joys of Accra. I'm staying with a friend who is doing research on education in the camp for her PhD, and invited me to come stay at her family's place in the city. Loving. It.
I met up with PK from Fletcher last night. So much fun to see him here. We spent $15 on dinner - a shocker after spending only $3-4 per day on food at the camp - and drank some Star (Ghanaian) beer. We ended up going to a local place and sat outside, which was really nice despite the beggers constantly at the edge of the table. He is working in the Eastern Region (near the Volta region that borders with Togo) in a village where he is doing business consulting for artisans. He's told me in great detail the three kinds of beads that they are making and how they make them. Part of his job is to ensure that the price they are selling the beads at is profitable while also the wages are fair for the workers. Interesting stuff. I'm hoping I can get up there at some point and check the place out. It is supposed to be beautiful out there.
I got a phone call from my Australian friend last night who had a 103 fever and was really ill. She somehow ran out of malaria pills so I'm pretty sure we both know what it is. Luckily she had two other people watching after her, and she went to a nearby hospital. She will be fine and I heard from her on her way home last night, but I'm just hoping she feels better today.
Before I left there was a threat that the orphanage was going to lose their home this week. Thanks to the organization I'm working with, this was avoided. Long story short - I will spare you the painful details - the chief (a Ghanaian) wanted to take over the house but we put that off for another few months while they get ready to go back to Liberia. This 'family,' since that is essentially what this orphanage is, is extremely nervous about the camp being split up into different communities. There are 25 kids to take care of and it could potentially separate them. Next week I am going to try and find out whether anyone knows more about the details and hopefully help come up with a plan if this happens. I am still hoping it is a rumor, but there have been signs that it may not be.
Ok that's it for now. I'm off to explore Accra.
I met up with PK from Fletcher last night. So much fun to see him here. We spent $15 on dinner - a shocker after spending only $3-4 per day on food at the camp - and drank some Star (Ghanaian) beer. We ended up going to a local place and sat outside, which was really nice despite the beggers constantly at the edge of the table. He is working in the Eastern Region (near the Volta region that borders with Togo) in a village where he is doing business consulting for artisans. He's told me in great detail the three kinds of beads that they are making and how they make them. Part of his job is to ensure that the price they are selling the beads at is profitable while also the wages are fair for the workers. Interesting stuff. I'm hoping I can get up there at some point and check the place out. It is supposed to be beautiful out there.
I got a phone call from my Australian friend last night who had a 103 fever and was really ill. She somehow ran out of malaria pills so I'm pretty sure we both know what it is. Luckily she had two other people watching after her, and she went to a nearby hospital. She will be fine and I heard from her on her way home last night, but I'm just hoping she feels better today.
Before I left there was a threat that the orphanage was going to lose their home this week. Thanks to the organization I'm working with, this was avoided. Long story short - I will spare you the painful details - the chief (a Ghanaian) wanted to take over the house but we put that off for another few months while they get ready to go back to Liberia. This 'family,' since that is essentially what this orphanage is, is extremely nervous about the camp being split up into different communities. There are 25 kids to take care of and it could potentially separate them. Next week I am going to try and find out whether anyone knows more about the details and hopefully help come up with a plan if this happens. I am still hoping it is a rumor, but there have been signs that it may not be.
Ok that's it for now. I'm off to explore Accra.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Zim update and continued life in Buduburam
I just got news that an activist we worked with in Zimbabwe has been killed. I never met him personally but one of my friends worked with him on a regular basis and with all the news coming out of the country it only increases my anxiety about the people I do know personally. This particular person was 33 and had several kids - and apparently was a really honest and sincere person, fighting the dictatorship for the right reasons. I hate hearing news like this, especially with all the xenophobic attacks that are happening in South Africa. It seems like Zimbabweans lives are at risk no matter where they are. If they stay home, they will either die of starvation or get attacked by the government if they criticize their rule (activists are disappearing at a record rate -- nauseating). If they flee to South Africa where many of them have gone, then they will be attacked by angry South Africans. Not that Mbeki has ever been willing to criticize Mugabe which is the cause of the massive number of Zimbabweans in the country in the first place.
