I’ve been living in the village exactly 1 week and haven’t written a blog post. And let me tell you: It’s not for lack of material! It’s more the complete lack of energy when I retreat to my room every night:
“N kumini n-ti done” or “Nborimi gbihi” are the 2 ways I’ve learned to say “I’m going home to sleep” and I say this greeting loudly as I exit the compound around 8:30pmeach evening. By this time some of the children are sleeping on prayer mats, the men are laying around chatting quietly. Some women are listening to the radio, others may be preparing koko (porridge) for the next morning.
My trustworthy accomplice Al-Hassan (age 13) walks me the 50 meters across a half-abandoned field to my single room house. It has a slanted tin roof, windows on both sides, a sweet porch out front and a fenced in side yard inhabited by a jaded faded banana tree.
***
Welcome to Jana, my new home! It’s about an 8km bike ride from my office in Tamale, and watching the progression of surroundings as I bike home every evening is fascinating. That is, when I’m not squinting out of my right eye as I clean a bug out of my left… the trouble with leaving work as close to sunset as I dare is that I get a face full of bugs as I speed through the dusk.
NGO offices turn to guest houses and hotels, which in turn transform into road side shops, stalls and motorcycle repairmen (“Fitters”). I turn off the main road and pass the Ministry of Health’s “School of Hygiene”… some kind of a bad joke given the extremely poor sanitation coverage in northern Ghana. I pass by a soon-to-be suburb of Tamale, which is marked by giant half-finished residences, some with locked gates keeping them safe. The power lines stop at the fuelling station 3km from Jana, and when I pass through the village of Banyamne the road turns from paved to dirt.
I do my own version of a prayer that I won’t pass any big trucks going the other way, which leave swirling sideways tornados of dust behind them for me to breathe from. Just before I turn off the dirt road to my cozy home I can see the sign that says “You are now leaving Tamale Metropolitan District, safe journey!” and I land in the community of Jana, in Savalugu-Nanton district (for all you geography buffs).
***
“If we are all human beings, then we have to treat each other that way. It doesn’t matter whether you have black skin or white skin, we share the same blood” says Husain wistfully as we kneel over our dinner of thickened maize porridge (T-Zed) and cassava-leaf stew. I breathe in deeply and smile to know that this is really happening. I am sharing a bowl with this fascinating man, sitting on a prayer mat in the middle of a large compound and seeing clearly thanks to the illumination of the moon. Husain is a very serious looking man with a stern voice and at times a very commanding presence as the head of this extended household. Yet at moments like this his words and gestures are as calming as the sound of small waves lapping the shore of Lake Huron back home.
His compound houses his two wives and their children, his sister’s family, his son’s wife and children and a handful of other random characters I can’t quite figure out. I’d estimate the population somewhere between 19 and 27 people, depending on how accurate your measurement tools are. Husain is the Assembly Man for Jana and 5 other nearby communities, playing a role similar to an elected councilor in Canada. He farms rice, maize and soybean for sure – and I’m guessing that his wives farm some of the vegetables and other crops eaten by the household.
***
“They demanded us to pay 50 Ghana Cedis for the this thing. The what. The PTA Fees. If you can’t pay, then, ah, you are in trouble! Other parents, they are getting paid at the end of the month, but as a farmer, my income is seasonal, isn’t it? How can I find 50 cedis now?”
This conversation burst my bubble a bit, and opened my eyes to some of the real challenges the family is facing. They hadn’t been able to pay the end-of-term fee for Al-Hassan (who is on track to finish Junior High School this year), and the result wasn’t pretty:
“They can’t even let you write! These ones, I didn’t write. As for mathematics, the teacher, he let everybody write, but I couldn’t enter the room. Then when there are 5 minutes left he tells me to enter. How can I manage? I only answered some few questions before they took my test away.”
Al-Hassan and I had the day before agreed to exchange math lessons for Dagbani lessons, as he wants to improve his math so he can get the highest mark on the big BECE test that you write at the end of Junior High School to see if you get to attend Senior High School. (Interestingly, you also get placed in a school based on your mark, and you have to choose your top 6 choices before you write. If you choose top schools and get low marks, you won’t get in. If you choose medium schools and get high marks, you don’t get to change your mind and attend a better school)
I’d heard about some of these challenges at a broad level from fellow EWB staff who are driving change in district government systems, but encountering the reality first hand really sat me down. Every day I spend with Al-Hassan, I see more potential, more curiosity, more passion for learning. His questions, his politeness, his patience make me question “is he really only 13 years old?” The children are all on leave from school now, and I remember asking him the night before school ended “you must be excited to have a break from school” (thinking in Canadian mind set). And he jumped to reply “Of Course! Now I can do more work around the house, and help my father with the farm as much as possible.”