It's frustrating that you never know whether you are being safe or paranoid in Africa. I left early from South Africa for a number of reasons that I don't need to get into here, but I was always told that as a citizen of the United States we would be protected while we were in Zim and would not be arrested for more than a couple of hours, even if that. Well a friend of mine was held by Zimbabwean police for 5 days a few months ago before he was actually allowed to leave the country, and he is a citizen of the United States. Do they follow the rules? Nope.
I am having some similar problems here. There are so many rumors that they will be splitting the camp up into different communities and that refugees will be separated. This has been in the papers for several months but I got notice yesterday that this could actually be a real threat. I'm nervous that this could mean some serious problems for our partners - especially the orphanage where I work. Some brush this idea aside, but I am pushing for them to come up with a "Plan B" so that they can at least be prepared in the case of an emergency. You never know what could happen in a place like this.
But, just to give everyone reading this a piece of mind - this does not put me at risk. I have moved off-camp (and I have.... wait for it.... wait for it.... RUNNING WATER), so if this ends up happening I will not be affected personally since everything will happen on camp. I am living with two other volunteers in the house and there are four to six other volunteers who live right across from me (some are moving in in a couple of days). So I am not alone in this. I hope to God it doesn't actually happen for the sake of the Liberian people I have met here. But there is fear among some of them, and I don't blame them.
Anyway, the new house is luxurious compared to the shackI am currently living in that is falling apart. It has a big bed for me and an even bigger common area where the lights actually are more than a dim, buzzing shadow of a light (if you can picture that). I'm looking forward to actually being able to see what I'm eating for dinner and perhaps not drawing or writing by flashlight at night. I'm also looking forward to more quiet nights, without babies crying and the pots and pans banging at 5am - despite the comforting smell of food cooking in the morning.
But, I will miss my Australian friend and our nightly chatting over the sound of the fan whirring in our faces - which hardly stops the sweating even at night here. I actually also find the cold bucket showers refreshing in the morning, and may keep it up even though we are supposed to get running water in the next few days.
I am also heading to Accra this weekend and am starting to formulate some solid ideas for my thesis research after talking to a number of people. I'm getting excited about the ideas, so more on this later.
Alright, must get back to work - but wanted to write out some of the thoughts I've been having while I have an extra half an hour. Please keep writing everyone - (and Amy I expect some craaazy stories, neighbor).
It's frustrating that you never know whether you are being safe or paranoid in Africa. I left early from South Africa for a number of reasons that I don't need to get into here, but I was always told that as a citizen of the United States we would be protected while we were in Zim and would not be arrested for more than a couple of hours, even if that. Well a friend of mine was held by Zimbabwean police for 5 days a few months ago before he was actually allowed to leave the country, and he is a citizen of the United States. Do they follow the rules? Nope.
I am having some similar problems here. There are so many rumors that they will be splitting the camp up into different communities and that refugees will be separated. This has been in the papers for several months but I got notice yesterday that this could actually be a real threat. I'm nervous that this could mean some serious problems for our partners - especially the orphanage where I work. Some brush this idea aside, but I am pushing for them to come up with a "Plan B" so that they can at least be prepared in the case of an emergency. You never know what could happen in a place like this.
But, just to give everyone reading this a piece of mind - this does not put me at risk. I have moved off-camp (and I have.... wait for it.... wait for it.... RUNNING WATER), so if this ends up happening I will not be affected personally since everything will happen on camp. I am living with two other volunteers in the house and there are four to six other volunteers who live right across from me (some are moving in in a couple of days). So I am not alone in this. I hope to God it doesn't actually happen for the sake of the Liberian people I have met here. But there is fear among some of them, and I don't blame them.
Anyway, the new house is luxurious compared to the shackI am currently living in that is falling apart. It has a big bed for me and an even bigger common area where the lights actually are more than a dim, buzzing shadow of a light (if you can picture that). I'm looking forward to actually being able to see what I'm eating for dinner and perhaps not drawing or writing by flashlight at night. I'm also looking forward to more quiet nights, without babies crying and the pots and pans banging at 5am - despite the comforting smell of food cooking in the morning.
But, I will miss my Australian friend and our nightly chatting over the sound of the fan whirring in our faces - which hardly stops the sweating even at night here. I actually also find the cold bucket showers refreshing in the morning, and may keep it up even though we are supposed to get running water in the next few days.
I am also heading to Accra this weekend and am starting to formulate some solid ideas for my thesis research after talking to a number of people. I'm getting excited about the ideas, so more on this later.
Alright, must get back to work - but wanted to write out some of the thoughts I've been having while I have an extra half an hour. Please keep writing everyone - (and Amy I expect some craaazy stories, neighbor).
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
This one will be quick because I'm running out of time at the internet.
Sometimes I feel like a celebrity here. In fact, any white person walking around will be flagged down by numerous children shouting 'white womaaaan'. Some are shy and will just wave and smile at a distance, while others will have enough guts to come up and touch your hand. The real bold ones will hug you and try to climb up your legs. When I met my "African momma's" family the other day, her granddaughter didn't speak to me for the first half an hour, and just stared at me in wonder. Her family giggled and explained she had never been this close to a white person before. She is almost three years old.
I'm soon moving houses again. This will be my third house in one and a half weeks. I am a bit like a refugee in a refugee camp. My Australian friend is heading to Europe soon (she has been here since December) so I am moving to a new guest house where there will be several other volunteers coming in at the end of the month. Unfortunately this place is actually just off-camp - which has its pluses and minuses. I like being near everything and having children visiting in the evenings while on-camp; and it is kind of nice to wake up to the smell of burning wood and the sounds of pots and pans every morning - there is something strangely comforting about it. But, while off-camp, I will pr0bably be spared the loud crying of babies every other night and apparently this place is a little nicer than the house I'm living in now. Keeps life interesting, anyway.
I went to a birthday part at the orphanage on Saturday with all the children, and went to the beach with some of the kids on Sunday. Just getting there was an adventure in and of itself, but it was a really nice beach with an Italian restaurant where I could sit once I felt my skin getting burned. I'm already turning a deep brown - I can't imagine what I will look like at the end of the two months.
Ok, just three minutes left, so I'm off....
Sometimes I feel like a celebrity here. In fact, any white person walking around will be flagged down by numerous children shouting 'white womaaaan'. Some are shy and will just wave and smile at a distance, while others will have enough guts to come up and touch your hand. The real bold ones will hug you and try to climb up your legs. When I met my "African momma's" family the other day, her granddaughter didn't speak to me for the first half an hour, and just stared at me in wonder. Her family giggled and explained she had never been this close to a white person before. She is almost three years old.
I'm soon moving houses again. This will be my third house in one and a half weeks. I am a bit like a refugee in a refugee camp. My Australian friend is heading to Europe soon (she has been here since December) so I am moving to a new guest house where there will be several other volunteers coming in at the end of the month. Unfortunately this place is actually just off-camp - which has its pluses and minuses. I like being near everything and having children visiting in the evenings while on-camp; and it is kind of nice to wake up to the smell of burning wood and the sounds of pots and pans every morning - there is something strangely comforting about it. But, while off-camp, I will pr0bably be spared the loud crying of babies every other night and apparently this place is a little nicer than the house I'm living in now. Keeps life interesting, anyway.
I went to a birthday part at the orphanage on Saturday with all the children, and went to the beach with some of the kids on Sunday. Just getting there was an adventure in and of itself, but it was a really nice beach with an Italian restaurant where I could sit once I felt my skin getting burned. I'm already turning a deep brown - I can't imagine what I will look like at the end of the two months.
Ok, just three minutes left, so I'm off....
Saturday, May 17, 2008
From Buduburam, Ghana
Very excited to read all the adventures in China - I can't wait to hear more from the rest of you.
Well i'm writing this from a (very slow) internet connection in Buduburam, a settlement camp for Liberian refugees in Ghana. It's just about an hour drive west of Accra. And oh, the culture shock going from the cozy bubble of Fletcher to a mouse/spider/cockroach infested household with no running water. It makes the mice at Blakeley seem, well, a tiny obstacle.
Let me paint a quick picture for you. Dirt roads, tiny UNHCR-built huts, no running water, flies everywhere and severe humidity and heat. I can hear everything that my neighbor is doing, and for the first couple of days it sounded as though there were people in my room all night. It was creepy at first but you get used to it. On the other hand, everyone here is very clean and well-dressed, and there are little businesses that have sprouted up all over the place. Children come up and hug you everywhere you go (white woman!), and for the most part everyone is friendly. There are a lot of requests for money, which is hard to turn down since it is clear everyone is struggling, but there is only so much you can do so I tend not to give money away unless it is someone I already trust.