I guess I can see more clearly now the link between household income (via farming) and educational opportunities so it shouldn’t make my head turn to hear him respond to the question in that way. But something deep-rooted in my upbringing has programmed me to expect children to want to play all the time and resent having to go to school. It’s a bit different when your labour can contribute to your family’s well-being, and sometimes you will go to school and sit obediently in an empty classroom waiting for the teacher who gets paid but still doesn’t show up.
***
“So Lateef, where does your motivation come from?” I asked Husain’s eldest son from his 3rd wife – the wife who was kicked out of the compound for getting in a fight with another wife and biting her face so hard it cut her mouth clean open. When I heard the story I could immediately tell who had been bitten: The woman with the tightly drawn mouth who cooks quietly to the side of the normal hubbub of compound life.
Lateef stops in the dirt path and turns his head to look at me. In the darkness the moonlight catches the white of his eyes and draws the contrast beautifully with his dark black face.
“It comes from not wanting other people in my community to go through the hardships I went through… I believe that we have so many of the things we need to drive development in our own community. But it needs to start with education: To me that is the foundation of any real change in Jana and in this electoral area. Do you know how many girls actually go beyond JHS (Junior High School)? It will make you hang your head in shame. And our school, we are relying on community volunteers for teachers who might have to farm instead of coming to school. This is where I see the change starting. This is why I need to win the election as Assembly Man, so I can bring something better.”
Mike! It was so funny reading this. It sounds like you are describing Jamaica. I’m going to show my daddy this. He’ll really enjoy it.
Yo boss!!
Great post! I love the quotes, they’re amazing! Husain really was a well-spoken leader. It was great heading out to Jana with you!
As for Alhassen, I’d say do whatever you can to get that kid to the best possible secondary school. Just from the few sentences we shared when I was there he seemed much different from many of the kids I’ve met in Ghana. Ask him for the list of the 6 best schools in Ghana from his school, and tell him to not worry about the money to attend those schools. I’ve met a lot of bright youth who because they focused on the money to attend these schools simply lost hope in a brighter future.
From many discussions with people in the education field they tell me that if a kid gets a 9 or 10 on the BECE and gets into a good school like (Notredame or Achimota), the money will turn up for them to attend!! These schools are like universities when it comes to alumni so there are a lot of scholarships.
Anyway bro, I’d love to hear more when we’re chillin on the beach!!
Hey Mike – this is wonderful! It sounds like you’re starting to settle and get into a routine, which is great. I remember my first few days in transit being very difficult, but things got much better when I moved in to where I was staying and had a chance to unpack and settle.
It’s also good to hear that Al-Hassan is an inquisitive student. Definitely do what you can to improve his math and help him stay motivated (though from the sounds of it he’s pretty motivated on his own). One of the kids who I lived with when I was there seemed to have consigned himself to a future of cleaning, mowing the lawn and washing his host’s car. He made it through JSS without understanding how to multiply properly (and couldn’t answer when I asked him to multiply 7 by 8 – imagine what I went through when I tried to help him factor polynomials to prepare for his exam!). I think that deep down he wanted to do well, but didn’t think that he had a realistic chance of getting anywhere better than where he was, which was heartbreaking.
Keep the stories coming and enjoy your T-Zed! 🙂
Just wanted to say that I love your blog posts!
Thank you Mike – I really enjoy reading about the people you meet. The expectations about “play” remind me of my conversations this past semester with some students about the play pump.
I wish our youth in Canada had a more clear window into the lives of their Ghanaian counterparts. I know there are organizations that try to make those youth-to-youth connections, but building understanding and interest is a long journey, isn’t it?
Al-Hassan sounds like a neat kid…I know he’ll learn a lot from you and it’s amazing how much we can learn from young people, isn’t it?
Keep the posts coming! 🙂
Hey, great stuff Mike! You are definitely bringing your world to life for us. Of course I couldn’t agree more with you and Lateef about education. This is Husain’s son running to fill his father’s assembly man position? I hope he wins. Pretty appalling that Al-Hassan is being held back by this system – must be frustrating for you too.
Still it sounds like you have a large and friendly host family there. So glad to hear it – and can’t wait to hear more.
Hey Mike,
I feel excited and inspired when I read about the family you’re staying with. They sound amazing! And I’m really interested in the education sector, so hearing a bit about how it works in your district (or in Ghana in general?) was great! Question – how do education systems compare between Southern and Northern Ghana? I figure that of course less teachers may show up to class in Northern Ghana, and people have less money to pay for school … but are there other striking differences that you’re aware of?
Looking forward to hearing more, as always!
Leah
Great post man, really brought me back to Ghana and some of the issues my host-family had to deal with. Keep up the great work, looking forward to reading more.
Cheers,
Gajan
Your post is really expressive; I feel as though I’m actually there with you during (some of) the activities of your day. Thanks for showing me the thoughts and structure in a family and environment so unlike my own.