The beginning was a bit rough as I sorted out my living situation. The organization I'm working for put me in a house alone which I was not comfortable with. So, luckily with the contacts Sondra gave me, I found a new place to live with an Australian and Dutch girl. Although this new place is not any nicer, and I have to pay a little extra, at least I have some people to come home to at night. I'm told not to walk alone in the dark, so I need some social activities at night to keep me going. I have plans to go into Accra next weekend so I'm looking forward to the break.
So - about the work I'm doing. I've already filled some of you in; but I am working closely with the elementary school here. I have three basic projects; first, I am working with an orphanage. The lady who runs the place is amazing. She had a dream to help children whose parents were lost in the war - or whose parents could not take care of them - and with a lot of hard work has built an orphanage that currently holds 25 children. The kids are adorable and I go there every day (I will show everyone pictures and videos when I get back). Second, I am working with another organization for disabled children. The person who created the org is a woman who has a disabled son and wanted to connect all the families with disabled children to give them an education and some support for each other. The third project is to work with a school feeing program, where the staff gets money from my organization to serve breakfast for the elementary kids every morning. I wake up at 7am every morning to help them cook and serve the kids - not part of the job description but it's been fun so far, so may go twice a week to help out.
Anyway, the basic job for me is to get all of these different NGOs ready to move to Liberia. So I am teaching them basic organizational methods, as well as showing them how to write out short-term and long-term plans for the future. I'm also giving lessons on how to use the internet and use google docs so it is easier to communicate with the partners back home. They are all fabulous people who have done unbelievable things given the circumstances, but now that they are moving back to Liberia we are hoping to help them learn some of the basic necessary tasks to keep an organization going.
For those of you who don't know - the Ghanaians are telling the Liberians they can no longer stay here in the Buduburam camp. It was opened in 1990, and there are 42,000 Liberians who are still here even since the war ended in 2003. Tensions are very high right now because of a recent protest in March, where 600 men and women were protesting to either get $1,000 from UNHCR to be sent back or to be resettled to America. This, of course, is an unrealistic request and led to mass arrests and unfortunately a few deaths. The majority of Liberians are very upset that this happened, because now the Ghanaians are angry and demanding that everyone go back immediately with little to no help. Luckily, most Liberians do want to return home, since life here is not easy with no jobs - but many are afraid of what they face when they arrive since not all of them have finished school, and many have families to raise.
On the whole, it is a very fulfilling job and I admire the people I work with. It is terrible what these people have been through; but this place is a powerful example of how resilient people can be. The fact that everyone here has lost family members and friends, have no money, and are not wanted by the country they stay in has not stopped many of them from making lives for themselves. This place has a lot going for it and has become a small African city.
I still dream about home. It is surprising wake up to a mosquito net surrounding me and to the smell of smoke and dirt - which is essentially the smell all over the place here. It is not an unpleasant smell - actually quite the contrary. There is something peaceful about the smell of food being cooked everywhere.
There is also music constantly playing. There are two songs in particular that the Liberians play over and over. One is a Nigerian song, and I swear, I know all the words by now even though it's not in English (I have heard it that many times). The other is an American song that reminds me of Fletcher, which is a bit disorienting. There are also a variety of other old 80s songs that they play - including the electric slide - which everyone was dancing around to last night.
This morning I had breakfast with my "African mother" as she likes to call herself, and her family . She fed me donuts (I guess us Americans have a reputation here), and 'coffee' (boiled water mixed with milk and sugar, actually pretty good the way she makes it). Tomorrow night I will go around for dinner, and have the traditional spicy rice and fish that is all over camp.
I hope all of this makes sense, since internet is slow and scarce and I haven't been to read over what I've written. Much love to my fellow Fletcherites around the world, and anyone else who is reading this. More later.
Well i'm writing this from a (very slow) internet connection in Buduburam, a settlement camp for Liberian refugees in Ghana. It's just about an hour drive west of Accra. And oh, the culture shock going from the cozy bubble of Fletcher to a mouse/spider/cockroach infested household with no running water. It makes the mice at Blakeley seem, well, a tiny obstacle.
Let me paint a quick picture for you. Dirt roads, tiny UNHCR-built huts, no running water, flies everywhere and severe humidity and heat. I can hear everything that my neighbor is doing, and for the first couple of days it sounded as though there were people in my room all night. It was creepy at first but you get used to it. On the other hand, everyone here is very clean and well-dressed, and there are little businesses that have sprouted up all over the place. Children come up and hug you everywhere you go (white woman!), and for the most part everyone is friendly. There are a lot of requests for money, which is hard to turn down since it is clear everyone is struggling, but there is only so much you can do so I tend not to give money away unless it is someone I already trust.
The beginning was a bit rough as I sorted out my living situation. The organization I'm working for put me in a house alone which I was not comfortable with. So, luckily with the contacts Sondra gave me, I found a new place to live with an Australian and Dutch girl. Although this new place is not any nicer, and I have to pay a little extra, at least I have some people to come home to at night. I'm told not to walk alone in the dark, so I need some social activities at night to keep me going. I have plans to go into Accra next weekend so I'm looking forward to the break.
So - about the work I'm doing. I've already filled some of you in; but I am working closely with the elementary school here. I have three basic projects; first, I am working with an orphanage. The lady who runs the place is amazing. She had a dream to help children whose parents were lost in the war - or whose parents could not take care of them - and with a lot of hard work has built an orphanage that currently holds 25 children. The kids are adorable and I go there every day (I will show everyone pictures and videos when I get back). Second, I am working with another organization for disabled children. The person who created the org is a woman who has a disabled son and wanted to connect all the families with disabled children to give them an education and some support for each other. The third project is to work with a school feeing program, where the staff gets money from my organization to serve breakfast for the elementary kids every morning. I wake up at 7am every morning to help them cook and serve the kids - not part of the job description but it's been fun so far, so may go twice a week to help out.
Anyway, the basic job for me is to get all of these different NGOs ready to move to Liberia. So I am teaching them basic organizational methods, as well as showing them how to write out short-term and long-term plans for the future. I'm also giving lessons on how to use the internet and use google docs so it is easier to communicate with the partners back home. They are all fabulous people who have done unbelievable things given the circumstances, but now that they are moving back to Liberia we are hoping to help them learn some of the basic necessary tasks to keep an organization going.
For those of you who don't know - the Ghanaians are telling the Liberians they can no longer stay here in the Buduburam camp. It was opened in 1990, and there are 42,000 Liberians who are still here even since the war ended in 2003. Tensions are very high right now because of a recent protest in March, where 600 men and women were protesting to either get $1,000 from UNHCR to be sent back or to be resettled to America. This, of course, is an unrealistic request and led to mass arrests and unfortunately a few deaths. The majority of Liberians are very upset that this happened, because now the Ghanaians are angry and demanding that everyone go back immediately with little to no help. Luckily, most Liberians do want to return home, since life here is not easy with no jobs - but many are afraid of what they face when they arrive since not all of them have finished school, and many have families to raise.
On the whole, it is a very fulfilling job and I admire the people I work with. It is terrible what these people have been through; but this place is a powerful example of how resilient people can be. The fact that everyone here has lost family members and friends, have no money, and are not wanted by the country they stay in has not stopped many of them from making lives for themselves. This place has a lot going for it and has become a small African city.
I still dream about home. It is surprising wake up to a mosquito net surrounding me and to the smell of smoke and dirt - which is essentially the smell all over the place here. It is not an unpleasant smell - actually quite the contrary. There is something peaceful about the smell of food being cooked everywhere.
There is also music constantly playing. There are two songs in particular that the Liberians play over and over. One is a Nigerian song, and I swear, I know all the words by now even though it's not in English (I have heard it that many times). The other is an American song that reminds me of Fletcher, which is a bit disorienting. There are also a variety of other old 80s songs that they play - including the electric slide - which everyone was dancing around to last night.
This morning I had breakfast with my "African mother" as she likes to call herself, and her family . She fed me donuts (I guess us Americans have a reputation here), and 'coffee' (boiled water mixed with milk and sugar, actually pretty good the way she makes it). Tomorrow night I will go around for dinner, and have the traditional spicy rice and fish that is all over camp.
I hope all of this makes sense, since internet is slow and scarce and I haven't been to read over what I've written. Much love to my fellow Fletcherites around the world, and anyone else who is reading this. More later.
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